Ten years ago, a bridge I built collapsed, killing dozens. My parents called me a murderer and disowned me. The victims' families poured gasoline over me, threatening to burn me alive. I served ten years in prison. When I got out, I changed my name and worked as a barista at a coffee shop in a small city. Life was quiet and peaceful. Just when I thought it would stay that way forever, my ex-wife Isabella Foster showed up. The architectural firm she founded had gone public years ago and was now at the peak of her career. Reporters crowded around her, shoving cameras in my face. "Mr. Reid, Ms. Foster has been engaged to you for ten years but never married. She's been waiting for you all along!" I almost laughed out loud. What they didn't know was that ten years ago, Isabella let her lover bribe his way onto my construction team for kickbacks. When the accident happened, she let me take the fall. - Under the flashing lights, Isabella's face remained as cold and composed as ever. My boss was thrilled. He rushed over asking for an autograph and a photo. Seeing I didn't react, he turned and shouted at me: "Mark, come take a picture with Ms. Foster! She's the youngest CEO in the world! If we get a photo with her, our shop will go viral. I'll give you a raise!" When my boss yelled that, my hands froze while I was washing dishes. I didn't look up. But the reporters noticed me immediately and swarmed over. "Mr. Reid, so you've been hiding out in a coffee shop this whole time! You used to be a world-famous architect, and now you're working as a waiter here. Doesn't that bother you?" "We heard your ex-wife has been waiting for you all these years and keeps putting off her wedding. What do you think about that?" I ignored the microphones shoved in my face and kept working, but my hands were shaking badly as I held the cups. I'd seen what Isabella was capable of. I didn't believe for a second she had any real feelings for me—I was just on guard. The standoff dragged on until Isabella walked over and shielded me from the reporters' cameras. Her expression was serious. "This is between me and my ex-husband. We're not doing interviews. Please leave." Then she turned to me, her expression shifting — hard to read. "Marcus. It's been a while." Hearing her voice again after all these years made my hands shake even harder. A coffee cup slipped from my grip and smashed on the floor. A shard of ceramic cut my hand, and blood dripped from my fingers. Isabella grabbed my hand, frowning. "How can you be so careless?" I jerked my hand away and turned to my boss Gavin Barnes. "Gavin, I'm so sorry. I'll clean this up right away. Just deduct the cup from my paycheck!" Before Gavin could respond, a cheerful voice called from the entrance: "Bella, what are you doing here? You left without saying a word. Mom, Dad, and I were worried about you!" I looked toward the voice and saw a man with an easy smile walk in. He pulled Isabella into his arms naturally and kissed her temple. Ryan Cameron. He was the one responsible for the bridge collapse ten years ago — and he was also Isabella's fiancé. Behind him stood my own parents, the ones who'd disowned me ten years before. Ryan glanced at me with a contemptuous smile. "Marcus. Been a while." He let that land. "Oh, and your parents took me in as their godson, so I guess we're brothers now!" I glanced at my parents behind him. They'd aged so much. Compared to ten years ago, their backs were slightly hunched, and their hair had turned completely white. My chest went tight. I wondered how they'd feel if they knew their precious godson was the one who'd actually sent their real son to prison. My father saw me and scoffed. "Ryan is our only son. Murderers like you, who let people die for money, make me sick!" My mother's voice was even harsher. "Bella, why would you come looking for scum like him?" After my parents spoke, everyone in the shop, including Gavin, stared at me with strange looks. I turned away and fought back the pain. I couldn't bear to look at them. Isabella sighed. "Don't blame your parents. What happened back then really broke them." She pulled out an embossed business card and handed it to me. "I owe you far too much. If you ever need anything, just call me."
I didn't refuse Isabella's business card. Rather, I just took it politely like I would from any regular customer, then set it aside without thinking much about it. I didn't believe Isabella had come looking for me on purpose, and honestly, I had no desire to see her again. That changed three days later when Gavin called. "Mark, I'm really sorry. I had no idea you used to be such a big deal. Having an architect like you making coffee at my place? That's just a waste of your talent." "I'll count this month as full attendance and transfer your salary to your card shortly. Starting tomorrow, just take a rest—you don't need to come anymore." Before I could get a word in, he quickly hung up. I tried calling him back, confused, but he'd already blocked me. Right then, I got a notification about my paycheck. Gavin had sent me $2,100—with an extra $900 on top, and a short message. "Consider the extra $900 my apology. We're a small business and can't afford trouble. Please don't come back." My stomach sank. I knew immediately this was Isabella's doing. Sure enough, Isabella called. "Mark, there's nothing I can do to overturn your conviction. I hope you understand that. But I'll make it up to you any other way." "Working as a barista is too hard for you. I already put in your resignation for you. I also bought you a villa in Harbor City. Move there and help Ryan with his work. He's still young and not as skilled with architectural design as you are. I'll pay you $20,000 a month." My fists clenched so hard my knuckles cracked. Who did she think she was? What gave her the right to push me into hell with her own hands, let everyone attack me, make me lose everyone who mattered, and then waltz back in like some savior to destroy the quiet life I'd built? What made her think she could just arrange everything for me? Help Ryan? She just wanted Ryan to take all my credit. Isabella's words made me sick. I forced down my anger and spoke through gritted teeth. "Thanks for the offer, Ms. Foster, but I have my own life now. Please stop messing with it." Isabella went quiet for a long time before she finally spoke. "Marcus, stop fighting me on this. You're a brilliant architect. The only time you're actually happy is when you've got blueprints in front of you. I handle the money, you handle the genius part. What's the problem?" "If you're going to let your pride get in the way, fine. But don't think I don't have other options." She hung up right after that, and something about it made me uneasy. By that afternoon, I knew exactly what she had in mind. Without my job at Gavin's, I spent the whole day running all over the city looking for work. But no matter where I went, even places that were desperate for help, everyone was polite but they all turned me down. I had no choice but to head back home. When I got there, my landlord was waiting by the door. She was a sweet old lady. When I'd first moved in and didn't have much money, she let me skip a month's rent so I could focus on finding work. Whenever she cooked something, she'd bring me some. But right now, she stood there with red, watery eyes. When she saw me, she grabbed my hand. Her voice shook. "Mark, thank God you're back! I'm so sorry. I can't rent to you anymore. Please don't be mad at me. I don't have a choice." "Some important people from the city came around. If I keep renting to you, my son—he'll... he'll..." She started crying before she could finish. I didn't want to make things harder for her, so I packed up my stuff and moved out that same night. So this was Isabella's idea of compensation. Destroy what little I had, then swoop in and play the generous savior. What a joke.
The day I moved out, Isabella showed up in town. She looked thinner than she had a few days ago, with dark circles under her eyes. She clearly hadn't been sleeping. She'd brought a moving company with her and started directing them to pack up my things. Acted like we'd never gotten divorced, like she was just picking up her husband and bringing him home. When we got to her place, she handed me a glass of sparkling water and said, "You've always been so tense. Try to relax." I took the glass from her without saying anything and had a small sip. I set the glass down. "Ms. Foster, the past is the past. If you really wanted to make things right, you shouldn't have just shown up like this without asking." Isabella froze. For just a second she almost looked wounded. "Mark. Stop being difficult." "I know you're bitter about all this, but it's just the first step. I'll find someone to take the blame for you, and then I'll work on clearing your name bit by bit. I know you don't like Ryan. I'll keep him out of your way. Just take a rest for now." Her voice was soft, but I knew exactly what she meant. She wasn't giving me a choice. She wasn't asking. What she wanted was to keep me completely under her control. But Ryan wasn't going to stay away like she promised. The day I finished moving in, Isabella had barely stepped through the door when Ryan burst in with a whole crew of reporters behind him. "Bella, I heard Mr. Reid was here. Why didn't you tell me?" "What he did back then was wrong, sure, but everyone's gotta make a living. I hope Mr. Reid has learned his lesson and will turn his life around!" Ryan stood there in front of the cameras, shamelessly spouting off when he was the one who'd actually done wrong. Then he handed me a bank card. "Just a little something from me. You're a veteran in the architecture world, and you're my fiancée's ex-husband, so please, don't refuse. And if you're ever struggling financially, don't hesitate to reach out." He really put on a performance. By that afternoon, news about me had spread all over Harbor City. "Engineer Behind Bridge Collapse Returns, Wealthy Ex-Wife Generously Takes Him In!" "Killer Welcomed Back to High Society, How Can the Dead Rest in Peace?" Just like that, Isabella became the entrepreneur with a heart of gold, and Ryan turned into the understanding, magnanimous fiancé. While me? I was the only one thrown back into the public eye and condemned by everyone. I didn't know if Ryan did it on purpose or not, but somehow my address got leaked. From that day on, victims' families and angry protesters showed up outside my apartment every single day. Three days later, my parents came too. It was the first time in ten years they'd sought me out. Part of me still hoped as I stood there watching the parents who'd raised me in my doorway. "Mom, Dad, come inside." I stepped back to let them in. But my dad just glared at me and scoffed. "Hah! Like we'd set foot in a murderer's house!" My mom leaned against the doorframe, looking exhausted. "Mark, we really can't forgive you for what you did back then." "You can't keep making the same mistakes. Please, we're begging you. Ryan really loves Isabella, and you two are divorced now. Stop hanging around her." "Ryan's a good kid. He's too polite to say it himself, so we're saying it for him. Leave Harbor City. If you insist on staying, don't blame us when your father and I find a way to make you go." Mom's voice was as gentle as always. That gentle voice used to sing me lullabies and put me to sleep night after night. But now every word hit like a gut punch.
I stared at them in disbelief. "Dad, Mom, you never believed me even once this whole time?" "If I said Ryan was behind all of this—everything that's happened to me—would you believe me?" Before I could finish, my dad slapped me across the face. "You bastard! Even now, you're trying to drag Ryan's name through the mud!" Isabella had come to drop something off and saw the whole thing. She rushed over in a panic, trying to explain. Right then, her phone rang. It was her assistant. "Ms. Foster, we have a problem! Mr. Cameron got drunk and he's at the hospital getting an IV!" When they heard that, Isabella and my parents looked panicked. They completely forgot about me, piled into the car, and drove off. I actually laughed as I watched them leave. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. It turned out that whether they were threatening me or pretending to care, no matter how much pain I was in, none of it mattered when Ryan needed them. I thought that would be the end of it. After all, these ten years had taught me one lesson. I couldn't expect anything from my parents or from Isabella. But I didn't expect my parents to move so fast. One day, when I went out shopping, some of the victims' families tracked me down. They knocked me out with metal pipes and dragged me away. When I woke up, I found myself stuffed inside a burlap sack. Through a gap in the fabric, I could see I was somewhere near a river. The man leading them kicked me hard in the stomach. "Fuck, you murderer! We weren't even looking for you and you dared to come back!" His words set everyone off. "Give me back my son! He was only 19, just started college! You animal!" "It's all because of you! You cut corners and killed my mother! I want you dead!" They beat me from every side. I tried to explain, but a gag was stuffed in my mouth. All I could make were muffled noises. When they grew tired, the leader spoke. "You owe us so many lives. Even cutting you to pieces wouldn't be enough! Now that we've got you, you're gonna pay with your life!" The moment he finished, I heard metal pipes whistling through the air. Then waves of unbearable pain crashed over me. I lost count of the blows. Each one landed harder than I thought I could bear. I passed out — only for them to douse me with water to wake me up. I could feel my bones breaking one by one. Finally, as I slipped in and out of consciousness, they tied rocks to me and threw me into the river. Freezing water closed in from all sides. I couldn't breathe; my lungs felt like they would burst. I closed my eyes in despair and waited for death. Maybe it was better this way. My life had been nothing but pain. I was so tired. I just wanted to rest. Right when I was about to black out, a pair of strong hands grabbed me. Fresh air flooded back into my lungs.
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