I have a little flaw. My brain always runs a half-beat behind everyone else's. Three years ago, on a rainy night, a man in a tailored suit was lying on the curb, reeking of alcohol. I dragged him inside and made him a bowl of instant ramen. After he finished eating, he looked up and said, "Marry me." I thought about it for a second. It wasn't like I had anything better to do. "Sure," I said. During our three years of marriage, he hired eight maids for me. Every month, he deposited two hundred thousand dollars of allowance into my card. I was too lazy to even change the default PIN. Yesterday, he came home looking terrible. He slid an envelope across the table. "The Vance family is completely ruined. I'm nine hundred million dollars in debt." "There’s five million left on this card. It's for you." I was peeling a mandarin orange. My hands were sticky, and I couldn't grab the pen. He grabbed a tissue, wiped my fingers dry one by one, and then gently pressed the pen into my palm. I signed the divorce papers. As I walked out, I suddenly remembered that my pregnancy test had shown two pink lines this morning. Whatever. I'd deal with it later. 0
"Chloe, Ethan asked me to collect your things." A man in a black suit was standing at the door, wearing a Vance Family driver’s ID badge. He was holding two empty suitcases. I leaned against the doorframe and glanced at him. "What things?" "Ethan said you need to move your personal belongings out by the end of the day." I looked down at the second mandarin orange I was halfway through peeling. We signed the papers last night, and the movers were already here before nine this morning. Talk about efficiency. "I don't need the suitcases. I don't have anything to pack." The driver blinked, clearly caught off guard by how chill I was about being thrown out. He peeked past me into the ten-thousand-square-foot penthouse. It was packed with designer furniture and expensive decor. None of it belonged to me. Three years ago, when I walked through those doors, I had nothing but the clothes on my back. I was leaving the exact same way. I stuffed the orange into my coat pocket, slipped into a pair of flats, grabbed my phone, and walked out. The driver hesitated as he followed me. "Chloe... that card... Ethan said you took it?" "It’s on the coffee table." He stopped in his tracks. "You didn't take it?" "Forgot." I didn't actually forget. I was just too lazy to take it. To him, that five million was his final shred of dignity. To me, it was just a number. As the elevator descended, my phone buzzed. Caller ID: Ethan Vance. I stared at the screen for two seconds and let it ring. The scent of orange peel was still on my fingertips. A little sour. When the elevator hit the underground garage, the white Porsche he had bought me was still parked in its designated spot. I hadn't brought the car keys either. I hailed an Uber. When the driver asked where to, I thought about it. "The Sterling Estate, East Side." On the way, my phone rang three more times, all from Ethan. On the fourth time, I finally picked up. "Why didn't you take the card?" His voice was raspier than last night, sounding like he hadn't slept a wink. "Forgot." "Chloe, five million is the last thing I can give—" "I know." Silence stretched over the line for a few seconds. "Where are you going?" "Home." Another silence. Then, he whispered, "I'm sorry." I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the buildings flashing past the window. "Ethan, you wiped my sticky fingers dry before making me sign those papers. I’ll remember that." "It was classy." "Thanks." I hung up. The Uber driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, probably thinking I was a weird passenger. Just got kicked out of my house, yet I was chatting like I was talking about the weather. When I arrived at the gates of the Sterling Estate, I paid the driver and got out. Standing at the entrance, I looked up at the massive iron gates. I hadn't been back in three years. The climbing ivy on the pillars looked exactly the same. I pressed the buzzer. Thomas, our butler, opened the gate. He was in his sixties and had worked for the Sterling family for thirty years. The moment he saw me, his expression went from polite professional to pure shock, and then to a deep, heartbreaking pity. "Miss Chloe." "Thomas, I'm home." He looked behind me. Nothing. No car, no luggage, no entourage. "Just you?" "Just me." He didn't ask any questions. He just stepped aside to let me in. I slipped into a pair of slippers and walked into the living room. Nothing had changed. The velvet sofa was still there, and my late mother’s favorite orchid was still sitting on the coffee table. Thomas brought over a cup of warm tea. "Your grandfather is in the study. Shall I inform him?" "No need." I held the warm mug and sat on the sofa, not rushing to see my grandfather. Thomas stood by my side for a moment, unable to help himself. "Miss Chloe... is it the Vance family...?" "Yeah. We’re divorced." His lips twitched, but he swallowed whatever he was about to say. He turned toward the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. It had a perfectly poached egg in it, topped with finely chopped green onions. It looked almost identical to the ramen I had made for Ethan three years ago. I looked at the bowl and suddenly wanted to laugh. Three years ago, I dragged a guy home, made him some food, and married him. Three years later, the guy is gone, but the warm food is still here. I took two bites when my phone vibrated. It wasn't Ethan. It was a Snapchat friend request from an unknown account. The add message read: *Hi Chloe, I’m Serena Hale, a close friend of Ethan's. Can we talk?* I stared at the name for a few seconds. Ethan’s friend. In our three years of marriage, he had never mentioned this name once. I tossed my phone face-down on the table and went back to my soup. The soup got cold, and the broth tasted a little too salty. Thomas poked his head out of the kitchen. "Is it good, Miss Chloe?" "It’s great, Thomas. I might need to stay here for a while." "Your room is always ready. I just aired out the sheets yesterday." I froze, holding my spoon. "Yesterday?" Thomas didn't say another word. He just turned and vanished back into the kitchen. Yesterday. He aired out my sheets yesterday. It was as if someone had told him beforehand that I would be coming back today. 0
"You sure are keeping your cool." My grandfather was sitting in his leather armchair in the study, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose, holding today’s newspaper. The front-page headline screamed: *Vance Group’s Capital Chain Snaps: Debts Exceed $900 Million, CEO Ethan Vance Missing.* Missing. But he was literally calling me last night and this morning. "Grandpa, I'm back." "I see that. I’m not blind." He flipped the page of the newspaper without looking up. "Did you sign it?" "I signed." "Did you take the money?" "No." His eyes finally lifted from the paper, staring at me from over his glasses. It was a complex look. Anger, heartbreak, and a hint of something I couldn't quite read. "You turned down five million dollars. You’re just like your mother—stubbornly proud to a fault." I didn't say anything. My mother passed away when I was young, and Grandpa rarely spoke of her. But whenever he did, his tone was harsh, though his eyes always grew red. "Chloe, do you have any idea how I’ve spent the last three years?" "I know." "You think you know everything? Then do you know when the Vance family’s financial sinkhole actually started?" I shook my head. He folded the newspaper and set it on the desk. "Two years ago." Two years ago. Ethan and I had only been married for a year. "The Vance family’s collapse didn't happen overnight. Someone set a trap. Step by step, they strangled their supply chain and poached their clients one by one." "Who?" Grandpa looked at me but didn't answer. "Go get some rest. Some things don't need to be rushed." I knew his temper. If he didn't want to say it, no amount of asking would make him. As I walked out of the study and reached the top of the stairs, Thomas was waiting at the bottom. "Miss Chloe, your room is the third door on the left on the second floor. Just like before." "Thanks." "Oh, by the way," he hesitated, "Your grandfather wanted me to let you know that the Sterling family’s legal team will be arriving tomorrow morning." "Our legal team?" "He said it’s about your divorce agreement. He wants to review it personally." I paused on the stairs and looked back at him. "But I already signed it." Thomas’s expression was incredibly subtle. "Your grandfather said... just because you signed it doesn't mean it counts." I didn't ask further and went up to my room. The room was indeed exactly the same as it was three years ago. Even the ugly alarm clock on my nightstand hadn't been moved. I bought that clock in high school. The plastic casing was cracked, held together by scotch tape, but it kept perfect time. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed. It was a text message from that Serena Hale girl. She couldn't add me on Snapchat, so she went straight to my number. *Chloe, I know you probably don’t want to talk to anyone associated with Ethan right now. But there are things you should know. The nine hundred million Ethan owes? It wasn't all from bad business deals.* I stared at the text, my thumb hovering over the screen. I didn't reply. I tossed my phone onto the pillow and rolled over. My stomach felt a bit off. A dull, heavy sensation. I remembered the two pink lines from this morning. The pregnancy test was still sitting on the bathroom counter back at the penthouse. I forgot to pack it. Just like that five-million-dollar card. I forgot. Maybe my brain really is a half-beat behind. I never get stressed when I should, and I don't even know how to feel sad when things go wrong. I wasn't excited when I married Ethan, and I wasn't heartbroken when I left him. But I was definitely hungry. Thomas’s soup hadn't been enough. I wanted more. I rolled out of bed and padded downstairs to raid the fridge. It was packed with fresh groceries, as if someone had prepared for my arrival. I grabbed two eggs, planning to fry them up. My phone rang again. This time, it was Ethan. I cracked an egg into the pan and picked up with one hand. "Why didn't you take the card?" "I told you. I forgot." "Are you back at the Sterling Estate?" "Yeah." He went quiet. "Chloe, did your grandfather..." "Did my grandfather what?" "Nothing." More silence. The edges of the egg started to sizzle and bubble in the pan. "Ethan, what are you trying to say?" "You're pregnant." My hand holding the spatula froze. "I saw the test. It was on the bathroom counter." Hot oil splattered from the pan, burning the back of my hand. I turned off the stove. "How far along?" "I don't know. I haven't been to the doctor yet." I heard him take a long, deep breath on the other end, like he was trying to suppress a massive wave of emotion. "The baby is mine." "Duh." "Chloe, listen to me—" "Ethan," I interrupted, "When you handed me that divorce agreement last night, did you know I was pregnant?" He didn't speak. "You didn't, right?" "...Right." "Well, now you know. What of it?" "I'm coming to see you." "For what? You owe nine hundred million dollars. Are you coming over to discuss which preschool we should enroll the kid in?" He went silent again. I scooped the slightly burnt egg onto a plate and took a bite. It was burnt, but still edible. "Don't come. My brain is slow. I need time to think." I hung up, chewing on the burnt egg. serena’s text was still lighting up my phone screen: *The nine hundred million Ethan owes? It wasn't all from bad business deals.* I stared at it for a moment. I swallowed the egg, my throat feeling dry. I tapped her message and hit reply. *Then what was it?* She replied almost instantly. *He was set up.* *And the person who set the trap is someone you'd never expect.* 0
*Who are you talking about? Just say it clearly,* I texted back. She didn't reply right away. I sat at the kitchen bar, finished my burnt egg, and drank a glass of milk. My stomach settled, and my mind cleared up a bit. Ten minutes later, Serena texted again. *Chloe, text isn't the best way to explain this. Can we meet up?* I didn't reply. I left my phone on the counter and washed my hands. Thomas walked in, holding a folder. "Miss Chloe, your grandfather wanted you to look over this before the legal team arrives tomorrow. Just so you're prepared." I dried my hands and took the folder. It was a copy of my divorce agreement with Ethan. Sticky notes were attached to it with Grandpa’s handwriting: *Clause 3 and Clause 7. Major red flags.* I flipped to Clause 3. *“All marital assets accumulated during the marriage shall be solely managed and disposed of by Party A (Ethan Vance).”* Clause 7. *“Party B (Chloe Sterling) voluntarily waives all rights to division of marital property.”* I stared at those two clauses. I hadn't read them closely last night. He handed it to me, and I just signed. My hands were sticky with orange juice, he wiped them clean, handed me the pen, and I signed. "Miss Chloe, do you know what Ethan did in your name during your marriage?" Thomas’s voice was calm, like he was reading the weather forecast. "What do you mean?" "After Ethan married you three years ago, he used your name as a spouse to secure three massive mortgage loans against assets registered under your name." I blinked. "I have assets under my name?" Thomas looked at my blank expression and went quiet for two seconds. "Miss Chloe... you didn't know?" "Know what?" He didn't answer. He just turned and walked away. I stood in the kitchen, clutching the agreement. Three massive properties. Under my name. I didn't even know I owned anything. I said my brain runs a half-beat behind, but this was on a whole different level. I ran upstairs to Grandpa’s study. The door was closed. I knocked twice. "Come in." "Grandpa, Thomas said three of my assets were mortgaged." Grandpa was pouring tea. His hand was incredibly steady. "You didn't know?" "No." He set the teapot down and looked at me. "Before your mother passed away, she transferred everything she owned into your name. A massive commercial plot on the West Side, two office towers Downtown, and a trust fund." My mouth fell open. "How much is all of that worth?" Grandpa picked up his teacup and blew on it. "Not much. Just about ten times Ethan’s nine-hundred-million-dollar debt." The clink of his cup against his teeth was very quiet. I stood there, my brain short-circuiting. "To protect you from fortune hunters, your mother put everything into a blind trust. It was set to automatically activate when you turned twenty-two. You happened to turn twenty-two the year you got married." "Did Ethan know about this?" Grandpa set his cup down, his gaze turning sharp. "How do you think he suddenly ended up lying on the side of the road in front of you?" A rainy night. A man in a suit, smelling of alcohol. The guy I dragged home. "Are you saying—" "I didn't say anything," Grandpa interrupted, taking another sip of tea. "Figure it out yourself." I stood outside the study door, feeling the taste of the burnt egg turning sour in my mouth. That bowl of ramen three years ago. He ate it, told me to marry him, and I said okay. I had always thought I was the one who rescued him. Now, it looked like he had been waiting on that street corner for days, just waiting for me to "rescue" him. My phone rang. Ethan. I declined the call. As I walked downstairs, I looked at Serena's text again. *Chloe, I’ll be waiting at the Sapphire Café on the East Side tonight. Come or don't. But there’s something I think you should see with your own eyes.* *It’s a love letter Ethan wrote during college.* *To me.* I leaned against the banister and read the text twice. A love letter to her. From college. Ethan had never mentioned his college days to me. And I had never asked. That’s just how I am. I’m not curious, I don't pry. If people don't tell me, I don't ask. If he made me ramen, I married him. If he told me to sign, I signed. I stuffed the phone in my pocket. I walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed an apple. I took a bite. Sour. Thomas walked over and looked at me. "Miss Chloe, do you want me to get the car ready?" "Where am I going?" "Aren't you going out?" I stared at him, and he stared back. "Thomas, do you know everything that's going on?" He took a step back. "I know nothing. I am merely a butler." Then he added, "But your grandfather did ask me to tell you one thing." "What?" "He said—don't stay out too late. You're eating for two now." I froze with the apple in my mouth. Grandpa knew too. Who was actually the slow one in this family? Turns out, it was just me. 0
"You came." Serena was sitting in a corner booth at the Sapphire Café. An untouched black coffee sat in front of her. I sat down across from her and took her in. Long hair, minimal makeup, wearing a soft cream knit dress. She had an old, worn watch on her wrist. She was pretty. The quiet, elegant kind of pretty that you couldn't find a single flaw in. "You're Serena Hale?" "Yes." "What kind of 'friend' are you to Ethan?" She twirled her coffee cup. Her fingers were very pale. "College classmates. We dated for two years." Her tone was flat, as if she were talking about someone else. I leaned back against the booth. "So, the ex-girlfriend." "Yes." "And?" She pulled a worn envelope from her bag and slid it across the table. The edges were frayed. On the front were two lines of text written in Ethan’s handwriting. I recognized his handwriting. It was beautiful and sharp. *To Serena Hale.* "Read it yourself," she said. I pulled out the letter. It wasn't long, just one page. The gist of it was Ethan saying his family was putting massive pressure on him to marry an heiress from an equal social standing. He didn't want to drag her down, so he was letting her go. The last line read: *Once I have the power, I will come back for you.* I folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. "Read it." "Aren't you mad?" "Why would I be? What he did in college has nothing to do with me." Serena stared at me, her eyes blinking in surprise. "Chloe, are you seriously not mad?" "No. I wasn't the one dating him in college." She looked down and let out a soft laugh. It was a brief laugh, but I caught the emotion behind it. It wasn't embarrassment. It was a faint trace of disappointment. She wanted me to be furious. She had dragged me all the way out here to show me this letter just to make me miserable. If I was miserable, she would have her opening. "Chloe, I didn't just ask you out today because of this letter." "Go on." "Before the Vance family went under, Ethan reached out to me." I picked up the glass of warm water the waitress had brought and took a sip. "When?" "Three months ago." Three months ago. Back then, Ethan hadn't mentioned a single thing about his company’s troubles to me. He came home every day, ate dinner, and sat next to me scrolling through his phone while I peeled oranges. "Why did he reach out to you?" "To borrow money." Serena lowered her voice. "He said his company was hitting a rough patch and needed emergency liquid capital. He asked if I could help." "Did you?" "Yes. I lent him thirty million." I set my glass down. Thirty million. The ex-girlfriend. Three months ago. He borrowed thirty million dollars from his ex-girlfriend and didn't tell his wife. "Where did you get thirty million?" "My own company. I run a biotech startup. We just closed our Series A funding two years ago." A biotech entrepreneur ex-girlfriend. With her own company. Who casually lends him thirty million dollars. "And then?" "Then the Vance family went under anyway. My thirty million went down the drain." She slid the envelope aside and crossed her hands on the table. "Chloe, I'm not here to ask you for the money. I’m here to tell you that the Vance family's collapse wasn't a natural business failure. It was a setup." "What do you mean?" "I investigated. The suppliers that suddenly pulled out of the Vance Group? They all trace back to the same parent holding company." I stared at her. "Who owns it?" "I’m still digging. But I have a lead." She paused, her gaze locking onto my face. "Chloe, do you want to team up with me?" "To do what?" "To find the person who did this. And to help Ethan get his empire back." I toyed with my glass, staying silent. Her eyes lit up, and she leaned in closer. "I know you might feel like this has nothing to do with you since you signed the divorce papers. But—" "Serena," I cut her off. "Yes?" "You lent him thirty million, you’re investigating the mastermind behind his downfall, and now you want to partner with me. Are you trying to help him, or are you just trying to win him back?" Her face froze for a fraction of a second. It was incredibly brief. But I saw it. It was the look of someone who had been exposed and couldn't mask it in time. "I just... he’s my friend, after all." "Friends don't carry around ten-year-old love letters to show to their friend’s ex-wife." Her fingers tightened. I stood up. "Thanks for the info. But I’m not interested in a partnership." As I reached the door, she called out to me. "Chloe." I turned around. She was still sitting there, her expression having reverted back to that gentle, quiet mask. "Do you know why Ethan married you?" I looked at her. "Because of the assets under your name. His family dug into your background and realized you were a Sterling. That rainy night wasn't an accident. It was a staged play." "You think you rescued a stray man. In reality, he waited in the pouring rain on that street for three days just to get picked up by you." I didn't say a word. I pushed the door open, letting the cold wind rush in. Three days. He waited in the rain for three days. Just to be "rescued" by me. For once, my brain didn't run a half-beat behind. Everything clicked instantly. But knowing it didn't change anything. My stomach started aching with that dull, heavy pressure again. I pressed my hand against my lower abdomen and hailed a cab. "Where to?" the driver asked. "East Side Women’s Hospital."
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