1 I’m trapped in a horror game with my ex-boyfriend. And the four-year-old boss of this twisted world has just one demand: that we become his sweet, loving parents. “Make me happy,” the little boy, Toby, declared, his voice a strange mix of childish innocence and ancient authority, “and in one month, you can return to your world. But if you’re just faking it… you’ll die here.” My ex, Roger, shot me a look of pure contempt. “Is this your latest pathetic attempt to get me back? Dream on.” I fired back, my voice dripping with equal scorn, “You must be blind. Which part of this looks like me wanting you back?” Suddenly, the irises of Toby’s eyes swirled into an inky, bottomless black. “But… you’re supposed to be in love,” he whispered, the temperature in the room plummeting. In love? Once, maybe. A lifetime ago. Now, looking at Roger was like staring at a stranger I despised. He deliberately put six feet of distance between us, his disgust a physical thing. “I don’t know what kind of freak show you’ve cooked up with this… little monster, but your theatrics are wasted on me. Let me out of here, now, or I’m calling the cops.” The words had barely left his mouth when Toby lifted a tiny hand. A swirling black mist erupted from the floor, enveloping Roger and lifting him off his feet. He choked out a strangled cry before being slammed back down onto the hardwood. When he looked up, the arrogance was gone, replaced by raw, primal fear. Toby’s childish voice now held the weight of a death sentence. “In my world, you follow the rules, or you die. Now, I’m sleepy. I want my mommy and daddy to give me a bath and tuck me in.” I wanted to live. I didn’t want to die. Neither did Roger. Without another word, I bolted to the bathroom to run the water. Roger, moving with a grim efficiency, scooped Toby up, stripped off his clothes, and lowered him into the tub. I lathered his hair while Roger washed his tiny feet. I reached for the shampoo, and without looking, Roger’s hand was already there, passing me the bottle. When he lifted Toby from the water, I was ready with a towel, wrapping him in a cocoon of warm terry cloth. The whole routine was so seamless, so practiced, it felt like we’d done it a thousand times. Toby, watching us with an unnervingly perceptive gaze, announced with a smug little smile, “You two work so well together. How can you not be in love? You’re just pretending you broke up to protect each other, aren't you?” “We really broke up.” The words came from Roger and me in perfect, hollow unison. “But you’re a team…” Toby insisted, confused. My survival instinct kicked in, forcing the truth out of me. “We used to have a dog,” I explained, my voice flat. “A big Golden Retriever named Goldie. He hated baths, so we had to get it done fast. It’s not teamwork, Toby. It’s muscle memory.” “What happened to Goldie?” “He died.” “How?” Toby’s face scrunched up in concern. “He was poisoned. With chocolate.” A muscle twitched in Roger’s jaw. The silence he’d maintained shattered. “You have the nerve to bring that up? It was your fault! You’re the one who mixed chocolate chips into his food and then tried to blame Scarlett for it!” The accusation hit me like a physical blow, throwing me back to that awful day. Toby’s curiosity was piqued. “Who’s Scarlett?” The rage in Roger’s face softened, replaced by a flicker of tenderness. “She’s my fiancée. We’re getting married soon.” A bitter smile touched my lips. A bitch and a dog, a match made in hell. If Scarlett were here, I’d congratulate her on finally getting what she always wanted. Toby was the only one in the room who wasn’t smiling. His face was a thundercloud. “My mommy and daddy have to love me,” he declared, his voice dangerously low. “And they have to love each other. There’s no room for a third person. If you can’t do that… you’ll die, too.” That night, we lay in the same bed, Toby a small, warm barrier between us. I read from a storybook while Roger gently patted his back. Long after Toby’s breathing had evened out into the deep rhythm of sleep, Roger rose. “Claire,” he whispered, letting out a long, weary breath. “We need to talk.” 2 “Do you want to be stuck here forever?” he asked, his voice low and urgent. I shook my head. “Then let’s make a deal. We cooperate. We play the part of loving parents, give Toby what he wants, and get the hell back to reality as fast as possible.” “Fine,” I agreed. He still looked unconvinced, his gaze intense. “Claire, you need to understand this. What’s broken stays broken. We are over. Everything that happens here is an act. We are pretending. I’m marrying Scarlett. You need to move on, too.” A laugh escaped me, sharp and humorless. “I moved on ages ago, Roger. You’re the one flattering yourself.” He didn’t believe me. “You don’t have to lie. Just… help me get through this, and I can forgive you for everything you did. But you need to be crystal clear on one thing: we are never, ever getting back together.” “Okay.” He stared at me for a long moment, a storm of doubt and suspicion in his eyes, before turning and leaving the room. I waited until he was gone before wiping away the single tear that had escaped with my laugh. It was pointless. Arguing with a narcissist was like trying to teach a rock to swim. The only thing that mattered was getting back home. I could endure his self-important delusions for that. Back in bed, Roger tossed and turned, but I found the release of sleep almost immediately. I woke to Toby snuggling into my side. “Mommy,” he murmured, “can we have a picnic in the park today?” “Of course, sweetie. Anything you want.” I was sitting on the checkered blanket when Toby held a slice of mango up to my lips. My heart lurched. I had played this horror game once before, a long time ago. I knew its rules, its cruel tricks. And I knew that here, in this world, my real-world allergies were just as real. And my mango allergy was deadly. “Oh, honey, no thank you,” I said, pulling back gently. “Mommy’s allergic to mangoes.” Roger, who was fumbling with a kite nearby, let out a derisive snort. A moment later, while Toby was chasing a butterfly, he leaned in, his voice a low warning. “Stop the act, Claire. Didn't you see the disappointment on his face? If you upset him, we both pay the price.” I met his gaze, my own unwavering. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.” Not wanting Toby to see us arguing, I got up and helped him get the kite airborne. When we returned to the blanket, I took the cup of juice Roger handed me, steeling myself against the revulsion I felt. I had to keep up the charade. I’d only taken a few sips when my mouth started to tingle, and a familiar tightness gripped my throat. “Mommy, your eyes!” Toby cried out, pointing at my face. “They’re getting puffy!” The symptoms. I knew them too well. Panic seized me. “I have to go,” I gasped, scrambling to my feet and stumbling toward the road where a taxi was idling. Roger grabbed my arm, his face a mask of irritation. “Where are you going? Toby’s having the time of his life!” “It’s my allergy… get me to a hospital…” The world began to tilt and fade, my last conscious sensations the sound of Toby’s terrified screams and the look of dawning horror on Roger’s face as I crumpled to the ground. I’m afraid you've reached a premium chapter. Would you like to unlock it to see what happens to Claire? I woke to the sound of Toby’s desperate sobs. “Mommy, please wake up! I just got a mommy, you can’t leave me!” When my eyes fluttered open, his tear-streaked face lit up. “Mommy! You’re awake!” He grabbed my hand, his small fingers warm and tight around mine. In that moment, the all-powerful game boss was gone, and all I could see was a scared little boy who craved a family. My heart ached for him. After I had soothed him into a watery smile, I sent him home with the NPC nanny. Now, the hospital room was silent, occupied by only me and Roger. A cold, bitter laugh escaped me. “This was you, wasn’t it?” He walked over to my bed, his expression a tangled mess of guilt and confusion. “I didn’t think… I just added a little bit of mango juice to the orange juice. I just wanted to see…” “You wanted to see if I was lying?” I snapped, my voice rising. “Roger, are you stupid or deaf? I’ve told you a million times, I’m allergic to mangoes! It’s not a joke. It can kill me!” He raked a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with a frustration I couldn’t comprehend. “I know, I’m sorry, okay? It’s my fault. But… you used to eat mangoes all the time.” To save my own life from his future ‘tests,’ I decided it was time he knew the truth I had hidden for so long. “That was because of you.” He stared at me blankly. “Because of me?” 3 “The first time I ever had mango, I was four years old,” I began, my voice quiet but steady. “That’s how my parents discovered my allergy. After that, they were banned from our house. The second time… was when your mother sent us a box of mangoes she’d picked herself.” After we started dating, I learned that Roger’s parents owned a huge mango grove. He’d once told me a story about how, when the fruit was in season, his mom had sent a crate to his dorm for him to share. The next day, he found a whole, untouched mango in one of his roommate’s trash cans. When Roger confronted him, the roommate had shrugged. “I’m allergic, man. What was I supposed to do with it?” But later, Roger overheard him telling someone else, “I’m not eating that crap from some farmer. Who knows if his mom’s hands were even clean.” Knowing how sensitive he was about his family’s humble background, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I, too, was allergic. I swallowed the words, and instead, I stocked up on antihistamines. “Before I ever took a bite of your mother’s mangoes, I took allergy pills,” I finished, my voice flat. “That’s why you never knew. I did it all to protect your fragile pride, to get your family to like me. Looking back, I can’t believe how pathetic I was.” Roger stood frozen, as if turned to stone. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “So… you didn’t frame Scarlett?” I knew exactly what he was talking about. I hadn’t known Scarlett for long. She was from Roger’s hometown, a childhood acquaintance. Her father had passed away, and the whole village pitied her and her mother, helping them out whenever they could. So when her mother called, begging Roger to let a newly-unemployed and evicted Scarlett stay with us for a while, neither of us objected. I felt sorry for her. I treated her like a younger sister. I even told her about my allergy, and why I kept it a secret from Roger, after she asked about the pills she found in my purse. Not long after, the three of us went to visit Roger’s parents. I took my antihistamines as usual, but after just two bites of mango, my throat started to close up. Luckily, they got me to a hospital in time. Afterward, Roger asked with genuine concern, “What are you allergic to? I’ll tell my parents so they can be careful.” Looking at the crate of mangoes in the corner, I finally broke. “Actually… I’m allergic to mangoes.” His face changed. “What are you talking about? You’ve eaten them before with no problem.” “That’s because I didn’t want to hurt your mom’s feelings!” I explained frantically. “I always took medication beforehand! I did this time, too, but… I think Scarlett might have switched my pills.” I had only ever told her that secret. It had to be her. Just then, Scarlett burst into the room, tears already streaming down her face. “I don’t know anything about this! Claire, I know you don’t like me, but I’m just staying here for a little while! I see Roger as a big brother, nothing more! If you have a problem with me, just say it! Why is it that you’ve been eating these mangoes for years, but the moment I show up, you suddenly have a life-threatening allergic reaction? Are you trying to set me up? Is it because you think you can push us around, a widow and her orphan daughter?” Her mother rushed in, and the two of them put on a masterful performance. “I see what’s going on here! You see my daughter as a rival! Mrs. Chen, look at your future daughter-in-law! No respect, and a petty, jealous heart! She doesn’t deserve a good man like your son!” After that circus, Roger’s parents’ opinion of me plummeted. Now, in this sterile hospital room, I answered Roger’s whispered question. “Of course I didn’t frame her. She orchestrated the whole thing. If anyone was a victim that day, it was me.” He hesitated, running a hand over his face. “It must have just been a coincidence,” he mumbled, though he didn't sound convinced. “She’s just… overly sensitive. I’m sure she’s not a bad person at heart.” I’m sure? He wasn’t sure at all. The seed of doubt had been planted. And once planted, it was only a matter of time before it grew. 4 Two days later, the preschool was holding a Family Sports Day. To keep Toby happy, Roger and I agreed to participate together. We did the tug-of-war, the jump rope competition, and the classic three-legged race. We didn’t win a single event, but Toby was ecstatic, prancing around like a colt in a spring meadow. During a break, he proudly showed us off to his friends. “This is my mommy and daddy! They insisted on coming to sports day together!” One of the other kids pouted. “You’re so lucky! Only my mom came…” Toby puffed out his chest, the picture of pride. He was a world away from the sullen, angry child we first met. During the swimming relay, Toby noticed a patch of scarred skin on the back of my calf. “Mommy, where did you get that owie?” he asked, his little brow furrowed. I was about to tell him the truth but stopped myself, not wanting to spoil his perfect day. The little guy had completely worked his way into my heart. “It’s a burn,” I said simply. He gently poked the scar. “How’d you burn it?” “Cooking. A little oil splashed on me.” “You’re lying!” he shrieked, his voice cracking. “Why are you lying to me?!” Instantly, the clear blue sky overhead roiled with dark, angry clouds. My heart hammered against my ribs. So did Roger’s. Toby rounded on him. “It was you again! You hurt Mommy! If she was cooking, the oil would have splashed on the front of her legs. That scar is on the back! That means she was facing away when the oil spilled!” Roger’s face went pale. He shot me a desperate, pleading look. I quickly pulled the furious little boy into a hug. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay! It was Daddy’s fault! He was carrying the hot pan and tripped, and some of it spilled on Mommy. But it was an accident, and Mommy already scolded him for it. We were just afraid you’d be mad at Daddy if you knew.” Roger, catching on, added quickly, “I was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore, Toby!” As if on command, the storm clouds overhead dissipated, and the sun shone through. Toby, after making me promise a dozen times that it didn’t hurt anymore, wagged a tiny finger at Roger. “You have to be more careful! Don’t let Mommy get hurt again!” Later, when we were alone, Roger’s voice was shaky. “That time… was that her, too?” “Yes.” The light was finally dawning. It was Roger’s birthday, the night before we broke up for good. I was in the kitchen, cooking his favorite meal. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scarlett leaning against the doorframe. “He really loves you, you know,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “I tried my best to stir things up, and even though you couldn’t prove your innocence, he still wanted to marry you. He told me, ‘No matter what she’s like, she’s the one I love.’” “If you know that, then back off,” I said, not taking my eyes off the sizzling pan. She chuckled softly. “Maybe I’m just a masochist. The more he loves you, the more I want him. It’s a thrill.” Before I could react, she lunged forward, grabbed the wooden spoon from the pot, and flung a ladleful of boiling oil onto her own arm. Her scream brought everyone from the living room running. “I… I slipped,” Scarlett sobbed, clutching her blistering arm. “It was an accident.” “An accident?!” one of our friends shrieked, pointing at me. “Who accidentally throws that much hot oil on themselves? It had to be you, Claire! We all know you’re jealous of Scarlett, but this is insane! That’s boiling oil! You could have scarred her for life!” “She did it to herself!” I cried, but no one was listening. “No woman would do that to herself,” someone muttered from the back of the crowd. “A scar that big will never fade.” They all stared at me, their faces a mixture of accusation and disgust. I was a monster. Even Roger didn’t believe me. “I am so disappointed in you,” he said, his voice cold with a finality that broke my heart. “I was willing to look past the lies you told about her before. But why would you do this? Did you really want to destroy her that badly?” He wrapped his arm around Scarlett’s shoulders and guided her toward the door, never once noticing the angry red burn on my own leg, the burn that would become that ugly scar. The memory was so vivid it made me sick. Back in the present, Roger collapsed onto a nearby bench. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I leaned closer. “So what was ever real?” he was whispering. I was more than happy to answer him. “Nothing.” “Goldie’s death, the allergy pills, the hot oil, throwing away her necklace… none of it was you?” “Not a single thing.” His voice cracked with a new, infuriating question. “Then why didn’t you explain?” A slow, cruel smile spread across my face. I didn’t bother to hide my contempt. “Oh, but I did. I explained, I begged, I pleaded. And every single time, you chose to believe her. Don’t you see, Roger? She only succeeded because you were her willing accomplice.” “It’s my fault,” he whispered, his hand reaching for mine before falling, defeated, to his side. “I’m so sorry.” His pristine image of the innocent, helpless girl had been shattered, replaced by the portrait of a scheming sociopath. The shock was overwhelming him. And it was only the beginning.