PiRead

I asked to stay over 4 times in 4 years. He said no every time. "We're not married yet. I want to respect your space." Then I saw the photo. My intern—the one who stole my work—posted a picture of her feet in my slippers. Standing in his living room. He gave her the spare key. Made her instant ramen—the same late-night snack he always made for me. Drank wine with her—and he never drinks. When I confronted him, he called me petty. "She's just a tenant," he said. "Show some empathy." Two days later, he posted a video in our company Slack. Apologizing for me. Telling everyone I bullied her. Destroying my reputation—for her. I called him. He didn't answer. She did. "Julian's asleep," she purred. "He's been with me all night." Four years I gave him. Four years of waiting, of respecting his boundaries. And he threw me away the second someone new smiled at him. I packed one bag, deleted every photo, and blocked his number. A man not worth waiting for—good riddance. I complained when Julian Brooks rejected my request to stay over—for the fourth time. "Julian, you're so rigid." My apartment's AC had died in the middle of a hun//dred-degree heatwave. Yet he insisted on being old-fashioned about it. Throughout our four years together, no matter how late it got, he always insisted on driving me home. Julian sighed and tried to soothe me. "Be sweet, Chloe. We aren't married yet, and I want us to respect each other's space. I don't want anyone at the office gossiping about us living together." My heart warmed at his words, so I fell right back into our usual routine, venting to him about the recent drama at my office just like I always did. But he kept checking his watch, clearly distracted, and urged me to head back. Fortunately, the HVAC technician found a sudden opening and rushed over to my place. While waiting for him to finish the repairs, I happened to scroll through my Instagram feed and saw a post from our company's new marketing intern, Savannah Cross. [My landlord suddenly canceled my lease, but thank god someone stepped up to help. Otherwise, I'd be sleeping on the streets.] I recognized the background of her photo immediately. It was Julian's apartment. I stared at my phone screen, completely frozen. I stood there so long the technician finished fixing the unit and carefully lowered the thermostat. "Too hot for you, kiddo?" He looked at me with a sympathetic sigh. "Tell you what, I'll knock twenty bucks off the bill. Take it from an old man—there's no rough patch in life you can't get through." Only then did I realize tears were streaming down my face. I forced a smile. "Thank you. You're absolutely right." Julian was a rough patch I was finally moving past. ****** Savannah's photo only showed her legs and her luggage. She was wearing my slippers, standing right inside Julian's living room. The moment I stepped out of his apartment, she stepped right in. Before leaving, I had playfully begged Julian to let me stay. He refused without a second thought. "Chloe, you need to go home. I have urgent work to finish in a bit." As it turned out, there was no urgent work. The only urgency was Savannah. She was the new intern in my department, and we hadn't been getting along. I mentioned this to Julian before. But he never seemed to care, let alone listen. I had no idea Julian even knew Savannah. He'd never mentioned her. Yet it was glaringly obvious that she was spending the night at his place. Another red notification popped up on my screen as Savannah updated her feed again. [Meeting a soft-hearted god at my absolute worst. Blessed.] This time, Julian was in the photo. He was looking down at her with a helpless, fond smile. Two bowls of instant ramen with Spam sat on the table. On weekends, when Julian and I curled up together, that was the exact late-night snack he always made for me. Now, he was making it for Savannah. Savannah's comment sat right beneath the post, smug and flaunting. [Rent is two hun//dred, utilities are free, and no deposit. Best landlord ever.] Landlord. He had let Savannah move in. A sharp, suffocating pain flared in my chest, stealing my breath. To make his commute easier, Julian had rented a two-bedroom apartment near the office. It was a great place—twenty-five hun//dred a month. It used to be a shared rental, but his old roommate had moved out, and they hadn't found a suitable replacement. Worried the rent would be too much, I suggested moving in to split the cost. He flatly refused. "Chloe, I won't take your note, and I don't think it's right to move in together before marriage." It wasn't right for me, but it was perfectly fine for Savannah. I remembered those boundaries so clearly. The first time I asked to stay over was during our honeymoon phase, and Julian strictly turned me down. The second time, I came down with a sudden high fever. Julian still drove me back to my place, watched me take my medicine, and left the moment I fell asleep. The third time was the worst—someone had left a strange mark on my apartment door. I was losing my mind with fear, but Julian still wouldn't let me stay at his place. Instead, he booked me a hotel room. He spent the next day contacting landlords, agents, and movers, ensuring I relocated to a new apartment within twenty-four hours. Four years, and I couldn't get into Julian's place. Savannah managed it without lifting a finger. I had to admit his "traditional" boundaries were reserved exclusively for me. My phone buzzed with a text from Julian. [Goodnight.] No explanation. No mention of her. [By the way, I found a new roommate. She's moving in tomorrow under an emergency circumstance.] [Chloe, make sure to let me know in advance before you come over from now on.] Staring at the text, I wanted to laugh. But my tears hit the screen first. I wiped my eyes and didn't reply. Savannah posted a third update. One photo showed her clinking wine glasses with Julian, and the other was a selfie where their cheeks were practically pressed together. [Celebrating the new place. Here's to the future, Mr. Brooks.] Late at night. An unmarried man and woman. Living together. Julian never touched a drop of alcohol. Yet he was drinking with her tonight. In an instant, all the determination holding my heart together vanished. It was all so pathetic. I didn't text Julian for the next two days. He didn't seem to notice. It wasn't until later that week, when a sudden torrential downpour hit right at the end of the workday, that our paths crossed. I was waiting for an Uber under the office awning. Savannah was standing right next to me. She was holding her phone, whining cutely to whoever was on the other end. "Can you pull up a little closer? Hurry, the wind is freezing..." A car pulled up right in front of us. Entirely too familiar. Sure enough, the window rolled down to reveal Julian in the driver's seat. He hadn't sent a single text to check on me during this storm, yet he'd rushed over to pick up Savannah. Julian froze when he caught sight of me. "Chloe, you..." Savannah closed her umbrella, opened the door, and hopped straight into the passenger seat. "Julian, you actually know Chloe?" She looked out at me from the dry comfort of the car, her smile radiating sweetness. "Chloe, why don't you get in? Let Julian give you a ride. It's impossible to get an Uber in this weather." My own boyfriend was offering me a ride, and only because she'd graciously granted him permission. Julian remained silent, merely looking at me. I shook my head expressionlessly. "No need." My ride was already confirmed and only three minutes away. No reason to get in that car just to make myself sick. Savannah nodded and rolled up the window. The car lingered for a few seconds before driving off into the rain. When I finally got home and stepped out of the shower, I found Julian waiting in my living room. He still had the code to my smart lock. "Chloe, are you throwing a tantrum?" "When you refused to get in the car, I thought you were just busy, but the more I thought about it, the more off it felt." Julian reached out to grab my hand, but I stepped aside, dodging him. "Is this about me picking up Savannah today?" "Or because I didn't let you stay over the other night and didn't drive you home?" He let out a helpless chuckle. "Don't be so petty. Savannah's an old classmate. I only picked her up because I was passing by—and it's hard to say no when she asks." "Not letting you stay over was for your own good. I promise I'll drive you home next time..." "Julian, let's break up." Julian stiffened, his face instantly darkening. "Chloe, over something this minor?" "Yes." My eyes were entirely dead. "I can't stay at your place, but Savannah can. Don't you find that hilarious?" He'd never intended to tell me about her because he knew exactly how I'd react. "You... let me explain." Julian's eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting me to already know. "Savannah moved to the city all by herself from a small town, and I'm the only person she knows here." "It's tough for a young girl, and her landlord suddenly kicked her out. If I hadn't stepped in, she'd be on the streets." "Chloe, you're a woman too—show some empathy." Seeing my silence, he let out a heavy sigh. "It's just an emergency temporary stay. Besides, there's nothing going on between us, so we don't need to overcomplicate things." "She's different from you. She's just a tenant." "Just a tenant?" I laughed. "Julian, I told you before that Savannah is the new intern in my department." "During her first week, she spent every single lunch break on the phone in the breakroom. When people teased her about it, she claimed it wasn't a boyfriend, just an old classmate." "That old classmate was you, wasn't it?" Julian's eyes flickered with guilt for a fraction of a second, but he didn't deny it. I used to love sharing things with him, flooding his phone with texts whenever I had a free moment. But his replies were always agonizingly slow, if they came at all. We'd fought about it a few times. Back then, Julian would just look exhausted and say, "Chloe, we're adults. Work is busy, and I need to rest during lunch. Can you stop making things difficult for me?" But when it came to Savannah, it was never difficult. "For the past two days, Savannah started bringing homemade lunches to work. You made those for her too, didn't you?" "And you're still trying to tell me she's just a tenant?" Those lunchboxes were a matching couple's set I'd bought, left behind at Julian's apartment. Now, Savannah was using them. Julian knitted his brows, completely unable to comprehend my anger. "Chloe, aren't you reading way too much into this?" "Don't be prejudiced against Savannah. She told me there was just a misunderstanding between you two at work..." He didn't listen to a single word I said, but he took everything Savannah said as gospel. I had nothing left to say. The silence in the room grew suffocating until the doorbell suddenly rang. Julian turned to open it. A second later, Savannah poked her head in, smiling warmly at me. "Hi, Chloe. Sorry to drop by unannounced." My gaze pierced right through Savannah and landed coldly on Julian. "You brought her here?" Savannah couldn't have found my address on her own. Julian stood beside her, deliberately avoiding my eyes. "Chloe, Savannah isn't the kind of person you think she is." "Since there's a misunderstanding, you two should just talk it out..." I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "I spent two weeks pulling all-nighters for our latest marketing campaign, and she intentionally deleted my name from the pitch deck. You call that a misunderstanding?" I was the lead on that project, and Savannah was only supposed to assist me. After all my hard work, she secretly wiped my version from the shared drive history and submitted the campaign under her own name. I'd confronted her directly, but I couldn't recover the deleted file history in time to prove it to management. The drama had caused a massive stir in the office. "Chloe, you shouldn't bully me just because I'm the new intern." "That campaign was clearly my..." Savannah's eyes welled with tears, her voice trailing off vulnerably. "Forget it. You're Julian's girlfriend, and I don't want things to be tense between us. I definitely don't want you two fighting because of me." "Let's just say it was my fault. I apologize." Heartache flashed across Julian's face. "Savannah, I know what kind of person you are. Right is right." He turned to me, his tone hardening. "You shouldn't have to compromise yourself just for my sake." Then he looked straight at me. "Chloe, just apologize to Savannah, and we can all move past this." The final trace of agonizing heartache vanished from my chest. I felt entirely, completely numb. "Julian, let me make this incredibly clear. We are broken up." "Now, take your little friend and get the he11 out of my apartment." Savannah flinched, tears cascading down her face as she clutched the edge of Julian's jacket, shrinking behind him. Julian's expression turned vicious and mocking. "Chloe, are you seriously trying to threaten me with a breakup? You honestly think I'll just bow down to that?" "You are completely unhinged." He grabbed Savannah's hand and pulled her out the door. The door slammed shut with a deafening thud. I collapsed onto the sofa, completely drained of energy. Right then, my phone rang. It was my mom. "Chloe, are you really moving back home? Did something happen out there?" "No, Mom. I already turned in my resignation. I'm just wrapping up my files over the next two days before heading back." "Did you and Julian have a fight?" "No fight. We broke up." I'd already been thinking about changing companies anyway. And after the nightmare with Savannah, I immediately submitted my two weeks' notice. Our director thought he'd struck gold with Savannah, so he approved my departure without a single complaint. My mom went quiet for a few seconds. "Broken up... well, as long as you've thought it through." "It's good that you're coming back. Your dad and I won't have to constantly worry about you getting mistreated out there." My throat tightened, and my eyes stung. "Mom, don't worry about me." "I've already been looking at job openings, and there are plenty of great marketing agencies back home..." "I'm not worried about the job, sweetie. Just don't push yourself too hard." A lump formed in my throat, leaving me completely speechless. I'd hoped to spend my last two days in the city in peace. But Savannah had no intention of letting me go quietly. Just as the workday ended, the company Slack workspace absolutely exploded. Savannah had dropped a video into the main public channel. The person in the video was Julian. His face was dead serious, completely devoid of any playfulness. "Regarding the recent campaign pitch, I am formally apologizing to Savannah Cross on behalf of my girlfriend, Chloe Vance."

I asked to stay over 4 times in 4 years. He said no every time. "We're not married yet. I want to respect your space." Then I saw the photo. My intern—the one who stole my work—posted a picture of her feet in my slippers. Standing in his living room. He gave her the spare key. Made her instant ramen—the same late-night snack he always made for me. Drank wine with her—and he never drinks. When I confronted him, he called me petty. "She's just a tenant," he said. "Show some empathy." Two days later, he posted a video in our company Slack. Apologizing for me. Telling everyone I bullied her. Destroying my reputation—for her. I called him. He didn't answer. She did. "Julian's asleep," she purred. "He's been with me all night." Four years I gave him. Four years of waiting, of respecting his boundaries. And he threw me away the second someone new smiled at him. I packed one bag, deleted every photo, and blocked his number. A man not worth waiting for—good riddance. I complained when Julian Brooks rejected my request to stay over—for the fourth time. "Julian, you're so rigid." My apartment's AC had died in the middle of a hun//dred-degree heatwave. Yet he insisted on being old-fashioned about it. Throughout our four years together, no matter how late it got, he always insisted on driving me home. Julian sighed and tried to soothe me. "Be sweet, Chloe. We aren't married yet, and I want us to respect each other's space. I don't want anyone at the office gossiping about us living together." My heart warmed at his words, so I fell right back into our usual routine, venting to him about the recent drama at my office just like I always did. But he kept checking his watch, clearly distracted, and urged me to head back. Fortunately, the HVAC technician found a sudden opening and rushed over to my place. While waiting for him to finish the repairs, I happened to scroll through my Instagram feed and saw a post from our company's new marketing intern, Savannah Cross. [My landlord suddenly canceled my lease, but thank god someone stepped up to help. Otherwise, I'd be sleeping on the streets.] I recognized the background of her photo immediately. It was Julian's apartment. I stared at my phone screen, completely frozen. I stood there so long the technician finished fixing the unit and carefully lowered the thermostat. "Too hot for you, kiddo?" He looked at me with a sympathetic sigh. "Tell you what, I'll knock twenty bucks off the bill. Take it from an old man—there's no rough patch in life you can't get through." Only then did I realize tears were streaming down my face. I forced a smile. "Thank you. You're absolutely right." Julian was a rough patch I was finally moving past. ****** Savannah's photo only showed her legs and her luggage. She was wearing my slippers, standing right inside Julian's living room. The moment I stepped out of his apartment, she stepped right in. Before leaving, I had playfully begged Julian to let me stay. He refused without a second thought. "Chloe, you need to go home. I have urgent work to finish in a bit." As it turned out, there was no urgent work. The only urgency was Savannah. She was the new intern in my department, and we hadn't been getting along. I mentioned this to Julian before. But he never seemed to care, let alone listen. I had no idea Julian even knew Savannah. He'd never mentioned her. Yet it was glaringly obvious that she was spending the night at his place. Another red notification popped up on my screen as Savannah updated her feed again. [Meeting a soft-hearted god at my absolute worst. Blessed.] This time, Julian was in the photo. He was looking down at her with a helpless, fond smile. Two bowls of instant ramen with Spam sat on the table. On weekends, when Julian and I curled up together, that was the exact late-night snack he always made for me. Now, he was making it for Savannah. Savannah's comment sat right beneath the post, smug and flaunting. [Rent is two hun//dred, utilities are free, and no deposit. Best landlord ever.] Landlord. He had let Savannah move in. A sharp, suffocating pain flared in my chest, stealing my breath. To make his commute easier, Julian had rented a two-bedroom apartment near the office. It was a great place—twenty-five hun//dred a month. It used to be a shared rental, but his old roommate had moved out, and they hadn't found a suitable replacement. Worried the rent would be too much, I suggested moving in to split the cost. He flatly refused. "Chloe, I won't take your note, and I don't think it's right to move in together before marriage." It wasn't right for me, but it was perfectly fine for Savannah. I remembered those boundaries so clearly. The first time I asked to stay over was during our honeymoon phase, and Julian strictly turned me down. The second time, I came down with a sudden high fever. Julian still drove me back to my place, watched me take my medicine, and left the moment I fell asleep. The third time was the worst—someone had left a strange mark on my apartment door. I was losing my mind with fear, but Julian still wouldn't let me stay at his place. Instead, he booked me a hotel room. He spent the next day contacting landlords, agents, and movers, ensuring I relocated to a new apartment within twenty-four hours. Four years, and I couldn't get into Julian's place. Savannah managed it without lifting a finger. I had to admit his "traditional" boundaries were reserved exclusively for me. My phone buzzed with a text from Julian. [Goodnight.] No explanation. No mention of her. [By the way, I found a new roommate. She's moving in tomorrow under an emergency circumstance.] [Chloe, make sure to let me know in advance before you come over from now on.] Staring at the text, I wanted to laugh. But my tears hit the screen first. I wiped my eyes and didn't reply. Savannah posted a third update. One photo showed her clinking wine glasses with Julian, and the other was a selfie where their cheeks were practically pressed together. [Celebrating the new place. Here's to the future, Mr. Brooks.] Late at night. An unmarried man and woman. Living together. Julian never touched a drop of alcohol. Yet he was drinking with her tonight. In an instant, all the determination holding my heart together vanished. It was all so pathetic. I didn't text Julian for the next two days. He didn't seem to notice. It wasn't until later that week, when a sudden torrential downpour hit right at the end of the workday, that our paths crossed. I was waiting for an Uber under the office awning. Savannah was standing right next to me. She was holding her phone, whining cutely to whoever was on the other end. "Can you pull up a little closer? Hurry, the wind is freezing..." A car pulled up right in front of us. Entirely too familiar. Sure enough, the window rolled down to reveal Julian in the driver's seat. He hadn't sent a single text to check on me during this storm, yet he'd rushed over to pick up Savannah. Julian froze when he caught sight of me. "Chloe, you..." Savannah closed her umbrella, opened the door, and hopped straight into the passenger seat. "Julian, you actually know Chloe?" She looked out at me from the dry comfort of the car, her smile radiating sweetness. "Chloe, why don't you get in? Let Julian give you a ride. It's impossible to get an Uber in this weather." My own boyfriend was offering me a ride, and only because she'd graciously granted him permission. Julian remained silent, merely looking at me. I shook my head expressionlessly. "No need." My ride was already confirmed and only three minutes away. No reason to get in that car just to make myself sick. Savannah nodded and rolled up the window. The car lingered for a few seconds before driving off into the rain. When I finally got home and stepped out of the shower, I found Julian waiting in my living room. He still had the code to my smart lock. "Chloe, are you throwing a tantrum?" "When you refused to get in the car, I thought you were just busy, but the more I thought about it, the more off it felt." Julian reached out to grab my hand, but I stepped aside, dodging him. "Is this about me picking up Savannah today?" "Or because I didn't let you stay over the other night and didn't drive you home?" He let out a helpless chuckle. "Don't be so petty. Savannah's an old classmate. I only picked her up because I was passing by—and it's hard to say no when she asks." "Not letting you stay over was for your own good. I promise I'll drive you home next time..." "Julian, let's break up." Julian stiffened, his face instantly darkening. "Chloe, over something this minor?" "Yes." My eyes were entirely dead. "I can't stay at your place, but Savannah can. Don't you find that hilarious?" He'd never intended to tell me about her because he knew exactly how I'd react. "You... let me explain." Julian's eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting me to already know. "Savannah moved to the city all by herself from a small town, and I'm the only person she knows here." "It's tough for a young girl, and her landlord suddenly kicked her out. If I hadn't stepped in, she'd be on the streets." "Chloe, you're a woman too—show some empathy." Seeing my silence, he let out a heavy sigh. "It's just an emergency temporary stay. Besides, there's nothing going on between us, so we don't need to overcomplicate things." "She's different from you. She's just a tenant." "Just a tenant?" I laughed. "Julian, I told you before that Savannah is the new intern in my department." "During her first week, she spent every single lunch break on the phone in the breakroom. When people teased her about it, she claimed it wasn't a boyfriend, just an old classmate." "That old classmate was you, wasn't it?" Julian's eyes flickered with guilt for a fraction of a second, but he didn't deny it. I used to love sharing things with him, flooding his phone with texts whenever I had a free moment. But his replies were always agonizingly slow, if they came at all. We'd fought about it a few times. Back then, Julian would just look exhausted and say, "Chloe, we're adults. Work is busy, and I need to rest during lunch. Can you stop making things difficult for me?" But when it came to Savannah, it was never difficult. "For the past two days, Savannah started bringing homemade lunches to work. You made those for her too, didn't you?" "And you're still trying to tell me she's just a tenant?" Those lunchboxes were a matching couple's set I'd bought, left behind at Julian's apartment. Now, Savannah was using them. Julian knitted his brows, completely unable to comprehend my anger. "Chloe, aren't you reading way too much into this?" "Don't be prejudiced against Savannah. She told me there was just a misunderstanding between you two at work..." He didn't listen to a single word I said, but he took everything Savannah said as gospel. I had nothing left to say. The silence in the room grew suffocating until the doorbell suddenly rang. Julian turned to open it. A second later, Savannah poked her head in, smiling warmly at me. "Hi, Chloe. Sorry to drop by unannounced." My gaze pierced right through Savannah and landed coldly on Julian. "You brought her here?" Savannah couldn't have found my address on her own. Julian stood beside her, deliberately avoiding my eyes. "Chloe, Savannah isn't the kind of person you think she is." "Since there's a misunderstanding, you two should just talk it out..." I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "I spent two weeks pulling all-nighters for our latest marketing campaign, and she intentionally deleted my name from the pitch deck. You call that a misunderstanding?" I was the lead on that project, and Savannah was only supposed to assist me. After all my hard work, she secretly wiped my version from the shared drive history and submitted the campaign under her own name. I'd confronted her directly, but I couldn't recover the deleted file history in time to prove it to management. The drama had caused a massive stir in the office. "Chloe, you shouldn't bully me just because I'm the new intern." "That campaign was clearly my..." Savannah's eyes welled with tears, her voice trailing off vulnerably. "Forget it. You're Julian's girlfriend, and I don't want things to be tense between us. I definitely don't want you two fighting because of me." "Let's just say it was my fault. I apologize." Heartache flashed across Julian's face. "Savannah, I know what kind of person you are. Right is right." He turned to me, his tone hardening. "You shouldn't have to compromise yourself just for my sake." Then he looked straight at me. "Chloe, just apologize to Savannah, and we can all move past this." The final trace of agonizing heartache vanished from my chest. I felt entirely, completely numb. "Julian, let me make this incredibly clear. We are broken up." "Now, take your little friend and get the he11 out of my apartment." Savannah flinched, tears cascading down her face as she clutched the edge of Julian's jacket, shrinking behind him. Julian's expression turned vicious and mocking. "Chloe, are you seriously trying to threaten me with a breakup? You honestly think I'll just bow down to that?" "You are completely unhinged." He grabbed Savannah's hand and pulled her out the door. The door slammed shut with a deafening thud. I collapsed onto the sofa, completely drained of energy. Right then, my phone rang. It was my mom. "Chloe, are you really moving back home? Did something happen out there?" "No, Mom. I already turned in my resignation. I'm just wrapping up my files over the next two days before heading back." "Did you and Julian have a fight?" "No fight. We broke up." I'd already been thinking about changing companies anyway. And after the nightmare with Savannah, I immediately submitted my two weeks' notice. Our director thought he'd struck gold with Savannah, so he approved my departure without a single complaint. My mom went quiet for a few seconds. "Broken up... well, as long as you've thought it through." "It's good that you're coming back. Your dad and I won't have to constantly worry about you getting mistreated out there." My throat tightened, and my eyes stung. "Mom, don't worry about me." "I've already been looking at job openings, and there are plenty of great marketing agencies back home..." "I'm not worried about the job, sweetie. Just don't push yourself too hard." A lump formed in my throat, leaving me completely speechless. I'd hoped to spend my last two days in the city in peace. But Savannah had no intention of letting me go quietly. Just as the workday ended, the company Slack workspace absolutely exploded. Savannah had dropped a video into the main public channel. The person in the video was Julian. His face was dead serious, completely devoid of any playfulness. "Regarding the recent campaign pitch, I am formally apologizing to Savannah Cross on behalf of my girlfriend, Chloe Vance."

He ripped my only family photo apart—right in front of my face. I watched the pieces float down like snow. "That's all I had left." He didn't flinch. "Good," he said. "I hate you, Silas." He yanked my hair. "Funny. I hate you too." Then he leaned in close to my right ear. "But I'm still in love with you." He didn't know my left ear was already dead. I didn't hear a thing. They made me drink. Bottle after bottle. I puked b10od. He watched. "Stop faking," he said. Then the truth came out. "She's been in a juveni1e correct!0nal school for three years," Celia smiled. The video showed my sister ju.mping. Off a ro0ftop. Br.u!ses covering her tiny b0dy. "She said she didn't want to be your weakness anymore." I grabbed a rock. I swung. But his arms caught me. "Still haven't learned?" he snarled. He threw me to a blind begg@r. "Stay here. Never come back." I crawled to the pavement. V0mited b10od into the gutter. And smiled. Because I'm dying anyway. St@ge IV. Six months left. Let him think he won. Let him believe he broke me. But here's what he'll never know— My sister didn't jump alone. And I have proof. That video Celia showed me? It's already saved. To twenty different emails. Set to send. The moment my he@rt st0ps. Margaret Voss, the matriarch of the prestigious Voss family, had been in a vegetative state for ten years after being pushed down the stairs by an unidentified attacker. Now, she'd woken at last. Every prominent figure within Havenbrook Elite Circle flocked to the private medical wing of Havenbrook Premier Private Medical Center to pay their respects. They lined up to heap praise on Silas Voss, gushing over his unwavering devotion to his mother, and the ten years of relentless punishment he'd inflicted on the girl responsible for her fall. No one cared that the perpetrator had once been Silas's high school sweetheart. He'd shown zero mercy from day one. But once the crowd fell silent, Margaret stared blankly at all of them. "What culprit?" she murmured. "No one pushed me. I slipped and fell all on my own." A sharp clatter cv#t through the room. Silas's fruit knife slipped from his grasp and clattered against the marble tile. He stared at his mother, stunned rigid. "What did you just say, M0m?" The woman who'd left his mother bedridden wasn't Elowen? Panic crashed over Silas in a brutal, suffocating wave. He'd spent every single year of her coma hunting Elowen down, torturing her without pause. And now he was being told she'd never done a single thing wrong? "Where's Elowen?" Margaret asked, voice sharp with urgency. "I disapproved of you dating her back then, she came from a single-parent household, after all. I never imagined she'd dive straight into the lake to save my life when I fell in. Are you two still together? Married? Do you have kids yet?" Three simple questions hit Silas like three heavy sledgehammers to the ch3#&st. His throat bv/rned dry, and he couldn't force a single word out. Because three years prior, he'd forced Elowen to move in and live with a blind beggar out in Westside Slum Flats. *** Three years earlier. The Siren Lounge. Elowen scrubbed a grimy toilet, her oversized staff uniform swallowing her thin frame whole. When she finished, she sank to the cold tile floor, exhausted, and pulled a crumpled vintage Polaroid portrait from her pocket. The photo held Dr. Elias Hale, herself, and Lila, her little sister. "Elowen, one of the private booths has a mess of vomit. Go clean it up at once." Elowen tucked the Polaroid away carefully and stood fast. She'd been released on full parole three months prior. Her first plan had been to head straight to the State Youth Foster Facility to collect Lila. Staff there required proof of steady employment before releasing minors to former felons, though. Jobs were nearly impossible for her to land. She only held a high school diploma, paired with a felony record. Even diners refused to hire her as a line server. The Siren Lounge asked no questions about past mistakes, so she'd taken the janitor position without hesitation. A dozen young socialites laughed and shouted inside the private booth, playing cards and singing along to loud music. None spared the janitor a glance. Elowen dropped to her knees and mopped up the thick puddle of regurgitation. A male voice sneered out of nowhere. "Well look who it is—Havenbrook Private Preparatory's valedictorian, our campus sweetheart. Remember how she'd wipe any pen someone borrowed off her desk with rubbing alc0#&h0l? Now she's on her knees mopping up other people's puke without a word of complaint." Elowen recognized him instantly. Jasper Cole had once begged her to date him. When she'd turned him down, he'd smiled and claimed they could still be friends. After the incident with Margaret, he'd become her cruelest tormentor of all. The mess reeked, and Elowen quickened her scrubbing without a sound. Jasper kicked her hard square into the puddle of slop from behind. "Are you deaf when people talk to you?" "Ah!" Elowen bit back screams of pain and disgust, a bitter taste flooding her mouth. Deaf, wasn't she? Silas had locked her away on false charges, and within her first month in prison, a "workplace accident" orchestrated by his men had blown out her left eardrum entirely. Jasper raised his fist to strike again, but another old classmate pulled him back. "Quit wasting your energy on tr4#&sh like her." "Elowen used to be untouchable. Her mother passed young, but Dr. Hale was the most renowned cardiac surgeon in the whole city. She was gorgeous, top of every class, and Silas's whole world." "Now look at her—she takes every beating and insult without fighting back." He spat straight onto the top of Elowen's head. Once upon a time, she would've fought back without hesitation. Three years of relentless bullying at prep school, three more years of torment after graduation, and three full years locked behind bars had crushed every ounce of her pride to dust. If she'd had no one left to live for, she would've died fighting long ago. But she had Lila. Every time she dared stand up for herself, Silas sent word that Lila would pay the price instead. "Serves her right!" another voice shouted. "Silas nearly died rushing into the School Athletic Storage Wing fire to save her. He barely escaped with his life, and ran straight back in the second he heard she was still trapped inside. He's left a massive, raised scar across his entire back, and lost half his voice for six months after the sm0#&k3 inhalation." "And how did she repay him? Held a grudge over Mrs. Voss disapproving their relationship, and shoved her down the stairs while Silas recovered from surgery!" The group seethed with righteous anger as they recounted the story. Hv#&nd=r3ds of harsh stares bore into Elowen, dragging her back to the nightmare of her senior year. Everyone had pointed their fingers and screamed that she'd hurt Margaret Voss. Silas had believed every word, and hated her with every fiber of his being. With one single command, he'd destroyed Dr. Hale's reputation overnight, branding him a violent criminal until he took his own life behind prison walls. He'd turned Havenbrook Private Preparatory into a living h3#&11 for her, orchestrating daily beatings and harassment. She'd fought back at first, even tried to transfer schools to escape. Every time she resisted, news arrived from the prison that her father had been assaulted. The day she'd attempted to switch campuses, word came that he was dead. Silas had shown up to Elias's funeral with a single white larkspur bouquet, bowing respectfully to the casket. His polite gesture clashed violently with his ice-cold tone. "Behave yourself inside the cage I've built for you, and Lila stays safe. Do you want to watch her end up in a casket too?" She'd aced the SAT, scoring in the nation's top fifty students. Silas had erased every Ivy League Acceptance Letter sent to her address, blocking all avenues to higher education. He'd banned her from every respectable career path, forcing her to wander the streets busking, scavenging tr4#&sh, begging for spare change. He'd stripped every chance of a dignified life away from her, turning her into a pariah everyone spat on. One small, fabricated charge later, and she'd spent three years locked up. Elowen finished cleaning the booth as fast as she could, rushing to flee the room. She rounded the corner straight into another woman's body. "I'm so sorry," Elowen babbled, bowing low. "Get off me!" the woman shrieked. "You've ruined my Vianne Designer Handbag! Get away from me, you filthy thing!" Elowen's b1#00&d ran cold. She knew this woman—Celia Mercer, Silas's college girlfriend. Elowen had waited tables at their university café once, and watched Silas kiss Celia over and over, soft and tender. He'd truly loved Celia. So much so that when Elowen accidentally scuffed one of her leather heels, Silas had thrown her in prison just to cheer Celia up. "I'll leave right now," Elowen whispered. If Celia was here, Silas couldn't be far behind. She couldn't let him spot her. She hunched low, trying to slip past Celia unnoticed. A voice that sent ice crawling down her spine stopped her dead. "Elowen." A cold, mocking laugh followed the single name. "Long time no see." The man's voice sounded like a snarl rising straight out of h3#&11, leaving Elowen trembling from head to toe. She turned to run. A warm, firm hand clamped tight around her neck before she could take a single step. "Can't hear me, huh? Deaf now?" His breath fanned over her skin, suffocating her like a demon clinging close. Elowen's h34rt split open. The prison accident that blew out her left ear hadn't been random at all—Silas had arranged it himself. He felt her body shaking against his grip, and his tone turned sickly sweet, layered with malice. "Why are you trembling? We're former prep school peers. Can't even greet me? This job's mine to offer, after all. Aren't you going to thank me?" Elowen's lips parted, overwhelmed by crushing despair. She'd busted her back to earn early parole, found a quiet, obscure lounge to work at, convinced she could live hidden from his gaze forever. She'd walked out of prison straight into his trap. She lifted her head, eyes wide with terror. Three years had carved away all boyish softness from Silas, leaving him sharp, aristocratic, towering over her. She stared at the boy she'd once loved more than anything. "I served three years in prison, Silas. Let me go." "I've lost my father, gone to jail, lost hearing in one ear. Whatever d3#&bt you think I owe you is paid ten times over." Silas ignored every word she spoke, looping an arm around Celia's waist. He stared down at Elowen, every line of his face twisted with cruelty. "I went out of my way to get you steady work, and this is how you repay me? How about a transfer to the cabaret stage instead of janitorial duty? Sounds far more fitting." Elowen's mouth opened and closed, unable to find a single word to reply. "Not interested?" No. Never. Elowen spun on her heel. "I quit. I'm leaving right now." Two large security guards blocked the exit the second she reached the doorway. Her mind reeled at all the new horrors Silas would dream up if she stayed. Then Silas spoke, sharp and unconcerned. "Let her walk." Elowen's relief crashed over her. Before she crossed the threshold, his low murmur drifted to her ears. "Don't come crawling back when you regret this." She stepped outside without hesitation. If it meant escaping him, she'd find another job no matter how hard it got. But even without Silas meddling behind the scenes, employment proved impossible to track down. She picked up odd jobs for two weeks straight, lowering her standards more each day, until she landed work at the Downtown Salvage Yard hauling scrap metal. The foreman was gruff and unpolished. "These metal scraps get sold for cash. Don't crack or damage a single piece, or you pay full restitution. Wages get weighed out and paid cash daily once your shift's done." The metal chunks were heavy, and Elowen's frame slight. She hauled back and forth nonstop, careful with every load. The pile she'd carried sat perfectly intact on the transport truck when her shift ended. She called the foreman over to weigh her haul, only to find every piece shattered across the asphalt. "You broke the whole load, you convict!" he roared, kicking her hard to the ground. "I never should've hired a felon like you." "Pay me back every cent this wreck's worth!" Elowen froze, numb with shock. The scrap had been whole minutes prior—she had no idea how it'd broken so suddenly. A tall, broad silhouette stepped between them before she could beg for mercy. Silas tossed a thick stack of hv#&nd=r3d-d0%11#ar bills at the foreman's feet. "Ten grand. Disappear." The foreman grabbed the cash instantly and hurried off, grinning from ear to ear. Elowen collapsed on the pavement, staring blankly up at Silas, drowning in hopelessness. "You did this." He still wouldn't leave her alone. Silas knelt beside her, a cruel, lazy smile tugging his lips. I'm not wasting my time sabotaging scrap metal foremen. That man wrecked the load himself to scam you out of m0&n3#y." Silly Elowen. That nickname pulled her back to their teenage years. He'd tap the tip of her nose, grinning. "Silly, stop staring at the guys on the basketball court. I'll get jealous as your boyfriend." She'd giggled back then, bright and carefree. "You're the silly one. Beat my SAT score first if you wanna talk." After Margaret's fall, when the other students locked her in a bathroom to beat her, he'd purred the same nickname with poison in his voice. "Silly, enjoying the h3#&11 I built just for you? The law can't touch you, so I will." Elowen's mind snapped back to the salvage yard. "Look around you. No one else will give you a single d0%11#ar to feed yourself besides me." His tone dripped with condescension, contrasting sharply with Elowen's broken despair. "Head back to The Siren Lounge. If scrubbing toilets's all you're good for, that's what you'll do. Don't try running again—you know exactly what I'm capable of." Silas turned and walked away without another glance. Elowen watched his broad retreating back, and a bitter laugh bubbled up from her ch3#&st. She laughed until her face crumpled, and a mouthful of dark b1#00&d welled up at her lips. Tears mixed with the crimson liquid streaming down her chin. She tilted her head back, hollow laughter echoing out. You're so powerful, Silas. How can you not see I'm already dying? Elowen was dying. Doctors had diagnosed Stage IV Gastric Carcinoma while she was still locked in prison. She had less than six months left to live. She'd chased steady employment solely to earn proof for the foster facility—not to build a new life for herself, just to see Lila one last time. She planned to save every penny she could leave behind for Lila before her time ran out. Elowen returned to The Siren Lounge without argument, accepting every filthiest, most exhausting chore the manager assigned her. She never complained, never fought for better hours. st4#&bbing abdominal pain flared constantly, and she popped over-the-counter generic pain capsules to numb the agony when it grew unbearable. She bowed her head and took every harsh word tossed her way without pushing back. Even the manager began to pity her. When she begged once more for official employment paperwork, he shook his head sadly. "I can't stamp that for you without the owner's approval, Elowen. It's out of my hands." Elowen nodded silently and wandered toward the stairwell for a moment of peace. She pushed open the emergency exit door, and froze on the spot. Silas stood half-undressed, holding Celia tight in his arms. Celia curled against his ch3#&st like a tiny, fragile bird. Silas's hands glided gently across her skin, every touch soft and tender. "Darling, I need the new limited-edition Vianne handbag. It's only available overseas, and you have to drop a m!11&#ion-d0%11#ar purchase minimum to reserve one." "It'll be delivered to your penthouse tomorrow morning." Celia shivered against him, voice breathy. "What if someone walks in and sees us?" Silas's cold gaze locked straight onto Elowen hiding on the stairs. "If anyone dares peek, I'll dig their eyes out for you." The glare sent a sharp jolt of terror through Elowen. She spun to run. "Stop." Her feet froze mid-step. Her h34rt hammered against her ribs, dreading whatever new t0#&rtur3 Silas would dream up next. "Grab two boxes of protection supplies and bring them to the private booth upstairs." Elowen's shoulders sagged in quiet relief. Only a trivial errand, for now. She dropped the supplies off and fled the room as fast as she could. It wasn't long before the manager tracked her down again. "Head up to The Siren's VIP booth and scrub it spotless." Elowen set down the half-eaten sourdough roll she'd been eating and hurried upstairs. The booth was wrecked, covered in lingerie and adult toys, stained with proof of their night together. Elowen's cheeks bv/rned hot. Back when she'd dated Silas, the furthest they'd gone was soft, chaste kissing. The mess around her filled her with shame and sorrow alike. She knelt to start cleaning, carefully gathering Celia's expensive jewelry set to set it aside safely. Silas's voice cv#t through the quiet without warning. "Do you regret it?" Elowen yelped, nearly slipping on the w3t floor. He caught her by the waist before she crashed down. She pulled away instantly, brushing messy hair out of her face in a panic. "Regret what?" "All of this could've been yours, if you hadn't ruined everything." Silas's Adam's apple bobbed thickly. "If you hadn't hurt my mother, we'd have a toddler running around our estate by now." Silas's father had approved their romance once, but Margaret had never approved of Elowen's background. Everyone had sworn Elowen sought revenge for Margaret's disapproval, attacking her while still too young to face full criminal charges. "You destroyed me. Destroyed the life we were supposed to share." Elowen stayed silent, kneeling to keep wiping the floor. Silas lit a c!#g4&r3=tte, watching her cough violently at the thick sm0#&k3 without a flicker of sympathy. "You don't have to suffer like this. All you need's that employment paper you crave so badly—beg me for it, and I'll hand it over." The sm0#&k3 worsened her stomach cramps, dragging painful memories crashing back. She'd begged him once before. After they'd locked her father away on fabricated charges, she'd knelt on the Voss Manor front steps for three full days and nights. She'd confessed to crimes she never committed, banging her forehead raw against the stone pavement, lowering herself to complete humiliation. It had earned her zero mercy from Silas. Her father, the surgeon who'd saved hv#&nd=r3ds of lives, had died disgraced behind prison bars regardless. Silas finally stubbed the c!#g4&r3=tte out when he noticed how violently she trembled in agony. He'd assumed she'd never stoop to begging, and only meant to taunt her with the offer. As he turned to leave, Elowen's thin hand wrapped tight around the hem of his slacks. He glanced down in shock. She'd dropped to her knees at his feet, every line of her frame screaming submission. "Mr. Voss, I'm begging you. Let me see Lila just once." Her stomach screamed in unrelenting agony. She didn't have much time left. She couldn't hold on any longer.

He ripped my only family photo apart—right in front of my face. I watched the pieces float down like snow. "That's all I had left." He didn't flinch. "Good," he said. "I hate you, Silas." He yanked my hair. "Funny. I hate you too." Then he leaned in close to my right ear. "But I'm still in love with you." He didn't know my left ear was already dead. I didn't hear a thing. They made me drink. Bottle after bottle. I puked b10od. He watched. "Stop faking," he said. Then the truth came out. "She's been in a juveni1e correct!0nal school for three years," Celia smiled. The video showed my sister ju.mping. Off a ro0ftop. Br.u!ses covering her tiny b0dy. "She said she didn't want to be your weakness anymore." I grabbed a rock. I swung. But his arms caught me. "Still haven't learned?" he snarled. He threw me to a blind begg@r. "Stay here. Never come back." I crawled to the pavement. V0mited b10od into the gutter. And smiled. Because I'm dying anyway. St@ge IV. Six months left. Let him think he won. Let him believe he broke me. But here's what he'll never know— My sister didn't jump alone. And I have proof. That video Celia showed me? It's already saved. To twenty different emails. Set to send. The moment my he@rt st0ps. Margaret Voss, the matriarch of the prestigious Voss family, had been in a vegetative state for ten years after being pushed down the stairs by an unidentified attacker. Now, she'd woken at last. Every prominent figure within Havenbrook Elite Circle flocked to the private medical wing of Havenbrook Premier Private Medical Center to pay their respects. They lined up to heap praise on Silas Voss, gushing over his unwavering devotion to his mother, and the ten years of relentless punishment he'd inflicted on the girl responsible for her fall. No one cared that the perpetrator had once been Silas's high school sweetheart. He'd shown zero mercy from day one. But once the crowd fell silent, Margaret stared blankly at all of them. "What culprit?" she murmured. "No one pushed me. I slipped and fell all on my own." A sharp clatter cv#t through the room. Silas's fruit knife slipped from his grasp and clattered against the marble tile. He stared at his mother, stunned rigid. "What did you just say, M0m?" The woman who'd left his mother bedridden wasn't Elowen? Panic crashed over Silas in a brutal, suffocating wave. He'd spent every single year of her coma hunting Elowen down, torturing her without pause. And now he was being told she'd never done a single thing wrong? "Where's Elowen?" Margaret asked, voice sharp with urgency. "I disapproved of you dating her back then, she came from a single-parent household, after all. I never imagined she'd dive straight into the lake to save my life when I fell in. Are you two still together? Married? Do you have kids yet?" Three simple questions hit Silas like three heavy sledgehammers to the ch3#&st. His throat bv/rned dry, and he couldn't force a single word out. Because three years prior, he'd forced Elowen to move in and live with a blind beggar out in Westside Slum Flats. *** Three years earlier. The Siren Lounge. Elowen scrubbed a grimy toilet, her oversized staff uniform swallowing her thin frame whole. When she finished, she sank to the cold tile floor, exhausted, and pulled a crumpled vintage Polaroid portrait from her pocket. The photo held Dr. Elias Hale, herself, and Lila, her little sister. "Elowen, one of the private booths has a mess of vomit. Go clean it up at once." Elowen tucked the Polaroid away carefully and stood fast. She'd been released on full parole three months prior. Her first plan had been to head straight to the State Youth Foster Facility to collect Lila. Staff there required proof of steady employment before releasing minors to former felons, though. Jobs were nearly impossible for her to land. She only held a high school diploma, paired with a felony record. Even diners refused to hire her as a line server. The Siren Lounge asked no questions about past mistakes, so she'd taken the janitor position without hesitation. A dozen young socialites laughed and shouted inside the private booth, playing cards and singing along to loud music. None spared the janitor a glance. Elowen dropped to her knees and mopped up the thick puddle of regurgitation. A male voice sneered out of nowhere. "Well look who it is—Havenbrook Private Preparatory's valedictorian, our campus sweetheart. Remember how she'd wipe any pen someone borrowed off her desk with rubbing alc0#&h0l? Now she's on her knees mopping up other people's puke without a word of complaint." Elowen recognized him instantly. Jasper Cole had once begged her to date him. When she'd turned him down, he'd smiled and claimed they could still be friends. After the incident with Margaret, he'd become her cruelest tormentor of all. The mess reeked, and Elowen quickened her scrubbing without a sound. Jasper kicked her hard square into the puddle of slop from behind. "Are you deaf when people talk to you?" "Ah!" Elowen bit back screams of pain and disgust, a bitter taste flooding her mouth. Deaf, wasn't she? Silas had locked her away on false charges, and within her first month in prison, a "workplace accident" orchestrated by his men had blown out her left eardrum entirely. Jasper raised his fist to strike again, but another old classmate pulled him back. "Quit wasting your energy on tr4#&sh like her." "Elowen used to be untouchable. Her mother passed young, but Dr. Hale was the most renowned cardiac surgeon in the whole city. She was gorgeous, top of every class, and Silas's whole world." "Now look at her—she takes every beating and insult without fighting back." He spat straight onto the top of Elowen's head. Once upon a time, she would've fought back without hesitation. Three years of relentless bullying at prep school, three more years of torment after graduation, and three full years locked behind bars had crushed every ounce of her pride to dust. If she'd had no one left to live for, she would've died fighting long ago. But she had Lila. Every time she dared stand up for herself, Silas sent word that Lila would pay the price instead. "Serves her right!" another voice shouted. "Silas nearly died rushing into the School Athletic Storage Wing fire to save her. He barely escaped with his life, and ran straight back in the second he heard she was still trapped inside. He's left a massive, raised scar across his entire back, and lost half his voice for six months after the sm0#&k3 inhalation." "And how did she repay him? Held a grudge over Mrs. Voss disapproving their relationship, and shoved her down the stairs while Silas recovered from surgery!" The group seethed with righteous anger as they recounted the story. Hv#&nd=r3ds of harsh stares bore into Elowen, dragging her back to the nightmare of her senior year. Everyone had pointed their fingers and screamed that she'd hurt Margaret Voss. Silas had believed every word, and hated her with every fiber of his being. With one single command, he'd destroyed Dr. Hale's reputation overnight, branding him a violent criminal until he took his own life behind prison walls. He'd turned Havenbrook Private Preparatory into a living h3#&11 for her, orchestrating daily beatings and harassment. She'd fought back at first, even tried to transfer schools to escape. Every time she resisted, news arrived from the prison that her father had been assaulted. The day she'd attempted to switch campuses, word came that he was dead. Silas had shown up to Elias's funeral with a single white larkspur bouquet, bowing respectfully to the casket. His polite gesture clashed violently with his ice-cold tone. "Behave yourself inside the cage I've built for you, and Lila stays safe. Do you want to watch her end up in a casket too?" She'd aced the SAT, scoring in the nation's top fifty students. Silas had erased every Ivy League Acceptance Letter sent to her address, blocking all avenues to higher education. He'd banned her from every respectable career path, forcing her to wander the streets busking, scavenging tr4#&sh, begging for spare change. He'd stripped every chance of a dignified life away from her, turning her into a pariah everyone spat on. One small, fabricated charge later, and she'd spent three years locked up. Elowen finished cleaning the booth as fast as she could, rushing to flee the room. She rounded the corner straight into another woman's body. "I'm so sorry," Elowen babbled, bowing low. "Get off me!" the woman shrieked. "You've ruined my Vianne Designer Handbag! Get away from me, you filthy thing!" Elowen's b1#00&d ran cold. She knew this woman—Celia Mercer, Silas's college girlfriend. Elowen had waited tables at their university café once, and watched Silas kiss Celia over and over, soft and tender. He'd truly loved Celia. So much so that when Elowen accidentally scuffed one of her leather heels, Silas had thrown her in prison just to cheer Celia up. "I'll leave right now," Elowen whispered. If Celia was here, Silas couldn't be far behind. She couldn't let him spot her. She hunched low, trying to slip past Celia unnoticed. A voice that sent ice crawling down her spine stopped her dead. "Elowen." A cold, mocking laugh followed the single name. "Long time no see." The man's voice sounded like a snarl rising straight out of h3#&11, leaving Elowen trembling from head to toe. She turned to run. A warm, firm hand clamped tight around her neck before she could take a single step. "Can't hear me, huh? Deaf now?" His breath fanned over her skin, suffocating her like a demon clinging close. Elowen's h34rt split open. The prison accident that blew out her left ear hadn't been random at all—Silas had arranged it himself. He felt her body shaking against his grip, and his tone turned sickly sweet, layered with malice. "Why are you trembling? We're former prep school peers. Can't even greet me? This job's mine to offer, after all. Aren't you going to thank me?" Elowen's lips parted, overwhelmed by crushing despair. She'd busted her back to earn early parole, found a quiet, obscure lounge to work at, convinced she could live hidden from his gaze forever. She'd walked out of prison straight into his trap. She lifted her head, eyes wide with terror. Three years had carved away all boyish softness from Silas, leaving him sharp, aristocratic, towering over her. She stared at the boy she'd once loved more than anything. "I served three years in prison, Silas. Let me go." "I've lost my father, gone to jail, lost hearing in one ear. Whatever d3#&bt you think I owe you is paid ten times over." Silas ignored every word she spoke, looping an arm around Celia's waist. He stared down at Elowen, every line of his face twisted with cruelty. "I went out of my way to get you steady work, and this is how you repay me? How about a transfer to the cabaret stage instead of janitorial duty? Sounds far more fitting." Elowen's mouth opened and closed, unable to find a single word to reply. "Not interested?" No. Never. Elowen spun on her heel. "I quit. I'm leaving right now." Two large security guards blocked the exit the second she reached the doorway. Her mind reeled at all the new horrors Silas would dream up if she stayed. Then Silas spoke, sharp and unconcerned. "Let her walk." Elowen's relief crashed over her. Before she crossed the threshold, his low murmur drifted to her ears. "Don't come crawling back when you regret this." She stepped outside without hesitation. If it meant escaping him, she'd find another job no matter how hard it got. But even without Silas meddling behind the scenes, employment proved impossible to track down. She picked up odd jobs for two weeks straight, lowering her standards more each day, until she landed work at the Downtown Salvage Yard hauling scrap metal. The foreman was gruff and unpolished. "These metal scraps get sold for cash. Don't crack or damage a single piece, or you pay full restitution. Wages get weighed out and paid cash daily once your shift's done." The metal chunks were heavy, and Elowen's frame slight. She hauled back and forth nonstop, careful with every load. The pile she'd carried sat perfectly intact on the transport truck when her shift ended. She called the foreman over to weigh her haul, only to find every piece shattered across the asphalt. "You broke the whole load, you convict!" he roared, kicking her hard to the ground. "I never should've hired a felon like you." "Pay me back every cent this wreck's worth!" Elowen froze, numb with shock. The scrap had been whole minutes prior—she had no idea how it'd broken so suddenly. A tall, broad silhouette stepped between them before she could beg for mercy. Silas tossed a thick stack of hv#&nd=r3d-d0%11#ar bills at the foreman's feet. "Ten grand. Disappear." The foreman grabbed the cash instantly and hurried off, grinning from ear to ear. Elowen collapsed on the pavement, staring blankly up at Silas, drowning in hopelessness. "You did this." He still wouldn't leave her alone. Silas knelt beside her, a cruel, lazy smile tugging his lips. I'm not wasting my time sabotaging scrap metal foremen. That man wrecked the load himself to scam you out of m0&n3#y." Silly Elowen. That nickname pulled her back to their teenage years. He'd tap the tip of her nose, grinning. "Silly, stop staring at the guys on the basketball court. I'll get jealous as your boyfriend." She'd giggled back then, bright and carefree. "You're the silly one. Beat my SAT score first if you wanna talk." After Margaret's fall, when the other students locked her in a bathroom to beat her, he'd purred the same nickname with poison in his voice. "Silly, enjoying the h3#&11 I built just for you? The law can't touch you, so I will." Elowen's mind snapped back to the salvage yard. "Look around you. No one else will give you a single d0%11#ar to feed yourself besides me." His tone dripped with condescension, contrasting sharply with Elowen's broken despair. "Head back to The Siren Lounge. If scrubbing toilets's all you're good for, that's what you'll do. Don't try running again—you know exactly what I'm capable of." Silas turned and walked away without another glance. Elowen watched his broad retreating back, and a bitter laugh bubbled up from her ch3#&st. She laughed until her face crumpled, and a mouthful of dark b1#00&d welled up at her lips. Tears mixed with the crimson liquid streaming down her chin. She tilted her head back, hollow laughter echoing out. You're so powerful, Silas. How can you not see I'm already dying? Elowen was dying. Doctors had diagnosed Stage IV Gastric Carcinoma while she was still locked in prison. She had less than six months left to live. She'd chased steady employment solely to earn proof for the foster facility—not to build a new life for herself, just to see Lila one last time. She planned to save every penny she could leave behind for Lila before her time ran out. Elowen returned to The Siren Lounge without argument, accepting every filthiest, most exhausting chore the manager assigned her. She never complained, never fought for better hours. st4#&bbing abdominal pain flared constantly, and she popped over-the-counter generic pain capsules to numb the agony when it grew unbearable. She bowed her head and took every harsh word tossed her way without pushing back. Even the manager began to pity her. When she begged once more for official employment paperwork, he shook his head sadly. "I can't stamp that for you without the owner's approval, Elowen. It's out of my hands." Elowen nodded silently and wandered toward the stairwell for a moment of peace. She pushed open the emergency exit door, and froze on the spot. Silas stood half-undressed, holding Celia tight in his arms. Celia curled against his ch3#&st like a tiny, fragile bird. Silas's hands glided gently across her skin, every touch soft and tender. "Darling, I need the new limited-edition Vianne handbag. It's only available overseas, and you have to drop a m!11&#ion-d0%11#ar purchase minimum to reserve one." "It'll be delivered to your penthouse tomorrow morning." Celia shivered against him, voice breathy. "What if someone walks in and sees us?" Silas's cold gaze locked straight onto Elowen hiding on the stairs. "If anyone dares peek, I'll dig their eyes out for you." The glare sent a sharp jolt of terror through Elowen. She spun to run. "Stop." Her feet froze mid-step. Her h34rt hammered against her ribs, dreading whatever new t0#&rtur3 Silas would dream up next. "Grab two boxes of protection supplies and bring them to the private booth upstairs." Elowen's shoulders sagged in quiet relief. Only a trivial errand, for now. She dropped the supplies off and fled the room as fast as she could. It wasn't long before the manager tracked her down again. "Head up to The Siren's VIP booth and scrub it spotless." Elowen set down the half-eaten sourdough roll she'd been eating and hurried upstairs. The booth was wrecked, covered in lingerie and adult toys, stained with proof of their night together. Elowen's cheeks bv/rned hot. Back when she'd dated Silas, the furthest they'd gone was soft, chaste kissing. The mess around her filled her with shame and sorrow alike. She knelt to start cleaning, carefully gathering Celia's expensive jewelry set to set it aside safely. Silas's voice cv#t through the quiet without warning. "Do you regret it?" Elowen yelped, nearly slipping on the w3t floor. He caught her by the waist before she crashed down. She pulled away instantly, brushing messy hair out of her face in a panic. "Regret what?" "All of this could've been yours, if you hadn't ruined everything." Silas's Adam's apple bobbed thickly. "If you hadn't hurt my mother, we'd have a toddler running around our estate by now." Silas's father had approved their romance once, but Margaret had never approved of Elowen's background. Everyone had sworn Elowen sought revenge for Margaret's disapproval, attacking her while still too young to face full criminal charges. "You destroyed me. Destroyed the life we were supposed to share." Elowen stayed silent, kneeling to keep wiping the floor. Silas lit a c!#g4&r3=tte, watching her cough violently at the thick sm0#&k3 without a flicker of sympathy. "You don't have to suffer like this. All you need's that employment paper you crave so badly—beg me for it, and I'll hand it over." The sm0#&k3 worsened her stomach cramps, dragging painful memories crashing back. She'd begged him once before. After they'd locked her father away on fabricated charges, she'd knelt on the Voss Manor front steps for three full days and nights. She'd confessed to crimes she never committed, banging her forehead raw against the stone pavement, lowering herself to complete humiliation. It had earned her zero mercy from Silas. Her father, the surgeon who'd saved hv#&nd=r3ds of lives, had died disgraced behind prison bars regardless. Silas finally stubbed the c!#g4&r3=tte out when he noticed how violently she trembled in agony. He'd assumed she'd never stoop to begging, and only meant to taunt her with the offer. As he turned to leave, Elowen's thin hand wrapped tight around the hem of his slacks. He glanced down in shock. She'd dropped to her knees at his feet, every line of her frame screaming submission. "Mr. Voss, I'm begging you. Let me see Lila just once." Her stomach screamed in unrelenting agony. She didn't have much time left. She couldn't hold on any longer.

My foster sister thought she destroyed my future. 💅 Melanie sobbed behind Brandon, her hand clutching his sleeve. After SHE Changed My College Admission—with My Parents' Approval. "Valerie, I had to do it. If you leave, M0m and D@d won't want me anymore." Brandon stepped forward, jaw tight. "She apologized. Drop the act and get over it." My parents nodded along. "Family comes first," my m0m said. "Community college is fine. You'll be close to home." They moved me into a storage closet that same week. Brandon broke the architecture model he'd given me for my birthday—the one that was supposed to remind me of my dream school. He threw it in the tr@sh. "You're not studying architecture anymore. Why keep this?" Last night, they threw Melanie a graduation dinner. My m0m handed me a faded floral dress from my cousin's hand-me-downs. "Try not to look like a mess," she said. I wore it. I smiled through Brandon's engagement announcement. I watched them toast Melanie's "bright future" like I didn't exist. Then I stood up, pulled the MIT acceptance letter from my pocket, and placed it on the table. "Actually," I said, "I'm leaving for Boston tomorrow. Full ride." The room froze. Brandon's face went pale. My m0m's champagne glass slipped from her fingers. Melanie stopped fake-crying mid-sniff. "That's impossible," Brandon muttered. I shrugged. "You never asked what I was doing in that storage room." They wanted me small so they could feel big. But I was never small. I was just waiting for the right time to leave. And now? I'm gone. 🧳 My foster sister Melanie Garrison had logged into my admissions portal and declined my offer to Oakridge University, leaving me with only my backup—the worst community college in the county. My parents were right outside the door. Every instinct told me to explode. I didn't. I walked over and asked her why. She hid behind my childhood friend Brandon Vance and pressed herself against his back, sobbing like the world was ending. "M0m and D4d only took me in because they felt sorry for me. If you leave for some big-city school, they won't want me anymore." "You're the only reason I don't feel like dead weight in this family. If you go, I'll never be enough." My parents didn't even flinch. They turned to me, not Melanie. "We're family. We don't keep score. A degree is a degree. It doesn't matter where it's from." Brandon stepped in front of her, barely hiding his annoyance. "She doesn't even have parents, Valerie. Going to a different school isn't going to ruin your life. Why are you turning this into such a big deal?" *** The room went silent. The only sound was Melanie, still sniffling, just loud enough for everyone to hear. My silence only made it worse. Brandon's jaw tightened. He stepped closer, looming over me. "Drop the martyr act, Valerie." "She got down on her knees and apologized. You wouldn't even look at her. What do you want, to break her?" His voice softened. Not kind, just pitying. "Worst case, you get your associate's degree, and I'll get you a job at my family's company." "You've got me. I'll make sure you're taken care of." I looked at him, the boy I'd grown up with. He knew Melanie was afraid of the dark. He knew she loved anything sweet. He had no idea how many all-nighters I'd pulled for my sh0#&t at Oakridge. My m0m rushed over, pulled Melanie against her ch3#&st, and rubbed her back as if she were the one who had been hurt. "Shh, don't cry, sweetheart. Valerie's not mad." "She's always been a strong student. She'll do well wherever she ends up. But you need more support, and it'll be easier if you stay close to home." My d4d backed her up without missing a beat. "That's right, Valerie. You've always been the responsible one. Think of it as doing your sister a favor." "She's had a hard life. We can't turn our backs on her." There they were: my mother, my father, and their precious Melanie. One perfect little family, with Brandon right beside them, playing noble protector. I waited for the tears. They never came. I reached over and shut the laptop. "Fine. Forget it." I barely raised my voice, but all four of them froze. Something flickered across Brandon's face. He looked surprised for half a second, then relaxed. He walked over and reached out to ruffle my hair, the way he always did. I ducked away. His hand stopped in midair. His expression hardened. "What's your problem now, Valerie?" "I just said I'd take care of you. What else do you want?" I met his eyes. "Nothing. I'm fine." He studied my face, looking for the pout, the resentment, something he could push back on. There was nothing to find. He scoffed and dropped his hand. "That's more like it. I'll take you to buy that bag you've been staring at. We'll call it even." "Don't give Melanie a hard time over this again." My m0m smiled in relief. "That's my girl. No grudges in this family." "Now wash up and come eat. I made pot roast, your favorite." Melanie peeked out from my m0m's arms. "Thank you, Valerie. I'll make it up to you. I promise." I looked at those wide, wet eyes and nodded once. "Don't worry about it." The four of them left my room together. A minute later, sounds drifted in from the dining room: silverware against plates, Brandon laughing at something Melanie said. I sat at my desk and opened the bottom drawer. A letter with the MIT crest was inside, right where I'd left it. Weeks ago, I'd received a full ride to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The other applications had been favors for my guidance counselor. She'd begged me to go through the motions so the school's placement numbers would look better. That Oakridge acceptance Melanie had gone to so much trouble to sabotage? It meant nothing to me the second I submitted my MIT application. I ran a few errands the next morning. When I got home, cardboard boxes were stacked all over the living room. My m0m was directing a moving crew, pointing them toward my desk, my closet, everything being carried out of my room. She didn't even look up when I walked in. "Good, you're here. Help them pack. Melanie got into the state flagship. Her course load's going to be heavy, so she needs a real room. One with good light and enough space to study." She pointed down the hall at the storage closet. "Community college isn't going to keep you that busy. The storage room will be fine. You're only going there for a piece of paper anyway." I stood in the doorway and watched the movers clear my bookshelves in one sweep. Everything went into boxes. Four years of handwritten notes, practice tests, every late night of high school, piled on the floor like tr4#&sh. Melanie came up to me, her eyes already turning red. "I'm sorry, Valerie. I told M0m she didn't have to do this, but she insisted that..." "Insisted on what?" I cu#&t her off. She flinched. She hadn't expected me to push back. "That... that I need the space more than you do." She could barely get the words out. Brandon walked out of my room with a box in his arms. He set it on the floor and dusted off his hands. "Your m0m's just doing what's best for Melanie, Valerie. You're going to community college. You don't need all that space." He reached out to ruffle my hair out of habit. I pulled back before he could touch me. His hand closed on air. His face darkened. "What, now you think everyone's out to get you? Melanie lost her parents. Taking better care of her is the least we can do. Can you grow up?" The look on his face, all that righteous certainty, was almost funny. They had sabotaged my admission. Now they were taking my room. And somehow, I was still the one who needed to be more understanding. "Fine. I'll move." I walked past Brandon and into the room. I crouched and started sorting through what was left. Brandon came in after me and started helping. Without thinking, he picked up an architecture model from the floor. It was the one he'd given me for my birthday during sophomore year. He had known back then that I wanted to study architecture at Oakridge, and he'd had it custom made just for me. A new one every birthday, that had been the promise. That was before Melanie. After she arrived, he stopped looking my way. He wasn't paying attention. The model caught on the edge of the table, and the tower on top snapped off cleanly. It hit the floor and shattered. Brandon looked down at what was left in his hands. "Sorry. I didn't have a good grip." He didn't sound sorry. He tossed the rest of the model into the tr4#&sh without a second look. "You're going to community college. It's not like you can study architecture there. Why keep this stuff?" I stared at the broken pieces in the tr4#&sh. I used to keep that model front and center on my desk, as if it were the most important thing I owned. Every late night I spent studying, one glance at it was enough to keep me going. Now it was broken plastic in a tr4#&sh can. I stood up, pulled the rest of my architecture books from the box, and tossed them in after it. Brandon stopped. He hadn't expected that. "Why are you throwing those away?" "You just said they were us3&13#ss." I wiped my hands on my jeans. "You were right. They are." Brandon watched me. Something in his expression shifted. He could tell I was different. Before, whenever he broke something of mine, I'd mope for days. Now I didn't even blink. He patted my shoulder. It felt like charity. "Good. You'll be at the local school anyway. You can come home on weekends to help Mrs. Garrison with dinner, and when Melanie's back for the holidays, you two can still go shopping." I didn't answer. I picked up the box and carried it down the hall to the storage room. The room had no windows. The air was stale and heavy with dust. I set the box down and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with one unread notification from MIT Admissions. [Congratulations, Valerie. Your official admissions packet has been mailed. Please make sure your mailing address is current and allow 5-7 business days for delivery.] I locked my phone and started making the bed. When Oakridge had accepted me, I'd actually thought about staying close to home, near my parents, near Brandon. I'd planned for everything, and none of it mattered. Melanie thought she'd sabotaged my future when she tampered with my student portal. In a way, she was the one who made my choice for me. For the next few days, I was a ghost in my own house. My m0m spent her time shopping for Melanie, buying new clothes and a new suitcase. My d4d came home every evening with a box of cupcakes, Melanie's favorite. Brandon showed up like clockwork to drive Melanie from one graduation party to the next. I stayed in the storage room. No windows. No visitors. Just me and my phone, scrolling through apartment listings near Boston. The plan was to get to Boston early and line up a job before the semester started. That afternoon, the house was empty. I slipped out of the storage room and into my parents' bedroom. I found what I needed in the bottom drawer of the nightstand: my birth certificate, my Social Security card, my passport. I tucked them into my pocket and went back to the storage room. Once the official packet arrived, I'd have everything I needed to leave. No signatures from them, no permission, no loose ends. I didn't want a single tie left to this family. I had barely finished hiding the documents when the front door opened. Brandon's voice carried in from the living room. "Valerie? You home?" I didn't answer. I stayed on my stool, eyes on my phone, mapping out transit routes around the city. The door wasn't locked. Brandon pushed it open and walked in. The tiny room felt even smaller with him in it. He looked down at me, then at the phone still lit in my hand. I hadn't been fast enough to lock it. The screen was still showing apartment listings. Brandon's expression went cold. He narrowed his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with condescension. "What are you doing looking at apartments? You still haven't given up on Oakridge? Seriously?" He stepped closer. His shoe was almost touching mine. I looked up at him. No sympathy. Just the kind of look people gave someone who didn't know when to stop dreaming. "You can stare at those listings all you want. It won't change anything. Your spot is gone. You're going to community college. That's it." He scoffed, and his voice turned mean. "Don't tell me you're planning to move to Westfield just to be closer to Oakridge. How pathetic is that?" He reached for my phone. I killed the screen before he could see anything else. "I was looking up a classmate." My voice didn't waver. Brandon paused. He hadn't expected that. But the smugness came back fast. "Your friends got into good schools. Good for them. Don't take it out on Melanie." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at me. "Tomorrow night your parents are throwing Melanie a graduation dinner. The whole extended family will be there." He paused, and his voice dropped. "Make sure you dress up. And don't walk in there with that look on your face. You'll make everyone look bad." The casual authority in his voice made my stomach turn. "Okay." I nodded. That was the answer he wanted. He turned to leave, then stopped at the door and looked back. "After the party, my parents are coming over. We're going to make our engagement official." He watched my face, looking for the flinch, the crack, anything. "Melanie needs the stability. Making it official before she leaves for school will help her feel safe." I held his gaze. "Congratulations." The word came out quiet. Steady. Something tightened in Brandon's jaw. "You'd better mean that." He said it like a threat, then turned and slammed the door behind him. I waited until I heard the front door lock. Then I turned my phone back on. The screen lit up on a confirmation page. One train ticket to Boston. Paid in full.

My foster sister thought she destroyed my future. 💅 Melanie sobbed behind Brandon, her hand clutching his sleeve. After SHE Changed My College Admission—with My Parents' Approval. "Valerie, I had to do it. If you leave, M0m and D@d won't want me anymore." Brandon stepped forward, jaw tight. "She apologized. Drop the act and get over it." My parents nodded along. "Family comes first," my m0m said. "Community college is fine. You'll be close to home." They moved me into a storage closet that same week. Brandon broke the architecture model he'd given me for my birthday—the one that was supposed to remind me of my dream school. He threw it in the tr@sh. "You're not studying architecture anymore. Why keep this?" Last night, they threw Melanie a graduation dinner. My m0m handed me a faded floral dress from my cousin's hand-me-downs. "Try not to look like a mess," she said. I wore it. I smiled through Brandon's engagement announcement. I watched them toast Melanie's "bright future" like I didn't exist. Then I stood up, pulled the MIT acceptance letter from my pocket, and placed it on the table. "Actually," I said, "I'm leaving for Boston tomorrow. Full ride." The room froze. Brandon's face went pale. My m0m's champagne glass slipped from her fingers. Melanie stopped fake-crying mid-sniff. "That's impossible," Brandon muttered. I shrugged. "You never asked what I was doing in that storage room." They wanted me small so they could feel big. But I was never small. I was just waiting for the right time to leave. And now? I'm gone. 🧳 My foster sister Melanie Garrison had logged into my admissions portal and declined my offer to Oakridge University, leaving me with only my backup—the worst community college in the county. My parents were right outside the door. Every instinct told me to explode. I didn't. I walked over and asked her why. She hid behind my childhood friend Brandon Vance and pressed herself against his back, sobbing like the world was ending. "M0m and D4d only took me in because they felt sorry for me. If you leave for some big-city school, they won't want me anymore." "You're the only reason I don't feel like dead weight in this family. If you go, I'll never be enough." My parents didn't even flinch. They turned to me, not Melanie. "We're family. We don't keep score. A degree is a degree. It doesn't matter where it's from." Brandon stepped in front of her, barely hiding his annoyance. "She doesn't even have parents, Valerie. Going to a different school isn't going to ruin your life. Why are you turning this into such a big deal?" *** The room went silent. The only sound was Melanie, still sniffling, just loud enough for everyone to hear. My silence only made it worse. Brandon's jaw tightened. He stepped closer, looming over me. "Drop the martyr act, Valerie." "She got down on her knees and apologized. You wouldn't even look at her. What do you want, to break her?" His voice softened. Not kind, just pitying. "Worst case, you get your associate's degree, and I'll get you a job at my family's company." "You've got me. I'll make sure you're taken care of." I looked at him, the boy I'd grown up with. He knew Melanie was afraid of the dark. He knew she loved anything sweet. He had no idea how many all-nighters I'd pulled for my sh0#&t at Oakridge. My m0m rushed over, pulled Melanie against her ch3#&st, and rubbed her back as if she were the one who had been hurt. "Shh, don't cry, sweetheart. Valerie's not mad." "She's always been a strong student. She'll do well wherever she ends up. But you need more support, and it'll be easier if you stay close to home." My d4d backed her up without missing a beat. "That's right, Valerie. You've always been the responsible one. Think of it as doing your sister a favor." "She's had a hard life. We can't turn our backs on her." There they were: my mother, my father, and their precious Melanie. One perfect little family, with Brandon right beside them, playing noble protector. I waited for the tears. They never came. I reached over and shut the laptop. "Fine. Forget it." I barely raised my voice, but all four of them froze. Something flickered across Brandon's face. He looked surprised for half a second, then relaxed. He walked over and reached out to ruffle my hair, the way he always did. I ducked away. His hand stopped in midair. His expression hardened. "What's your problem now, Valerie?" "I just said I'd take care of you. What else do you want?" I met his eyes. "Nothing. I'm fine." He studied my face, looking for the pout, the resentment, something he could push back on. There was nothing to find. He scoffed and dropped his hand. "That's more like it. I'll take you to buy that bag you've been staring at. We'll call it even." "Don't give Melanie a hard time over this again." My m0m smiled in relief. "That's my girl. No grudges in this family." "Now wash up and come eat. I made pot roast, your favorite." Melanie peeked out from my m0m's arms. "Thank you, Valerie. I'll make it up to you. I promise." I looked at those wide, wet eyes and nodded once. "Don't worry about it." The four of them left my room together. A minute later, sounds drifted in from the dining room: silverware against plates, Brandon laughing at something Melanie said. I sat at my desk and opened the bottom drawer. A letter with the MIT crest was inside, right where I'd left it. Weeks ago, I'd received a full ride to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The other applications had been favors for my guidance counselor. She'd begged me to go through the motions so the school's placement numbers would look better. That Oakridge acceptance Melanie had gone to so much trouble to sabotage? It meant nothing to me the second I submitted my MIT application. I ran a few errands the next morning. When I got home, cardboard boxes were stacked all over the living room. My m0m was directing a moving crew, pointing them toward my desk, my closet, everything being carried out of my room. She didn't even look up when I walked in. "Good, you're here. Help them pack. Melanie got into the state flagship. Her course load's going to be heavy, so she needs a real room. One with good light and enough space to study." She pointed down the hall at the storage closet. "Community college isn't going to keep you that busy. The storage room will be fine. You're only going there for a piece of paper anyway." I stood in the doorway and watched the movers clear my bookshelves in one sweep. Everything went into boxes. Four years of handwritten notes, practice tests, every late night of high school, piled on the floor like tr4#&sh. Melanie came up to me, her eyes already turning red. "I'm sorry, Valerie. I told M0m she didn't have to do this, but she insisted that..." "Insisted on what?" I cu#&t her off. She flinched. She hadn't expected me to push back. "That... that I need the space more than you do." She could barely get the words out. Brandon walked out of my room with a box in his arms. He set it on the floor and dusted off his hands. "Your m0m's just doing what's best for Melanie, Valerie. You're going to community college. You don't need all that space." He reached out to ruffle my hair out of habit. I pulled back before he could touch me. His hand closed on air. His face darkened. "What, now you think everyone's out to get you? Melanie lost her parents. Taking better care of her is the least we can do. Can you grow up?" The look on his face, all that righteous certainty, was almost funny. They had sabotaged my admission. Now they were taking my room. And somehow, I was still the one who needed to be more understanding. "Fine. I'll move." I walked past Brandon and into the room. I crouched and started sorting through what was left. Brandon came in after me and started helping. Without thinking, he picked up an architecture model from the floor. It was the one he'd given me for my birthday during sophomore year. He had known back then that I wanted to study architecture at Oakridge, and he'd had it custom made just for me. A new one every birthday, that had been the promise. That was before Melanie. After she arrived, he stopped looking my way. He wasn't paying attention. The model caught on the edge of the table, and the tower on top snapped off cleanly. It hit the floor and shattered. Brandon looked down at what was left in his hands. "Sorry. I didn't have a good grip." He didn't sound sorry. He tossed the rest of the model into the tr4#&sh without a second look. "You're going to community college. It's not like you can study architecture there. Why keep this stuff?" I stared at the broken pieces in the tr4#&sh. I used to keep that model front and center on my desk, as if it were the most important thing I owned. Every late night I spent studying, one glance at it was enough to keep me going. Now it was broken plastic in a tr4#&sh can. I stood up, pulled the rest of my architecture books from the box, and tossed them in after it. Brandon stopped. He hadn't expected that. "Why are you throwing those away?" "You just said they were us3&13#ss." I wiped my hands on my jeans. "You were right. They are." Brandon watched me. Something in his expression shifted. He could tell I was different. Before, whenever he broke something of mine, I'd mope for days. Now I didn't even blink. He patted my shoulder. It felt like charity. "Good. You'll be at the local school anyway. You can come home on weekends to help Mrs. Garrison with dinner, and when Melanie's back for the holidays, you two can still go shopping." I didn't answer. I picked up the box and carried it down the hall to the storage room. The room had no windows. The air was stale and heavy with dust. I set the box down and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with one unread notification from MIT Admissions. [Congratulations, Valerie. Your official admissions packet has been mailed. Please make sure your mailing address is current and allow 5-7 business days for delivery.] I locked my phone and started making the bed. When Oakridge had accepted me, I'd actually thought about staying close to home, near my parents, near Brandon. I'd planned for everything, and none of it mattered. Melanie thought she'd sabotaged my future when she tampered with my student portal. In a way, she was the one who made my choice for me. For the next few days, I was a ghost in my own house. My m0m spent her time shopping for Melanie, buying new clothes and a new suitcase. My d4d came home every evening with a box of cupcakes, Melanie's favorite. Brandon showed up like clockwork to drive Melanie from one graduation party to the next. I stayed in the storage room. No windows. No visitors. Just me and my phone, scrolling through apartment listings near Boston. The plan was to get to Boston early and line up a job before the semester started. That afternoon, the house was empty. I slipped out of the storage room and into my parents' bedroom. I found what I needed in the bottom drawer of the nightstand: my birth certificate, my Social Security card, my passport. I tucked them into my pocket and went back to the storage room. Once the official packet arrived, I'd have everything I needed to leave. No signatures from them, no permission, no loose ends. I didn't want a single tie left to this family. I had barely finished hiding the documents when the front door opened. Brandon's voice carried in from the living room. "Valerie? You home?" I didn't answer. I stayed on my stool, eyes on my phone, mapping out transit routes around the city. The door wasn't locked. Brandon pushed it open and walked in. The tiny room felt even smaller with him in it. He looked down at me, then at the phone still lit in my hand. I hadn't been fast enough to lock it. The screen was still showing apartment listings. Brandon's expression went cold. He narrowed his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with condescension. "What are you doing looking at apartments? You still haven't given up on Oakridge? Seriously?" He stepped closer. His shoe was almost touching mine. I looked up at him. No sympathy. Just the kind of look people gave someone who didn't know when to stop dreaming. "You can stare at those listings all you want. It won't change anything. Your spot is gone. You're going to community college. That's it." He scoffed, and his voice turned mean. "Don't tell me you're planning to move to Westfield just to be closer to Oakridge. How pathetic is that?" He reached for my phone. I killed the screen before he could see anything else. "I was looking up a classmate." My voice didn't waver. Brandon paused. He hadn't expected that. But the smugness came back fast. "Your friends got into good schools. Good for them. Don't take it out on Melanie." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at me. "Tomorrow night your parents are throwing Melanie a graduation dinner. The whole extended family will be there." He paused, and his voice dropped. "Make sure you dress up. And don't walk in there with that look on your face. You'll make everyone look bad." The casual authority in his voice made my stomach turn. "Okay." I nodded. That was the answer he wanted. He turned to leave, then stopped at the door and looked back. "After the party, my parents are coming over. We're going to make our engagement official." He watched my face, looking for the flinch, the crack, anything. "Melanie needs the stability. Making it official before she leaves for school will help her feel safe." I held his gaze. "Congratulations." The word came out quiet. Steady. Something tightened in Brandon's jaw. "You'd better mean that." He said it like a threat, then turned and slammed the door behind him. I waited until I heard the front door lock. Then I turned my phone back on. The screen lit up on a confirmation page. One train ticket to Boston. Paid in full.

My fiancé couldn't NAME ten things he liked about me. He managed one: "Sensible." That was at our engagement party, right after he'd reeled off ten for my best friend Serena—pretty, fun, great body, charming. The silence that followed hollowed me out. Then came the phone game. 【Who do you text most?】 Miles's top contact wasn't me. It was Serena. And when she "accidentally" scrolled through their chat, I saw everything. Him complaining about my wedding stress. Him laughing at my white dress. Him saying talking to her was "so much easier" than talking to me. Later, I found the receipt for a designer handbag—ten times the price of the pearl earrings he'd brought me. Earrings for p!erced ears I don't have. Serena's Instagram story showed her holding that exact bag an hour later. And the bracelet she wore? The one he'd sent me a photo of, asking if I thought it was pretty. I'd been so excited, thinking it was for me. It never was. That night, I stood outside the study and heard him on video call with her. She was reading his wedding vows aloud, laughing. He said, "Just pretend I'm saying them to you." Then she kissed the camera. He didn't stop her. So I did what any "sensible" girl would—I canceled the wedding. Left my ring on the table. Packed my bags. And booked a flight to Snowcrest. When Miles called the next morning, panicked, I just smiled. "You wanted sensible? Here's sensible: I'm gone. Forever. Enjoy your easy conversations with Serena." Then I hung up, turned off my phone, and ordered champagne at 30,000 feet. Because seven years of being sensible was enough. Now I'm flying wherever I want—and I'll never land beside him again. At the party, my boyfriend lost a round of truth or dare. Someone dared him to list ten things he liked about my best friend. Miles Sterling didn't even hesitate. "Pretty. Fun. Great body. Charming." "Always smiling. Empathetic. Confident. Great taste." "Oh, and she has this way of making everyone feel good." When it was Serena Vance's turn, she smiled and flipped it back on him. "Okay, so what about Chloe?" Miles looked at me and drew a blank. After all that, he came up with one word. "Sensible." Someone jumped in, trying to bail him out. "And?" Miles furrowed his brow like he was really trying. He couldn't come up with a single thing more. The silence that followed hollowed me out. Miles and I had been together for seven years. Our wedding was in a week. And after trying that hard, the only good thing he could say about me was "sensible." Fine. This time, I wouldn't be. I was about to walk out when someone s1%&apped a hand on the table. "Don't go, Chloe. One more round." "This one's fun. Everyone put your phones on the table. Let's see who you text the most." Serena smiled and slid her phone to the center. "Sure. I've got nothing to hide." But when the names showed up on-screen, the whole room went quiet. The person Miles texted most wasn't me. It was Serena. Someone let out a nervous laugh. "Wow... you two really do talk a lot." *** Serena blinked, her voice breezy. "Well, Chloe's so independent. She handles everything on her own." "Miles gets stressed sometimes. He needs someone to vent to, right?" Then, pretending it was an accident, she tapped open their chat history. Miles' messages to her filled the screen. [Chloe's on me about the wedding schedule again.] [She's making way too big a deal out of this.] Serena had written back: [She's just wound too tight. Not like me. As long as you're happy, that's all that matters.] Miles had sent a smiley face back. [See, that's what I mean. Talking to you is so much easier than talking to her.] My fingers curled into tight fists. Serena scrolled up, revealing previous messages. Another text from Miles. [Chloe's wearing that white dress again today.] [Does she seriously think she looks good in white?] Serena had sent a crying-laughing emoji. [Stop, don't be mean.] [But honestly... it really doesn't suit her. Her face is too plain for it.] Miles had written back. [Yeah. It'd look way better on you.] The room went dead silent. I was standing right there, and I couldn't force a single word out. Something tight and sour spread through my ch3#&st until I could barely breathe. All those delicate little hopes I'd been carrying. The nervous flutter every time I tried on a wedding dress. To Miles, they were just punchlines, something to text Serena about and laugh over. Serena walked over and looped her arm through mine. "Don't be mad, Chloe." "If he were talking like this with some random girl, I'd be furious for you." "But we're best friends. You know there's nothing going on." She tilted her head and looked up at me, her voice turning innocent and sweet. "I'm just keeping an eye on him for you. Isn't that a good thing?" I looked down at her hand on my arm. She was wearing a delicate bracelet. A few days ago, while he was away on a work trip, Miles had sent me a photo of it and asked if I thought it was pretty. I'd stared at that photo for the longest time, my ch3#&st warm and full. [It's beautiful.] I thought it was going to be a surprise for me. I'd even planned it all out in my head, how I'd play dumb when he got back, how I'd tease him about whether he'd brought me anything. But he returned from his trip, and the surprise never materialized. Now it was on Serena's wrist. I pulled my arm out of her grasp. Serena's eyes welled with tears right on cue. "Chloe, do you really not trust me anymore?" Miles finally stepped in, his jaw tight. "Chloe." "It was just a game. Don't be so sensitive." The second those words left his mouth, I realized he wasn't even worth my tears. I took a step back, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm tired. I think I'll head out." I was halfway down the hall when I remembered my coat was still draped over the back of the sofa. I doubled back for it, but the private room's door hadn't shut all the way. Inside, someone was talking to Miles in a low voice. "Miles, you're seriously not going after her?" "Did you see her face just now? All the color was gone." Miles was quiet for a second. When he spoke, his voice was completely indifferent. "Chloe's not going to be mad." "She's too sensible for that. She'll sleep it off and be fine tomorrow." My hand froze on the doorknob. A second later, he went on. "But you guys put Serena in a really awkward spot back there." "I should go comfort her." I stood there gripping the doorknob, the cold seeping into my fingertips. Sensible. The word was a dull blade. It didn't cu&t cleanly; it just kept working its way deeper. I didn't go back inside. Instead, I walked out of the venue, pulled out my phone, and sent a text to my wedding planner. [Cancel the wedding.] A minute later, my phone buzzed. The wedding planner. [Miss Bennett, are you sure you want to go through with canceling?] [You've been working on this for over six months.] [The flowers, the lighting, the invitations, the place cards. You picked out every single detail yourself.] [It would be such a shame to let all of that go.] I looked down at the mockup photos she'd sent earlier. I remembered what I'd wanted in the beginning: white camellias everywhere. But Miles had taken one look and said, "Serena thinks camellias are too plain." "A wedding should have more life than that." So the camellias became the red roses Serena liked. I'd wanted soft gold lighting. Miles had said, "Serena thinks warm orange looks better in pictures." I'd wanted the invitations with simple embossing. Miles had said, "Just go with what Serena says. She's got great taste." It didn't hit me until now. The wedding I'd spent six months carefully planning had been quietly reshaped into everything Serena wanted. And all I had left in it was my name. The planner texted again. [Are you really sure about this?] I stared at the venue photo, at a wedding I couldn't even recognize anymore. And I smiled. I typed back. [I'm sure.] [I'll cover all the costs.] Back at the apartment, I started packing. Miles and I had picked this place out together. He'd told me what it would be like: coming home from work to the entryway light on, a warm dinner waiting in the kitchen, camellias on the balcony because he knew I loved them. Just picturing it used to make me so happy. But now I saw it clearly. Serena was everywhere in this home. The fridge was stocked with her favorite peach sparkling water. Her cashmere shawl was still draped over the sofa. Even the bridesmaid dress hanging beside my wedding gown looked more striking than mine. I stood in the walk-in closet, staring at the two dresses side by side. Something bitter and aching rose in my ch3#&st. The wedding hadn't even happened yet. Every part of Miles that should have belonged to me had already been taken by Serena. I didn't cry. I just put my ID, my passport, and a few essentials into my suitcase. Halfway through, the front door clicked open. Miles was back. He was holding a jewelry bag, his voice soft and placating. "Babe, don't be mad." "I walked past the store, and these made me think of you. I remembered you love pearls." He opened the box. Inside was a pair of South Sea pearl earrings. I did love pearls. I'd stood outside that shop window once, wanting them, but I couldn't justify the price. Miles had squeezed my hand and smiled. "When we get married, I'll get you even better ones." And now, here they were. But they were earrings. I didn't have p!#3%rced ears. Serena did. Miles pulled me into his arms. "Can we just let tonight go?" I looked down at the earrings. Before I could answer, another receipt slipped out of the bag. The total printed at the bottom felt like a s1%&ap. A designer handbag. Ten times the price of the earrings. I recognized the brand. Half an hour ago, Serena had posted on her Instagram story. There she was, holding that exact bag, her smile wide and bright. The caption read, [Landed the new project, and a certain someone surprised me with a gift.] I stared at that receipt, and the tears came before I could stop them. Whatever patience Miles had left disappeared from his face. "Why are you crying again?" "Chloe, when you're like this, it's just really exhausting." The words landed, and I went still. There was a time when my tears made Miles panic. He'd fumble to wipe them away. He'd hold me and murmur the same things over and over. "Chloe, don't cry." "It kills me when you cry." Once, I woke up at two in the morning, crying from a nightmare. He drove across town to bring me a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup. He said, "My Chloe never had anyone to hold her when she was little." "From now on, every time you cry, I'll be right here." That version of Miles had meant every word. But now, my tears bought me exactly one sentence. "It's just exhausting." When your tears can't reach someone anymore, That's when you learn to stop. I wiped my face, my voice hollow. "I'm fine." Miles actually looked relieved. He stepped closer and leaned down to kiss me. I turned my face away before I could think about it. Miles's expression went cold. He raked a hand through his hair. "Whatever." "You need to cool off." He turned and walked into the study. Later that night, I was reaching for the light when the tablet on the nightstand lit up. Miles was still signed in to iMessage. I only meant to turn off the screen. But a message had popped up, and Serena's name cu&t right through me. Serena had written, [Did you smooth things over?] Miles replied, [No.] [She's getting harder to deal with.] Serena sent a smiley. [So did you at least give her a little action tonight?] A few seconds passed before Miles replied. [Don't even get me started. She pushed me away.] [Honestly? It's fine. It's been seven years. I stopped feeling anything for her a long time ago.] [Good thing she turned me down. I would've had to fake my way through it.] I stared at those messages. My eyes bv/rned, but there was nothing left to cry out. Even intimacy with me. To Miles, it had become something he had to fake. I turned off the screen. I put the pearl earrings back in the jewelry bag. Then I set them on the entryway table, along with my engagement ring. Like handing back a dream I'd finally woken up from. Just then, my phone lit up with a booking confirmation. My flight left early tomorrow morning, bound for Snowcrest. From now on, I'd fly wherever I wanted. And I would never land beside Miles again.

I asked to stay over 4 times in 4 years. He said no every time. "We're not married yet. I want to respect your space." Then I saw the photo. My intern—the one who stole my work—posted a picture of her feet in my slippers. Standing in his living room. He gave her the spare key. Made her instant ramen—the same late-night snack he always made for me. Drank wine with her—and he never drinks. When I confronted him, he called me petty. "She's just a tenant," he said. "Show some empathy." Two days later, he posted a video in our company Slack. Apologizing for me. Telling everyone I bullied her. Destroying my reputation—for her. I called him. He didn't answer. She did. "Julian's asleep," she purred. "He's been with me all night." Four years I gave him. Four years of waiting, of respecting his boundaries. And he threw me away the second someone new smiled at him. I packed one bag, deleted every photo, and blocked his number. A man not worth waiting for—good riddance. I complained when Julian Brooks rejected my request to stay over—for the fourth time. "Julian, you're so rigid." My apartment's AC had died in the middle of a hun//dred-degree heatwave. Yet he insisted on being old-fashioned about it. Throughout our four years together, no matter how late it got, he always insisted on driving me home. Julian sighed and tried to soothe me. "Be sweet, Chloe. We aren't married yet, and I want us to respect each other's space. I don't want anyone at the office gossiping about us living together." My heart warmed at his words, so I fell right back into our usual routine, venting to him about the recent drama at my office just like I always did. But he kept checking his watch, clearly distracted, and urged me to head back. Fortunately, the HVAC technician found a sudden opening and rushed over to my place. While waiting for him to finish the repairs, I happened to scroll through my Instagram feed and saw a post from our company's new marketing intern, Savannah Cross. [My landlord suddenly canceled my lease, but thank god someone stepped up to help. Otherwise, I'd be sleeping on the streets.] I recognized the background of her photo immediately. It was Julian's apartment. I stared at my phone screen, completely frozen. I stood there so long the technician finished fixing the unit and carefully lowered the thermostat. "Too hot for you, kiddo?" He looked at me with a sympathetic sigh. "Tell you what, I'll knock twenty bucks off the bill. Take it from an old man—there's no rough patch in life you can't get through." Only then did I realize tears were streaming down my face. I forced a smile. "Thank you. You're absolutely right." Julian was a rough patch I was finally moving past. ****** Savannah's photo only showed her legs and her luggage. She was wearing my slippers, standing right inside Julian's living room. The moment I stepped out of his apartment, she stepped right in. Before leaving, I had playfully begged Julian to let me stay. He refused without a second thought. "Chloe, you need to go home. I have urgent work to finish in a bit." As it turned out, there was no urgent work. The only urgency was Savannah. She was the new intern in my department, and we hadn't been getting along. I mentioned this to Julian before. But he never seemed to care, let alone listen. I had no idea Julian even knew Savannah. He'd never mentioned her. Yet it was glaringly obvious that she was spending the night at his place. Another red notification popped up on my screen as Savannah updated her feed again. [Meeting a soft-hearted god at my absolute worst. Blessed.] This time, Julian was in the photo. He was looking down at her with a helpless, fond smile. Two bowls of instant ramen with Spam sat on the table. On weekends, when Julian and I curled up together, that was the exact late-night snack he always made for me. Now, he was making it for Savannah. Savannah's comment sat right beneath the post, smug and flaunting. [Rent is two hun//dred, utilities are free, and no deposit. Best landlord ever.] Landlord. He had let Savannah move in. A sharp, suffocating pain flared in my chest, stealing my breath. To make his commute easier, Julian had rented a two-bedroom apartment near the office. It was a great place—twenty-five hun//dred a month. It used to be a shared rental, but his old roommate had moved out, and they hadn't found a suitable replacement. Worried the rent would be too much, I suggested moving in to split the cost. He flatly refused. "Chloe, I won't take your note, and I don't think it's right to move in together before marriage." It wasn't right for me, but it was perfectly fine for Savannah. I remembered those boundaries so clearly. The first time I asked to stay over was during our honeymoon phase, and Julian strictly turned me down. The second time, I came down with a sudden high fever. Julian still drove me back to my place, watched me take my medicine, and left the moment I fell asleep. The third time was the worst—someone had left a strange mark on my apartment door. I was losing my mind with fear, but Julian still wouldn't let me stay at his place. Instead, he booked me a hotel room. He spent the next day contacting landlords, agents, and movers, ensuring I relocated to a new apartment within twenty-four hours. Four years, and I couldn't get into Julian's place. Savannah managed it without lifting a finger. I had to admit his "traditional" boundaries were reserved exclusively for me. My phone buzzed with a text from Julian. [Goodnight.] No explanation. No mention of her. [By the way, I found a new roommate. She's moving in tomorrow under an emergency circumstance.] [Chloe, make sure to let me know in advance before you come over from now on.] Staring at the text, I wanted to laugh. But my tears hit the screen first. I wiped my eyes and didn't reply. Savannah posted a third update. One photo showed her clinking wine glasses with Julian, and the other was a selfie where their cheeks were practically pressed together. [Celebrating the new place. Here's to the future, Mr. Brooks.] Late at night. An unmarried man and woman. Living together. Julian never touched a drop of alcohol. Yet he was drinking with her tonight. In an instant, all the determination holding my heart together vanished. It was all so pathetic. I didn't text Julian for the next two days. He didn't seem to notice. It wasn't until later that week, when a sudden torrential downpour hit right at the end of the workday, that our paths crossed. I was waiting for an Uber under the office awning. Savannah was standing right next to me. She was holding her phone, whining cutely to whoever was on the other end. "Can you pull up a little closer? Hurry, the wind is freezing..." A car pulled up right in front of us. Entirely too familiar. Sure enough, the window rolled down to reveal Julian in the driver's seat. He hadn't sent a single text to check on me during this storm, yet he'd rushed over to pick up Savannah. Julian froze when he caught sight of me. "Chloe, you..." Savannah closed her umbrella, opened the door, and hopped straight into the passenger seat. "Julian, you actually know Chloe?" She looked out at me from the dry comfort of the car, her smile radiating sweetness. "Chloe, why don't you get in? Let Julian give you a ride. It's impossible to get an Uber in this weather." My own boyfriend was offering me a ride, and only because she'd graciously granted him permission. Julian remained silent, merely looking at me. I shook my head expressionlessly. "No need." My ride was already confirmed and only three minutes away. No reason to get in that car just to make myself sick. Savannah nodded and rolled up the window. The car lingered for a few seconds before driving off into the rain. When I finally got home and stepped out of the shower, I found Julian waiting in my living room. He still had the code to my smart lock. "Chloe, are you throwing a tantrum?" "When you refused to get in the car, I thought you were just busy, but the more I thought about it, the more off it felt." Julian reached out to grab my hand, but I stepped aside, dodging him. "Is this about me picking up Savannah today?" "Or because I didn't let you stay over the other night and didn't drive you home?" He let out a helpless chuckle. "Don't be so petty. Savannah's an old classmate. I only picked her up because I was passing by—and it's hard to say no when she asks." "Not letting you stay over was for your own good. I promise I'll drive you home next time..." "Julian, let's break up." Julian stiffened, his face instantly darkening. "Chloe, over something this minor?" "Yes." My eyes were entirely dead. "I can't stay at your place, but Savannah can. Don't you find that hilarious?" He'd never intended to tell me about her because he knew exactly how I'd react. "You... let me explain." Julian's eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting me to already know. "Savannah moved to the city all by herself from a small town, and I'm the only person she knows here." "It's tough for a young girl, and her landlord suddenly kicked her out. If I hadn't stepped in, she'd be on the streets." "Chloe, you're a woman too—show some empathy." Seeing my silence, he let out a heavy sigh. "It's just an emergency temporary stay. Besides, there's nothing going on between us, so we don't need to overcomplicate things." "She's different from you. She's just a tenant." "Just a tenant?" I laughed. "Julian, I told you before that Savannah is the new intern in my department." "During her first week, she spent every single lunch break on the phone in the breakroom. When people teased her about it, she claimed it wasn't a boyfriend, just an old classmate." "That old classmate was you, wasn't it?" Julian's eyes flickered with guilt for a fraction of a second, but he didn't deny it. I used to love sharing things with him, flooding his phone with texts whenever I had a free moment. But his replies were always agonizingly slow, if they came at all. We'd fought about it a few times. Back then, Julian would just look exhausted and say, "Chloe, we're adults. Work is busy, and I need to rest during lunch. Can you stop making things difficult for me?" But when it came to Savannah, it was never difficult. "For the past two days, Savannah started bringing homemade lunches to work. You made those for her too, didn't you?" "And you're still trying to tell me she's just a tenant?" Those lunchboxes were a matching couple's set I'd bought, left behind at Julian's apartment. Now, Savannah was using them. Julian knitted his brows, completely unable to comprehend my anger. "Chloe, aren't you reading way too much into this?" "Don't be prejudiced against Savannah. She told me there was just a misunderstanding between you two at work..." He didn't listen to a single word I said, but he took everything Savannah said as gospel. I had nothing left to say. The silence in the room grew suffocating until the doorbell suddenly rang. Julian turned to open it. A second later, Savannah poked her head in, smiling warmly at me. "Hi, Chloe. Sorry to drop by unannounced." My gaze pierced right through Savannah and landed coldly on Julian. "You brought her here?" Savannah couldn't have found my address on her own. Julian stood beside her, deliberately avoiding my eyes. "Chloe, Savannah isn't the kind of person you think she is." "Since there's a misunderstanding, you two should just talk it out..." I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "I spent two weeks pulling all-nighters for our latest marketing campaign, and she intentionally deleted my name from the pitch deck. You call that a misunderstanding?" I was the lead on that project, and Savannah was only supposed to assist me. After all my hard work, she secretly wiped my version from the shared drive history and submitted the campaign under her own name. I'd confronted her directly, but I couldn't recover the deleted file history in time to prove it to management. The drama had caused a massive stir in the office. "Chloe, you shouldn't bully me just because I'm the new intern." "That campaign was clearly my..." Savannah's eyes welled with tears, her voice trailing off vulnerably. "Forget it. You're Julian's girlfriend, and I don't want things to be tense between us. I definitely don't want you two fighting because of me." "Let's just say it was my fault. I apologize." Heartache flashed across Julian's face. "Savannah, I know what kind of person you are. Right is right." He turned to me, his tone hardening. "You shouldn't have to compromise yourself just for my sake." Then he looked straight at me. "Chloe, just apologize to Savannah, and we can all move past this." The final trace of agonizing heartache vanished from my chest. I felt entirely, completely numb. "Julian, let me make this incredibly clear. We are broken up." "Now, take your little friend and get the he11 out of my apartment." Savannah flinched, tears cascading down her face as she clutched the edge of Julian's jacket, shrinking behind him. Julian's expression turned vicious and mocking. "Chloe, are you seriously trying to threaten me with a breakup? You honestly think I'll just bow down to that?" "You are completely unhinged." He grabbed Savannah's hand and pulled her out the door. The door slammed shut with a deafening thud. I collapsed onto the sofa, completely drained of energy. Right then, my phone rang. It was my mom. "Chloe, are you really moving back home? Did something happen out there?" "No, Mom. I already turned in my resignation. I'm just wrapping up my files over the next two days before heading back." "Did you and Julian have a fight?" "No fight. We broke up." I'd already been thinking about changing companies anyway. And after the nightmare with Savannah, I immediately submitted my two weeks' notice. Our director thought he'd struck gold with Savannah, so he approved my departure without a single complaint. My mom went quiet for a few seconds. "Broken up... well, as long as you've thought it through." "It's good that you're coming back. Your dad and I won't have to constantly worry about you getting mistreated out there." My throat tightened, and my eyes stung. "Mom, don't worry about me." "I've already been looking at job openings, and there are plenty of great marketing agencies back home..." "I'm not worried about the job, sweetie. Just don't push yourself too hard." A lump formed in my throat, leaving me completely speechless. I'd hoped to spend my last two days in the city in peace. But Savannah had no intention of letting me go quietly. Just as the workday ended, the company Slack workspace absolutely exploded. Savannah had dropped a video into the main public channel. The person in the video was Julian. His face was dead serious, completely devoid of any playfulness. "Regarding the recent campaign pitch, I am formally apologizing to Savannah Cross on behalf of my girlfriend, Chloe Vance."