chapter1

In the third year with Damian, I sold my mother’s necklace just to buy him a birthday gift.

But when Selene sent me a link, the truth shattered me—

It was a prank live site, and my room was ranked number one.

[Prank #20: She drank until she bled just to protect Damian.]

[Prank #85: She sold her mother’s relic for his gift.]

[Prank #97: She waited all night with cake, while he partied with Selene in Las Vegas.]

The comments rolled in:

“Three pranks left—will she survive?”

“I bet a million she won’t make it to the end!”

……

I sold my mother’s necklace in the afternoon. The only thing she left me was gone with a single signature. I told myself it was worth it.

With the money, I bought Damian a white shirt, wrapped it neatly, and slid the pregnancy test strip under the tissue. That was the real gift.

Back at the apartment, I hung a string of fairy lights, set out one small cake, three simple dishes, and a bottle of cheap red wine.

I kept glancing at the box in the middle of the table. Tonight, I wanted to see his face when he found the test. After three years, we finally had a child.

I remembered the first time we talked about the future. Damian had taken my hand and said, “I do not need wealth if I have you.” I believed him. I believed so deeply that I left my family and moved into this cheap apartment when his business collapsed.

His so-called friends turned their backs, investors pulled out, and the Moore family—the Moores, Selene’s family—joined the others to crush him. He said he would rather lose everything than lose me. I thought that made us unbreakable.

But Selene never forgave me. She was his childhood shadow, always on his arm at parties. When he chose me, she smiled in public but cornered me in private. She said I would not last, that women like me only slowed men like him down. Sometimes I believed her.

Nine o’clock came. I texted him: Dinner is ready. Happy birthday.

The message showed delivered. I waited.

Nine-thirty. No reply.

Nine-forty. The pasta turned dry under the foil.

Ten o’clock. The candle on the cake bent from the heat.

My phone buzzed. A new Instagram story flashed across the screen.

A rooftop in Las Vegas. Champagne towers, trays of lobster and crab, women in sequins. Damian stood at the center, glass in hand, smile polished.

Selene leaned on his shoulder, her face close to his ear. Behind them, gold balloons spelled his name.

I stared until my vision blurred.

My hands tightened around the phone. I dialed Damian. Straight to voicemail.

Two minutes later, he called back. His voice was smooth.

“Ivy, I am in a meeting. Go to sleep.”

I opened my mouth, ready to ask where he really was—

A new notification cut me off. Selene.

First a photo of Damian’s wrist, a black band shining under the lights.

Then: He looks good tonight.

Finally, a pin drop. Come if you want.

My chest clenched. I thought of the years we had spent here, in this cramped space with peeling walls and flickering lights, because he said he wanted freedom, not pity. I told myself love would be enough. I gave up comfort, family, even pride.

And yet he was there, smiling with her.

At ten-thirty, another voice message arrived. I pressed play.

“He will not come. You know that. Want proof? I can give you better than photos. Try this site.”

A link appeared, followed by a code.

Enter it. You will understand everything.

The screen glowed in my hand. My chest felt heavy, each breath slow and rough.

I thought of the necklace receipt still folded in my bag.

I thought of the three years I had spent choosing him over everything else.

The last message blinked on the screen. Tick tock.

The page began to load, and I did not blink.