The year Weston and I loved each other most fiercely was the year he got a vasectomy for me. It was the year he signed over his entire fortune and had a signaling implant embedded under his skin, so I could summon him with the press of a button. That was also the year his mother was dying of cancer, and I was the one who called off the emergency measures. I let Weston beg, let his pleas echo in the sterile hallway, but I wouldn't let anyone give his mother a single drop of blood. After she died, he shielded me from the cameras and calmly signed a waiver, absolving me of all legal responsibility. He told me, "Even if you had asked for my life, I wouldn't hate you." And then, "Lana. For the rest of my life, my love for you will be unconditional." After that, everyone in Veridia City knew Weston Blackwood was madly in love with me, a force that defied gods and men. But in the seventh year of our marriage, he fell for a girl who spoke of "The Divine" as if it were her closest confidante. For her, he had the implant surgically removed. For her, he had the vasectomy reversed. He started spending his days with her, lingering in sun-drenched chapels and quiet sanctuaries. It all came to a head the day my father was in a car crash, hemorrhaging, his life measured in minutes. I called Weston, hoping he could leverage his connections to find a rare blood type. But the girl, Seraphina, answered his door. She blocked the entrance with her delicate hand, a smirk playing on her lips. "The Divine has spoken," she said, her voice light and cruel. "Your father, and you... you're both meant to die." I called Weston's cell. When I told him, his voice was a flat, distant thing. "Your father lived a few years longer than my mother. It's his time. This time, I'm listening to the will of the Divine." A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I grabbed Seraphina by the throat and dragged her up to the rooftop. One by one, I started breaking her fingers. Then I made a video call to Weston, my face a calm mask. "The Divine has a new message," I said. "If you can't save my father in the next hour, it's a life for a life." 1 Weston, a man I hadn't seen in months, appeared on that rooftop less than ten minutes after I hung up. His eyes landed on Seraphina, curled on the ground, five of her ten fingers already twisted at grotesque angles. His pupils contracted, his brow furrowed in a deep line. "Lana, this is too much. Because of you, Seraphina will never play the piano again." He took a step closer. "You don't need to take your anger at me out on her. She's just a kid." The moment the words left his mouth, I brought my heel down on her sixth finger. Seraphina's voice was already raw from screaming. A choked, gurgling sob escaped her as her body convulsed. "Westy, save me," she whimpered. "The Divine wouldn't want one of its flock to lose her hands." Her cry sent a jolt of panic through Weston. "Lana, I said let her go! Don't you want to save your father?" I froze, lifting my foot. A sardonic smile touched my lips. "Then what are you wasting time here for? Go find the blood. If I don't hear from you in fifty minutes, your little treasure is going to pay the price." Weston’s gaze, thick with worry, settled on Seraphina. He whispered a soft, "Wait for me," and then he was gone. Watching his retreating back, Seraphina began to tremble, but it was with laughter. "Even if you cripple both my hands, Westy will still love me. Unlike you. You're just a psycho, a freak with a broken brain." She looked up at me, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Do you know what he said the night he took my virginity? He cried. He said he hated you. He said he hated you for killing his mother, that you were nothing but a filthy, disgusting murderer!" For a second, the world went white. A sharp pain lanced through my skull, and I was thrown back seven years, to the day I stood in front of a team of doctors, blocking them from saving Weston's mother. He had begged me then, begged me until the light above the operating theater went out, until the white sheet was pulled over his mother's face. I had asked him, "Do you hate me?" If he had said yes, just one word, I would have told him everything. I would have gone to prison for it. But he shook his head. And I actually believed him. I believed he didn't hate me. Seeing my composure falter, Seraphina's expression grew even more triumphant. With her few remaining intact fingers, she flipped me off. "You know, Lana, you're not even as useful as a broodmare at a stud farm. But maybe you should go learn—" She paused, her eyes widening in mock realization. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I almost forgot. You already are one, aren't you? Ridden and passed around by a thousand different men." Her contemptuous laugh was cut short after three seconds. I was holding a dagger, its point aimed directly at her throat, ready to slice down. A split second before I made contact, a boot kicked the dagger from my hand. I grunted, clutching my hand. I didn't need to look to know the blade had flipped, slicing my palm open. Blood was already welling. Weston swept a crying, trembling Seraphina into his arms, his expression like carved stone. "A blood match was found. Your father is receiving a transfusion now." I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. "Show me." Weston nodded, and a bodyguard held a phone in front of my face. It was a live feed from the hospital security camera. My father was surrounded by doctors, and I could clearly see a bag of blood plasma hanging by his bed. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and looked up at Weston's retreating back. "Weston," I said. "Let's get a divorce." He stopped, his shoulders stiffening. He turned around. From this distance, I could see the faint smile on Seraphina's lips before she buried her face in his chest to hide it. "Seraphina is just a child. She won't affect our marriage, so I won't agree to a divorce," Weston said, his eyes dark and unreadable. "My mother's life was my wedding gift to you. It's also the chain that binds our marriage. This lifetime, you're never getting away." My hand shook as I lit a cigarette. I swiped at my phone, not looking at him again. The blood from my palm smeared across the screen, and it took me a long time to wipe it clean. Weston gave an order to one of his men. "Get gauze and antiseptic. Make sure her hand doesn't scar." He didn't remember. He and his mother had already left countless scars on my body and in my soul. As his footsteps faded, I looked at the faint, silvery lines on my wrist and spoke to my lawyer on the phone. "Draw up the divorce papers. I want them today." After I hung up, I stubbed out the cigarette and went downstairs to see my father. In the hospital corridor, a couple of nurses were whispering. "It's so tragic. Wrists and ankles both slit, bled him out..." "That's what you get for crossing the wrong people..." My heart leaped into my throat. I ran, a frantic, desperate sprint toward his room. The heel of my shoe snapped, and I heard a sickening crack from my ankle. I limped the rest of the way, bursting through the door. There he was. My father, limbs splayed out like a starfish, the flesh on his wrists and ankles peeled back. His skin had a sickly, bluish-gray pallor. "...Dad?" I whispered. I stumbled toward him, took his hand, and pressed it against my cheek. "Dad, you said you wanted those cream-filled cannolis from that little shop in the North End, remember? I'm not busy today. I'll go get them for you, okay?" The icy chill of his hand made my tears feel like acid. In the dead silence of the room, I heard laughter from next door. It was Seraphina, her voice a sickly sweet whine. "Westy, I want the cannolis from that little shop now. I mean it. If you don't go buy them for me yourself, I'm not taking my medicine!" She held up her bandaged hand pitifully. "Go buy them now, and then you can feed them to me. Please, hurry up!" Weston's eyes were full of doting affection. He gently pinched her cheek. Seraphina pouted, and then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw me standing in the doorway. Her smile was bright, blinding. "Lana, I'm not mad at you anymore for what happened earlier. The Divine teaches us to forgive everyone. And Westy isn't mad either, right?" Weston wouldn't meet my eyes. After ten years together, I knew that look. It was guilt. I hooked my fingers under his chin, forcing his head up. I ignored his frown and held him steady. "My father is dead," I said softly. A faint smile touched his lips. "He deserved to die. But the blood in his body won't go to waste. What do you think... blood pudding?" CRACK. The sound of my hand hitting his face echoed in the hallway. His head snapped to the side, his expression hidden by his hair. "Don't you hit Westy! The Divine will never forgive you for that!" Seraphina shrieked, jumping in front of him. A second later, she was reeling from a slap of her own. The moment she cried out in pain, Weston moved. He opened his mouth to yell at me, but then he saw the tears streaming down my face. His expression went completely blank. I had only seen that look on his face once before, seven years ago. His mother was undergoing chemotherapy, and I had disappeared for seven days. When he saw me again, my face was also stained with tears. The thick armor I had built around myself had shattered. I had made him promise never to lie to me again. He had lied to me three times since. He lied about working late, the night he took Seraphina's virginity. He lied about not liking birthdays, throwing away the cake I baked from scratch, only to place a handmade gift from her under his pillow. He lied about saving my father, but left me with nothing but a corpse. The harsh words on Weston's lips softened. "The Divine told Seraphina that bloodletting therapy might be effective. I didn't think your father wouldn't make it. But I promise, I'll give him a funeral worthy of a king." He sighed. "This was my mistake. Do whatever you want to me, just don't hurt yourself." As the words left his mouth, I pulled the stylus-sharp pin from my hair and plunged it into his shoulder. Seraphina let out a tearful scream. He grabbed her hand, telling her not to move. A laugh bubbled up inside me. How did it come to this? How did I become the irredeemable monster in this story? My fingertips brushed against the warm, sticky blood. I rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger. "Weston, I want you to personally take a knife, slit Seraphina's wrists and ankles, and drain three bowls of her blood." "Lana, don't push it!" Without even flinching, Weston pulled the hairpin from his shoulder and tossed it into a trash can. "Seraphina's anemic. Besides, your father dying was fate. Don't drag an innocent person into this!" "Fine. Then we're divorced," I snapped. "Impossible!" "Nothing's impossible. You used to say it was impossible for you to cheat, and now you have a mistress, don't you?" I gave them both a cold, withering look. Just then, my lawyer arrived, handing me a divorce agreement. The smile that was about to bloom on Seraphina's face vanished instantly. Because Weston tore the papers to shreds. I toyed with a lighter as my lawyer handed me a whole stack of identical agreements. I lit one on fire, then held another one out to him. "Tear all you want. I had a few thousand copies made." Weston looked exhausted. "Lana..." I enunciated each word. "Did you not understand me? I want you to personally slit her wrists and ankles and drain three bowls of her blood." Weston's gaze shifted to Seraphina. She started shaking like a leaf. "Westy, I'm anemic! And... and The Divine doesn't like its followers to be imperfect! Besides..." she looked up at me, a cunning light in her eyes. "Lana, I'm carrying Westy's child. I'm not like you, all used up and broken inside, unable to have one. This is our first baby." She covered her mouth. "Oh dear, did I say something wrong?" Her words were like lightning strikes, leaving me charred and exposed. I lunged at her, my teeth gritted, and aimed a punch straight for her stomach. "If you're so sorry, then you can join me in never having children!" Weston's hand clamped around my wrist like a vice of iron. I thought I heard the bones creak. "Was she wrong? Isn't it the truth?" he ground out. "Lana, Seraphina and I have been in the chapel, praying for your repentance for what you've done." His voice was laced with righteous fury. "You should be atoning for your sins, not running wild like a madwoman!" My vision tunneled. "Atoning? What sin did I commit?" Weston's handsome features twisted into a cruel mask before my eyes. "You've committed no sin? Weren't you the one who took your anger out on my mother after you let other men sleep with you?" "My mother did nothing wrong! Why did she deserve to die at your hands?" I burst into hysterical laughter, tears streaming from my eyes. "You say she did nothing wrong?" "Yes, yes, you're right. It's my fault. The biggest mistake I ever made was marrying you!" How could we have ended up here, when we were once so in love? I had loved him so much that when his mother, sick with cancer, suggested using my blood as some kind of folk remedy, I had sliced my own wrist without a second thought. I had loved him so much that even when I was pushed into that dark room, when countless hands reached out to grope me in the blackness, I held onto one belief. I believed that Weston loved me. I can still see his mother's sneering face. "Lana," she had said, "if a woman loses her purity, do you think Weston will still want you?" And later, after I stopped the doctors from saving her, she was still smiling from her hospital bed. "Lana, you have no womb, and no purity. You will never, ever have Weston's untainted love!" But the night she died, Weston had held me in his arms, his embrace firm and unwavering. He had chosen me. My lawyer discreetly handed me a fresh copy of the divorce agreement. My hand trembled as I signed my name, refusing to wipe the tears from my eyes. I threw it at Weston. "Let's get a divorce. A sinner like me can't possibly compare to your pure little Seraphina." I saw the rage in Weston's eyes cool for a moment. But then he heard Seraphina start to sob. He snatched a pen, and with a cold snort, scrawled his own name on the paper. "You want to play this divorce game? Fine, I'll play along," he spat. "But Lana, even divorced, you'll only ever be mine. I told you, we die together. Let's just see how many days you last this time before you come begging me to take you back." Those words, once so full of passion, now made me want to vomit. It was true, this wasn't the first time I had brought up divorce. But this time... Remarry? Never again. Not only that, I was going to make them lose everything. Clutching the signed agreement, I limped away. Behind me, I heard Seraphina's soft, cloying voice. "Westy, I hurt all over. How are you going to make it up to me?" Weston's voice was deliberately loud, meant for me to hear. "How about a wedding?" As I walked away, I made a discreet gesture to my lawyer. "I need you to do something for me." Weston thought he could still wound me emotionally. He paraded Seraphina around at every high-profile event, his arm around her, introducing her as his fiancée. Soon, everyone was looking at me with a strange mixture of pity and contempt, as if the madwoman had finally been cast aside. But Weston would always try to compensate afterward. The expensive, custom-blended scar cream he'd won at a high-stakes auction at the Phoenix Club—no matter how much Seraphina whined for it—was still delivered, untouched, to my bedroom. I wouldn't leave the Blackwood estate until after my father's casket was in the ground. I was afraid. Afraid he wouldn't be able to find me. On the seventh day, the day of the funeral, I stood at the door in a black dress, greeting the mourners. Suddenly, an invitation card flew through the air, its sharp edge slicing my cheek. Seraphina stood there, arrogant and proud, dressed in a pure white wedding gown studded with the very jewels that had been the talk of the city at an auction just days before. "Lana," she said with a saccharine smile, "you don't mind if I borrow your venue for my wedding today, do you?" Before I could react, her burly bodyguards pushed me aside, clearing a path for her. I stumbled, my eyes falling on the gilt-edged card on the floor, now stained with my blood. It read: Groom, Weston Blackwood, and Bride, Seraphina Vance, cordially invite you to witness their love. In the moment it took for me to process this, Seraphina had skipped over to my father's open casket. Her face was a mask of childlike innocence. "Uncle's complexion doesn't quite match today's wedding theme!" She took a marker from her purse and drew a bright red clown nose on my father's face. She beamed at me, triumphant. "What do you think? Isn't that much better?" Weston had clearly sheltered her well. It had only been a few days, and she had already forgotten the feeling of pain. I grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking until I could feel her scalp tear, and slammed her head against the heavy wood of the casket, again and again. I let her scream, let her struggle. Weston appeared out of nowhere. "What the hell are you doing now? Are you trying to kill her?!" he roared. I laughed, not stopping. "That's right! I am going to kill her! Today is her death day!" I let her go. "And before she dies, I'm going to rip that pretty mouth off her face!" When I finally released her, Seraphina was a mess. Her makeup was smeared, her hair was matted, and a patch of her scalp was bald. The pure, white angel had become a crawling insect on the floor. Weston caught her, his face a mask of anguish and hatred. "Treating her like this will only push me further away," he said, his teeth clenched. Words like that couldn't stir a single ripple in my heart anymore. Because Weston was already a world away from me. He probably didn't remember it. The day he found me, homeless, and took me in. The day he stood between me and his mother's whip. The whip. I would never forget the whip. Weston had sworn to me then. He had said that nothing, nothing, could ever push him away from me. My eyes burned. I pulled a dagger from a sheath strapped to my thigh. "Get out of my father's funeral, now!" Seraphina sobbed in Weston's arms. "Westy, I only want to have our wedding here today. Nowhere else will do! You can't say no! Do you want to betray the vows we made before the Divine?" Weston held her close and gave a sharp nod to his men. In an instant, the dagger was knocked from my hand, and my arms were pinned behind my back. "Lana," Weston said, his voice cold. "I hope today's events will teach you a lesson." Seraphina clung to him, her expression a mixture of triumph and scorn. There, in the black-and-white solemnity of the funeral hall, in front of my father's memorial portrait, a priest invited the bride and groom to exchange their vows. "Wait!" Seraphina suddenly said, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "After Westy and I are married, I'll be the primary wife. If Lana is still around, she'll be the secondary one. It's only right that the second wife kneel before the first to show respect. A little tradition will make our modern wedding perfect." Weston hesitated for a moment, then nodded. I was dragged in front of Seraphina. Two bodyguards tried to force me to my knees, their hands heavy on my shoulders. But I gritted my teeth, my body rigid, refusing to budge. "You want me to kneel to you?" I spat. "You're not worthy." "Seraphina, if I get through this today, I swear I will make you wish you were never born!" My threat seemed to ignite something in Weston. He barked at his guards. "More pressure! If she still won't kneel, break her kneecaps!" BANG! A bullet whizzed past Weston's ear. Suddenly, the hall was filled with more than a dozen men in black suits. At their head was a young man who looked barely out of his teens. He waved his hand, and every man raised a weapon, aiming directly at Weston and Seraphina. "I'm here today," the young man's voice rang out, cold and clear. "Who dares make her kneel?"
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