Ninety-eight degrees in the dead of July. I was sweating through a suffocatingly heavy plush mascot suit, shooting footage for my social media channel on the bustling boardwalk. "A hundred dollars or a wish?" I asked, holding up my cardboard sign to a passing couple. "A wish!" The young woman's eyes lit up instantly. "Today is my third wedding anniversary, and I literally just found out I'm pregnant! I want to surprise my husband. Can you help me set something up?" I helped her plan a sweet, spontaneous surprise right there by the beach. Beaming with joy, she asked for my social handle so she could send me a tip to show her appreciation. "You're a lifesaver. I'm the happiest girl in the world today!" I smiled politely beneath the heavy, hot mask. Later, during a break, out of idle curiosity, I clicked on her Instagram profile. Her pinned photo was a gorgeous wedding portrait. The groom smiling back at the camera was the very man supposedly fighting for his life in the ICU. My husband, Elliot Maxwell. 1 I froze. My heart felt as if it were being squeezed by a cold, iron fist, making it impossible to breathe. "My husband is a total workaholic," she had burbled to me earlier, her face glowing. "But no matter how busy he is, he never misses a single milestone. Our first handhold, our first kiss... he remembers everything." But Elliot and I never celebrated anniversaries. He was always too busy. Out the door by eight in the morning, and after his office job, he'd run food delivery apps until midnight just to make ends meet. My heart had always ached for him. Terrified he'd work himself into an early grave, I had cried and begged him to stop. He’d gently wipe my tears, smiling. "To marry you, babe, any amount of struggle is worth it." But fate is cruel. Or so I had believed. He supposedly got into a horrific car crash while out delivering orders. He’d been in the ICU for three months, hooked up to life support, never waking up. Everyone—my friends, the doctors—advised me to let him go. But I couldn't. Even though the five-thousand-dollar daily hospital bills were crushing me, even though I had drained my savings, maxed out my credit cards, and begged everyone I knew for loans only to be met with cold shoulders, I never once thought of giving up on him. Then, the young woman's phone rang. Elliot’s warm, doting voice drifted through the speaker: "Hey, sweet girl! Just got off work. What are you craving? Hubby will pick it up." "Actually, I'm out celebrating. Can you come pick me up?" "Of course. Send me the location, I'm on my way." The girl blushed, looking at me with a soft laugh. "Sorry about that. My husband is a little clingy." A dull, agonizing pain flared in my chest, like a rusty knife sawing slowly through my ribs. I bit my lip, fighting back the tears, forcing a fragile smile onto my face. By day, I shot content for my channel. By night, I washed dishes at a greasy diner. If it paid, I took it, no matter how degrading or exhausting. I had been followed by creeps into dark alleys, shaking with terror; I’d been harassed by a customer who tried to pull me into his apartment while delivering food, barely escaping; I’d even collapsed in the street from low blood sugar and ended up in the ER myself. Yet all that desperate, backbreaking labor was just a drop in the bucket compared to the mounting medical debt. Fortunately, my social media account had finally started gaining traction. A recent video had gone viral. I knew I had to seize the moment. This brand deal I was shooting today would finally pay off my outstanding personal loans. But I never imagined that he wasn't clinging to life in a hospital bed—he was living a double life, fully healthy, with another woman. I manually arranged the romantic fairy lights and candles for the surprise, then climbed back into the stifling mascot suit. I watched Elliot step out of a sleek black Mercedes, dressed in a tailored designer suit, holding a massive bouquet of red roses. Chelsea Ashford stood inside the circle of glowing candles I had painstakingly arranged, laughing as she threw herself into his arms. Holding back my trembling hands, I set up the camera and lit the sparklers on cue. Elliot, his arm wrapped around her waist, walked over to me with a polite smile. "Thanks for your help today. It's getting late, can we offer you a ride home...?" Slowly, I pulled off the heavy plush head. His voice died in his throat. "No, thank you." Chelsea didn't seem to notice the sheer terror that flashed across Elliot's face. Instead, she tightened her grip on his arm. "Oh, don't be silly! I'm so glad we crossed paths today!" She pulled out her phone and, without waiting for an answer, sent a five-thousand-dollar transfer to my account. I used to agonize over spending fifty dollars on a winter coat. To her, five grand was pocket change. "Hey, are you signed with an agency?" she asked. "What?" I muttered, hollow. She smiled sweetly, leaning her head on Elliot's shoulder. "My husband hates the thought of me working a stressful job, but I get so bored at home, so he set up a boutique agency for me. I really think you have potential. Want to join us?" I stood there, feeling as if a bolt of lightning had shattered my spine. I had believed he was working two grueling jobs just to build a future with me. So, I had pushed myself to the absolute brink—enduring panic attacks, sleepless nights, my hair falling out in clumps from sheer stress. Yet during the months I thought he was fighting for his life in a sterile ICU, he was playing house with another woman. The hardships he couldn't bear to let her experience were the exact ones he had left me to drown in. Just then, my phone screen lit up on the table. The smile on Chelsea's face vanished instantly. "Why is your lock screen... a picture of you and my husband?" 2 Without a word, she snatched my phone and slammed it onto the concrete. "What is this? Are you trying to mock me? Who the hell do you think you are?" Instinctively, I looked up at Elliot. "I—I didn't..." Before I could finish, her hand flew across my face. The slap was so hard my ears rang, and my vision swam. Already running on empty from starvation and exhaustion, my knees buckled, and I hit the pavement. A sharp, throbbing pain shot up from my knees, but it was nothing compared to the burning sting on my cheek. "How pathetic," she sneered, looking down at me with utter contempt. "Acting all fragile and innocent now. Anyone watching would think I'm the bully here." The small crowd that had gathered began to whisper. "Oh my god, side chicks are getting so bold these days." "The nerve of this girl, showing up to confront the wife like this." "Probably tried to blackmail him for money and got rejected. Disgusting." Every murmur felt like a physical blow. I tried to push myself up. But as soon as I gained some leverage, her designer heel came down hard on the back of my hand. A sharp cry escaped my lips, and the tears I had been fighting finally spilled over. I didn't understand. Elliot and I had been together for five years. I had lived in cramped, moldy basements with him, eaten instant ramen for a month straight, and never once looked back when he was at his absolute lowest. When he had a dangerously high fever, I stayed awake for nights on end to nurse him. When he was unemployed, I worked two jobs to pay our rent. How could he stand there and watch me be humiliated, slandered, and physically abused? I lifted my tear-streaked eyes to the man I thought would protect me forever. His expression wavered for a fraction of a second, but it quickly hardened into a cold, ruthless mask. He stepped in front of Chelsea, shielding her. "Ma'am, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, or where you got that photo. But you have harassed my wife, and I will be contacting my lawyers." I stared at him through my tears, completely shattered. Harassed? I hadn't even managed to utter a full sentence. How had I harmed her? My lips parted, but my throat felt as if it were constricting, choking out any sound. Before I could speak, he turned and swept Chelsea up into his arms, carrying her away. I don't remember how I got back to my apartment. I collapsed onto the floor, and before I could even clean my cuts, my phone rang. It was my brand partner: "Josie, the drama surrounding your personal life is exploding. It's a massive breach of our contract's morality clause. We need you to resolve this immediately, or we will have to sue you for damages." I opened my social media apps, only to find my comments sections completely overrun. Whore. Homewrecker. Slut. A tide of venom flooded my screen. Each word felt like another slap to my face. "And here I thought she was one of the genuine creators. Total fake. Disgusting." "Her mom is a teacher at Westlake High, right? Apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I bet her mom's a homewrecker too." "She was my teacher! She always favored the boys. Clearly ran in the family. She shouldn't be allowed near kids!" "Report her account! Get her fired!" Before I could process the horror, my mom's number popped up. In the background, I could hear angry voices shouting through her door: "Open the door, you old hag! Tell your trash daughter to come out! Bold enough to ruin a marriage but too cowardly to face us?" 3 My mom's voice was trembling, thick with unshed tears. "Josie... the school board suspended me pending an investigation..." "But I believe you, sweetie. I know the internet is lying. I know exactly who my daughter is." I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, desperately trying to keep from sobbing aloud. But the tears flowed relentlessly. I had dragged her down with me. My mother—the only family I had left. I begged her to stay safe inside and promised I would handle everything. After hanging up, I dialed a number I had sworn I would never call. "I’ve made up my mind," I said, my voice cold and hollow. "I’ll go with you. But I have one condition..." Suddenly, the electronic lock on my front door beeped. Elliot stepped inside. When his eyes met mine, they were filled with a sickening mix of guilt and pity. He rushed over and tried to pull me into his arms. "Josie... I'm so sorry..." His voice was raspy, thick with faux-remorse. But his hand pressed directly against the raw, bruised skin on the back of my hand—the wound left by Chelsea’s heel. I gasped at the sharp pain and violently shoved him away. He stumbled back, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. "Three years ago, my grandfather was on his deathbed," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "His final wish was for me to marry Chelsea. He threatened to cut me out of the entire estate. If I didn't agree, I wouldn't have gotten a single dime..." "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have kept it from you. But I had no choice, Josie. You know how badly I needed that inheritance..." "These past few months, she’s been incredibly paranoid. I was backed into a corner, so I staged the accident to disappear..." He took a step closer, his eyes rimmed with red. "We had five years together. You know me. I would never want to hurt you." Five years. He threw those years around so casually, as if my devotion was just another asset he could leverage. "A marriage certificate is just a piece of paper, Josie. It doesn't mean anything. You're the one I actually love. You have to believe me." But that piece of paper had turned me into a public villain. It had ruined my life, and it was destroying my mother. I looked at the man standing in my living room. So familiar, yet a complete stranger. The Elliot who used to wait for me in the freezing snow outside my college lectures was gone. The Elliot who climbed a fence in the middle of the night to buy me fever medicine was gone. The Elliot who promised me that any struggle was worth it as long as we were together was dead. I let out a bitter, lifeless laugh. "So what? You want me to play along? To quietly accept being your mistress?" Elliot opened his mouth, his throat bobbing, but no words came out. The dam inside me finally broke. "Get out! Get the hell out of my apartment!" I shoved him toward the door. Shock flitted across his face as he stumbled. But instead of leaving, he reached out to grab my arm. "Josie, calm down, just listen to me—" Instinctively, I shrank back. My foot caught on the edge of the rug. I lost my balance and fell backward, hard. The back of my head collided violently with the sharp corner of the coffee table. Darkness encroached at the edges of my vision. I felt a sudden, warm rush of fluid pooling between my thighs. And then, the world went completely black. 4 When I finally opened my eyes, I was blinded by a barrage of camera flashes. "Miss Kelly! We understand you were admitted to the hospital due to a miscarriage. Were you planning to use this pregnancy to force a divorce?" A baby? I froze, my mind spinning into a void. How could this be happening? But the hollow, dull ache in my lower abdomen was terrifyingly real. Before I could even process the loss, the flashing lights continued to assault my senses. "Miss Kelly! What is your relationship with the man in the video?" "The internet is labeling you a homewrecker. Do you have any comment?" "Did you deliberately target Mrs. Maxwell?" My vision cleared, and I realized the hospital room was packed with reporters. And at the far end of the room, I saw my mother. She was tied to a chair, her wrists and ankles bound with heavy tape, a thick strip of black duct tape covering her mouth. I tried to scream for her, but my throat was too dry, producing only a raspy gasp. The straps binding me to the bed were so tight they cut into my skin, turning my wrists raw. And Elliot, the man who had sworn his undying love to me just days ago, stood with his arm wrapped securely around Chelsea’s waist, looking down at me like a judge presiding over a trial. Chelsea smirked at my pathetic state. "Honestly, you're young and pretty. You could easily find some guy to pay you ten grand a month to be his plaything. Why on earth did you choose to degrade yourself as a cheap homewrecker?" "I am not a homewrecker!" I choked out. The room erupted into mocking laughter. Chelsea chuckled, her eyes glinting with malice. "Oh? Are you suggesting my marriage license is a forgery?" I stared at the two of them. The weight of the injustice burned in my throat, but I forced the words out anyway. "Elliot, do you have even an ounce of decency left? We were together for five years! If you had just been honest and broken up with me, I could have respected you. Instead, you lied to both of us. Are you really that much of a coward?" "Have you no shame?" Elliot finally spoke. He pulled a medical document from his pocket. "I’ve tolerated your behavior because of your mental condition, Josie. But I can't let your delusions keep disrupting my family." Delusional disorder. I stared at him. I saw a fleeting trace of hesitation in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold calculation. Chelsea frowned. "At first, I thought you were just stupid and felt a little sorry for you. But trying to drive a wedge between my husband and me? That's just pure malice." She stepped closer, forcing my bound legs down toward the floor. "Kneel and beg for my forgiveness, and maybe I'll let this go." "Otherwise, I'll post these medical records online. The entire city will know what kind of people you and your mother are. You'll never be able to show your faces in public again." Elliot leaned down, whispering so only I could hear: "Josie, just do what she says... I hate seeing you suffer like this, but my hands are tied..." He had engineered every ounce of this nightmare, yet he still managed to paint himself as the helpless bystander. I grit my teeth. "I did nothing wrong! Why should I—" A sharp slap cut me off. The stinging heat bloomed across my cheek and radiated to my ear, leaving a loud, high-pitched ringing. "Still stubborn?" Chelsea sneered. "Then I'll beat some sense into you." "That was for being a shameless little tramp who tried to steal my husband." Before I could blink, her hand struck again. Slap. "That was for your arrogance. You don't get to talk back to me." A warm trickle of blood began to seep from my nose, filling my mouth with a metallic taste. Slap. "That was for not knowing your place." Slap. "And that was to remind you that you're nothing but trash. Look at yourself. Did you really think you were in my league?" For what felt like an eternity, the blows kept coming. My face grew swollen and numb, and blood dripped steadily onto my hospital gown. Just when I thought my body would finally give out, the door was violently kicked open. "Stop!"
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