When the Truth Set Me Free

Prologue: I spent years by Ethan Vance’s side, only to be rewarded with the news of him marrying his high school sweetheart. He wanted me to keep staying in our apartment, playing the role of his dirty little secret, and act like complete strangers whenever we crossed paths in public. I had planned to tell him that I was pregnant. Instead, a single phone call from Chloe Bailey sent him rushing out the door without a backward glance. Then came the shove down the stairs, tearing away the life growing inside me forever. That was the moment I finally broke free. I vanished from his world completely. Maya's POV Ethan Vance was getting married. But the bride wasn't me, the woman who had lived with him for years. I had brought up visiting his family to meet his parents five separate times. Every single time, he pushed it away: "Just wait a little longer. The timing isn't right." So I waited. I kept the porch light on for him late into the night and made sure a warm mug of hot cocoa was ready on the counter. Whenever he drank too much at business dinners, I stayed up by the bed, gently wiping his face with a warm towel over and over again. The woman he was marrying was Chloe Bailey—the high school sweetheart he had carried a torch for ever since they were teenagers. It was his mother who personally shared the news with me. She even asked me to help pick out the wedding favors. I planned to bring one of those gift boxes back to our place and make him look me in the eye to explain it. I had worked as an investigative journalist at our media outlet for years, chasing down hard-hitting, deeply reported stories. Off the clock, I was involved with the head of the Vance Corporation, and we had been together for quite some time. From the very beginning, our relationship had been kept entirely in the dark. He never once brought me home to his family, and whenever I was around my coworkers, I never uttered a single word about him. The only connection was Mrs. Vance, an elder I had interviewed when covering the business beat years ago. Somehow, we grew closer over time, and she began inviting me out for coffee on a regular basis. She would bring me jars of homemade jam from her kitchen. Once, when I pulled an all-nighter covering breaking news, she even dropped off sandwiches for me. Several times, the truth about Ethan and me sat on the tip of my tongue, but I always swallowed it back down. I kept telling myself to wait for a better moment. I wanted Ethan to be the one to speak up first so it wouldn't look like I was throwing myself at his family. That afternoon at the café, Mrs. Vance slid several sample gift boxes across the table, smiling warmly as she asked for my input. Her fingertip tapped over the boxes one by one. "These are mints, and these are artisanal chocolates. Taste them and tell me which one you like best." She chuckled softly to herself before continuing. "His father and I tried setting him up with so many girls over the years, but Ethan refused to meet a single one. I honestly thought he planned on staying single forever. But now, he brought someone home all on his own." "Who is she?" I asked. "Her name is Chloe Bailey, an old classmate from his high school days. He told us he’s loved her for years." My hand shook against the porcelain cup. Coffee splashed over the back of my hand. I didn't even feel the heat. Mrs. Vance picked out the embossed gift box and pressed it gently into my palm. "These are delicious. Take them home and try them. As soon as we set the date, I'll make sure you're the very first person to get an invitation." I clutched the box until my knuckles turned stark white, forcing my lips to hold a faint smile. A sudden wave of panic washed over me, terrified that she might notice how drained the color was from my face. "Congratulations," I whispered. Mrs. Vance held my hand and chatted for another half hour, drifting from stories about Ethan's stubborn streak as a little boy to how lovely her future daughter-in-law was. "She has the sweetest smile. Standing next to Ethan, they look like a match made in heaven." I nodded along with every word. During those thirty minutes, I hardly dared to open my mouth. If I spoke, there would suddenly be a third person wedged into their picture-perfect romance—and that woman would be me. Before we parted ways, Mrs. Vance patted the back of my hand. "Make sure you stop by the house for a visit when you have time." It wasn't until I stepped out of the café that a sharp, burning sting flared across my skin. The spilled coffee had left a raw, angry red patch. I returned to our apartment. More than half of the closet was occupied by his crisp button-downs and tailored suits. My clothes were crammed into the very bottom drawer. The wedding favor rolled out of my bag, its pale gold foil glinting so brightly it made my eyes ache. I pulled out my phone, typed "Chloe Bailey" into the search bar, and let my thumb hover over the glass for a long time before tapping down. Her profile was completely public. Her avatar showed her smiling brightly with crinkling eyes. I scrolled down post by post, my thumb moving slower and slower. When I hit a post from last March, my finger froze. That was the night of my birthday. Ethan had claimed an emergency board meeting had come up and caught a late flight out of town. I had waited all alone in the apartment until past midnight, rewarded only with a dry text: *Happy birthday. I'll make it up to you later.* On that exact day, Chloe had shared a photo of a car trunk overflowing with fresh white roses, captioned: *A long-awaited reunion.* This past May, Ethan claimed he had a week-long business trip out of state while I stayed home hunched over my laptop rushing deadlines. Every night, he would call for barely ten minutes before saying, "Still wrapping things up here, got to go," and hanging up. During those exact days, Chloe posted twice—once with tickets to a film festival, and once showing a late-night room service breakfast at an upscale coastal resort. Just last Wednesday, he had told me over the phone, "I'm pulling an all-nighter at the office tonight, don't wait up." That very afternoon, Chloe had posted a picture holding tickets to a private art gallery exhibition. I lined up those three dates in my head. Whenever he claimed he was working late, traveling on business, or stuck in meetings, I had never doubted him once. For every excuse he gave, I kept the lights on at home and made sure a hot mug was waiting. It turned out the hot cocoa I prepared was just the time I bought him while he waited for someone else. The screen dimmed, flashed back on with a notification, and went dark again. Once, I had half-jokingly asked him, "Does your family look down on me because I'm just a journalist?" He had ruffled my hair, offering the same tired line: "Just wait a little longer. The timing isn't right." Back then, I actually believed him. I even worried that he was caught in a difficult spot. I stared at the gold box on the couch until the room went completely dark and the embossed patterns dissolved into the shadows. I was done waiting for him to find the right time. I had kept the lights burning in this place for years. Today, he was going to say it out loud himself. The lock clicked. Ethan flipped on the living room light and walked over carrying a bakery bag, setting it down on the table. "I passed by that corner bakery and picked up your favorite cheesecake." He reached out to brush my cheek, but before his fingers could graze my skin, I turned away and knocked his hand aside. His hand hung frozen in midair. "What's wrong?" "Your mother asked me out for coffee today," I said quietly. "She told me you've loved someone since high school. That you've carried a torch for her all these years." His hand slowly dropped to his side. I picked up the gold gift box and slid it across the table, stopping right by his fingers. I lifted my chin and looked straight into his eyes, measuring every single word. "Ethan Vance, is this your wedding favor?"Maya's POV Ethan went quiet for several seconds. He didn't deny it. He pulled out a chair across from me and reached over to take my hand. I pulled back immediately. He didn't get angry, though; his voice simply softened. "Maya, getting married was my family's idea. You know how many years my mother has been waiting for this." "Chloe... she's just a childhood sweetheart. It's not as serious as you think. From the very beginning, the only person I truly care about is you." He tapped his foot against the hardwood floor. "This apartment still belongs to both of us. You can stay here as long as you want. I'll go through with the wedding, but it won't change anything between us." "There's only one rule—if we happen to run into each other in public down the road, you act like you don't know me. Don't let anyone pick up on anything." I sat there in silence, not offering a single response. My right hand was buried deep in my coat pocket, fingers gripping the plastic pregnancy test so tightly they hurt. When I left the clinic this morning, I had stopped by a pharmacy to buy another one. I tested twice, and both times, the two pink lines showed up clear as day. I had rehearsed this scene in my head over and over again. I thought I would wait for him to come home, finish dinner, sit together on the couch, and casually drop the news just to see whether his face showed shock or joy. If he panicked, I was ready to tell him it was okay, that I could wait for him to sort things out. I even thought that once our baby arrived, he would finally have to take me home to meet his parents. He would have to let them know whose child it was. I had staked my entire invisible existence on this one secret I hadn't yet shared. Now, I understood completely. He had already neatly arranged the next few decades of my life. I would keep living in his apartment, he would marry his bride, and we would act like strangers in public. There was no room for a baby in that arrangement. In his neat little blueprint, my only role was to pretend I didn't know who he was whenever people were watching. The plastic casing grew scorching hot against my palm. Right then, Ethan's phone buzzed loudly against the wood. The caller ID flashed a single name: Chloe. He answered almost instantaneously, his tone tightening with urgency. "What happened?" Whatever came through the speaker made his brows knit together. He grabbed his coat from the back of the sofa and bolted straight toward the entryway. "Stay right where you are and don't move. I'm coming over right now." Before I could even step aside, his shoulder clipped mine hard, knocking me off balance. I stumbled backward, my wrist slamming violently against the sharp corner of the shoe console. A sickening, searing pain shot straight up my forearm. A choked groan slipped past my lips as I sank onto the floor, clutching my right wrist with my left hand, cold sweat beading instantly across my forehead. Ethan had already yanked the door open. His footsteps paused for a fraction of a second, and he glanced back at me as if about to say something. From the phone receiver, a woman's tearful sobbing broke through the line. He simply threw a single sentence over his shoulder: "I have to run. Ice that yourself." The heavy front door slammed shut. His hurried steps echoed down the hallway before fading into silence. I remained crouched on the cold tile of the foyer, watching my wrist swell into an angry purple lump. When he looked back that one time, a foolish part of me had actually waited. I had waited for him to walk back, pull me up from the floor, and ask if I was hurt—even just once. A breathy laugh escaped my throat, trailing off into tears that dripped heavily onto the back of my hand. Past midnight, I woke up slumped against the couch. The bakery box sat untouched on the coffee table. I reached for my phone and opened my feed. The very top post had been shared by Chloe ten minutes prior. In the picture, Ethan wore dark loungewear with his back turned to the camera, leaning over to pour hot water into a mug on the nightstand. The location tag showed the penthouse suite of a luxury downtown hotel. Below the photo, a mutual friend commented: *Mr. Vance treats you like an absolute queen.* Chloe had replied with a blushing emoji. I pinched the screen, zooming in on the picture over and over again. In all these years, I had never seen him take care of anyone like that. The last time I burned up with a fever of a hundred and two, he simply had his assistant drop off medicine, claiming he was trapped in an important meeting and couldn't get away. It turned out he knew perfectly well how to pour someone a glass of warm water; he just never felt the need to pour one for me. Whatever I had planned to say tonight no longer needed to be spoken. A man who panicked and raced across town in the dead of night for someone else was never going to stay for the baby growing inside me. I pushed myself up and began packing. I had never owned much here to begin with. Six deep drawers were mostly empty, barely filling half a single suitcase. My reporting notebooks were stacked neatly next to my bag—twenty-nine volumes filled with every hard-hitting piece of investigative journalism I had worked on over the years. I took the pregnancy test and dropped it into the trash can without giving it a second glance. By the time the sky began to turn gray, I pulled out my phone and sent Ethan a single text: *We're over.* The moment it sent, I blocked his number. I tapped open my chat thread with Mrs. Vance, typing out a message, deleting it, and typing it again. Her kindness toward me over the years had been real. Every meal and treat she brought me had come from a genuine heart. I couldn't just vanish without a word. I owed her a proper goodbye face-to-face. Around eight in the morning, I finally dialed her number. There was a lot of background noise on the other end. Mrs. Vance's voice sounded cheerful and bright. "Maya, dear? Chloe is trying on wedding dresses today, but I'm completely tied up with other errands. If you're free, could you pop over to take a look and give her some advice? You have such great taste, and Ethan is already there anyway. It would be a wonderful chance for you two to get acquainted!" I clutched the phone tightly, unable to squeeze out a single word. Taking my silence as an agreement, Mrs. Vance rattled off an address, added, "I'll have the driver pick you up," and hung up. I stood in the hollow living room, staring at my half-packed suitcase. I wanted to offer a sincere farewell, yet Mrs. Vance had arranged for me to go give fashion advice to her son's bride. *A wonderful chance for you two to get acquainted.* The words echoed in my mind twice as my throbbing wrist continued to pulse with dull pain. Half an hour later, I found myself standing outside the bridal studio. Pushing open the heavy glass door, my eyes immediately landed on Ethan standing before the three-way fitting mirror. Dressed in a tailored blazer, he was gently adjusting the lace veil resting over the woman's hair. Hearing footsteps, he glanced back. The moment his gaze locked onto me, his face hardened instantly. He shifted a step forward, shielding Chloe behind him. He glared at me, his jaw tightening and his lips parting slightly, but no sound came out. I knew that cold, defensive look all too well. It was the exact expression he wore last night when he ordered me to act like strangers.Maya's POV Chloe stood in front of the full-length mirror wearing an off-white gown, its long hem sweeping the floor. Ethan stepped behind her to adjust the sash at her waist, looping the ribbon twice before tying it into a neat bow. Once it was set, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Yet his eyes cut through the mirror's reflection, locking straight onto mine, as if bracing for me to rush forward and cause a scene. I understood that look completely. He was waiting for me to break down, waiting for me to make an embarrassing spectacle in public just to prove that his little rule from last night was entirely justified. A sudden wave of nausea rolled violently through my gut. I clamped a hand over my mouth, spun around, and bolted into the restroom, gripping the edge of the sink as I threw up. I hadn't eaten anything all morning, so nothing came up except bitter bile that burned my throat and brought hot tears to my eyes. In the mirror, my face was ghost-white. The restroom door clicked open behind me and swung shut. Ethan stepped in, gripping my arms and pressing me against the counter, his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Pull yourself together before you walk back out there. Don't go flashing that miserable look around Chloe. This is her very first dress fitting, so don't you dare ruin her mood." I looked at his reflection in the mirror, my shoulders trembling as a bitter laugh broke from my throat. I was heaving over a sink, and the only thing that crossed his mind was whether someone else's mood would be ruined. "Ethan, what do you even take me for?" "Let me ask you something," he cut in, his grip tightening around my arm. "What are you playing at, sneaking around behind my back to hang out with my mother? She handed you a box of wedding favors yesterday, and you show up here today. Are you trying to corner me and claim I mistreated you?" "Tattling to your mother?" I yanked my arm from his grasp, whipping around to face him. "You really think I have that much free time on my hands?" I had shared coffee with her countless times, and not once had I dared mention his name. I had guarded his dirty little secret for years, and now he was treating me like a scheming opportunist. A light knock sounded against the door. Chloe pushed it open, taking in the sight of us standing close. She let out a soft, theatrical gasp and pulled the door shut behind her. Gliding over to Ethan's side, she looped her arm through his and looked up at me with an innocent smile. "Maya, I know all about you. Ethan told me everything. He said you were just someone fun to keep him company outside, and that you've always been very sensible. That's why I never bothered holding it against you." Her manicured fingers trailed over Ethan's cuff as her smile turned sugary sweet. "Still, you really ought to know your place. I'm the one who's going to be Ethan's wife." "You spent all those years with him, and he gave you money and a place to live. He’s treated you more than fairly. Stop reaching for things that will never belong to you, or we’ll all end up embarrassed." "Reaching for things that don't belong to me?" I stared at her, then shifted my gaze to Ethan. "Is that what you told her?" Ethan’s brow furrowed, and he looked away. He didn't deny a single word. *Someone fun to keep him company.* *Sensible.* Those were the exact words he had used to describe me to this woman. I gave a curt nod, turned around, and pulled the door open to leave. I didn't even care to hear an explanation anymore. Chloe followed right behind me. We walked one after the other toward the second-floor stairwell. The moment my foot touched the top step, fingers clamped hard around my wrist from behind. "Hold on a second," Chloe hissed under her breath. "I wasn't finished talking to you. Who said you could walk away?" "Let go of me." I ripped my arm back, using a bit too much force. Chloe stumbled as if knocked off balance, crying out in alarm before shoving both hands hard against my shoulders. I pitched forward, scrambling to catch the handrail. In the chaotic blur, I heard Ethan shout my name from above—"Maya!"—as he lunged forward. His hand clamped down hard around mine, his knuckles turning white with the strain. In that split second, a breath of relief hit my chest. He called my name. He reached for me first. A foolish thought crossed my mind: deep down, he still knew who he cared about most. Right then, Chloe screamed out in tears, "Ethan!" His hand hesitated. I watched in sheer disbelief as his fingers unclenched from mine, turning completely around to grab the woman slipping behind him. The weightlessness lasted only a second. In that single second, everything became sickeningly clear. He knew exactly what would happen to anyone who fell down those stairs. He weighed it in his mind, and he chose her. The very next instant, I tumbled down the staircase. Step after step battered my spine and slammed against my skull. Screams echoed in my ears, mixed with Chloe’s hysterical sobbing. I tried desperately to curl my arms over my stomach, but my limbs refused to obey. My body collided heavily against the cold marble floor of the lobby. A sudden, terrifying wave of warmth flooded between my thighs, staining my light-colored trousers crimson. I curled up on the cold floor, mouth open, but not a single scream could escape. Before darkness swallowed me whole, I looked up toward the landing. Ethan was kneeling beside Chloe, calling out her name over and over again. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at a sterile hospital ceiling. An IV needle was taped to the back of my hand. I moved my fingers slightly, feeling an empty, hollow ache deep in my lower belly. Ethan sat in the chair beside the bed. Seeing me wake up, the very first words out of his mouth were: "What were you thinking, getting into a shoving match with Chloe by the stairs? She can be reckless, but don't you have better sense? You're a grown woman. Causing a scene like this—was it really worth it?" He paused, his voice softening just a fraction. "Don't worry, though. Chloe already spoke up for you. She said it was an accident, so we're letting it go. Stop acting out, and just focus on resting." With that, he snatched his coat from the back of the chair, mumbled that he had things to take care of, and walked out. I stared at the ceiling above, not a single tear falling from my eyes. The baby was gone. He sat by my bedside and rattled off all those reprimands, but never once asked about the life I was carrying. I never even got the chance to tell him. And now, I would never need to. From beginning to end, I was the only person in the world who ever knew our child existed. I hadn't even had the chance to pick out a name. I tried to lift my hand to touch my flat stomach, but halfway up, my arm lost all strength and fell heavily back onto the sheets. Starting today, I would never stake another piece of my soul on him. Outside the window, the sun shone brightly, casting a blinding, painful glare across the stark white blanket.Maya's POV I spent an entire week in that hospital bed, and Ethan never returned once. Through the thin hospital door, I couldn't help but overhear the nurses gossiping during their shift changes. "Hey, remember those two women brought in the other day? The one Mr. Vance carried in his arms only had a sprained ankle, but his voice was shaking so hard when he begged the doctors to run every scan possible so she wouldn't have lingering issues." "The other one had it rough. Rolled all the way down from the second floor and lost her baby. Mr. Vance just signed the intake papers and went right back to sit by the first girl's side. The hospital bills were paid by his assistant later on." "It's crazy how differently people get treated. I heard the girl who lost her baby was an investigative journalist, too. Seemed so quiet and polite..." I stared up at the chandelier overhead, counting the little glass crystals one by one. Part of me wanted to keep listening, but another part was terrified of hearing more. A twisted ankle earned a frantic carry into the emergency room, while a brutal fall down the stairs was worth nothing more than a hasty signature on an intake form. Hearing it laid bare by total strangers cut deeper than hearing it from his own mouth. A moment later, a nurse came in to change my IV drip. Catching me awake, she froze, quickly dropping her gaze and pretending she hadn't said a word. On the day of my discharge, nobody came to pick me up. I handled the paperwork myself. The billing nurse slid the receipt through the glass window, offering only a flat, "Take care." I hailed a cab back to the apartment. Everything remained exactly as I had left it. The gold gift box still sat on the counter. The bakery cheesecake was covered in dark mold, drawing a few fruit flies around the cardboard edge. I packed the rest of my belongings into the suitcase one by one. I didn't have many clothes; neatly folded, they barely took up half the space. The rest was filled with my reporting notebooks, stacked high, rising well past my knees. One thought still kept me anchored. For my latest investigative series, I had spent three grueling months tracking down and interviewing forty-four different sources, revising the draft through seven versions. Just last month, the piece had been submitted for a prestigious national press award. It was the proudest, most demanding piece of journalism I had ever produced. The man I loved was marrying someone else, and my unborn baby was gone. I had swallowed both bitter pills. But as long as that investigation stood, I was still Maya Harper. I was still a damn good journalist. I sat on the hardwood floor, booting up my laptop to check the review portal for the award. An email from the newsroom sat at the top of my inbox, delivered yesterday afternoon. I clicked it open. The subject line hit me like a slap across the face: *Maya Harper's Submission Withdrawn from National Press Award Consideration.* I rubbed my eyes and read the words again. The notice stated that my submission had been officially pulled from the ballot and replaced by a piece submitted by a newly hired staff reporter, Chloe Bailey. Furthermore, my entire investigative beat was being reassigned to Chloe, effective immediately. My hand shook violently against the mouse, the cursor darting erratically across the bright display. I had begged, coaxed, and waited out those forty-four sources one by one. There was one family whose doorstep I camped on for three straight days just to get a single on-the-record quote. Now, every single one of those names had been turned into stepping stones for Chloe Bailey's career. Before I could even catch my breath, my phone began buzzing. It was the newsroom's HR department. "Is this Maya Harper? We've received a formal grievance alleging that you fabricated sources and falsified reporting materials in your investigations. The company is terminating your contract effective today. Please come in when you can to finalize your exit paperwork." "Fabricated?" My throat felt like it was closing up. "I have full audio recordings and written notes for every single interview! You can pull the records and verify—" "The evidence provided in the report was extensive, and we've already corroborated it," the HR rep cut in flatly. "You know the truth better than anyone. That will be all." The call clicked dead. I was fired. I sat frozen on the floor, unable to move a muscle. The very last pillar holding me up had just been kicked out from under me. Chloe had just entered the newsroom. The fastest way for a rookie to cement her standing in the industry was to climb over my back, steal my award, and make sure I was blacklisted so I could never work in this field again. Chloe couldn't have pulled this off alone. Chloe asked, and Ethan pulled the strings. I scrambled up, grabbed a coat, and rushed out the door. I needed to look him in the eye and ask him why my hard work was handed over to pave someone else's road. I marched straight to Vance Corporation. The front desk refused to let me upstairs, so I waited in the lobby. I waited from two in the afternoon until eight at night before Ethan finally emerged through the glass doors. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, walking side-by-side with Chloe, the two of them laughing softly together. Spotting me, Ethan gestured for Chloe to get into the waiting town car before walking over. "What are you doing here?" I stared at him, my voice trembling with raw fury. "My investigative series... the allegations that I faked my interviews—did you do that?" Ethan shoved his hands into his slacks pockets. "Chloe just joined the newsroom. A rookie needs a solid portfolio, or how else is she supposed to make a name for herself in that industry?" "Consider that award your way of making amends for what happened on the stairs." "Making amends?" My voice cracked, sharp and shrill. "My baby is dead! Who is going to make amends to me? Forty-four sources, and with one word you handed it all to her! Did you even care to ask me?" "Your baby?" Ethan blinked, looking genuinely surprised, as if the memory had just barely surfaced. "That was an accident. Besides, we never planned on having kids anyway. It's gone, so just let it go." *It's gone, so just let it go.* I took a step back. Then another. And turned around to walk away. I wasn't going to waste another syllable on him. I would fight the newsroom directly to clear my name. I had the raw audio. I had my notes. I had the phone numbers for all forty-four sources. I walked down the city streets until my feet went numb, only to realize I had circled right back to the base of our apartment building. I tilted my head back. The window upstairs was pitch-black. I pulled out my phone, scrolling through my contacts from beginning to end, desperate to find someone—anyone—to talk to. But my thumb just hovered over the screen, unable to press call on a single name. Over the years, I had poured every waking second into him and my reporting. Standing here today, I didn't have a single person left in my corner to hear me cry.Maya's POV I refused to just roll over and take it. For that entire series, every single interview had a corresponding recording, and my notebooks were filled to the brim with detailed notes, complete with direct contact numbers for every source. As long as those people existed and the audio files remained intact, no one could slap that dirty label on my back. My mind was crystal clear: this job might be gone, but I was not going to let them run me out of journalism. Early the next morning, I packed the reporting notebooks and the external hard drive containing the backup audio into my shoulder bag and headed for the newsroom. I was going to slam every single piece of evidence right onto the editor-in-chief's desk. Taking the narrow alley behind my apartment cut ten minutes off the walk, an alley that rarely saw any vehicular traffic. I kept my head down, hurrying forward. Right in the middle of the alley, the violent roar of an engine shattered the morning quiet. I whipped my head up just in time to see a black motorcycle tearing into the narrow passage, barreling straight toward me. There was no time to dodge. Before a scream could even tear from my throat, the impact launched me through the air. My back slammed hard against concrete steps, my head cracking violently against the sharp edge of the curb. Warm blood immediately flooded down from my temple, blinding half my vision. My bag flew from my grip. Reporting notebooks scattered across the pavement, and my phone clattered against the asphalt, its screen shattering into a spiderweb of cracks. I tried to push myself up, but my arms buckled both times I tried. The world spun in dizzying blurs. The roar of the engine faded into the distance, replaced by hurried footsteps and the frantic sobs of a woman. Through the haze, I saw Ethan rush over. Chloe was sitting on the curb with her knees pulled to her chest, sobbing uncontrollably, her makeup completely ruined. I lay crumpled against the steps, my face drenched in crimson. He walked straight past me toward Chloe, dropping to his knees to wrap his arms tightly around her, rubbing her back soothingly. "Stop crying. I'm right here. You're fine, okay?" "I didn't mean to..." Chloe buried her face against his chest, gasping between sobs. "I just wanted to find someone to scare her a little so she'd stop causing trouble at the office! I didn't want to hurt her... Ethan, I'm so scared. Am I going to jail?" "Don't talk nonsense," Ethan murmured, stroking her hair. He cast a quick, dismissive glance at me lying in the dirt before looking back down to comfort the woman in his arms. "I won't let anything happen to you." I watched him pull out his phone, call his assistant, and order an ambulance to the scene. Only after hanging up did he walk over and crouch beside me, extending two fingers to check my breathing. Letting out an irritated sigh of relief, he furrowed his brows and muttered under his breath, "Why do you have to be so careless?" The ambulance arrived shortly after. As the paramedics lifted me onto the gurney, my fading vision caught Ethan supporting Chloe by the waist, her entire weight leaning into his frame. My lips parted, but no sound came out before the darkness pulled me under. When I opened my eyes, several days had already slipped by. I had twelve stitches across my scalp. With the painkillers wearing off, my head felt like it was splitting in two. I turned my head and saw Ethan sitting vigil beside the bed, flipping intently through one of my reporting notebooks. Seeing me stir, he snapped the notebook shut and set it aside. "My phone... my notebooks..." My voice came out cracked and hoarse. That was the last shred of evidence I had left. "They're all right here with me. Not a page missing," Ethan said calmly, looking down at me. "Though you won't need to go back to the newsroom anyway." "Why?" "I've already met with the primary source from your investigation in person." He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the bedside table. "From now on, no matter who asks, he'll swear he has never laid eyes on you. As for the rest of them, I've already handled it. Making a scene won't do you any good." I stared at him, my eyes burning as the rims turned crimson. Not a page was missing, but every single voice inside those pages had been bought and silenced. The notebook lay open right in front of me, its contents rendered completely useless. "What right do you have?" My voice was barely a whisper. "That was my work. My career. What right do you have to wipe it out with a single word?" "What right?" Ethan let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "The right given to me by your stubbornness. Chloe gets frightened easily, yet you insisted on making trouble at the newsroom. You backed her into a corner until she panicked and did something reckless. You should be glad I'm not blaming you for pushing her to that point." Right then, the door swung open, and two police officers walked in to take my statement regarding the hit-and-run. Just as I opened my mouth to state that someone had deliberately run me down, Ethan spoke up first. "Chloe Bailey was with me the entire time the incident took place." The officer nodded, jotted down the note, asked a couple of routine questions, and left. I lay flat on the hospital bed, a bone-chilling cold creeping through my limbs. When he brushed off the loss of our child with a wave of his hand, a tiny spark of hope had still lingered inside me. That spark was anchored to a naive belief: no matter how cold-hearted he could be, he would never actively protect the person who tried to kill me. Yet he just did. Right in front of law enforcement, looking straight at my twelve fresh stitches, he cleanly scrubbed that woman of any blame. That final spark died right then and there. "Losing that job is for the best anyway." Ethan reached out to caress my cheek, but I turned my head away, avoiding his touch. He didn't seem to care. "You won't have to run around chasing stories anymore, and you won't have to deal with those shady characters. I'll cover all your living expenses. You can stay home in peace, just like we used to. Wouldn't that be nice?" *Just like we used to.* Trapped in the apartment he provided, watching him marry another woman, eating the food he bought, and bowing my head in gratitude. The "peace" he offered was nothing more than stripping me of everything that made me whole. I looked at him, my lips twitching faintly as a solitary tear slipped from the corner of my eye, soaking into my hairline. I didn't say a single word. I made up my mind right then: starting today, I would never speak to him again. Unnerved by my hollow stare, Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but his phone cut him off. It was Chloe. He answered immediately, his tone turning instantly gentle. "Panicking again? Just lie down and don't move. I'll be right there." He turned and strode out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, I closed my eyes. The crushing agony in my chest made it hard to breathe, so intense that the throbbing pain from the stitches on my head seemed to fade away completely.Maya's POV From that day on, Ethan showed up at my hospital room every single day. Before seven in the morning, he would arrive with breakfast—fresh pastries and gourmet coffee prepared by his private chef. While my IV dripped, he sat beside the bed peeling apples, keeping the peel in one continuous spiral before slicing the fruit into neat bites, offering them to my lips on a small fork. The nurses changing my bandages would whisper to each other out in the hall: "Have you seen her boyfriend? He's so handsome and attentive, comes by every single day." "She's so lucky to have someone who dotes on her like that." I never touched a single slice of apple he offered. When I needed to use the restroom, I ignored his outstretched arm and leaned against the cold wall, dragging myself forward step by step. Ethan never lost his temper. He simply kept showing up day after day, as if waiting for me to throw my little tantrum until I finally got over it. Breakfast from his private chef, apples peeled to perfection—all of it delivered only after my career was ruined, my baby was gone, and twelve stitches were sewn into my scalp. When he actually should have stood up for me, he was nowhere to be found. Now he was acting like the picture of devotion over a sliced apple. I heard every word of envy the nurses whispered, but I never once bothered to correct them. Every day, dozens of unfamiliar calls flooded my phone. The second I picked up, vitriol and vile curses blasted through the receiver. When I finally checked online, I discovered a viral thread that had been pinned at the top of the trending charts for an entire day. *Prominent Female Journalist Caught as Homewrecker; Concrete Proof Revealed.* *The Real Fiancee Was the High School Sweetheart; Side Piece Clung On for Years.* The post claimed that as an investigative reporter, I had used an interview with Mrs. Vance as a pretext to sink my claws into Ethan, harassing him relentlessly for years. It said his true love had finally returned, and that I had been fired from the newsroom for fabricating stories because of my rotten character. Former colleagues shared the thread one after another. Some left snide, passive-aggressive remarks; others openly hurled insults in the comments. The Vance family never issued a single word to set the record straight. As the scandal blew up, someone doxxed my personal details and plastered my home address across the web. The front door of my apartment was vandalized with red spray paint: Homewrecker, get out of this city. Building management called to inform me that the neighbors were complaining and urged me to vacate the premises as soon as possible. None of that mattered to me anymore. My reputation was in the gutter and my career was over, but I still had my father and my younger sister. My dad still ran his small diner in the old quarter, and my little sister, Lily, was still in high school. My plan was to take every drop of this dirty water onto my own shoulders so the two of them could keep running the diner and going to school, blissfully unaware of the monster I had been painted as in this city. I flipped my phone facedown onto the blanket. Moments later, it buzzed again. It was Lily. The moment the call connected, her terrified sobs broke through the line. "Maya, Dad had a heart attack! They're rushing him into emergency surgery right now..." "What happened? Why would he suddenly have an attack?" "He... he saw all those horrible posts online bashing you! He was reading them and suddenly grabbed his chest and collapsed! Maya, please come quick, I'm so scared..." I yanked the IV needle straight out of the back of my hand. Blood welled up instantly, dripping down my fingertips. Grabbing my coat, I bolted toward the door, ignoring the nurses shouting behind me. The dirty water I tried so hard to shield them from had splashed right in front of my father's eyes. I hailed a cab toward the hospital where my father had been taken. On the way, I pulled up Ethan's number, dialed it, and hung up before it could ring. I didn't know what I could possibly expect from him anymore. The cab pulled up to the hospital entrance. The moment I stepped out, I saw Chloe standing on the concrete steps, holding a pristine fruit basket. Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Oh my, discharged so soon, Miss Harper? Is your head all healed up already?" "You did this, didn't you?" I glared at her. "The posts online, my dad ending up in the hospital—you orchestrated the whole thing!" "And what if I did?" Chloe took a step closer, tilting her chin up at me. "Who told you to be so shameless and cling to Ethan? I just let everyone see what kind of person you really are." I raised my hand to slap the smug look off her face. Before my palm could strike, Ethan materialized out of nowhere, stepping firmly between us and shielding Chloe behind his back. "Maya Harper, haven't you caused enough scenes?" Ethan barked. "Chloe came all the way here out of the goodness of her heart to check on your father, and this is how you treat her?" "Goodness of her heart?" I stared at him in disbelief. "She drove my father into the ICU, and you're calling it good intentions? Ethan Vance, are you blind?" "Apologize to her," Ethan demanded, his eyes boring into mine. "Right now. Apologize to Chloe." "Me? Apologize?" "You refuse, is that it?" Ethan pulled out his phone. "Your father's medical bills and all his future treatments—if you don't apologize right now, I'm cutting off every cent. Take a good look at yourself. How do you expect to pay for his care in the state you're in?" "You bastard." Ethan's expression darkened. Right in front of my face, he placed a call and spoke a single cold line: "Have the landlord terminate the lease on the Harper family's diner today." He hung up and met my gaze. "When you've come to your senses, come find me." With that, he wrapped an arm around Chloe's shoulders and turned to leave. Chloe leaned against his chest, glanced back over her shoulder, and flashed me a triumphant smirk. I stood frozen on the pavement, unable to lift my feet. Only then did I finally see the cards he held in his hands. He didn't bother arguing with me. He was simply tallying up every single thing I had left to lose. My father's life, my father's diner—he laid them out on the chopping block one by one, waiting for me to bend the knee. It took a long time before I managed to drag myself toward the inpatient wing. My father had already been moved out of the operating room. He was asleep, his face pale as paper, an oxygen tube hooked under his nose. Lily sat by the bedside, her eyes swollen red from crying. Seeing me walk in, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. I stroked her hair, wanting to say something comforting, but the lump in my throat choked back every word. I stepped out into the quiet corridor when my phone buzzed. It was the landlord of my dad's diner, his tone fraught with guilt. "Maya, about your dad's place... I can't rent it to you folks anymore. The kitchen equipment and tables have already been cleared out to the curb. Come pick them up when you can." "Why?" I gasped, stunned. "Doesn't the lease still have six months left?" "My hands are tied," the landlord sighed heavily. "Someone powerful reached out. They told me if I keep renting to your family, they'll ruin my business. Maya, I'm truly sorry. I'll wire you the penalty fee for breaking the lease." The line went dead. I swayed on my feet in the empty hallway. That diner was our family's entire livelihood. A single phone call from him at noon, and by afternoon, the diner was gone. Refusing to give up, I pulled up my contact list and called every property owner my father knew. I called through the entire list. Some claimed their spaces were already taken, others made vague excuses, but not a single person dared to offer us a lease. In this entire sprawling city, there wasn't a single storefront left for my father. I leaned heavily against the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor until I was curled up with my knees against my chest, burying my face into the crook of my arm. I had thought the absolute worst-case scenario was losing everything I owned. Now I knew he wouldn't stop until he destroyed my family, too.