On our third wedding anniversary, I spent five hours kneeling on the cold floor of the VIP lounge. Olivia didn't make an appearance until midnight, her arm casually looped through Brody’s—her childhood sweetheart, the boy she had spent her entire life protecting. With a wave of her hand, her entourage lined up thirty shot glasses of overproof whiskey on the low table in front of me. "Drink up, Jesse," she said, her voice cool and detached. "Every glass you down buys your lunatic sister another day of care at the facility." I didn't say a word. I just reached for the first glass and poured the burning liquid down my throat. By the fifth shot, my stomach was on fire. I collapsed onto my knees, clutching my gut, coughing so violently that my chest heaved. A ripple of laughter echoed through the dim, plush room. "Three years of this, and Olivia still finds the best ways to make him pay," one of her wealthy trust-fund friends sneered. "It never gets old." "He got what he deserved," another added, swirling their drink. "If Jesse hadn't spiked Brody’s water back then and ruined his vocal cords, Brody would be headlining arenas right now. Jesse's lucky she didn't throw him in a cell. He should be swallowing the glass, too." Olivia’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. She picked up an empty tumbler and tossed it at my feet. It shattered, scattering sharp, glittering shards across the floor. She leaned down, her fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look up into her beautiful, cold eyes. "The former darling of the West Coast music scene, and this is all the liquor you can handle? Fine. You don't have to drink." She let go of my face, wiping her hand on a napkin. "Just swallow those shards of glass, get down on your hands and knees, and bow to Brody a hundred times. Do that, and I'll forgive you. I’ll even pay for ten years of your sister's care." She looked at me with absolute certainty, waiting for the broken, desperate compliance she had grown so accustomed to over the last three years. I looked back at her, and for the first time, a laugh slipped past my lips. It was a hollow, tragic sound. "There's no need anymore," I whispered. Just before dawn, the facility had kicked Maisie out. Disoriented and panicked in the middle of an episode, she had wandered onto the highway. A semi-truck hit her. She was already gone. … Olivia froze, her expression faltering for a fraction of a second. "What did you say?" My gaze drifted past her to the mug of warm honey water sitting in front of Brody. It was exactly ninety-eight degrees—not too hot, not too cold. Olivia had personally prepared it for him before they walked in, a meticulous ritual to soothe his throat. "I said, I don't need your money," I repeated, my voice raspy and dead. "And I don't need your forgiveness. Let's get a divorce." The lounge fell silent for half a beat before Brody's friends erupted into louder, harsher laughter. "Is he seriously trying to play hard to get? Olivia offers him a lifeline, and he uses it to throw a tantrum? Talk about ungrateful." "Does he honestly think he has options? With that ruined throat of his, he couldn't get a gig singing at a dive bar. Without Olivia, he’s nothing. Is he planning to take his idiot sister and go beg on the streets?" I listened to the insults, my face completely blank. I had spent three years acting as their punching bag. Every month, on this exact date, was my day of penance. Being publicly humiliated was just one of the many ways Olivia ensured I remembered my place. Olivia scrutinized my face, her irritation hardening into a scowl. "Jesse, that’s enough. Are you really throwing a fit just because I was busy putting Brody to bed last night and missed a few of your calls?" She scoffed, crossing her arms. "What could you possibly have had going on in the middle of the night that was so urgent? You're bringing up divorce over a few missed calls? If Brody hadn't been so kind, you'd be sitting in a penitentiary right now. Stop being so dramatic. This is what you owe him." I kept my mouth shut. I didn't bother correcting her. It wasn't "a few" calls. It was thirty-two. But what was the point of explaining? Any pride, any fight I had left in me, had been slowly, systematically eroded by three years of neglect and quiet cruelty. A sharp, metallic taste rose in my throat, followed by a burning wave in my chest. I couldn't hold it back. I coughed, and a splash of bright red blood stained the floor between my hands. Olivia’s face drained of color. She took a sudden step forward, her hand instinctively reaching out to me. "Jesse, you—" Before her fingers could touch my shoulder, Brody slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her back against him. His voice, though slightly husky, carried a soft, vulnerable tremor. "Jesse, Olivia is only offering you this chance because she thinks you've shown some remorse over the years. If you don't want to make amends, you can just say so. There's no need to fake-cough blood for sympathy. It’s not like five shots of whiskey are going to kill you." Brody lowered his head, his eyes casting downward. "When you spiked my drink back then, my throat burned much worse than that." I closed my eyes. "No, it won't kill me," I thought. "It just makes me wish I were dead." But Olivia believed him. For three years, she had always believed him. The brief flash of concern in her eyes vanished, replaced by a familiar, biting coldness. "You've really outdone yourself, Jesse. When did you learn to become such a manipulative actor?" She checked her designer watch. "It's time for Brody’s vocal therapy. I don't have time for your little performances." She grabbed her coat. "Since you refuse to take this seriously, I’m only wiring five days of care fees for the five glasses you drank. The rest will wait until you've actually learned your lesson and are ready to clear your debt." She took Brody's hand, and they walked out, her friends trailing behind them like a loyal court. A moment later, my phone vibrated with a bank notification. What Olivia didn't know—what she hadn't cared to learn—was that the care facility didn't accept daily payments. They didn't care about a delay of a few hours. During the hours she was ignoring my calls to comfort Brody, Maisie had been shoved out the front doors into the freezing night. Terrified and confused, she had run into the path of oncoming traffic. She didn't need a care facility anymore. At the hospital, the ER doctor told me the blood was caused by severe acid reflux and esophageal irritation from the high-proof alcohol. It wasn't terminal. I suppose I should have been relieved, but I felt absolutely nothing. Just a vast, hollow space where my chest used to be. The only person in this world who actually needed me was gone. I went to the crematorium alone to arrange Maisie's service. As I stood outside the heavy iron doors, listening to the low, mechanical rumble of the incinerator, I began to sing. My voice was a ruined, gravelly whisper, but I forced the melody out anyway—the quiet, gentle lullaby I used to sing to her when she was small. I remembered how she used to curl up in my lap, her sticky fingers tracing my jaw, her eyes bright and wide. "Jesse, you sing prettier than the birds," she’d whisper. She had loved my voice more than anyone. And now, this ugly, broken rasp was the only send-off I could give her. When the attendant finally handed me the small wooden urn, my voice cracked as I thanked him. The man stared at my face, recognition slowly dawning in his eyes. He gasped. "Wait... are you Jesse Lin? What happened to your voice?" I lowered my eyes, adjusting my grip on the urn. "I swallowed something bad." It wasn't entirely a lie. Over the last three years, Olivia had found countless ways to ruin my throat, all in the name of making me "atone." The first time, she had locked me in a karaoke room for fifteen hours straight, forcing me to sing without a single drop of water. The second time, she made me drink a glass of concentrated chili extract. The third time, she forced me to eat boiling soup dumplings straight from the pot, the liquid blistering my throat before I could even swallow. After a while, the methods blurred together. My voice was gone, and there was nothing left to save. Sensing the heavy silence, the attendant quickly tried to soften his tone. "Well... I guess it doesn't matter much anyway. You've got Olivia Cornell taking care of you. You don't need to work. We all saw that massive, beautiful proposal she did on the harbor livestream. We were so envious." He paused, looking around the empty hallway. "By the way... where is she? Shouldn't she be here for her sister-in-law's service?" I managed a faint, bloodless smile. "She’s busy." As I stepped out into the blinding afternoon sun, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Olivia. "You ruined the rug in the lounge when you threw up. Brody bought that piece. Go back and clean it yourself, or the cost is coming out of your sister's care fund." "Also, we're having dinner at my mother’s house tonight. Take a cab there. I have to pick up Brody first." I looked up at the sky, the light burning my eyes. I remembered another bright, sunny afternoon, years ago, when Olivia had held my hand on a grassy hill. We had watched Maisie, whose mind had reverted to that of a five-year-old after a traumatic assault in her teens, chase butterflies through the clover. Olivia's hand had been so warm. Her promise had felt unbreakable. "Jesse, I've got her into the best facility in the state," she had whispered, pulling me close. "We're going to take care of her together. You don't have to carry this alone anymore." I had truly believed I was the luckiest man alive. Until the night of the national music showcase, right before our wedding. Brody had taken a sip of water from a bottle I had handed him, and within minutes, he was choking, clawing at his throat. The doctors said his vocal cords had been permanently scarred by a corrosive chemical. He would never sing again. Olivia hadn't called the police. She had quietly buried the scandal, carried on with our wedding, and convinced me to retire from the public eye. Only later did I realize it wasn't mercy. It was a trap. By pulling me out of the industry, she stripped away my career, my financial independence, and my support system until I had nowhere left to turn but her. Then came the threats about Maisie's care fees. The demands for penance. I had screamed, begged, and sworn my innocence, but she never believed me. She had only looked at me with cold disgust. "Brody comes from money, Jesse. He's a gentle soul. He would never sacrifice his own dream just to frame someone like you," she had said. "Only an orphan from a group home would have a mind that twisted. You'd do anything to climb to the top, wouldn't you?" She was no longer the woman who loved my music. She was my jailer. But I still had to go to the Cornell estate tonight. Maisie’s favorite necklace—the one she had woven for me out of cheap, colorful plastic beads—was still in my old room there. It was a childish, worthless thing, but it was the last tangible piece of her I had left. I had to get it back. When I entered the Cornell mansion, Olivia, Brody, and her mother were sitting in the dining room, discussing the menu. Olivia was peeling fruit, gently placing a slice of pear into Brody's mouth. "Mom, make sure the kitchen—" "I know, I know," Mrs. Cornell interrupted with a fond laugh. "I already told the chef to prepare the glazed salmon and asparagus. Brody’s favorites. You're not the only one who pampers him, Olivia." Olivia smiled, silent and content. Brody looked up, offering a sweet, innocent grin. "Thank you, Mrs. Cornell. But... isn't Jesse coming tonight? Shouldn't we ask what he wants?" Mrs. Cornell scoffed, her face instantly hardening. "Who cares what that busker wants to eat? He should thank his lucky stars he's even allowed to sit at our table. He has no right to be picky." She had never liked me. To her, Brody's pursuit of music was a refined, artistic hobby for a wealthy heir. Mine was just the desperate grab of a penniless social climber. When Mrs. Cornell caught sight of me standing in the doorway, her expression soured further. "What is that garbage you're carrying?" I held the wooden urn a little tighter against my chest. "It’s not garbage. It's... my sister." She rolled her eyes, her voice rising in a sharp, irritating pitch. "What's wrong with her now? What cheap trinket did that simpleton send you this time? Honestly, Jesse, everything we give you—your clothes, your food, her medical bills—is paid for by our family. Instead of giving me attitude, you should be focused on giving this family an heir. I still don't understand what my daughter saw in you. You're just a parasite." It was always like this. She didn't listen to the words coming out of my mouth; she just looked for any excuse to degrade me. In the beginning, Olivia would have jumped to my defense. Now... I looked at her. She was entirely focused on slicing another piece of fruit for Brody. We had almost had a child once. But the moment the pregnancy test came back positive, Brody had broken down in tears in front of Olivia. "Jesse took away my voice, my entire future," he had sobbed, clutching her sleeve. "How can he just move on and have a perfect, happy family while I'm left with nothing?" Olivia’s heart had broken for him. She had turned to me, her eyes dead and resolute. "We're not keeping it, Jesse. Until Brody's depression is managed, you don't deserve this kind of happiness. And don't tell my mother. I don't want her blaming Brody for this decision." "Jesse," Olivia’s voice cut through my memory, sharp and commanding. "Put that box away and go wash your hands. Brody wants your specialty braised duck tonight. Don't make him wait." My fingers dug into my pockets, pressing against the hard wrapper of an orange-flavored candy. It was Maisie's favorite flavor. She had saved it for me, even when her memory was slipping away. Near the end, she would always ask me, "Jesse, when is Olivia coming to see me? I saved these orange candies for her. She's so nice to you. I want to give them to her." She had died waiting for a sister-in-law who never came. The butler entered the room, carrying a small, perfectly groomed Pomeranian. "Mr. Brody, your dog is back from the groomer's." Brody cooed, taking the small dog into his arms. "Olivia, look! Doesn't he look adorable in his new collar?" My chest seized. Woven around the dog's neck, held together by a cheap silver clasp, was Maisie's hand-made plastic bead necklace. I walked straight over to him, extending a trembling hand. "Give it back." Olivia’s face darkened. "Jesse, don't start. It's a cheap piece of plastic. Don't lose your dignity over a dog toy." "My sister made that for me," I said, my voice shaking. Olivia let out an irritated sigh. "Maisie gave you dozens of those plastic toys. If you want one so badly, I'll buy you a box of beads tomorrow and have her string them together. Given the pain you caused Brody, letting his dog play with a cheap trinket to make him happy is a tiny price to pay. Now go to the kitchen." Looking at the absolute lack of empathy in her eyes, a profound, crushing exhaustion washed over me. "What's the point?" I thought. Maisie was gone. A plastic necklace wouldn't bring her back. But I knew if I didn't cook this dinner, Olivia wouldn't let me leave. I went to the kitchen and began preparing the food. Halfway through, Brody wandered in. He leaned against the counter, watching me with a smug, lingering smile. "You know, Jesse, given our families' history, I really didn't want to treat Olivia's husband like a servant," he murmured, his voice smooth and entirely devoid of his usual raspy strain. "But the truth is, you're not really her husband, are you? You're just a servant paying a debt. And you'll be bowing to me for the rest of your life." I stopped chopping, turning slowly to face him. "What do you mean?" Brody tilted his head toward the back door. "Why don't you go listen for yourself? Unless you want to accuse me of lying again." A cold dread pooled in my stomach. I walked quietly out to the side terrace. Above me was the open window to Mrs. Cornell's second-floor study. I could hear their voices clearly. "Olivia, you told me three years ago that the marriage license you signed with Jesse was fake," Mrs. Cornell was saying, her tone impatient. "You said it was just a legal leash to keep him here so he could pay his dues to Brody. But how much longer are you going to drag this out? Brody has loved you since you were kids, and I want him as my son-in-law. Dump Jesse and marry Brody. I want grandchildren before I'm too old." I stood frozen, the breath completely trapped in my throat. My hands clenched into tight fists. There was a long silence, and then Olivia’s calm, level voice floated down. "Just a little longer, Mom. He hasn't finished paying his debt yet." Something inside me fractured into a thousand silent pieces. For three years, I had knelt, starved, and bled to earn her forgiveness. I had let her drag my soul through the mud because I believed we were bound by vows. But our marriage was a lie. The certificate was fake. She never had any intention of letting me go. She was just waiting until she had broken me completely before tossing me aside. I walked back into the kitchen like a ghost. Brody was still there, twirling Maisie's plastic necklace around his finger, waiting for my reaction. He glanced up at the security camera in the corner of the ceiling, then took a step closer, leaning in to whisper in my ear. "Jesse, did you know your sister is dead?" I stared at him, my heart stopping. "How..." "When she got kicked out of that place, she couldn't reach you, so she tried to FaceTime Olivia. Olivia was in the shower, so I answered." Brody's eyes gleamed with a sickening, malicious delight. "I decided to show her some fun videos. You know, the ones of you singing until your throat bled, crawling on the floor, eating hot coals. She went absolutely hysterical. Started screaming, crying, apologizing to her 'big brother,' and then she just ran out into the street. Right into a truck. It was honestly hilarious." Brody's voice dropped to a venomous hiss. "A worthless charity-case orphan like you... how dare you think you could sing better than me? How dare you take Olivia? I wanted to see you suffer, Jesse. And now you have nothing." My brain went entirely numb. The night Maisie died, I had been desperately calling Olivia, begging for money to save my sister. Olivia's line had been busy for hours. It wasn't because she was ignoring me. It was because Brody was using her phone to torture my sister. Before I could even think, I grabbed the heavy, boiling pot of duck and threw it at his face. But Olivia walked into the kitchen at that exact moment. Seeing my movement, she lunged forward, grabbing my right wrist and twisting it back with brutal force. The boiling fat and heavy iron pot fell back onto me. The scalding liquid poured down my right arm, instantly searing my skin. Giant, angry blisters began to rise, the pain white-hot and agonizing. Olivia shoved me back against the counter, her eyes flashing with rage. "Jesse! You just can't stop, can you?!" Brody huddled behind her, his eyes red and tearful, cradling his hand. "Olivia... I just wanted to give him his necklace back. I don't know why he attacked me..." Mrs. Cornell rushed into the room, screaming that I was a psychopath who belonged in a psychiatric ward or a prison cell. Olivia ignored her mother, her eyes dropping to my blistered, raw arm. She frowned, a trace of unease flicking across her face. "Jesse... apologize to Brody, and I’ll take you to the hospital." She chose him. Again. But the pain didn't reach my heart this time. The numbness had finally taken over. "Apologize to him?" I let out a dry, broken chuckle. "I'd rather die. He's the one who needs to go to hell and apologize to my sister." Olivia stared at me, her expression hardening. "Are you still playing this game? Now you're cursing your own sister just to get out of an apology?" I didn't answer her. I picked up the plastic necklace from the floor, walked upstairs to get Maisie's urn, and walked out the front door. Behind me, Olivia's angry voice echoed through the foyer. "Jesse! If you walk out that door, don't you dare come back crying!" When I arrived at the public hospital, the nurses, patients, and visitors in the lobby stared at me with strange, disgusted expressions. Several people pulled out their phones, pointing the cameras directly at my face. Sensing that something was deeply wrong, I pulled out my phone and opened social media. A photo of me throwing the boiling pot at Brody had already been uploaded, trending at the top of the local news feed. Along with the photo, a detailed article about our "rivalry" from three years ago had been published. "Former indie darling Jesse Lin exposed: Ruined rival's vocal cords with chemical poisoning to win showcase." The comment section was a toxic wasteland. Thousands of people were calling me a jealous, talentless parasite, telling me I deserved to rot in hell. Someone had even dug up Maisie's personal information. They claimed her mental disability was the result of a severe, untreated sexually transmitted disease she contracted from being promiscuous. They fabricated stories about her working at cheap, illicit clubs. My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the phone. I dialed Olivia's number. When she picked up, my voice was barely a whisper. "Why... why would you let them target Maisie? She's dead." On the other end of the line, I heard the click of a lighter. "I didn't want it to go this far, Jesse," Olivia said, her voice sounding tired but firm. "But you refused to apologize to Brody. I had to use the only leverage I had left to make you listen." "Maisie isn't leverage! She was a human being! She called you her sister, Olivia! She saved her favorite candies for you!" Olivia was silent for a long moment. "She's not mentally competent anyway, Jesse. She can't even read those comments. Once the news cycle moves on, everyone will forget about it. But you hurt Brody, and I had to give his family an explanation." I hung up the phone. The final thread of my sanity snapped. As I stood in the corridor, dazed and bleeding, three large men suddenly stepped out of the stairwell, blocking my path. "Are you Jesse Lin?" one of them sneered, stepping closer. "We finally found you." Before I could call for help, they dragged me out onto the empty, wind-swept terrace on the fourth floor. "You're the piece of trash who ruined Brody's life?" the leader growled, shoving me to the concrete floor. "And then you burn him with boiling water? We're going to make sure you never hurt anyone again." Even though Brody had retired, he still had a small group of obsessive, fanatical followers. I was kicked to the ground, my arms wrapped protectively around Maisie's urn. But one of them kicked my chest, and the urn slipped from my grip, shattering against the concrete wall. My sister's ashes spilled across the dirty floor. "No! Please, no!" I sobbed, crawling toward the ashes, but a heavy boot brought me down again, pinning my head to the ground. "What kind of sick freak carries ashes around?" the man spat, kicking me in the ribs. "Beating you is a public service." A rain of fists and heavy boots fell upon me. Through the pain, I watched as the harsh wind began to catch Maisie's ashes, lifting them over the terrace railing and scattering them into the gray sky. My tears mixed with the blood on my face as I reached out toward the empty air. "Stop! Someone's coming! Let's go!" one of them shouted, and the men quickly scrambled back into the stairwell. When Olivia finally arrived at the hospital after being alerted by the staff, she found me kneeling on the concrete. I had spread my thin jacket on the floor, desperately trying to scrape the remaining ashes onto the fabric. My face was swollen and bloody, my lips split open. Olivia gasped, her face pale with shock. "Jesse... are you stupid? Why didn't you call me?" She reached out to grab my arm, her voice trembling. "If the nurses hadn't called security, they would have killed you! Come inside, we need to get you to an doctor right now!" I looked up at her, my eyes flat and lifeless. "Don't touch me." She froze. She had never seen me look at her with such absolute, chilling detachment. I carefully folded the corners of my jacket, tying the sleeves together to ensure none of the remaining ashes could escape. I hugged the bundle tight against my chest. "Olivia," I whispered, standing up slowly and backing toward the edge of the terrace. "You said... once I paid my debt, you'd let me go, right?" Panic flared in her eyes as she saw how close I was to the low railing. "Jesse... what are you doing? Step back." I pressed the bundle to my cheek, closing my eyes. "Maisie, I'm sorry. I'm coming to find you." I turned and stepped over the railing, falling backward into the open air. Above me, Olivia's desperate, horrified scream tore through the sky. "JESSE!!!"
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