u/Legal_Murder1017

Sloane Walker shot upright in bed, her eyes snapping open.

The room around her was pitch black and completely silent.

Using the pale moonlight, she carefully looked around, and when she recognized the familiar yet strange room, her pupils widened.

Is this my house?

Sloane grabbed her phone and froze when she saw the time on the screen.

July 4, 2123, 11:14 p.m.

*I went back to one month before the apocalypse? I was just fighting off a group of looters, and then there was a massive earthquake...*She turned her head toward the window and noticed a few middle-aged men sitting under a streetlight yards away, wearing T-shirts and shorts, playing cards.

Every summer, they did this—coming out around 9:00 p.m. and playing until midnight before heading home. Sloane had seen this scene many times before but never had it shocked her like this.

A memory suddenly flashed through her mind, and she quickly raised her phone and switched on the camera, aiming it at the men.

She recognized them immediately.

Before the apocalypse, during a late night of binge-watching, she had witnessed them mutate and tear into each other.

At the time, she thought they had gotten into a fight while playing cards. When she saw them lying motionless on the ground, she called an ambulance and didn't think much more about it after they were taken away.

She never expected that moment to be the opening act of the apocalypse.

She zoomed in on the video and saw one man holding a card suddenly leap at the closest person beside him. After a scream, the group began clawing and wrestling with each other.

The footage lasted for over two minutes, and in the end, all of them lay motionless on the ground.

Just as Sloane was about to stop recording, her breath caught in her throat.

One of the bodies, which should have been dead—or at least not able to mutate for several more days—slowly crawled up from the ground.

His movements were stiff as he staggered toward her building, but after a few yards, he collapsed again.

Ring! Apocalypse Awakening System activated!

Sloane had just lowered her phone when a strange voice sounded beside her ear.

Before she could react, a line of text appeared out of thin air in front of her.

"Do you accept the beginner awakening mission?"

What is this? I never encountered this in my last life.

After a brief pause, Sloane immediately accepted, and in the next second, she was transported to a completely unfamiliar place.

There stood a small wooden cabin, a water well, and a vegetable patch roughly ten square feet in size.

Is this the legendary storage dimension?

In the apocalypse, anything strange could happen.

In her previous life, Sloane had also awakened an ability, but it wasn't a storage dimension—it was invisibility—so she accepted this situation quickly.

Excited, she immediately opened the beginner mission panel.

"Prepare survival supplies for the apocalypse (0/5,000 dollars)"

Is it telling me to start stocking up?

Sloane felt thrilled and quickly left the storage dimension to check her room for anything suitable.

Her eyes landed on the computer on the desk. If she remembered correctly, her brother Edwin Walker bought it for her just last week, and it had cost exactly 5,000 dollars.

With a thought, Sloane brought the computer into the storage dimension. The red text on the mission panel turned green.

"Prepare survival supplies for the apocalypse (28,500/5,000 dollars) Completed. Reward: 50 square feet of emergency preparation space."

Sloane stared at the number in shock. 28,500? Edwin clearly told me he just grabbed it on the way home from work and only spent 5,000 dollars. How could this be?

Understanding hit her all at once, and her eyes slowly turned red.

After taking a deep breath, she continued with the remaining beginner missions and started moving more items into the storage dimension.

An ergonomic office chair, 8,600 dollars.

A couch, 37,000 dollars.

A TV, 23,000 dollars.

A trash can, 66 dollars.

Socks, 1 dollar.

One dollar?

Sloane frowned at the socks she had just brought in, and when she realized they belonged to Edwin, she immediately tossed them back out without hesitation.

Little by little, Sloane figured out the system's pattern. Early on, it was basically 1,000 dollars' worth of items for every ten square feet of storage space. She didn't know if the price would go up later, but as long as she kept throwing things in, her storage dimension would keep expanding.

She also discovered that as long as the item wasn't a living creature, it could stay in perfect condition forever inside the storage dimension.

The ice cream she had brought in an hour ago and forgotten to eat was still rock hard where she left it.

This is the perfect place to survive and hide during the apocalypse... If only...

The light in Sloane's eyes slowly dimmed as she thought of her parents next door, Felix Walker and Natasha Morris, and her brother Edwin. Her fists clenched tightly.

If only they could come in too.

Even though she had returned to the past, she was now fully capable of protecting herself and them, but she couldn't guarantee what unexpected dangers might appear later.

No matter what happened this time, she would never let them leave her side.

After several hours of nonstop work, Sloane had almost emptied her entire apartment.

The small wooden cabin inside the storage dimension had also upgraded into a dirt house and then into a brick house.

Just as Sloane was so exhausted that she wanted to crawl back into bed for some sleep, the system's alert sounded again in her ear.

"Congratulations on completing all beginner missions. Reward: one family member slot. Please bind a family member within 24 hours!"

Sloane froze in place.

Can other people enter too?

She immediately left the storage dimension and headed next door to find them.

She lived in a top-floor duplex with roughly 3,200 square feet of living space, along with a 1,100-square-foot rooftop garden out front. The building was designed with one unit per elevator.

The top floor of the neighboring unit was where Felix, Natasha, and Edwin lived.

Between the two rooftop gardens was a low wall about five feet tall that couldn't support any weight, so Sloane decided to tear it down and replace it with a small iron door that could be opened or closed.

That way, she could go next door to eat every day while still keeping her own private living space.

"Sloane, are you awake? I made your favorite beef sliders and oatmeal. They're still warm. Eat first before you sleep again, okay? Ah!"

Natasha, who had come up the stairs to call Sloane for breakfast, turned pale when she saw the empty living room.

Did someone break in?

She rushed downstairs, and when she saw Sloane pushing the door open, tears immediately fell.

"Are you okay? Let me take a look!"

Natasha spun around Sloane twice and only relaxed after confirming she wasn't hurt.

Hearing Natasha's scream next door, Felix and Edwin also rushed over. They were just as shocked when they saw the emptied living room.

"Dad, Mom, Edwin."

Sloane's voice trembled. She couldn't even remember how many years it had been since she last saw them.

In her previous life, they had all died protecting her during the apocalypse. She had been left alone and survived for another ten years, until that world-ending earthquake sent her back to this moment.

She threw herself into Natasha's arms and hugged her tightly, crying with joy.

Natasha thought Sloane had been frightened by the burglary and quickly tried to comfort her.

Nearby, Edwin and Felix stood awkwardly, both at a loss. One wanted to hug his daughter, and the other wanted to pat his sister's head, but pride kept them from moving.

　"Congratula—" I squint at my screen, the caption refusing to settle.

　　Tilting the phone, I blink hard and try again. The phone automatically refreshes and my stomach dips at the video that pops up.

　　I ditch the caption and watch the video. There plastered on social media is my fiancé... at the altar with someone that isn't... me.

　　I close my eyes, hoping that I'm wrong and it's just my brain fogging up like it usually does. When I open them again, the video is still there.

　　"W-wh—" No words come out. Confusion, hurt, anger, they all slam into me at once. In a minute, I shoot to my feet.

　　This better be a rehearsal dinner, Tristan. It better be a joke.

　　My phone rings and I pick it up without looking, dragging a dress over my head at the same time.

　　"Wren!" My friend, Judi's voice greets me from the other end. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

　　"If you're talking about Tristan then—"

　　"Yes, I'm talking about Tristan. What the heck is going on, Wren? Did you guys break up?"

　　I slip into comfortable shoes. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm about to find out. Read me the address, please."

　　She rattles it off then adds, "Don't do anything stupid."

　　"When have I ever done anything stupid?" I roll my eyes and step out of my apartment, hailing a cab and getting in.

　　"I mean, hm," she hums, the line is silent for a beat. "You're right. You're pretty level-headed. Do you need me to come?"

　　I shake my head but remember she can't see me. "No, thank you, Judi. I'm just going to figure out what this is about and I'll call you later."

　　"Alright," she sighs. "I'm sorry, Wren."

　　My throat tightens and my eyes water. I hang up, watching the road go by while I convince myself everything is one big misunderstanding.

　　The ring on my finger catches the light, the weight settles in my mind. I love Tristan. We love each other. He proposed last month. We were supposed to start planning the wedding.

　　I pull up the video on my phone again, the wedding is still in motion. And it's beautiful, almost like my dream wedding. The woman's face is still in a veil, but Tristan... He stands there tall, smiley, looking so proud of himself as they recite their vows.

　　"...Mr Fuller, do you take Miss..."

　　"Ma'am." The driver interrupts. "We're here."

　　"Th-thank you," I stammer, handing him some bills and I scramble my way into the hotel.

　　The receptionist scans me from head to toe, judging me. I'm sure my simple dress and sandals are not fitting enough for her.

　　"How can I help you?" She snarks, lips pulled down in distaste.

　　I ignore her judgmental looks and respond. "I'm here for the wedding? Tristan Fuller and..."

　　"Your name please?"

　　"Wren." I clear my throat. "Wren Carlisle."

　　My fingers tap on the cubicle, jaw tightening at the sound of the frantic click of the keyboard.

　　After what feels like hours, she looks up. "You're not on the guest list."

　　I blink.

　　Then, I laugh. It just bursts out uncontrollably. A full belly laugh that has me bending at the waist.

　　I'm not on the guest list for my fiancé's wedding.

　　"Okay," I nod, sniffling and wiping an imaginary tear. "Where is the wedding happening?"

　　The receptionist stares at me like I've lost my mind. And maybe I have.

　　"Urm, well, it's in the garden. Back through there." She points.

　　"Thanks." I head in that direction.

　　She rushes toward me. "No ma'am, we can't let you go back there—"

　　I spin around, and she backs up, eyes wide.

　　"My fiancé—" I raise my ring finger, "is getting married to someone else. I deserve to talk with him."

　　For the first time her eyes soften. "I'm sorry about that. But you're not allowed—"

　　"Don't stop me, please," I beg. "I just want to talk, nothing else."

　　She looks around the empty lobby, and then sighs. "I'll give you ten minutes, if you're not out by then, I'm calling security."

　　"No problem."

　　Her glare pierces into my soul. "I can't lose my job, ma'am." She warns through gritted teeth.

　　"You won't. Thank you..." I glance at her name tag,

　　"Stephanie."

　　"Ten minutes."

　　I jog toward the direction she pointed at. No one stops me, no one questions me until I burst through the double doors.

　　Judi's warning filters into my head, but I ignore it. Maybe I might just do something a little stupid. I just have to know.

　　"Tristan!" I yell, storming down the aisle decorated with flowers. All eyes swivel to me, gasps and chatters fill the air.

　　Tristan and his bride—a woman I don't recognize—stand behind a large cake, looking ready to cut it.

　　His eyes widen when he sees me but then he recovers immediately.

　　"Wren." He states dryly when I'm close enough. "What are you doing here?"

　　"Baby, who's this?" His bride asks.

　　"I should be asking that," I say to her, then turn back to Tristan. "What's going on?"

　　"I'm getting married," he replies, shrugging like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Well, it is.

　　I swallow. "Yeah, I can see that. B-but we're engaged... it's supposed to be me."

　　"Engaged?" His bride gasps.

　　He leans to her. "She's the one I told you about, babe. Please let me sort this out, go sit."

　　And she obeys. What does he mean by that? What did he tell her about me?

　　"Tristan." My heart breaks, voice breaking alongside. I blink back my tears.

　　"I changed my mind, Wren." He rolls his eyes. "You're not supposed to be here."

　　His nonchalance rubs me the wrong way. He's not even sorry, not in the least.

　　"The moment you decided to make this public, you practically invited me," I snap, then sigh. "Baby, come on, did I do something?"

　　"No."

　　"Okay, can we talk about it? I don't understand, Tristan." I reach for him. "Help me—"

　　He grips my hand before it reaches his face, his fingers curling tight around my wrist. "Don't touch me. Go home, Wren."

　　"You're hurting me," I whisper.

　　His face hardens, scowling. "You're ruining my wedding."

　　"I'm ruining your wedding?" I yank my hand from his grip, glaring. "You're ruining my life! My plans!"

　　"Leave, Wren!"

　　Anger surges through my veins, bubbling in my chest.

　　"You don't have the decency to break things off with me? You proposed to me last month!" I shout.

　　The crowd gasps.

　　"I'm not interested anymore!" He screams back. "You don't know how to take a hint, this wedding is a big hint, Wren."

　　"Wow," I scoff. "You're a real piece of shit!"

　　His hand shoots out, cracking across my cheek. Hard.

I was once the only daughter of the Bellini family.

In the mansion ruled by my father, my bloodline was my birthright. But on my eighteenth birthday, he brought Elena home.

She was the orphaned daughter of a dead friend. By family rules, the moment she stepped through our doors, she fell under my father’s personal protection.

After that, everything changed.

My brother began to put her safety before mine. My childhood sweetheart started believing her lies, drifting away from me. My father even told the guards that Elena understood loyalty better than I did.

On the day I graduated from college, they stood me up for the hundredth time to watch Elena’s piano recital.

My father had promised to be there when I received my degree in structural engineering. In Chicago, when the head of the Bellini family skips his own daughter’s graduation, it’s more than a broken promise. It’s a signal to everyone who depends on him that disrespecting me carries no consequences.

I finally asked the question I’d been holding back for years.

“I’m your daughter. Why am I always the one you sacrifice?”

My father pulled a red-eyed Elena behind him and slapped me across the face.

“She knows gratitude. All you know is how to fight over things,” he said coldly. “I wish I’d never had you.”

My brother pointed to the door and told me to get out.

I didn’t argue anymore.

I went back to my room, packed my bags, and left them behind.

They thought it was just another tantrum. Every other time, they would take my car and my guards, cut off my allowance, and wait for me to come crawling back, unable to survive without the family’s protection.

This time, I called my mother.

“You asked me once if I wanted to come live with you in London,” I said. “I said no then. I’ve changed my mind.”

This time, I was the one who was done with them.

…

A beat of silence, and then my mother’s voice rose, breathless.

“Sofia. You finally said yes.”

Once the initial rush of joy passed, she heard the strain in my voice.

“You said you wanted to stay in Chicago. Did your father do something to you again?”

“I knew he couldn’t be trusted. When we divorced, I should have fought harder to take you with me. He promised our advisors he would take care of you and your brother. Is this what he calls taking care of you?”

When my parents split, leaving me behind was what hurt my mother the most.

She’d wanted to take me with her, but my father held my hand and said I was a daughter of the Bellini family, and no one could take me from his side.

My brother had hugged me and cried, begging me not to leave him.

So I chose to stay.

Now it seemed they’d both forgotten.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to keep my voice light.

“No. I just miss you. And I’ve graduated from the engineering school, so it’s actually the perfect time to apply for graduate programs in London.”

My mother paused, but she didn’t push.

“I miss you, too. Come home. No one will ever make you leave again.”

She booked my flight that same day.

I would be gone in three days.

The day before my fiance and I were supposed to get married at the courthouse, he took our paperwork and walked in with Lily Whitmore instead.

A friend tried to talk him out of it over the phone.

"What about Hannah?"

"You two have been together seven years, and now you're marrying someone else?"

Ethan Carter was quiet for a long moment before he finally said,

"Hannah will understand.

"Lily's dad doesn't have much time left. It's only on paper. Once he's gone, I'll end it."

His friend still hesitated. "But Hannah's waited seven years for you."

Ethan gave a quiet laugh.

"Exactly. She's waited seven years. She's not going to leave me over one month."

I stood frozen around the corner, still clutching the bag of chocolates I'd brought for the courthouse staff.

I didn't go in to confront him. I didn't cry or beg him to choose me.

I canceled our appointment and walked away.

What he didn't know was this:

Marriage could be delayed. Love could be delayed.

But I wasn't about to hand the rest of my life to a man who was certain I'd always be waiting exactly where he'd left me.

***

The clerk gave me a second look when I canceled.

"You're sure? Ceremony slots are hard to get today."

I nodded.

My phone buzzed. A text from Ethan.

[Something came up at work. We need to push the courthouse back a few days. Don't be mad. I'll explain tonight.]

I stared at the message for a long moment, shoved the chocolates into my bag, and walked out of the courthouse.

I still had class that afternoon.

I went back to school and taught my second graders as usual.

We were reading The Little Engine That Could when one of the kids raised his hand.

"Ms. Reed, did the little engine really make it over the mountain?"

I stood there, dry-erase marker in hand, taking far too long to answer.

"She did."

The boy asked, "Wasn't she scared?"

I smiled. "Probably. But she kept going anyway."

After class, a few coworkers gathered around my desk, laughing as they asked why I hadn't taken the day off.

"Weren't you supposed to be at the courthouse today? Where's Ethan?"

"And where are the chocolates? Don't tell me you're hiding them."

I pulled the bag out and passed it around.

Some of the chocolates had softened and stuck to their wrappers.

They thought I was just being shy and kept teasing me.

I laughed with them.

I just couldn't keep the bitterness entirely out of my smile.

That evening, Ethan called.

"Hannah, have you eaten?"

I could hear hospital announcements in the background and a woman crying softly.

I didn't call him out.

"No."

"I'm really sorry about today. Something came up with Lily. Her dad's in bad shape, and he's been confused. He keeps worrying there won't be anyone to take care of her."

I sat alone in my empty classroom, watching the lights come on one by one over the playground outside.

"So you married her?"

The line went silent.

After a long pause, Ethan lowered his voice. "You know?"

"Yeah."

He actually sounded relieved. "Hannah, it's just a formality. Mr. Whitmore is the reason I finished high school. When things fell apart at home, he was the one who kept me from dropping out. This is the one thing he wants before he dies. I can't turn my back on him."

"So you used our marriage to repay a debt?"

"Don't say it like that."

Ethan's voice sharpened. "You know who I love. Nothing is ever going to happen between Lily and me. As soon as Mr. Whitmore is gone, I'll end the marriage. A month, tops. Then you and I will get married."

A month, tops.

He said it like I'd gotten into the wrong checkout line and all I had to do was wait my turn.

I asked, "Was it really that hard to tell me before you did it?"

"I was afraid you'd overthink it."

"You already did it, and now you're worried I'd overthink it?"

Ethan rubbed his brow, exhaustion roughening his voice.

"Hannah, today has already been a disaster. Mr. Whitmore's in critical care, Lily can barely keep up with everything, and I know you're hurt. Let me make it up to you later, okay?"

The Whitmore Group was one of the most respected companies in the city.

Our family was also famous for one thing.

Sons mattered. Daughters didn't.

To the Whitmores, women were nothing more than bargaining chips, meant to marry into powerful families and bring the company more profit.

In my last life, I married Ryan Langley, heir to the prestigious Langley Group.

My younger sister, Tessa, married Nathan Hartwell, the eldest son of the Hartwell family.

But almost as soon as Tessa married into the Hartwell family, everything started falling apart.

She was eventually branded bad luck for any man she married. She was cast out, ended up on the streets, and survived by dancing in clubs.

Meanwhile, I lived in a mansion worth 100 million dollars, with more money in my accounts than I could spend in several lifetimes.

Everyone envied me.

What no one knew was that my life was worse than death.

Tessa couldn't stand seeing me live in luxury while her own life had fallen apart.

One rainy night, she came at me with a knife.

Pain exploded through my chest.

Then I opened my eyes.

I was sitting at the vanity in my dressing room.

Behind me, a stylist was carefully working on my hair.

I knew this scene.

I knew it far too well.

I had come back to my wedding day.

Since I had a second chance, I would make them pay for every bit of suffering I endured in my past life.

Everyone who had destroyed me in my last life would pay.

I raised a hand.

"Stop for a minute."

The stylist stepped back.

I got up and walked out of the room.

"Tessa. Come here."

My sister was greeting guests nearby. She rolled her eyes before slowly walking over.

"What?"

"You like Ryan, don't you?"

She froze.

"What are you talking about?"

"If you want him, you can have him."

Her eyes widened.

"What?! Are you serious?!"

Of course she couldn't believe it.

Ryan Langley was the kind of man countless women dreamed of marrying.

When our family arranged my engagement to him, Tessa had thrown more than one tantrum over it.

Now I was practically handing him to her.

"I'm serious," I said. "We're sisters. You've told me over and over how much you like him."

I paused.

"And Ryan once told me he actually preferred you."

Tessa's face lit up.

I almost laughed.

That part was complete nonsense.

Ryan wouldn't have looked twice at a woman like Tessa.

She was glamorous, seductive, and eager to please.

Ryan liked something very different.

"So why not let the two of you be together while there's still time?" I continued.

Tessa stared at me, breathing faster.

"Then tell me. What does Ryan like?"

She was so excited she was practically crying.

What did Ryan like?

Oh, Tessa.

You had no idea.

"He likes women who know how to have fun," I said evenly. "The harder they are to tame, the better."

My stomach twisted as old memories came rushing back.

To outsiders, Ryan was charming, polished, and gentlemanly.

Behind closed doors, he was depraved.

He had an insatiable appetite for sex and a taste for extreme games with his closest friends.

He and those men traded women.

Shared wives.

More than once, they nearly killed me.

I'd even watched another woman die during one of their parties.

And somehow, that still wasn't the worst of it.

Ryan liked getting women pregnant.

Then he found ways to make them lose the babies.

Afterward, he kept what remained as specimens.

In my last life, my body had been covered in scars.

He tortured me until there was almost nothing left of me.

I was forced through three pregnancies.

I didn't even know who the fathers were.

I lost all three babies.

After the third time, I could never get pregnant again.

A chill ran through me.

Tessa was too lost in excitement to notice the fear on my face.

"If you really want him," I said, "go find him now. Sleep with him before the ceremony. We're both Whitmore daughters. Once it's done, neither family will want to make a public scandal out of it."

Her eyes gleamed.

Exactly as I'd hoped.

I was a high-maintenance girl.

I stole kisses from my boyfriend whenever I wanted.

I clung to him, acted spoiled, and never thought twice about it.

Then one day, I stumbled across a thread.

[What should I do if my girlfriend is way too clingy?]

The comments were brutal.

[Dump her. Clingy girls always turn obsessive. The longer you wait, the harder they are to shake off.]

[PSA. The clingier she is, the more annoying she gets. Doesn't your girlfriend realize she's just pushing you away?]

[Just break up. Anyway, I'm off to the next thread.]

I stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then I looked up at the man walking out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

For the first time in forever, I stepped away instead of throwing myself into his arms.

His expression clouded over.

A faint frown creased his brows before he scooped me up without a word and settled me on his lap.

"Not today?"

---

I looked at Damon Cross.

His features were sharp and effortlessly handsome—unfairly perfect from every angle.

His eyes stayed on me, quietly searching.

I curled my fingers together.

"I-It's my period. My stomach really hurts..."

His brows knitted slightly.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

Without another question, he tucked me into bed before heading for the kitchen.

When he came back, he was carrying a mug of hot cocoa and a heating pad.

He fed me the cocoa, then pressed the heating pad gently against my stomach.

"Get some sleep. I've got a little work to finish."

"Okay."

I lay still beneath the covers.

But Damon didn't leave.

He stood beside the bed as if he were waiting for something.

I looked away and pretended not to notice, rolling onto my side and turning my back to him.

A few seconds later, I heard his footsteps fade down the hall.

I tightened my grip on the pillow.

Maybe I should stop clinging to him so much.

Then he wouldn't break up with me.

Damon and I had grown up together.

I'd always been attached to him.

Back in preschool, I refused to eat unless I sat next to him. If the teachers separated us, I'd rather stay hungry.

In elementary school, I insisted on sitting next to him in class.

Once, a new teacher didn't know about us and moved me to another seat.

I cried so hard the whole class couldn't focus.

By middle school and high school, Damon had become the guy everyone admired.

He ranked first every year, racked up awards without even trying, and that ridiculously handsome face of his only drew more attention.

My clingy side went into overdrive.

I chased off every girl who came near him and kept my eyes glued to him at all times.

If Damon was out of my sight for more than an hour, I'd get restless and irritable.

After graduation, I confessed to him.

Once we started dating, he never turned me down.

No matter what I asked for, he always said yes.

Even so, he stayed calm, reserved, and almost impossible to read.

I still couldn't stop sticking to him.

I'd make him work from home or drag me along to the office.

I'd steal kisses whenever I felt like it, no matter where we were.

He never refused. But every kiss was over almost as soon as it started.

Even though his eyes always seemed to say he wanted more.

A dull ache settled in my chest.

Looking back now, he'd probably gotten tired of me a long time ago.

"Look! What's that?" Someone shouted, and everyone looked up at the same time.

A blazing fireball was falling from the sky, racing straight toward Autumn Montclair.

She was thin, tanned, and so numb that she could no longer make any expression.

Shock. Fear. Panic. Despair. Those were the reactions people had at the beginning of the apocalypse.

But she had survived for 15 years. Long ago, she had forgotten how to feel.

"Run! The fire is coming!" The crowd scattered in every direction.

Everyone ran like headless chickens, searching for somewhere safe to hide.

But where was there left to hide?

For the past 15 years, droughts, floods, deep freeze, deadly heat waves, sandstorms, hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanoes, acid rain, and insect swarms had taken turns destroying the world. The planet had become a wasteland.

Once, the world had held billions of people. Now, fewer than 2,000 survivors remained.

And just when those last 2,000 people thought they had finally found the final safe place on Earth, another disaster struck and erased the last piece of paradise.

As the falling fireball rushed toward her, emotion finally returned to Autumn's eyes.

But there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

Tears filled her eyes. She opened her arms and chose to welcome the world-ending meteor.

Boom!

"Tap, tap, tap. Testing, testing. Hello? Hello?" Someone was tapping on a microphone.

The loudspeaker's sharp voice jolted the struggling girl awake.

Autumn's eyes flew open. She lay there, stunned for a long time. Then she suddenly jumped out of bed. She touched her face. Her arms. Her body. A second later, she ran into the bathroom.

She stared at the girl in the mirror. Young. Healthy. Full-cheeked. Not the starving, dying woman she remembered. She turned and bent over the toilet, gagging.

A moment ago, she had been a burned corpse.

The next moment, she was reborn.

She could still smell the stench of burning flesh lingering in her nostrils.

"Residents of Everjoy Residences, please come to the community office and sign the redevelopment papers. The first person to sign will receive an extra ten percent compensation, plus one bag of rice and one bag of flour. Offer ends today!"

The loudspeaker outside kept repeating the announcement. It urged the residents to come and collect their payments.

Wait.

Redevelopment?

What year is this?

Autumn hurried back into her room. She reached under her pillow and fumbled for her phone.

After fifteen years, she had forgotten her phone password. Luckily, it still had a fingerprint unlock.

The moment she saw the date on the screen, she was thunderstruck. March 1, 2056.

She had returned three months before the apocalypse.

On June 1st—a day usually filled with children's laughter and celebration—the apocalypse would officially begin.

And with it would come fifteen years of hell.

Was she really going to go through all of that again?

Just as despair threatened to swallow her, her fingers brushed against the phone charm hanging from her phone.

It was old and worn, with only a single wooden bead on it.

She froze.

The phone charm?

The storage space!

How could I forget something so important?

Who would have guessed that this cheap phone charm, worth barely a dollar, hid an entire storage space inside?

Unfortunately, in her previous life, she had discovered it by accident during the tenth year of the apocalypse.

By then, nearly every supply she found had either rotted, broken, or turned into useless junk. Even with the storage space, she had collected very little that could help her survive.

Yet that tiny storage space had still kept her alive five years longer than most people. She had come so close to making it to the end.

So close.

But this life would be different. This time, she would make full use of the storage space.

And no matter what happened, she would survive and become the last person standing.

Autumn didn't hesitate. She grabbed a pair of scissors and drove the sharp blades into her arm.

A thin streak of blood trickled down her skin and dropped onto the phone charm.

Three seconds later, the charm disappeared.

Her vision blurred. In the next instant, she found herself standing inside an empty, cube-shaped storage space.

She knew this place all too well.

It was about 16 feet long, 16 feet wide, and 16 feet high, giving her roughly 4,400 cubic feet of storage.

Small as it was, it had one incredible ability: time stood still here. Anything placed inside would stay fresh forever.

Back then, she had filled the entire space with animal feed. By eating nothing but grass, she had somehow survived that endless desert.

Autumn didn't stay inside for long. She knew from experience that her real body couldn't remain in the storage space for more than five minutes.

Once the time was up, the storage space would kick her out. And not gracefully, either.

Don't ask how she knew. It wasn't pretty, and her butt had hurt for days.

Outside the window, the loudspeaker announcing the redevelopment project was still blaring.

Her rusty brain suddenly clicked. Redevelopment?

Right. This had happened in her previous life too.

The residents of Everjoy Residences had thought the compensation was too low, so they refused to sign the agreement.

Three months later, only a few families had signed the agreement. Then a terrible rainstorm came and flooded the entire neighborhood. Everything was wiped out.

Autumn turned around and pulled her property deed from a drawer.

This old house in the urban village had cost her everything. She had used all her savings and taken out a mortgage to buy it.

She had been an orphan. At the orphanage, she had taken the last name from the orphanage director, Phoebe Montclair. Since she had been found in the fall, she was given the name Autumn.

She had learned how cold the world could be at a very young age. Autumn had started working early to make money.

Because she spent so much time working, her grades suffered. She only got into an average high school.

After graduation, she worked like crazy and saved every penny she could. Five years later, she finally had enough money for a down payment.

She couldn't afford renovations, so she cleaned up the place as best she could and moved in.

If she counted carefully, she still had 19 years left on her mortgage.

But none of that mattered now.

She would use this house as her starting capital and give herself a better chance of surviving the future.

Autumn quickly changed her clothes, carefully tucked the property deed into her bag as if it were a treasure, and hurried out the door toward the local government office.

As soon as she stepped outside, the world greeted her with the sights and smells of everyday life.

People hurried down the streets. Restaurants buzzed with customers. Everything felt so familiar that it seemed like a memory from a lifetime ago.

For a moment, Autumn stood there in a daze.

But she quickly pulled herself together.

This wasn't the time to get emotional. She needed to move fast, gather money, and stock up on supplies.

Her storage space was limited, but if she filled it with only the essentials—food and water—it could keep her alive for a long time.

"Hey, Autumn! Where are you going?" The lady next door grabbed her arm. "I'm telling you, everyone has to stand together. We absolutely cannot sign anything for those greedy developers. We have to demand better compensation. Listen to me—"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Autumn replied vaguely. "I'm going to the grocery store. I'm out of food."

Only then did the woman let her go. She immediately turned and started persuading other neighbors to join her cause.

Autumn slipped away and hurried out of the neighborhood.

The moment she reached the front gate, the smell of food from the restaurants lining the street hit her.

Her mouth instantly filled with saliva.

Hungry. So hungry. Her craving for food nearly shattered her self-control in an instant.

Autumn pulled out her phone and checked her balance.

She had only 500 dollars left.

It was enough to buy a meal, but she had something far more important to do.

Learning to control your desires was one of the rules for surviving the apocalypse.

Once she got the money she was owed, she could satisfy her cravings later.

Chapter 2 Gold Can Upgrade the Storage Space

Autumn fought the hunger clawing at her stomach. The smell of food was everywhere. In the end, she had to cover her nose and mouth with both hands to block it out. She lowered her head and hurried into the relocation office.

The place was noisy.

Several residents were arguing with the redevelopment staff. They demanded higher compensation, and both sides were shouting over each other.

Autumn walked over to an employee who was standing nearby and watching the commotion. She pulled out her deed and asked quietly, "Am I the first person to sign?"

The employee's eyes lit up. "Yes! Yes, you are!" she said quickly. "Let me see your deed."

"Wait." Autumn pressed a hand over the document. "I want to confirm something first. Is there an extra reward for the first person who signs?"

"There is," the employee replied at once. "You'll get an extra ten percent on your compensation, plus a bag of rice and a bag of flour." She paused, then added, "Our manager just announced another bonus. You'll also get a gold bracelet. Would you like to sign now?"

Autumn finally let go of the deed. "Of course. Thank you."

"No trouble at all." The employee quickly handed her a form.

The kind of life she led was devastating.

Can it even be called life?

When the world was torn apart inside out, and zombies ran rampant in every corner of the Earth, it would be a miracle for someone to even live this long.

***

Crunch

A woman trudged along the ground floor of an abandoned parking lot inside a building. Behind her back, a bag, carrying what was left of her supplies, slightly swayed as she moved. Her direction was the old truck that made a lot of noise—one she had been using since she got separated from her team.

It wasn't the most ideal form of transportation since it attracted a lot of zombies. But she had no choice, since it was the only one working. Other cars had already been taken or torn apart for their batteries and gases.

She shoved the bag into the truck, got inside, inserted the car keys in one fluid motion, and quickly left the parking lot.

The outside was even worse to look at.

The touch of what could resemble life was stripped away. Bloodstains that had long turned into brown smudges, bodies that hadn't mutated into zombies but rotted away, littered the road. Cars blown and abandoned were everywhere.

Of course, zombies, who are now the main citizens of this ruined world, were around as well. They aimlessly wandered, not knowing when a new foolish human prey would end in their midst.

As a human, she should've been afraid. Run and hide from them.

But…

She looked down at her bandaged arm. Blood was already seeping through. Wrapping a new one around the wound was impossible. Not with what was left of her supplies.

Besides, what was the point?

Outside the wrapped bandage, ghastly blue marks branched out across her arms, climbing to her shoulders, chest, and neck. She looked in the rearview mirror.

Her left eye had long lost its use. The eye no longer resembled a human's eye, lacking a distinct sclera and filled with hollow darkness. The only feature left was her pupil, which had turned bright red. Marks resembling the ones on her arms have also started to show on half of her face.

She was mutating.

Ah, life was good.

At least, before she died and became a zombie, she could read the novel she had been dying to get her hands on. It was her only form of escape from the harsh reality of the apocalypse.

As she drove down the street, the sound of the car attracted several zombies. But she didn't stop, accelerating her speed as if nothing else mattered.

"Grrr."

"GRRR!!!"

From inside the car, she could hear them growling. Prolonged hunger made them sensitive and violent.

"Come on, you motherfuckers."

She smiled as she sped up once more.

"Catch me if you can."

And then—

A small form stood in the middle of the road.

It was a zombie child.

It shouldn't affect her seeing a zombie appear before her. Especially, a child wasn't a rare sight either. It was the harsh reality of this world. No one was safe from total destruction when the apocalypse arrived. 

But pain ripped through her the moment she caught sight of it. The child faced the truck with unfocused red eyes. Jaw dribbling in drool and snarling ahead. What was left of that face barely resembled what she could remember. 

Startled by the sudden appearance of this zombie child, her foot involuntarily pressed hard on the brakes—and froze.

Her heart dropped.

Do it. Her mind screamed inside, telling her to ram the truck into that small form.

Even so, she couldn't do it.

Instead, tears ran down her face. Her lips curling into an ugly, pained smile. 

"Let's go, little brother."

CRASH!

Yet, she still couldn't bring herself to harm the child.

She missed the form before she could hit it, swerving to the other side and ramming against the wall. The impact hit like a bomb. She was thrown forward like a rag doll. Her body collided against the concrete wall like an egg against rock.

Agony erupted through every inch of her body. She couldn't tell which part hurt the most—it all just hurt.

Is this my… end?

The thought scared her.

At the same time, it gave her some relief.

She tried to look out, just to get one last glimpse of that small form she saw just now. Once more. Let me see you one last time.

She fought to stay awake, clinging to the pain to keep her eyes open. But it was no use. Darkness swallowed everything before she could see her little brother one last time.

And then—

She woke up.

Facing a strange ceiling with bright lights and the smell of sterile chemicals didn't register immediately. Blinking, she moved her eyes around. This was clearly a hospital room. And she was lying in a hospital bed.

But she could've sworn she'd died. The crash might have been the reason, but if the mutation moved faster than the death caused by that crash, she would've been roaming around or trapped inside the car as a zombie.

Not lying in a clean-looking hospital room.

Is this a dream?

But something was definitely off.

If she pinches her arm, she might wake up. She did just that and jolted with pain.

"..."

"Maybe it wasn't enough?"

Pinching might not be sufficient. Could it be that she had to jump from the window and see if she wakes up from it?

She turned her head to the window; the wind was blowing through the white curtain. It was open and big enough for a person to crouch out into.

Testing her theory, she walked to the side of the window. It was slightly higher than she thought. She was already taller than most girls. How high can this window be?

Dragging a chair beneath the window, she climbed on top of it and grasped the windowsill.

Half of her body was already halfway out of the window when a sound came from inside the room.

'Clattering'.

She turned her head, poking out of the window to look inside. A woman in a nurse's uniform stared at her in a horrified manner, jaws pried wide open.

"Miss Aisha! What are you doing?!"

The nurse's face broke into panic, shocked and horrified by the scene before her.

Annoyed by the patient, the nurse said, "Step away from the window and get back inside. This performance should end now!"

But the woman halfway out of the window glanced at her with a disinterested look. She poked a leg out, leaving only one leg to step on the stool.

By the time the nurse finally reacted, she was already tilting her body downward.

That foolish bravery and indifference shocked the nurse. This was not a joke. She truly wants to jump!

Looking out the window, the scene mesmerized her before her. A clear, bright sky. Streets were filled with people, no zombies roaming around, and the miasma that had lingered in the air was not there.

It'd be nice if this were real.

"Oh, well, time to wake up."

A Paris atelier sent over three one-of-a-kind couture gowns.

Spencer Vaughn’s assistant came to ask how the gowns should be divided between his wife and the woman everyone knew he favored. Spencer was with Vivian Hale as she tried on a diamond ring, and he answered without much thought, “Keep one for my collection. Give the other two to Vivian for her reception looks next month.”

The assistant hesitated before quietly reminding him, “Mr. Vaughn, Mrs. Vaughn still doesn’t have a gown for your tenth anniversary.”

Spencer paused, as though he had only just remembered I existed. “Then use the lace trimmed off Vivian’s hem to make her a short veil.”

It was nothing more than a scrap of leftover lace. After ten years of loving him, that was the only shred of dignity I had to show for it.

He blamed me for refusing to give up the only spot in a prestigious international fellowship program, convinced that I had cost Vivian her chance at an international career. That became his justification for freezing me out for most of our marriage.

Years later, when a terminal illness left him on the verge of death, he clutched my hand and asked whether I still resented him.

Outside his hospital room, the season’s newest couture arrivals were piled high. As always, there was one for him and two for Vivian.

For me, there was only a discarded strap left over from the tailor’s alterations.

I closed my eyes without answering.

When I opened them again, I was back ten years earlier, at the high-profile proposal gala that everyone had come to watch.

Smiling, the emcee held up the one-of-a-kind diamond ring and gestured toward the churning water of the ice-rimmed lake behind them.

“Whoever dives down and brings back the key gets to be the future Mrs. Vaughn.”

In my previous life, I had nearly drowned in that lake just to make Spencer look at me.

This time, I took half a step back and watched the ring disappear silently into the darkness below.

***

The ring made only one dark ripple as it sank.

The cheering along the shore died instantly. The emcee’s smile froze as they turned toward the production console, still holding the microphone.

A woman’s voice suddenly bled through the backup monitor.

“Get her a little farther forward. The camera can’t get her face from there.”

Her voice was quiet, but the production console was barely a step behind me. I heard every word.

It was Vivian.

I hadn’t heard that in my previous life. All I had heard was the crowd shouting, “Jump, Natalie Sinclair! You’ve been chasing Mr. Vaughn for years. Don’t chicken out now!”

That night, I was choking on lake water. By the time I found the key and hauled myself ashore, three of my fingernails had torn back.

Spencer had still wrapped his coat around Vivian’s shoulders, saying she had been terrified by what happened.

Now the wind swept off the ice, and I stood at the edge without moving.

Spencer finally looked at me. He wore a black suit with silver cuff links.

I had given him those cuff links the year before. He had called them too plain and never worn them. The only reason he had put them on tonight was that Vivian had casually said they looked good.

“Natalie.”

The low, clipped way he said my name carried a warning: don’t embarrass him.

Vivian stood wrapped in a white shawl, her eyes red at the corners—just enough to make her look wounded.

“Natalie, are you afraid of the water? If you are, we can forget it. Spencer won’t blame you.”

When she finished speaking, she lightly rested her fingers on Spencer’s sleeve.

He didn’t pull away.

He looked at me and said flatly, “It’s just a game. Don’t ruin it.”

So this was just a game.

They were using an icy lake, a key, and my life to prove whether I was worthy of standing beside him.

I took half a step back. My heel cracked a thin skin of ice beneath me with a faint snap.

The emcee hurried to smooth things over. “Ms. Sinclair, the divers are standing by. Mr. Vaughn just wanted to give you a proposal you’d never forget.”

Another line came through the monitor.

“Keep the divers back. It looks better if she gets it herself.”

I turned toward the production console.

A backup camera was already rolling, its red tally light on and its lens trained on the shoreline.

So while I had been fighting for my life in the lake the first time around, someone onshore had already adjusted the camera’s focus.

Spencer glanced at his watch.

“Ten minutes.”

Vivian gave a small cough.

Spencer immediately took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

I stood bare-shouldered in the wind off the lake, my dress hem soaked with slush and my ankles numb from the cold.

A server carrying a blanket started toward me, but a single look from Spencer stopped them.

“She chose this.”

I had heard that line for ten years.

I got sick from the cold, and that was my choice.

I took the blame for Vivian, and that was my choice.

I slept alone for ten years, and that was my choice.

This time, I didn’t take another step toward the lake.

I turned and walked back toward the ballroom.

Behind me, Spencer’s voice finally hardened.

“Natalie, if you walk out of here tonight, you’d better be ready to live with it.”

The announcement called our number for the third time inside the County Clerk's Office.

Grant Calloway still had his back to me.

He and his inseparable fellow, Sloane Mitchell, were studying a rare cardiac angiogram on her tablet.

"Grant, it's our turn," I said, lightly tugging his sleeve.

"Don't interrupt."

He brushed my hand away without giving me a glance.

"Look at this dissection," he said to Sloane. "Where would you make the incision?"

Sloane sighed and looked at me as if I were a relative causing a scene in the ER.

"Elara, don't be selfish. We're trying to save a critically ill patient."

"It's only a marriage license. You can come back any day.

Cancel the appointment and let him think."

Their discussion grew animated. They hurried out together, knocking the bouquet from my hands.

Neither slowed as their shoes crushed the petals across the cold tile. The last of my dignity seemed to disappear beneath their steps.

I had no reason, or standing, to stop them.

Grant and Sloane were elite cardiothoracic surgeons, celebrated as the hospital's brilliant duo.

I was an ordinary patient care aide who managed everything behind the scenes.

Their world held scalpels, EKGs, and prestigious journals. Mine held cleaning cloths, shift schedules, and dinners kept warm on the stove.

They understood each other without speaking. I could barely enter their conversations.

We had been together seven years. For the last three, I had made myself small enough to serve them both for the sake of our future marriage.

All that patience had brought me another abandoned appointment.

This time, I did not crouch down with tears in my eyes and gather the ruined flowers.

Come back another day? There would never be another day.

I was done being a famous surgeon's unpaid aide.

----

"Elara Bennett and Grant Calloway, please report to Window Three."

The final call echoed through the lobby.

The appointment slip had gone soft with sweat in my fist.

I watched Grant and Sloane disappear side by side at the end of the corridor.

Before, I would have knelt to collect every trampled petal.

I would have told myself that doctors dealt with life and death, and that loving one meant being understanding.

Now I looked at the crushed roses and felt the fire I had kept alive for three years go out.

I walked to Window Three.

"I'm sorry. I'd like to cancel our application."

The clerk checked the documents in my hand.

"Are you sure you don't want to file today?"

"I'm sure."

I put the papers back in my bag and left, stepping over the petals.

Another day?

Never.

The apartment door opened at eleven that night.

Grant and Sloane came in one after the other, both flushed with excitement.

"The simulation worked!" Grant tossed his white coat onto the couch.

"If we use this approach in tomorrow's case..."

Sloane carried a bouquet.

It was not mine.

Her red roses had cost at least three times as much. The card read, [To my best partner. Grant.]

I sat at the dining table with a statement spread before me.

"Elara, hand-wash my coat first. The machine ruins the shape," Grant said without turning.

"Then make two low-fat meals. Sloane has surgery in the morning."

"There isn't any food."

Grant stopped and looked at me.

It was the first time in three years that the absence of a ready meal had made him notice me.

"You didn't come home early to cook?"

"I spent the afternoon waiting at the clerk's office."

Sloane pulled a crumpled sheet of cellophane from her bag. I recognized my bouquet's wrapping.

"I meant to pick it up for you, but the hospital called us back."

She placed it on the table and carefully flattened one corner.

"Next time, I'll take your pictures. We'll choose a day when Grant isn't busy."

To her, the problem was that I had chosen badly.

Grant came over and set something in front of me.

A ring.

It was cheap silver, engraved inside with the letters SM.

Sloane Mitchell's initials.

"Wear this for now. I'll buy the real one after I win the research grant."

I pushed it back.

"You two need to pay this month's rent, utilities, and housekeeping costs."

Grant stared as if I had said something obscene.

"I completed a simulation today that could change cardiac surgery, and you're talking to me about the electric bill?"

Sloane tied on an apron and entered the kitchen.

Thirty seconds later, the gas burner clicked uselessly.

A minute after that, black smoke rose from a skillet.

Two minutes later, Sloane stumbled out coughing, her eyes red and oil burns spotting the back of her hand.

Grant caught her, snatched away the spatula, and turned on me.

"You knew she couldn't cook. Why did you force her into the kitchen?"

I watched him run cool water over Sloane's hand with exquisite care.

The previous month, I had worked through a 102-degree fever, and he had complained that my soup was too salty.

I said nothing.

In the bedroom, I opened my laptop and searched for jobs at Northbridge Hospice and Palliative Care Center.

After submitting my application, I canceled the engagement dinner I had booked for Grant's parents.

To make me pay for "hurting" my adopted sister,

Logan Mercer, Silver Ridge's head of mountain rescue, left me twelve weeks pregnant at a remote mountain outpost.

That was the day the avalanche hit.

Buried beneath the snow, I sobbed into my phone and called mountain rescue.

"Help... This is Claire Bennett. An avalanche hit. I'm buried under the snow."

A cold laugh came through the line.

"Ms. Bennett, Logan already warned us you might abuse the rescue line today."

"He told us not to respond unless there's a verified emergency."

When they hung up, I called my parents.

Even through my crying, all I heard in their voices was impatience.

"Claire, Mia's had health problems her whole life."

"You locked her outside on purpose, and she ended up in the hospital with a fever."

"Logan left you up there for a while so you could cool off and think about what you did."

I called Logan one last time. He didn't sound worried. Just cold.

"Stop this. Stay there and think about what you did."

Then another avalanche came down and swallowed me whole.

Before I lost consciousness, my blood spread across the white snow.

Through the blur, I saw him coming toward me, hand in hand with my adopted sister...

"Help... an avalanche hit. I'm buried at the North Ridge outpost..."

Snow already covered me to the waist as I called Silver Ridge Mountain Rescue over and over.

A snapped section of the outpost frame had pinned my right leg. The slightest movement sent pain through it like the bone might splinter.

Worse, my lower abdomen had started cramping in waves.

At last, someone answered.

I latched onto the human voice on the other end like a lifeline and choked out,

"This is Claire Bennett. I'm trapped under snow. My exact location is—"

Before I could finish, a familiar voice cut me off.

"Mrs. Mercer?"

I froze.

"Logan said you two had a fight today and warned us you might call dispatch just to get him to come back."

"If that's what this is, you need to stop."

My voice shook. Frost blurred the edges of my vision.

"No! I'm not abusing the line."

"There was a real avalanche. I'm trapped, my leg's pinned, and I can't get out!"

"Please send someone. I'm cramping so badly. I could die out here..."

The dispatcher gave an impatient click of his tongue.

"Mrs. Mercer, mountain rescue isn't a hotline for marital fights."

"Whatever happened between you and Logan, you need to work it out with him."

Then he hung up.

The disconnect tone beeped in my ear.

I gripped the phone, my fingers aching with cold.

A gust of wind knifed across my face.

Frost crusted my lashes, and each breath of icy air seared my lungs.

My pinned leg had gone numb, but my abdomen still twisted with deep, grinding pain.

I bit my lip and pressed a trembling hand to my stomach.

"It's okay..."

"Don't be scared, baby. Mommy's going to try again..."

I dialed back immediately.

They picked up even faster this time.

I barely got a word out before the voice on the other end hardened.

"Mrs. Mercer, why are you calling again?"

I cried out,

"I'm not lying!"

I held the phone out toward the storm.

A low roar rolled across the mountain as loose snow hissed down the slope.

"Listen! You can hear it. I'm pregnant, and I'm having severe cramps."

"I don't know how much longer I can hold on!"

"Please, trace my phone. Just send a team..."

A few quiet laughs crackled through the line.

"Logan called this one."

"No wonder he never wants to go home if this is what he deals with..."

When the dispatcher came back on, he sounded bored.

"Mrs. Mercer, enough."

"If you keep tying up this line, we'll have to document the calls."

"Don't take resources away from people who actually need help."

Something inside me went cold.

"But I am the person who needs help..."

I didn't even get to finish.

The call disconnected again.

As soon as the screen went dark, a text came in.

It was Logan.

"Claire, are you done?"

"I left you at the outpost for a few hours to cool down. Did you really need to drag my entire rescue team into our fight?"

"They're working. They don't have time for this."

I stared at the texts. Tears hit the screen and froze almost as soon as they landed.

I was actually dying, and no one believed me.

With what little strength I had left, I called county emergency dispatch.

When someone answered, I nearly screamed into the phone,

"Help... I'm on the mountain. I'm cramping. I'm bleeding. A lot..."

The dispatcher paused for a few seconds.

"Ma'am, we're getting an intermittent location ping from your phone, and Silver Ridge has an advisory on file about a possible domestic dispute."

"We need to verify the situation with the resort's mountain rescue supervisor."

Panic slammed into me.

"Don't call him..."

"Please just send someone! I really—"

But the line was already being transferred.

Seconds later, the background on the other end changed.

I heard voices, clinking dishes, the muffled hum of a warm room.

Someone was soothing Mia.

"Mia, honey, don't worry. Just rest."

"Your mom and I are right here. No one's going to upset you again."

Then Mia's soft, fragile voice drifted through.

"Is that Claire?"

"Is she still mad at me?"

Logan's voice softened when he answered her.

"Ignore her. If she won't admit she was wrong, she can stay there until she calms down."

The county dispatcher asked,

"Can you confirm whether Claire Bennett is currently in immediate danger?"

Logan answered without hesitation. His voice didn't change at all.

"No."

"No. She's upset and trying to prove a point. Don't send a team."

I gripped the phone until my hand cramped. A broken sound came out of my throat.

"Logan..."

Wind and snow filled my mouth. I could barely force the words out.

"It... really hurts..."

Another cramp tore through my abdomen and folded me in half.

The snow beneath me started to turn red.

I clawed at the snow, trying to drag myself free.

But my leg wouldn't move, and pain ripped through my abdomen.

Every attempt sent black spots swimming across my vision.

I dragged in a breath and screamed with everything I had left,

"Help!"

"Is anyone there...?"

The wind tore my voice apart before it could carry.

Then the snow overhead shuddered.

A wall of white thundered down on me.

College apps were done. The four of us were supposed to be planning a trip.

Brielle Mercer, my younger cousin, tapped her phone screen. “I want to go to the lake towns around Lake Willowmere.”

She tilted her head toward my brother, who hadn’t looked up from his game. “Where do you want to go?”

He didn’t even glance up. “Wherever. I don’t care.”

Brielle lit up and turned to Wesley Halstead. “What about you, Wesley?”

Wesley, my childhood sweetheart, gave her an easy smile. “You pick. I’ll handle the bookings.”

Wesley was already hunched over his phone, looking up flights.

Nobody asked where I wanted to go. Not even Wesley. He’d promised to take me to the beach, and he’d already forgotten.

Ever since Brielle moved in, everyone told me the same thing. She’d been through so much. I needed to make room for her.

Wesley was the only one who’d said he wouldn’t ask me to do that.

He used to bring me coffee before zero period, buy me those expensive gel pens I liked, and talk me through every AP Calc problem I got stuck on.

“We’ll go to Northbridge together. We’ll get out of here. And you’ll never have to make room for anyone again.”

But yesterday, I logged in to confirm my enrollment, and Northbridge was gone. Someone had swapped my commitment to Lakeview State.

I changed it back immediately and went to find Wesley. That’s when I heard him talking to my brother.

“You’re seriously giving up Northbridge to stay here? What about Tessa?”

“Yeah. Brielle wants the four of us to stick together, so I changed Tessa’s college choice too.”

“Tessa and I are gonna end up together anyway. I’ll make it up to her. She can deal with it this once.”

That was when I decided not to tell him I’d changed it back.

...

The three of them kept talking, voices overlapping, laughing. I got up and went to the kitchen.

Mom was at the counter prepping dinner.

“Can you peel some garlic for me?”

“Have you guys decided where you’re going?”

I picked up the garlic and started peeling. “They’re still figuring it out.”

She hummed, then held up a cut of meat like a trophy. “Got this at the butcher shop this morning. Look at that.”

“Okay.”

I set the garlic down next to her and glanced at the cutting board. Prime ribeye, thick and perfectly marbled.

Rich and tender, the fat melting into the red. She wasn’t wrong, it looked incredible.

I turned on the faucet and rinsed my hands.

“And these jumbo shrimp, look how perfect they are.”

I looked around the kitchen, and it clicked.

Prime ribeye for Brielle. Buffalo shrimp for my brother. Honey-glazed salmon for Dad. Barbecue wings for Wesley.

And a generic side salad for the table.

I turned off the faucet and opened the fridge. “Mom, can I bake some brownies?”

“Oh, I didn’t pick up eggs. I’ll grab some next time. The farm-fresh ones.”

My hand slipped off the fridge door.

Brielle had ribeye whenever she wanted. Two days ago she mentioned, just offhand, that her last steak was too lean, and Mom got up early this morning to find the perfect cut.

I was still waiting for eggs.

“Come help me with the rest of this.”

“Okay.”

By dinner, they’d made their decision.

Brielle announced it at the table: Lake Willowmere. Mom and Dad didn’t even blink.

Then Brielle paused, like she’d just remembered I existed.

“Sorry, Tessa. We totally forgot to ask you. Where do you want to go?”

I looked around the table. Every single one of them had already said yes.

Even if I said something, they’d find a reason to shut it down.

I shoved a forkful of food into my mouth so the lump in my throat had nowhere to go.

“I don’t care.”

After dinner, Mom waved me toward the table. “Clear the dishes.” Then she took Brielle by the arm and led her to the couch.

Brielle shot me a smug look, but her voice came out soft. “It doesn’t feel right making Tessa do it all by herself...”

My brother laughed. “We have a dishwasher. Relax, it’s not like she’s scrubbing pots by hand.”

“Exactly. She just has to clear the table. Come look at these vintage summer dresses with me. We’ll pick one out for her too. That girl has zero sense of style.”

My hand slipped, and I nearly dropped a plate.

I’d been picking out my own dresses since I was little, knew what looked good before most kids even cared.

Mom used to beam at me in the mirror. “My girl’s going to be a designer someday.”

Then Brielle moved in.

Mom said no more dresses. Brielle had never had nice things, and it would hurt her feelings.

After that, my closet was nothing but sweatpants and oversized hoodies.

And now Mom said I had no sense of style.

We were under the same roof, but the laughter in the living room might as well have been in another house.

My eyes burned. I ducked my head and pressed my lips together.

No one noticed.

I carried the dishes into the kitchen. My phone chimed with a new message.

It was from Wesley.

[Everyone wants to go to Willowmere. I’ll take you to the beach next time, just us.]

So he hadn’t forgotten.

My fingers went white around my phone.

Did everyone want to go, or was it just Brielle?

But my grip loosened.

Forget it.

There wasn’t going to be a next time anyway.

When I came out of the kitchen, the living room was empty.

I was drying my hands when Brielle came wheeling a suitcase out of her room, grinning.

“Tessa, hurry up and pack. We’re leaving for the airport.”

I looked down. I was still holding a damp dish towel.

“Wait, right now? I haven’t even...”

Mom came out with her own suitcase and frowned. “Stop standing around. Hurry up or we’ll be late.”

Dad squeezed my shoulder. “Pack fast. We’ll wait in the car.”

I ran to my room, threw open my suitcase, and grabbed whatever my hands touched first.

I hauled my suitcase out to the driveway. The car was empty.

I called Dad. They’d already left.

Before he hung up, I heard Mom in the background. “I told her to hurry, but she just had to take her sweet time...”

I caught my reflection in the glass front door, and my eyes stung.

Messy ponytail. Baggy sweats. A half-empty suitcase. Shoes I’d shoved on without looking.

Everything about me screamed that I’d been rushing.

My phone chimed. A message from Wesley.

[I called an Uber for you. Hurry over. You can still make it.]

[I don’t want to go anymore.]

[Why?]

My thumb hovered over the screen. Some things were too humiliating to type.

Because I wanted to go to the beach.

Because I had no pretty clothes.

Because none of you waited for me.

My phone rang. Wesley, calling this time. He sounded annoyed.

“This is our graduation trip. What’s the point if you don’t come?”

“We’re at the airport. Just get here.”

He hung up before I could say a word. Again.

The Uber pulled up right then. The driver got out and loaded my suitcase without a word.

I got in and stared out the window the whole way.

Something in my chest pressed down, heavier with every mile.

Lucinda Wipere sat across from her adoptive father, Preston Wipere, in the airport lounge. His voice held obvious reluctance as he spoke loud enough for nearby passengers to overhear.

"Lucinda, behave yourself out there. Your birth parents have little means, yet they are your family. Learn to curb that spoiled temper you picked up after years with the Wipere household."

Lucinda lifted her eyes, her clear gaze meeting his weary face. She said nothing, simply watching him in silence. Preston shifted awkwardly and looked away. "Call home if you need anything."

Her adoptive mother, Gemma Adams, rummaged in her purse and set an old, cracked-screen phone on the table. "Take this. Folks there can barely afford smartphones. It's outdated, but it still works—make do."

Gemma's fingers brushed her limited-edition Cartier necklace, conflicting emotions swirling inside her. They had raised Lucinda for twenty years, and now they were finally sending her away. Leaning toward Preston, she muttered, "Who will cook once she's gone? I can't stand anyone else's food."

"Keep your voice down," Preston warned.

"I'm just honest," Gemma retorted. "We hired three chefs, yet none can replicate her steak. Every meal lately tastes flat and empty." Annoyance creased her brow.

Years ago, their biological daughter Allegra had gone missing, and Gemma had cried herself nearly blind. On Preston's suggestion, they adopted Lucinda to fill the void. But regret struck her the moment the girl stepped through the door. Lucinda's face always reminded Gemma of her lost child.

The Wipere family had ruled as Seaside City's wealthiest for two decades. It galled her that a stranger's daughter lived in luxury while Allegra's whereabouts remained unknown.

Thankfully, Allegra had returned home. Better still, Lucinda's birth family had resurfaced. Rumor said they dwelled in the slums, jobless and disreputable, with three lazy, useless sons. A cold smile tugged at Gemma's lips. Good riddance. A clean break—though it was a shame to lose Lucinda's cooking.

She touched her necklace, and a sharp pain stabbed her chest. She pressed a hand to her heart for relief. Three months prior, doctors had diagnosed her with late-stage breast cancer and given her less than a month to live. Back then, Lucinda had tended to her relentlessly, massaging her and bringing medicine, yet Gemma had only grown impatient.

Everything changed when Allegra came home. Gemma felt half-healed at first sight of her daughter, and a true miracle followed: her tumor vanished entirely. The doctor called it a medical wonder, but Gemma knew it was divine grace. Allegra was God's angel, sent to save her. Lucinda's claims that her care had helped were nothing but nonsense. That ill-omened girl should have been cast out long ago.

"Lucinda, don't be sad. Those remote areas are dangerous for young women. Take care of yourself."

Allegra, the Wipere's long-lost birth daughter, sat beside Lucinda and held her hand, eyes red-rimmed. Triumph glinted plainly beneath her sorrowful act. She knew Lucinda's birth family could barely put food on the table, and the girl would face endless chores and mistreatment there. A sense of superiority washed over her.

"Don't worry," Allegra said sweetly. "I'll send you pocket money each month. It's not much, but it covers small needs. We're sisters—I can't bear to see you suffer."

Murmurs of praise rose from onlookers, all commending Allegra's kindness.

Lucinda stared at the hand gripping hers, her fingertips cold. She met Allegra's tearful eyes, her own expression utterly calm, then pulled her hand free and stood. "Disgusting."

Allegra froze, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. "I know you're upset. Truth be told, I almost envy you—living somewhere quiet and scenic. I'm stuck here with tedious parties, family duties, and even your old engagement."

The wealthy Grayson family had long been bound to the Wipers by a marriage contract, which had passed to Allegra after her return.

A frosty smile played on Lucinda's lips. "That scumbag? He's all yours if you want him."

Allegra was stunned. Marshall Grayson was every socialite's dream—young, talented and handsome. This engagement was her chance to climb higher, and Lucinda dared to insult him?

"Lucinda!" Gemma jumped to her feet and stormed over. "How cruel can you be? Allegra showed you kindness, and you repay twenty years of our care like this? You ungrateful wretch!"

Lucinda halted and turned, a hollow smile on her face. "Shall I count every penny you've spent on me all these years?"

Gemma's features went rigid. Without another word, Lucinda picked up her backpack and headed for security.

She set her bag on the conveyor belt. Instantly, a red light flashed, and a shrill alarm split the lounge's quiet. Two uniformed officers hurried over. "Ma'am, please cooperate with our inspection."

The agent opened the backpack and pulled out sealed plastic bags from a hidden compartment. Inside were shriveled poppy husks.

Lucinda frowned and glanced toward Allegra, who stood a short distance away. She still wore a mournful look, but a clear flash of victory lit up her eyes the second the alarm sounded. Lucinda understood at once. This was a trap.

Allegra stepped forward, her voice trembling perfectly. "Lucinda, how could you bring something like this?" She feigned a sudden realization. "No wonder Mom and Dad craved your cooking so deeply. Have you been mixing this into their food all along?"

Gemma pushed through the crowd and froze. She thought of the bland meals she'd endured recently, and her face twisted with horror and revulsion. "Have you been poisoning us?"

Preston's expression darkened. "Lucinda, we raised you for twenty years. Is this how you repay us?"

Allegra clung to Gemma's arm, speaking softly. "Mom, don't scold her. She grew up lonely here, never feeling safe. She only wanted us to love her cooking more, so she…" She trailed off, then sighed. "It's my fault. She'd never have resorted to such desperation if I hadn't come home."

Gemma looked at her gentle, forgiving daughter, then at the cold, unyielding Lucinda. The contrast cut deep. She pulled Allegra behind her, glaring at Lucinda with unbridled disgust.

"I knew you were trouble! Drugging us, getting us addicted—do you even have a heart? This is not over. Your crimes are yours alone. We cut all ties ages ago. Live or die, it has nothing to do with the Wipere family."

After five years of marriage, Lisa Davis finally got pregnant.

She rushed to get her birth permit, planning to give it to her husband David Green as their fifth anniversary gift.

But the system kept rejecting their marriage certificate as invalid.

"Miss Lisa, are you sure this is real?"

After over a dozen error alerts, the clerk eyed her strangely.

Lisa frowned. "We've been married five years. It can't be fake."

The clerk retried and pushed the documents back. "Check at the Civil Registry Office. Using fake certificates is illegal. Singles can get birth permits now."

Lisa understood the implication and went next door.

When she emerged, her face was deathly pale, all joy vanished.

The official's words hammered her heart: "Both you and Mr. Green are unmarried. This marriage certificate is forged..."

Their five-year marriage... was fake!

She and David grew up together. Everyone knew he adored her, showering her with life's finest things. Why give her a fake certificate?

Lisa immediately flew to Andorra where David was on business.

She needed answers!

At his hotel, a wedding was underway.

Andorra had unique marriage laws—lifelong unions ending only in death.

Pushing through the crowd toward the elevator, Lisa glanced at the groom—and froze.

There stood David, beaming in local attire: leather jacket, skinny jeans, knee-high boots, beret, and a red waist sash.

"Congrats on the wedding, David!"

"Gotta admit, you throw epic weddings both home and abroad!"

"But David, are you serious about Helen? That girl from nothing?"

Someone asked, "Isn't this bigamy? Didn't you marry Lisa years ago?"

"David never actually registered with Lisa," another explained. "Waited for Helen to grow up. Legally, he's stayed single all five years!"

"Damn! David knows how to play."

Lisa stood petrified in the crowd, blood turning to ice.

She thought she'd misheard—until David's voice cut through:

"Helen deserves this. She nearly died donating blood to save Lisa and chose to live in Lisa's shadow. All she wants is a lasting marriage. I can give her that."

David spoke slowly, each word deliberate.

So that was why.

Tears welled in Lisa's eyes. The fake certificate—David had arranged it himself.

Five years ago, Lisa Davis got into a car accident. Helen Gonzalez, then a high school freshman, rushed her to the hospital and donated blood to save her life.

Helen came from a poor family, living only with her critically ill mother. To express their gratitude for saving Lisa, David Green and Lisa covered all her educational expenses and arranged for her overseas studies and travels.

David declared that by saving Lisa, Helen had essentially saved him too.

He vowed to give everything within his power to show his appreciation.

Little did she know his gratitude would extend to marrying her after supporting her until adulthood.

The day before school starts, Mom posted a screenshot of a money transfer in the family group chat.

I’d just gotten a thousand dollars, my heart leaping with hope, when Mom tagged me directly in the thread.

[Wallace, send that money over to your sister.]

I blinked, typing back: [Didn’t you send that to me?]

A voice note popped up immediately, sharp and clipped. “That money goes into both of Nana’s bank accounts so she won’t run short. How dare you think you deserve cash when your grades are garbage? Send it right back, or you’ll regret it.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I sent the full thousand back.

My account balance dropped to three dollars. I was about to ask if she could spare two hundred, only to find I’d been kicked out of the group.

Dad pulled me aside to comfort me. “Your mom’s just harsh but well-meaning, she means well. Take these three hundred. Don’t take it to heart. Pack your things; we’ll drive you two over to Duke University tomorrow.”

I wiped my eyes and loaded my luggage into the car that night. Yet when dawn broke, my suitcase lay discarded out on the driveway.

The heavy black hard-shell suitcase hit the ground, sliding across the concrete, its old lock cracking clean open.

Mom blocked the car door with one arm, her tone flat. “Nana’s got way too much luggage. There isn’t room. You’ll have to get there on your own.”

Dad tried to speak up for me, but one cold look from Mom shut him down instantly.

“I told you not to apply to Duke. We can’t drop two kids off there. This is what you get for not listening.”

I stared at the wide-open backseat, throat burning.

The trunk was stuffed full of Nadia’s belongings, plus gift bags for professors and new classmates. There was simply no spot left for my twenty-four-inch suitcase.

I should have known. Their perfect little family of three had never had space for an extra like me.

Duke, though, was never my real destination. A bird with no home belonged farther north.

***

Frayed, faded hand-me-down clothes spilled halfway out of my broken suitcase—castoffs Nadia no longer wanted.

I stood out in the open, summer sunlight burning hot against my skin.

Inside the car, Nadia was curled across Mom’s lap in a brand-new designer sundress. The AC was cranked so high she shivered.

Mom reached over to turn it down without a second thought, then frowned when she noticed I hadn’t left. “What are you still doing standing there?”

In the old days, I would have bowed my head and mumbled, “Okay, I get it.”

Growing up, our schools had sat on opposite ends of town.

Nadia went to the fancy private school five minutes from home. I commuted two hours each way across the city to an underfunded public school. Mom and Dad always drove Nadia.

From age seven onward, I got up at five every morning, trudging through the freezing dawn to catch the bus. My overstuffed backpack weighed me down until one shoulder hung lower than the other.

Nadia wouldn’t get up until seven, hair done up in perfect princess braids. She had time for a leisurely breakfast on the ride. Her Elsa-printed backpack never touched the ground; either Mom or Dad carried it for her.

I’d begged them to drive me once. All I got was, “It’s too far. We have work.”

If I pushed further, I got snapped at. “Why don’t you get grades half as good as your sister, then?”

Twelve years of this back-and-forth. I ought to have grown used to it.

But watching my pale, polished sister in the cool car, then looking down at my sunburned arms, my feet rooted to the pavement.

“There’s an empty seat back there,” Dad said, glancing over his shoulder from the driver’s seat, his brow furrowed. “Wallace’s thin, she won’t take up much room. Let her ride with us.”

Mom was smoothing sunscreen across Nadia’s arms and rolled her eyes. “Jude, come on. Nana’s going to be gone for six whole months. We still need to run errands for her supplies on the drive. We promised her, we can’t back out now.”

“Three of you squish in the back, or one of you sit up front,” Dad insisted.

“Not a chance,” Mom huffed. “I’m not riding shotgun in this blazing heat, and neither is Nana.”

Sweat soaked through the back of my shirt. I opened my mouth to say I’d happily take the front seat.

Nadia cut me off, pouting slightly. “Mom, isn’t this kind of unfair to Wally? You’ve never once driven her to school. I really don’t need a ride, y’know. I’m strong enough to haul my own bags.”

She flexed her delicate arms beneath her puff-sleeve dress for show. “See? I’ve got muscles!”

Mom and Dad laughed, the heavy tension dissolving in an instant. Once again, I was the awkward one ruining everyone’s good mood.

Dad coughed quietly. “Don’t be silly. You’re way too little, we’d never feel safe letting you go alone.”

“Unfair?” Mom scoffed. “This is her own fault! I told her not to apply to the same school as Nana. She refused to listen. She needs to learn a lesson.”

Dad caved. “Wally, you’ll have to take the train.”

I twisted the hem of my shirt, words stuck tight in my throat. I said nothing.

Car doors slammed shut. A two-hundred-dollar Venmo transfer popped up on my phone screen. I stared at it for a long time, then tapped accept.

Late that night, Dad texted me: [I’m sorry this happened. I’ll help you move your stuff when you get to Duke.]

I glanced at my phone, where a shipping alert popped up.

I typed back: [I’m not coming to Duke.]

My parents had no clue. Duke was never where I intended to go.

I’d applied to Cornell, far up north. No short flights there, only endless train rides.

Everything hurt.

My head hung forward, chin nearly touching my chest as the truck rattled violently beneath me, every bump in the road sending sharp jolts through my already aching body.

My wrists burned.

Cold metal cuffs dug into my skin, locked tight behind my back, cutting off any sense of comfort or balance. I couldn't even shift properly without feeling the strain in my shoulders.

Tears slid silently down my cheeks.

I didn't even bother wiping them away either.

Because what the hell was the point anymore?

No one cared about how hard this was for any of us... 

My heart felt like it had cracked open in my chest, as my mind replayed everything that had just happened to us in the last twenty-four hours... 

When we first got off the boat, we had all been divided in to large army trucks, ten to one. 

We'd been driving for hours to an unknown location, before finally, one soldier announced that we had arrived at the town... 

That was when they started to off load each of us - one by one - leaving only myself and Cara left now... 

Everyone else was gone.

The truck jerked a little again, tires crunching, before coming to a slow, grinding halt. 

This was the routine, drive a few metres, stop, someone gets taken out, repeat... 

Only this time, it would be the hardest goodbye! 

The heavy doors at the back swung open with a violent clang, sunlight flooding in again.

Too bright out there.

Too harsh! 

"Cara Owens!" He yelled too loud, as though we weren't sat only centimetres from these damn soldiers! 

I squeezed my eyes shut, my chest tightening painfully, before turning to watch...

She stood up shakily from beside me, her hands still cuffed like mine, her face pale and terrified as two soldiers reached in and violently yanked at her. 

She shrieked a little, and I instantly tried to move.

Tried to stand. 

Tried to protest. 

Tried to help... 

"Don't grab her like that..." Was all I had managed to get out.

Before- 

Crack! 

Pain exploded across my face, my head snapping to the side as the blow landed hard against my eye - sending me flying backwards on to the floor of the truck - arms twisted up behind my back as I screamed loudly... 

"Learn some fucking respect!" One of the soldiers snarled.

I saw stars briefly, blinking to process.

And Cara...

God... Cara had looked at me like it was all her fault.

"I'm sorry - Margot, I'm so sorry-"

"It's not you," I'd tried to tell her, my voice thick with tears. "It's not your fault..."

But they'd already been dragging her away by that point...

The doors slammed shut before I could see where she went and the present snapped back into place as the truck jolted forward again, sending me rolling. 

I propped myself up, my back against the base of the bench I'd once sat on... 

Now it was just me.

All alone.

My eye throbbed violently now, swollen and pulsing with every beat of my heart as my head spun trying to process that I'd just been hit. 

My body felt heavy.

Exhausted.

Drained.

But numb now... 

We'd been driving for hours today - endless hours. 

Some of the girls had even fallen asleep along the way... curled awkwardly against the metal walls, too tired to keep fighting it.

But I couldn't sleep.

Not even for a second.

Because every time I closed my eyes, I just saw him.

Coban.

The way he looked at me that morning.

The way he tried to reach me.

The way they pulled me away from him like I meant nothing. The way I didn't know that'd be the last time I saw him... 

My chest tightened sharply.

Stop.

Don't think about it.

Don't. 

The truck slowed again seconds later.

Stopping for the final time...

My breath caught in my throat as the doors flew open again - the light pooling in.

"Margot Belle!" a voice barked, as I flinched seeing the two new soldiers. "Out. Now."

The two of them stood there, scanning the empty truck before their eyes landed on me - a heap in the corner. 

Of course I had to be the last one! 

I pushed myself up slowly, my legs weak, my balance off without having my hands free to steady me. 

My shoulder throbbed from the action, and as I attempted to step forward, I stumbled, before a hand shot out, gripping my arm roughly to keep me upright.

"Move." He hissed, as I jumped down from the truck, my feet hitting solid ground as a wave of dizziness washed over me.

Pins and needles shot through my legs as I blinked rapidly, my face wet with tears, trying to focus through my one good eye. 

And then...

I saw it.

The town.

My breath caught.

It was... wrong? 

That was the only way to describe it.

Too perfect... 

Rows of neat houses stretched out in every direction, painted in soft, pastel colours - pale blues, pinks, soft yellows - all lined up with unnatural precision.

The grass trimmed.

The streets spotless.

Flowers everywhere. 

Everything looked... staged?

Like a film set.

My mind scrambled for the memory of that movie... 

The Stepford Wives! That's it! 

That same eerie, artificial perfection...

That same unsettling stillness...

My stomach turned.

This wasn't a town.

It was a damn cage for us! 

Just dressed up prettier as a disguise... 

The first soldier stepped up beside me, his grip still firm on my arm as he guided - no, pushed - me forward.

We stopped outside one of the houses.

Pale blue door.

Of course...

It looked cute.

Another lie! 

"There are cameras positioned around the perimeter," he recited flatly, like he'd said it a hundred times already today. "We'll know if you attempt to leave and you'll be punished accordingly."

I didn't respond.

Didn't trust my voice.

"This is yours. You will remain inside," he continued. "Get familiar. Get comfortable."

Comfortable?!

A hollow laugh almost escaped me...

"Once all participants are housed, someone will arrive to brief you on the next phase."

Participants...

Not prisoners.

Not captives.

We were participants again?

I nodded slowly.

What choice did I have?

"Good," he said shortly, finally releasing my arm as he moved to unlock the unnecessary handcuffs we were all placed in.

"Go on," he jerked his head toward the door. "Everything you need is inside."

Everything I need...

My chest tightened painfully.

No.

Everything I needed... was back there.

In that prison.

With him...

I turned toward the house slowly, my gaze lingering on the pale blue door.

In any other life... I might've thought this little house was beautiful.

Perfect, even...

But now?

It felt like walking straight into a nightmare.

A controlled one.

A designed one.

A prison disguised as freedom.

My wrists throbbed as I pulled them in front of me, my eye pulsating with pain... but worst of all... 

My heart ached the most.

Because I'd lost him.

For good.

On the day I was born, Hera came to my mother's birthing bed.

She did not punish Zeus for betraying his marriage again. Instead, she lowered her gaze to the newborn and gave her judgment in a voice colder than winter stone.

“This child will spend her life longing for love and never receiving it. Unless a man bound to her fate truly loves her and chooses her, her soul will be torn apart by pain when she turns twenty-five! ”

I am Callista, daughter of Zeus.

I am also Hera’s most innocent sinner.

A priestess once told me that three sons of the gods were tied to my fate. As long as I could enter a marriage bond with one of them, I might escape the curse before it devoured my mind.

Twenty-four years passed.

Now I'm in the last month of my twenty-fourth year, and not one of them came for me.

The final deadline before the curse swallowed me whole.

And Vandros, the man I had once placed my greatest hope in, was marrying Cecilia in the temple of Aphrodite.

*****

Cheers rose from inside the temple.

I stood outside the doors and watched Vandros lower his head to kiss Cecilia on the lips.

Cecilia was the daughter of Aphrodite and a mortal man. She was beautiful in a way that made people forget to breathe, and she was even better at making everyone believe she was fragile, pure, and worth protecting.

Including Vandros.

He had not always been like this.

Three years ago, a spear had pierced him through in the arena, and even the priests said he would not survive the night.

I was the one who offered my divine blood, enduring the pain of Hera’s curse, that was tearing at my soul, and dragging Vandros back from death.

Back then, he gripped my hand and swore, “Callista, you saved my life. From this day on, I will never fail you!”

Later, Cecilia cried to him and told him that I had hired men to humiliate her.

After that, Vandros never listened to another word I said.

The wedding hymn grew louder inside the temple, and the curse burst open in the deepest part of my consciousness. I bent over, and even breathing became a kind of torture.

So even at the very last moment, no one would choose me.

I turned away from the wedding and walked to the widest stone road outside the temple. Chariots for the celebration were racing past. If I stepped out now, everything would be over.

I closed my eyes and took one step forward.

The next instant, a horse screamed right in front of me, and the wheel of a chariot nearly brushed the hem of my dress.

Then a hand yanked me hard to the roadside.

“Callista!” A man’s furious roar exploded beside my ear.

“If you want to die, don’t die in front of everyone! Do you want an innocent charioteer executed for killing Zeus’s daughter?”

I opened my eyes and saw my brother, Theron.

Like me, he was a child of Zeus. He was also the person whose family love I had once wanted most.

Because of Hera’s rage, my existence had always been a stain in many people’s eyes.

Theron was my protector and my strongest brother.

He once fought for me and promised that he would treat his sister the best in the world.

But ever since Cecilia claimed I had ordered men to hurt her, Theron had refused to call me his sister again.

He dragged me onto his chariot and drove all the way out of the city, bringing me to the bank of a rushing river.

Before I could even stand steady, Theron slapped me hard across the face.

“You wanted to die, didn’t you?” He pointed at the river behind him, his eyes filled with nothing but disgust. “There are no innocent people here for you to drag down with you. If you want to die, die here.”

My face burned. My ears rang.

Still, I lifted my head and could not stop myself from asking, “Theron, why were you there?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be at Cecilia’s wedding?” I stared at him, my voice was shaking, “Did you... see me leave and follow me because you were worried about me?”

I knew the answer would not be the one I wanted.

And yet some laughably stubborn hope remained in my heart.

The blood on his shirt. The wedding ring in the trash. The woman answering his phone at 2 AM, calling him "baby."

Three bullets to the chest, and I was still standing — barely.

I stood in the kitchen of the Moretti compound, barefoot on cold marble, watching my husband's men carry duffel bags through the back door like it was any other Tuesday. It wasn't. Because twenty minutes ago, I'd found Luca Moretti's wedding band — my grandmother's gold, resized to fit his finger — tossed in the bathroom wastebasket like a gum wrapper.

And ten minutes before that, I'd called his phone and a woman had answered, sleepy-voiced and satisfied, saying, "Luca, come back to bed."

I was seven weeks pregnant. I'd been waiting up to tell him.

"Luca." I said his name from the kitchen doorway, and six armed men froze like I'd pulled a gun. In this house, the Don's wife speaking in that tone was more dangerous than a weapon.

My husband emerged from the study, blood speckling his white collar — someone else's blood, always someone else's — and regarded me with those black eyes that had made me fall in love at nineteen and made me want to die at twenty-three.

"Sera. You should be asleep."

"Who is she?"

The men evaporated. Say what you want about Mafia soldiers — they knew when to disappear.

Luca loosened his tie with one hand, pouring whiskey with the other. Calm. Controlled. The same hands that had held my face on our wedding night and sworn I was his world.

"Who is who?" he asked, not even bothering to look at me.

"The woman in your bed. The one who answered your phone. The one you're apparently going back to, since my ring is in the garbage."

He took a slow sip. "You went through the trash?"

"You threw away our marriage. I just found the evidence."

Something flickered across his face — annoyance, maybe. Not guilt. Luca Moretti didn't do guilt. He ran the most powerful crime family on the Eastern Seaboard. He'd ordered men killed before breakfast. Guilt was a luxury for people with smaller sins.

"Valentina is business," he said flatly.

"Business doesn't answer your phone naked at 2 AM."

"You don't understand how this world works, Sera."

"I've understood for four years. I've hosted your capos. I've smiled at men who've killed people. I've washed blood out of your shirts and never asked whose it was." My voice was rising, cracking, and I hated myself for it. "The one thing — the ONE thing — I asked was that you be faithful. You promised me, Luca. On my grandmother's ring."

He set down the glass and finally looked at me. Really looked. And what I saw in his expression wasn't the face of a man caught — it was the face of a man who'd already decided I was finished.

"I want you out by morning," he said.

The words landed like a knife between my ribs.

"What?"

"I've had papers drawn up. You'll get the apartment in SoHo. Money. Enough to live on. But this — us — it's done, Sera. It's been done for a long time."

My hand drifted to my stomach. Seven weeks. A tiny heartbeat I'd heard yesterday on a clinic table, alone, because he'd cancelled again for "business."

I almost told him. The words climbed my throat — I'm carrying your child — but then his phone buzzed on the counter and I saw the name on the screen.

Valentina ❤️

A heart emoji. He'd given his mistress a heart emoji. In four years of marriage, Luca Moretti had never once used an emoji with me.

I closed my mouth.

"Fine," I said.

He blinked. The Don of the Moretti family, the man who made senators beg and rivals disappear, was momentarily speechless.

"Fine?" he repeated.

"I'll be gone by morning."

I turned and walked out of the kitchen, past the bodyguards who wouldn't meet my eyes, past the hallway lined with family portraits where my face had already been subtracted, through the front door of the fortress I'd called home for four years.

The iron gate closed behind me, and I let myself feel it — one single, annihilating wave of pain that turned my vision white.

Then I buried it. Deep. Next to the pregnancy test and the ruins of my heart.

Because the woman who walked out of the Moretti compound was already dead.

And the one being born in her place had nothing left to lose — and everything to protect.

After the divorce, Claire Bennett slipped away to a charming little town far from home.

New name. New phone. Every thread to her old life cut clean.

Nobody knew where she'd gone.

And nobody knew she was carrying Miles Lockwood's baby.

Until a rainy night, when the little boy's fever spiked to 104.

She ran him into the ER, hands shaking, digging through her bag until her fingers closed around a card she'd forgotten she still had.

Black. Heavy. His.

Back in Oakhaven, Miles's phone lit up.

[Transaction Alert: $320 – Pediatric ER]

His blood turned to ice.

Pediatric... emergency?

Whose kid?

He called her. Once. Twice.

On the ninth ring, she picked up.

"Clairie." His voice cracked open, hoarse and shaking. "Tell me where you are. Tell me about the kid."

Nothing came back but her ragged breathing and a small, broken whimper.

"Clairie." He was already behind the wheel, flooring it, veins roping up his forearms. "Don't hang up. Please."

The man who had always been so cold was now begging humbly, over and over.

Claire looked down at the boy in her arms.

Same eyes. Same stubborn mouth. Nine-tenths his father.

Her eyes fell shut.

The memories and the heart she had buried with time began to beat once again.

***

Their second anniversary.

Miles said he had a surprise for her. Told her to wait at home.

So she wore the white dress he loved, lit the candles, cooked his favorite dinner, and waited.

She waited.

And waited.

Midnight came and went. The door never opened.

Cops didn't get to keep normal hours. She knew that. It didn't stop her stomach from knotting up.

One in the morning, her phone buzzed on the table.

Miles.

She snatched it up. Music and voices roared through the speaker.

"Did something happen?" she asked, soft.

Silence. Long enough for her chest to tighten. Then his voice, low and flat.

"Sorry. I'm not coming home tonight."

"Claire!" A woman's voice slid in. One Claire would know anywhere. "My friends threw me a welcome-back party. Come out, have some fun with us. Meet some people."

The line went dead before she could say a word.

Claire sat there gripping the phone, staring at two plates of food gone cold.

Elodie Hutton.

Of course. That explained why he'd stood her up without so much as a text.

His precious girl was home.

Elodie was his stepsister.

Back when they were only dating, Miles used to vanish for hours. Calls unanswered. Texts left on read.

And when Claire pushed, the answers never changed.

"Went home."

"Didn't check my phone."

Or, simplest of all:

"Elodie wasn't feeling well."

Claire wasn't feeling so great either.

But she'd told herself the girl was family. He had a responsibility.

Then came the wedding.

Elodie collapsed in the middle of the reception.

A ballroom packed with guests, and Miles cut through all of them, scooped her off the floor, and walked out.

Claire spent her wedding night alone in an empty suite.

The next morning Elodie showed up with wet lashes and a trembling apology. Said it was all her fault. Every bit of it.

Something hot twisted in Claire's chest and a scoff slipped out before she could stop it.

Her brand-new husband turned and gave her a look sharp enough to draw blood.

She swallowed every word she'd wanted to say.

Later, word got around that Elodie had gone overseas.

Claire let herself breathe. Let herself believe she and Miles finally had a shot at something quiet. Something happy.

Turns out a dream is just the part before you wake up.

Chapter 2.

Half an hour later, Claire stood outside the private room.

One deep breath.

Then she pushed the door open.

Laughter slammed into her, loud and careless.

Her eyes locked on the two people at the center of the leather sofa.

Elodie had both hands wrapped around Miles's arm, leaning in close, murmuring something that made her giggle every few seconds.

Miles barely spoke. But the corner of his mouth curved up anyway.

"Whoa! Who's this?" someone yelled. "Gorgeous. Girl looks like she walked off a movie set."

"That's Miles's wife."

The laughter cut out.

Every head in the room turned. Every pair of eyes settled on her, hungry for a show.

Elodie's chin lifted like she'd only just noticed her, and she smiled.

"Claire. You made it."

Claire didn't answer.

Her gaze dropped to Elodie's fingers, still curled tight around Miles's arm.

Realizing it was inappropriate, Miles tugged his arm back.

Elodie held on tighter.

"When did you get back?" Claire asked.

Elodie's giggle died. She looked up, that sweet, harmless look still glued to her face.

"A month ago."

A blink. Calm. Innocent as a hymn.

"Miles didn't tell you?"

A month ago.

Claire turned the number over in her head.

No wonder he'd been so busy lately.

So that was it.

Claire smiled back at her. "Nope. He never said a word. I had no idea."

Elodie released his arm at once, all playful outrage.

"See? That's on you. You should've told Claire."

Miles's brows pulled together. He glanced at Claire and gave her two words.

"Stop it."

Was he calling her petty? Or was he protecting Elodie, warning her not to poke the wife?

Claire knew which one.

Elodie looked pleased with herself. She stole a glance at Claire, then softened her voice.

"Claire, don't be mad at him. You know how he is. Honestly—"

"Enough." Miles cut her off, catching the jacket sliding off her shoulder and pulling it back up. "You'll get cold."

The room exploded into hoots.

"Man, years go by and Miles is still spoiling Elodie!" one of the guys shouted. "She loses a round tonight, do her shots just go straight to you?"

"Seriously, dude. Your wife's standing right there. You keep hovering over Elodie—you're not scared Claire's gonna blow up?"

"Elodie's been frail since we were kids. Of course I look out for her." Miles glanced at Claire, voice flat. "Claire is sensible. She doesn't care about stuff like this."

The whole room roared.

Something coiled around Claire's ribs and pulled tight. Air came in thin.

Sensible.

So that was the title she'd earned. Years of stepping aside, swallowing things, playing nice.

Easygoing.

Someone suggested a game. Loser takes three shots.

Round one. The dice rattled across the table.

Claire lost.

"Claire! Fair's fair. Three shots, no cheating!"

A guy slid three glasses of vodka across to her, smirking. The dig in his eyes wasn't even hidden.

He wouldn't have dared without Elodie's blessing.

Miles reached for the glasses on instinct.

The guy blocked his hand and pitched his voice loud enough for the whole room.

"Nope, nope, nope! House rules—you only drink for someone if the other side agrees! Come on, Claire, you're not making Miles take your shots, are you? That's weak."

Elodie tugged at Miles's sleeve, sugar in every syllable.

"Miles, rules are rules. She came, so she plays. Otherwise everyone's gonna say you play favorites with your wife."

Then she looked at Claire.

The dare in that look might as well have been in neon.

Claire laughed once, low and dry.

She pushed Miles's hand away.

Grabbed the first glass.

She threw back the first glass, then the second, and then the third, her teeth clenched tight.

The vodka scorched a path down her throat. Her eyes stung.

She refused to let a single tear fall.

Not here. Not in front of Elodie.

By the third glass she was coughing, shoulders shaking, throat bitter and raw, her whole body gone stiff.

Applause broke out. Somebody whistled. "Damn, Claire! Badass!"

Miles pressed a glass of warm water into her hand and patted her back.

"I thought you quit drinking."

Claire sniffed hard and took the water.

"We're not trying for a baby anymore," she said. "So what's the point?"