For the second time that night, Adam brought Victoria Thorne to my birthday party, introducing her as my “dearest friend” and Shen Corporation’s newest partner—the same woman who stole my three-year project last week. Leaning close, he whispered, “You should thank me. I’m helping you preserve your friendship.” Soon she was wearing my jewelry, using my stylist, and even representing his company. Then at the family hunt, Adam gave her my horse. “Your riding is subpar,” he said, not looking at me. “Don’t slow us down.” I watched them gallop off as someone commented, “What a handsome couple.” When rain poured down later, everyone left. Adam texted, “Figure it out yourself. Don’t ruin the mood.” I slid off my engagement ring and replied, “Fine.” Then another message appeared—from Damien Blackwood: “Seraphina, did you ever get that letter I wrote you?” 1 The rain was streaming down my face, clinging to my eyelashes as I stared at the screen. Damien's text felt like a ghost from another lifetime. That letter I wrote you back then… did you ever get it? I wiped the water from my face, my thumb smearing across the soaked screen several times before it finally unlocked. In the distance, the roar of a sports car cut through the storm. The taillights of Adam's black Lamborghini were a vicious, bleeding red in the curtain of rain. The passenger window slid down. A black umbrella was tossed out, landing and rolling in the muddy water. "Don't get sick," Adam's voice, muffled by the downpour, drifted back to me. "You'll miss the gala next week." Victoria Thorne leaned out from the passenger seat, her freshly styled curls perfectly dry. "Seraphina, do you want us to wait for you?" she asked, her voice dripping with false concern. But even as she spoke, her fingers were already pressing the button to raise the window. The engine roared to life again. I bent down and picked up the umbrella. As I opened it, one of the ribs snapped with a pathetic crack. The wind instantly caught the canopy, flipping it inside out and sending a fresh cascade of icy water down my head and back. My phone vibrated again. A new text from Damien. "Call me when you see this." I stared at his name for a long moment, and then a bitter laugh escaped my lips. How ironic. The one person I could never stand back in school was now the only one checking in on me. Meanwhile, my fiancé was speeding away with my best friend. "Miss Shen!" The estate's security guard came jogging toward me, holding a large umbrella over his head. "Mr. Vance said you would be calling your own car." I shook the water from the broken umbrella. "Are there any cars left at the stables?" "Well..." the guard began, wringing his hands. "Miss Thorne took the last of the golf carts. She said Mr. Vance gave her permission." Rainwater was now streaming down my spine, my formal gown clinging to my legs like a second skin. I fumbled for my wallet, only to find the cash inside was soaked through, and my credit card had, at some point, snapped in two. "Could I possibly use your phone?" Just as I asked, the walkie-talkie on his belt crackled to life. "Hey, Frank, Mr. Vance just called. Said to lock the East Gate. Something about preventing thieves." My hand tightened on the handle of the broken umbrella. Thieves? I had just paid off Victoria’s gambling debts last week. The voice on the radio continued, oblivious. "He said Miss Shen knows her way around. Tell her to use the West Gate." The West Gate was on the other side of the hunting grounds. At least five kilometers away. Seeing the look of pity and helplessness on the guard’s face, I didn't press him. The rain fell harder. I started the long walk in my heels, the hem of my gown dragging through the mud, each step feeling like I was pulling my foot out of thick clay. Half an hour later, my phone began vibrating uncontrollably. A series of messages from the Vance family's butler: "Mr. Vance is asking where you are." "Miss Thorne says you're deliberately dragging your feet. Please hurry." "Mr. Vance, Sr. requires you to return immediately for a dress fitting." The last message included a photo. It was Victoria, twirling in my custom-made gown while Adam adjusted the waistline for her. I stopped walking. I shoved the wet phone back into my purse, turned, and threw the broken umbrella into a ditch. The gold-leaf logo on the canopy was quickly washed away by the muddy water. Headlights cut through the darkness. I instinctively raised a hand to shield my eyes. A taxi slowed to a stop beside me. The driver rolled down his window. "You need a ride, miss?" As I pulled the door open, I glanced one last time at my phone. Damien’s message was still on the screen. I swiped the notification away. "Take me to the nearest hotel," I told the driver, not caring as my soaked dress left a dark stain on the leather seat. 2 I ran a fever for three days. The Vance family doctor had just left when a maid delivered the gown for the upcoming gala. It wasn't the style I had chosen. The neckline was cut far too low, the waist taken in. "Mr. Vance said you'd lost weight and had the size altered," the maid explained, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Miss Thorne helped choose the new style." My hand trembled as I touched the delicate embroidery on the skirt. This was supposed to be my engagement dress, now tainted by Victoria’s touch. My phone lit up with a message from Adam. "Seven o'clock. Don't be late." I stared at the screen for a long time, typing and deleting a reply before finally just sending back a single, empty "K." The gala was held at the Vance family mansion. When my car pulled up, Victoria was at the entrance, clinging to Adam’s arm as they greeted guests. She was wearing a breathtaking champagne-gold gown, and around her neck was the Vance family heirloom—a string of emeralds that should have been around my neck. "Seraphina!" she chirped, rushing over to take my hand in a display of familiar affection. "Are you feeling better? Adam was so worried about you." I pulled my hand away. My fingertips were ice-cold. Across the foyer, Adam’s gaze swept over me, cool and dismissive, like a father looking at a misbehaving child. "Let's go inside," he said, his voice flat. "It's about to start." The ballroom was a glittering spectacle of chandeliers and diamonds. I found a quiet corner and watched as Adam led Victoria to the center of the dance floor. The master of ceremonies’ voice boomed through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us. Tonight, Miss Thorne will be taking Miss Shen's place for the opening dance." As applause filled the room, my nails dug into my palms. Victoria’s smile was radiant. Adam’s hand rested possessively on her waist as they moved to the music. The emeralds around her neck caught the light, each flash a sharp sting in my eyes. When the music ended, Adam walked toward me. The crowd parted for him as if he were royalty, and every eye in the room followed him. "Are you angry?" he asked, his voice low. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my collarbone. "You were sick. You couldn't dance." I didn't answer. His touch was cold, detached, like he was examining an object. He produced a diamond necklace as if from thin air. "Don't be difficult. I'll make it up to you when we get home." The cold metal pressed against my skin. I could smell Victoria's perfume on him. After the gala, I went straight to one of the guest rooms. As I took off the necklace, I noticed a tiny inscription on the inside of the clasp: V.T. Victoria Thorne. I stood on the balcony overlooking the pool. The water shimmered under the moonlight, a shattered mirror. I held the necklace up, letting it catch the light one last time before I flung it into the air. It made a small plunk as it hit the water and sank. "Fetch it." Adam's voice came from behind me. I hadn't heard him enter. He had his suit jacket draped over his arm, his tie loosened. "That's Victoria's necklace," he said, stepping closer and gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. "You've worn it. Now it's time to return it to its rightful owner." I jerked my head away. "And the family heirloom? Is that hers now, too?" "She's borrowing it," Adam snapped, his brow furrowing. "Why do you have to be so petty about everything?" A splash came from the pool below. Victoria, still in her gown, was in the water. She held up the diamond necklace, waving it at us with a triumphant smile. "I found it!" 3 Water dripped from her hair, plastering the silk of her gown to her body. Adam’s gaze darkened. "I'll get her a towel," he said, his voice suddenly rough. I stood frozen as I watched him hurry to the edge of the pool. He shrugged off his own jacket and wrapped it around Victoria, his movements gentle, as if he were handling something precious. Victoria leaned into his embrace, her eyes meeting mine over his shoulder. Her smile was pure victory. The emeralds glowed against her skin, while the diamond necklace I had just thrown away rested in her palm. Adam glanced back at me. "What are you standing there for? Go get her a blanket." He said it so naturally, as if ordering me around was the most normal thing in the world. Just as he had taken my place in the dance, taken my family's heirloom, and taken my dignity. I turned and walked back toward the guest room, tears burning behind my eyes. I bit my lip, hard. Don't cry, I told myself. Not in front of her. I caught my reflection in a hallway mirror—my face pale, my eyes red, a faint red mark on my neck where the necklace had been. A brand of shame. Outside, I could hear Victoria's laughter and Adam's low, rumbling voice. They were playing by the pool, the sound of splashing water echoing in the night. I pulled the curtains shut, but I couldn't block out the sound. On the nightstand was the next day's itinerary. Victoria's name was written where mine should have been, with Adam’s bold signature and the word "Approved" scrawled beside it. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I stumbled into the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet as my stomach heaved. The cool tiles did little to soothe me. I was still on my knees, weak and shaking, when Victoria’s voice, sickly sweet, came from the doorway. "Seraphina, are you okay?" I pushed myself up and splashed cold water on my face. "Oh, my!" Victoria gasped with mock surprise. "You didn't lock the door!" She was holding up her phone, the camera pointed directly at me. I threw a hand up to cover my face, but it was too late. I heard the distinct click of the shutter. A sly smile played on her lips. "What are you doing?" I rasped. "Adam asked me to check on you," she said, waving her phone. "He said you haven't been feeling well lately." I lunged for the phone, but she danced away. The heel of her shoe came down hard on a piece of paper that had fallen from my purse. It was the report I’d brought back from the hospital, already crumpled from being clenched in my fist. Now, it was torn. "Pregnancy, eight weeks?" she said, bending down to pick it up. Her eyes went wide. "Oh my god!" I snatched the report back, my chest heaving. Victoria was already tapping furiously on her phone. "Don't—" The sharp, crisp sound of a message being sent cut me off. She winked at me. "Oops. Accidentally sent it to the socialites' group chat." My own phone exploded with notifications. The messages were scrolling too fast to read. [Congratulations!] [The Vance family is getting an heir!] [When's the wedding?] The last message was from Victoria. [Seraphina wanted to wait until the first trimester to announce it.] I was trembling, the room spinning. In the mirror, Victoria hummed a little tune as she reapplied her lipstick, her smile dazzlingly cruel. "Victoria." Adam's voice echoed from the hallway. "What's taking so long?" She ran to him, throwing her arms around his. "Adam, Seraphina has wonderful news!" He frowned, his eyes finding me in the bathroom doorway. I clutched the torn paper, my throat closing up. "Is it true?" he asked, striding toward me, his hand outstretched for the report. I took a step back, my body hitting the cold marble of the sink. His expression hardened. He snatched the paper from my hand, the fragile sheet tearing further. "Eight weeks," he murmured, his face a storm of unreadable emotions. "Why didn't you tell me?" Victoria pressed herself against his side. "Adam, I didn't mean to tell everyone, I swear." "Get out," Adam said, his voice low. She froze. He didn't look up from the report. "Victoria, leave us." After the door clicked shut, he stepped toward me. His hand came to rest on my stomach, his palm surprisingly warm, his touch impossibly gentle. "We'll keep it," he said, his voice raw. "I'll marry you." My eyes stung with unshed tears. For a single, fragile moment, he was the old Adam again, the boy who used to stay up all night making me porridge when I was sick. "Really?" I whispered. "Yes." He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. "Let's go home and talk." That night, for the first time in years, Adam cooked. He made me porridge. I sat at the dining table, watching his back as he moved around the kitchen, my heart aching with a confusing mix of pain and hope. "Careful, it's hot," he said, placing the bowl in front of me. "And no more high heels for a while." I looked down and began to eat. A tear splashed into the warm porridge. He reached out and gently wiped it from my cheek, his thumb warm against my skin. "What are you crying for?" he said, his voice soft with something that sounded like exasperation. "You're going to be a mother." I nodded, choking back a sob. The steam from the bowl blurred my vision. In that moment, I almost forgave him for everything. 4 The next morning, I was jolted awake by the incessant buzzing of my phone. The Vance family group chat had exploded with over 99 new messages. At the very top was a video posted by Victoria. In the shaky footage, she was helping me walk, my head lolling to the side in a deep, unnatural sleep. Suddenly, she "tripped," sending both of us tumbling to the floor. The video froze on my pale, unconscious face. The caption read: [So sorry! It was a total accident! I feel awful!] The last few seconds of the video showed a dark stain spreading on the floor beneath me. Blood. I felt a dull ache in my abdomen. Beneath the video was a reply from Adam: [She's always been weak. The baby probably wouldn't have survived anyway.] I stared at the screen, my fingers numb. The bedroom door opened, and Adam walked in, fastening his tie. "You're awake?" He glanced at my phone and frowned. "Stop looking at that." I looked up at him, my voice hollow. "You knew, didn't you?" "Knew what?" he asked, his tone flat. "It was an accident. Victoria didn't mean for it to happen." "The porridge," I said, my voice eerily calm. "You drugged it. There's no way I would have fallen asleep at the dinner table like that." I threw back the covers. My legs were weak, and the pain in my stomach intensified. Adam caught me as I stumbled. "Stop throwing a tantrum." "I'm going to the hospital." "Fine. I've already had the family doctor look at you," he said, letting go of me. "The child is gone. There will be others." I somehow made it to the hospital on my own. The doctor confirmed it: I'd had a miscarriage. He said I needed rest, that my emotional state was fragile. While I was at the payment counter, I saw Adam and Victoria walking into the VIP wing. They didn't see me. Victoria was leaning against his shoulder, and Adam was listening to her, a small smile on his face. I clutched the bag of prescription pills, my palm slick with sweat. My phone buzzed. A new message from Victoria. [Adam brought me for a pregnancy checkup!] [He said he wants only the best for me.] Attached was a photo of her holding up an ultrasound picture, her hand resting on her flat stomach. Adam stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder. My vision blurred. The bag of pills slipped from my grasp, scattering across the floor. A janitor rushed over to help, but I just shook my head and walked toward the elevator. Just before the doors closed, I heard Victoria’s bright, tinkling laughter. It was like a knife twisting in my heart. The elevator opened on the ground floor. I stumbled out and almost collided with a nurse pushing a bassinet. The tiny baby inside grinned at me, its face pink and perfect. "Isn't he adorable?" the nurse asked with a smile. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. On a television in the corner, a financial news program was playing. Adam and Victoria were at another charity gala. She was deliberately cradling her flat stomach, and he was leaning in to whisper something in her ear, his expression tender—a stark contrast to the cold man who had fastened his tie in my bedroom that morning. I touched my own empty belly and started to laugh. A hollow, broken sound. How ironic. My child was a pool of blood on the floor, and its father was at a prenatal appointment with another woman. So, Adam, I thought, it wasn't that you didn't want a child. You just didn't want a child with me. My trembling fingers found my phone. Damien's message was still there, waiting. I took a deep breath and slowly typed my reply. [I didn't get it. But I want to see you now.]
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