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The second the pregn&ncy test came back positive, I practically floated to Aaron Carter's company, giddy to share the news. When I walked in, the receptionist spotted me and moved to announce me. I caught her uneasy look and shook my head, motioning her to stay quiet. I wanted to surprise Aaron. I lifted my hand to knock—when a clear, male voice drifted through the office door. "Bro, you were quick this time." Aaron hesitated for a split second, then spoke smoothly. "Finished up and headed right back." He flipped a document closed. "You didn't blow the cover, did you?" Zane Carter flipped through a magazine on his desk, careless. "Please. We're twins—we look identical. With me covering for you, you can go abroad to see your first love anytime." One of their business partners and close friends snickered. "You two really have this down to a system. One wife shared between two brothers—classic." "Right? Aaron's new wife's a total smoke show. Killer body. If Aaron wasn't so hung up on his ex, any guy would lose his mind over her." "Hey, Zane—your brother's got his heart elsewhere, but you don't. With a sister-in-law that fine… you haven't made a move, have you?" Aaron's hand froze. A flicker of irritation crossed his face. "Cut the crap. We have an agreement. This is just a business marriage. We're divorcing soon. Neither of us is touching her." "You know the rules." Zane's expression shifted, awkward for a moment. "What're you talking about? I've seen tons of girls like Georgia Bennett. Vain, attention-hungry, nothing special. Why would I care about her?" Jasmine Carter twisted a small ornament on the desk, then scoffed. "Like Georgia could ever be good enough for my brother. If her family didn't have a little money, would our parents even have agreed to this arranged marriage?" "She's just some rich nobody climbing the social ladder by latching onto him. She doesn't deserve him at all." "Haha, facts. If I didn't already have Aaron's face, I'd wanna check her out myself." Aaron coughed, cutting the laughter short. Someone asked, casual but curious. "Who even came up with this whole plan anyway?" "No way Aaron, this lovestruck idiot, thought of it. Otherwise he wouldn't have chased his ex across the world all these years." Jasmine smiled sweetly, sounding proud. "Obviously me! Someone's gotta protect my brother's love life, right?" "Besides, she hasn't even met my second brother yet. This is just a little prank. No harm done." "But—I have an even better idea!" Jasmine blinked innocently and held up three fingers. "How about we send Georgia straight to Africa for the honeymoon in a week? Once she's dark as coal, we hit her with divorce papers right away." "We'll just say—‘You're too ug1y now. You don't deserve me. Get lost.'" She giggled to herself, clearly delighted. "The look on her face will be priceless." "Please, bro~" Jasmine clung to Aaron's arm, acting spoiled. Aaron sighed and patted her head helplessly. They'd always spoiled their little princess rotten. "Fine, fine." Jasmine turned to Zane with big eyes. Zane hesitated for a second, then shrugged. "Whatever." "Yes! Best brothers ever!" Laughter filled the room, warm and indulgent, like they were all just teasing a naughty child. My lips pressed into a thin line. Then a sudden, bitter inner voice cut through the noise. [He's always been better than me at everything since we were kids. I was born a full minute earlier—so why does he get to be the big brother? I wanna see who really wins when it comes to my sister-in-law.] [Aaron still has no idea I slept with his wife on their wedding night.] [So what if he's the older brother? The kid she's carrying is still gonna call me Dad.] I stared down at the pregn&ncy test in my hand. One month exactly. Without hesitation, I crumpled it into a tight ball and threw it in the trash. I pulled out my phone and called my twin sister overseas. "Sis… what flea market did you dig this guy out of?" "This is the baby daddy you picked for me? This is the quality?" "I want a refund. Find me a new one. Now." The truth was, I was a twin too. And the woman they'd been messing with these past few months wasn't Georgia. It was me. Audrey Bennett. 2 Georgia sauntered over from a group of good-looking guys, drawling her words lazily. "Hmm?" I repeated every single thing I'd just heard to my twin sister. She instantly exploded. "Are those assho1es really playing us for fools?" "I'm sorry, sis. I just… you got stuck with this mess, and my baby needs a legal birth certificate. It was a free arrangement, a business marriage that was always gonna end in divorce. I thought I'd just go along with it, get the papers, then leave with full custody." "I didn't think those pieces of shȋt had such sick plans." "I swear to fuccking God—" Georgia unleashed a whole string of curses. I held the phone a little farther from my ear and sighed. "Just hold on for now. Find me someone over there who can marry me right away. We'll get divorced as soon as I have the legal document. Money doesn't matter." "As for them… I'll play along for a bit. Have some fun first." Georgia paused, then let out her usual mischievous grin. "Got it. This was just a mistake. Trust your sister. You mess with them as much as you want. I'll come get you when it's time." "Honey~" A sickly sweet male voice came through the line. I frowned. "You behave yourself." "Huh? Mmm…" I hung up immediately. Right then, I canceled my original honeymoon flight and booked a ticket to the city where my sister was. If they wanted to play games? I'd gladly carve out some time to play back. We'd see who outsmarted who. I gently touched my stomach and sighed softly. Baby, where's Mommy gonna find you a real good daddy? The one who'd agreed to the arranged marriage with Aaron was actually my sister, Georgia. But Georgia was wild and fearless, shamelessly flirting with Aaron multiple times before the wedding. Aaron, though, had clearly felt nothing, keeping his face cold and distant the whole time. Georgia got bored fast. Like a bird that refused to be caged, she begged me to marry Aaron in her place. She said it was just a fake, business deal, easy divorce later—all I had to do was act the part. Back then, I'd just found out I was a month pregn&nt. My baby needed a father figure on paper. So I agreed. I never expected Georgia to run off and disappear for months. Originally, it would've been fine if we just kept things polite and distant. But I didn't know if Georgia's overly forward moves before the wedding had given Aaron the wrong impression. Made him think Georgia was head-over-heels in love with him. In reality? She was just h0rny. 3 When Aaron stumbled through the front door, he reeked of whiskey. He looked… normal. Too normal. If anything, his jaw was tighter, his face stiffer than usual, lips pressed into a sharp, unyielding line as he sank onto the sofa and just… sat there. For three whole hours. I side-eyed him, weirded out. No response. I poked his shoulder. He turned his head slowly, like rusted machinery creaking into motion. "Good evening." His voice was ice, flat and empty. But when I met his glazed, unfocused eyes, I finally clocked it—he was completely wasted. I patted the top of his head softly. "Be good and go to bed, yeah?" Aaron went quiet for a beat. "No. I only sleep with my wife. I'm not like that." I laughed under my breath. "Aaron. What's your wife's name?" He hung his head, mumbled after a long, heavy pause. "Georgia." My breath caught. Suddenly I was right back to our wedding night. He'd reeked of alcoho1 then, too. Staggered into the bedroom, tripping over his own feet, bumping hard into the wardrobe with a quiet, pitiful little *ow*—like a kicked puppy. The corners of his eyes were shiny and red. He stared at me with watery, dazed eyes, giggling foolishly one second, then pouting like he'd been wronged the next. "Hehe… wifey." "Wifey, it hurts." "Kiss it better." Then he yanked me roughly by the waist and kissed me hard, hungry and messy. "Wifey smells so good." I was gasping for air when his head lolled to the side, and he passed out cold on my shoulder. It took every ounce of strength to clean him up and drag him into bed. When I stared down at that hard, muscular, unfairly attractive body… I just didn't have the energy to dress him. So I curled right up against him and fell asleep. Let's be real—Georgia and I are blood sisters. I deserved a little fun. But his reaction the next morning had been strange. He never cooked. Ever. But that day, he made breakfast himself. I picked up a fried egg with my folk and studied him. "Why did you get up so early to make breakfast today?" Aren't we just a business marriage? Aaron fought so hard to hold back a smile that his ears burned bright red. "Nothing. You just… had a hard day yesterday." It clicked. Carrying a full-grown man around had been exhausting. "It's fine. Just be more careful next time." Drink less. A pregn&nt woman like me can't be bothered with this chaos. Aaron didn't react outwardly, just squeezed his fork tighter, a low, muffled "Mhm" rumbling in his throat. I stared at the stiff, rigid man in front of me. The boldest thing he did was sneak two fingers out and pinch the hem of my shirt, quick and shy. I studied his blank, stoic face for a long moment. Yep. Still zero expression. The man from that night wasn't him. The one in front of me was the real Aaron. Which meant the one who'd touched me, kissed me, called me wifey… was Zane. 4 The next day, I slept in until the sun was high in the sky. As soon as I stepped into the living room, I saw the person sitting on the sofa. "Don't you have to work today?" Zane held the newspaper in his hands, his voice deep: "Yeah, taking an occasional day off." [I can't exactly say I was afraid my brother did something to you!?] [Jasmine is unbelievable too, insisting on drinking so much at the party. My brother probably drank a ton.] Idiot. He was holding the newspaper upside down. I curled my lips into a smirk: "Perfect timing. Massage my legs for me. I was exhausted last night, and now my legs are so sore." Zane's body stiffened. [Fucck!] I took the initiative to sit on the sofa, lying on my side. I pulled up my nightgown, revealing several distinct red marks on my legs. Aaron hadn't actually done anything to me last night. In fact, he was incredibly easy to manage, doing exactly as he was told. I just directed him to clean himself up, then went back to my room to sleep. The red marks on my legs were nothing more than mosquito bites from being outside yesterday. "Hubby?" Zane's mind went blank for a second. [Aaron! You absolute beast!] [She hasn't even called me hubby!!] As Zane touched my smooth skin, his ears instantly flushed a betraying red. I cast my eyes down, studying Zane's profile. The two brothers actually had some differences. For instance, the younger brother Zane's eyebrows tilted slightly upward at the ends, while the older brother Aaron's were thicker and more rugged. The older brother liked to save his favorite food for last, whereas the younger brother preferred to devour his favorites first before picking at the things he disliked. The pressure of Zane's hands fluctuated, and his breathing grew increasingly heavy. [Fucck, what gives him the right! I was the one who had the wedding night with her, and I'm the one who keeps her company every day. Dammn it, that bastarrd is just reaping the benefits of my hard work.] [No, I can't let him off so easily.] Zane's hands began to trail upwards. The smile on my face didn't reach my eyes. I swatted his hand away and pulled my nightgown back down: "Hubby, I just remembered I haven't eaten yet. I'm a little hungry." Zane acted as if he hadn't heard me, leaning in to press his lips against mine. "Be good. Hubby will cook for you himself later, but right now, we have more important things to do." …
“Kneel.” He said. “Wh…What?” I was confused. “I feel a bit offended you ignored me in the first place, little brat. I guess you need to be reminded of your place in this pack. Bow down to me.” I heard him speak while other students started filling out the hallway, bringing out their phones to start filming the occasion. I heard the chuckles and whispers calling me pathetic, weak, and ugly. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to disobey your future Alpha by now?” I kneeled. One day I would be strong enough to disobey him, and then no one would humiliate me again. But I never thought this bully would be my mate…
“Kneel.” He said. “Wh…What?” I was confused. “I feel a bit offended you ignored me in the first place, little brat. I guess you need to be reminded of your place in this pack. Bow down to me.” I heard him speak while other students started filling out the hallway, bringing out their phones to start filming the occasion. I heard the chuckles and whispers calling me pathetic, weak, and ugly. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to disobey your future Alpha by now?” I kneeled. One day I would be strong enough to disobey him, and then no one would humiliate me again. But I never thought this bully would be my mate…
Nerd Ava is pushed into Seven Minutes in Heaven with heartthrob Logan Hale at a wild party. In the dark closet, her scent awakens his dormant Alpha werewolf blood and nearly exposes her secret: a runaway Omega with a notorious fugitive father. Ava pulls away, but Logan will not let go.
"Claire... you were pregnant?" Liam's voice cracked. The Alpha who had always looked right through me suddenly stood there like a man who had lost everything. "Two months," the doctor said. "The fall caused a complete placental abruption. She's lucky to be alive." The same fall Breanne caused. The same day he carried her in his arms – and left me bleeding in the dirt. I didn't look at him. If I did, I might remember how much I once loved him. "Why didn't you tell me?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "Would it have changed anything? You made your choice when you carried her away." His jaw clenched. "Claire..." For the first time, I met his eyes. My voice was ice-cold. "And today, I made my choice too. We're done." *** She lost his baby. He protected the wrong woman. And now he demands her blood – to save the one who took everything from her... *** I stood at the gate of the Sterling Moon Packhouse, clutching a cake box that had begun to melt in the summer heat. My usually pristine blonde hair was now stuck to my neck and face in damp strands, and my designer dress was now ruined with mud and swamp stains. I hadn't meant to arrive at my third mating anniversary looking like I had been dragged through a hedge backward and then tossed in the swamp lands beyond the pack grounds. But then again, being cornered and ambushed by rogues, conveniently knowing my whereabouts without an escort or protection, wasn't exactly part of my agenda either. A mysterious yet heroic stranger had rescued me and driven me back to the edge of my mate’s pack territory when Liam Sterling, my mate and the pack's Alpha, hadn't answered any of my fifteen frantic calls. I had almost convinced myself he was simply busy orchestrating some grand anniversary surprise. That had to be it. Otherwise, why else would he send me out alone for the cake retrieval and then not bother to answer my calls? I quickened my pace toward the entrance of the packhouse, not wanting to delay the celebration any longer than I already had. I rounded the corner only to stop dead at the sight before me. The entire packhouse had been transformed with floral arches, helium balloons, and an enormous banner. My fingers tightened around the cake box. I had doubts about walking into the grand hall; perhaps I should slip upstairs to change first. Then Liam's familiar voice called out. "There's my beautiful mate! Took you long enough, sweetheart. Everyone's waiting for the cake. Were the directions not clear enough?" He teased, not taking in the dishevelled state of my appearance or the fact that my smile didn’t reach my eyes. He often failed to see me. I looked up to find my mate looking devastatingly handsome in a white Tom Ford suit, his gray waistcoat accentuating those broad shoulders I used to trace my fingers over. He hadn't dressed like this for me in years. I pushed aside the gnawing doubts starting to fill my heart and embraced the fact that he was trying to make things right. This was not the time to voice my disappointments with his lack of attention or concern. We're here to celebrate our mate bond with the pack. This was also the year that he promised to swear me in as the official Luna, to lead by his side. Three years of proving myself capable despite not having a wolf of my own, and now here we were. My lips began curving into a smile despite myself. Maybe the rogues and the ambush, the ruined dress, the ignored calls—perhaps none of it mattered now that I was home. Liam would keep me safe, and we were going to announce that I was stepping into a role that should have been mine when we first mated. "Liam, I was just—" I was about to explain the rogues, the ambush, the mysterious saviour, but was cut off mid-sentence. "Liam! Is that my cake?" A shrill voice interrupted as Breanne Telder materialized behind Liam, looping her arm through his as though it was where she belonged. She was Liam’s father's Beta’s daughter. Otherwise known as the third wheel in our relationship and the pick me girl that Liam always did. She was also not supposed to be here. She was sent away a while ago, and Liam promised to focus solely on us. "You flew me home just for this birthday surprise? Best Alpha bestie ever!" The cake box slipped from my fingers, landing with a sickening splat on the custom marble flooring beneath me. The same flooring I wanted to either swallow me or Breanna up in this moment. Birthday surprise? What the heck did that mean? Those two words echoed in my skull like gunshots. For weeks, I had known Liam was planning something secretive. The custom-ordered flowers were delivered under the cover of darkness. The expensive Eclipse Stone rough he'd purchased at auction. All those whispered phone calls I had pretended not to hear. It all led to this moment, but it wasn’t the moment I had expected. I had woven every scrap of evidence into fantasies of candlelit vows renewed, of Liam dropping to one knee all over again. Even when he hadn't picked up during my attack from rogues, I had made excuses for him. Now Breanne's smug smile shattered those delusions like a hammer through stained glass. "What were you thinking, Claire?" Stephanie Sterling's razor-sharp heels clicked across the flooring as she advanced. "We've been waiting two hours for that cake! You can’t do one single task; no wonder you will never be Luna material for the Sterling Moon pack." Stephanie was Liam's mother. From the moment I mated into the Alpha family, Stephanie had made no secret of her dislike; she was the reason Liam was convinced to hold off and force me to prove myself as Luna material. Over time, that contempt had only grown bolder, more vicious, no longer even pretending to hide it. Failing to see Liam, their Alpha, standing up for me, much of the pack started to support and see the validity in the points that their retired Luna was making. My hands shook. "This was supposed to be our anniversary party." Liam caught my elbow and steered me out of the room for privacy. "Baby, I'd planned a surprise for you, but Breanne asked for a pack-wide birthday celebration when she returned, so—" "So, instead of standing up for your mate, yet again, you conceded and did what they wanted. It’s fine for me to be let down, but not her? Message received, Liam." I wrenched my arm free, the movement sending fresh pain through my bruised ribs from the attack. I doubled over with a gasp. Before Liam could reach for me, Stephanie's voice sliced through the garden again. "Liam! Stop coddling her and get over here. This is why the wolfless should never hold ranks; they're weak and attention grabbers. Forget the cake, we'll just serve the petit fours instead." "Coming." He hesitated, then pressed a kiss to my temple. "We'll talk later." I remained crouched in the foyer of the packhouse as another wave of pain, this one far deeper than physical, crashed over me. Not a single pack member had asked why I looked like I'd been in a car wreck, why I'd been crying. From the other room where everyone gathered, the opening chords of "Happy Birthday" floated toward me. Each syrupy note felt like another papercut to my heart. It hit me suddenly—I hadn't celebrated a birthday since mating into the Alpha family, not once, though my own fell just days apart from Breanne's. And Liam had known this; he made a joke about the coincidence of his two best gals' being birthday buddies, but mine was always overshadowed. He quickly forgot about mine. I wiped my cheeks, giving myself a self-mocking smile. I should have known better than to hope for something more than what I already received. As the sun dipped low, I rose, my shadow stretching lonely behind me. Without a word, I climbed the stairs and clicked the bedroom door shut of the Alpha suite. Under the bathroom's harsh lighting, I peeled off my ruined dress and threw it in the trash. Steam fogged the mirrors as I scrubbed at skin that still felt dirty from the rogue's hands. I stayed under the scalding water until my fingers pruned. Wrapped in an oversized robe, I sat curled on the window seat watching party lights twinkle below until the last guest departed. At 11:00 PM, the bedroom door finally creaked open. I didn't turn when Liam's familiar cologne filled the room. I heard him hang up his jacket, then felt his whiskey-warm hands on my shoulders. "Happy anniversary, my beautiful, stunning mate." His lips brushed my ear. "Guess what I got you?" I shrugged him off. "I honestly don't care." He knelt before me, producing a velvet box with the flourish of a magician. "I had this carved from that Eclipse Stone rough. It is rumoured to help awaken latent wolfen spirits, strengthen auras and bring new beginnings.” Liam fastened the pendant around my neck. The cold stone settled between my chest like a brand. "Stunning." He kissed the hollow of my throat. "I was thinking that it’s been three years since we mated, and you have done so well proving yourself to me and this pack. I want us to now try for a pup. Bring this pack a new heir.” "Yeah, that’s not happening," I rejected the idea instantly. His chuckle was dark velvet. "You won't have to lift a finger, darling. I'll do all the—" "Liam." I met his gaze for the first time that night. “I want to submit an official request to break our mate bond!” My mind was made up before he finally came to our room. This wasn't like my previous impulsive threats in an attempt to get him to see the mistakes he was continuously making in our bond. This time, I was genuinely determined to leave. Three years of mateship flashed through my mind. I had lost count of how many times Liam had prioritized Breanne over my feelings or dismissed me because his mother said so. Who was his mate, and who was just a friend? I could no longer answer that question, and I was tired of trying to defend us. We weren’t bonded. Not the way the typical Alpha and mate were. It was usual for an Alpha never to leave his Luna’s side. She was his number one priority, even though the pack came second. The Alpha's mate was the heart of the pack and respected as an equal, but I was neither of those things. I haven’t been from the start. Breanne, even though she was briefly sent away, was still respected and noticed more than I could even hope for. If someone kept treating you in ways you disliked, it was because you allowed it. I had let it slide every other time. But today, Liam had crossed my final line. This day was our third anniversary. I didn’t care that he forgot my birthday, dinners, or events we planned together. I did, however, care about this milestone moment. A promise he made was long forgotten. This was that tipping point for my patience. “Really, Claire? You are threatening to reject our mate bond again? Don't say that every time you're upset, sweetheart. I was wrong about today. I'll make it up to you tomorrow." My eyes showed no emotion. “Don't bother. Not everything can be made up, and you can only backburner your mate for so long before she grows tired of being at the bottom of the priorities, Liam.” "Of course, this can be fixed. There's always next year. We will have a pup by then, and you will have long forgotten this little hiccup and tantrum." Liam pushed me down onto the sofa, kissing my face tenderly. With my hands pinned above my head, I wasn’t able to push him off. He expected the topic of having pups would appease me and calm my boiling anger. I had had enough of his nonsense and non-committal ways. I stared blankly at the ceiling as tears unexpectedly rolled down my cheeks. I lay like a dead weight. In the past, whenever we would fight or I would throw a tantrum, as Liam would title it, all he would do was use the mate bond against me. His kisses, his touch, his desires would wear me down, and I would accept his hollowed words of apology and his flashy gifts as though they meant something more than pacifying childish behaviour, in his mind. But this time, even though he held me down and I couldn’t resist, I was also not participating or encouraging him to continue. He was so self-absorbed that he couldn’t even realize that I wasn’t a willing participant. I was motionless, soundless, non-responsive. As Liam kept kissing me, his hands touched every part of my bruised body, utterly unaware of the pain he was inflicting both physically and emotionally. I felt his body suddenly freeze at the sound of a whimpered sob that slipped out of me. He looked out with hooded eyes, which quickly sobered and turned serious when he saw the tears in my eyes. His expression was frozen in panic. "Baby, why are you crying?" He quickly turned on the light. "Wait—you seemed off when you came home. Did something happen?" Finally, he remembered, but the damage between us was already done. My heart twisted, wishing that it didn’t take crying while he wanted her attention to cover his mistakes for him to notice something was wrong. At the thought of how much distance was between us, more tears fell. Under the light, Liam finally saw the slight swelling on my face, the scratches on my arms and body, and the deep gash on my right leg with dried blood. His pupils contracted. "What happened?" I could sense his wolf stirring under the surface. It was clear that someone had hurt me, but they were only now realizing it. Just as I opened my mouth, his phone rang. I looked at the screen and rolled my eyes. Of course, it was Breanne. Liam sighed and offered a small apologetic smile before he answered in front of me. "Breanne, what's wrong?" "Liam, I think I ate something bad. My stomach hurts so much. Can you take me to the hospital?" Breanne's sugary voice came through. Liam automatically started to agree. I could see his eyes widen with panic at the thought that she was in pain. But right before he responded, he looked at me and my reddened, tear-filled eyes. "It's late. Claire and I are already in bed. Ask Mom if there's any medicine at home." Stephanie's sharp voice interrupted, "Liam, come now! This isn't ordinary pain. It could be appendicitis! She's pale as a ghost!" Liam's brow furrowed. "Fine. I'm coming." My heart sank like a stone. I shook my head in disbelief and turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. Yet again, I was pushed aside. Liam dressed quickly but hesitated at the door. After a long moment, he took my hand. "You're hurt too. Come with me, we'll get you checked at the hospital." That single word, "too", cut like a knife. I laughed dryly. "No need. Go ahead, play hero for another woman. If your mate's pain is less important than staying and understanding what happened, then your friend who has a stomach ache, don’t bother dragging me around like an accessory with false concern. I'd rather be alone." Liam stiffened. He opened his mouth to speak, but the phone kept ringing insistently. Finally, he sighed and pressed his black card into my hand. "Buy whatever you want. Consider it an apology." The door slammed shut. I weighed the card in my palm and smiled bitterly. Liam only ever had two ways to appease me—attention or money. It used to work. I fooled myself into believing it meant he cared, that he wasn’t good with expressing emotions, but I saw it for what it was now. This time, his sweet talk won't work. I walked to the closet and in the back corner, I pulled out my old suitcase. Inside was the most valuable thing I owned. My freedom. It was an official Rejection agreement signed the night before our mating. Back then, Liam had insisted on accepting our mate bond despite his family's objections. Afraid of being trapped in a toxic pack and mating, I had made him sign this; if I ever wanted to break the bond, he had to agree unconditionally. I thought we’d never need it. Liam had probably forgotten it existed. But I hadn't. During one fight, I had even consulted a lawyer who confirmed its validity. I could file for an official rejection of the bond with just this document and the one-month cooling-off period. Since he had already signed it, there was no need for Liam's consent for me to file it now. The Elders within the Council would perform the rejection ceremony within their own chambers. There was no need for either of us to be present. That was typically why Alphas refrained from preemptively signing these types of contracts. It relinquished control without their knowledge. Now was the time. I didn't sleep all night; I couldn’t. Instead, I spent those hours cutting up every photograph of us together. There weren’t many, I realized. My phone was filled with pictures of Liam whenever I could sneak photos when he was distracted or busy. He was honestly an Adonis of a man. But three years together, we had exactly twenty-three pictures of us together as a couple, and only thirteen of those were just Liam and me. The remaining ten were with Breanne. I snuck downstairs before anyone else woke up and went into Liam's office. There on the desk was a picture. It was of him and Breanne, hugging and smiling into the camera. They looked happy. Too happy. My inner bitter self was vomiting at the sight. On the other side of the desk was a picture of the three of us. That's right, not me and my mate. It was Breanne pressed against Liam's side, smiling up at him, and I was smiling at the camera on the other side. My arm was linked around his, and he was smiling, but for which female in the picture, your guess was as good as mine. I took the picture out of the frame, and bent it so that I was folded to the back. There, now he had two perfect couple pictures of him and Breanne. I will simply bow out of this weird three-way relationship. By dawn, I had already filed the official rejection agreement papers at the Council's registry office. Then I donated all the designer outfits Liam had bought me to charity. Afterward, I drove out of the pack grounds for a few hours to pawn every piece of jewelry he'd ever given me at the local broker's. I didn’t want it getting back to Liam, or the pack gossip mill to run rampant with their own speculations. Not yet anyway. It was a surprisingly large chunk of money in return, one thing I knew for sure about Liam. When he was grovelling for his indifferences and mistakes, he never cheaped out on the apology jewelry. The broker didn’t have the full amount on hand, so I opted to have it wired, which worked fine for me. I opened a new bank account and provided them with the necessary information. I returned to the packhouse early that afternoon. I had requested that the gardener cut down the Cherry Blossom tree in the pack’s courtyard. He was ordered to burn every branch and leaf until only ashes remained. When I agreed to mate with Liam, I had my reservations because his family didn’t support their Alpha heir accepting the bond to a wolfless orphan with average financial standings. Liam planted the tree as a token of his pledge of devotion to us and our bond. I fell for it, thinking it would make us stronger. But I was wrong. By late afternoon, I had either sold, donated or destroyed every token of Liam and his devotion to me and our bond: everything but the Eclipse stone pendant. Some legends state that the Moon Goddess herself blessed the eclipse stone to strengthen the will of the wolfless. Call me a fool, but it still served as a sliver of proof that at some point, he did care enough to seek out the stone for me. Now that everything was removed, it was time for me to step out and prepare everything for my new life after this month-long cooldown period ended, and I was no longer the unwanted mate of Alpha Liam Sterling. I knew I had to be smart and figure out my path now, as I had no family to turn to once the rejection was completed. When I was seven, my father had disappeared after a mountain climbing accident. It was speculated that rogues were involved, as they were heavy in the area at the time. My mother re-mated not long afterwards, and we became part of the Thorne family. They were the overlords, if you will, of the Crown of Thornes Pack, rivals of The Sterling Moon pack and next door neighbours to the territory. My mother left the Thorne family after accusations and rumours of her infidelity and gambling debts. I didn’t believe it, but it seemed that everyone else did. I had no idea where she even went. She certainly didn’t seek me out after she left that night, abandoning me. The only person who would even be considered family at this point was Lucien Thorne. He was my former stepbrother from my mother's second mating. However, Lucien was notorious for his short temper, and he constantly mistreated me while we lived under the same roof, so I would sooner wind up homeless than seek his help. The heat of Liam’s black card was burning a hole in my pocket, serving as a reminder of his literal words: “Buy whatever you want and consider it as an apology.” Okay! I will. I went to the bank and after the teller spoke with the branch manager to confirm my approval of using the Alpha’s account for a withdrawal, yup, that's right, I held no status, so I wasn’t even recognized with authority over our marital account; I withdrew one million dollars from his account. It was insulting and frustrating to know that Breanne can walk in here and not have as many hoops to jump through to get at my mate’s money. But that’s fine. I have already started to let go of my hold on him emotionally. My head has already done so. As I waited for the teller to return with the funds, my phone rang. Liyah Cruz. She was my closest friend before I accepted the bond with Liam. Liam didn’t like her influence on me, as he put it, so over the years, our friendship became strained. For her to be reaching out and calling me now, it had to be important. "Liyah? What's wrong?" I answered right away. "Oh, thank the Goddess. Claire, the International Equestrian Championships start in a month, but I just got injured during training." Liyah's voice was thick with disappointment. "Claire, you were the most talented rider we knew. I could think of no one else to take over. Could you compete in my place?" The memories came flooding back. Had I not mated with Liam, I might have become as renowned as Liyah in equestrian circles. But Liam had disapproved of me riding; he often called it unladylike. He'd gone as far as going behind my back and selling my beloved white stallion, Mirage, to a good owner, cutting off my last connection to the sport. The silence stretched until Liyah sighed. "I forgot your mate doesn't allow—" "I'll do it," I interrupted. "One month. I'll be ready." Liyah's excited squeal pierced through the receiver. "Really? Oh my Goddess! Everyone always said you shouldn't have given up your talent for mating! You're finally coming back to us!" My hand trembled around the phone. Yes, before mating into the Sterling Moon pack and Alpha family, I had shone so brightly. Before Liam, I used to be many things. I was the university's star student—straight A's in every subject. A gifted painter, champion rider, runway model, master chef, and award-winning debater—there was nothing I couldn't excel at. But three years of mating had eroded it all. I hadn't touched a paintbrush in years. I have forgotten how to walk a runway, and even lost my sharp tongue in arguments—forced to submit to even my mate's family and house staff. Only my cooking skills remained polished because I have cooked for Liam every single day since the beginning of our bond acceptance. Only now did I realize how much of myself I had sacrificed. But it wasn't too late. I could still start over. This was that chance to start taking my life by the reins, so to speak, and returning to the Claire that used to walk proudly with her chin held high. I met Liyah at the stables we once rode at together. “Thank you, Claire-bear. I can’t believe you are actually here.” Liyah launched herself on top of me, despite her knee brace. I thought I understood what I gave up to be with Liam, my mate, but I didn’t understand a fraction of it. This crazy woman, who used to be my world, wrapped around me. How did I let him separate us? “It’s me who should thank you, Lee-Lee. I’ve missed you. I’m sorry. No more boys between us, I promise.” I sobbed. Liyah looked up, and I saw the understanding in her eyes. We both wiped our faces and laughed at our equally blotchy faces. “Okay, later, we'll discuss everything!” She looked at me with as much conviction as her tiny body could muster. I nodded and smiled. “But now, let me introduce you to Diva, my stallion. Just a warning, he lives up to the name periodically. I think it’s an adorable quirk for him and refuse to break it out of him. You’ll love him!” Liyah leads us to the stables, where we meet the horse. Liyah was right. We matched instantly. It isn’t easy for a shifter to bond with a stallion, but I never had those worries. I was always able to click with any animal, to the point where Liyah's brother spent a year calling me freaking snow white! I hated it, but he wasn’t wrong. I galloped across the equestrian field at dawn, the stallion I rode was kicking up dew as it raced toward the rising sun. Then I saw them. Liam and Breanne shared a white mare, ambling toward my direction. Breanne was dressed in her pristine white riding jodhpurs with the matching show coat, leaned back against Liam's chest. Liam's attire was the stark contrast of black on black. I watched him bend his head low, whispering something in Breanne’s ear, causing a fit of giggles from her. I had waited for him to return all night. When I had reached out and called him to ask if he would be returning that night, I was told, by him, that since Breanna needed an emergency appendectomy, he would not leave her side until she recovered. That was when I cut up our photos, burning them to ashes. As I watch them now, a question came to my mind, causing my brow to arch. When did appendectomy patients start riding horses the next day? My grip tightened on the reins just as Breanne spotted me. “Oh! Liam, how spooky. Doesn’t that woman look just like Claire!”At her teasing words, I watched as Liam's head snapped up. There, I sat astride my stallion, the tailored navy riding jacket accentuating my hourglass figure, my gaze glacial. I knew he felt it. Dismounting, Liam approached until he could only see the sharp angle of my jaw. "Sweetheart, since when do you ride? I thought you quit that. You should've told me you were coming." The memory of his and Breanne’s intimate pose churned my stomach. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from being sick at the thought before answering flatly. "Would you have answered if I called?" This acidic tone only emerged when I was furious. Liam's smile turned placating. "My fault—left my phone in the car. It turned out to be a false alarm about Breanne's appendix. Since she's competing in the International Equestrian Championships next month, I was only helping her practice." Breanne urged her mare forward, pouting. "Liam, why must we explain everything to her? Come back, we have more important things to focus on. You haven't finished teaching me." "An International Championship contender needs amateur instruction? How curious. I wonder if anyone else here is getting that kind of coaching? But, Liam, if she requires coaching, I'll do it." As Liam turned, my voice froze him. Liam’s expression initially fell flat at my words, but he quickly brightened at my offer. "Exactly! Breanne, Claire won that championship years ago." 'How touching that he finally remembered I have value,' I thought bitterly. Breanne bit her lip. "But—" After years together, I knew Breanne’s games. She wasn’t as nervous on a horse as she portrayed. It was all an act for Liam. "No buts." I raised my riding crop. "Let's ride." The crop came down on Breanne's mare, which bolted forward with a whinny as Breanne shrieked. Liam paled. "Claire! She wasn't ready—" "Real trainers surprise their students." My amber eyes glinted. “Your coddling would've kept her mediocre forever.” Dust sprayed Liam's face as I galloped after Breanne, leaving him standing there, cheeks burning as if slapped. Good. This was just the beginning of my resistance. Breanne and I raced across the field. Though I was starting late, my black stallion, Diva, was not one to be outshone, and we soon overtook Breanne's white mare. For three years, Breanne had only seen the docile, obedient Claire. This commanding version, I’m sure, was unnerving. I could hear her growling, which, to be honest, was only slowing her own horse down. Her mare would not be able to focus on a race, with its rider losing its hold over herself. It was bound to spook her mare soon, and if she weren’t careful, she would get bucked. But as the saying goes, not my circus, not my monkeys. Diva and I were focused on ourselves. I could sense Breanne's determination to beat me. But, no matter how she pushed her champion mare, I remained ahead. As Diva and I passed her again, I caught a flash of movement from Breanne out of the corner of my eye. She pulled a hairpin out of her pocket and hurled it at Diva. That hairpin had been a gift from her friend at her birthday party, and she had been keeping it close to her chest just now. It was made of silver, and the sharp end drove hard into Diva's rump. Diva was instantly startled. Despite my expert handling and calming charm, which I have often used in the past to soothe a panicked horse, Diva threw me. I felt the gnash from the rock sticking out from the ground, which I hit my head on. The impact sending black spots across my vision—and a cry in absolute agony. My abdominal area pinched and screamed with a sharp and sudden pain like nothing I have ever felt before. There was blood on my hand when I touched it. I needed to get up. I needed to get back and get medical help because I knew Breanne wasn’t going to get me any. As I tried to push myself up off the ground with one hand, while the other was wrapped tightly around my stomach, still crying in sheer pain, a polished boot came forcefully down, cracking the bones in my hand. "Ah—!" The pain forced a gasp through clenched teeth.
"Claire... you were pregnant?" Liam's voice cracked. The Alpha who had always looked right through me suddenly stood there like a man who had lost everything. "Two months," the doctor said. "The fall caused a complete placental abruption. She's lucky to be alive." The same fall Breanne caused. The same day he carried her in his arms – and left me bleeding in the dirt. I didn't look at him. If I did, I might remember how much I once loved him. "Why didn't you tell me?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "Would it have changed anything? You made your choice when you carried her away." His jaw clenched. "Claire..." For the first time, I met his eyes. My voice was ice-cold. "And today, I made my choice too. We're done." *** She lost his baby. He protected the wrong woman. And now he demands her blood – to save the one who took everything from her... *** I stood at the gate of the Sterling Moon Packhouse, clutching a cake box that had begun to melt in the summer heat. My usually pristine blonde hair was now stuck to my neck and face in damp strands, and my designer dress was now ruined with mud and swamp stains. I hadn't meant to arrive at my third mating anniversary looking like I had been dragged through a hedge backward and then tossed in the swamp lands beyond the pack grounds. But then again, being cornered and ambushed by rogues, conveniently knowing my whereabouts without an escort or protection, wasn't exactly part of my agenda either. A mysterious yet heroic stranger had rescued me and driven me back to the edge of my mate’s pack territory when Liam Sterling, my mate and the pack's Alpha, hadn't answered any of my fifteen frantic calls. I had almost convinced myself he was simply busy orchestrating some grand anniversary surprise. That had to be it. Otherwise, why else would he send me out alone for the cake retrieval and then not bother to answer my calls? I quickened my pace toward the entrance of the packhouse, not wanting to delay the celebration any longer than I already had. I rounded the corner only to stop dead at the sight before me. The entire packhouse had been transformed with floral arches, helium balloons, and an enormous banner. My fingers tightened around the cake box. I had doubts about walking into the grand hall; perhaps I should slip upstairs to change first. Then Liam's familiar voice called out. "There's my beautiful mate! Took you long enough, sweetheart. Everyone's waiting for the cake. Were the directions not clear enough?" He teased, not taking in the dishevelled state of my appearance or the fact that my smile didn’t reach my eyes. He often failed to see me. I looked up to find my mate looking devastatingly handsome in a white Tom Ford suit, his gray waistcoat accentuating those broad shoulders I used to trace my fingers over. He hadn't dressed like this for me in years. I pushed aside the gnawing doubts starting to fill my heart and embraced the fact that he was trying to make things right. This was not the time to voice my disappointments with his lack of attention or concern. We're here to celebrate our mate bond with the pack. This was also the year that he promised to swear me in as the official Luna, to lead by his side. Three years of proving myself capable despite not having a wolf of my own, and now here we were. My lips began curving into a smile despite myself. Maybe the rogues and the ambush, the ruined dress, the ignored calls—perhaps none of it mattered now that I was home. Liam would keep me safe, and we were going to announce that I was stepping into a role that should have been mine when we first mated. "Liam, I was just—" I was about to explain the rogues, the ambush, the mysterious saviour, but was cut off mid-sentence. "Liam! Is that my cake?" A shrill voice interrupted as Breanne Telder materialized behind Liam, looping her arm through his as though it was where she belonged. She was Liam’s father's Beta’s daughter. Otherwise known as the third wheel in our relationship and the pick me girl that Liam always did. She was also not supposed to be here. She was sent away a while ago, and Liam promised to focus solely on us. "You flew me home just for this birthday surprise? Best Alpha bestie ever!" The cake box slipped from my fingers, landing with a sickening splat on the custom marble flooring beneath me. The same flooring I wanted to either swallow me or Breanna up in this moment. Birthday surprise? What the heck did that mean? Those two words echoed in my skull like gunshots. For weeks, I had known Liam was planning something secretive. The custom-ordered flowers were delivered under the cover of darkness. The expensive Eclipse Stone rough he'd purchased at auction. All those whispered phone calls I had pretended not to hear. It all led to this moment, but it wasn’t the moment I had expected. I had woven every scrap of evidence into fantasies of candlelit vows renewed, of Liam dropping to one knee all over again. Even when he hadn't picked up during my attack from rogues, I had made excuses for him. Now Breanne's smug smile shattered those delusions like a hammer through stained glass. "What were you thinking, Claire?" Stephanie Sterling's razor-sharp heels clicked across the flooring as she advanced. "We've been waiting two hours for that cake! You can’t do one single task; no wonder you will never be Luna material for the Sterling Moon pack." Stephanie was Liam's mother. From the moment I mated into the Alpha family, Stephanie had made no secret of her dislike; she was the reason Liam was convinced to hold off and force me to prove myself as Luna material. Over time, that contempt had only grown bolder, more vicious, no longer even pretending to hide it. Failing to see Liam, their Alpha, standing up for me, much of the pack started to support and see the validity in the points that their retired Luna was making. My hands shook. "This was supposed to be our anniversary party." Liam caught my elbow and steered me out of the room for privacy. "Baby, I'd planned a surprise for you, but Breanne asked for a pack-wide birthday celebration when she returned, so—" "So, instead of standing up for your mate, yet again, you conceded and did what they wanted. It’s fine for me to be let down, but not her? Message received, Liam." I wrenched my arm free, the movement sending fresh pain through my bruised ribs from the attack. I doubled over with a gasp. Before Liam could reach for me, Stephanie's voice sliced through the garden again. "Liam! Stop coddling her and get over here. This is why the wolfless should never hold ranks; they're weak and attention grabbers. Forget the cake, we'll just serve the petit fours instead." "Coming." He hesitated, then pressed a kiss to my temple. "We'll talk later." I remained crouched in the foyer of the packhouse as another wave of pain, this one far deeper than physical, crashed over me. Not a single pack member had asked why I looked like I'd been in a car wreck, why I'd been crying. From the other room where everyone gathered, the opening chords of "Happy Birthday" floated toward me. Each syrupy note felt like another papercut to my heart. It hit me suddenly—I hadn't celebrated a birthday since mating into the Alpha family, not once, though my own fell just days apart from Breanne's. And Liam had known this; he made a joke about the coincidence of his two best gals' being birthday buddies, but mine was always overshadowed. He quickly forgot about mine. I wiped my cheeks, giving myself a self-mocking smile. I should have known better than to hope for something more than what I already received. As the sun dipped low, I rose, my shadow stretching lonely behind me. Without a word, I climbed the stairs and clicked the bedroom door shut of the Alpha suite. Under the bathroom's harsh lighting, I peeled off my ruined dress and threw it in the trash. Steam fogged the mirrors as I scrubbed at skin that still felt dirty from the rogue's hands. I stayed under the scalding water until my fingers pruned. Wrapped in an oversized robe, I sat curled on the window seat watching party lights twinkle below until the last guest departed. At 11:00 PM, the bedroom door finally creaked open. I didn't turn when Liam's familiar cologne filled the room. I heard him hang up his jacket, then felt his whiskey-warm hands on my shoulders. "Happy anniversary, my beautiful, stunning mate." His lips brushed my ear. "Guess what I got you?" I shrugged him off. "I honestly don't care." He knelt before me, producing a velvet box with the flourish of a magician. "I had this carved from that Eclipse Stone rough. It is rumoured to help awaken latent wolfen spirits, strengthen auras and bring new beginnings.” Liam fastened the pendant around my neck. The cold stone settled between my chest like a brand. "Stunning." He kissed the hollow of my throat. "I was thinking that it’s been three years since we mated, and you have done so well proving yourself to me and this pack. I want us to now try for a pup. Bring this pack a new heir.” "Yeah, that’s not happening," I rejected the idea instantly. His chuckle was dark velvet. "You won't have to lift a finger, darling. I'll do all the—" "Liam." I met his gaze for the first time that night. “I want to submit an official request to break our mate bond!” My mind was made up before he finally came to our room. This wasn't like my previous impulsive threats in an attempt to get him to see the mistakes he was continuously making in our bond. This time, I was genuinely determined to leave. Three years of mateship flashed through my mind. I had lost count of how many times Liam had prioritized Breanne over my feelings or dismissed me because his mother said so. Who was his mate, and who was just a friend? I could no longer answer that question, and I was tired of trying to defend us. We weren’t bonded. Not the way the typical Alpha and mate were. It was usual for an Alpha never to leave his Luna’s side. She was his number one priority, even though the pack came second. The Alpha's mate was the heart of the pack and respected as an equal, but I was neither of those things. I haven’t been from the start. Breanne, even though she was briefly sent away, was still respected and noticed more than I could even hope for. If someone kept treating you in ways you disliked, it was because you allowed it. I had let it slide every other time. But today, Liam had crossed my final line. This day was our third anniversary. I didn’t care that he forgot my birthday, dinners, or events we planned together. I did, however, care about this milestone moment. A promise he made was long forgotten. This was that tipping point for my patience. “Really, Claire? You are threatening to reject our mate bond again? Don't say that every time you're upset, sweetheart. I was wrong about today. I'll make it up to you tomorrow." My eyes showed no emotion. “Don't bother. Not everything can be made up, and you can only backburner your mate for so long before she grows tired of being at the bottom of the priorities, Liam.” "Of course, this can be fixed. There's always next year. We will have a pup by then, and you will have long forgotten this little hiccup and tantrum." Liam pushed me down onto the sofa, kissing my face tenderly. With my hands pinned above my head, I wasn’t able to push him off. He expected the topic of having pups would appease me and calm my boiling anger. I had had enough of his nonsense and non-committal ways. I stared blankly at the ceiling as tears unexpectedly rolled down my cheeks. I lay like a dead weight. In the past, whenever we would fight or I would throw a tantrum, as Liam would title it, all he would do was use the mate bond against me. His kisses, his touch, his desires would wear me down, and I would accept his hollowed words of apology and his flashy gifts as though they meant something more than pacifying childish behaviour, in his mind. But this time, even though he held me down and I couldn’t resist, I was also not participating or encouraging him to continue. He was so self-absorbed that he couldn’t even realize that I wasn’t a willing participant. I was motionless, soundless, non-responsive. As Liam kept kissing me, his hands touched every part of my bruised body, utterly unaware of the pain he was inflicting both physically and emotionally. I felt his body suddenly freeze at the sound of a whimpered sob that slipped out of me. He looked out with hooded eyes, which quickly sobered and turned serious when he saw the tears in my eyes. His expression was frozen in panic. "Baby, why are you crying?" He quickly turned on the light. "Wait—you seemed off when you came home. Did something happen?" Finally, he remembered, but the damage between us was already done. My heart twisted, wishing that it didn’t take crying while he wanted her attention to cover his mistakes for him to notice something was wrong. At the thought of how much distance was between us, more tears fell. Under the light, Liam finally saw the slight swelling on my face, the scratches on my arms and body, and the deep gash on my right leg with dried blood. His pupils contracted. "What happened?" I could sense his wolf stirring under the surface. It was clear that someone had hurt me, but they were only now realizing it. Just as I opened my mouth, his phone rang. I looked at the screen and rolled my eyes. Of course, it was Breanne. Liam sighed and offered a small apologetic smile before he answered in front of me. "Breanne, what's wrong?" "Liam, I think I ate something bad. My stomach hurts so much. Can you take me to the hospital?" Breanne's sugary voice came through. Liam automatically started to agree. I could see his eyes widen with panic at the thought that she was in pain. But right before he responded, he looked at me and my reddened, tear-filled eyes. "It's late. Claire and I are already in bed. Ask Mom if there's any medicine at home." Stephanie's sharp voice interrupted, "Liam, come now! This isn't ordinary pain. It could be appendicitis! She's pale as a ghost!" Liam's brow furrowed. "Fine. I'm coming." My heart sank like a stone. I shook my head in disbelief and turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. Yet again, I was pushed aside. Liam dressed quickly but hesitated at the door. After a long moment, he took my hand. "You're hurt too. Come with me, we'll get you checked at the hospital." That single word, "too", cut like a knife. I laughed dryly. "No need. Go ahead, play hero for another woman. If your mate's pain is less important than staying and understanding what happened, then your friend who has a stomach ache, don’t bother dragging me around like an accessory with false concern. I'd rather be alone." Liam stiffened. He opened his mouth to speak, but the phone kept ringing insistently. Finally, he sighed and pressed his black card into my hand. "Buy whatever you want. Consider it an apology." The door slammed shut. I weighed the card in my palm and smiled bitterly. Liam only ever had two ways to appease me—attention or money. It used to work. I fooled myself into believing it meant he cared, that he wasn’t good with expressing emotions, but I saw it for what it was now. This time, his sweet talk won't work. I walked to the closet and in the back corner, I pulled out my old suitcase. Inside was the most valuable thing I owned. My freedom. It was an official Rejection agreement signed the night before our mating. Back then, Liam had insisted on accepting our mate bond despite his family's objections. Afraid of being trapped in a toxic pack and mating, I had made him sign this; if I ever wanted to break the bond, he had to agree unconditionally. I thought we’d never need it. Liam had probably forgotten it existed. But I hadn't. During one fight, I had even consulted a lawyer who confirmed its validity. I could file for an official rejection of the bond with just this document and the one-month cooling-off period. Since he had already signed it, there was no need for Liam's consent for me to file it now. The Elders within the Council would perform the rejection ceremony within their own chambers. There was no need for either of us to be present. That was typically why Alphas refrained from preemptively signing these types of contracts. It relinquished control without their knowledge. Now was the time. I didn't sleep all night; I couldn’t. Instead, I spent those hours cutting up every photograph of us together. There weren’t many, I realized. My phone was filled with pictures of Liam whenever I could sneak photos when he was distracted or busy. He was honestly an Adonis of a man. But three years together, we had exactly twenty-three pictures of us together as a couple, and only thirteen of those were just Liam and me. The remaining ten were with Breanne. I snuck downstairs before anyone else woke up and went into Liam's office. There on the desk was a picture. It was of him and Breanne, hugging and smiling into the camera. They looked happy. Too happy. My inner bitter self was vomiting at the sight. On the other side of the desk was a picture of the three of us. That's right, not me and my mate. It was Breanne pressed against Liam's side, smiling up at him, and I was smiling at the camera on the other side. My arm was linked around his, and he was smiling, but for which female in the picture, your guess was as good as mine. I took the picture out of the frame, and bent it so that I was folded to the back. There, now he had two perfect couple pictures of him and Breanne. I will simply bow out of this weird three-way relationship. By dawn, I had already filed the official rejection agreement papers at the Council's registry office. Then I donated all the designer outfits Liam had bought me to charity. Afterward, I drove out of the pack grounds for a few hours to pawn every piece of jewelry he'd ever given me at the local broker's. I didn’t want it getting back to Liam, or the pack gossip mill to run rampant with their own speculations. Not yet anyway. It was a surprisingly large chunk of money in return, one thing I knew for sure about Liam. When he was grovelling for his indifferences and mistakes, he never cheaped out on the apology jewelry. The broker didn’t have the full amount on hand, so I opted to have it wired, which worked fine for me. I opened a new bank account and provided them with the necessary information. I returned to the packhouse early that afternoon. I had requested that the gardener cut down the Cherry Blossom tree in the pack’s courtyard. He was ordered to burn every branch and leaf until only ashes remained. When I agreed to mate with Liam, I had my reservations because his family didn’t support their Alpha heir accepting the bond to a wolfless orphan with average financial standings. Liam planted the tree as a token of his pledge of devotion to us and our bond. I fell for it, thinking it would make us stronger. But I was wrong. By late afternoon, I had either sold, donated or destroyed every token of Liam and his devotion to me and our bond: everything but the Eclipse stone pendant. Some legends state that the Moon Goddess herself blessed the eclipse stone to strengthen the will of the wolfless. Call me a fool, but it still served as a sliver of proof that at some point, he did care enough to seek out the stone for me. Now that everything was removed, it was time for me to step out and prepare everything for my new life after this month-long cooldown period ended, and I was no longer the unwanted mate of Alpha Liam Sterling. I knew I had to be smart and figure out my path now, as I had no family to turn to once the rejection was completed. When I was seven, my father had disappeared after a mountain climbing accident. It was speculated that rogues were involved, as they were heavy in the area at the time. My mother re-mated not long afterwards, and we became part of the Thorne family. They were the overlords, if you will, of the Crown of Thornes Pack, rivals of The Sterling Moon pack and next door neighbours to the territory. My mother left the Thorne family after accusations and rumours of her infidelity and gambling debts. I didn’t believe it, but it seemed that everyone else did. I had no idea where she even went. She certainly didn’t seek me out after she left that night, abandoning me. The only person who would even be considered family at this point was Lucien Thorne. He was my former stepbrother from my mother's second mating. However, Lucien was notorious for his short temper, and he constantly mistreated me while we lived under the same roof, so I would sooner wind up homeless than seek his help. The heat of Liam’s black card was burning a hole in my pocket, serving as a reminder of his literal words: “Buy whatever you want and consider it as an apology.” Okay! I will. I went to the bank and after the teller spoke with the branch manager to confirm my approval of using the Alpha’s account for a withdrawal, yup, that's right, I held no status, so I wasn’t even recognized with authority over our marital account; I withdrew one million dollars from his account. It was insulting and frustrating to know that Breanne can walk in here and not have as many hoops to jump through to get at my mate’s money. But that’s fine. I have already started to let go of my hold on him emotionally. My head has already done so. As I waited for the teller to return with the funds, my phone rang. Liyah Cruz. She was my closest friend before I accepted the bond with Liam. Liam didn’t like her influence on me, as he put it, so over the years, our friendship became strained. For her to be reaching out and calling me now, it had to be important. "Liyah? What's wrong?" I answered right away. "Oh, thank the Goddess. Claire, the International Equestrian Championships start in a month, but I just got injured during training." Liyah's voice was thick with disappointment. "Claire, you were the most talented rider we knew. I could think of no one else to take over. Could you compete in my place?" The memories came flooding back. Had I not mated with Liam, I might have become as renowned as Liyah in equestrian circles. But Liam had disapproved of me riding; he often called it unladylike. He'd gone as far as going behind my back and selling my beloved white stallion, Mirage, to a good owner, cutting off my last connection to the sport. The silence stretched until Liyah sighed. "I forgot your mate doesn't allow—" "I'll do it," I interrupted. "One month. I'll be ready." Liyah's excited squeal pierced through the receiver. "Really? Oh my Goddess! Everyone always said you shouldn't have given up your talent for mating! You're finally coming back to us!" My hand trembled around the phone. Yes, before mating into the Sterling Moon pack and Alpha family, I had shone so brightly. Before Liam, I used to be many things. I was the university's star student—straight A's in every subject. A gifted painter, champion rider, runway model, master chef, and award-winning debater—there was nothing I couldn't excel at. But three years of mating had eroded it all. I hadn't touched a paintbrush in years. I have forgotten how to walk a runway, and even lost my sharp tongue in arguments—forced to submit to even my mate's family and house staff. Only my cooking skills remained polished because I have cooked for Liam every single day since the beginning of our bond acceptance. Only now did I realize how much of myself I had sacrificed. But it wasn't too late. I could still start over. This was that chance to start taking my life by the reins, so to speak, and returning to the Claire that used to walk proudly with her chin held high. I met Liyah at the stables we once rode at together. “Thank you, Claire-bear. I can’t believe you are actually here.” Liyah launched herself on top of me, despite her knee brace. I thought I understood what I gave up to be with Liam, my mate, but I didn’t understand a fraction of it. This crazy woman, who used to be my world, wrapped around me. How did I let him separate us? “It’s me who should thank you, Lee-Lee. I’ve missed you. I’m sorry. No more boys between us, I promise.” I sobbed. Liyah looked up, and I saw the understanding in her eyes. We both wiped our faces and laughed at our equally blotchy faces. “Okay, later, we'll discuss everything!” She looked at me with as much conviction as her tiny body could muster. I nodded and smiled. “But now, let me introduce you to Diva, my stallion. Just a warning, he lives up to the name periodically. I think it’s an adorable quirk for him and refuse to break it out of him. You’ll love him!” Liyah leads us to the stables, where we meet the horse. Liyah was right. We matched instantly. It isn’t easy for a shifter to bond with a stallion, but I never had those worries. I was always able to click with any animal, to the point where Liyah's brother spent a year calling me freaking snow white! I hated it, but he wasn’t wrong. I galloped across the equestrian field at dawn, the stallion I rode was kicking up dew as it raced toward the rising sun. Then I saw them. Liam and Breanne shared a white mare, ambling toward my direction. Breanne was dressed in her pristine white riding jodhpurs with the matching show coat, leaned back against Liam's chest. Liam's attire was the stark contrast of black on black. I watched him bend his head low, whispering something in Breanne’s ear, causing a fit of giggles from her. I had waited for him to return all night. When I had reached out and called him to ask if he would be returning that night, I was told, by him, that since Breanna needed an emergency appendectomy, he would not leave her side until she recovered. That was when I cut up our photos, burning them to ashes. As I watch them now, a question came to my mind, causing my brow to arch. When did appendectomy patients start riding horses the next day? My grip tightened on the reins just as Breanne spotted me. “Oh! Liam, how spooky. Doesn’t that woman look just like Claire!”At her teasing words, I watched as Liam's head snapped up. There, I sat astride my stallion, the tailored navy riding jacket accentuating my hourglass figure, my gaze glacial. I knew he felt it. Dismounting, Liam approached until he could only see the sharp angle of my jaw. "Sweetheart, since when do you ride? I thought you quit that. You should've told me you were coming." The memory of his and Breanne’s intimate pose churned my stomach. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from being sick at the thought before answering flatly. "Would you have answered if I called?" This acidic tone only emerged when I was furious. Liam's smile turned placating. "My fault—left my phone in the car. It turned out to be a false alarm about Breanne's appendix. Since she's competing in the International Equestrian Championships next month, I was only helping her practice." Breanne urged her mare forward, pouting. "Liam, why must we explain everything to her? Come back, we have more important things to focus on. You haven't finished teaching me." "An International Championship contender needs amateur instruction? How curious. I wonder if anyone else here is getting that kind of coaching? But, Liam, if she requires coaching, I'll do it." As Liam turned, my voice froze him. Liam’s expression initially fell flat at my words, but he quickly brightened at my offer. "Exactly! Breanne, Claire won that championship years ago." 'How touching that he finally remembered I have value,' I thought bitterly. Breanne bit her lip. "But—" After years together, I knew Breanne’s games. She wasn’t as nervous on a horse as she portrayed. It was all an act for Liam. "No buts." I raised my riding crop. "Let's ride." The crop came down on Breanne's mare, which bolted forward with a whinny as Breanne shrieked. Liam paled. "Claire! She wasn't ready—" "Real trainers surprise their students." My amber eyes glinted. “Your coddling would've kept her mediocre forever.” Dust sprayed Liam's face as I galloped after Breanne, leaving him standing there, cheeks burning as if slapped. Good. This was just the beginning of my resistance. Breanne and I raced across the field. Though I was starting late, my black stallion, Diva, was not one to be outshone, and we soon overtook Breanne's white mare. For three years, Breanne had only seen the docile, obedient Claire. This commanding version, I’m sure, was unnerving. I could hear her growling, which, to be honest, was only slowing her own horse down. Her mare would not be able to focus on a race, with its rider losing its hold over herself. It was bound to spook her mare soon, and if she weren’t careful, she would get bucked. But as the saying goes, not my circus, not my monkeys. Diva and I were focused on ourselves. I could sense Breanne's determination to beat me. But, no matter how she pushed her champion mare, I remained ahead. As Diva and I passed her again, I caught a flash of movement from Breanne out of the corner of my eye. She pulled a hairpin out of her pocket and hurled it at Diva. That hairpin had been a gift from her friend at her birthday party, and she had been keeping it close to her chest just now. It was made of silver, and the sharp end drove hard into Diva's rump. Diva was instantly startled. Despite my expert handling and calming charm, which I have often used in the past to soothe a panicked horse, Diva threw me. I felt the gnash from the rock sticking out from the ground, which I hit my head on. The impact sending black spots across my vision—and a cry in absolute agony. My abdominal area pinched and screamed with a sharp and sudden pain like nothing I have ever felt before. There was blood on my hand when I touched it. I needed to get up. I needed to get back and get medical help because I knew Breanne wasn’t going to get me any. As I tried to push myself up off the ground with one hand, while the other was wrapped tightly around my stomach, still crying in sheer pain, a polished boot came forcefully down, cracking the bones in my hand. "Ah—!" The pain forced a gasp through clenched teeth.
"Claire... you were pregnant?" Liam's voice cracked. The Alpha who had always looked right through me suddenly stood there like a man who had lost everything. "Two months," the doctor said. "The fall caused a complete placental abruption. She's lucky to be alive." The same fall Breanne caused. The same day he carried her in his arms – and left me bleeding in the dirt. I didn't look at him. If I did, I might remember how much I once loved him. "Why didn't you tell me?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "Would it have changed anything? You made your choice when you carried her away." His jaw clenched. "Claire..." For the first time, I met his eyes. My voice was ice-cold. "And today, I made my choice too. We're done." *** She lost his baby. He protected the wrong woman. And now he demands her blood – to save the one who took everything from her... *** I stood at the gate of the Sterling Moon Packhouse, clutching a cake box that had begun to melt in the summer heat. My usually pristine blonde hair was now stuck to my neck and face in damp strands, and my designer dress was now ruined with mud and swamp stains. I hadn't meant to arrive at my third mating anniversary looking like I had been dragged through a hedge backward and then tossed in the swamp lands beyond the pack grounds. But then again, being cornered and ambushed by rogues, conveniently knowing my whereabouts without an escort or protection, wasn't exactly part of my agenda either. A mysterious yet heroic stranger had rescued me and driven me back to the edge of my mate’s pack territory when Liam Sterling, my mate and the pack's Alpha, hadn't answered any of my fifteen frantic calls. I had almost convinced myself he was simply busy orchestrating some grand anniversary surprise. That had to be it. Otherwise, why else would he send me out alone for the cake retrieval and then not bother to answer my calls? I quickened my pace toward the entrance of the packhouse, not wanting to delay the celebration any longer than I already had. I rounded the corner only to stop dead at the sight before me. The entire packhouse had been transformed with floral arches, helium balloons, and an enormous banner. My fingers tightened around the cake box. I had doubts about walking into the grand hall; perhaps I should slip upstairs to change first. Then Liam's familiar voice called out. "There's my beautiful mate! Took you long enough, sweetheart. Everyone's waiting for the cake. Were the directions not clear enough?" He teased, not taking in the dishevelled state of my appearance or the fact that my smile didn’t reach my eyes. He often failed to see me. I looked up to find my mate looking devastatingly handsome in a white Tom Ford suit, his gray waistcoat accentuating those broad shoulders I used to trace my fingers over. He hadn't dressed like this for me in years. I pushed aside the gnawing doubts starting to fill my heart and embraced the fact that he was trying to make things right. This was not the time to voice my disappointments with his lack of attention or concern. We're here to celebrate our mate bond with the pack. This was also the year that he promised to swear me in as the official Luna, to lead by his side. Three years of proving myself capable despite not having a wolf of my own, and now here we were. My lips began curving into a smile despite myself. Maybe the rogues and the ambush, the ruined dress, the ignored calls—perhaps none of it mattered now that I was home. Liam would keep me safe, and we were going to announce that I was stepping into a role that should have been mine when we first mated. "Liam, I was just—" I was about to explain the rogues, the ambush, the mysterious saviour, but was cut off mid-sentence. "Liam! Is that my cake?" A shrill voice interrupted as Breanne Telder materialized behind Liam, looping her arm through his as though it was where she belonged. She was Liam’s father's Beta’s daughter. Otherwise known as the third wheel in our relationship and the pick me girl that Liam always did. She was also not supposed to be here. She was sent away a while ago, and Liam promised to focus solely on us. "You flew me home just for this birthday surprise? Best Alpha bestie ever!" The cake box slipped from my fingers, landing with a sickening splat on the custom marble flooring beneath me. The same flooring I wanted to either swallow me or Breanna up in this moment. Birthday surprise? What the heck did that mean? Those two words echoed in my skull like gunshots. For weeks, I had known Liam was planning something secretive. The custom-ordered flowers were delivered under the cover of darkness. The expensive Eclipse Stone rough he'd purchased at auction. All those whispered phone calls I had pretended not to hear. It all led to this moment, but it wasn’t the moment I had expected. I had woven every scrap of evidence into fantasies of candlelit vows renewed, of Liam dropping to one knee all over again. Even when he hadn't picked up during my attack from rogues, I had made excuses for him. Now Breanne's smug smile shattered those delusions like a hammer through stained glass. "What were you thinking, Claire?" Stephanie Sterling's razor-sharp heels clicked across the flooring as she advanced. "We've been waiting two hours for that cake! You can’t do one single task; no wonder you will never be Luna material for the Sterling Moon pack." Stephanie was Liam's mother. From the moment I mated into the Alpha family, Stephanie had made no secret of her dislike; she was the reason Liam was convinced to hold off and force me to prove myself as Luna material. Over time, that contempt had only grown bolder, more vicious, no longer even pretending to hide it. Failing to see Liam, their Alpha, standing up for me, much of the pack started to support and see the validity in the points that their retired Luna was making. My hands shook. "This was supposed to be our anniversary party." Liam caught my elbow and steered me out of the room for privacy. "Baby, I'd planned a surprise for you, but Breanne asked for a pack-wide birthday celebration when she returned, so—" "So, instead of standing up for your mate, yet again, you conceded and did what they wanted. It’s fine for me to be let down, but not her? Message received, Liam." I wrenched my arm free, the movement sending fresh pain through my bruised ribs from the attack. I doubled over with a gasp. Before Liam could reach for me, Stephanie's voice sliced through the garden again. "Liam! Stop coddling her and get over here. This is why the wolfless should never hold ranks; they're weak and attention grabbers. Forget the cake, we'll just serve the petit fours instead." "Coming." He hesitated, then pressed a kiss to my temple. "We'll talk later." I remained crouched in the foyer of the packhouse as another wave of pain, this one far deeper than physical, crashed over me. Not a single pack member had asked why I looked like I'd been in a car wreck, why I'd been crying. From the other room where everyone gathered, the opening chords of "Happy Birthday" floated toward me. Each syrupy note felt like another papercut to my heart. It hit me suddenly—I hadn't celebrated a birthday since mating into the Alpha family, not once, though my own fell just days apart from Breanne's. And Liam had known this; he made a joke about the coincidence of his two best gals' being birthday buddies, but mine was always overshadowed. He quickly forgot about mine. I wiped my cheeks, giving myself a self-mocking smile. I should have known better than to hope for something more than what I already received. As the sun dipped low, I rose, my shadow stretching lonely behind me. Without a word, I climbed the stairs and clicked the bedroom door shut of the Alpha suite. Under the bathroom's harsh lighting, I peeled off my ruined dress and threw it in the trash. Steam fogged the mirrors as I scrubbed at skin that still felt dirty from the rogue's hands. I stayed under the scalding water until my fingers pruned. Wrapped in an oversized robe, I sat curled on the window seat watching party lights twinkle below until the last guest departed. At 11:00 PM, the bedroom door finally creaked open. I didn't turn when Liam's familiar cologne filled the room. I heard him hang up his jacket, then felt his whiskey-warm hands on my shoulders. "Happy anniversary, my beautiful, stunning mate." His lips brushed my ear. "Guess what I got you?" I shrugged him off. "I honestly don't care." He knelt before me, producing a velvet box with the flourish of a magician. "I had this carved from that Eclipse Stone rough. It is rumoured to help awaken latent wolfen spirits, strengthen auras and bring new beginnings.” Liam fastened the pendant around my neck. The cold stone settled between my chest like a brand. "Stunning." He kissed the hollow of my throat. "I was thinking that it’s been three years since we mated, and you have done so well proving yourself to me and this pack. I want us to now try for a pup. Bring this pack a new heir.” "Yeah, that’s not happening," I rejected the idea instantly. His chuckle was dark velvet. "You won't have to lift a finger, darling. I'll do all the—" "Liam." I met his gaze for the first time that night. “I want to submit an official request to break our mate bond!” My mind was made up before he finally came to our room. This wasn't like my previous impulsive threats in an attempt to get him to see the mistakes he was continuously making in our bond. This time, I was genuinely determined to leave. Three years of mateship flashed through my mind. I had lost count of how many times Liam had prioritized Breanne over my feelings or dismissed me because his mother said so. Who was his mate, and who was just a friend? I could no longer answer that question, and I was tired of trying to defend us. We weren’t bonded. Not the way the typical Alpha and mate were. It was usual for an Alpha never to leave his Luna’s side. She was his number one priority, even though the pack came second. The Alpha's mate was the heart of the pack and respected as an equal, but I was neither of those things. I haven’t been from the start. Breanne, even though she was briefly sent away, was still respected and noticed more than I could even hope for. If someone kept treating you in ways you disliked, it was because you allowed it. I had let it slide every other time. But today, Liam had crossed my final line. This day was our third anniversary. I didn’t care that he forgot my birthday, dinners, or events we planned together. I did, however, care about this milestone moment. A promise he made was long forgotten. This was that tipping point for my patience. “Really, Claire? You are threatening to reject our mate bond again? Don't say that every time you're upset, sweetheart. I was wrong about today. I'll make it up to you tomorrow." My eyes showed no emotion. “Don't bother. Not everything can be made up, and you can only backburner your mate for so long before she grows tired of being at the bottom of the priorities, Liam.” "Of course, this can be fixed. There's always next year. We will have a pup by then, and you will have long forgotten this little hiccup and tantrum." Liam pushed me down onto the sofa, kissing my face tenderly. With my hands pinned above my head, I wasn’t able to push him off. He expected the topic of having pups would appease me and calm my boiling anger. I had had enough of his nonsense and non-committal ways. I stared blankly at the ceiling as tears unexpectedly rolled down my cheeks. I lay like a dead weight. In the past, whenever we would fight or I would throw a tantrum, as Liam would title it, all he would do was use the mate bond against me. His kisses, his touch, his desires would wear me down, and I would accept his hollowed words of apology and his flashy gifts as though they meant something more than pacifying childish behaviour, in his mind. But this time, even though he held me down and I couldn’t resist, I was also not participating or encouraging him to continue. He was so self-absorbed that he couldn’t even realize that I wasn’t a willing participant. I was motionless, soundless, non-responsive. As Liam kept kissing me, his hands touched every part of my bruised body, utterly unaware of the pain he was inflicting both physically and emotionally. I felt his body suddenly freeze at the sound of a whimpered sob that slipped out of me. He looked out with hooded eyes, which quickly sobered and turned serious when he saw the tears in my eyes. His expression was frozen in panic. "Baby, why are you crying?" He quickly turned on the light. "Wait—you seemed off when you came home. Did something happen?" Finally, he remembered, but the damage between us was already done. My heart twisted, wishing that it didn’t take crying while he wanted her attention to cover his mistakes for him to notice something was wrong. At the thought of how much distance was between us, more tears fell. Under the light, Liam finally saw the slight swelling on my face, the scratches on my arms and body, and the deep gash on my right leg with dried blood. His pupils contracted. "What happened?" I could sense his wolf stirring under the surface. It was clear that someone had hurt me, but they were only now realizing it. Just as I opened my mouth, his phone rang. I looked at the screen and rolled my eyes. Of course, it was Breanne. Liam sighed and offered a small apologetic smile before he answered in front of me. "Breanne, what's wrong?" "Liam, I think I ate something bad. My stomach hurts so much. Can you take me to the hospital?" Breanne's sugary voice came through. Liam automatically started to agree. I could see his eyes widen with panic at the thought that she was in pain. But right before he responded, he looked at me and my reddened, tear-filled eyes. "It's late. Claire and I are already in bed. Ask Mom if there's any medicine at home." Stephanie's sharp voice interrupted, "Liam, come now! This isn't ordinary pain. It could be appendicitis! She's pale as a ghost!" Liam's brow furrowed. "Fine. I'm coming." My heart sank like a stone. I shook my head in disbelief and turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. Yet again, I was pushed aside. Liam dressed quickly but hesitated at the door. After a long moment, he took my hand. "You're hurt too. Come with me, we'll get you checked at the hospital." That single word, "too", cut like a knife. I laughed dryly. "No need. Go ahead, play hero for another woman. If your mate's pain is less important than staying and understanding what happened, then your friend who has a stomach ache, don’t bother dragging me around like an accessory with false concern. I'd rather be alone." Liam stiffened. He opened his mouth to speak, but the phone kept ringing insistently. Finally, he sighed and pressed his black card into my hand. "Buy whatever you want. Consider it an apology." The door slammed shut. I weighed the card in my palm and smiled bitterly. Liam only ever had two ways to appease me—attention or money. It used to work. I fooled myself into believing it meant he cared, that he wasn’t good with expressing emotions, but I saw it for what it was now. This time, his sweet talk won't work. I walked to the closet and in the back corner, I pulled out my old suitcase. Inside was the most valuable thing I owned. My freedom. It was an official Rejection agreement signed the night before our mating. Back then, Liam had insisted on accepting our mate bond despite his family's objections. Afraid of being trapped in a toxic pack and mating, I had made him sign this; if I ever wanted to break the bond, he had to agree unconditionally. I thought we’d never need it. Liam had probably forgotten it existed. But I hadn't. During one fight, I had even consulted a lawyer who confirmed its validity. I could file for an official rejection of the bond with just this document and the one-month cooling-off period. Since he had already signed it, there was no need for Liam's consent for me to file it now. The Elders within the Council would perform the rejection ceremony within their own chambers. There was no need for either of us to be present. That was typically why Alphas refrained from preemptively signing these types of contracts. It relinquished control without their knowledge. Now was the time. I didn't sleep all night; I couldn’t. Instead, I spent those hours cutting up every photograph of us together. There weren’t many, I realized. My phone was filled with pictures of Liam whenever I could sneak photos when he was distracted or busy. He was honestly an Adonis of a man. But three years together, we had exactly twenty-three pictures of us together as a couple, and only thirteen of those were just Liam and me. The remaining ten were with Breanne. I snuck downstairs before anyone else woke up and went into Liam's office. There on the desk was a picture. It was of him and Breanne, hugging and smiling into the camera. They looked happy. Too happy. My inner bitter self was vomiting at the sight. On the other side of the desk was a picture of the three of us. That's right, not me and my mate. It was Breanne pressed against Liam's side, smiling up at him, and I was smiling at the camera on the other side. My arm was linked around his, and he was smiling, but for which female in the picture, your guess was as good as mine. I took the picture out of the frame, and bent it so that I was folded to the back. There, now he had two perfect couple pictures of him and Breanne. I will simply bow out of this weird three-way relationship. By dawn, I had already filed the official rejection agreement papers at the Council's registry office. Then I donated all the designer outfits Liam had bought me to charity. Afterward, I drove out of the pack grounds for a few hours to pawn every piece of jewelry he'd ever given me at the local broker's. I didn’t want it getting back to Liam, or the pack gossip mill to run rampant with their own speculations. Not yet anyway. It was a surprisingly large chunk of money in return, one thing I knew for sure about Liam. When he was grovelling for his indifferences and mistakes, he never cheaped out on the apology jewelry. The broker didn’t have the full amount on hand, so I opted to have it wired, which worked fine for me. I opened a new bank account and provided them with the necessary information. I returned to the packhouse early that afternoon. I had requested that the gardener cut down the Cherry Blossom tree in the pack’s courtyard. He was ordered to burn every branch and leaf until only ashes remained. When I agreed to mate with Liam, I had my reservations because his family didn’t support their Alpha heir accepting the bond to a wolfless orphan with average financial standings. Liam planted the tree as a token of his pledge of devotion to us and our bond. I fell for it, thinking it would make us stronger. But I was wrong. By late afternoon, I had either sold, donated or destroyed every token of Liam and his devotion to me and our bond: everything but the Eclipse stone pendant. Some legends state that the Moon Goddess herself blessed the eclipse stone to strengthen the will of the wolfless. Call me a fool, but it still served as a sliver of proof that at some point, he did care enough to seek out the stone for me. Now that everything was removed, it was time for me to step out and prepare everything for my new life after this month-long cooldown period ended, and I was no longer the unwanted mate of Alpha Liam Sterling. I knew I had to be smart and figure out my path now, as I had no family to turn to once the rejection was completed. When I was seven, my father had disappeared after a mountain climbing accident. It was speculated that rogues were involved, as they were heavy in the area at the time. My mother re-mated not long afterwards, and we became part of the Thorne family. They were the overlords, if you will, of the Crown of Thornes Pack, rivals of The Sterling Moon pack and next door neighbours to the territory. My mother left the Thorne family after accusations and rumours of her infidelity and gambling debts. I didn’t believe it, but it seemed that everyone else did. I had no idea where she even went. She certainly didn’t seek me out after she left that night, abandoning me. The only person who would even be considered family at this point was Lucien Thorne. He was my former stepbrother from my mother's second mating. However, Lucien was notorious for his short temper, and he constantly mistreated me while we lived under the same roof, so I would sooner wind up homeless than seek his help. The heat of Liam’s black card was burning a hole in my pocket, serving as a reminder of his literal words: “Buy whatever you want and consider it as an apology.” Okay! I will. I went to the bank and after the teller spoke with the branch manager to confirm my approval of using the Alpha’s account for a withdrawal, yup, that's right, I held no status, so I wasn’t even recognized with authority over our marital account; I withdrew one million dollars from his account. It was insulting and frustrating to know that Breanne can walk in here and not have as many hoops to jump through to get at my mate’s money. But that’s fine. I have already started to let go of my hold on him emotionally. My head has already done so. As I waited for the teller to return with the funds, my phone rang. Liyah Cruz. She was my closest friend before I accepted the bond with Liam. Liam didn’t like her influence on me, as he put it, so over the years, our friendship became strained. For her to be reaching out and calling me now, it had to be important. "Liyah? What's wrong?" I answered right away. "Oh, thank the Goddess. Claire, the International Equestrian Championships start in a month, but I just got injured during training." Liyah's voice was thick with disappointment. "Claire, you were the most talented rider we knew. I could think of no one else to take over. Could you compete in my place?" The memories came flooding back. Had I not mated with Liam, I might have become as renowned as Liyah in equestrian circles. But Liam had disapproved of me riding; he often called it unladylike. He'd gone as far as going behind my back and selling my beloved white stallion, Mirage, to a good owner, cutting off my last connection to the sport. The silence stretched until Liyah sighed. "I forgot your mate doesn't allow—" "I'll do it," I interrupted. "One month. I'll be ready." Liyah's excited squeal pierced through the receiver. "Really? Oh my Goddess! Everyone always said you shouldn't have given up your talent for mating! You're finally coming back to us!" My hand trembled around the phone. Yes, before mating into the Sterling Moon pack and Alpha family, I had shone so brightly. Before Liam, I used to be many things. I was the university's star student—straight A's in every subject. A gifted painter, champion rider, runway model, master chef, and award-winning debater—there was nothing I couldn't excel at. But three years of mating had eroded it all. I hadn't touched a paintbrush in years. I have forgotten how to walk a runway, and even lost my sharp tongue in arguments—forced to submit to even my mate's family and house staff. Only my cooking skills remained polished because I have cooked for Liam every single day since the beginning of our bond acceptance. Only now did I realize how much of myself I had sacrificed. But it wasn't too late. I could still start over. This was that chance to start taking my life by the reins, so to speak, and returning to the Claire that used to walk proudly with her chin held high. I met Liyah at the stables we once rode at together. “Thank you, Claire-bear. I can’t believe you are actually here.” Liyah launched herself on top of me, despite her knee brace. I thought I understood what I gave up to be with Liam, my mate, but I didn’t understand a fraction of it. This crazy woman, who used to be my world, wrapped around me. How did I let him separate us? “It’s me who should thank you, Lee-Lee. I’ve missed you. I’m sorry. No more boys between us, I promise.” I sobbed. Liyah looked up, and I saw the understanding in her eyes. We both wiped our faces and laughed at our equally blotchy faces. “Okay, later, we'll discuss everything!” She looked at me with as much conviction as her tiny body could muster. I nodded and smiled. “But now, let me introduce you to Diva, my stallion. Just a warning, he lives up to the name periodically. I think it’s an adorable quirk for him and refuse to break it out of him. You’ll love him!” Liyah leads us to the stables, where we meet the horse. Liyah was right. We matched instantly. It isn’t easy for a shifter to bond with a stallion, but I never had those worries. I was always able to click with any animal, to the point where Liyah's brother spent a year calling me freaking snow white! I hated it, but he wasn’t wrong. I galloped across the equestrian field at dawn, the stallion I rode was kicking up dew as it raced toward the rising sun. Then I saw them. Liam and Breanne shared a white mare, ambling toward my direction. Breanne was dressed in her pristine white riding jodhpurs with the matching show coat, leaned back against Liam's chest. Liam's attire was the stark contrast of black on black. I watched him bend his head low, whispering something in Breanne’s ear, causing a fit of giggles from her. I had waited for him to return all night. When I had reached out and called him to ask if he would be returning that night, I was told, by him, that since Breanna needed an emergency appendectomy, he would not leave her side until she recovered. That was when I cut up our photos, burning them to ashes. As I watch them now, a question came to my mind, causing my brow to arch. When did appendectomy patients start riding horses the next day? My grip tightened on the reins just as Breanne spotted me. “Oh! Liam, how spooky. Doesn’t that woman look just like Claire!”At her teasing words, I watched as Liam's head snapped up. There, I sat astride my stallion, the tailored navy riding jacket accentuating my hourglass figure, my gaze glacial. I knew he felt it. Dismounting, Liam approached until he could only see the sharp angle of my jaw. "Sweetheart, since when do you ride? I thought you quit that. You should've told me you were coming." The memory of his and Breanne’s intimate pose churned my stomach. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from being sick at the thought before answering flatly. "Would you have answered if I called?" This acidic tone only emerged when I was furious. Liam's smile turned placating. "My fault—left my phone in the car. It turned out to be a false alarm about Breanne's appendix. Since she's competing in the International Equestrian Championships next month, I was only helping her practice." Breanne urged her mare forward, pouting. "Liam, why must we explain everything to her? Come back, we have more important things to focus on. You haven't finished teaching me." "An International Championship contender needs amateur instruction? How curious. I wonder if anyone else here is getting that kind of coaching? But, Liam, if she requires coaching, I'll do it." As Liam turned, my voice froze him. Liam’s expression initially fell flat at my words, but he quickly brightened at my offer. "Exactly! Breanne, Claire won that championship years ago." 'How touching that he finally remembered I have value,' I thought bitterly. Breanne bit her lip. "But—" After years together, I knew Breanne’s games. She wasn’t as nervous on a horse as she portrayed. It was all an act for Liam. "No buts." I raised my riding crop. "Let's ride." The crop came down on Breanne's mare, which bolted forward with a whinny as Breanne shrieked. Liam paled. "Claire! She wasn't ready—" "Real trainers surprise their students." My amber eyes glinted. “Your coddling would've kept her mediocre forever.” Dust sprayed Liam's face as I galloped after Breanne, leaving him standing there, cheeks burning as if slapped. Good. This was just the beginning of my resistance. Breanne and I raced across the field. Though I was starting late, my black stallion, Diva, was not one to be outshone, and we soon overtook Breanne's white mare. For three years, Breanne had only seen the docile, obedient Claire. This commanding version, I’m sure, was unnerving. I could hear her growling, which, to be honest, was only slowing her own horse down. Her mare would not be able to focus on a race, with its rider losing its hold over herself. It was bound to spook her mare soon, and if she weren’t careful, she would get bucked. But as the saying goes, not my circus, not my monkeys. Diva and I were focused on ourselves. I could sense Breanne's determination to beat me. But, no matter how she pushed her champion mare, I remained ahead. As Diva and I passed her again, I caught a flash of movement from Breanne out of the corner of my eye. She pulled a hairpin out of her pocket and hurled it at Diva. That hairpin had been a gift from her friend at her birthday party, and she had been keeping it close to her chest just now. It was made of silver, and the sharp end drove hard into Diva's rump. Diva was instantly startled. Despite my expert handling and calming charm, which I have often used in the past to soothe a panicked horse, Diva threw me. I felt the gnash from the rock sticking out from the ground, which I hit my head on. The impact sending black spots across my vision—and a cry in absolute agony. My abdominal area pinched and screamed with a sharp and sudden pain like nothing I have ever felt before. There was blood on my hand when I touched it. I needed to get up. I needed to get back and get medical help because I knew Breanne wasn’t going to get me any. As I tried to push myself up off the ground with one hand, while the other was wrapped tightly around my stomach, still crying in sheer pain, a polished boot came forcefully down, cracking the bones in my hand. "Ah—!" The pain forced a gasp through clenched teeth.
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
Nerd Ava is pushed into Seven Minutes in Heaven with heartthrob Logan Hale at a wild party. In the dark closet, her scent awakens his dormant Alpha werewolf blood and nearly exposes her secret: a runaway Omega with a notorious fugitive father. Ava pulls away, but Logan will not let go.
College student Jason time-traveled to the Cultivation World. After cultivating for 10,000 years to become a Sage, he returns to Earth to find only one day has passed! Before he left, his father died, his adopted brother forced his mother into debt, his buddy Derek stole his patent money, and his crush Alyssa was stolen by his rival. Now back, Jason ruthlessly crushes those bullies! He dismantles loan sharks, saves the head of Reed Group, and helps his secret admirer Zoe make a stunning comeback. Facing hidden enemies on Earth, he uses his 10,000 years of cultivation power to crush everything in his path.
College student Jason time-traveled to the Cultivation World. After cultivating for 10,000 years to become a Sage, he returns to Earth to find only one day has passed! Before he left, his father died, his adopted brother forced his mother into debt, his buddy Derek stole his patent money, and his crush Alyssa was stolen by his rival. Now back, Jason ruthlessly crushes those bullies! He dismantles loan sharks, saves the head of Reed Group, and helps his secret admirer Zoe make a stunning comeback. Facing hidden enemies on Earth, he uses his 10,000 years of cultivation power to crush everything in his path.
Chapter 1 Island Survival [Welcome to the Island Survival Game.] [Treasure chests will appear in the sea every day from 8:00 AM to 12:00 PM. Players can use fishing rods to pull up chests and get supplies.] [Players between the ages of 16 and 55 are selected. Family members will be grouped together when possible.] [The beginner protection period lasts for three days. If you die in the game, you die for real.] [The game begins.] [Today's weather: cloudy, 60 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit.] A robotic voice announced. Jane Quinn looked around, completely confused. One moment, she was celebrating a fresh start and planning a barbecue dinner, and the next, she was standing on a deserted island. [Please enter your username. If you do not pick one in ten seconds, your real name will be used.] A blank line and a countdown appeared in front of her. [Ten, nine, eight...] Jane thought, 'What the hell is this?' [Seven, six, five...] Jane barely had time to think. She typed "J.Ivy" as her username. [Scanning player information.] A holographic data panel suddenly popped up in front of Jane. [Player: J.Ivy] [Gender: Female] [Level: 1 (EXP: 0/50)] [Constitution: 7 (above average, not bad)] [Attack: 5 (pretty pathetic)] [Defense: 5 (pretty weak)] [Intelligence: 9 (super smart)] [Speed: 6 (barely faster than a turtle)] [Luck: 8 (pretty lucky)] [Magic attributes: Ice Magic: 8; Light Magic: 9] [All base stats are capped at 10, except for level, which can go up to 100.] [Health Points (HP): 70] [Magic Points (MP): 90] Jane thought, 'Player info? Am I actually in a game? And is that luck stat for real? I've always had terrible luck. The one time I won the lottery is the only exception.' The holographic status screen came from a watch on her wrist. Besides the stats panel, there were tabs for the chatroom, trading section, and friends list. In the bottom right, a display read 100,000/100,000 for players. It looked like the games she used to play. The chatroom was already blowing up. BigDaddy: [Where the hell am I? I was just eating dinner.] Pitviper: [I was on the toilet.] MorningStar: [Didn't you hear that voice? This is a survival game.] Sunset: [I don't want to be stuck in this hellhole. I want to go home.] Rocky: [I want to go home, too.] Southshore: [Looks like we can't go back.] Sunrise: [The beginner protection only lasts three days. We must hurry up and gather supplies, or we'll be dead soon.] Seeing the chat rolling, Jane started to feel uneasy inside, too. [J.Ivy, your parents have been detected in the game. Would you like to teleport them into your area?] Jane bit her lip and picked "No." Jane was the heiress of a rich family who'd been switched with another baby at the hospital after birth. The Quinn family, the one that adopted her, was poor. With a spoiled younger brother, Jane had to do the housework from a young age. She was constantly yelled at and even hit, and her life was miserable. Later, the truth came out, and Jane learned that the Quinns themselves had arranged the switch. The Quinns had abused her not because they favored boys but because they'd known she wasn't their daughter. They had switched her with Eve Goodwin, their real daughter, so Eve could lead a better life. Jane wanted to call the police, but Elena Goodwin, Jane's real mother, couldn't let go of the girl she'd raised for twenty years. After Eve's tearful pleas, Elena forgave the Quinns regardless of Jane's feelings, kept Eve by her side, and ended up being even closer to her than to Jane. Eve was the girl Elena had raised as her own for twenty years, a perfect lady skilled in all the arts, whereas Jane, her real daughter that she'd just met, had grown up in a small town, doing farm work. Desmond Goodwin, Jane's real father, and Elena chose Eve without hesitation. They doted on Eve, and Jane was ignored and left to survive on her own. But Eve always pretended to be pure and innocent, but she was secretly scheming. She kept framing Jane, and the more it happened, the less Desmond and Elena liked Jane. To them, Jane was some uncouth, petty girl. Then Eve pulled the trick again, blaming Jane for breaking Elena's favorite antique vase, worth millions. This time Jane was ready. She had bought a recorder and caught Eve on tape. When Eve went to complain, Jane pressed play for everyone to hear. Jane expected the truth to change Desmond and Elena, but Eve started to sob and said, "I was scared because I'm not your real daughter." Desmond and Elena softened and wanted to let it go. Jane was disappointed. She called the police. Desmond and Elena were furious. They thought Jane was cruel and that she called the cops over something so trivial and tried to get Eve thrown in jail. Jane did not actually want Eve jailed. She knew that unless Elena pressed charges over the vase, Eve would be perfectly fine. Jane only wanted to make a clean break from both families, and she wanted to do it in front of the police. If she stayed, Jane had no idea how much more she would have to put up with. With the police's help, Jane formally changed her residency and signed the papers to cut ties with Desmond and Elena. She was about to celebrate with a barbecue when she found herself dumped into a strange game world. A system prompt hovered in front of her, asking if she'd like to teleport her parents to her side. Jane scoffed. She had already severed the relationship. 'Let Eve, their perfect daughter, take care of them instead,' she thought. Jane couldn't stop thinking about her luck stat. 'Even someone as unlucky as me got an 8, so Eve, who's spoiled rotten and adored by everyone, must have a perfect 10,' she thought. That really made her unhappy. [Treasure chests are now spawning. Players, start fishing.] Jane was dazed for a moment before she snapped out of it. She had no time to get sentimental. She didn't even know where she was. That robotic voice sounded legit. They were here to survive, and if she died here, she'd be dead for real. The voice said the beginner protection lasted three days. What came after that could be lethal. All she knew was, right now, she had to grab as many resources as she could before the protection ended. Jane had checked her gear. She only had a ten-slot inventory, a fishing rod, and a shabby thatched hut that would be useless in a heavy storm. If she wanted to survive, she had to build a proper shelter. Jane walked to the shore, baited her hook, and cast her line into the sea. She waited quietly for a long time until she finally felt a tug. Her eyes lit up. She reeled it in fast. It was heavy, but since she'd been doing farm work and had grown strong muscles, she pulled it up easily. What she hauled in was a knee-high wooden crate. She didn't open it yet, only tossed it into her inventory to check later. Right now, she wanted to fish up as many crates as she could. Chapter 2 Opening Wooden Crates and Exploring Jane threw more bait into the sea. This time, she waited almost an hour before she got another crate. After storing it, she noticed it still took only one slot of the inventory, but the number on the crate now showed two. Good thing same items could stack; otherwise, her ten slots would fill up very soon. Time slowly passed. Jane checked her watch and frowned. It was 11:55, only five minutes left before crates stopped appearing. She'd only caught three crates in four hours, and she wasn't sure that would be enough. It was almost noon. Jane started to reel in her line when something tugged hard, shaking her rod wildly. She pulled up quickly. This crate felt much heavier than the others. Jane struggled to haul it in, her rod trembling. She worried it might snap. The crate landed hard on the sand. It was still wooden but heavier than the rest. Jane stored it in her inventory. 'Hope this one has more supplies,' she thought. It was noon. Jane packed up her fishing rod and headed toward the thatched hut. The hut sat on higher ground, probably to keep it from flooding when the tide came. As she got closer, Jane's lips twitched in disbelief. This was no hut. It was just a pile of weeds tied together into a tiny shelter. Inside, there was only a heap of weeds on the floor and holes in the roof. There was no place to hide anything. Jane pulled out all four wooden crates, ready to open them. Inside the first crate, she found a windproof lighter, a knife, and five units of wood. In the second, there were three units of refined iron and five units of plastic. Jane's mood sank. Neither had any food or water. The third crate gave her 34 fluid ounces of water in two bottles and 14 ounces of bread. 'Finally, some real food,' she thought. Then she eagerly opened the last, heavier crate. Inside were a stone axe, two apples, and two sandwiches. A prompt popped up on her holo display: [Stone axe: Attack: 10; Durability: 100/100; Good for chopping down trees.] 'No wonder it was so heavy. It's a weapon,' Jane thought. 'The supplies aren't much, but at least I have enough to get through today.' The system asked, [You have four wooden crates. Do you want to dismantle them?] 'Wait, I can dismantle these?' Jane thought. She tapped "Yes." The four crates were dismantled into 24 pieces of wood. 'So each crate gives six units of wood,' she thought. Now Jane had a windproof lighter, a knife, a stone axe, three refined iron pieces, 29 pieces of wood, five pieces of plastic, two bottles of water, 14 ounces of bread, two apples, and two sandwiches. Jane looked at the rundown shelter, sighed, and patted it. 'How am I supposed to live in this?' she thought. Just then, a system message appeared. [J.Ivy's shelter: level-1 shabby shelter, can't keep out wind or rain] [Next level: level-2 sturdy shelter, can keep out wind and rain] [Materials needed: thatch ×30, wood ×10] 'So I can upgrade it,' Jane thought. 'But where do I find thatch?' She took out a piece of bread and an apple, drank some water, and barely filled her stomach. Jane decided to look for resources. She couldn't wait for the system to deliver crates every day. Besides, since it was still the beginner protection period, it was the best time to explore. With her stone axe in hand, Jane made her way toward the forest near the beach. The place was deep and eerily quiet, and Jane felt a weird sense of danger. She only dared to stay near the edge. In a patch of bushes, she spotted something like thatch and pulled it up. It was thatch. Jane gathered all thatch she could find in the area, ending up with 36 units of thatch and 36 EXP. 'Wait, I get EXP for this?' she wondered, still unsure what EXP and levels were for. Then there were things like Magic Points, Ice Magic, and Light Magic. From her gaming experience, Jane guessed she'd learn Ice and Light spells someday. But right now, she didn't know how to unlock them. Nearby stood seven banyan trees. Jane pulled out her stone axe and started chopping. Each tree took a dozen swings, but she ended up with 35 units of wood and 35 EXP. [Congratulations. You've reached Level 2 and gained one attribute point for each attribute except Luck and Magic attributes, plus five free attribute points (excluding Luck and Magic attributes).] Jane checked her stats panel, and it had changed. [Player: J.Ivy] [Gender: Female] [Level: 2 (EXP: 21/80)] [Constitution: 8 (not bad)] [Attack: 6 (still not much of a punch)] [Defense: 6 (still pretty fragile)] [Intelligence: 10 (awesome)] [Speed: 7 (decent)] [Luck: 8 (pretty lucky)] [Magic attributes: Ice Magic: 8; Light Magic: 9] [All base stats are capped at 10, except for level, which can go up to 100.] [Health Points (HP): 80] [Magic Points (MP): 100] Jane noticed that when her Constitution was 7, her HP was 70. Now that it was 8, her HP had risen to 80. And Intelligence and Magic Points seemed to be linked. Magic Points mattered, but Jane still didn't know how to unlock spells. She put three free attribute points into Constitution and two into Attack. Now her Constitution was 11, her HP jumped to 110, and Attack reached 8. 'Finally, I'm not so weak anymore,' she thought. The axe's durability had dropped to 90/100. "This axe wears out so fast," Jane sighed. Jane ventured a bit deeper into the woods and spotted some long, slender vines. Her eyes lit up. She chopped one down and tested its strength with a tug, nodding in satisfaction. 'These are sturdy enough to weave fish traps,' she thought. 'I can set them in the sea and catch dinner.' Back in the small town, Jane had often gone hungry. She'd learned to weave fish traps from her neighbor Wayne, setting them in the river to catch food. She never imagined that skill would be useful in a survival game. Jane's fingers moved quickly, and soon she had several well-made traps. She glanced at the time. It was already 3:30 PM. She was surprised she'd spent three hours chopping trees and gathering materials. 'Time to head out,' she thought, taking one last look into the forest before turning toward the beach. She walked along the shoreline for about 30 minutes and finally found a spot with rocky outcrops. She placed her traps at different points among the rocks. Then, to her delight, she spotted three coconut trees growing on the beach. Jane loved coconut water, but she always thought bottled drinks couldn't compare to fresh coconut water straight from the fruit. She grabbed her stone axe and worked on the coconut trees. After some effort, she got nine coconuts, nine pieces of wood, and 15 EXP. 'Coconut trees give less wood than regular ones,' she thought. 'But having coconuts is already a win.' Jane checked the time. It was 4:30 PM, and the sky was starting to darken. 'Better head back,' she thought. 'The night out here feels dangerous.' Chapter 3 Upgrading the Shelter Jane returned to her shelter by five o'clock. The sky had turned completely dark. She started a fire using two bundles of thatch, one piece of wood, and her lighter. Warm light instantly filled the hut. Then, using thirty bundles of thatch and ten pieces of wood, she spent ten minutes upgrading the dilapidated hut into a sturdy one. It was still a thatched shelter, but now it wouldn't collapse. [Congratulations, J.Ivy. You have upgraded your shelter to Level 2 and gained 20 EXP.] Jane checked the materials needed for the next upgrade. [Wooden Shelter: Level 3 (protects against ordinary monsters). Upgrade requires: wood ×80, stone ×30.] 'Ordinary monsters,' she thought. 'So monsters will attack players.' She'd already guessed this world was dangerous, but the thought still unsettled her. Her stomach growled loudly. She really needed to grab something to eat. All she'd had today was some bread and an apple. Jane grabbed her axe and cracked open a coconut. She downed the coconut water, scooped out the meat, and then punched two small holes in the shell with her knife. She threaded some leftover vines through the holes, poured in half a bottle of water, and hung the shell over the fire using the vines as a handle. She planned to heat up a sandwich, saving the bread and apple for breakfast. The fire in the game burned intensely hot, and the water boiled almost instantly. Jane took out a sandwich and used only half of the flavor packet. She didn't like salty food much, so she saved the rest to use as seasoning later. She knew that without enough salt, over time, her health would decline. The warm sandwich helped settle her stomach. As she ate, she reviewed her supplies. Things seemed okay, but she couldn't shake the feeling that food and water were running low. She remembered she was still in the beginner protection period. Once that ended, gathering resources would become much harder. That meant she had to keep scavenging tomorrow. After finishing the sandwich, she felt bored. The day's exertion and the quiet surroundings made it easy for her to drift off to sleep. Jane woke up at 7:30 in the morning. She rinsed her mouth with bottled water and ate a piece of bread, which was just enough to ease her hunger. She checked the weather. [Today's weather: Sunny, 66°F to 86°F.] The treasure chests hadn't respawned yet, and Jane began to wonder how the other survivors in her zone were doing. She opened the chatroom and saw the region tab had 999+ unread messages, all from last night. IronWill: [How many chests did you guys get? I only got two.] Teddy: [Same. Just two. And all I got was plastic and wood. I'm starving and dying of thirst. Can anyone share some food or water? Please.] SpringDrizzle: [Same.] FlyingBird: [Me too.] SuccessfulMe: [I only found a piece of bread and a bottle of water. Not enough to survive.] LongWay: [Honestly, just having food is pretty lucky already.] LuckyKing: [Huh? You guys got so little? I got five MREs, ten bottles of water, and ten apples. That should last me two days.] Jane was surprised. 'This guy's luck is unreal,' she thought. 'But is it really smart to let everyone know he's got so much food?' Sure enough, the chat went wild as soon as everyone saw LuckyKing's message. FlyingBird: [Damn, you're lucky.] Teddy: [Hey, LuckyKing, can you spare me some food? I didn't get anything at all. Please, I'm starving here.] LongWay: [I've got my parents with me. They're both in their fifties. Can you help us out? We'll definitely pay you back once we get some food.] LuckyKing didn't reply after that. He probably realized it wasn't a good idea to tell everyone he had so much food. Teddy: [@LuckyKing, come on. Say something. You can't let us die out here.] LongWay: [Yeah. With your luck, you'll probably find more tomorrow. Share a bit. It won't hurt you.] PrettyFace: [We're all from Centlandia. We should help each other when things are tough.] HazySurface: [How can you ask for that? Why should he share what he worked for?] HungryBelly: [Exactly. If you want to survive, find food yourselves. Stop relying on others. This is a survival game. Only the strong survive.] LuckyKing: [Sure, I'm lucky, but I'm not playing saint. If you want something, trade for it. Nothing's free.] Teddy: [Guys, don't you care about your fellow countrymen at all?] UsTogether: [Survival matters now, not solidarity. If you had food, would you give it away? Don't expect others to do what you wouldn't.] Seeing more and more people criticize them, the freeloaders quickly stopped talking. Jane agreed with LuckyKing and the others. She was willing to trade resources, but if anyone expected free handouts, they were out of luck. 'Why should anyone give away what they worked hard to get? Who do they think they are?' she thought. ***** At exactly eight o'clock, Jane sat by the shore. She cast her hook into the sea, waiting for the next round of supplies. Today she pulled up four wooden crates. Inside she found a stone pickaxe, 5 units of refined iron, 5 units of plastic, 5 units of glass, and 3 bottles of water, 21 ounces of bread, and two ham sausages. [Stone Pickaxe: Attack: 10; Durability: 100; Can be used to gather stone.] Jane felt a bit down. She'd gotten even less food than yesterday, so she'd have to stretch her supplies. Still, finding a new tool made her feel a little better. She dismantled the wooden crates and collected 24 pieces of wood. At the moment, Jane's inventory included: a windproof lighter, a knife, a stone axe with 85 durability, a stone pickaxe, 8 units of refined iron, 86 pieces of wood, 4 bundles of thatch, 10 units of plastic... 5 pieces of glass, 4 bottles of water, 28 ounces of bread, 1 apple, 1 sandwich, 8 coconuts, and 2 ham sausages. Back at the shelter, Jane ate some bread and opened up a coconut. She didn't eat anything else. Good thing she didn't have much of an appetite. She left anything she didn't need for the day inside the shelter, taking only her stone axe, stone pickaxe, a bottle of water, and a ham sausage, just in case she got hungry later. Today, Jane headed to the forest again, but instead of yesterday's spot, she chose the area next to where she'd left her fish basket, so she wouldn't have to trek back later. Chapter 4 First Deal The forest here was much thicker. Jane chopped down three banyan trees, collecting 15 pieces of wood and 15 EXP. Then she decided to move on. Today, her goal was to gather stones and explore further. She didn't want to waste too much time chopping trees. She pushed aside the vines blocking her path and continued deeper into the forest. The plants grew denser, some sprinkled with tiny yellow and white flowers she couldn't name. She spotted plenty of mushrooms with bright red caps and white stems. They looked beautiful, but she remembered an old warning: Red cap, white stalk. Eat them and you'll be laid out flat. That kept her from picking any. Still, with all this thick greenery and so many mushrooms around, Jane figured there was probably a water source nearby. She checked the time. It was 3. If she hurried, it would take about an hour to get out of the forest. She needed to collect her fishing traps, and it would take another 30 minutes to get back. She had to leave now. On her way out, Jane was hungry. She washed down a sausage with bottled water in two bites. Once she stepped out of the forest, the whole world seemed to brighten up. The forest had been so gloomy. It really wasn't a place for people. She hurried over to the shallows and took a quick look. Jane's mouth twitched. Unfortunately, out of the five fishing traps she'd set, only two remained. The rest must have been swept away by the wind. She hauled up the two remaining traps and dumped them onto the sand. The haul was disappointingly small. Just two sea snails, a palm-sized fish, and a few handfuls of seaweed. That was all she got. [Would you disassemble them?] Naturally, Jane tapped "Yes." It was a convenient way. [Received: snail meat ×2, 3.5 ounces of fish meat, seaweed ×2.] Jane didn't stick around. She tossed the two fishing traps back into the sea and headed for her shelter. On her way, she spotted a few large rocks. She pulled out her stone pickaxe and started chipping away, getting 15 pieces of stones and 15 EXP. Jane couldn't help but complain inwardly, 'Seriously? Those rocks were huge, but I only get 15 units of stones? That's stingy.' [Congratulations. You've reached Level 3. You've gained one attribute point for each stat except Luck and Magic attributes, plus five free attribute points (excluding Luck and Magic attributes).] After two days of running around, Jane realized Speed was as important as Constitution. Moving faster meant she could explore more places and gather more loot. So this time, she put 3 points into Constitution and 2 into Speed. Her status panel now looked like this: [Player: J.Ivy] [Gender: Female] [Level: 3 (EXP: 6/150)] [Constitution: 15 (very strong)] [Attack: 9 (not too shabby on the attack front)] [Defense: 7 (could be worse)] [Intelligence: 11 (pretty sharp)] [Speed: 10 (very quick)] [Luck: 8 (pretty lucky)] [Magic attributes: Ice Magic: 8; Light Magic: 9] [All base stats are capped at 10, except for level, which can go up to 100.] [Health Points (HP): 150] [Magic Points (MP): 110] With her Constitution now at 15, Jane was amazed. Her body had been completely worn out from the afternoon's work, but suddenly, it was as if all her exhaustion vanished. And with Speed bumped up to 10, Jane raced back to the shelter much faster than before. 'This is unreal,' she thought. Even with her new speed, it was nearly five o'clock when she made it back. Just like always, Jane started a fire with 2 bundles of thatch and 1 piece of wood. She decided to cook the seafood she'd caught. It wouldn't keep for long, and even though her inventory stopped food from spoiling, space was limited. She couldn't carry everything forever, so she figured she should deal with it now. Jane poured the rest of her half bottle of water into yesterday's coconut-shell pot, added 2 pieces of snail meat, 3.5 ounces of fish, and the leftover half packet of seasoning from yesterday. She set the coconut shell over the fire to simmer. When the seafood was nearly done, Jane took out her last sandwich. She saved the seasoning packet for later and dropped the sandwich into the coconut shell to cook with the seafood. Soon, the mouthwatering smell of seafood and sandwich filled the air. Jane was drooling. It smelled so good. Too bad it was her last sandwich. She finished the seafood and sandwich and slurped up every drop of soup. Finally, she was full. With nothing else to do that evening, Jane started sorting through her supplies. After checking everything over, she felt anxious. There wasn't enough food to last another day. If tomorrow's haul was bad, she'd be in trouble. Jane decided to check the trading section to see what was available. [Wood ×10: trade for any food] [Thatch ×10: trade for water] [Glass ×5: trade for at least 7 ounces of food] [Refined iron ×5: trade for any food] [Stone ×10: trade for food] The list went on. Most of the listings were people trying to swap their supplies for food or water. No one was offering food for other items. 'Guess food is really scarce,' Jane thought. Seeing the listings for stones, Jane felt tempted. She'd only managed to get 15 stones all afternoon, and it was hard work. As for food, she still had a few coconuts to trade. Coconuts weren't super filling, but they were packed with energy. Jane traded four coconuts for 20 pieces of stone, 5 pieces of glass, and 5 pieces of refined iron. She wasn't sure what glass or refined iron were for, but she figured they'd be useful later. [You're making a trade. Do you want to stay anonymous?] Jane hit "Yes." Four coconuts wasn't a big deal, but if she traded them openly, people would know she had extra food. She didn't want anyone eyeing her supplies or getting any ideas. She checked the chat, and sure enough, people were talking about the trades. LittleBlossom: [Someone traded a coconut for 10 pieces of my stone. I thought the stone would never sell. Thanks, anonymous buyer.] SpringFeast: [Same. I traded five pieces of glass for a coconut.] Funster: [I traded five pieces of refined iron for a coconut. Coconut water is so good!] Conqueror: [An anonymous buyer? More like a profiteer. Use your brains, guys. Stone is for upgrading your hut, and refined iron and glass are important materials. Trading all that for a coconut? How are you supposed to upgrade your shelter?] Then, a bunch of people thought Jane was ruthless. 'A coconut doesn't even fill one up, and that buyer's swapping it for so much stuff. We're all Centlandians, all in the same boat. Shouldn't we help each other out?' they thought. Chapter 5 Axe Blueprint But someone quickly disagreed. Funster: [For the past two days, all I've gotten from crates is stone and refined iron. The only food I found was a sandwich and a bottle of water. If it weren't for this coconut, I'll be dead. I owe the coconut seller big time.] SpringFeast: [Yeah. Making it through the day is hard enough. Who cares about the future? At least I can eat the coconut, but I can't eat materials.] HungryBelly: [Food is precious right now. It's already generous for someone to offer it up for trade. If you think they're ripping people off, why not put up some filling food yourself? I'm sure everyone would thank you for it.] UsTogether: [@Conqueror, how about trading 5 pieces of refined iron for 5.5 pounds of wheat? Since refined iron is so valuable, I bet you'll agree, right?] Conqueror: [No good deed goes unpunished. Whatever, I'm not wasting my breath on you guys.] UsTogether: [Wait. Don't go. I'm serious about the trade.] No matter how many people tagged Conqueror, he stayed silent. Watching all this go down, Jane felt totally satisfied. She made a mental note of Conqueror's name. She'd never trade anything valuable with him. Jane had 100 pieces of wood and 35 pieces of stone. They were enough to upgrade her wood cabin. She spent 80 pieces of wood and 30 pieces of stone and jumped into the upgrade. About half an hour later, her new wooden cabin was finished. It was much larger than her old thatched hut and looked solidly built. No wonder it could hold up against ordinary monster attacks. [Congratulations, player J.Ivy, for upgrading your shelter to level 3. You've got 50 EXP.] Jane checked the requirements for the next upgrade. [Stone cabin: Level 4 (can withstand attacks from level-1 monsters). Upgrade materials required: stone ×500, wood ×300, glass ×60.] 'That's a huge amount of materials for level four,' she thought. 'Everything is doubling now.' After the upgrade, Jane was low on supplies. Tomorrow was the final day of the beginner protection period, and she wasn't sure what would happen after it ended. She set her alarm for 5:30 AM. She wasn't going to sleep until seven again. Time was tight, and she needed to gather more resources. 'I should have gotten up early this morning too,' Jane thought. 'I went to bed early and wasted all that time.' With that, she let her thoughts fade and fell into a deep sleep. ***** The next morning, Jane woke up at 5:30 to the sound of her alarm. [Today's weather: Cloudy. Temperature between 57°F and 77°F.] She ate some bread for breakfast, drank a little water, and tossed a sausage into her inventory before heading out. By 5:30, it was already bright outside. Jane returned to the forest she had visited on her first afternoon. When she noticed a bunch of vines, she remembered her trip to the Shallow Bay yesterday. The wind had left her with only two fish traps. Worried they might be gone today, she grabbed some vines and stuffed them into her inventory. Making fish traps took too much time, so Jane decided she would work on them tonight when she was free. She kept walking until she came across a pine forest. 'Time to gather more wood,' she thought. Jane took out her stone axe and began chopping. After about ten swings, the pine tree fell. She collected 5 pieces of wood, 1 unit of pine resin, 17.5 ounces of pine nuts, and gained 5 EXP. 'Chopping pine trees gives me resin and nuts too?' she thought. Pine resin was a sticky substance that seeped from pine trees. It worked well for starting fires and could be used as medicine. It helped relieve pain and itching, reduce swelling, detoxify, and stop bleeding. Jane had tasted pine nuts at her relatives' house during the holidays. They were rich and fragrant. The ones from the system were already processed, and it saved her strength. Seeing how much the pine trees were dropping, she felt motivated. She picked up her axe and started chopping again. As her inventory filled with pine resin and pine nuts, Jane couldn't hold back her smile. By 7:50, she decided to stop. Crate fishing was about to begin, and that was her top priority. All morning, she had collected 80 pieces of wood, 16 units of pine resin, 16 portions of pine nuts (each 17.5 ounces), and gained 80 EXP. Jane felt satisfied. Last time she was here, she only gathered 35 pieces of wood, but that was because she spent too much time weaving five fish traps. Now she knew how to plan better. Since making fish traps didn't depend on location, she would save that for the evenings, leaving daylight hours free for gathering supplies. Jane walked to her usual crate fishing spot. Sitting quietly on the beach and waiting for the crates to appear, she was absolutely famished. She had been doing physical work all morning and only had a small 7 ounces pack of bread to keep her going. She took a sip of water, pulled out her last sausage and finished it in a few bites. At least now her stomach finally settled. Jane got lucky today. She caught six crates, and one of them was a black iron crate, clearly better than the usual wooden ones. She went back to her shelter and started opening the crates. The first wooden crate held 5 bottles of water, 5 packs of 7 ounces bread, and 5 sandwiches. 'I'm on a roll today. That's a lot of food,' Jane thought. The second wooden crate contained 10 units of stone, 10 pieces of refined iron, and 10 units of plastic. The third held 5 apples, 5 bananas, and 10 strawberries. The fourth crate had an 80 inches ×80 inches cashmere blanket and an 80 inches ×80 inches mattress. 'A mattress and a blanket?' Jane thought. 'Maybe I don't have to sleep on itchy straw anymore. It always got cold once the fire died at night.' The fifth wooden crate contained 3 sets of women's underwear and a set of women's autumn outfit. 'New clothes,' she thought. 'I've felt so grimy these last few days. Now I can finally change out of these dirty rags.' Jane stared at the last black iron crate, her face full of anticipation. 'The wooden ones were packed,' she thought. 'Don't let me down now.' [1 blueprint, 5 Inventory Expansion Cards.] Jane's hands trembled slightly as she opened the blueprint. [Axe blueprint unlocked.] [Stone axe: Requires stone ×6, wood ×3; Attack: 10; Durability: 100/100] [Iron axe: Requires refined iron ×6, stone ×3; Attack: 15; Durability: 150/150] [Copper axe: Requires bronze ×6, refined iron ×3; Attack: 20; Durability: 200/200] [Silver axe: Requires silver ×6, bronze ×3; Attack: 30; Durability: 300/300] [Gold axe: Requires gold ×6, silver ×3; Attack: 50; Durability: 500/500] 'There are so many types of axes?' Jane thought. She used 6 pieces of refined iron and 3 pieces of stone and crafted an iron axe right away. Chapter 6 Slaying a Level-1 Monster While waiting for the iron axe to finish crafting, Jane grabbed a quick lunch: an apple, three strawberries, and a bag of bread. In less than ten minutes, the iron axe was ready. [Iron axe: Attack: 15; Durability: 150/150] 'Not bad. This should make chopping trees faster,' Jane thought. Next, she checked out the Inventory Expansion Cards. [Inventory Expansion Card: Use to add one slot to your inventory.] Jane used all five cards, so now her inventory had fifteen slots. She could bring way more gear when she headed out without worrying about space. [You've got six chests. Would you like to break them down?] Jane tapped "No." She'd gathered so much stuff lately that her inventory was full, and dumping everything on the ground made her shelter look like a junkyard. These chests would be right for sorting out all her gear. Her supplies were mostly food, tools, and daily necessities. She stored all of it in the chests inside her shelter. Jane only brought an iron axe, a stone pickaxe, a half-empty bottle of water, and two bananas before heading out. 'Bananas are more filling,' she thought as she grabbed them. Jane returned to the spot she'd explored yesterday afternoon, planning to keep searching for water. On an island like this, freshwater was essential. If she found any, she could trade it for other supplies in the trading section. The jungle was so dense that sunlight barely reached the ground, making the whole forest feel dark and gloomy. Jane held a stick in her left hand to push aside the undergrowth, while her right hand gripped the iron axe, ready for anything. She passed quickly by the cluster of red-capped, white-stemmed mushrooms she'd seen last time without stopping. After another ten minutes or so, Jane thought she heard the gentle sound of water flowing nearby. Her eyes brightened. 'Could this be the water source?' she thought. After another seven or eight minutes, she finally spotted a long stream ahead, with thicket and agaves stretching far along both banks. Jane's eyes brightened. Agave was incredibly useful. Every part of it could be used, and there might even be groundhogs there. The wood here was thick, perfect for making fishing spears to catch fish. She cut down a tree with her iron axe but didn't receive any EXP. She guessed only collecting certain items, like wood, stone, or thatch, gave her experience points. She sharpened one end of the branch into several prongs and headed to the stream with her new spear. The water was clear, and she could see fish swimming. She waited for the right moment and jabbed down, but she missed. 'What's wrong with me?' she thought. She used to be skilled at spear fishing back in the small town, but today her timing was off. She tried again, waited for the perfect moment, and jabbed her spear down. This time, she finally got lucky and snagged a bluegill that must have weighed about 4 pounds. [Would you disassemble them?] Jane tapped "Yes" and received 2 pounds of bluegill fillets. She stared at the screen, confused. 'That fish was big, and the system only gave me 2 pounds?' she thought. 'How could it discard everything else?' Jane kept grumbling quietly, but her hands never stopped moving. Over the next half hour, she caught two more fish. After processing them, the system gave her 2 pounds of bluegill fillets and 2 pounds of crappie fillets. She decided to stop. Fish wouldn't keep long, and her inventory was already filling up. She could come back another day. Now she planned to chop some river cane and make containers to carry water back to her shelter. Each slot in her inventory could hold up to 99 items. She already used six slots, so she decided to use five more for water. After over an hour of work, Jane ended up with 495 river cane tubes. She was exhausted and hungry. Sitting by the stream, she put river cane containers filled with water into her inventory while eating bananas. Once she finished them, her stomach finally felt settled. It took nearly another hour to fill all five slots with water using the containers. 📖 The story gets hotter—click "Download" to read the uncensored chapters! 👇
Мой папа — Посейдон.
Avera and Liam have been married for eight years. She has supported him all the way to becoming the group president. She always thought their love was unshakable and would never deteriorate. But Liam had an affair with Lilian during their marriage. Avera divorced him based on the loyalty clause in their prenuptial agreement and demanded a $60 million divorce settlement from Mrs. Sterling.
Betrayed by the Prince, Crowned by the King
Betrayed by the Prince, Crowned by the King
Betrayed by the Prince, Crowned by the King
Betrayed by the Prince, Crowned by the King
Betrayed by the Prince, Crowned by the King
As Atticus had said, things were finally calming down. By mid-October, only two unusual little incidents had occurred, involving two Maycomb citizens. No, three, actually. Though not directly related to our Finch family, they were still somewhat connected. The first involved Mr. Bob Ewell, who gained and then lost his job within days, probably making him a unique figure in the historical record of the 1930s: to my knowledge, he was the only person dismissed by the Public Works Promotion Agency for laziness. I suspect that his brief overnight fame only fostered a shorter period of diligence, and his job, like his fame, came and went quickly. Mr. Ewell found himself, like Tom Robinson, soon forgotten. From then on, he continued his weekly trip to the relief office to collect his checks. Instead of showing gratitude, he would mutter and curse incoherently, saying that those self-proclaimed rulers of the town wouldn't let an honest man earn his own living. Ruth Jones, who worked at the relief office, said that Mr. Ewell even openly hurled insults, accusing Atticus of ruining his job. Ruth was disturbed and went to Atticus's office to tell him about it. Atticus told Miss Ruth to calm down, saying that if Bob Ewell wanted to discuss how he had "ruined" his job, he knew how to get to his office. The second incident involved Judge Taylor. Mrs. Taylor went to church every Sunday evening, but Judge Taylor never did. Instead, he stayed in his mansion, enjoying the evenings alone, curled up in his study reading Bob Taylor's annotated works—they weren't related by blood, but Judge Taylor would have been quite pleased if he could claim kinship. One Sunday evening, Judge Taylor was engrossed in vivid metaphors and beautiful prose when a nagging scratching sound abruptly interrupted his attention. "Shh," he hissed at Ann Taylor, his unremarkable, large, fat dog. He then realized he was speaking to an empty room, and the scratching was coming from the back of the house. Judge Taylor dragged his heavy steps to the back porch to let the dog out, only to find the screen door swinging back and forth. He glimpsed a figure flash in the corner of the house; that was the only impression the uninvited guest left on him. Mrs. Taylor returned home from church to find her husband sitting as usual, engrossed in Bob Taylor's writing, a shotgun across his lap. The third matter concerns Helen Robinson, Tom's widow. If Mr. Ewell was forgotten like Tom Robinson, then Tom was forgotten like Radley the eccentric. However, Tom's former employer, Mr. Link Dis, hadn't forgotten him and arranged a job for his wife, Helen. He didn't really need Helen to help out; he said the way things had turned out made him very upset. I had no idea who would take care of Helen's children while she went to work. Kaponi said Helen had a hard time; she had to walk an extra mile every day to avoid the Ewell family. In Helen's words, the first time she passed by, she was "surrounded" by the Ewell family just as she was about to step onto the public road. Day after day, Mr. Link Dis finally discovered that Helen took a longer route to work every day, so he pressed her to tell him the reason. “Please, Mr. Link, leave it alone,” Helen pleaded. “I won’t let him get away with it!” said Mr. Link. He told Helen to come to his shop before going home in the afternoon. Helen obeyed, and by evening, Mr. Link had closed the shop, pulled his hat firmly on his head, and walked with Helen home. They took a shortcut, passing by Ewell’s house. When he turned back, he stopped in front of the crooked gate. “Ewell?” he called out, “I say, Ewell!” The windows, usually crowded with children, were now empty. “I know you’re all in the house, all crawling on the floor. Listen up, Bob Ewell: if I hear my Helen mutter again that she’s afraid to walk this way, I’ll send you to jail before nightfall!” Mr. Link spat on the ground and turned to go home. The next morning, Helen took the same public road to work. No one stopped her this time, but after walking a few steps past Ewell’s house, she turned around and found Mr. Ewell following her. She turned back and continued on her way, and Mr. Ewell followed her all the way to Mr. Link Dis’s house, always keeping a safe distance. Helen said that along the way she heard constant low curses behind her, all very foul language. Terrified, she immediately called Mr. Link, who was at the shop. The shop wasn't far from his house, and as Mr. Link stepped out, he saw Mr. Ewell leaning against his yard fence. Mr. Ewell said, "Link Dis, don't look at me like I'm a piece of trash. I haven't done anything to you..." "Ewell, the first thing you need to do is get your stinking body off my fence. I don't have the money to repaint it after you've leaned on it. The second thing is to stay away from my cook, or I'll sue you for harassment..." "Link Dis, I haven't touched her, and I'm not going to go looking for a nigger!" "You don't need to touch her, just scare her. If harassment isn't enough to put you in jail for a while, I'll sue you under the Women's Act. Get lost! If you think I'm not serious, try bothering her again!" Mr. Ewell clearly thought he was serious, because Helen never mentioned any similar trouble again. “Atticus, this is really bothering me, I’m so fed up.” – This was Aunt Alexandra’s feeling. “He seems to hold a grudge against everyone involved in that case. I know how those kinds of people vent their resentment, but I don’t understand why he does it – didn’t he get his way in court?” “I can understand,” Atticus said. “Maybe it’s because he knows that in Maycomb, very few people actually believe the lies he and Mayella fabricated. He thought he was going to be a hero, but after all his scheming and scheming, all he got was… well, we found this black guy guilty, you can go back to your junkyard. He’s caused trouble for everyone now, he should be satisfied. His resentment will probably subside when the weather gets cooler.” “But why did he go to John Taylor’s house?” "Borrowing? He obviously didn't know John was home; if he had, he wouldn't have barged in. Every Sunday night, John usually only turned on the light on the front porch and the study..." "You don't know if Bob Ewell cut the screen door, you don't know who did it," Atticus said. "But I can guess. I exposed his lie in court, and John made him look like a fool. When Ewell was on the witness stand, I didn't dare look at John once, afraid I'd burst out laughing. John looked at him as if he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don't tell me judges never try to influence the jury." Atticus chuckled. By the end of October, our lives had returned to the familiar routine: school, play, study. Jem seemed to have completely banished what he wanted to forget, and the magnanimity of our classmates made us forget we had a rebellious father. Cecil once asked me, "Is your father a radical?" I went home and asked Atticus, whose gleeful expression annoyed me, but he said he wasn't mocking me, adding, "Go tell Cecil I'm about as radical as 'Cotton Tom' Heflin." Aunt Alexandra was beaming with pride; it seemed Miss Moody had certainly won over the entire mission, as she was once again acting as their leader, and even her refreshments were becoming increasingly delicious. I learned more about the poor Monas from Mrs. Merriweather about their social life: they had almost no concept of family; the entire tribe was one big family. For all the children, there were as many fathers as there were men in the tribe, and as many mothers as there were women. Reverend J. Grimes Everett was doing everything he could to change this, and our prayers were urgently needed. Maycomb had returned to its old ways, almost exactly the same as last year and the year before, with only two minor changes. The first change was that people had torn down the old signs and slogans from shop windows and cars that read "National Recovery Administration - Doing the Job." I asked Atticus why, and he said it was because the "National Recovery Act" note had been removed. I asked who removed it, and he said nine old men. The second change in Maycomb wasn't national, but it started last year. Before that, Halloween in Maycomb was never very organized. Each child did their own thing, only asking for help when something needed moving, like putting a wagon on top of the barn. However, after the incident where Miss Tutty and Miss Fruty's peaceful lives were disrupted, the parents unanimously agreed that the children had gone too far. Tutty Barber and Fruty Barber were sisters, both older ladies, living together in Maycomb's only house with a cellar. Rumor had it that the sisters were Republicans who had moved from Clanton, Alabama in 1911. Their lifestyle seemed strange to us; no one understood why they wanted a cellar. They had the idea, so they dug one, and their lives were never peaceful; they constantly had to drive generation after generation of their children away. Miss Tutti and Miss Fruty's names were Sarah and Francis, respectively. Besides all the typical Yankee habits, they were both deaf. Miss Tutti refused to accept this fact, content to live in a silent world, while Miss Fruty, not wanting to miss anything, had a huge, horn-shaped hearing aid fitted. Jem asserted it was an amplifier salvaged from a Victor phonograph. A few mischievous children, knowing this, sneaked into their living room (except for the Radleys, no one locked their doors at night) on Halloween after the two old ladies had fallen asleep, and secretly moved all the furniture out and hid it in the cellar. I vehemently denied participating in this frivolous act. “I heard them!” The next morning, just as dawn broke, the two young ladies’ neighbors were awakened by the commotion. “I heard them pull up to the door! The heavy footsteps sounded like horses’ hooves. They must be in New Orleans by now!” Two days earlier, a group of itinerant fur traders had passed through town, and Miss Tutty was convinced they had stolen the furniture. “Those Syrians,” she said, “they’re so dark-skinned.” Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. After examining the scene, he said he felt it was the locals. Miss Tutty said she knew the Maycomb accent all too well, recognizing it everywhere, but last night, no one in the living room spoke with a Maycomb accent—the men walked around with their mouths full of rolled "r" sounds. Miss Tutty insisted on using hunting dogs to find the furniture, so Mr. Tate had to run ten miles of dirt roads to gather the country dogs and let them track the scent. Mr. Tate had the hounds use the front steps as a starting point, but they all ran to the back of the house and barked incessantly at the cellar door. After this happened three times, Mr. Tate figured out what was going on. Before noon that day, there wasn't a single barefoot child to be seen on the streets of Maycomb, and none of them would take off their shoes until the hounds were sent away. Upon hearing this, the ladies of Maycomb said that this year would be different. As a result, the Maycomb High School auditorium would be open to the public that day, with adults watching performances and children playing games like "apple in mouth," "toffee pulling," and "tackling a donkey's tail." There was also a prize for the best homemade Halloween costume, with a prize of twenty-five cents. Jim and I complained bitterly. It wasn't because we had played any pranks, but because of the rule. Jim felt he was too old for Halloween tricks anymore, and he said he didn't want anyone seeing him near the high school auditorium that night, participating in those boring games. Oh well, I thought, Atticus will take me. However, I soon heard that I also had to perform on stage that night. Mrs. Merriweather had created a rather ingenious play called "Maycomb County: The Road to the Stars," and she wanted me to play Ham. She thought it would be very pleasing to have a group of children dressed as Maycomb County's main agricultural products: Cecil as a cow, Agnes Boone as a cute butter bean, and another child as a peanut, and so on, until Mrs. Merriweather's imagination ran out and no more children were available for roles. After two rehearsals, I figured out that our task was simply to walk onto the stage from the left, guided by Mrs. Merriweather, the playwright and narrator. When she called "Pork," it was my turn to appear. Then, my friends would sing in unison: Maycomb County, Maycomb County, you'll always be in our hearts. The final scene would be incredibly solemn—Mrs. Merriweather planned to take to the stage, holding the state flag high. My costume wasn't a problem. There was a tailor in town named Mrs. Crenshaw, who, like Mrs. Merriweather, was full of ingenious ideas. Mrs. Crenshaw bent wire mesh into the shape of a smoked ham, covered it with brown cloth, and even painted on it to make the ham look more realistic. I just had to squat down so someone could pull the costume over my head, up to about my knees. Mrs. Crenshaw was very thoughtful, even leaving two observation holes for me. Her craftsmanship was excellent; Jem said I looked like a ham with two legs. However, the costume had its uncomfortable aspects: it was too hot and too tight inside, so I couldn't scratch my itchy nose, and once I was on, I couldn't get out without help. On Halloween, I thought my whole family would come to see my performance, but I was greatly disappointed. Atticus told me, in the most tactful way possible, that he was too tired to go to the show that evening. He'd been in Montgomery for a week and hadn't returned home until that evening. He figured if I asked Jem, Jem would come with me. Aunt Alexandra said she needed to go to bed early; she'd been busy all afternoon helping set up the stage and was exhausted—she stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence. Her mouth opened and closed as if to say something, but no word came out. “What’s wrong, Aunt?” I asked. “Oh, nothing, nothing,” she said. “I just had a shiver; someone must have stepped on my grave.” She dismissed the thing that had startled her and suggested I rehearse it in the living room in front of the whole family. So Jem… Aunt Alexandra rose and reached for the mantel. Mr. Tate quickly rose as well, but Aunt Alexandra wouldn't let him help. For the first time in his life, Atticus didn't show his innate humility—he remained seated. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about what Mr. Bob Ewell had said—that he'd risk his life to get rid of Atticus. Mr. Ewell had almost gotten his wish this time, and it was the last thing he ever did. "Are you sure?" Atticus's voice was very somber. "He is indeed dead," Mr. Tate said. "Absolutely. He can't hurt the children anymore." "That's not what I meant," Atticus murmured as if in a dream. He suddenly looked much older, a sign that his mind was in turmoil: his once-sharp jawline had become loose; the wrinkles below his ears were no longer concealed, clearly visible; his once-black hair was less noticeable, while his increasingly graying sideburns were more striking. "Wouldn't it be better if we talked in the living room?" Aunt Alexandra finally asked. "If you don't mind," Mr. Tate said, "I think we should talk here, as long as it doesn't disturb Jem's rest. I'd like to see his injuries and hear Scout... tell us what happened." "Would it be alright if I left?" she asked. "I'm just an extra person here. Atticus, just call me if you need anything, I'll stay in my room." Aunt Alexandra walked towards the door, then stopped and turned back. “Atticus, I had a feeling about what would happen tonight… I… it’s all my fault,” she couldn’t help but say. “I should have…” Mr. Tate held out his hand, gesturing for her to stop. “Go ahead, Miss Alexandra. I know this has been very upsetting for you. Don’t overthink it, don’t torture yourself—well, if we keep letting our feelings lead us by the nose, we’ll be like cats chasing their own tails. Miss Scout, could you tell us what happened while your memory is still sharp? Do you think that’s alright? Did you see him following you?” I walked over to Atticus and felt him put his arms around me. I buried my head in his lap. “We started walking home. I told Jem I’d forgotten my shoes, so we went back to get them. But all the lights in the school were off, and Jem said I could get them tomorrow…” “Scooter, lift your head so Mr. Tate can hear you,” Atticus said to me. I climbed onto his lap and sat in his arms. “As we were walking, Jem told me to be quiet. I thought he was thinking about something—he always tells me to be quiet when he's thinking. After a while, he said he heard something. We thought it was Cecil playing tricks.” “Cecil?” “It was Cecil Jacobs. He already scared us once tonight, and we thought he was back again. He was wearing a sheet then. The prize for best costume was twenty-five cents, and I don’t even know who got it…” “Where were you when you thought it was Cecil?” “Not far from the school. I even yelled at him…” “What did you yell?” “I think it was ‘Cecil is a big fat hen.’ We didn’t hear anyone respond… A little while later, Jem yelled ‘Hello’ or something, loud enough to wake a dead man…” “Wait a minute, Scout,” said Mr. Tate. “Mr. Finch, did you hear them yelling?” Atticus said he didn’t. He had the radio on. Aunt Alexandra was also listening to the radio in her bedroom. He remembered clearly that Aunt Alexandra had told him to turn the volume down, otherwise she wouldn't be able to listen. Atticus smiled slightly. "I always have the radio turned up really loud." "I wonder if the neighbors heard anything..." Mr. Tate said. "I doubt it, Heck. Most of them are either listening to the radio or have gone to bed early. Miss Mordy might still be awake, but I doubt she heard anything." "Go on, Scout," Mr. Tate said to me again. “Oh, after Jem shouted, we both went on ahead. Mr. Tate, I was completely covered in my costume, but then I heard that sound too—I mean, footsteps. We walked, and the footsteps followed; we stopped, and the footsteps stopped. Jem said he could see me because Mrs. Crenshaw put some glittery paint on my costume. I was playing Ham.” “What’s going on?” Mr. Tate asked, surprised. Atticus explained my role to Mr. Tate and described the construction of my costume. “You should have seen what she looked like when she came back,” he said. “The costume was all crumpled.” Mr. Tate stroked his chin. “I was wondering how Ewell got those marks. He had a lot of little holes in his sleeves, and a couple of puncture wounds on his arms that matched the holes. Could I see that thing you mentioned, if it’s convenient?” Atticus went to get my tattered costume. Mr. Tate turned it over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what shape it was. “It’s very likely this thing saved her life,” he said. “Look.” He held up his long index finger and pointed to Atticus—a clean, bright line was clearly visible on the gray barbed wire. “Bob Ewell seems to have gone too far,” Mr. Tate muttered to himself. “He’s out of his mind,” Atticus said. “I don’t want to argue with you, Mr. Finch, but he’s not insane, he’s ruthless. That despicable bastard, emboldened by alcohol, dared to harm a child. He never dares to confront anyone directly.” Atticus shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone—” “Mr. Finch, there are some people in this world who you have to shoot before you can even greet them. Even then, their lives aren’t worth a bullet. Ewell is one of them.” Atticus said, “I thought he’d vented his anger after that threat. Even if he wasn’t satisfied, I thought he’d come after me.” “He had the guts to harass a poor black woman, he had the guts to cause trouble at Judge Taylor’s house when no one was home—you think, how could someone like that dare to confront you in broad daylight?” Mr. Tate sighed. “Let’s continue. Scout, did you hear him following you—” “Yes, sir. As we walked…” When we get to the bottom of the tree——" "How do you know it's under a tree? You can't see anything under the cover." "I was barefoot. Jem said the ground was cooler under the trees than elsewhere." "It seems we have to ask him to be our deputy. Go on." "Later, someone suddenly grabbed me and banged my costume hard... I remember I was lying on the ground... I heard a scuffle from under the tree... The sound was like they were hitting the trunk of the tree repeatedly. Jem found me, pulled me and ran towards the road. There was The man—it was Mr. Ewell, jerked him down, I guess. They struggled again, and I heard a strange noise—and then Jem let out a scream..." I stopped—that's when Jem's arm was broken. "Anyway, Jem screamed, and I never heard him again. Then Mr. Ewell strangled me again, and I think... suddenly someone pulled him down. I guess Jem got up. That's all I remember..." "What happened next?" Mr. Tate stared at me sharply. “Someone was panting heavily, staggering back and forth—coughing terribly. At first I thought it was Jem, but the voice didn't sound like him, so I groped around on the floor looking for him. I thought Atticus had come to help us; I was exhausted…” “Who is that person?” “Mr. Tate, he's right there. He can tell you his name.” As I spoke, I half-raised my hand, pointing to the person in the corner. But I quickly lowered my hand after the slightest gesture, lest Atticus scold me. Pointing at people is impolite. He was still leaning against the wall. He was standing against the wall with his arms crossed when I came in, and he'd been standing there ever since. When I pointed at him, he lowered his arms, his palms pressed firmly against the wall. They were pale hands, sickly hands that had never been bathed in sunlight. In the dim light of Jem's room, these hands, against the cream-colored wall, were so glaringly white. My gaze followed his hands down to his sand-stained khaki trousers, then up his thin frame to his ripped twill shirt. His face was as pale as his hands, with only a shadow on his prominent chin. His cheeks were sunken, forming a wide mouth; his temples were slightly sunken, almost imperceptible; his gray eyes were dull and lifeless, making me mistake him for blind. His thin, lifeless hair covered his head like feathers. As I pointed, his palms slid lightly against the wall, leaving two greasy streaks of sweat, before he tucked his thumbs into his belt. A sudden, inexplicable spasm ran through him, like the sound of fingernails scraping against stone. However, under my curious gaze, the tension on his face slowly dissipated. He parted his lips, revealing a shy smile. My eyes suddenly filled with tears, and my neighbor's face instantly became a blur.
As Atticus had said, things were finally calming down. By mid-October, only two unusual little incidents had occurred, involving two Maycomb citizens. No, three, actually. Though not directly related to our Finch family, they were still somewhat connected. The first involved Mr. Bob Ewell, who gained and then lost his job within days, probably making him a unique figure in the historical record of the 1930s: to my knowledge, he was the only person dismissed by the Public Works Promotion Agency for laziness. I suspect that his brief overnight fame only fostered a shorter period of diligence, and his job, like his fame, came and went quickly. Mr. Ewell found himself, like Tom Robinson, soon forgotten. From then on, he continued his weekly trip to the relief office to collect his checks. Instead of showing gratitude, he would mutter and curse incoherently, saying that those self-proclaimed rulers of the town wouldn't let an honest man earn his own living. Ruth Jones, who worked at the relief office, said that Mr. Ewell even openly hurled insults, accusing Atticus of ruining his job. Ruth was disturbed and went to Atticus's office to tell him about it. Atticus told Miss Ruth to calm down, saying that if Bob Ewell wanted to discuss how he had "ruined" his job, he knew how to get to his office. The second incident involved Judge Taylor. Mrs. Taylor went to church every Sunday evening, but Judge Taylor never did. Instead, he stayed in his mansion, enjoying the evenings alone, curled up in his study reading Bob Taylor's annotated works—they weren't related by blood, but Judge Taylor would have been quite pleased if he could claim kinship. One Sunday evening, Judge Taylor was engrossed in vivid metaphors and beautiful prose when a nagging scratching sound abruptly interrupted his attention. "Shh," he hissed at Ann Taylor, his unremarkable, large, fat dog. He then realized he was speaking to an empty room, and the scratching was coming from the back of the house. Judge Taylor dragged his heavy steps to the back porch to let the dog out, only to find the screen door swinging back and forth. He glimpsed a figure flash in the corner of the house; that was the only impression the uninvited guest left on him. Mrs. Taylor returned home from church to find her husband sitting as usual, engrossed in Bob Taylor's writing, a shotgun across his lap. The third matter concerns Helen Robinson, Tom's widow. If Mr. Ewell was forgotten like Tom Robinson, then Tom was forgotten like Radley the eccentric. However, Tom's former employer, Mr. Link Dis, hadn't forgotten him and arranged a job for his wife, Helen. He didn't really need Helen to help out; he said the way things had turned out made him very upset. I had no idea who would take care of Helen's children while she went to work. Kaponi said Helen had a hard time; she had to walk an extra mile every day to avoid the Ewell family. In Helen's words, the first time she passed by, she was "surrounded" by the Ewell family just as she was about to step onto the public road. Day after day, Mr. Link Dis finally discovered that Helen took a longer route to work every day, so he pressed her to tell him the reason. “Please, Mr. Link, leave it alone,” Helen pleaded. “I won’t let him get away with it!” said Mr. Link. He told Helen to come to his shop before going home in the afternoon. Helen obeyed, and by evening, Mr. Link had closed the shop, pulled his hat firmly on his head, and walked with Helen home. They took a shortcut, passing by Ewell’s house. When he turned back, he stopped in front of the crooked gate. “Ewell?” he called out, “I say, Ewell!” The windows, usually crowded with children, were now empty. “I know you’re all in the house, all crawling on the floor. Listen up, Bob Ewell: if I hear my Helen mutter again that she’s afraid to walk this way, I’ll send you to jail before nightfall!” Mr. Link spat on the ground and turned to go home. The next morning, Helen took the same public road to work. No one stopped her this time, but after walking a few steps past Ewell’s house, she turned around and found Mr. Ewell following her. She turned back and continued on her way, and Mr. Ewell followed her all the way to Mr. Link Dis’s house, always keeping a safe distance. Helen said that along the way she heard constant low curses behind her, all very foul language. Terrified, she immediately called Mr. Link, who was at the shop. The shop wasn't far from his house, and as Mr. Link stepped out, he saw Mr. Ewell leaning against his yard fence. Mr. Ewell said, "Link Dis, don't look at me like I'm a piece of trash. I haven't done anything to you..." "Ewell, the first thing you need to do is get your stinking body off my fence. I don't have the money to repaint it after you've leaned on it. The second thing is to stay away from my cook, or I'll sue you for harassment..." "Link Dis, I haven't touched her, and I'm not going to go looking for a nigger!" "You don't need to touch her, just scare her. If harassment isn't enough to put you in jail for a while, I'll sue you under the Women's Act. Get lost! If you think I'm not serious, try bothering her again!" Mr. Ewell clearly thought he was serious, because Helen never mentioned any similar trouble again. “Atticus, this is really bothering me, I’m so fed up.” – This was Aunt Alexandra’s feeling. “He seems to hold a grudge against everyone involved in that case. I know how those kinds of people vent their resentment, but I don’t understand why he does it – didn’t he get his way in court?” “I can understand,” Atticus said. “Maybe it’s because he knows that in Maycomb, very few people actually believe the lies he and Mayella fabricated. He thought he was going to be a hero, but after all his scheming and scheming, all he got was… well, we found this black guy guilty, you can go back to your junkyard. He’s caused trouble for everyone now, he should be satisfied. His resentment will probably subside when the weather gets cooler.” “But why did he go to John Taylor’s house?” "Borrowing? He obviously didn't know John was home; if he had, he wouldn't have barged in. Every Sunday night, John usually only turned on the light on the front porch and the study..." "You don't know if Bob Ewell cut the screen door, you don't know who did it," Atticus said. "But I can guess. I exposed his lie in court, and John made him look like a fool. When Ewell was on the witness stand, I didn't dare look at John once, afraid I'd burst out laughing. John looked at him as if he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don't tell me judges never try to influence the jury." Atticus chuckled. By the end of October, our lives had returned to the familiar routine: school, play, study. Jem seemed to have completely banished what he wanted to forget, and the magnanimity of our classmates made us forget we had a rebellious father. Cecil once asked me, "Is your father a radical?" I went home and asked Atticus, whose gleeful expression annoyed me, but he said he wasn't mocking me, adding, "Go tell Cecil I'm about as radical as 'Cotton Tom' Heflin." Aunt Alexandra was beaming with pride; it seemed Miss Moody had certainly won over the entire mission, as she was once again acting as their leader, and even her refreshments were becoming increasingly delicious. I learned more about the poor Monas from Mrs. Merriweather about their social life: they had almost no concept of family; the entire tribe was one big family. For all the children, there were as many fathers as there were men in the tribe, and as many mothers as there were women. Reverend J. Grimes Everett was doing everything he could to change this, and our prayers were urgently needed. Maycomb had returned to its old ways, almost exactly the same as last year and the year before, with only two minor changes. The first change was that people had torn down the old signs and slogans from shop windows and cars that read "National Recovery Administration - Doing the Job." I asked Atticus why, and he said it was because the "National Recovery Act" note had been removed. I asked who removed it, and he said nine old men. The second change in Maycomb wasn't national, but it started last year. Before that, Halloween in Maycomb was never very organized. Each child did their own thing, only asking for help when something needed moving, like putting a wagon on top of the barn. However, after the incident where Miss Tutty and Miss Fruty's peaceful lives were disrupted, the parents unanimously agreed that the children had gone too far. Tutty Barber and Fruty Barber were sisters, both older ladies, living together in Maycomb's only house with a cellar. Rumor had it that the sisters were Republicans who had moved from Clanton, Alabama in 1911. Their lifestyle seemed strange to us; no one understood why they wanted a cellar. They had the idea, so they dug one, and their lives were never peaceful; they constantly had to drive generation after generation of their children away. Miss Tutti and Miss Fruty's names were Sarah and Francis, respectively. Besides all the typical Yankee habits, they were both deaf. Miss Tutti refused to accept this fact, content to live in a silent world, while Miss Fruty, not wanting to miss anything, had a huge, horn-shaped hearing aid fitted. Jem asserted it was an amplifier salvaged from a Victor phonograph. A few mischievous children, knowing this, sneaked into their living room (except for the Radleys, no one locked their doors at night) on Halloween after the two old ladies had fallen asleep, and secretly moved all the furniture out and hid it in the cellar. I vehemently denied participating in this frivolous act. “I heard them!” The next morning, just as dawn broke, the two young ladies’ neighbors were awakened by the commotion. “I heard them pull up to the door! The heavy footsteps sounded like horses’ hooves. They must be in New Orleans by now!” Two days earlier, a group of itinerant fur traders had passed through town, and Miss Tutty was convinced they had stolen the furniture. “Those Syrians,” she said, “they’re so dark-skinned.” Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. After examining the scene, he said he felt it was the locals. Miss Tutty said she knew the Maycomb accent all too well, recognizing it everywhere, but last night, no one in the living room spoke with a Maycomb accent—the men walked around with their mouths full of rolled "r" sounds. Miss Tutty insisted on using hunting dogs to find the furniture, so Mr. Tate had to run ten miles of dirt roads to gather the country dogs and let them track the scent. Mr. Tate had the hounds use the front steps as a starting point, but they all ran to the back of the house and barked incessantly at the cellar door. After this happened three times, Mr. Tate figured out what was going on. Before noon that day, there wasn't a single barefoot child to be seen on the streets of Maycomb, and none of them would take off their shoes until the hounds were sent away. Upon hearing this, the ladies of Maycomb said that this year would be different. As a result, the Maycomb High School auditorium would be open to the public that day, with adults watching performances and children playing games like "apple in mouth," "toffee pulling," and "tackling a donkey's tail." There was also a prize for the best homemade Halloween costume, with a prize of twenty-five cents. Jim and I complained bitterly. It wasn't because we had played any pranks, but because of the rule. Jim felt he was too old for Halloween tricks anymore, and he said he didn't want anyone seeing him near the high school auditorium that night, participating in those boring games. Oh well, I thought, Atticus will take me. However, I soon heard that I also had to perform on stage that night. Mrs. Merriweather had created a rather ingenious play called "Maycomb County: The Road to the Stars," and she wanted me to play Ham. She thought it would be very pleasing to have a group of children dressed as Maycomb County's main agricultural products: Cecil as a cow, Agnes Boone as a cute butter bean, and another child as a peanut, and so on, until Mrs. Merriweather's imagination ran out and no more children were available for roles. After two rehearsals, I figured out that our task was simply to walk onto the stage from the left, guided by Mrs. Merriweather, the playwright and narrator. When she called "Pork," it was my turn to appear. Then, my friends would sing in unison: Maycomb County, Maycomb County, you'll always be in our hearts. The final scene would be incredibly solemn—Mrs. Merriweather planned to take to the stage, holding the state flag high. My costume wasn't a problem. There was a tailor in town named Mrs. Crenshaw, who, like Mrs. Merriweather, was full of ingenious ideas. Mrs. Crenshaw bent wire mesh into the shape of a smoked ham, covered it with brown cloth, and even painted on it to make the ham look more realistic. I just had to squat down so someone could pull the costume over my head, up to about my knees. Mrs. Crenshaw was very thoughtful, even leaving two observation holes for me. Her craftsmanship was excellent; Jem said I looked like a ham with two legs. However, the costume had its uncomfortable aspects: it was too hot and too tight inside, so I couldn't scratch my itchy nose, and once I was on, I couldn't get out without help. On Halloween, I thought my whole family would come to see my performance, but I was greatly disappointed. Atticus told me, in the most tactful way possible, that he was too tired to go to the show that evening. He'd been in Montgomery for a week and hadn't returned home until that evening. He figured if I asked Jem, Jem would come with me. Aunt Alexandra said she needed to go to bed early; she'd been busy all afternoon helping set up the stage and was exhausted—she stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence. Her mouth opened and closed as if to say something, but no word came out. “What’s wrong, Aunt?” I asked. “Oh, nothing, nothing,” she said. “I just had a shiver; someone must have stepped on my grave.” She dismissed the thing that had startled her and suggested I rehearse it in the living room in front of the whole family. So Jem… Aunt Alexandra rose and reached for the mantel. Mr. Tate quickly rose as well, but Aunt Alexandra wouldn't let him help. For the first time in his life, Atticus didn't show his innate humility—he remained seated. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about what Mr. Bob Ewell had said—that he'd risk his life to get rid of Atticus. Mr. Ewell had almost gotten his wish this time, and it was the last thing he ever did. "Are you sure?" Atticus's voice was very somber. "He is indeed dead," Mr. Tate said. "Absolutely. He can't hurt the children anymore." "That's not what I meant," Atticus murmured as if in a dream. He suddenly looked much older, a sign that his mind was in turmoil: his once-sharp jawline had become loose; the wrinkles below his ears were no longer concealed, clearly visible; his once-black hair was less noticeable, while his increasingly graying sideburns were more striking. "Wouldn't it be better if we talked in the living room?" Aunt Alexandra finally asked. "If you don't mind," Mr. Tate said, "I think we should talk here, as long as it doesn't disturb Jem's rest. I'd like to see his injuries and hear Scout... tell us what happened." "Would it be alright if I left?" she asked. "I'm just an extra person here. Atticus, just call me if you need anything, I'll stay in my room." Aunt Alexandra walked towards the door, then stopped and turned back. “Atticus, I had a feeling about what would happen tonight… I… it’s all my fault,” she couldn’t help but say. “I should have…” Mr. Tate held out his hand, gesturing for her to stop. “Go ahead, Miss Alexandra. I know this has been very upsetting for you. Don’t overthink it, don’t torture yourself—well, if we keep letting our feelings lead us by the nose, we’ll be like cats chasing their own tails. Miss Scout, could you tell us what happened while your memory is still sharp? Do you think that’s alright? Did you see him following you?” I walked over to Atticus and felt him put his arms around me. I buried my head in his lap. “We started walking home. I told Jem I’d forgotten my shoes, so we went back to get them. But all the lights in the school were off, and Jem said I could get them tomorrow…” “Scooter, lift your head so Mr. Tate can hear you,” Atticus said to me. I climbed onto his lap and sat in his arms. “As we were walking, Jem told me to be quiet. I thought he was thinking about something—he always tells me to be quiet when he's thinking. After a while, he said he heard something. We thought it was Cecil playing tricks.” “Cecil?” “It was Cecil Jacobs. He already scared us once tonight, and we thought he was back again. He was wearing a sheet then. The prize for best costume was twenty-five cents, and I don’t even know who got it…” “Where were you when you thought it was Cecil?” “Not far from the school. I even yelled at him…” “What did you yell?” “I think it was ‘Cecil is a big fat hen.’ We didn’t hear anyone respond… A little while later, Jem yelled ‘Hello’ or something, loud enough to wake a dead man…” “Wait a minute, Scout,” said Mr. Tate. “Mr. Finch, did you hear them yelling?” Atticus said he didn’t. He had the radio on. Aunt Alexandra was also listening to the radio in her bedroom. He remembered clearly that Aunt Alexandra had told him to turn the volume down, otherwise she wouldn't be able to listen. Atticus smiled slightly. "I always have the radio turned up really loud." "I wonder if the neighbors heard anything..." Mr. Tate said. "I doubt it, Heck. Most of them are either listening to the radio or have gone to bed early. Miss Mordy might still be awake, but I doubt she heard anything." "Go on, Scout," Mr. Tate said to me again. “Oh, after Jem shouted, we both went on ahead. Mr. Tate, I was completely covered in my costume, but then I heard that sound too—I mean, footsteps. We walked, and the footsteps followed; we stopped, and the footsteps stopped. Jem said he could see me because Mrs. Crenshaw put some glittery paint on my costume. I was playing Ham.” “What’s going on?” Mr. Tate asked, surprised. Atticus explained my role to Mr. Tate and described the construction of my costume. “You should have seen what she looked like when she came back,” he said. “The costume was all crumpled.” Mr. Tate stroked his chin. “I was wondering how Ewell got those marks. He had a lot of little holes in his sleeves, and a couple of puncture wounds on his arms that matched the holes. Could I see that thing you mentioned, if it’s convenient?” Atticus went to get my tattered costume. Mr. Tate turned it over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what shape it was. “It’s very likely this thing saved her life,” he said. “Look.” He held up his long index finger and pointed to Atticus—a clean, bright line was clearly visible on the gray barbed wire. “Bob Ewell seems to have gone too far,” Mr. Tate muttered to himself. “He’s out of his mind,” Atticus said. “I don’t want to argue with you, Mr. Finch, but he’s not insane, he’s ruthless. That despicable bastard, emboldened by alcohol, dared to harm a child. He never dares to confront anyone directly.” Atticus shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone—” “Mr. Finch, there are some people in this world who you have to shoot before you can even greet them. Even then, their lives aren’t worth a bullet. Ewell is one of them.” Atticus said, “I thought he’d vented his anger after that threat. Even if he wasn’t satisfied, I thought he’d come after me.” “He had the guts to harass a poor black woman, he had the guts to cause trouble at Judge Taylor’s house when no one was home—you think, how could someone like that dare to confront you in broad daylight?” Mr. Tate sighed. “Let’s continue. Scout, did you hear him following you—” “Yes, sir. As we walked…” When we get to the bottom of the tree——" "How do you know it's under a tree? You can't see anything under the cover." "I was barefoot. Jem said the ground was cooler under the trees than elsewhere." "It seems we have to ask him to be our deputy. Go on." "Later, someone suddenly grabbed me and banged my costume hard... I remember I was lying on the ground... I heard a scuffle from under the tree... The sound was like they were hitting the trunk of the tree repeatedly. Jem found me, pulled me and ran towards the road. There was The man—it was Mr. Ewell, jerked him down, I guess. They struggled again, and I heard a strange noise—and then Jem let out a scream..." I stopped—that's when Jem's arm was broken. "Anyway, Jem screamed, and I never heard him again. Then Mr. Ewell strangled me again, and I think... suddenly someone pulled him down. I guess Jem got up. That's all I remember..." "What happened next?" Mr. Tate stared at me sharply. “Someone was panting heavily, staggering back and forth—coughing terribly. At first I thought it was Jem, but the voice didn't sound like him, so I groped around on the floor looking for him. I thought Atticus had come to help us; I was exhausted…” “Who is that person?” “Mr. Tate, he's right there. He can tell you his name.” As I spoke, I half-raised my hand, pointing to the person in the corner. But I quickly lowered my hand after the slightest gesture, lest Atticus scold me. Pointing at people is impolite. He was still leaning against the wall. He was standing against the wall with his arms crossed when I came in, and he'd been standing there ever since. When I pointed at him, he lowered his arms, his palms pressed firmly against the wall. They were pale hands, sickly hands that had never been bathed in sunlight. In the dim light of Jem's room, these hands, against the cream-colored wall, were so glaringly white. My gaze followed his hands down to his sand-stained khaki trousers, then up his thin frame to his ripped twill shirt. His face was as pale as his hands, with only a shadow on his prominent chin. His cheeks were sunken, forming a wide mouth; his temples were slightly sunken, almost imperceptible; his gray eyes were dull and lifeless, making me mistake him for blind. His thin, lifeless hair covered his head like feathers. As I pointed, his palms slid lightly against the wall, leaving two greasy streaks of sweat, before he tucked his thumbs into his belt. A sudden, inexplicable spasm ran through him, like the sound of fingernails scraping against stone. However, under my curious gaze, the tension on his face slowly dissipated. He parted his lips, revealing a shy smile. My eyes suddenly filled with tears, and my neighbor's face instantly became a blur.
As Atticus had said, things were finally calming down. By mid-October, only two unusual little incidents had occurred, involving two Maycomb citizens. No, three, actually. Though not directly related to our Finch family, they were still somewhat connected. The first involved Mr. Bob Ewell, who gained and then lost his job within days, probably making him a unique figure in the historical record of the 1930s: to my knowledge, he was the only person dismissed by the Public Works Promotion Agency for laziness. I suspect that his brief overnight fame only fostered a shorter period of diligence, and his job, like his fame, came and went quickly. Mr. Ewell found himself, like Tom Robinson, soon forgotten. From then on, he continued his weekly trip to the relief office to collect his checks. Instead of showing gratitude, he would mutter and curse incoherently, saying that those self-proclaimed rulers of the town wouldn't let an honest man earn his own living. Ruth Jones, who worked at the relief office, said that Mr. Ewell even openly hurled insults, accusing Atticus of ruining his job. Ruth was disturbed and went to Atticus's office to tell him about it. Atticus told Miss Ruth to calm down, saying that if Bob Ewell wanted to discuss how he had "ruined" his job, he knew how to get to his office. The second incident involved Judge Taylor. Mrs. Taylor went to church every Sunday evening, but Judge Taylor never did. Instead, he stayed in his mansion, enjoying the evenings alone, curled up in his study reading Bob Taylor's annotated works—they weren't related by blood, but Judge Taylor would have been quite pleased if he could claim kinship. One Sunday evening, Judge Taylor was engrossed in vivid metaphors and beautiful prose when a nagging scratching sound abruptly interrupted his attention. "Shh," he hissed at Ann Taylor, his unremarkable, large, fat dog. He then realized he was speaking to an empty room, and the scratching was coming from the back of the house. Judge Taylor dragged his heavy steps to the back porch to let the dog out, only to find the screen door swinging back and forth. He glimpsed a figure flash in the corner of the house; that was the only impression the uninvited guest left on him. Mrs. Taylor returned home from church to find her husband sitting as usual, engrossed in Bob Taylor's writing, a shotgun across his lap. The third matter concerns Helen Robinson, Tom's widow. If Mr. Ewell was forgotten like Tom Robinson, then Tom was forgotten like Radley the eccentric. However, Tom's former employer, Mr. Link Dis, hadn't forgotten him and arranged a job for his wife, Helen. He didn't really need Helen to help out; he said the way things had turned out made him very upset. I had no idea who would take care of Helen's children while she went to work. Kaponi said Helen had a hard time; she had to walk an extra mile every day to avoid the Ewell family. In Helen's words, the first time she passed by, she was "surrounded" by the Ewell family just as she was about to step onto the public road. Day after day, Mr. Link Dis finally discovered that Helen took a longer route to work every day, so he pressed her to tell him the reason. “Please, Mr. Link, leave it alone,” Helen pleaded. “I won’t let him get away with it!” said Mr. Link. He told Helen to come to his shop before going home in the afternoon. Helen obeyed, and by evening, Mr. Link had closed the shop, pulled his hat firmly on his head, and walked with Helen home. They took a shortcut, passing by Ewell’s house. When he turned back, he stopped in front of the crooked gate. “Ewell?” he called out, “I say, Ewell!” The windows, usually crowded with children, were now empty. “I know you’re all in the house, all crawling on the floor. Listen up, Bob Ewell: if I hear my Helen mutter again that she’s afraid to walk this way, I’ll send you to jail before nightfall!” Mr. Link spat on the ground and turned to go home. The next morning, Helen took the same public road to work. No one stopped her this time, but after walking a few steps past Ewell’s house, she turned around and found Mr. Ewell following her. She turned back and continued on her way, and Mr. Ewell followed her all the way to Mr. Link Dis’s house, always keeping a safe distance. Helen said that along the way she heard constant low curses behind her, all very foul language. Terrified, she immediately called Mr. Link, who was at the shop. The shop wasn't far from his house, and as Mr. Link stepped out, he saw Mr. Ewell leaning against his yard fence. Mr. Ewell said, "Link Dis, don't look at me like I'm a piece of trash. I haven't done anything to you..." "Ewell, the first thing you need to do is get your stinking body off my fence. I don't have the money to repaint it after you've leaned on it. The second thing is to stay away from my cook, or I'll sue you for harassment..." "Link Dis, I haven't touched her, and I'm not going to go looking for a nigger!" "You don't need to touch her, just scare her. If harassment isn't enough to put you in jail for a while, I'll sue you under the Women's Act. Get lost! If you think I'm not serious, try bothering her again!" Mr. Ewell clearly thought he was serious, because Helen never mentioned any similar trouble again. “Atticus, this is really bothering me, I’m so fed up.” – This was Aunt Alexandra’s feeling. “He seems to hold a grudge against everyone involved in that case. I know how those kinds of people vent their resentment, but I don’t understand why he does it – didn’t he get his way in court?” “I can understand,” Atticus said. “Maybe it’s because he knows that in Maycomb, very few people actually believe the lies he and Mayella fabricated. He thought he was going to be a hero, but after all his scheming and scheming, all he got was… well, we found this black guy guilty, you can go back to your junkyard. He’s caused trouble for everyone now, he should be satisfied. His resentment will probably subside when the weather gets cooler.” “But why did he go to John Taylor’s house?” "Borrowing? He obviously didn't know John was home; if he had, he wouldn't have barged in. Every Sunday night, John usually only turned on the light on the front porch and the study..." "You don't know if Bob Ewell cut the screen door, you don't know who did it," Atticus said. "But I can guess. I exposed his lie in court, and John made him look like a fool. When Ewell was on the witness stand, I didn't dare look at John once, afraid I'd burst out laughing. John looked at him as if he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don't tell me judges never try to influence the jury." Atticus chuckled. By the end of October, our lives had returned to the familiar routine: school, play, study. Jem seemed to have completely banished what he wanted to forget, and the magnanimity of our classmates made us forget we had a rebellious father. Cecil once asked me, "Is your father a radical?" I went home and asked Atticus, whose gleeful expression annoyed me, but he said he wasn't mocking me, adding, "Go tell Cecil I'm about as radical as 'Cotton Tom' Heflin." Aunt Alexandra was beaming with pride; it seemed Miss Moody had certainly won over the entire mission, as she was once again acting as their leader, and even her refreshments were becoming increasingly delicious. I learned more about the poor Monas from Mrs. Merriweather about their social life: they had almost no concept of family; the entire tribe was one big family. For all the children, there were as many fathers as there were men in the tribe, and as many mothers as there were women. Reverend J. Grimes Everett was doing everything he could to change this, and our prayers were urgently needed. Maycomb had returned to its old ways, almost exactly the same as last year and the year before, with only two minor changes. The first change was that people had torn down the old signs and slogans from shop windows and cars that read "National Recovery Administration - Doing the Job." I asked Atticus why, and he said it was because the "National Recovery Act" note had been removed. I asked who removed it, and he said nine old men. The second change in Maycomb wasn't national, but it started last year. Before that, Halloween in Maycomb was never very organized. Each child did their own thing, only asking for help when something needed moving, like putting a wagon on top of the barn. However, after the incident where Miss Tutty and Miss Fruty's peaceful lives were disrupted, the parents unanimously agreed that the children had gone too far. Tutty Barber and Fruty Barber were sisters, both older ladies, living together in Maycomb's only house with a cellar. Rumor had it that the sisters were Republicans who had moved from Clanton, Alabama in 1911. Their lifestyle seemed strange to us; no one understood why they wanted a cellar. They had the idea, so they dug one, and their lives were never peaceful; they constantly had to drive generation after generation of their children away. Miss Tutti and Miss Fruty's names were Sarah and Francis, respectively. Besides all the typical Yankee habits, they were both deaf. Miss Tutti refused to accept this fact, content to live in a silent world, while Miss Fruty, not wanting to miss anything, had a huge, horn-shaped hearing aid fitted. Jem asserted it was an amplifier salvaged from a Victor phonograph. A few mischievous children, knowing this, sneaked into their living room (except for the Radleys, no one locked their doors at night) on Halloween after the two old ladies had fallen asleep, and secretly moved all the furniture out and hid it in the cellar. I vehemently denied participating in this frivolous act. “I heard them!” The next morning, just as dawn broke, the two young ladies’ neighbors were awakened by the commotion. “I heard them pull up to the door! The heavy footsteps sounded like horses’ hooves. They must be in New Orleans by now!” Two days earlier, a group of itinerant fur traders had passed through town, and Miss Tutty was convinced they had stolen the furniture. “Those Syrians,” she said, “they’re so dark-skinned.” Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. After examining the scene, he said he felt it was the locals. Miss Tutty said she knew the Maycomb accent all too well, recognizing it everywhere, but last night, no one in the living room spoke with a Maycomb accent—the men walked around with their mouths full of rolled "r" sounds. Miss Tutty insisted on using hunting dogs to find the furniture, so Mr. Tate had to run ten miles of dirt roads to gather the country dogs and let them track the scent. Mr. Tate had the hounds use the front steps as a starting point, but they all ran to the back of the house and barked incessantly at the cellar door. After this happened three times, Mr. Tate figured out what was going on. Before noon that day, there wasn't a single barefoot child to be seen on the streets of Maycomb, and none of them would take off their shoes until the hounds were sent away. Upon hearing this, the ladies of Maycomb said that this year would be different. As a result, the Maycomb High School auditorium would be open to the public that day, with adults watching performances and children playing games like "apple in mouth," "toffee pulling," and "tackling a donkey's tail." There was also a prize for the best homemade Halloween costume, with a prize of twenty-five cents. Jim and I complained bitterly. It wasn't because we had played any pranks, but because of the rule. Jim felt he was too old for Halloween tricks anymore, and he said he didn't want anyone seeing him near the high school auditorium that night, participating in those boring games. Oh well, I thought, Atticus will take me. However, I soon heard that I also had to perform on stage that night. Mrs. Merriweather had created a rather ingenious play called "Maycomb County: The Road to the Stars," and she wanted me to play Ham. She thought it would be very pleasing to have a group of children dressed as Maycomb County's main agricultural products: Cecil as a cow, Agnes Boone as a cute butter bean, and another child as a peanut, and so on, until Mrs. Merriweather's imagination ran out and no more children were available for roles. After two rehearsals, I figured out that our task was simply to walk onto the stage from the left, guided by Mrs. Merriweather, the playwright and narrator. When she called "Pork," it was my turn to appear. Then, my friends would sing in unison: Maycomb County, Maycomb County, you'll always be in our hearts. The final scene would be incredibly solemn—Mrs. Merriweather planned to take to the stage, holding the state flag high. My costume wasn't a problem. There was a tailor in town named Mrs. Crenshaw, who, like Mrs. Merriweather, was full of ingenious ideas. Mrs. Crenshaw bent wire mesh into the shape of a smoked ham, covered it with brown cloth, and even painted on it to make the ham look more realistic. I just had to squat down so someone could pull the costume over my head, up to about my knees. Mrs. Crenshaw was very thoughtful, even leaving two observation holes for me. Her craftsmanship was excellent; Jem said I looked like a ham with two legs. However, the costume had its uncomfortable aspects: it was too hot and too tight inside, so I couldn't scratch my itchy nose, and once I was on, I couldn't get out without help. On Halloween, I thought my whole family would come to see my performance, but I was greatly disappointed. Atticus told me, in the most tactful way possible, that he was too tired to go to the show that evening. He'd been in Montgomery for a week and hadn't returned home until that evening. He figured if I asked Jem, Jem would come with me. Aunt Alexandra said she needed to go to bed early; she'd been busy all afternoon helping set up the stage and was exhausted—she stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence. Her mouth opened and closed as if to say something, but no word came out. “What’s wrong, Aunt?” I asked. “Oh, nothing, nothing,” she said. “I just had a shiver; someone must have stepped on my grave.” She dismissed the thing that had startled her and suggested I rehearse it in the living room in front of the whole family. So Jem… Aunt Alexandra rose and reached for the mantel. Mr. Tate quickly rose as well, but Aunt Alexandra wouldn't let him help. For the first time in his life, Atticus didn't show his innate humility—he remained seated. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about what Mr. Bob Ewell had said—that he'd risk his life to get rid of Atticus. Mr. Ewell had almost gotten his wish this time, and it was the last thing he ever did. "Are you sure?" Atticus's voice was very somber. "He is indeed dead," Mr. Tate said. "Absolutely. He can't hurt the children anymore." "That's not what I meant," Atticus murmured as if in a dream. He suddenly looked much older, a sign that his mind was in turmoil: his once-sharp jawline had become loose; the wrinkles below his ears were no longer concealed, clearly visible; his once-black hair was less noticeable, while his increasingly graying sideburns were more striking. "Wouldn't it be better if we talked in the living room?" Aunt Alexandra finally asked. "If you don't mind," Mr. Tate said, "I think we should talk here, as long as it doesn't disturb Jem's rest. I'd like to see his injuries and hear Scout... tell us what happened." "Would it be alright if I left?" she asked. "I'm just an extra person here. Atticus, just call me if you need anything, I'll stay in my room." Aunt Alexandra walked towards the door, then stopped and turned back. “Atticus, I had a feeling about what would happen tonight… I… it’s all my fault,” she couldn’t help but say. “I should have…” Mr. Tate held out his hand, gesturing for her to stop. “Go ahead, Miss Alexandra. I know this has been very upsetting for you. Don’t overthink it, don’t torture yourself—well, if we keep letting our feelings lead us by the nose, we’ll be like cats chasing their own tails. Miss Scout, could you tell us what happened while your memory is still sharp? Do you think that’s alright? Did you see him following you?” I walked over to Atticus and felt him put his arms around me. I buried my head in his lap. “We started walking home. I told Jem I’d forgotten my shoes, so we went back to get them. But all the lights in the school were off, and Jem said I could get them tomorrow…” “Scooter, lift your head so Mr. Tate can hear you,” Atticus said to me. I climbed onto his lap and sat in his arms. “As we were walking, Jem told me to be quiet. I thought he was thinking about something—he always tells me to be quiet when he's thinking. After a while, he said he heard something. We thought it was Cecil playing tricks.” “Cecil?” “It was Cecil Jacobs. He already scared us once tonight, and we thought he was back again. He was wearing a sheet then. The prize for best costume was twenty-five cents, and I don’t even know who got it…” “Where were you when you thought it was Cecil?” “Not far from the school. I even yelled at him…” “What did you yell?” “I think it was ‘Cecil is a big fat hen.’ We didn’t hear anyone respond… A little while later, Jem yelled ‘Hello’ or something, loud enough to wake a dead man…” “Wait a minute, Scout,” said Mr. Tate. “Mr. Finch, did you hear them yelling?” Atticus said he didn’t. He had the radio on. Aunt Alexandra was also listening to the radio in her bedroom. He remembered clearly that Aunt Alexandra had told him to turn the volume down, otherwise she wouldn't be able to listen. Atticus smiled slightly. "I always have the radio turned up really loud." "I wonder if the neighbors heard anything..." Mr. Tate said. "I doubt it, Heck. Most of them are either listening to the radio or have gone to bed early. Miss Mordy might still be awake, but I doubt she heard anything." "Go on, Scout," Mr. Tate said to me again. “Oh, after Jem shouted, we both went on ahead. Mr. Tate, I was completely covered in my costume, but then I heard that sound too—I mean, footsteps. We walked, and the footsteps followed; we stopped, and the footsteps stopped. Jem said he could see me because Mrs. Crenshaw put some glittery paint on my costume. I was playing Ham.” “What’s going on?” Mr. Tate asked, surprised. Atticus explained my role to Mr. Tate and described the construction of my costume. “You should have seen what she looked like when she came back,” he said. “The costume was all crumpled.” Mr. Tate stroked his chin. “I was wondering how Ewell got those marks. He had a lot of little holes in his sleeves, and a couple of puncture wounds on his arms that matched the holes. Could I see that thing you mentioned, if it’s convenient?” Atticus went to get my tattered costume. Mr. Tate turned it over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what shape it was. “It’s very likely this thing saved her life,” he said. “Look.” He held up his long index finger and pointed to Atticus—a clean, bright line was clearly visible on the gray barbed wire. “Bob Ewell seems to have gone too far,” Mr. Tate muttered to himself. “He’s out of his mind,” Atticus said. “I don’t want to argue with you, Mr. Finch, but he’s not insane, he’s ruthless. That despicable bastard, emboldened by alcohol, dared to harm a child. He never dares to confront anyone directly.” Atticus shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone—” “Mr. Finch, there are some people in this world who you have to shoot before you can even greet them. Even then, their lives aren’t worth a bullet. Ewell is one of them.” Atticus said, “I thought he’d vented his anger after that threat. Even if he wasn’t satisfied, I thought he’d come after me.” “He had the guts to harass a poor black woman, he had the guts to cause trouble at Judge Taylor’s house when no one was home—you think, how could someone like that dare to confront you in broad daylight?” Mr. Tate sighed. “Let’s continue. Scout, did you hear him following you—” “Yes, sir. As we walked…” When we get to the bottom of the tree——" "How do you know it's under a tree? You can't see anything under the cover." "I was barefoot. Jem said the ground was cooler under the trees than elsewhere." "It seems we have to ask him to be our deputy. Go on." "Later, someone suddenly grabbed me and banged my costume hard... I remember I was lying on the ground... I heard a scuffle from under the tree... The sound was like they were hitting the trunk of the tree repeatedly. Jem found me, pulled me and ran towards the road. There was The man—it was Mr. Ewell, jerked him down, I guess. They struggled again, and I heard a strange noise—and then Jem let out a scream..." I stopped—that's when Jem's arm was broken. "Anyway, Jem screamed, and I never heard him again. Then Mr. Ewell strangled me again, and I think... suddenly someone pulled him down. I guess Jem got up. That's all I remember..." "What happened next?" Mr. Tate stared at me sharply. “Someone was panting heavily, staggering back and forth—coughing terribly. At first I thought it was Jem, but the voice didn't sound like him, so I groped around on the floor looking for him. I thought Atticus had come to help us; I was exhausted…” “Who is that person?” “Mr. Tate, he's right there. He can tell you his name.” As I spoke, I half-raised my hand, pointing to the person in the corner. But I quickly lowered my hand after the slightest gesture, lest Atticus scold me. Pointing at people is impolite. He was still leaning against the wall. He was standing against the wall with his arms crossed when I came in, and he'd been standing there ever since. When I pointed at him, he lowered his arms, his palms pressed firmly against the wall. They were pale hands, sickly hands that had never been bathed in sunlight. In the dim light of Jem's room, these hands, against the cream-colored wall, were so glaringly white. My gaze followed his hands down to his sand-stained khaki trousers, then up his thin frame to his ripped twill shirt. His face was as pale as his hands, with only a shadow on his prominent chin. His cheeks were sunken, forming a wide mouth; his temples were slightly sunken, almost imperceptible; his gray eyes were dull and lifeless, making me mistake him for blind. His thin, lifeless hair covered his head like feathers. As I pointed, his palms slid lightly against the wall, leaving two greasy streaks of sweat, before he tucked his thumbs into his belt. A sudden, inexplicable spasm ran through him, like the sound of fingernails scraping against stone. However, under my curious gaze, the tension on his face slowly dissipated. He parted his lips, revealing a shy smile. My eyes suddenly filled with tears, and my neighbor's face instantly became a blur.
As Atticus had said, things were finally calming down. By mid-October, only two unusual little incidents had occurred, involving two Maycomb citizens. No, three, actually. Though not directly related to our Finch family, they were still somewhat connected. The first involved Mr. Bob Ewell, who gained and then lost his job within days, probably making him a unique figure in the historical record of the 1930s: to my knowledge, he was the only person dismissed by the Public Works Promotion Agency for laziness. I suspect that his brief overnight fame only fostered a shorter period of diligence, and his job, like his fame, came and went quickly. Mr. Ewell found himself, like Tom Robinson, soon forgotten. From then on, he continued his weekly trip to the relief office to collect his checks. Instead of showing gratitude, he would mutter and curse incoherently, saying that those self-proclaimed rulers of the town wouldn't let an honest man earn his own living. Ruth Jones, who worked at the relief office, said that Mr. Ewell even openly hurled insults, accusing Atticus of ruining his job. Ruth was disturbed and went to Atticus's office to tell him about it. Atticus told Miss Ruth to calm down, saying that if Bob Ewell wanted to discuss how he had "ruined" his job, he knew how to get to his office. The second incident involved Judge Taylor. Mrs. Taylor went to church every Sunday evening, but Judge Taylor never did. Instead, he stayed in his mansion, enjoying the evenings alone, curled up in his study reading Bob Taylor's annotated works—they weren't related by blood, but Judge Taylor would have been quite pleased if he could claim kinship. One Sunday evening, Judge Taylor was engrossed in vivid metaphors and beautiful prose when a nagging scratching sound abruptly interrupted his attention. "Shh," he hissed at Ann Taylor, his unremarkable, large, fat dog. He then realized he was speaking to an empty room, and the scratching was coming from the back of the house. Judge Taylor dragged his heavy steps to the back porch to let the dog out, only to find the screen door swinging back and forth. He glimpsed a figure flash in the corner of the house; that was the only impression the uninvited guest left on him. Mrs. Taylor returned home from church to find her husband sitting as usual, engrossed in Bob Taylor's writing, a shotgun across his lap. The third matter concerns Helen Robinson, Tom's widow. If Mr. Ewell was forgotten like Tom Robinson, then Tom was forgotten like Radley the eccentric. However, Tom's former employer, Mr. Link Dis, hadn't forgotten him and arranged a job for his wife, Helen. He didn't really need Helen to help out; he said the way things had turned out made him very upset. I had no idea who would take care of Helen's children while she went to work. Kaponi said Helen had a hard time; she had to walk an extra mile every day to avoid the Ewell family. In Helen's words, the first time she passed by, she was "surrounded" by the Ewell family just as she was about to step onto the public road. Day after day, Mr. Link Dis finally discovered that Helen took a longer route to work every day, so he pressed her to tell him the reason. “Please, Mr. Link, leave it alone,” Helen pleaded. “I won’t let him get away with it!” said Mr. Link. He told Helen to come to his shop before going home in the afternoon. Helen obeyed, and by evening, Mr. Link had closed the shop, pulled his hat firmly on his head, and walked with Helen home. They took a shortcut, passing by Ewell’s house. When he turned back, he stopped in front of the crooked gate. “Ewell?” he called out, “I say, Ewell!” The windows, usually crowded with children, were now empty. “I know you’re all in the house, all crawling on the floor. Listen up, Bob Ewell: if I hear my Helen mutter again that she’s afraid to walk this way, I’ll send you to jail before nightfall!” Mr. Link spat on the ground and turned to go home. The next morning, Helen took the same public road to work. No one stopped her this time, but after walking a few steps past Ewell’s house, she turned around and found Mr. Ewell following her. She turned back and continued on her way, and Mr. Ewell followed her all the way to Mr. Link Dis’s house, always keeping a safe distance. Helen said that along the way she heard constant low curses behind her, all very foul language. Terrified, she immediately called Mr. Link, who was at the shop. The shop wasn't far from his house, and as Mr. Link stepped out, he saw Mr. Ewell leaning against his yard fence. Mr. Ewell said, "Link Dis, don't look at me like I'm a piece of trash. I haven't done anything to you..." "Ewell, the first thing you need to do is get your stinking body off my fence. I don't have the money to repaint it after you've leaned on it. The second thing is to stay away from my cook, or I'll sue you for harassment..." "Link Dis, I haven't touched her, and I'm not going to go looking for a nigger!" "You don't need to touch her, just scare her. If harassment isn't enough to put you in jail for a while, I'll sue you under the Women's Act. Get lost! If you think I'm not serious, try bothering her again!" Mr. Ewell clearly thought he was serious, because Helen never mentioned any similar trouble again. “Atticus, this is really bothering me, I’m so fed up.” – This was Aunt Alexandra’s feeling. “He seems to hold a grudge against everyone involved in that case. I know how those kinds of people vent their resentment, but I don’t understand why he does it – didn’t he get his way in court?” “I can understand,” Atticus said. “Maybe it’s because he knows that in Maycomb, very few people actually believe the lies he and Mayella fabricated. He thought he was going to be a hero, but after all his scheming and scheming, all he got was… well, we found this black guy guilty, you can go back to your junkyard. He’s caused trouble for everyone now, he should be satisfied. His resentment will probably subside when the weather gets cooler.” “But why did he go to John Taylor’s house?” "Borrowing? He obviously didn't know John was home; if he had, he wouldn't have barged in. Every Sunday night, John usually only turned on the light on the front porch and the study..." "You don't know if Bob Ewell cut the screen door, you don't know who did it," Atticus said. "But I can guess. I exposed his lie in court, and John made him look like a fool. When Ewell was on the witness stand, I didn't dare look at John once, afraid I'd burst out laughing. John looked at him as if he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don't tell me judges never try to influence the jury." Atticus chuckled. By the end of October, our lives had returned to the familiar routine: school, play, study. Jem seemed to have completely banished what he wanted to forget, and the magnanimity of our classmates made us forget we had a rebellious father. Cecil once asked me, "Is your father a radical?" I went home and asked Atticus, whose gleeful expression annoyed me, but he said he wasn't mocking me, adding, "Go tell Cecil I'm about as radical as 'Cotton Tom' Heflin." Aunt Alexandra was beaming with pride; it seemed Miss Moody had certainly won over the entire mission, as she was once again acting as their leader, and even her refreshments were becoming increasingly delicious. I learned more about the poor Monas from Mrs. Merriweather about their social life: they had almost no concept of family; the entire tribe was one big family. For all the children, there were as many fathers as there were men in the tribe, and as many mothers as there were women. Reverend J. Grimes Everett was doing everything he could to change this, and our prayers were urgently needed. Maycomb had returned to its old ways, almost exactly the same as last year and the year before, with only two minor changes. The first change was that people had torn down the old signs and slogans from shop windows and cars that read "National Recovery Administration - Doing the Job." I asked Atticus why, and he said it was because the "National Recovery Act" note had been removed. I asked who removed it, and he said nine old men. The second change in Maycomb wasn't national, but it started last year. Before that, Halloween in Maycomb was never very organized. Each child did their own thing, only asking for help when something needed moving, like putting a wagon on top of the barn. However, after the incident where Miss Tutty and Miss Fruty's peaceful lives were disrupted, the parents unanimously agreed that the children had gone too far. Tutty Barber and Fruty Barber were sisters, both older ladies, living together in Maycomb's only house with a cellar. Rumor had it that the sisters were Republicans who had moved from Clanton, Alabama in 1911. Their lifestyle seemed strange to us; no one understood why they wanted a cellar. They had the idea, so they dug one, and their lives were never peaceful; they constantly had to drive generation after generation of their children away. Miss Tutti and Miss Fruty's names were Sarah and Francis, respectively. Besides all the typical Yankee habits, they were both deaf. Miss Tutti refused to accept this fact, content to live in a silent world, while Miss Fruty, not wanting to miss anything, had a huge, horn-shaped hearing aid fitted. Jem asserted it was an amplifier salvaged from a Victor phonograph. A few mischievous children, knowing this, sneaked into their living room (except for the Radleys, no one locked their doors at night) on Halloween after the two old ladies had fallen asleep, and secretly moved all the furniture out and hid it in the cellar. I vehemently denied participating in this frivolous act. “I heard them!” The next morning, just as dawn broke, the two young ladies’ neighbors were awakened by the commotion. “I heard them pull up to the door! The heavy footsteps sounded like horses’ hooves. They must be in New Orleans by now!” Two days earlier, a group of itinerant fur traders had passed through town, and Miss Tutty was convinced they had stolen the furniture. “Those Syrians,” she said, “they’re so dark-skinned.” Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. After examining the scene, he said he felt it was the locals. Miss Tutty said she knew the Maycomb accent all too well, recognizing it everywhere, but last night, no one in the living room spoke with a Maycomb accent—the men walked around with their mouths full of rolled "r" sounds. Miss Tutty insisted on using hunting dogs to find the furniture, so Mr. Tate had to run ten miles of dirt roads to gather the country dogs and let them track the scent. Mr. Tate had the hounds use the front steps as a starting point, but they all ran to the back of the house and barked incessantly at the cellar door. After this happened three times, Mr. Tate figured out what was going on. Before noon that day, there wasn't a single barefoot child to be seen on the streets of Maycomb, and none of them would take off their shoes until the hounds were sent away. Upon hearing this, the ladies of Maycomb said that this year would be different. As a result, the Maycomb High School auditorium would be open to the public that day, with adults watching performances and children playing games like "apple in mouth," "toffee pulling," and "tackling a donkey's tail." There was also a prize for the best homemade Halloween costume, with a prize of twenty-five cents. Jim and I complained bitterly. It wasn't because we had played any pranks, but because of the rule. Jim felt he was too old for Halloween tricks anymore, and he said he didn't want anyone seeing him near the high school auditorium that night, participating in those boring games. Oh well, I thought, Atticus will take me. However, I soon heard that I also had to perform on stage that night. Mrs. Merriweather had created a rather ingenious play called "Maycomb County: The Road to the Stars," and she wanted me to play Ham. She thought it would be very pleasing to have a group of children dressed as Maycomb County's main agricultural products: Cecil as a cow, Agnes Boone as a cute butter bean, and another child as a peanut, and so on, until Mrs. Merriweather's imagination ran out and no more children were available for roles. After two rehearsals, I figured out that our task was simply to walk onto the stage from the left, guided by Mrs. Merriweather, the playwright and narrator. When she called "Pork," it was my turn to appear. Then, my friends would sing in unison: Maycomb County, Maycomb County, you'll always be in our hearts. The final scene would be incredibly solemn—Mrs. Merriweather planned to take to the stage, holding the state flag high. My costume wasn't a problem. There was a tailor in town named Mrs. Crenshaw, who, like Mrs. Merriweather, was full of ingenious ideas. Mrs. Crenshaw bent wire mesh into the shape of a smoked ham, covered it with brown cloth, and even painted on it to make the ham look more realistic. I just had to squat down so someone could pull the costume over my head, up to about my knees. Mrs. Crenshaw was very thoughtful, even leaving two observation holes for me. Her craftsmanship was excellent; Jem said I looked like a ham with two legs. However, the costume had its uncomfortable aspects: it was too hot and too tight inside, so I couldn't scratch my itchy nose, and once I was on, I couldn't get out without help. On Halloween, I thought my whole family would come to see my performance, but I was greatly disappointed. Atticus told me, in the most tactful way possible, that he was too tired to go to the show that evening. He'd been in Montgomery for a week and hadn't returned home until that evening. He figured if I asked Jem, Jem would come with me. Aunt Alexandra said she needed to go to bed early; she'd been busy all afternoon helping set up the stage and was exhausted—she stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence. Her mouth opened and closed as if to say something, but no word came out. “What’s wrong, Aunt?” I asked. “Oh, nothing, nothing,” she said. “I just had a shiver; someone must have stepped on my grave.” She dismissed the thing that had startled her and suggested I rehearse it in the living room in front of the whole family. So Jem… Aunt Alexandra rose and reached for the mantel. Mr. Tate quickly rose as well, but Aunt Alexandra wouldn't let him help. For the first time in his life, Atticus didn't show his innate humility—he remained seated. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about what Mr. Bob Ewell had said—that he'd risk his life to get rid of Atticus. Mr. Ewell had almost gotten his wish this time, and it was the last thing he ever did. "Are you sure?" Atticus's voice was very somber. "He is indeed dead," Mr. Tate said. "Absolutely. He can't hurt the children anymore." "That's not what I meant," Atticus murmured as if in a dream. He suddenly looked much older, a sign that his mind was in turmoil: his once-sharp jawline had become loose; the wrinkles below his ears were no longer concealed, clearly visible; his once-black hair was less noticeable, while his increasingly graying sideburns were more striking. "Wouldn't it be better if we talked in the living room?" Aunt Alexandra finally asked. "If you don't mind," Mr. Tate said, "I think we should talk here, as long as it doesn't disturb Jem's rest. I'd like to see his injuries and hear Scout... tell us what happened." "Would it be alright if I left?" she asked. "I'm just an extra person here. Atticus, just call me if you need anything, I'll stay in my room." Aunt Alexandra walked towards the door, then stopped and turned back. “Atticus, I had a feeling about what would happen tonight… I… it’s all my fault,” she couldn’t help but say. “I should have…” Mr. Tate held out his hand, gesturing for her to stop. “Go ahead, Miss Alexandra. I know this has been very upsetting for you. Don’t overthink it, don’t torture yourself—well, if we keep letting our feelings lead us by the nose, we’ll be like cats chasing their own tails. Miss Scout, could you tell us what happened while your memory is still sharp? Do you think that’s alright? Did you see him following you?” I walked over to Atticus and felt him put his arms around me. I buried my head in his lap. “We started walking home. I told Jem I’d forgotten my shoes, so we went back to get them. But all the lights in the school were off, and Jem said I could get them tomorrow…” “Scooter, lift your head so Mr. Tate can hear you,” Atticus said to me. I climbed onto his lap and sat in his arms. “As we were walking, Jem told me to be quiet. I thought he was thinking about something—he always tells me to be quiet when he's thinking. After a while, he said he heard something. We thought it was Cecil playing tricks.” “Cecil?” “It was Cecil Jacobs. He already scared us once tonight, and we thought he was back again. He was wearing a sheet then. The prize for best costume was twenty-five cents, and I don’t even know who got it…” “Where were you when you thought it was Cecil?” “Not far from the school. I even yelled at him…” “What did you yell?” “I think it was ‘Cecil is a big fat hen.’ We didn’t hear anyone respond… A little while later, Jem yelled ‘Hello’ or something, loud enough to wake a dead man…” “Wait a minute, Scout,” said Mr. Tate. “Mr. Finch, did you hear them yelling?” Atticus said he didn’t. He had the radio on. Aunt Alexandra was also listening to the radio in her bedroom. He remembered clearly that Aunt Alexandra had told him to turn the volume down, otherwise she wouldn't be able to listen. Atticus smiled slightly. "I always have the radio turned up really loud." "I wonder if the neighbors heard anything..." Mr. Tate said. "I doubt it, Heck. Most of them are either listening to the radio or have gone to bed early. Miss Mordy might still be awake, but I doubt she heard anything." "Go on, Scout," Mr. Tate said to me again. “Oh, after Jem shouted, we both went on ahead. Mr. Tate, I was completely covered in my costume, but then I heard that sound too—I mean, footsteps. We walked, and the footsteps followed; we stopped, and the footsteps stopped. Jem said he could see me because Mrs. Crenshaw put some glittery paint on my costume. I was playing Ham.” “What’s going on?” Mr. Tate asked, surprised. Atticus explained my role to Mr. Tate and described the construction of my costume. “You should have seen what she looked like when she came back,” he said. “The costume was all crumpled.” Mr. Tate stroked his chin. “I was wondering how Ewell got those marks. He had a lot of little holes in his sleeves, and a couple of puncture wounds on his arms that matched the holes. Could I see that thing you mentioned, if it’s convenient?” Atticus went to get my tattered costume. Mr. Tate turned it over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what shape it was. “It’s very likely this thing saved her life,” he said. “Look.” He held up his long index finger and pointed to Atticus—a clean, bright line was clearly visible on the gray barbed wire. “Bob Ewell seems to have gone too far,” Mr. Tate muttered to himself. “He’s out of his mind,” Atticus said. “I don’t want to argue with you, Mr. Finch, but he’s not insane, he’s ruthless. That despicable bastard, emboldened by alcohol, dared to harm a child. He never dares to confront anyone directly.” Atticus shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone—” “Mr. Finch, there are some people in this world who you have to shoot before you can even greet them. Even then, their lives aren’t worth a bullet. Ewell is one of them.” Atticus said, “I thought he’d vented his anger after that threat. Even if he wasn’t satisfied, I thought he’d come after me.” “He had the guts to harass a poor black woman, he had the guts to cause trouble at Judge Taylor’s house when no one was home—you think, how could someone like that dare to confront you in broad daylight?” Mr. Tate sighed. “Let’s continue. Scout, did you hear him following you—” “Yes, sir. As we walked…” When we get to the bottom of the tree——" "How do you know it's under a tree? You can't see anything under the cover." "I was barefoot. Jem said the ground was cooler under the trees than elsewhere." "It seems we have to ask him to be our deputy. Go on." "Later, someone suddenly grabbed me and banged my costume hard... I remember I was lying on the ground... I heard a scuffle from under the tree... The sound was like they were hitting the trunk of the tree repeatedly. Jem found me, pulled me and ran towards the road. There was The man—it was Mr. Ewell, jerked him down, I guess. They struggled again, and I heard a strange noise—and then Jem let out a scream..." I stopped—that's when Jem's arm was broken. "Anyway, Jem screamed, and I never heard him again. Then Mr. Ewell strangled me again, and I think... suddenly someone pulled him down. I guess Jem got up. That's all I remember..." "What happened next?" Mr. Tate stared at me sharply. “Someone was panting heavily, staggering back and forth—coughing terribly. At first I thought it was Jem, but the voice didn't sound like him, so I groped around on the floor looking for him. I thought Atticus had come to help us; I was exhausted…” “Who is that person?” “Mr. Tate, he's right there. He can tell you his name.” As I spoke, I half-raised my hand, pointing to the person in the corner. But I quickly lowered my hand after the slightest gesture, lest Atticus scold me. Pointing at people is impolite. He was still leaning against the wall. He was standing against the wall with his arms crossed when I came in, and he'd been standing there ever since. When I pointed at him, he lowered his arms, his palms pressed firmly against the wall. They were pale hands, sickly hands that had never been bathed in sunlight. In the dim light of Jem's room, these hands, against the cream-colored wall, were so glaringly white. My gaze followed his hands down to his sand-stained khaki trousers, then up his thin frame to his ripped twill shirt. His face was as pale as his hands, with only a shadow on his prominent chin. His cheeks were sunken, forming a wide mouth; his temples were slightly sunken, almost imperceptible; his gray eyes were dull and lifeless, making me mistake him for blind. His thin, lifeless hair covered his head like feathers. As I pointed, his palms slid lightly against the wall, leaving two greasy streaks of sweat, before he tucked his thumbs into his belt. A sudden, inexplicable spasm ran through him, like the sound of fingernails scraping against stone. However, under my curious gaze, the tension on his face slowly dissipated. He parted his lips, revealing a shy smile. My eyes suddenly filled with tears, and my neighbor's face instantly became a blur.
As Atticus had said, things were finally calming down. By mid-October, only two unusual little incidents had occurred, involving two Maycomb citizens. No, three, actually. Though not directly related to our Finch family, they were still somewhat connected. The first involved Mr. Bob Ewell, who gained and then lost his job within days, probably making him a unique figure in the historical record of the 1930s: to my knowledge, he was the only person dismissed by the Public Works Promotion Agency for laziness. I suspect that his brief overnight fame only fostered a shorter period of diligence, and his job, like his fame, came and went quickly. Mr. Ewell found himself, like Tom Robinson, soon forgotten. From then on, he continued his weekly trip to the relief office to collect his checks. Instead of showing gratitude, he would mutter and curse incoherently, saying that those self-proclaimed rulers of the town wouldn't let an honest man earn his own living. Ruth Jones, who worked at the relief office, said that Mr. Ewell even openly hurled insults, accusing Atticus of ruining his job. Ruth was disturbed and went to Atticus's office to tell him about it. Atticus told Miss Ruth to calm down, saying that if Bob Ewell wanted to discuss how he had "ruined" his job, he knew how to get to his office. The second incident involved Judge Taylor. Mrs. Taylor went to church every Sunday evening, but Judge Taylor never did. Instead, he stayed in his mansion, enjoying the evenings alone, curled up in his study reading Bob Taylor's annotated works—they weren't related by blood, but Judge Taylor would have been quite pleased if he could claim kinship. One Sunday evening, Judge Taylor was engrossed in vivid metaphors and beautiful prose when a nagging scratching sound abruptly interrupted his attention. "Shh," he hissed at Ann Taylor, his unremarkable, large, fat dog. He then realized he was speaking to an empty room, and the scratching was coming from the back of the house. Judge Taylor dragged his heavy steps to the back porch to let the dog out, only to find the screen door swinging back and forth. He glimpsed a figure flash in the corner of the house; that was the only impression the uninvited guest left on him. Mrs. Taylor returned home from church to find her husband sitting as usual, engrossed in Bob Taylor's writing, a shotgun across his lap. The third matter concerns Helen Robinson, Tom's widow. If Mr. Ewell was forgotten like Tom Robinson, then Tom was forgotten like Radley the eccentric. However, Tom's former employer, Mr. Link Dis, hadn't forgotten him and arranged a job for his wife, Helen. He didn't really need Helen to help out; he said the way things had turned out made him very upset. I had no idea who would take care of Helen's children while she went to work. Kaponi said Helen had a hard time; she had to walk an extra mile every day to avoid the Ewell family. In Helen's words, the first time she passed by, she was "surrounded" by the Ewell family just as she was about to step onto the public road. Day after day, Mr. Link Dis finally discovered that Helen took a longer route to work every day, so he pressed her to tell him the reason. “Please, Mr. Link, leave it alone,” Helen pleaded. “I won’t let him get away with it!” said Mr. Link. He told Helen to come to his shop before going home in the afternoon. Helen obeyed, and by evening, Mr. Link had closed the shop, pulled his hat firmly on his head, and walked with Helen home. They took a shortcut, passing by Ewell’s house. When he turned back, he stopped in front of the crooked gate. “Ewell?” he called out, “I say, Ewell!” The windows, usually crowded with children, were now empty. “I know you’re all in the house, all crawling on the floor. Listen up, Bob Ewell: if I hear my Helen mutter again that she’s afraid to walk this way, I’ll send you to jail before nightfall!” Mr. Link spat on the ground and turned to go home. The next morning, Helen took the same public road to work. No one stopped her this time, but after walking a few steps past Ewell’s house, she turned around and found Mr. Ewell following her. She turned back and continued on her way, and Mr. Ewell followed her all the way to Mr. Link Dis’s house, always keeping a safe distance. Helen said that along the way she heard constant low curses behind her, all very foul language. Terrified, she immediately called Mr. Link, who was at the shop. The shop wasn't far from his house, and as Mr. Link stepped out, he saw Mr. Ewell leaning against his yard fence. Mr. Ewell said, "Link Dis, don't look at me like I'm a piece of trash. I haven't done anything to you..." "Ewell, the first thing you need to do is get your stinking body off my fence. I don't have the money to repaint it after you've leaned on it. The second thing is to stay away from my cook, or I'll sue you for harassment..." "Link Dis, I haven't touched her, and I'm not going to go looking for a nigger!" "You don't need to touch her, just scare her. If harassment isn't enough to put you in jail for a while, I'll sue you under the Women's Act. Get lost! If you think I'm not serious, try bothering her again!" Mr. Ewell clearly thought he was serious, because Helen never mentioned any similar trouble again. “Atticus, this is really bothering me, I’m so fed up.” – This was Aunt Alexandra’s feeling. “He seems to hold a grudge against everyone involved in that case. I know how those kinds of people vent their resentment, but I don’t understand why he does it – didn’t he get his way in court?” “I can understand,” Atticus said. “Maybe it’s because he knows that in Maycomb, very few people actually believe the lies he and Mayella fabricated. He thought he was going to be a hero, but after all his scheming and scheming, all he got was… well, we found this black guy guilty, you can go back to your junkyard. He’s caused trouble for everyone now, he should be satisfied. His resentment will probably subside when the weather gets cooler.” “But why did he go to John Taylor’s house?” "Borrowing? He obviously didn't know John was home; if he had, he wouldn't have barged in. Every Sunday night, John usually only turned on the light on the front porch and the study..." "You don't know if Bob Ewell cut the screen door, you don't know who did it," Atticus said. "But I can guess. I exposed his lie in court, and John made him look like a fool. When Ewell was on the witness stand, I didn't dare look at John once, afraid I'd burst out laughing. John looked at him as if he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don't tell me judges never try to influence the jury." Atticus chuckled. By the end of October, our lives had returned to the familiar routine: school, play, study. Jem seemed to have completely banished what he wanted to forget, and the magnanimity of our classmates made us forget we had a rebellious father. Cecil once asked me, "Is your father a radical?" I went home and asked Atticus, whose gleeful expression annoyed me, but he said he wasn't mocking me, adding, "Go tell Cecil I'm about as radical as 'Cotton Tom' Heflin." Aunt Alexandra was beaming with pride; it seemed Miss Moody had certainly won over the entire mission, as she was once again acting as their leader, and even her refreshments were becoming increasingly delicious. I learned more about the poor Monas from Mrs. Merriweather about their social life: they had almost no concept of family; the entire tribe was one big family. For all the children, there were as many fathers as there were men in the tribe, and as many mothers as there were women. Reverend J. Grimes Everett was doing everything he could to change this, and our prayers were urgently needed. Maycomb had returned to its old ways, almost exactly the same as last year and the year before, with only two minor changes. The first change was that people had torn down the old signs and slogans from shop windows and cars that read "National Recovery Administration - Doing the Job." I asked Atticus why, and he said it was because the "National Recovery Act" note had been removed. I asked who removed it, and he said nine old men. The second change in Maycomb wasn't national, but it started last year. Before that, Halloween in Maycomb was never very organized. Each child did their own thing, only asking for help when something needed moving, like putting a wagon on top of the barn. However, after the incident where Miss Tutty and Miss Fruty's peaceful lives were disrupted, the parents unanimously agreed that the children had gone too far. Tutty Barber and Fruty Barber were sisters, both older ladies, living together in Maycomb's only house with a cellar. Rumor had it that the sisters were Republicans who had moved from Clanton, Alabama in 1911. Their lifestyle seemed strange to us; no one understood why they wanted a cellar. They had the idea, so they dug one, and their lives were never peaceful; they constantly had to drive generation after generation of their children away. Miss Tutti and Miss Fruty's names were Sarah and Francis, respectively. Besides all the typical Yankee habits, they were both deaf. Miss Tutti refused to accept this fact, content to live in a silent world, while Miss Fruty, not wanting to miss anything, had a huge, horn-shaped hearing aid fitted. Jem asserted it was an amplifier salvaged from a Victor phonograph. A few mischievous children, knowing this, sneaked into their living room (except for the Radleys, no one locked their doors at night) on Halloween after the two old ladies had fallen asleep, and secretly moved all the furniture out and hid it in the cellar. I vehemently denied participating in this frivolous act. “I heard them!” The next morning, just as dawn broke, the two young ladies’ neighbors were awakened by the commotion. “I heard them pull up to the door! The heavy footsteps sounded like horses’ hooves. They must be in New Orleans by now!” Two days earlier, a group of itinerant fur traders had passed through town, and Miss Tutty was convinced they had stolen the furniture. “Those Syrians,” she said, “they’re so dark-skinned.” Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. After examining the scene, he said he felt it was the locals. Miss Tutty said she knew the Maycomb accent all too well, recognizing it everywhere, but last night, no one in the living room spoke with a Maycomb accent—the men walked around with their mouths full of rolled "r" sounds. Miss Tutty insisted on using hunting dogs to find the furniture, so Mr. Tate had to run ten miles of dirt roads to gather the country dogs and let them track the scent. Mr. Tate had the hounds use the front steps as a starting point, but they all ran to the back of the house and barked incessantly at the cellar door. After this happened three times, Mr. Tate figured out what was going on. Before noon that day, there wasn't a single barefoot child to be seen on the streets of Maycomb, and none of them would take off their shoes until the hounds were sent away. Upon hearing this, the ladies of Maycomb said that this year would be different. As a result, the Maycomb High School auditorium would be open to the public that day, with adults watching performances and children playing games like "apple in mouth," "toffee pulling," and "tackling a donkey's tail." There was also a prize for the best homemade Halloween costume, with a prize of twenty-five cents. Jim and I complained bitterly. It wasn't because we had played any pranks, but because of the rule. Jim felt he was too old for Halloween tricks anymore, and he said he didn't want anyone seeing him near the high school auditorium that night, participating in those boring games. Oh well, I thought, Atticus will take me. However, I soon heard that I also had to perform on stage that night. Mrs. Merriweather had created a rather ingenious play called "Maycomb County: The Road to the Stars," and she wanted me to play Ham. She thought it would be very pleasing to have a group of children dressed as Maycomb County's main agricultural products: Cecil as a cow, Agnes Boone as a cute butter bean, and another child as a peanut, and so on, until Mrs. Merriweather's imagination ran out and no more children were available for roles. After two rehearsals, I figured out that our task was simply to walk onto the stage from the left, guided by Mrs. Merriweather, the playwright and narrator. When she called "Pork," it was my turn to appear. Then, my friends would sing in unison: Maycomb County, Maycomb County, you'll always be in our hearts. The final scene would be incredibly solemn—Mrs. Merriweather planned to take to the stage, holding the state flag high. My costume wasn't a problem. There was a tailor in town named Mrs. Crenshaw, who, like Mrs. Merriweather, was full of ingenious ideas. Mrs. Crenshaw bent wire mesh into the shape of a smoked ham, covered it with brown cloth, and even painted on it to make the ham look more realistic. I just had to squat down so someone could pull the costume over my head, up to about my knees. Mrs. Crenshaw was very thoughtful, even leaving two observation holes for me. Her craftsmanship was excellent; Jem said I looked like a ham with two legs. However, the costume had its uncomfortable aspects: it was too hot and too tight inside, so I couldn't scratch my itchy nose, and once I was on, I couldn't get out without help. On Halloween, I thought my whole family would come to see my performance, but I was greatly disappointed. Atticus told me, in the most tactful way possible, that he was too tired to go to the show that evening. He'd been in Montgomery for a week and hadn't returned home until that evening. He figured if I asked Jem, Jem would come with me. Aunt Alexandra said she needed to go to bed early; she'd been busy all afternoon helping set up the stage and was exhausted—she stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence. Her mouth opened and closed as if to say something, but no word came out. “What’s wrong, Aunt?” I asked. “Oh, nothing, nothing,” she said. “I just had a shiver; someone must have stepped on my grave.” She dismissed the thing that had startled her and suggested I rehearse it in the living room in front of the whole family. So Jem… Aunt Alexandra rose and reached for the mantel. Mr. Tate quickly rose as well, but Aunt Alexandra wouldn't let him help. For the first time in his life, Atticus didn't show his innate humility—he remained seated. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about what Mr. Bob Ewell had said—that he'd risk his life to get rid of Atticus. Mr. Ewell had almost gotten his wish this time, and it was the last thing he ever did. "Are you sure?" Atticus's voice was very somber. "He is indeed dead," Mr. Tate said. "Absolutely. He can't hurt the children anymore." "That's not what I meant," Atticus murmured as if in a dream. He suddenly looked much older, a sign that his mind was in turmoil: his once-sharp jawline had become loose; the wrinkles below his ears were no longer concealed, clearly visible; his once-black hair was less noticeable, while his increasingly graying sideburns were more striking. "Wouldn't it be better if we talked in the living room?" Aunt Alexandra finally asked. "If you don't mind," Mr. Tate said, "I think we should talk here, as long as it doesn't disturb Jem's rest. I'd like to see his injuries and hear Scout... tell us what happened." "Would it be alright if I left?" she asked. "I'm just an extra person here. Atticus, just call me if you need anything, I'll stay in my room." Aunt Alexandra walked towards the door, then stopped and turned back. “Atticus, I had a feeling about what would happen tonight… I… it’s all my fault,” she couldn’t help but say. “I should have…” Mr. Tate held out his hand, gesturing for her to stop. “Go ahead, Miss Alexandra. I know this has been very upsetting for you. Don’t overthink it, don’t torture yourself—well, if we keep letting our feelings lead us by the nose, we’ll be like cats chasing their own tails. Miss Scout, could you tell us what happened while your memory is still sharp? Do you think that’s alright? Did you see him following you?” I walked over to Atticus and felt him put his arms around me. I buried my head in his lap. “We started walking home. I told Jem I’d forgotten my shoes, so we went back to get them. But all the lights in the school were off, and Jem said I could get them tomorrow…” “Scooter, lift your head so Mr. Tate can hear you,” Atticus said to me. I climbed onto his lap and sat in his arms. “As we were walking, Jem told me to be quiet. I thought he was thinking about something—he always tells me to be quiet when he's thinking. After a while, he said he heard something. We thought it was Cecil playing tricks.” “Cecil?” “It was Cecil Jacobs. He already scared us once tonight, and we thought he was back again. He was wearing a sheet then. The prize for best costume was twenty-five cents, and I don’t even know who got it…” “Where were you when you thought it was Cecil?” “Not far from the school. I even yelled at him…” “What did you yell?” “I think it was ‘Cecil is a big fat hen.’ We didn’t hear anyone respond… A little while later, Jem yelled ‘Hello’ or something, loud enough to wake a dead man…” “Wait a minute, Scout,” said Mr. Tate. “Mr. Finch, did you hear them yelling?” Atticus said he didn’t. He had the radio on. Aunt Alexandra was also listening to the radio in her bedroom. He remembered clearly that Aunt Alexandra had told him to turn the volume down, otherwise she wouldn't be able to listen. Atticus smiled slightly. "I always have the radio turned up really loud." "I wonder if the neighbors heard anything..." Mr. Tate said. "I doubt it, Heck. Most of them are either listening to the radio or have gone to bed early. Miss Mordy might still be awake, but I doubt she heard anything." "Go on, Scout," Mr. Tate said to me again. “Oh, after Jem shouted, we both went on ahead. Mr. Tate, I was completely covered in my costume, but then I heard that sound too—I mean, footsteps. We walked, and the footsteps followed; we stopped, and the footsteps stopped. Jem said he could see me because Mrs. Crenshaw put some glittery paint on my costume. I was playing Ham.” “What’s going on?” Mr. Tate asked, surprised. Atticus explained my role to Mr. Tate and described the construction of my costume. “You should have seen what she looked like when she came back,” he said. “The costume was all crumpled.” Mr. Tate stroked his chin. “I was wondering how Ewell got those marks. He had a lot of little holes in his sleeves, and a couple of puncture wounds on his arms that matched the holes. Could I see that thing you mentioned, if it’s convenient?” Atticus went to get my tattered costume. Mr. Tate turned it over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what shape it was. “It’s very likely this thing saved her life,” he said. “Look.” He held up his long index finger and pointed to Atticus—a clean, bright line was clearly visible on the gray barbed wire. “Bob Ewell seems to have gone too far,” Mr. Tate muttered to himself. “He’s out of his mind,” Atticus said. “I don’t want to argue with you, Mr. Finch, but he’s not insane, he’s ruthless. That despicable bastard, emboldened by alcohol, dared to harm a child. He never dares to confront anyone directly.” Atticus shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone—” “Mr. Finch, there are some people in this world who you have to shoot before you can even greet them. Even then, their lives aren’t worth a bullet. Ewell is one of them.” Atticus said, “I thought he’d vented his anger after that threat. Even if he wasn’t satisfied, I thought he’d come after me.” “He had the guts to harass a poor black woman, he had the guts to cause trouble at Judge Taylor’s house when no one was home—you think, how could someone like that dare to confront you in broad daylight?” Mr. Tate sighed. “Let’s continue. Scout, did you hear him following you—” “Yes, sir. As we walked…” When we get to the bottom of the tree——" "How do you know it's under a tree? You can't see anything under the cover." "I was barefoot. Jem said the ground was cooler under the trees than elsewhere." "It seems we have to ask him to be our deputy. Go on." "Later, someone suddenly grabbed me and banged my costume hard... I remember I was lying on the ground... I heard a scuffle from under the tree... The sound was like they were hitting the trunk of the tree repeatedly. Jem found me, pulled me and ran towards the road. There was The man—it was Mr. Ewell, jerked him down, I guess. They struggled again, and I heard a strange noise—and then Jem let out a scream..." I stopped—that's when Jem's arm was broken. "Anyway, Jem screamed, and I never heard him again. Then Mr. Ewell strangled me again, and I think... suddenly someone pulled him down. I guess Jem got up. That's all I remember..." "What happened next?" Mr. Tate stared at me sharply. “Someone was panting heavily, staggering back and forth—coughing terribly. At first I thought it was Jem, but the voice didn't sound like him, so I groped around on the floor looking for him. I thought Atticus had come to help us; I was exhausted…” “Who is that person?” “Mr. Tate, he's right there. He can tell you his name.” As I spoke, I half-raised my hand, pointing to the person in the corner. But I quickly lowered my hand after the slightest gesture, lest Atticus scold me. Pointing at people is impolite. He was still leaning against the wall. He was standing against the wall with his arms crossed when I came in, and he'd been standing there ever since. When I pointed at him, he lowered his arms, his palms pressed firmly against the wall. They were pale hands, sickly hands that had never been bathed in sunlight. In the dim light of Jem's room, these hands, against the cream-colored wall, were so glaringly white. My gaze followed his hands down to his sand-stained khaki trousers, then up his thin frame to his ripped twill shirt. His face was as pale as his hands, with only a shadow on his prominent chin. His cheeks were sunken, forming a wide mouth; his temples were slightly sunken, almost imperceptible; his gray eyes were dull and lifeless, making me mistake him for blind. His thin, lifeless hair covered his head like feathers. As I pointed, his palms slid lightly against the wall, leaving two greasy streaks of sweat, before he tucked his thumbs into his belt. A sudden, inexplicable spasm ran through him, like the sound of fingernails scraping against stone. However, under my curious gaze, the tension on his face slowly dissipated. He parted his lips, revealing a shy smile. My eyes suddenly filled with tears, and my neighbor's face instantly became a blur.
As Atticus had said, things were finally calming down. By mid-October, only two unusual little incidents had occurred, involving two Maycomb citizens. No, three, actually. Though not directly related to our Finch family, they were still somewhat connected. The first involved Mr. Bob Ewell, who gained and then lost his job within days, probably making him a unique figure in the historical record of the 1930s: to my knowledge, he was the only person dismissed by the Public Works Promotion Agency for laziness. I suspect that his brief overnight fame only fostered a shorter period of diligence, and his job, like his fame, came and went quickly. Mr. Ewell found himself, like Tom Robinson, soon forgotten. From then on, he continued his weekly trip to the relief office to collect his checks. Instead of showing gratitude, he would mutter and curse incoherently, saying that those self-proclaimed rulers of the town wouldn't let an honest man earn his own living. Ruth Jones, who worked at the relief office, said that Mr. Ewell even openly hurled insults, accusing Atticus of ruining his job. Ruth was disturbed and went to Atticus's office to tell him about it. Atticus told Miss Ruth to calm down, saying that if Bob Ewell wanted to discuss how he had "ruined" his job, he knew how to get to his office. The second incident involved Judge Taylor. Mrs. Taylor went to church every Sunday evening, but Judge Taylor never did. Instead, he stayed in his mansion, enjoying the evenings alone, curled up in his study reading Bob Taylor's annotated works—they weren't related by blood, but Judge Taylor would have been quite pleased if he could claim kinship. One Sunday evening, Judge Taylor was engrossed in vivid metaphors and beautiful prose when a nagging scratching sound abruptly interrupted his attention. "Shh," he hissed at Ann Taylor, his unremarkable, large, fat dog. He then realized he was speaking to an empty room, and the scratching was coming from the back of the house. Judge Taylor dragged his heavy steps to the back porch to let the dog out, only to find the screen door swinging back and forth. He glimpsed a figure flash in the corner of the house; that was the only impression the uninvited guest left on him. Mrs. Taylor returned home from church to find her husband sitting as usual, engrossed in Bob Taylor's writing, a shotgun across his lap. The third matter concerns Helen Robinson, Tom's widow. If Mr. Ewell was forgotten like Tom Robinson, then Tom was forgotten like Radley the eccentric. However, Tom's former employer, Mr. Link Dis, hadn't forgotten him and arranged a job for his wife, Helen. He didn't really need Helen to help out; he said the way things had turned out made him very upset. I had no idea who would take care of Helen's children while she went to work. Kaponi said Helen had a hard time; she had to walk an extra mile every day to avoid the Ewell family. In Helen's words, the first time she passed by, she was "surrounded" by the Ewell family just as she was about to step onto the public road. Day after day, Mr. Link Dis finally discovered that Helen took a longer route to work every day, so he pressed her to tell him the reason. “Please, Mr. Link, leave it alone,” Helen pleaded. “I won’t let him get away with it!” said Mr. Link. He told Helen to come to his shop before going home in the afternoon. Helen obeyed, and by evening, Mr. Link had closed the shop, pulled his hat firmly on his head, and walked with Helen home. They took a shortcut, passing by Ewell’s house. When he turned back, he stopped in front of the crooked gate. “Ewell?” he called out, “I say, Ewell!” The windows, usually crowded with children, were now empty. “I know you’re all in the house, all crawling on the floor. Listen up, Bob Ewell: if I hear my Helen mutter again that she’s afraid to walk this way, I’ll send you to jail before nightfall!” Mr. Link spat on the ground and turned to go home. The next morning, Helen took the same public road to work. No one stopped her this time, but after walking a few steps past Ewell’s house, she turned around and found Mr. Ewell following her. She turned back and continued on her way, and Mr. Ewell followed her all the way to Mr. Link Dis’s house, always keeping a safe distance. Helen said that along the way she heard constant low curses behind her, all very foul language. Terrified, she immediately called Mr. Link, who was at the shop. The shop wasn't far from his house, and as Mr. Link stepped out, he saw Mr. Ewell leaning against his yard fence. Mr. Ewell said, "Link Dis, don't look at me like I'm a piece of trash. I haven't done anything to you..." "Ewell, the first thing you need to do is get your stinking body off my fence. I don't have the money to repaint it after you've leaned on it. The second thing is to stay away from my cook, or I'll sue you for harassment..." "Link Dis, I haven't touched her, and I'm not going to go looking for a nigger!" "You don't need to touch her, just scare her. If harassment isn't enough to put you in jail for a while, I'll sue you under the Women's Act. Get lost! If you think I'm not serious, try bothering her again!" Mr. Ewell clearly thought he was serious, because Helen never mentioned any similar trouble again. “Atticus, this is really bothering me, I’m so fed up.” – This was Aunt Alexandra’s feeling. “He seems to hold a grudge against everyone involved in that case. I know how those kinds of people vent their resentment, but I don’t understand why he does it – didn’t he get his way in court?” “I can understand,” Atticus said. “Maybe it’s because he knows that in Maycomb, very few people actually believe the lies he and Mayella fabricated. He thought he was going to be a hero, but after all his scheming and scheming, all he got was… well, we found this black guy guilty, you can go back to your junkyard. He’s caused trouble for everyone now, he should be satisfied. His resentment will probably subside when the weather gets cooler.” “But why did he go to John Taylor’s house?” "Borrowing? He obviously didn't know John was home; if he had, he wouldn't have barged in. Every Sunday night, John usually only turned on the light on the front porch and the study..." "You don't know if Bob Ewell cut the screen door, you don't know who did it," Atticus said. "But I can guess. I exposed his lie in court, and John made him look like a fool. When Ewell was on the witness stand, I didn't dare look at John once, afraid I'd burst out laughing. John looked at him as if he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don't tell me judges never try to influence the jury." Atticus chuckled. By the end of October, our lives had returned to the familiar routine: school, play, study. Jem seemed to have completely banished what he wanted to forget, and the magnanimity of our classmates made us forget we had a rebellious father. Cecil once asked me, "Is your father a radical?" I went home and asked Atticus, whose gleeful expression annoyed me, but he said he wasn't mocking me, adding, "Go tell Cecil I'm about as radical as 'Cotton Tom' Heflin." Aunt Alexandra was beaming with pride; it seemed Miss Moody had certainly won over the entire mission, as she was once again acting as their leader, and even her refreshments were becoming increasingly delicious. I learned more about the poor Monas from Mrs. Merriweather about their social life: they had almost no concept of family; the entire tribe was one big family. For all the children, there were as many fathers as there were men in the tribe, and as many mothers as there were women. Reverend J. Grimes Everett was doing everything he could to change this, and our prayers were urgently needed. Maycomb had returned to its old ways, almost exactly the same as last year and the year before, with only two minor changes. The first change was that people had torn down the old signs and slogans from shop windows and cars that read "National Recovery Administration - Doing the Job." I asked Atticus why, and he said it was because the "National Recovery Act" note had been removed. I asked who removed it, and he said nine old men. The second change in Maycomb wasn't national, but it started last year. Before that, Halloween in Maycomb was never very organized. Each child did their own thing, only asking for help when something needed moving, like putting a wagon on top of the barn. However, after the incident where Miss Tutty and Miss Fruty's peaceful lives were disrupted, the parents unanimously agreed that the children had gone too far. Tutty Barber and Fruty Barber were sisters, both older ladies, living together in Maycomb's only house with a cellar. Rumor had it that the sisters were Republicans who had moved from Clanton, Alabama in 1911. Their lifestyle seemed strange to us; no one understood why they wanted a cellar. They had the idea, so they dug one, and their lives were never peaceful; they constantly had to drive generation after generation of their children away. Miss Tutti and Miss Fruty's names were Sarah and Francis, respectively. Besides all the typical Yankee habits, they were both deaf. Miss Tutti refused to accept this fact, content to live in a silent world, while Miss Fruty, not wanting to miss anything, had a huge, horn-shaped hearing aid fitted. Jem asserted it was an amplifier salvaged from a Victor phonograph. A few mischievous children, knowing this, sneaked into their living room (except for the Radleys, no one locked their doors at night) on Halloween after the two old ladies had fallen asleep, and secretly moved all the furniture out and hid it in the cellar. I vehemently denied participating in this frivolous act. “I heard them!” The next morning, just as dawn broke, the two young ladies’ neighbors were awakened by the commotion. “I heard them pull up to the door! The heavy footsteps sounded like horses’ hooves. They must be in New Orleans by now!” Two days earlier, a group of itinerant fur traders had passed through town, and Miss Tutty was convinced they had stolen the furniture. “Those Syrians,” she said, “they’re so dark-skinned.” Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. After examining the scene, he said he felt it was the locals. Miss Tutty said she knew the Maycomb accent all too well, recognizing it everywhere, but last night, no one in the living room spoke with a Maycomb accent—the men walked around with their mouths full of rolled "r" sounds. Miss Tutty insisted on using hunting dogs to find the furniture, so Mr. Tate had to run ten miles of dirt roads to gather the country dogs and let them track the scent. Mr. Tate had the hounds use the front steps as a starting point, but they all ran to the back of the house and barked incessantly at the cellar door. After this happened three times, Mr. Tate figured out what was going on. Before noon that day, there wasn't a single barefoot child to be seen on the streets of Maycomb, and none of them would take off their shoes until the hounds were sent away. Upon hearing this, the ladies of Maycomb said that this year would be different. As a result, the Maycomb High School auditorium would be open to the public that day, with adults watching performances and children playing games like "apple in mouth," "toffee pulling," and "tackling a donkey's tail." There was also a prize for the best homemade Halloween costume, with a prize of twenty-five cents. Jim and I complained bitterly. It wasn't because we had played any pranks, but because of the rule. Jim felt he was too old for Halloween tricks anymore, and he said he didn't want anyone seeing him near the high school auditorium that night, participating in those boring games. Oh well, I thought, Atticus will take me. However, I soon heard that I also had to perform on stage that night. Mrs. Merriweather had created a rather ingenious play called "Maycomb County: The Road to the Stars," and she wanted me to play Ham. She thought it would be very pleasing to have a group of children dressed as Maycomb County's main agricultural products: Cecil as a cow, Agnes Boone as a cute butter bean, and another child as a peanut, and so on, until Mrs. Merriweather's imagination ran out and no more children were available for roles. After two rehearsals, I figured out that our task was simply to walk onto the stage from the left, guided by Mrs. Merriweather, the playwright and narrator. When she called "Pork," it was my turn to appear. Then, my friends would sing in unison: Maycomb County, Maycomb County, you'll always be in our hearts. The final scene would be incredibly solemn—Mrs. Merriweather planned to take to the stage, holding the state flag high. My costume wasn't a problem. There was a tailor in town named Mrs. Crenshaw, who, like Mrs. Merriweather, was full of ingenious ideas. Mrs. Crenshaw bent wire mesh into the shape of a smoked ham, covered it with brown cloth, and even painted on it to make the ham look more realistic. I just had to squat down so someone could pull the costume over my head, up to about my knees. Mrs. Crenshaw was very thoughtful, even leaving two observation holes for me. Her craftsmanship was excellent; Jem said I looked like a ham with two legs. However, the costume had its uncomfortable aspects: it was too hot and too tight inside, so I couldn't scratch my itchy nose, and once I was on, I couldn't get out without help. On Halloween, I thought my whole family would come to see my performance, but I was greatly disappointed. Atticus told me, in the most tactful way possible, that he was too tired to go to the show that evening. He'd been in Montgomery for a week and hadn't returned home until that evening. He figured if I asked Jem, Jem would come with me. Aunt Alexandra said she needed to go to bed early; she'd been busy all afternoon helping set up the stage and was exhausted—she stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence. Her mouth opened and closed as if to say something, but no word came out. “What’s wrong, Aunt?” I asked. “Oh, nothing, nothing,” she said. “I just had a shiver; someone must have stepped on my grave.” She dismissed the thing that had startled her and suggested I rehearse it in the living room in front of the whole family. So Jem… Aunt Alexandra rose and reached for the mantel. Mr. Tate quickly rose as well, but Aunt Alexandra wouldn't let him help. For the first time in his life, Atticus didn't show his innate humility—he remained seated. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about what Mr. Bob Ewell had said—that he'd risk his life to get rid of Atticus. Mr. Ewell had almost gotten his wish this time, and it was the last thing he ever did. "Are you sure?" Atticus's voice was very somber. "He is indeed dead," Mr. Tate said. "Absolutely. He can't hurt the children anymore." "That's not what I meant," Atticus murmured as if in a dream. He suddenly looked much older, a sign that his mind was in turmoil: his once-sharp jawline had become loose; the wrinkles below his ears were no longer concealed, clearly visible; his once-black hair was less noticeable, while his increasingly graying sideburns were more striking. "Wouldn't it be better if we talked in the living room?" Aunt Alexandra finally asked. "If you don't mind," Mr. Tate said, "I think we should talk here, as long as it doesn't disturb Jem's rest. I'd like to see his injuries and hear Scout... tell us what happened." "Would it be alright if I left?" she asked. "I'm just an extra person here. Atticus, just call me if you need anything, I'll stay in my room." Aunt Alexandra walked towards the door, then stopped and turned back. “Atticus, I had a feeling about what would happen tonight… I… it’s all my fault,” she couldn’t help but say. “I should have…” Mr. Tate held out his hand, gesturing for her to stop. “Go ahead, Miss Alexandra. I know this has been very upsetting for you. Don’t overthink it, don’t torture yourself—well, if we keep letting our feelings lead us by the nose, we’ll be like cats chasing their own tails. Miss Scout, could you tell us what happened while your memory is still sharp? Do you think that’s alright? Did you see him following you?” I walked over to Atticus and felt him put his arms around me. I buried my head in his lap. “We started walking home. I told Jem I’d forgotten my shoes, so we went back to get them. But all the lights in the school were off, and Jem said I could get them tomorrow…” “Scooter, lift your head so Mr. Tate can hear you,” Atticus said to me. I climbed onto his lap and sat in his arms. “As we were walking, Jem told me to be quiet. I thought he was thinking about something—he always tells me to be quiet when he's thinking. After a while, he said he heard something. We thought it was Cecil playing tricks.” “Cecil?” “It was Cecil Jacobs. He already scared us once tonight, and we thought he was back again. He was wearing a sheet then. The prize for best costume was twenty-five cents, and I don’t even know who got it…” “Where were you when you thought it was Cecil?” “Not far from the school. I even yelled at him…” “What did you yell?” “I think it was ‘Cecil is a big fat hen.’ We didn’t hear anyone respond… A little while later, Jem yelled ‘Hello’ or something, loud enough to wake a dead man…” “Wait a minute, Scout,” said Mr. Tate. “Mr. Finch, did you hear them yelling?” Atticus said he didn’t. He had the radio on. Aunt Alexandra was also listening to the radio in her bedroom. He remembered clearly that Aunt Alexandra had told him to turn the volume down, otherwise she wouldn't be able to listen. Atticus smiled slightly. "I always have the radio turned up really loud." "I wonder if the neighbors heard anything..." Mr. Tate said. "I doubt it, Heck. Most of them are either listening to the radio or have gone to bed early. Miss Mordy might still be awake, but I doubt she heard anything." "Go on, Scout," Mr. Tate said to me again. “Oh, after Jem shouted, we both went on ahead. Mr. Tate, I was completely covered in my costume, but then I heard that sound too—I mean, footsteps. We walked, and the footsteps followed; we stopped, and the footsteps stopped. Jem said he could see me because Mrs. Crenshaw put some glittery paint on my costume. I was playing Ham.” “What’s going on?” Mr. Tate asked, surprised. Atticus explained my role to Mr. Tate and described the construction of my costume. “You should have seen what she looked like when she came back,” he said. “The costume was all crumpled.” Mr. Tate stroked his chin. “I was wondering how Ewell got those marks. He had a lot of little holes in his sleeves, and a couple of puncture wounds on his arms that matched the holes. Could I see that thing you mentioned, if it’s convenient?” Atticus went to get my tattered costume. Mr. Tate turned it over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what shape it was. “It’s very likely this thing saved her life,” he said. “Look.” He held up his long index finger and pointed to Atticus—a clean, bright line was clearly visible on the gray barbed wire. “Bob Ewell seems to have gone too far,” Mr. Tate muttered to himself. “He’s out of his mind,” Atticus said. “I don’t want to argue with you, Mr. Finch, but he’s not insane, he’s ruthless. That despicable bastard, emboldened by alcohol, dared to harm a child. He never dares to confront anyone directly.” Atticus shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone—” “Mr. Finch, there are some people in this world who you have to shoot before you can even greet them. Even then, their lives aren’t worth a bullet. Ewell is one of them.” Atticus said, “I thought he’d vented his anger after that threat. Even if he wasn’t satisfied, I thought he’d come after me.” “He had the guts to harass a poor black woman, he had the guts to cause trouble at Judge Taylor’s house when no one was home—you think, how could someone like that dare to confront you in broad daylight?” Mr. Tate sighed. “Let’s continue. Scout, did you hear him following you—” “Yes, sir. As we walked…” When we get to the bottom of the tree——" "How do you know it's under a tree? You can't see anything under the cover." "I was barefoot. Jem said the ground was cooler under the trees than elsewhere." "It seems we have to ask him to be our deputy. Go on." "Later, someone suddenly grabbed me and banged my costume hard... I remember I was lying on the ground... I heard a scuffle from under the tree... The sound was like they were hitting the trunk of the tree repeatedly. Jem found me, pulled me and ran towards the road. There was The man—it was Mr. Ewell, jerked him down, I guess. They struggled again, and I heard a strange noise—and then Jem let out a scream..." I stopped—that's when Jem's arm was broken. "Anyway, Jem screamed, and I never heard him again. Then Mr. Ewell strangled me again, and I think... suddenly someone pulled him down. I guess Jem got up. That's all I remember..." "What happened next?" Mr. Tate stared at me sharply. “Someone was panting heavily, staggering back and forth—coughing terribly. At first I thought it was Jem, but the voice didn't sound like him, so I groped around on the floor looking for him. I thought Atticus had come to help us; I was exhausted…” “Who is that person?” “Mr. Tate, he's right there. He can tell you his name.” As I spoke, I half-raised my hand, pointing to the person in the corner. But I quickly lowered my hand after the slightest gesture, lest Atticus scold me. Pointing at people is impolite. He was still leaning against the wall. He was standing against the wall with his arms crossed when I came in, and he'd been standing there ever since. When I pointed at him, he lowered his arms, his palms pressed firmly against the wall. They were pale hands, sickly hands that had never been bathed in sunlight. In the dim light of Jem's room, these hands, against the cream-colored wall, were so glaringly white. My gaze followed his hands down to his sand-stained khaki trousers, then up his thin frame to his ripped twill shirt. His face was as pale as his hands, with only a shadow on his prominent chin. His cheeks were sunken, forming a wide mouth; his temples were slightly sunken, almost imperceptible; his gray eyes were dull and lifeless, making me mistake him for blind. His thin, lifeless hair covered his head like feathers. As I pointed, his palms slid lightly against the wall, leaving two greasy streaks of sweat, before he tucked his thumbs into his belt. A sudden, inexplicable spasm ran through him, like the sound of fingernails scraping against stone. However, under my curious gaze, the tension on his face slowly dissipated. He parted his lips, revealing a shy smile. My eyes suddenly filled with tears, and my neighbor's face instantly became a blur.
Natalia, the gifted luna with a secret moon mark, suffered a cruel betrayal. Her selfish lover Marcus and fake sister Aurora brutally ended her life. Miraculously, she was reborn to the crucial mating ceremony again. To avenge her painful past, she allies with the ruthless crown prince Silas. Their fake political marriage slowly turns into irresistible sincere love. Can they overthrow the evil scheme and seize the rightful throne?
Natalia, the gifted luna with a secret moon mark, suffered a cruel betrayal. Her selfish lover Marcus and fake sister Aurora brutally ended her life. Miraculously, she was reborn to the crucial mating ceremony again. To avenge her painful past, she allies with the ruthless crown prince Silas. Their fake political marriage slowly turns into irresistible sincere love. Can they overthrow the evil scheme and seize the rightful throne?
Natalia, the gifted luna with a secret moon mark, suffered a cruel betrayal. Her selfish lover Marcus and fake sister Aurora brutally ended her life. Miraculously, she was reborn to the crucial mating ceremony again. To avenge her painful past, she allies with the ruthless crown prince Silas. Their fake political marriage slowly turns into irresistible sincere love. Can they overthrow the evil scheme and seize the rightful throne?
Natalia, the gifted luna with a secret moon mark, suffered a cruel betrayal. Her selfish lover Marcus and fake sister Aurora brutally ended her life. Miraculously, she was reborn to the crucial mating ceremony again. To avenge her painful past, she allies with the ruthless crown prince Silas. Their fake political marriage slowly turns into irresistible sincere love. Can they overthrow the evil scheme and seize the rightful throne?
Natalia, the gifted luna with a secret moon mark, suffered a cruel betrayal. Her selfish lover Marcus and fake sister Aurora brutally ended her life. Miraculously, she was reborn to the crucial mating ceremony again. To avenge her painful past, she allies with the ruthless crown prince Silas. Their fake political marriage slowly turns into irresistible sincere love. Can they overthrow the evil scheme and seize the rightful throne?
My parents handed me my seventeenth birthday gift in front of two hundred guests. Everyone clapped. It was a DNA test. The results said I wasn't their daughter. Mom smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Mae, since you aren't actually ours, you'll need to pay us back. Seventeen years of food, clothes, school. It all adds up." Dad sneered. "No wonder you look nothing like me. You've mooched off this family long enough. Starting today, you're the help. Five hundred a month goes toward what you owe us. Food and drink aren't included." I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just nodded, slow and empty. They thought I was broken. Good. Let them think that. Because I already knew. I'd heard them outside the study last night. My sister clung to Dad's arm, cooing in that sugary voice she always used on him. "Daddy, you know what I want for my birthday? I want to be your only daughter. Just for a year. Make Mae be the maid. *Please?*" Dad's face melted. "Anything for my girl." Mom laughed. "For a whole year, Mommy and Daddy are all yours, sweetie." I slid down the hallway wall. My eyes burned — no tears, just heat. They'd forgotten we were twins. Forgotten today was my birthday too. But my wish was different. I just wanted out of the Sterling family. Not for a year. Forever. And they didn't know about the account. The one Grandma left me before she died. The one they couldn't touch until I turned eighteen. Three hundred and sixty-four days. I could survive anything for that long. --- Bianca slapped a hand over her mouth, faking a gasp loud enough to carry across the ballroom. "Oh my *God*, Mae. No wonder you're so ugly. You don't look like Mom or Dad at all. You really are a fake." She said it loud. Loud enough for every guest to hear. She seemed to have completely forgotten we were twins. Forgotten we shared eighty percent of the same face. Then she giggled behind her hand. "Aww, don't cry, Mae. Look on the bright side — you get to find your real mommy now. Maybe she's a dishwasher. Wouldn't that be *adorable?*" The crowd laughed. Actually laughed. Mom's gaze turned to ice. "Mae, the truth is out. You don't belong here. This banquet is for our precious Bee. You don't have the right to attend." I stared at Bianca's smug grin. She was draped in a custom couture gown, a diamond tiara worth more than most people's houses pinned in her hair. I looked down at my own faded shirt and worn-out jeans, the cuffs fraying at the edges. I let out a bitter laugh. *Rights.* I'd never had them in this house. You can't lose what was never yours. Dad's voice boomed over the whispers. "Pack your things and move to the servants' quarters. You'll work here until you find your real parents. Five hundred a month. No meals. You owe us seventeen years." The guests murmured, their eyes raking over me like I was a sideshow freak. I didn't look at them. I just bent down and grabbed my beat-up backpack. Bianca lunged and yanked it hard. The broken zipper — held together by a single safety pin — snapped. My things exploded across the marble floor. "I *knew* it!" Bianca shrieked. "She's stealing from us!" A single pink pad sat right there on top of my beat-up textbooks. Mom shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "Bee, drop it. It's just a pad." "*No!*" Bianca snapped. "I'm the only daughter of this house! She's a leech AND a thief. She doesn't deserve it!" Mom folded instantly. Her voice went syrupy. "Okay, okay, don't be upset, sweetie. You're right. You're Mommy's only baby. Whatever you want." Satisfied, Bianca stepped on the pad. She ground her heel in with a cruel twist. "Never mind. I don't want it anymore. Keep it." I stared at the muddy footprint stamped into the plastic. My throat locked up like I'd swallowed a rock. In the end, I just picked up my books. I left the pad on the floor. --- After the party, Greta — the nanny who'd worked for us since I was four — led me to the storage room. Barely bigger than a closet. A wooden plank for a bed, buried under boxes. One rusted iron grate for a window. Greta hovered in the doorway, chewing her lip. "Miss... Mae. Your parents still care about you. Once they cool off, you'll be Miss Sterling again..." Two roaches scuttled out of the corner and vanished into a crack in the wall. I ignored the pity in her eyes. "Thanks. I got it." Greta shook her head and pulled the door shut. Just before the latch clicked, she muttered, "They've got the same damn face. How could she not be..." She trailed off with a sigh. I sat on the edge of the plank. I stared through the rusted bars into the pitch-black night. It was fine. One year. Then I was gone. Forever. --- Around midnight, cramps hit me like knives. With no pad, I had to wad up fistfuls of cheap toilet paper. I stepped out of the basement bathroom and froze. Voices drifted down from the top of the stairs. My parents. "Honey, do you think we went too far?" Mom whispered. "Will Mae hate us? She really is our daughter." Dad scoffed. "She brought this on herself. Always picking on Bee. She's the older sister. She needs to learn to give in. A little suffering will build character." He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was casual. Almost bored. "Let Bee have her fun. In a year, we'll tell Mae the DNA lab made a mistake. Once her status as eldest Sterling daughter is restored, she'll be so overjoyed she won't even think about holding a grudge." Ice flooded my veins. My fingertips went numb. It was insane. Delusional. They actually believed it. That they could strip me down to nothing, toss me in a closet, and I'd be waiting — *grateful* — when they decided playtime was over. I stared at the rusted bars on the window. One year. They wanted one year. I'd give them thirty days. Then the Sterling family would learn what it meant to beg. ### Chapter 2 The next day, I went out to buy sanitary pads. At checkout, my card was declined for insufficient funds. But I clearly had $200 saved on it. When I pushed open the front door, the three of them were already at the dining table, laughing like nothing had happened. A gift bag sat between them. Mom ran a silk scarf through her fingers, practically glowing. "My baby has such good taste. I'm gonna treasure this forever." Dad swirled his wine, grinning like a fool. "Love mine too. That's my girl." Bianca pouted and leaned into Mom's shoulder. "But these gifts only cost two hundred total. Mommy, Daddy, you're not mad it's cheap, right?" Mom waved her off. "Baby, if it came from you, I'd treasure a two-dollar keychain." Dad couldn't resist taking a shot at me. "Exactly. Not like SOMEONE who's drained this family for seventeen years and never given us so much as a card. Ungrateful little brat." Then they noticed me in the doorway. The laughter died. Bianca tilted her head. Smirked. Pure poison in her eyes. That two hundred dollars. That was my living allowance. Two months of saving. Every dollar I had in the world. My blood went cold. Something inside me just... snapped. Before I knew what I was doing, I was across the room. My hand flew up toward Bianca's smug face — Dad's foot slammed into my side before I could make contact. I hit the floor hard. My back smashed into the corner of the coffee table. White-hot pain. My vision went black for a second. Bianca held up her arm. A tiny red mark. Nothing. She screamed like she was dying. "Mom! Dad! It hurts so much! I think she broke it!" "Call 911!" Mom shouted. "No!" Bianca sobbed. "I don't want an ambulance, I want Daddy to drive me!" "Okay, okay, sweetheart. Daddy's got you." Bianca's tears stopped just long enough to point at me, sprawled on the floor. "Actually — I don't want the car either. *She* hurt me. She should carry me to the hospital. On her back." The nearest hospital was twelve miles away. Downtown. Mom's eyes went cold. "You heard her, you little stray. Seventeen years we wasted on you, and you dare lay a hand on my real daughter? Do exactly what Bee says." I couldn't get up. Dad grabbed me by the arm and hauled me to my feet. "Quit faking. Barely touched you. Move it. If Bee doesn't get treated because of you, I swear to God I'll throw you out tonight." I believed him. But I couldn't leave. Not yet. So I hoisted Bianca onto my back and started walking. Dad crept behind us in the car. "Maeve! Hold her right! If you drop my daughter, I'll skin you alive!" Mom leaned out the window. "Walk faster! What, you didn't eat this morning? Don't you dare delay my baby's treatment!" Bianca sprawled across my shoulders, smug as hell. "See? Nobody in this house loves you. You're just a stray nobody wanted." Words like that used to cut me open. But I'd heard them so many times the words had lost their edge. Bianca noticed I wasn't reacting. She went quiet. Then — just as the hospital came into view — She pulled a safety pin out of her pocket and jabbed it straight into my back. The pain made me stumble. I went down face-first on the concrete. Mom and Dad slammed on the brakes. They sprinted over, scooped Bianca off my back, and rushed her toward the ER. Mom lagged a few steps behind. She glanced back at me, pale and shaking on the ground, and snapped over her shoulder: "We're here, aren't we? Go see a doctor yourself if you're really hurt. We don't have time for your drama." I didn't go in. I had no money. I didn't even have the strength to walk back. I sat on the hospital steps until the sun went down. Then I dragged myself back to the mansion. --- They were already home. In the middle of the living room stood a middle-aged couple I'd never seen before. Their clothes were filthy. They kept shrinking in on themselves like they were bracing for a hit. Dad smiled at me. A real smile. The first one in years. "Perfect timing, Mae." He gestured at the strangers. "Meet your real parents. You're leaving with them. Right now." ### Chapter 3 The room went dead silent. Mom came over and took my hand. Her fingers were cold. She still wouldn't meet my eyes. "Mae, honey... I raised you for seventeen years. That has to count for something, right? But blood is blood. Now that your real parents have been found, there's no reason for you to stay." She squeezed my hand like she was doing me a favor. I thought I was done crying. But the tears came anyway, sliding down my face. These were the people I'd loved more than anyone for seventeen years. And they wouldn't even give me a corner of this house to stay in. Mom looked guilty when she saw the tears. She reached to wipe them away — Bianca grabbed her arm. "Congrats, Maeve. You're officially not a bastard anymore." Then Rhonda Briggs — the woman who claimed to be my mother — grabbed my hand. Her filthy nails dug into my skin as she let out a theatrical wail. "My baby! I finally found you! Come on, come home with Mama." The man who claimed to be my father started pulling me toward the door. "Yeah, yeah, let's go. The Sterlings have done plenty for us already. Don't wanna be a bother." "*Wait.*" Bianca rolled her eyes, smiling like a cat with a mouse. "Maeve, finding your real parents? That's, like, HUGE. You have to do something special, right? Get on your knees. Thank them. Beg them to take you back. Otherwise it's just rude." Her eyes sparkled with malice. "Unless you think they're too poor? You look down on them 'cause they're trash?" I turned to Mom and Dad. "Do you agree with her?" They looked away. "Go on, Mae," Bianca said sweetly. "Everyone's watching." I smiled. And somewhere deep inside, something broke clean in half. I dropped to my knees — but I turned. I faced Mom and Dad instead. I looked them dead in the eye. "We're done. Whatever we were — it ends right here. From tonight, I have nothing to do with the Sterling family." The room went silent. Mom and Dad traded a quick glance. Something passed between them — I couldn't tell if it was guilt or fear. But I was already on my feet. Already walking toward the door with my "real" parents. Mom chased me into the driveway. Her voice cracked with false bravado. "We're not even yet! You owe us for every cent we spent raising you. Seventeen years' worth!" I stopped. I didn't turn around. "Okay." She thought they'd spent a fortune on me. But she'd forgotten something. The daughter they'd spoiled rotten was Bianca. Me? I got three hundred bucks a month. That was it. And Bianca? Thirty grand a month. And she STILL shook me down for mine. If I didn't pay up, she'd run home crying, swearing I'd turned the whole school against her. They grounded me. Sent me to bed hungry. Over and over. One night, Bianca told them I was bullying her so badly she wanted to die. They locked me outside in the pouring rain until sunrise. Fever hit 104. Nobody came. Nobody ever came. One word from Bianca decided everything. What I did. How I felt. Whether I ate that day. Whether I mattered at all. My tears. My excuses. The way I begged them to listen. None of it mattered in this house. Neither did I. --- That night, I moved into my "real parents'" rented place in the slums. They didn't have a spare room. No extra blankets, either. I spent the night curled up on the bathroom floor. The window was cracked, patched with newspaper. Freezing wind cut right through. By morning, I was burning up. Dizzy. Shaking. Half-conscious, I heard Rhonda on the phone, her voice frantic. "Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterling — Maeve's fever is at 104!" "Then get her to a hospital! What are you waiting for?" The call was on speaker. Bianca's voice came through crystal clear. "Mom, Dad — wait. She JUST left last night and now she's dying? That's way too convenient. She's faking it to guilt-trip you. Don't fall for it." Long silence. Then Dad's voice, cold as stone. "Ignore her. She said it herself — she's not our problem anymore. Let the little brat learn the hard way." Mom's voice, sharp and impatient. "She's your kid now. Quit calling us over every little thing. We're taking Bee to Paris tonight. Don't call again." *Click.* No one cared about me anymore. I was abandoned in the rented room, completely forgotten. When I desperately pried open the front door and crawled out into the hallway, I couldn't hold on any longer and passed out.
My boss is handsome, wealthy, and has a huge d!ck. But no woman dares go near him. Because every girl who confessed had been shipped off to a mining operation in Africa. True story. So when he walked up to my narrow desk today and said, "Marry me, Ms. Morgan," I almost choked on air. "Is this a joke?" I thought I was dreaming. Alexander didn't blink. "I need to marry within three months to retain control of Carter Enterprises. You're smart. You're broke. You're perfect for being my wife." He slid a contract across the table. "One year. And I’ll give you five million dollars. Then we're done." I hesitated. But my dad's surgery bill wasn't going to pay itself, so I signed. Didn't read the fine print. Didn't see the clause buried on the last page: "Sexual relations as required to maintain the appearance of a normal marriage." Until the wedding night, Alexander broke into the guest room. He stood there in nothing but a bathrobe, his eyes dark, his d!ck already hard and pressing against my thigh before I could even move. "B-Boss?! What... what are you doing?!" He smiled. A low, throaty laugh escaped him. "My little wife..." His lips brushed my ear. "Time to fulfill your duties." ************* Chapter 1 Olivia's POV I slumped against the passenger seat as Ryan's car cruised through the palm-lined streets of Los Angeles. My eyelids felt heavy after a twelve-hour shift at Carter Enterprises. The quarterly marketing campaign required us all to work overtime, and as a junior marketing executive, I was stuck with weekend work. "You still with me, babe?" Ryan glanced over, his perfectly styled dark hair catching the sunset's glow. "Barely." I stifled a yawn. "Remind me why we're going to this party when I could be face-planting into my pillow right now?" "Because Sophia would kill you if you missed her birthday." He reached over and squeezed my knee. "And because you look stunning in that dress I bought for you." I glanced down at the black c*cktail dress he'd insisted I wear. The neckline plunged lower than I'd normally choose, and the hemline rode high enough to make me self-conscious every time I sat down. Ryan had shown up at my apartment with the dress in a boutique bag, eyes gleaming with anticipation as I'd tried it on. "I still think it's a bit much for a birthday party," I tugged at the fabric, trying to cover more of my chest. "Liv, we've been dating for two years. I know what looks good on you better than you do. Trust me, every guy at this party will wish he was me tonight." "Is that what this is about? Marking your territory?" "Can you blame me?" He winked as he turned onto Sophia's street, where luxury cars lined both sides. Sophia's recently purchased triplex stood illuminated against the darkening sky, music pulsing from within. For someone only turning twenty-five, she'd done remarkably well for herself in real estate development. Ryan found a spot half a block away and cut the engine. "Ready to make an entrance, Ms. Morgan?" "As I'll ever be." I grabbed my purse and the gift bag containing the vintage champagne Ryan had suggested we bring. The cool evening air hit my bare shoulders as I stepped out of the car, making me shiver. Ryan's arm slid around my waist, his hand resting dangerously low on my hip. "See? Worth getting dressed up for." He nodded toward the house. "This place is insane." We walked up the curved driveway where twinkling lights had been strung through the palm trees. The front door stood open, spilling light, music, and laughter onto the porch. "Olivia! You made it!" Sophia appeared in the doorway, resplendent in a gold sequined dress. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up!" "My work tried its best to keep me away," I laughed, accepting her enthusiastic hug. "Happy birthday, Soph." "And Ryan, looking delicious as always." She air-kissed his cheeks. "Come in, come in! Everyone's already two drinks ahead of you." Ryan's hand pressed against the small of my back as we entered the foyer, which opened to a massive great room where at least thirty people mingled. The space featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the twinkling Los Angeles skyline. "Drink?" Ryan asked, already scanning the room. "God, yes. The strongest thing they've got." He chuckled. "That's my girl. Be right back." As Ryan disappeared toward the bar setup, I heard a familiar squeal from across the room. "Olivia Morgan, get your ass over here!" I turned to see Emilia waving frantically from a plush sectional sofa. My best friend since college was already flushed from alcohol, her blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders. "Em!" I navigated through clusters of guests to reach her. "How long have you been here?" "Long enough to know the bartender's life story." She stood, wobbling slightly in her heels, and embraced me. She pulled back, holding me at arm's length to examine my outfit. "Holy shit, your boobs look amazing in that dress. Did Ryan pick it out?" I felt my cheeks warm. "Is it that obvious?" "Only because I've known you for eight years, and you've never willingly shown that much cleavage." She smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. If I had your rack, I'd show it off, too." "Could you say that a little louder? I don't think everyone in Malibu heard you." "Sorry, can't help it. You're too easy to embarrass." Emilia's eyes danced with mischief as she took another sip of her drink. "By the way, have you seen our birthday girl? I swear she was here greeting people and then just... vanished." I scanned the crowded room. "No, actually. Where did Ryan go? He was supposed to be getting me a drink." "Maybe he's outside? I saw some people heading to the back lawn earlier." Emilia shrugged. "Or he could be sneaking a cigarette." I narrowed my eyes. "He told me he quit three months ago. If I catch him smoking after all that 'I'm done with nicotine forever, baby' bullshit, I'll kill him myself." "Men lie about the stupidest things. Like, just admit you still smoke and save us both the drama." "I'm going to find him," I said, tugging at my dress, which had ridden up dangerously high. "If he's outside with a cigarette, I'm putting it on his favorite shoes." "That's my girl." Emilia raised her glass. "I'll be right here judging everyone's outfit choices when you get back." I weaved through the crowded living room, nodding at half-familiar faces from past gatherings. The kitchen was jammed with people mixing drinks. No Ryan. The back patio held a group playing some drinking games with shots and ping pong balls. No Ryan among them. "Looking for someone?" A tall guy with a man-bun approached, his eyes dropping to my cleavage before meeting my gaze. "My boyfriend. Tall, dark hair, probably looking smug about something." He laughed. "Haven't seen him. But I'd be happy to keep you company until he shows up." "Hard pass, but thanks." I turned away, irritation building. Where the hell was Ryan with my drink? I climbed the modern floating staircase to the next floor, where the noise from the party became more muffled. The hallway was dimly lit and had several closed doors. A sound caught my attention – a moan? A laugh? Something between the two. It was faint, coming from further down the hall. The sound came again, more distinct this time. Definitely a moan. Great. A couple had found a private spot to hook up at Sophia's party. How classy. I was about to turn back when I noticed a slightly ajar door at the end of the hallway, a sliver of light spilling onto the hardwood floor. Something compelled me forward – curiosity, or perhaps a sixth sense I didn't know I had. As I approached, the sounds became clearer. A woman's voice, breathless and urgent: "f*ck, yes, right there." I froze. The voice was familiar. A male voice responded, low and commanding: "You like that, don't you? Tell me how much you want it." My stomach dropped. Ryan's voice. I should have turned away, run down those stairs, and straight out the front door. Instead, I moved closer, pushing the door open wider. The scene burned into my retinas like a brand. Sophia bent over her dresser; her gold dress pushed up around her waist. Ryan was behind her, his pants around his ankles, hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her. "Harder," Sophia gasped. "Make me feel it tomorrow." "What the f*ck?" The words escaped me before I could stop them. They both froze. Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. Chapter 2 Olivia's POV Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. For a moment, time suspended itself. My lungs refused to work, and the room seemed to tilt sideways. "Liv—" Ryan stammered, still connected to Sophia. "This isn't—" "What it looks like?" I finished, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. "Because it looks like you're f*cking my friend on her birthday while I wait downstairs for a drink that's never coming." Sophia turned her head, meeting my gaze without a hint of shame. She didn't even bother to adjust her dress; she just rested her elbows on the dresser and sighed like I'd interrupted a business meeting. "Oh, Olivia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Did you think a man like Ryan would be satisfied with just you?" Ryan finally pulled away from her, fumbling to pull up his pants. "Baby, please, this is just a... a thing. It doesn't mean anything." "A thing?" I repeated, heat rising to my face. "How long has this 'thing' been happening?" Before either could answer, I heard footsteps behind me. "Liv? Did you find—" Emilia's voice cut off as she appeared at my side, taking in the scene. "Holy f*cking shit." Ryan's face paled further. "This isn't what—" "If you say 'this isn't what it looks like' one more time, I swear to God I will castrate you with my bare hands," Emilia snapped, her arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. Sophia straightened up, finally adjusting her dress with leisurely movements. She tossed her hair back and had the audacity to smirk. "Ryan and I have an understanding. It's just sex. Great sex, but still just sex." "An understanding?" I laughed, the sound brittle and foreign to my ears. "And when exactly were you planning to include me in this understanding? After you gave me chlamydia, or before?" "Don't be dramatic," Ryan said, tucking in his shirt. "We've been careful." "Oh, careful! Well, that makes it all better then!" I threw my hands up. "You've been carefully f*cking my friend behind my back. Such consideration!" Sophia leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms. "We're all adults here. Monogamy is so... limiting, don't you think?" Emilia stepped forward. "The only thing limiting around here is your moral compass, you backstabbing bitch." "Watch it," Sophia warned, her eyes narrowing. "Or what? You'll sleep with my boyfriend too? Get in line." Emilia turned to Ryan. "And you. You pathetic excuse for a man. Two years? Two f*cking years of her life wasted on you?" Ryan finally managed to buckle his belt. "Liv, baby, please. We can talk about this. It's just physical. It doesn't change how I feel about you." "You feel so much for me that you bought me this dress." I gestured to my outfit. "So, I could be downstairs putting on a show for your friends while you're up here with your d*ck in Sophia?" "The dress looks amazing on you," he offered weakly. I stared at him in disbelief. "That's what you're going with right now? Fashion compliments?" "I'm just saying—" "No, I'm done listening to what you're 'just saying.'" I turned to leave, then spun back. "Two years, Ryan. Two years of me rearranging my schedule for you and believing every word out of your mouth. Was any of it real?" He took a step toward me. "Of course, it was real. I love you, Liv." "Spare me," I spat. "If this is your version of love, I want nothing to do with it." Sophia sighed dramatically. "Can we wrap this up? I have guests downstairs." "You have one less now," I said, turning away. "Enjoy your birthday present. You two deserve each other." Emilia shot them both a final glare before following me out. We marched down the hallway, my legs somehow carrying me forward despite feeling like they might collapse. "I've got you," Emilia whispered, her arm still around me as we descended the stairs. The party continued below us, oblivious to the implosion that had just occurred upstairs. The music seemed too loud now, the laughter too jarring. We pushed through the crowd toward the front door. Someone called my name, but I kept moving, my eyes fixed on the exit. The cool night air hit my face as we stepped outside, and only then did I realize I was shaking. We made it to the sidewalk when I heard the front door open behind us. I refused to look back. "Olivia!" Ryan called out. "Wait!" Emilia turned, positioning herself between us like a shield. "Go back to your birthday girl, asshole." "This is between me and Liv," he insisted but made no move to follow us. "There is no 'me and Liv' anymore," I called back, still walking. "We're done." His response was lost as we rounded the corner, the sounds of the party fading behind us. Once out of sight, my composure crumbled. I stopped walking, my breath coming in gasps. "I can't believe…I can't…" I pressed my hand to my mouth. "I know, honey. I know." Emilia pulled me into a hug. "Let it out." "Two years," I whispered against her shoulder. "Two f*cking years." She stroked my hair. "I'm so sorry, Liv." I pulled back, wiping angrily at my eyes. "Did you know? About them?" Emilia hesitated. "Not for sure. But I had my suspicions." "What? Why didn't you say anything?" She sighed, fishing her phone from her purse. "I saw them at Barton's Café last month. They said they'd run into each other, but it seemed... off. The way they were sitting, the way he touched her arm. I didn't want to say anything without proof. I didn't want to hurt you if I was wrong." "Well, now we have proof," I said bitterly. "Let me call us a cab," Emilia said, tapping her phone. "My car's not here. Jake dropped me off." I hugged myself against the chill, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt in the dress Ryan had chosen. "No cabs available. Let's walk a bit. I'll keep trying for a ride and call Jake. Maybe he can pick us up." "Fine by me." I just wanted to get as far away from Sophia's house as possible. "I'd walk to Mexico now if it meant never seeing Ryan again." We started down the sidewalk, my heels clicking against the concrete. The neighborhood was upscale, with sprawling houses set back from the road, but the street itself was poorly lit. The rumble of an engine cut her off as a convertible slowed beside us. Four guys crowded inside, the stench of alcohol wafting our way. The driver leaned over, his eyes crawling over my body before settling on my chest. "Hey, babes, want a ride?" He grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "We got plenty of room on our laps." His friends burst into laughter. The one in the passenger seat raised a bottle. "We're celebrating! Don't you wanna celebrate with us?" "f*ck off," Emilia snapped, pulling me closer. "Ooh, feisty!" The driver killed the engine. "I like feisty." One guy, thick-necked with a tribal tattoo, vaulted over the door. He staggered toward us, pointing at Emilia. "You got a mouth on you, blondie. Let's see what else it can do." Before I could react, he lunged forward and grabbed Emilia by her hair, yanking her head back. She screamed, clawing at his arm. "Let her go!" I shouted, my marketing executive persona vanishing as pure rage took over. I swung my purse, connecting with his temple. He stumbled but kept his grip on Emilia's hair. "Your friend wants to play rough, huh?" He leered at me, eyes fixed on my chest. "Nice tits. Bet they bounce real good." Chapter 3 Olivia's POV My fist throbbed from connecting with the guy's head, but it hadn't done enough. Emilia whimpered as he yanked her hair harder, forcing her head back at an unnatural angle. "Let her go, you piece of shit!" I hissed, fear and fury colliding in my chest. "Or what?" He laughed, his breath reeking of whiskey. "You gonna hit me with your little purse again?" The other men from the car were climbing out now, their movements predatory as they circled around us. The driver, with his gold tooth catching the dim streetlight, stepped toward me. "C'mon baby, we just wanna have some fun." His eyes never left my chest. "You're dressed like you want attention. We're just giving you what you want." "I want you to let my friend go and f*ck off back to whatever sewer you crawled out of," I spat, backing away until I felt a tree behind me. "Ooh, she's got a mouth on her too," said another shorter but broad-shouldered guy wearing a baseball cap. "I like that. Makes it more fun when they fight a little." The driver reached for me, his fingers grazing my arm. I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!" "Playing hard to get?" He moved closer, pinning me against the tree. "That's cute." Emilia was still struggling against Tribal Tattoo's grip. "Liv, run! Just run!" "I'm not leaving you," I said, looking desperately around for anything I could use as a weapon. The driver pressed his body against mine; one hand braced on the tree beside my head. "Your friend's not going anywhere, and neither are you." His other hand reached for my breast. "Let's see if these feel as good as they look." I brought my knee up hard, aiming for his groin, but he twisted away at the last second. My knee glanced off his thigh. "Feisty bitch!" He grabbed my wrist, squeezing until I gasped in pain. Headlights suddenly illuminated the scene as another car screeched to a halt beside us. The engine cut off, and the driver's door opened. "Is there a problem here?" A deep voice cut through the night. A tall figure emerged from the shadows into the spill of a distant streetlight. Broad-shouldered and imposing in what looked like an expensive suit, he moved with a quiet confidence that commanded attention. "Mind your own business, man," Gold Tooth snarled, but I noticed he'd loosened his grip on my wrist. The newcomer stepped closer, and I caught my breath. Even in the dim light, I recognized him immediately. Alexander Carter. My boss's boss's boss. The CEO of Carter Enterprises, where I'd been working as a junior marketing executive for the past eight months. "I believe these ladies were telling you to leave them alone," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "I suggest you listen." Gold Tooth sneered. "What are you gonna do about it? There's four of us and one of you." Alexander didn't even blink. "True. But I've already called the police, and they're on their way. I'm sure they'd be interested to know about four drunk men assaulting two women on a public street." Tribal Tattoo finally released Emilia's hair, shoving her forward. "Whatever, man. These bitches ain't worth the trouble." Emilia stumbled toward me, and I caught her, pulling her close. "You okay?" I whispered. She nodded, rubbing her scalp. "Bastard nearly ripped my hair out." Gold Tooth took a step toward Carter, puffing out his chest. "You think you're some kind of hero? Rich boy in his fancy car?" Alexander simply stared him down, not moving an inch. "I think I'm someone who doesn't want to see two women harassed by drunken idiots. Now, you can leave on your own, or you can wait for the police. Your choice." For a tense moment, I thought Gold Tooth might throw a punch. Instead, he spat on the ground near Alexander's polished shoes. "Let's go," he muttered to his friends. "These sluts aren't worth jail time." They piled back into their convertible, engine roaring to life. Gold Tooth revved it aggressively before peeling away, tires screeching. Alexander turned to us. "Are you both all right?" Up close, he was even more intimidating than he was at company events. Tall, with sharp features and piercing gray eyes, he had the kind of face that belonged in business magazines, where it often appeared. Despite the late hour, his dark hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place. "We're okay," I managed, suddenly conscious of my appearance: disheveled hair, makeup probably smeared from crying earlier, and this ridiculous dress that now felt like a terrible mistake. "Thank you for stopping." "Do you need a ride somewhere?" he asked, his eyes briefly dropping to my chest before snapping back to my face. "Our cab canceled," Emilia said, still rubbing her scalp. "And my boyfriend's not answering his phone." Alexander gestured to his car, a sleek black car. "I'm happy to drive you both home." I hesitated. This was Alexander Carter, the man who signed my paychecks and whose name was on the building where I worked. The man was known for his ruthless business tactics and cold demeanor. The last thing I needed was for him to realize I was one of his employees, especially looking like this. "That's very kind," I said carefully, "but we don't want to impose." "It's no imposition," he replied. "I'd rather not leave you out here after what just happened." Emilia looked at me with raised eyebrows, silently communicating: "Are you crazy? Free ride in a sleek car with a hot, rich guy? Say yes!" "If you're sure it's not too much trouble," I relented. "Not at all." He opened the backseat door. "Please." The car's interior was all black leather and gleaming surfaces. It smelled of expensive cologne and a new car, a heady combination that made my head spin—or maybe that was the adrenaline crash. "I'm Alexander Carter," he said as he slid behind the wheel. "Olivia," I replied, deliberately omitting my last name. "And this is Emilia." "Pleasure to meet you both, despite the circumstances." He started the engine, which purred to life. "Where am I taking you?" Emilia gave him her address first, and then I gave him mine. "Rough night?" he asked as we pulled away from the curb. Emilia snorted. "You could say that. We were at a birthday party where Liv caught her boyfriend banging the birthday girl." "Emilia!" I hissed, mortified. Alexander's eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that." "It's fine," I mumbled, wishing I could disappear into the leather seat. "It's not fine," Emilia insisted. "Ryan is a cheating scumbag who deserves to have his d*ck fall off." A small smile tugged at the corner of Alexander's mouth. "I take it Ryan is the ex-boyfriend?" "As of about a few minutes ago, yes," I confirmed, wondering why I was discussing my love life with my CEO. "Well, for what it's worth," he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the mirror again, "he sounds like an idiot." Chapter 4 Olivia's POV The car fell silent as we drove through the streets of Los Angeles, the city lights blurring past the windows. I studied Alexander's profile, the strong jaw, and straight nose, wondering why he'd stopped to help us. Everything I'd heard about him at work painted him as cold, distant, focused only on the bottom line. We reached Emilia's apartment building first. Alexander pulled up to the curb, the engine purring quietly as he shifted into park. "This is me," Emilia announced, gathering her purse. She leaned over to hug me, using the moment to whisper in my ear. "Holy f*ck, Liv. He's hot as balls. If he wants to bang you senseless tonight, you better f*cking do it. The best way to get over Ryan is to get under the CEO. Shit, those hands look like they know what they're doing." I pulled back, shooting her a death glare that could have melted steel. "What?" she mouthed innocently before turning to Alexander. "Thanks for the ride, knight in shining Armani. You're a lifesaver." "It was no trouble," he replied politely. Emilia opened the door, then paused to give me one last meaningful look. "Call me tomorrow with ALL the details." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Goodbye, Emilia," I said firmly, my cheeks burning. She blew me a kiss and slammed the door, sauntering toward her building with a little extra sway in her hips, no doubt for Alexander's benefit. As we pulled away, I sank deeper into the leather seat, mortified. "I'm so sorry about her. She has no filter." Alexander's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "No need to apologize. She seems like a good friend." "The best," I admitted. "Even if she occasionally makes me want to strangle her." His lips quirked upward, almost a smile but not quite. "Those are often the best kinds of friends." We lapsed into silence as he navigated through the streets of Los Angeles. The city lights streamed past the windows, creating a kaleidoscope effect that matched my swirling thoughts. I caught Alexander glancing at me in the mirror a few times, his expression unreadable. "Left at the next light," I directed as we approached my neighborhood. He nodded, making the turn smoothly. "Here we are," he announced, pulling up to my apartment building. It wasn't fancy by LA standards but clean and in a decent area. I could just barely afford it on my junior executive salary. He turned off the engine and, to my surprise, got out to open my door. His hand extended to help me out, warm and solid as I took it. The contact sent an unexpected jolt up my arm. "Thank you again," I said, reluctantly letting go of his hand. "For everything tonight." Alexander studied me for a moment, his gray eyes intense. "I hope you're able to move past what happened tonight. Your boyfriend, or rather your ex-boyfriend, clearly didn't appreciate what he had." The unexpected kindness in his voice made my throat tighten. "I'll be fine," I managed. "I'm sure you will," he agreed. "Someone like you won't stay single for long unless you want to." I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was Alexander Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises, flirting with me? No, that was ridiculous. He was just being polite. "Goodnight, Olivia," he said, stepping back toward his car. "Goodnight, Alexander. And thank you for the ride." He nodded once, then slid back into his car. I watched as he drove away, his taillights disappearing around the corner before I turned and entered my building. The elevator ride to my fourth-floor apartment felt endless. My keys jangled in my shaking hands as I unlocked my door, stepping into the darkness of my living room. I flipped on the light, tossed my purse on the counter, and kicked off my heels. The silence of my apartment pressed in around me. Just hours ago, I'd been getting ready for what I thought would be a normal night out with my boyfriend. Now, everything had changed. I peeled off the black c*cktail dress and threw it in the trash. Never again would I wear something just because a man told me it looked good on me. In my bathroom, I scrubbed off my makeup. The woman in the mirror looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. I pulled on an oversized t-shirt and fell onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, probably Ryan finally realizing what he'd lost. I ignored it. Why had he done it? Two years together, and he throws it all away for Sophia? Had he been sleeping with her all along? The signs had been there: the late nights at work, the sudden business trips, the way his phone was always face-down when I was around. I'd trusted him completely. What a fool I'd been. My phone buzzed again. This time, I glanced at it. Emilia. "You home safe? Did Mr. CEO make a move? Please say yes." I texted back: "Yes, I'm home. No, he didn't. Go to sleep." Her response was immediate: "Boring! But seriously, you okay?" "I will be," I replied and realized I meant it. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and stared at the ceiling, my mind racing despite my exhaustion. Sleep seemed impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ryan thrusting into Sophia, her smug face, his pathetic excuses. "f*ck," I whispered to the empty room. "Two years down the drain." I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow. Two years of holidays, family gatherings, inside jokes—all tainted now. But something else kept intruding on my thoughts: Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes in the rearview mirror. Alexander Carter. My CEO. The man I'd just met while looking like a complete disaster. "He probably won't even remember me tomorrow," I muttered, flipping onto my back again. "Why would he? He's Alexander f*cking Carter." The ceiling offered no answers. I'd worked at Carter Enterprises for eight months and never once spoken to him. I'd seen him striding through the lobby, standing at podiums during company-wide meetings, his face on the company website and annual reports. Always distant. Always untouchable. And now he'd seen me at my absolute worst, heartbroken in a slutty dress. "Great first impression, Olivia. Really professional." I snorted at my own sarcasm. It was as if Alexander Carter would ever connect the disheveled woman he'd rescued with Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. Our worlds didn't intersect. He inhabited the executive floor with its panoramic views of Los Angeles. At the same time, I worked in my cubicle fifteen floors below, crafting social media campaigns for products I could barely afford. I pulled the covers over my head, trying to force sleep to come. But my brain had other ideas, conjuring an image of running into Alexander in the office elevator. Would he recognize me? Would I have the courage to thank him again? Would he look at me with those intense gray eyes and see past the professional facade to the woman he'd rescued? "As if," I mumbled into my pillow. "He probably rescues women from creeps every weekend. It's probably a rich guy's hobby." But what if he did remember me? What if our paths crossed in the office cafeteria or during a presentation? What would I say? Chapter 5 Alexander's POV I parked my car in the circular driveway of my parent's estate, taking a moment to prepare myself for the inevitable Carter family dynamics. Sunday dinner at the Carter mansion, a tradition as old as the oak trees lining the property, was something I both dreaded and looked forward to. The mansion stood like a monument to old money, with stone façades and manicured gardens that screamed, "We've had wealth for generations." My phone buzzed with an email from work, but I ignored it. Work could wait, but family obligations couldn't, especially when Grandfather Harold was involved. I straightened my tie and headed inside, where Martha, our longtime housekeeper, greeted me with a warm smile. "Mr. Alexander, everyone's waiting in the drawing room. Your grandfather arrived early." That was never a good sign. Grandfather arriving early meant he had an agenda. "Is Victoria here?" I asked, handing Martha my coat. "Yes, sir. With her husband. They arrived about an hour ago." Perfect. My cousin Victoria and her investment banker husband Thomas, the power couple who never let anyone forget how perfect their life was. The drawing room buzzed with conversation that stopped when I entered. Mother rose from her seat, elegant as always in her pearl necklace and tailored dress. "Alexander, darling. We were beginning to worry." I kissed her cheek. "Traffic was terrible. Sorry, I'm late." Father nodded from his armchair, whiskey in hand. "Son." That was Father, a man of few words unless discussing business or golf. Victoria sat perched on the antique sofa, her husband's arm draped around her shoulder in that possessive way I found irritating. My sister Valentina was there, too, scrolling through her phone. But it was Grandfather Harold who commanded the room from his wheelchair. At seventy-eight, he might have lost some mobility but none of his mental sharpness or business acumen. "Alexander," he barked. "Sit down. We need to talk." I took a seat across from him. "Good to see you too, Grandfather." "Don't get smart with me, boy. I've been waiting." Victoria smirked. "Some of us manage to arrive on time, cousin dear." I ignored her. "What's this about? I thought this was just dinner." Grandfather Harold waved his hand dismissively. "Dinner can wait. This is about the future of Carter Enterprises." The room fell silent. When Grandfather talked about the company's future, everyone paid attention. He'd built Carter Enterprises from a small family business into a corporate empire and, at seventy-eight, still held the controlling stake. "I've been updating my will," he announced. Mother gasped softly. Father set down his whiskey. "Oh, relax; I'm not dying yet," Grandfather snapped. "Just getting my affairs in order. And I've made some decisions about the company shares." I leaned forward. As CEO, I had a significant stake in the company, but Grandfather's controlling shares would eventually determine who truly ran Carter Enterprises. "Alexander," he fixed his steely gaze on me. "You've done well as CEO. Profits are up. The board is happy. But there's something missing." "Missing?" I frowned. "Our last quarter was our best in five years." "I'm not talking about business." He thumped his cane on the floor. "I'm talking about family. Stability. A legacy." Victoria's husband coughed discreetly. Victoria's smile widened. "What exactly are you saying, Grandfather?" Harold Carter leaned forward in his wheelchair. "I'm saying that to inherit my controlling shares in Carter Enterprises, you need to be married within six months." The room exploded in reactions. Mother gasped again. Father actually put down his drink. Valentina looked up from her phone. Victoria burst into delighted laughter. "Married?" I stared at him. "You can't be serious." "Dead serious." Grandfather's expression didn't change. "Carter Enterprises has always been family-run. Family means stability. Commitment." "I'm committed to the company!" "But not to anything or anyone else." Grandfather shook his head. "You're thirty-three, Alexander. Your relationships last shorter than some of our quarterly reports." Victoria couldn't contain herself. "Oh, this is priceless. Is Alexander getting married? He can't even keep a girlfriend past the three-month mark." "Thank you for that astute observation, Victoria," I said, forcing a smile. "Always a pleasure to have your support." Uncle Richard, Victoria's father, chuckled from the corner of the room. "The boy does have a track record." "A track record?" My father set his tumbler down with more force than necessary. "Last year, we selected a perfectly suitable woman for him. The engagement was announced in the Times, for God's sake. And then what happened, Alexander?" I loosened my tie slightly. "Dad—" "He canceled it two weeks before the wedding," Father continued, addressing the room like I wasn't there. "The merger nearly fell apart because of it." Aunt Patricia gasped dramatically. "Penelope Langford? Such a lovely girl and from a good family. What a shame." "She wasn't right for me," I said firmly. Valentina finally looked up from her phone. "He didn't like her. Said she reminded him of a corporate spreadsheet – technically perfect but utterly boring." "Thank you for sharing that, Val," I muttered. My sister shrugged and went back to her phone. "Just telling it like it is." Grandfather Harold thumped his cane again. "Enough! The terms are simple. Alexander marries within six months, or Victoria receives my controlling stake in the company." Victoria nearly spilled her champagne in excitement. "Really, Grandfather? You'd give me control?" Her husband Thomas straightened his posture, dollar signs practically visible in his eyes. "I didn't build this company for forty years to watch it get dismantled by your husband's investment firm," Grandfather snapped at Victoria. "But at least you understand commitment." I stood up, pacing the Persian rug. "This is absurd. You're reducing the future of our family business to whether or not I get married? What century is this?" "The century where actions have consequences," Grandfather replied. "Victoria may be insufferable—" "Hey!" Victoria protested. "—but she's stable. Married. Committed." Victoria's smirk returned. "Face it, Alexander. You couldn't commit to a woman if your life depended on it. Now your career does, and we all know how that's going to end." Something snapped inside me. I'd tolerated Victoria's barbs for years, but this was different. This was my life's work at stake. "You know what, Victoria? You're wrong." "Am I?" She swirled her champagne. "Name one relationship you've had that lasted longer than a corporate quarterly report." My cousin Matthew, who'd been silently watching the drama unfold, whistled low. "She's got you there, Alex." I straightened my shoulders. "I'll do it. I'll get married within six months." The room fell silent again. "To whom?" Father asked skeptically. "I'll figure that out." Victoria burst into laughter. "Oh, this is too good! Alexander Carter, CEO and eligible bachelor, desperately seeking a wife. Should we put an ad in the classifieds?" Her husband joined in. "Maybe we should start interviewing candidates. Create a shortlist." "I don't need help finding someone," I said through gritted teeth. Aunt Elizabeth, who'd been quietly knitting in the corner, looked up. "What about that nice PR director at your company? Jennifer, something?" "She's married, Mother," Victoria said. "Oh. Well, what about your assistant?" "I'm not marrying my assistant, Aunt Elizabeth." Grandfather Harold raised his hand for silence. "The terms are set. Six months from today." Uncle Richard raised his glass. "To Alexander's impending nuptials! May he find a bride before Victoria gets his office." Victoria clinked glasses with her father. "I'm already planning where to put my new desk." I clenched my jaw. "Enjoy the fantasy while it lasts, cousin. I'm not losing the company." "Six months, Alexander," Grandfather reminded me. "The clock starts now."
My boss is handsome, wealthy, and has a huge d!ck. But no woman dares go near him. Because every girl who confessed had been shipped off to a mining operation in Africa. True story. So when he walked up to my narrow desk today and said, "Marry me, Ms. Morgan," I almost choked on air. "Is this a joke?" I thought I was dreaming. Alexander didn't blink. "I need to marry within three months to retain control of Carter Enterprises. You're smart. You're broke. You're perfect for being my wife." He slid a contract across the table. "One year. And I’ll give you five million dollars. Then we're done." I hesitated. But my dad's surgery bill wasn't going to pay itself, so I signed. Didn't read the fine print. Didn't see the clause buried on the last page: "Sexual relations as required to maintain the appearance of a normal marriage." Until the wedding night, Alexander broke into the guest room. He stood there in nothing but a bathrobe, his eyes dark, his d!ck already hard and pressing against my thigh before I could even move. "B-Boss?! What... what are you doing?!" He smiled. A low, throaty laugh escaped him. "My little wife..." His lips brushed my ear. "Time to fulfill your duties." ************* Chapter 1 Olivia's POV I slumped against the passenger seat as Ryan's car cruised through the palm-lined streets of Los Angeles. My eyelids felt heavy after a twelve-hour shift at Carter Enterprises. The quarterly marketing campaign required us all to work overtime, and as a junior marketing executive, I was stuck with weekend work. "You still with me, babe?" Ryan glanced over, his perfectly styled dark hair catching the sunset's glow. "Barely." I stifled a yawn. "Remind me why we're going to this party when I could be face-planting into my pillow right now?" "Because Sophia would kill you if you missed her birthday." He reached over and squeezed my knee. "And because you look stunning in that dress I bought for you." I glanced down at the black c*cktail dress he'd insisted I wear. The neckline plunged lower than I'd normally choose, and the hemline rode high enough to make me self-conscious every time I sat down. Ryan had shown up at my apartment with the dress in a boutique bag, eyes gleaming with anticipation as I'd tried it on. "I still think it's a bit much for a birthday party," I tugged at the fabric, trying to cover more of my chest. "Liv, we've been dating for two years. I know what looks good on you better than you do. Trust me, every guy at this party will wish he was me tonight." "Is that what this is about? Marking your territory?" "Can you blame me?" He winked as he turned onto Sophia's street, where luxury cars lined both sides. Sophia's recently purchased triplex stood illuminated against the darkening sky, music pulsing from within. For someone only turning twenty-five, she'd done remarkably well for herself in real estate development. Ryan found a spot half a block away and cut the engine. "Ready to make an entrance, Ms. Morgan?" "As I'll ever be." I grabbed my purse and the gift bag containing the vintage champagne Ryan had suggested we bring. The cool evening air hit my bare shoulders as I stepped out of the car, making me shiver. Ryan's arm slid around my waist, his hand resting dangerously low on my hip. "See? Worth getting dressed up for." He nodded toward the house. "This place is insane." We walked up the curved driveway where twinkling lights had been strung through the palm trees. The front door stood open, spilling light, music, and laughter onto the porch. "Olivia! You made it!" Sophia appeared in the doorway, resplendent in a gold sequined dress. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up!" "My work tried its best to keep me away," I laughed, accepting her enthusiastic hug. "Happy birthday, Soph." "And Ryan, looking delicious as always." She air-kissed his cheeks. "Come in, come in! Everyone's already two drinks ahead of you." Ryan's hand pressed against the small of my back as we entered the foyer, which opened to a massive great room where at least thirty people mingled. The space featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the twinkling Los Angeles skyline. "Drink?" Ryan asked, already scanning the room. "God, yes. The strongest thing they've got." He chuckled. "That's my girl. Be right back." As Ryan disappeared toward the bar setup, I heard a familiar squeal from across the room. "Olivia Morgan, get your ass over here!" I turned to see Emilia waving frantically from a plush sectional sofa. My best friend since college was already flushed from alcohol, her blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders. "Em!" I navigated through clusters of guests to reach her. "How long have you been here?" "Long enough to know the bartender's life story." She stood, wobbling slightly in her heels, and embraced me. She pulled back, holding me at arm's length to examine my outfit. "Holy shit, your boobs look amazing in that dress. Did Ryan pick it out?" I felt my cheeks warm. "Is it that obvious?" "Only because I've known you for eight years, and you've never willingly shown that much cleavage." She smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. If I had your rack, I'd show it off, too." "Could you say that a little louder? I don't think everyone in Malibu heard you." "Sorry, can't help it. You're too easy to embarrass." Emilia's eyes danced with mischief as she took another sip of her drink. "By the way, have you seen our birthday girl? I swear she was here greeting people and then just... vanished." I scanned the crowded room. "No, actually. Where did Ryan go? He was supposed to be getting me a drink." "Maybe he's outside? I saw some people heading to the back lawn earlier." Emilia shrugged. "Or he could be sneaking a cigarette." I narrowed my eyes. "He told me he quit three months ago. If I catch him smoking after all that 'I'm done with nicotine forever, baby' bullshit, I'll kill him myself." "Men lie about the stupidest things. Like, just admit you still smoke and save us both the drama." "I'm going to find him," I said, tugging at my dress, which had ridden up dangerously high. "If he's outside with a cigarette, I'm putting it on his favorite shoes." "That's my girl." Emilia raised her glass. "I'll be right here judging everyone's outfit choices when you get back." I weaved through the crowded living room, nodding at half-familiar faces from past gatherings. The kitchen was jammed with people mixing drinks. No Ryan. The back patio held a group playing some drinking games with shots and ping pong balls. No Ryan among them. "Looking for someone?" A tall guy with a man-bun approached, his eyes dropping to my cleavage before meeting my gaze. "My boyfriend. Tall, dark hair, probably looking smug about something." He laughed. "Haven't seen him. But I'd be happy to keep you company until he shows up." "Hard pass, but thanks." I turned away, irritation building. Where the hell was Ryan with my drink? I climbed the modern floating staircase to the next floor, where the noise from the party became more muffled. The hallway was dimly lit and had several closed doors. A sound caught my attention – a moan? A laugh? Something between the two. It was faint, coming from further down the hall. The sound came again, more distinct this time. Definitely a moan. Great. A couple had found a private spot to hook up at Sophia's party. How classy. I was about to turn back when I noticed a slightly ajar door at the end of the hallway, a sliver of light spilling onto the hardwood floor. Something compelled me forward – curiosity, or perhaps a sixth sense I didn't know I had. As I approached, the sounds became clearer. A woman's voice, breathless and urgent: "f*ck, yes, right there." I froze. The voice was familiar. A male voice responded, low and commanding: "You like that, don't you? Tell me how much you want it." My stomach dropped. Ryan's voice. I should have turned away, run down those stairs, and straight out the front door. Instead, I moved closer, pushing the door open wider. The scene burned into my retinas like a brand. Sophia bent over her dresser; her gold dress pushed up around her waist. Ryan was behind her, his pants around his ankles, hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her. "Harder," Sophia gasped. "Make me feel it tomorrow." "What the f*ck?" The words escaped me before I could stop them. They both froze. Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. Chapter 2 Olivia's POV Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. For a moment, time suspended itself. My lungs refused to work, and the room seemed to tilt sideways. "Liv—" Ryan stammered, still connected to Sophia. "This isn't—" "What it looks like?" I finished, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. "Because it looks like you're f*cking my friend on her birthday while I wait downstairs for a drink that's never coming." Sophia turned her head, meeting my gaze without a hint of shame. She didn't even bother to adjust her dress; she just rested her elbows on the dresser and sighed like I'd interrupted a business meeting. "Oh, Olivia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Did you think a man like Ryan would be satisfied with just you?" Ryan finally pulled away from her, fumbling to pull up his pants. "Baby, please, this is just a... a thing. It doesn't mean anything." "A thing?" I repeated, heat rising to my face. "How long has this 'thing' been happening?" Before either could answer, I heard footsteps behind me. "Liv? Did you find—" Emilia's voice cut off as she appeared at my side, taking in the scene. "Holy f*cking shit." Ryan's face paled further. "This isn't what—" "If you say 'this isn't what it looks like' one more time, I swear to God I will castrate you with my bare hands," Emilia snapped, her arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. Sophia straightened up, finally adjusting her dress with leisurely movements. She tossed her hair back and had the audacity to smirk. "Ryan and I have an understanding. It's just sex. Great sex, but still just sex." "An understanding?" I laughed, the sound brittle and foreign to my ears. "And when exactly were you planning to include me in this understanding? After you gave me chlamydia, or before?" "Don't be dramatic," Ryan said, tucking in his shirt. "We've been careful." "Oh, careful! Well, that makes it all better then!" I threw my hands up. "You've been carefully f*cking my friend behind my back. Such consideration!" Sophia leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms. "We're all adults here. Monogamy is so... limiting, don't you think?" Emilia stepped forward. "The only thing limiting around here is your moral compass, you backstabbing bitch." "Watch it," Sophia warned, her eyes narrowing. "Or what? You'll sleep with my boyfriend too? Get in line." Emilia turned to Ryan. "And you. You pathetic excuse for a man. Two years? Two f*cking years of her life wasted on you?" Ryan finally managed to buckle his belt. "Liv, baby, please. We can talk about this. It's just physical. It doesn't change how I feel about you." "You feel so much for me that you bought me this dress." I gestured to my outfit. "So, I could be downstairs putting on a show for your friends while you're up here with your d*ck in Sophia?" "The dress looks amazing on you," he offered weakly. I stared at him in disbelief. "That's what you're going with right now? Fashion compliments?" "I'm just saying—" "No, I'm done listening to what you're 'just saying.'" I turned to leave, then spun back. "Two years, Ryan. Two years of me rearranging my schedule for you and believing every word out of your mouth. Was any of it real?" He took a step toward me. "Of course, it was real. I love you, Liv." "Spare me," I spat. "If this is your version of love, I want nothing to do with it." Sophia sighed dramatically. "Can we wrap this up? I have guests downstairs." "You have one less now," I said, turning away. "Enjoy your birthday present. You two deserve each other." Emilia shot them both a final glare before following me out. We marched down the hallway, my legs somehow carrying me forward despite feeling like they might collapse. "I've got you," Emilia whispered, her arm still around me as we descended the stairs. The party continued below us, oblivious to the implosion that had just occurred upstairs. The music seemed too loud now, the laughter too jarring. We pushed through the crowd toward the front door. Someone called my name, but I kept moving, my eyes fixed on the exit. The cool night air hit my face as we stepped outside, and only then did I realize I was shaking. We made it to the sidewalk when I heard the front door open behind us. I refused to look back. "Olivia!" Ryan called out. "Wait!" Emilia turned, positioning herself between us like a shield. "Go back to your birthday girl, asshole." "This is between me and Liv," he insisted but made no move to follow us. "There is no 'me and Liv' anymore," I called back, still walking. "We're done." His response was lost as we rounded the corner, the sounds of the party fading behind us. Once out of sight, my composure crumbled. I stopped walking, my breath coming in gasps. "I can't believe…I can't…" I pressed my hand to my mouth. "I know, honey. I know." Emilia pulled me into a hug. "Let it out." "Two years," I whispered against her shoulder. "Two f*cking years." She stroked my hair. "I'm so sorry, Liv." I pulled back, wiping angrily at my eyes. "Did you know? About them?" Emilia hesitated. "Not for sure. But I had my suspicions." "What? Why didn't you say anything?" She sighed, fishing her phone from her purse. "I saw them at Barton's Café last month. They said they'd run into each other, but it seemed... off. The way they were sitting, the way he touched her arm. I didn't want to say anything without proof. I didn't want to hurt you if I was wrong." "Well, now we have proof," I said bitterly. "Let me call us a cab," Emilia said, tapping her phone. "My car's not here. Jake dropped me off." I hugged myself against the chill, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt in the dress Ryan had chosen. "No cabs available. Let's walk a bit. I'll keep trying for a ride and call Jake. Maybe he can pick us up." "Fine by me." I just wanted to get as far away from Sophia's house as possible. "I'd walk to Mexico now if it meant never seeing Ryan again." We started down the sidewalk, my heels clicking against the concrete. The neighborhood was upscale, with sprawling houses set back from the road, but the street itself was poorly lit. The rumble of an engine cut her off as a convertible slowed beside us. Four guys crowded inside, the stench of alcohol wafting our way. The driver leaned over, his eyes crawling over my body before settling on my chest. "Hey, babes, want a ride?" He grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "We got plenty of room on our laps." His friends burst into laughter. The one in the passenger seat raised a bottle. "We're celebrating! Don't you wanna celebrate with us?" "f*ck off," Emilia snapped, pulling me closer. "Ooh, feisty!" The driver killed the engine. "I like feisty." One guy, thick-necked with a tribal tattoo, vaulted over the door. He staggered toward us, pointing at Emilia. "You got a mouth on you, blondie. Let's see what else it can do." Before I could react, he lunged forward and grabbed Emilia by her hair, yanking her head back. She screamed, clawing at his arm. "Let her go!" I shouted, my marketing executive persona vanishing as pure rage took over. I swung my purse, connecting with his temple. He stumbled but kept his grip on Emilia's hair. "Your friend wants to play rough, huh?" He leered at me, eyes fixed on my chest. "Nice tits. Bet they bounce real good." Chapter 3 Olivia's POV My fist throbbed from connecting with the guy's head, but it hadn't done enough. Emilia whimpered as he yanked her hair harder, forcing her head back at an unnatural angle. "Let her go, you piece of shit!" I hissed, fear and fury colliding in my chest. "Or what?" He laughed, his breath reeking of whiskey. "You gonna hit me with your little purse again?" The other men from the car were climbing out now, their movements predatory as they circled around us. The driver, with his gold tooth catching the dim streetlight, stepped toward me. "C'mon baby, we just wanna have some fun." His eyes never left my chest. "You're dressed like you want attention. We're just giving you what you want." "I want you to let my friend go and f*ck off back to whatever sewer you crawled out of," I spat, backing away until I felt a tree behind me. "Ooh, she's got a mouth on her too," said another shorter but broad-shouldered guy wearing a baseball cap. "I like that. Makes it more fun when they fight a little." The driver reached for me, his fingers grazing my arm. I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!" "Playing hard to get?" He moved closer, pinning me against the tree. "That's cute." Emilia was still struggling against Tribal Tattoo's grip. "Liv, run! Just run!" "I'm not leaving you," I said, looking desperately around for anything I could use as a weapon. The driver pressed his body against mine; one hand braced on the tree beside my head. "Your friend's not going anywhere, and neither are you." His other hand reached for my breast. "Let's see if these feel as good as they look." I brought my knee up hard, aiming for his groin, but he twisted away at the last second. My knee glanced off his thigh. "Feisty bitch!" He grabbed my wrist, squeezing until I gasped in pain. Headlights suddenly illuminated the scene as another car screeched to a halt beside us. The engine cut off, and the driver's door opened. "Is there a problem here?" A deep voice cut through the night. A tall figure emerged from the shadows into the spill of a distant streetlight. Broad-shouldered and imposing in what looked like an expensive suit, he moved with a quiet confidence that commanded attention. "Mind your own business, man," Gold Tooth snarled, but I noticed he'd loosened his grip on my wrist. The newcomer stepped closer, and I caught my breath. Even in the dim light, I recognized him immediately. Alexander Carter. My boss's boss's boss. The CEO of Carter Enterprises, where I'd been working as a junior marketing executive for the past eight months. "I believe these ladies were telling you to leave them alone," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "I suggest you listen." Gold Tooth sneered. "What are you gonna do about it? There's four of us and one of you." Alexander didn't even blink. "True. But I've already called the police, and they're on their way. I'm sure they'd be interested to know about four drunk men assaulting two women on a public street." Tribal Tattoo finally released Emilia's hair, shoving her forward. "Whatever, man. These bitches ain't worth the trouble." Emilia stumbled toward me, and I caught her, pulling her close. "You okay?" I whispered. She nodded, rubbing her scalp. "Bastard nearly ripped my hair out." Gold Tooth took a step toward Carter, puffing out his chest. "You think you're some kind of hero? Rich boy in his fancy car?" Alexander simply stared him down, not moving an inch. "I think I'm someone who doesn't want to see two women harassed by drunken idiots. Now, you can leave on your own, or you can wait for the police. Your choice." For a tense moment, I thought Gold Tooth might throw a punch. Instead, he spat on the ground near Alexander's polished shoes. "Let's go," he muttered to his friends. "These sluts aren't worth jail time." They piled back into their convertible, engine roaring to life. Gold Tooth revved it aggressively before peeling away, tires screeching. Alexander turned to us. "Are you both all right?" Up close, he was even more intimidating than he was at company events. Tall, with sharp features and piercing gray eyes, he had the kind of face that belonged in business magazines, where it often appeared. Despite the late hour, his dark hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place. "We're okay," I managed, suddenly conscious of my appearance: disheveled hair, makeup probably smeared from crying earlier, and this ridiculous dress that now felt like a terrible mistake. "Thank you for stopping." "Do you need a ride somewhere?" he asked, his eyes briefly dropping to my chest before snapping back to my face. "Our cab canceled," Emilia said, still rubbing her scalp. "And my boyfriend's not answering his phone." Alexander gestured to his car, a sleek black car. "I'm happy to drive you both home." I hesitated. This was Alexander Carter, the man who signed my paychecks and whose name was on the building where I worked. The man was known for his ruthless business tactics and cold demeanor. The last thing I needed was for him to realize I was one of his employees, especially looking like this. "That's very kind," I said carefully, "but we don't want to impose." "It's no imposition," he replied. "I'd rather not leave you out here after what just happened." Emilia looked at me with raised eyebrows, silently communicating: "Are you crazy? Free ride in a sleek car with a hot, rich guy? Say yes!" "If you're sure it's not too much trouble," I relented. "Not at all." He opened the backseat door. "Please." The car's interior was all black leather and gleaming surfaces. It smelled of expensive cologne and a new car, a heady combination that made my head spin—or maybe that was the adrenaline crash. "I'm Alexander Carter," he said as he slid behind the wheel. "Olivia," I replied, deliberately omitting my last name. "And this is Emilia." "Pleasure to meet you both, despite the circumstances." He started the engine, which purred to life. "Where am I taking you?" Emilia gave him her address first, and then I gave him mine. "Rough night?" he asked as we pulled away from the curb. Emilia snorted. "You could say that. We were at a birthday party where Liv caught her boyfriend banging the birthday girl." "Emilia!" I hissed, mortified. Alexander's eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that." "It's fine," I mumbled, wishing I could disappear into the leather seat. "It's not fine," Emilia insisted. "Ryan is a cheating scumbag who deserves to have his d*ck fall off." A small smile tugged at the corner of Alexander's mouth. "I take it Ryan is the ex-boyfriend?" "As of about a few minutes ago, yes," I confirmed, wondering why I was discussing my love life with my CEO. "Well, for what it's worth," he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the mirror again, "he sounds like an idiot." Chapter 4 Olivia's POV The car fell silent as we drove through the streets of Los Angeles, the city lights blurring past the windows. I studied Alexander's profile, the strong jaw, and straight nose, wondering why he'd stopped to help us. Everything I'd heard about him at work painted him as cold, distant, focused only on the bottom line. We reached Emilia's apartment building first. Alexander pulled up to the curb, the engine purring quietly as he shifted into park. "This is me," Emilia announced, gathering her purse. She leaned over to hug me, using the moment to whisper in my ear. "Holy f*ck, Liv. He's hot as balls. If he wants to bang you senseless tonight, you better f*cking do it. The best way to get over Ryan is to get under the CEO. Shit, those hands look like they know what they're doing." I pulled back, shooting her a death glare that could have melted steel. "What?" she mouthed innocently before turning to Alexander. "Thanks for the ride, knight in shining Armani. You're a lifesaver." "It was no trouble," he replied politely. Emilia opened the door, then paused to give me one last meaningful look. "Call me tomorrow with ALL the details." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Goodbye, Emilia," I said firmly, my cheeks burning. She blew me a kiss and slammed the door, sauntering toward her building with a little extra sway in her hips, no doubt for Alexander's benefit. As we pulled away, I sank deeper into the leather seat, mortified. "I'm so sorry about her. She has no filter." Alexander's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "No need to apologize. She seems like a good friend." "The best," I admitted. "Even if she occasionally makes me want to strangle her." His lips quirked upward, almost a smile but not quite. "Those are often the best kinds of friends." We lapsed into silence as he navigated through the streets of Los Angeles. The city lights streamed past the windows, creating a kaleidoscope effect that matched my swirling thoughts. I caught Alexander glancing at me in the mirror a few times, his expression unreadable. "Left at the next light," I directed as we approached my neighborhood. He nodded, making the turn smoothly. "Here we are," he announced, pulling up to my apartment building. It wasn't fancy by LA standards but clean and in a decent area. I could just barely afford it on my junior executive salary. He turned off the engine and, to my surprise, got out to open my door. His hand extended to help me out, warm and solid as I took it. The contact sent an unexpected jolt up my arm. "Thank you again," I said, reluctantly letting go of his hand. "For everything tonight." Alexander studied me for a moment, his gray eyes intense. "I hope you're able to move past what happened tonight. Your boyfriend, or rather your ex-boyfriend, clearly didn't appreciate what he had." The unexpected kindness in his voice made my throat tighten. "I'll be fine," I managed. "I'm sure you will," he agreed. "Someone like you won't stay single for long unless you want to." I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was Alexander Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises, flirting with me? No, that was ridiculous. He was just being polite. "Goodnight, Olivia," he said, stepping back toward his car. "Goodnight, Alexander. And thank you for the ride." He nodded once, then slid back into his car. I watched as he drove away, his taillights disappearing around the corner before I turned and entered my building. The elevator ride to my fourth-floor apartment felt endless. My keys jangled in my shaking hands as I unlocked my door, stepping into the darkness of my living room. I flipped on the light, tossed my purse on the counter, and kicked off my heels. The silence of my apartment pressed in around me. Just hours ago, I'd been getting ready for what I thought would be a normal night out with my boyfriend. Now, everything had changed. I peeled off the black c*cktail dress and threw it in the trash. Never again would I wear something just because a man told me it looked good on me. In my bathroom, I scrubbed off my makeup. The woman in the mirror looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. I pulled on an oversized t-shirt and fell onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, probably Ryan finally realizing what he'd lost. I ignored it. Why had he done it? Two years together, and he throws it all away for Sophia? Had he been sleeping with her all along? The signs had been there: the late nights at work, the sudden business trips, the way his phone was always face-down when I was around. I'd trusted him completely. What a fool I'd been. My phone buzzed again. This time, I glanced at it. Emilia. "You home safe? Did Mr. CEO make a move? Please say yes." I texted back: "Yes, I'm home. No, he didn't. Go to sleep." Her response was immediate: "Boring! But seriously, you okay?" "I will be," I replied and realized I meant it. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and stared at the ceiling, my mind racing despite my exhaustion. Sleep seemed impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ryan thrusting into Sophia, her smug face, his pathetic excuses. "f*ck," I whispered to the empty room. "Two years down the drain." I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow. Two years of holidays, family gatherings, inside jokes—all tainted now. But something else kept intruding on my thoughts: Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes in the rearview mirror. Alexander Carter. My CEO. The man I'd just met while looking like a complete disaster. "He probably won't even remember me tomorrow," I muttered, flipping onto my back again. "Why would he? He's Alexander f*cking Carter." The ceiling offered no answers. I'd worked at Carter Enterprises for eight months and never once spoken to him. I'd seen him striding through the lobby, standing at podiums during company-wide meetings, his face on the company website and annual reports. Always distant. Always untouchable. And now he'd seen me at my absolute worst, heartbroken in a slutty dress. "Great first impression, Olivia. Really professional." I snorted at my own sarcasm. It was as if Alexander Carter would ever connect the disheveled woman he'd rescued with Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. Our worlds didn't intersect. He inhabited the executive floor with its panoramic views of Los Angeles. At the same time, I worked in my cubicle fifteen floors below, crafting social media campaigns for products I could barely afford. I pulled the covers over my head, trying to force sleep to come. But my brain had other ideas, conjuring an image of running into Alexander in the office elevator. Would he recognize me? Would I have the courage to thank him again? Would he look at me with those intense gray eyes and see past the professional facade to the woman he'd rescued? "As if," I mumbled into my pillow. "He probably rescues women from creeps every weekend. It's probably a rich guy's hobby." But what if he did remember me? What if our paths crossed in the office cafeteria or during a presentation? What would I say? Chapter 5 Alexander's POV I parked my car in the circular driveway of my parent's estate, taking a moment to prepare myself for the inevitable Carter family dynamics. Sunday dinner at the Carter mansion, a tradition as old as the oak trees lining the property, was something I both dreaded and looked forward to. The mansion stood like a monument to old money, with stone façades and manicured gardens that screamed, "We've had wealth for generations." My phone buzzed with an email from work, but I ignored it. Work could wait, but family obligations couldn't, especially when Grandfather Harold was involved. I straightened my tie and headed inside, where Martha, our longtime housekeeper, greeted me with a warm smile. "Mr. Alexander, everyone's waiting in the drawing room. Your grandfather arrived early." That was never a good sign. Grandfather arriving early meant he had an agenda. "Is Victoria here?" I asked, handing Martha my coat. "Yes, sir. With her husband. They arrived about an hour ago." Perfect. My cousin Victoria and her investment banker husband Thomas, the power couple who never let anyone forget how perfect their life was. The drawing room buzzed with conversation that stopped when I entered. Mother rose from her seat, elegant as always in her pearl necklace and tailored dress. "Alexander, darling. We were beginning to worry." I kissed her cheek. "Traffic was terrible. Sorry, I'm late." Father nodded from his armchair, whiskey in hand. "Son." That was Father, a man of few words unless discussing business or golf. Victoria sat perched on the antique sofa, her husband's arm draped around her shoulder in that possessive way I found irritating. My sister Valentina was there, too, scrolling through her phone. But it was Grandfather Harold who commanded the room from his wheelchair. At seventy-eight, he might have lost some mobility but none of his mental sharpness or business acumen. "Alexander," he barked. "Sit down. We need to talk." I took a seat across from him. "Good to see you too, Grandfather." "Don't get smart with me, boy. I've been waiting." Victoria smirked. "Some of us manage to arrive on time, cousin dear." I ignored her. "What's this about? I thought this was just dinner." Grandfather Harold waved his hand dismissively. "Dinner can wait. This is about the future of Carter Enterprises." The room fell silent. When Grandfather talked about the company's future, everyone paid attention. He'd built Carter Enterprises from a small family business into a corporate empire and, at seventy-eight, still held the controlling stake. "I've been updating my will," he announced. Mother gasped softly. Father set down his whiskey. "Oh, relax; I'm not dying yet," Grandfather snapped. "Just getting my affairs in order. And I've made some decisions about the company shares." I leaned forward. As CEO, I had a significant stake in the company, but Grandfather's controlling shares would eventually determine who truly ran Carter Enterprises. "Alexander," he fixed his steely gaze on me. "You've done well as CEO. Profits are up. The board is happy. But there's something missing." "Missing?" I frowned. "Our last quarter was our best in five years." "I'm not talking about business." He thumped his cane on the floor. "I'm talking about family. Stability. A legacy." Victoria's husband coughed discreetly. Victoria's smile widened. "What exactly are you saying, Grandfather?" Harold Carter leaned forward in his wheelchair. "I'm saying that to inherit my controlling shares in Carter Enterprises, you need to be married within six months." The room exploded in reactions. Mother gasped again. Father actually put down his drink. Valentina looked up from her phone. Victoria burst into delighted laughter. "Married?" I stared at him. "You can't be serious." "Dead serious." Grandfather's expression didn't change. "Carter Enterprises has always been family-run. Family means stability. Commitment." "I'm committed to the company!" "But not to anything or anyone else." Grandfather shook his head. "You're thirty-three, Alexander. Your relationships last shorter than some of our quarterly reports." Victoria couldn't contain herself. "Oh, this is priceless. Is Alexander getting married? He can't even keep a girlfriend past the three-month mark." "Thank you for that astute observation, Victoria," I said, forcing a smile. "Always a pleasure to have your support." Uncle Richard, Victoria's father, chuckled from the corner of the room. "The boy does have a track record." "A track record?" My father set his tumbler down with more force than necessary. "Last year, we selected a perfectly suitable woman for him. The engagement was announced in the Times, for God's sake. And then what happened, Alexander?" I loosened my tie slightly. "Dad—" "He canceled it two weeks before the wedding," Father continued, addressing the room like I wasn't there. "The merger nearly fell apart because of it." Aunt Patricia gasped dramatically. "Penelope Langford? Such a lovely girl and from a good family. What a shame." "She wasn't right for me," I said firmly. Valentina finally looked up from her phone. "He didn't like her. Said she reminded him of a corporate spreadsheet – technically perfect but utterly boring." "Thank you for sharing that, Val," I muttered. My sister shrugged and went back to her phone. "Just telling it like it is." Grandfather Harold thumped his cane again. "Enough! The terms are simple. Alexander marries within six months, or Victoria receives my controlling stake in the company." Victoria nearly spilled her champagne in excitement. "Really, Grandfather? You'd give me control?" Her husband Thomas straightened his posture, dollar signs practically visible in his eyes. "I didn't build this company for forty years to watch it get dismantled by your husband's investment firm," Grandfather snapped at Victoria. "But at least you understand commitment." I stood up, pacing the Persian rug. "This is absurd. You're reducing the future of our family business to whether or not I get married? What century is this?" "The century where actions have consequences," Grandfather replied. "Victoria may be insufferable—" "Hey!" Victoria protested. "—but she's stable. Married. Committed." Victoria's smirk returned. "Face it, Alexander. You couldn't commit to a woman if your life depended on it. Now your career does, and we all know how that's going to end." Something snapped inside me. I'd tolerated Victoria's barbs for years, but this was different. This was my life's work at stake. "You know what, Victoria? You're wrong." "Am I?" She swirled her champagne. "Name one relationship you've had that lasted longer than a corporate quarterly report." My cousin Matthew, who'd been silently watching the drama unfold, whistled low. "She's got you there, Alex." I straightened my shoulders. "I'll do it. I'll get married within six months." The room fell silent again. "To whom?" Father asked skeptically. "I'll figure that out." Victoria burst into laughter. "Oh, this is too good! Alexander Carter, CEO and eligible bachelor, desperately seeking a wife. Should we put an ad in the classifieds?" Her husband joined in. "Maybe we should start interviewing candidates. Create a shortlist." "I don't need help finding someone," I said through gritted teeth. Aunt Elizabeth, who'd been quietly knitting in the corner, looked up. "What about that nice PR director at your company? Jennifer, something?" "She's married, Mother," Victoria said. "Oh. Well, what about your assistant?" "I'm not marrying my assistant, Aunt Elizabeth." Grandfather Harold raised his hand for silence. "The terms are set. Six months from today." Uncle Richard raised his glass. "To Alexander's impending nuptials! May he find a bride before Victoria gets his office." Victoria clinked glasses with her father. "I'm already planning where to put my new desk." I clenched my jaw. "Enjoy the fantasy while it lasts, cousin. I'm not losing the company." "Six months, Alexander," Grandfather reminded me. "The clock starts now."
As Atticus had said, things were finally calming down. By mid-October, only two unusual little incidents had occurred, involving two Maycomb citizens. No, three, actually. Though not directly related to our Finch family, they were still somewhat connected. The first involved Mr. Bob Ewell, who gained and then lost his job within days, probably making him a unique figure in the historical record of the 1930s: to my knowledge, he was the only person dismissed by the Public Works Promotion Agency for laziness. I suspect that his brief overnight fame only fostered a shorter period of diligence, and his job, like his fame, came and went quickly. Mr. Ewell found himself, like Tom Robinson, soon forgotten. From then on, he continued his weekly trip to the relief office to collect his checks. Instead of showing gratitude, he would mutter and curse incoherently, saying that those self-proclaimed rulers of the town wouldn't let an honest man earn his own living. Ruth Jones, who worked at the relief office, said that Mr. Ewell even openly hurled insults, accusing Atticus of ruining his job. Ruth was disturbed and went to Atticus's office to tell him about it. Atticus told Miss Ruth to calm down, saying that if Bob Ewell wanted to discuss how he had "ruined" his job, he knew how to get to his office. The second incident involved Judge Taylor. Mrs. Taylor went to church every Sunday evening, but Judge Taylor never did. Instead, he stayed in his mansion, enjoying the evenings alone, curled up in his study reading Bob Taylor's annotated works—they weren't related by blood, but Judge Taylor would have been quite pleased if he could claim kinship. One Sunday evening, Judge Taylor was engrossed in vivid metaphors and beautiful prose when a nagging scratching sound abruptly interrupted his attention. "Shh," he hissed at Ann Taylor, his unremarkable, large, fat dog. He then realized he was speaking to an empty room, and the scratching was coming from the back of the house. Judge Taylor dragged his heavy steps to the back porch to let the dog out, only to find the screen door swinging back and forth. He glimpsed a figure flash in the corner of the house; that was the only impression the uninvited guest left on him. Mrs. Taylor returned home from church to find her husband sitting as usual, engrossed in Bob Taylor's writing, a shotgun across his lap. The third matter concerns Helen Robinson, Tom's widow. If Mr. Ewell was forgotten like Tom Robinson, then Tom was forgotten like Radley the eccentric. However, Tom's former employer, Mr. Link Dis, hadn't forgotten him and arranged a job for his wife, Helen. He didn't really need Helen to help out; he said the way things had turned out made him very upset. I had no idea who would take care of Helen's children while she went to work. Kaponi said Helen had a hard time; she had to walk an extra mile every day to avoid the Ewell family. In Helen's words, the first time she passed by, she was "surrounded" by the Ewell family just as she was about to step onto the public road. Day after day, Mr. Link Dis finally discovered that Helen took a longer route to work every day, so he pressed her to tell him the reason. “Please, Mr. Link, leave it alone,” Helen pleaded. “I won’t let him get away with it!” said Mr. Link. He told Helen to come to his shop before going home in the afternoon. Helen obeyed, and by evening, Mr. Link had closed the shop, pulled his hat firmly on his head, and walked with Helen home. They took a shortcut, passing by Ewell’s house. When he turned back, he stopped in front of the crooked gate. “Ewell?” he called out, “I say, Ewell!” The windows, usually crowded with children, were now empty. “I know you’re all in the house, all crawling on the floor. Listen up, Bob Ewell: if I hear my Helen mutter again that she’s afraid to walk this way, I’ll send you to jail before nightfall!” Mr. Link spat on the ground and turned to go home. The next morning, Helen took the same public road to work. No one stopped her this time, but after walking a few steps past Ewell’s house, she turned around and found Mr. Ewell following her. She turned back and continued on her way, and Mr. Ewell followed her all the way to Mr. Link Dis’s house, always keeping a safe distance. Helen said that along the way she heard constant low curses behind her, all very foul language. Terrified, she immediately called Mr. Link, who was at the shop. The shop wasn't far from his house, and as Mr. Link stepped out, he saw Mr. Ewell leaning against his yard fence. Mr. Ewell said, "Link Dis, don't look at me like I'm a piece of trash. I haven't done anything to you..." "Ewell, the first thing you need to do is get your stinking body off my fence. I don't have the money to repaint it after you've leaned on it. The second thing is to stay away from my cook, or I'll sue you for harassment..." "Link Dis, I haven't touched her, and I'm not going to go looking for a nigger!" "You don't need to touch her, just scare her. If harassment isn't enough to put you in jail for a while, I'll sue you under the Women's Act. Get lost! If you think I'm not serious, try bothering her again!" Mr. Ewell clearly thought he was serious, because Helen never mentioned any similar trouble again. “Atticus, this is really bothering me, I’m so fed up.” – This was Aunt Alexandra’s feeling. “He seems to hold a grudge against everyone involved in that case. I know how those kinds of people vent their resentment, but I don’t understand why he does it – didn’t he get his way in court?” “I can understand,” Atticus said. “Maybe it’s because he knows that in Maycomb, very few people actually believe the lies he and Mayella fabricated. He thought he was going to be a hero, but after all his scheming and scheming, all he got was… well, we found this black guy guilty, you can go back to your junkyard. He’s caused trouble for everyone now, he should be satisfied. His resentment will probably subside when the weather gets cooler.” “But why did he go to John Taylor’s house?” "Borrowing? He obviously didn't know John was home; if he had, he wouldn't have barged in. Every Sunday night, John usually only turned on the light on the front porch and the study..." "You don't know if Bob Ewell cut the screen door, you don't know who did it," Atticus said. "But I can guess. I exposed his lie in court, and John made him look like a fool. When Ewell was on the witness stand, I didn't dare look at John once, afraid I'd burst out laughing. John looked at him as if he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don't tell me judges never try to influence the jury." Atticus chuckled. By the end of October, our lives had returned to the familiar routine: school, play, study. Jem seemed to have completely banished what he wanted to forget, and the magnanimity of our classmates made us forget we had a rebellious father. Cecil once asked me, "Is your father a radical?" I went home and asked Atticus, whose gleeful expression annoyed me, but he said he wasn't mocking me, adding, "Go tell Cecil I'm about as radical as 'Cotton Tom' Heflin." Aunt Alexandra was beaming with pride; it seemed Miss Moody had certainly won over the entire mission, as she was once again acting as their leader, and even her refreshments were becoming increasingly delicious. I learned more about the poor Monas from Mrs. Merriweather about their social life: they had almost no concept of family; the entire tribe was one big family. For all the children, there were as many fathers as there were men in the tribe, and as many mothers as there were women. Reverend J. Grimes Everett was doing everything he could to change this, and our prayers were urgently needed. Maycomb had returned to its old ways, almost exactly the same as last year and the year before, with only two minor changes. The first change was that people had torn down the old signs and slogans from shop windows and cars that read "National Recovery Administration - Doing the Job." I asked Atticus why, and he said it was because the "National Recovery Act" note had been removed. I asked who removed it, and he said nine old men. The second change in Maycomb wasn't national, but it started last year. Before that, Halloween in Maycomb was never very organized. Each child did their own thing, only asking for help when something needed moving, like putting a wagon on top of the barn. However, after the incident where Miss Tutty and Miss Fruty's peaceful lives were disrupted, the parents unanimously agreed that the children had gone too far. Tutty Barber and Fruty Barber were sisters, both older ladies, living together in Maycomb's only house with a cellar. Rumor had it that the sisters were Republicans who had moved from Clanton, Alabama in 1911. Their lifestyle seemed strange to us; no one understood why they wanted a cellar. They had the idea, so they dug one, and their lives were never peaceful; they constantly had to drive generation after generation of their children away. Miss Tutti and Miss Fruty's names were Sarah and Francis, respectively. Besides all the typical Yankee habits, they were both deaf. Miss Tutti refused to accept this fact, content to live in a silent world, while Miss Fruty, not wanting to miss anything, had a huge, horn-shaped hearing aid fitted. Jem asserted it was an amplifier salvaged from a Victor phonograph. A few mischievous children, knowing this, sneaked into their living room (except for the Radleys, no one locked their doors at night) on Halloween after the two old ladies had fallen asleep, and secretly moved all the furniture out and hid it in the cellar. I vehemently denied participating in this frivolous act. “I heard them!” The next morning, just as dawn broke, the two young ladies’ neighbors were awakened by the commotion. “I heard them pull up to the door! The heavy footsteps sounded like horses’ hooves. They must be in New Orleans by now!” Two days earlier, a group of itinerant fur traders had passed through town, and Miss Tutty was convinced they had stolen the furniture. “Those Syrians,” she said, “they’re so dark-skinned.” Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. After examining the scene, he said he felt it was the locals. Miss Tutty said she knew the Maycomb accent all too well, recognizing it everywhere, but last night, no one in the living room spoke with a Maycomb accent—the men walked around with their mouths full of rolled "r" sounds. Miss Tutty insisted on using hunting dogs to find the furniture, so Mr. Tate had to run ten miles of dirt roads to gather the country dogs and let them track the scent. Mr. Tate had the hounds use the front steps as a starting point, but they all ran to the back of the house and barked incessantly at the cellar door. After this happened three times, Mr. Tate figured out what was going on. Before noon that day, there wasn't a single barefoot child to be seen on the streets of Maycomb, and none of them would take off their shoes until the hounds were sent away. Upon hearing this, the ladies of Maycomb said that this year would be different. As a result, the Maycomb High School auditorium would be open to the public that day, with adults watching performances and children playing games like "apple in mouth," "toffee pulling," and "tackling a donkey's tail." There was also a prize for the best homemade Halloween costume, with a prize of twenty-five cents. Jim and I complained bitterly. It wasn't because we had played any pranks, but because of the rule. Jim felt he was too old for Halloween tricks anymore, and he said he didn't want anyone seeing him near the high school auditorium that night, participating in those boring games. Oh well, I thought, Atticus will take me. However, I soon heard that I also had to perform on stage that night. Mrs. Merriweather had created a rather ingenious play called "Maycomb County: The Road to the Stars," and she wanted me to play Ham. She thought it would be very pleasing to have a group of children dressed as Maycomb County's main agricultural products: Cecil as a cow, Agnes Boone as a cute butter bean, and another child as a peanut, and so on, until Mrs. Merriweather's imagination ran out and no more children were available for roles. After two rehearsals, I figured out that our task was simply to walk onto the stage from the left, guided by Mrs. Merriweather, the playwright and narrator. When she called "Pork," it was my turn to appear. Then, my friends would sing in unison: Maycomb County, Maycomb County, you'll always be in our hearts. The final scene would be incredibly solemn—Mrs. Merriweather planned to take to the stage, holding the state flag high. My costume wasn't a problem. There was a tailor in town named Mrs. Crenshaw, who, like Mrs. Merriweather, was full of ingenious ideas. Mrs. Crenshaw bent wire mesh into the shape of a smoked ham, covered it with brown cloth, and even painted on it to make the ham look more realistic. I just had to squat down so someone could pull the costume over my head, up to about my knees. Mrs. Crenshaw was very thoughtful, even leaving two observation holes for me. Her craftsmanship was excellent; Jem said I looked like a ham with two legs. However, the costume had its uncomfortable aspects: it was too hot and too tight inside, so I couldn't scratch my itchy nose, and once I was on, I couldn't get out without help. On Halloween, I thought my whole family would come to see my performance, but I was greatly disappointed. Atticus told me, in the most tactful way possible, that he was too tired to go to the show that evening. He'd been in Montgomery for a week and hadn't returned home until that evening. He figured if I asked Jem, Jem would come with me. Aunt Alexandra said she needed to go to bed early; she'd been busy all afternoon helping set up the stage and was exhausted—she stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence. Her mouth opened and closed as if to say something, but no word came out. “What’s wrong, Aunt?” I asked. “Oh, nothing, nothing,” she said. “I just had a shiver; someone must have stepped on my grave.” She dismissed the thing that had startled her and suggested I rehearse it in the living room in front of the whole family. So Jem… Aunt Alexandra rose and reached for the mantel. Mr. Tate quickly rose as well, but Aunt Alexandra wouldn't let him help. For the first time in his life, Atticus didn't show his innate humility—he remained seated. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about what Mr. Bob Ewell had said—that he'd risk his life to get rid of Atticus. Mr. Ewell had almost gotten his wish this time, and it was the last thing he ever did. "Are you sure?" Atticus's voice was very somber. "He is indeed dead," Mr. Tate said. "Absolutely. He can't hurt the children anymore." "That's not what I meant," Atticus murmured as if in a dream. He suddenly looked much older, a sign that his mind was in turmoil: his once-sharp jawline had become loose; the wrinkles below his ears were no longer concealed, clearly visible; his once-black hair was less noticeable, while his increasingly graying sideburns were more striking. "Wouldn't it be better if we talked in the living room?" Aunt Alexandra finally asked. "If you don't mind," Mr. Tate said, "I think we should talk here, as long as it doesn't disturb Jem's rest. I'd like to see his injuries and hear Scout... tell us what happened." "Would it be alright if I left?" she asked. "I'm just an extra person here. Atticus, just call me if you need anything, I'll stay in my room." Aunt Alexandra walked towards the door, then stopped and turned back. “Atticus, I had a feeling about what would happen tonight… I… it’s all my fault,” she couldn’t help but say. “I should have…” Mr. Tate held out his hand, gesturing for her to stop. “Go ahead, Miss Alexandra. I know this has been very upsetting for you. Don’t overthink it, don’t torture yourself—well, if we keep letting our feelings lead us by the nose, we’ll be like cats chasing their own tails. Miss Scout, could you tell us what happened while your memory is still sharp? Do you think that’s alright? Did you see him following you?” I walked over to Atticus and felt him put his arms around me. I buried my head in his lap. “We started walking home. I told Jem I’d forgotten my shoes, so we went back to get them. But all the lights in the school were off, and Jem said I could get them tomorrow…” “Scooter, lift your head so Mr. Tate can hear you,” Atticus said to me. I climbed onto his lap and sat in his arms. “As we were walking, Jem told me to be quiet. I thought he was thinking about something—he always tells me to be quiet when he's thinking. After a while, he said he heard something. We thought it was Cecil playing tricks.” “Cecil?” “It was Cecil Jacobs. He already scared us once tonight, and we thought he was back again. He was wearing a sheet then. The prize for best costume was twenty-five cents, and I don’t even know who got it…” “Where were you when you thought it was Cecil?” “Not far from the school. I even yelled at him…” “What did you yell?” “I think it was ‘Cecil is a big fat hen.’ We didn’t hear anyone respond… A little while later, Jem yelled ‘Hello’ or something, loud enough to wake a dead man…” “Wait a minute, Scout,” said Mr. Tate. “Mr. Finch, did you hear them yelling?” Atticus said he didn’t. He had the radio on. Aunt Alexandra was also listening to the radio in her bedroom. He remembered clearly that Aunt Alexandra had told him to turn the volume down, otherwise she wouldn't be able to listen. Atticus smiled slightly. "I always have the radio turned up really loud." "I wonder if the neighbors heard anything..." Mr. Tate said. "I doubt it, Heck. Most of them are either listening to the radio or have gone to bed early. Miss Mordy might still be awake, but I doubt she heard anything." "Go on, Scout," Mr. Tate said to me again. “Oh, after Jem shouted, we both went on ahead. Mr. Tate, I was completely covered in my costume, but then I heard that sound too—I mean, footsteps. We walked, and the footsteps followed; we stopped, and the footsteps stopped. Jem said he could see me because Mrs. Crenshaw put some glittery paint on my costume. I was playing Ham.” “What’s going on?” Mr. Tate asked, surprised. Atticus explained my role to Mr. Tate and described the construction of my costume. “You should have seen what she looked like when she came back,” he said. “The costume was all crumpled.” Mr. Tate stroked his chin. “I was wondering how Ewell got those marks. He had a lot of little holes in his sleeves, and a couple of puncture wounds on his arms that matched the holes. Could I see that thing you mentioned, if it’s convenient?” Atticus went to get my tattered costume. Mr. Tate turned it over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what shape it was. “It’s very likely this thing saved her life,” he said. “Look.” He held up his long index finger and pointed to Atticus—a clean, bright line was clearly visible on the gray barbed wire. “Bob Ewell seems to have gone too far,” Mr. Tate muttered to himself. “He’s out of his mind,” Atticus said. “I don’t want to argue with you, Mr. Finch, but he’s not insane, he’s ruthless. That despicable bastard, emboldened by alcohol, dared to harm a child. He never dares to confront anyone directly.” Atticus shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone—” “Mr. Finch, there are some people in this world who you have to shoot before you can even greet them. Even then, their lives aren’t worth a bullet. Ewell is one of them.” Atticus said, “I thought he’d vented his anger after that threat. Even if he wasn’t satisfied, I thought he’d come after me.” “He had the guts to harass a poor black woman, he had the guts to cause trouble at Judge Taylor’s house when no one was home—you think, how could someone like that dare to confront you in broad daylight?” Mr. Tate sighed. “Let’s continue. Scout, did you hear him following you—” “Yes, sir. As we walked…” When we get to the bottom of the tree——" "How do you know it's under a tree? You can't see anything under the cover." "I was barefoot. Jem said the ground was cooler under the trees than elsewhere." "It seems we have to ask him to be our deputy. Go on." "Later, someone suddenly grabbed me and banged my costume hard... I remember I was lying on the ground... I heard a scuffle from under the tree... The sound was like they were hitting the trunk of the tree repeatedly. Jem found me, pulled me and ran towards the road. There was The man—it was Mr. Ewell, jerked him down, I guess. They struggled again, and I heard a strange noise—and then Jem let out a scream..." I stopped—that's when Jem's arm was broken. "Anyway, Jem screamed, and I never heard him again. Then Mr. Ewell strangled me again, and I think... suddenly someone pulled him down. I guess Jem got up. That's all I remember..." "What happened next?" Mr. Tate stared at me sharply. “Someone was panting heavily, staggering back and forth—coughing terribly. At first I thought it was Jem, but the voice didn't sound like him, so I groped around on the floor looking for him. I thought Atticus had come to help us; I was exhausted…” “Who is that person?” “Mr. Tate, he's right there. He can tell you his name.” As I spoke, I half-raised my hand, pointing to the person in the corner. But I quickly lowered my hand after the slightest gesture, lest Atticus scold me. Pointing at people is impolite. He was still leaning against the wall. He was standing against the wall with his arms crossed when I came in, and he'd been standing there ever since. When I pointed at him, he lowered his arms, his palms pressed firmly against the wall. They were pale hands, sickly hands that had never been bathed in sunlight. In the dim light of Jem's room, these hands, against the cream-colored wall, were so glaringly white. My gaze followed his hands down to his sand-stained khaki trousers, then up his thin frame to his ripped twill shirt. His face was as pale as his hands, with only a shadow on his prominent chin. His cheeks were sunken, forming a wide mouth; his temples were slightly sunken, almost imperceptible; his gray eyes were dull and lifeless, making me mistake him for blind. His thin, lifeless hair covered his head like feathers. As I pointed, his palms slid lightly against the wall, leaving two greasy streaks of sweat, before he tucked his thumbs into his belt. A sudden, inexplicable spasm ran through him, like the sound of fingernails scraping against stone. However, under my curious gaze, the tension on his face slowly dissipated. He parted his lips, revealing a shy smile. My eyes suddenly filled with tears, and my neighbor's face instantly became a blur.
My boss is handsome, wealthy, and has a huge d!ck. But no woman dares go near him. Because every girl who confessed had been shipped off to a mining operation in Africa. True story. So when he walked up to my narrow desk today and said, "Marry me, Ms. Morgan," I almost choked on air. "Is this a joke?" I thought I was dreaming. Alexander didn't blink. "I need to marry within three months to retain control of Carter Enterprises. You're smart. You're broke. You're perfect for being my wife." He slid a contract across the table. "One year. And I’ll give you five million dollars. Then we're done." I hesitated. But my dad's surgery bill wasn't going to pay itself, so I signed. Didn't read the fine print. Didn't see the clause buried on the last page: "Sexual relations as required to maintain the appearance of a normal marriage." Until the wedding night, Alexander broke into the guest room. He stood there in nothing but a bathrobe, his eyes dark, his d!ck already hard and pressing against my thigh before I could even move. "B-Boss?! What... what are you doing?!" He smiled. A low, throaty laugh escaped him. "My little wife..." His lips brushed my ear. "Time to fulfill your duties." ************* Chapter 1 Olivia's POV I slumped against the passenger seat as Ryan's car cruised through the palm-lined streets of Los Angeles. My eyelids felt heavy after a twelve-hour shift at Carter Enterprises. The quarterly marketing campaign required us all to work overtime, and as a junior marketing executive, I was stuck with weekend work. "You still with me, babe?" Ryan glanced over, his perfectly styled dark hair catching the sunset's glow. "Barely." I stifled a yawn. "Remind me why we're going to this party when I could be face-planting into my pillow right now?" "Because Sophia would kill you if you missed her birthday." He reached over and squeezed my knee. "And because you look stunning in that dress I bought for you." I glanced down at the black c*cktail dress he'd insisted I wear. The neckline plunged lower than I'd normally choose, and the hemline rode high enough to make me self-conscious every time I sat down. Ryan had shown up at my apartment with the dress in a boutique bag, eyes gleaming with anticipation as I'd tried it on. "I still think it's a bit much for a birthday party," I tugged at the fabric, trying to cover more of my chest. "Liv, we've been dating for two years. I know what looks good on you better than you do. Trust me, every guy at this party will wish he was me tonight." "Is that what this is about? Marking your territory?" "Can you blame me?" He winked as he turned onto Sophia's street, where luxury cars lined both sides. Sophia's recently purchased triplex stood illuminated against the darkening sky, music pulsing from within. For someone only turning twenty-five, she'd done remarkably well for herself in real estate development. Ryan found a spot half a block away and cut the engine. "Ready to make an entrance, Ms. Morgan?" "As I'll ever be." I grabbed my purse and the gift bag containing the vintage champagne Ryan had suggested we bring. The cool evening air hit my bare shoulders as I stepped out of the car, making me shiver. Ryan's arm slid around my waist, his hand resting dangerously low on my hip. "See? Worth getting dressed up for." He nodded toward the house. "This place is insane." We walked up the curved driveway where twinkling lights had been strung through the palm trees. The front door stood open, spilling light, music, and laughter onto the porch. "Olivia! You made it!" Sophia appeared in the doorway, resplendent in a gold sequined dress. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up!" "My work tried its best to keep me away," I laughed, accepting her enthusiastic hug. "Happy birthday, Soph." "And Ryan, looking delicious as always." She air-kissed his cheeks. "Come in, come in! Everyone's already two drinks ahead of you." Ryan's hand pressed against the small of my back as we entered the foyer, which opened to a massive great room where at least thirty people mingled. The space featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the twinkling Los Angeles skyline. "Drink?" Ryan asked, already scanning the room. "God, yes. The strongest thing they've got." He chuckled. "That's my girl. Be right back." As Ryan disappeared toward the bar setup, I heard a familiar squeal from across the room. "Olivia Morgan, get your ass over here!" I turned to see Emilia waving frantically from a plush sectional sofa. My best friend since college was already flushed from alcohol, her blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders. "Em!" I navigated through clusters of guests to reach her. "How long have you been here?" "Long enough to know the bartender's life story." She stood, wobbling slightly in her heels, and embraced me. She pulled back, holding me at arm's length to examine my outfit. "Holy shit, your boobs look amazing in that dress. Did Ryan pick it out?" I felt my cheeks warm. "Is it that obvious?" "Only because I've known you for eight years, and you've never willingly shown that much cleavage." She smirked. "Not that I'm complaining. If I had your rack, I'd show it off, too." "Could you say that a little louder? I don't think everyone in Malibu heard you." "Sorry, can't help it. You're too easy to embarrass." Emilia's eyes danced with mischief as she took another sip of her drink. "By the way, have you seen our birthday girl? I swear she was here greeting people and then just... vanished." I scanned the crowded room. "No, actually. Where did Ryan go? He was supposed to be getting me a drink." "Maybe he's outside? I saw some people heading to the back lawn earlier." Emilia shrugged. "Or he could be sneaking a cigarette." I narrowed my eyes. "He told me he quit three months ago. If I catch him smoking after all that 'I'm done with nicotine forever, baby' bullshit, I'll kill him myself." "Men lie about the stupidest things. Like, just admit you still smoke and save us both the drama." "I'm going to find him," I said, tugging at my dress, which had ridden up dangerously high. "If he's outside with a cigarette, I'm putting it on his favorite shoes." "That's my girl." Emilia raised her glass. "I'll be right here judging everyone's outfit choices when you get back." I weaved through the crowded living room, nodding at half-familiar faces from past gatherings. The kitchen was jammed with people mixing drinks. No Ryan. The back patio held a group playing some drinking games with shots and ping pong balls. No Ryan among them. "Looking for someone?" A tall guy with a man-bun approached, his eyes dropping to my cleavage before meeting my gaze. "My boyfriend. Tall, dark hair, probably looking smug about something." He laughed. "Haven't seen him. But I'd be happy to keep you company until he shows up." "Hard pass, but thanks." I turned away, irritation building. Where the hell was Ryan with my drink? I climbed the modern floating staircase to the next floor, where the noise from the party became more muffled. The hallway was dimly lit and had several closed doors. A sound caught my attention – a moan? A laugh? Something between the two. It was faint, coming from further down the hall. The sound came again, more distinct this time. Definitely a moan. Great. A couple had found a private spot to hook up at Sophia's party. How classy. I was about to turn back when I noticed a slightly ajar door at the end of the hallway, a sliver of light spilling onto the hardwood floor. Something compelled me forward – curiosity, or perhaps a sixth sense I didn't know I had. As I approached, the sounds became clearer. A woman's voice, breathless and urgent: "f*ck, yes, right there." I froze. The voice was familiar. A male voice responded, low and commanding: "You like that, don't you? Tell me how much you want it." My stomach dropped. Ryan's voice. I should have turned away, run down those stairs, and straight out the front door. Instead, I moved closer, pushing the door open wider. The scene burned into my retinas like a brand. Sophia bent over her dresser; her gold dress pushed up around her waist. Ryan was behind her, his pants around his ankles, hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her. "Harder," Sophia gasped. "Make me feel it tomorrow." "What the f*ck?" The words escaped me before I could stop them. They both froze. Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. Chapter 2 Olivia's POV Ryan's head whipped around, his eyes widening with shock. For a moment, time suspended itself. My lungs refused to work, and the room seemed to tilt sideways. "Liv—" Ryan stammered, still connected to Sophia. "This isn't—" "What it looks like?" I finished, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. "Because it looks like you're f*cking my friend on her birthday while I wait downstairs for a drink that's never coming." Sophia turned her head, meeting my gaze without a hint of shame. She didn't even bother to adjust her dress; she just rested her elbows on the dresser and sighed like I'd interrupted a business meeting. "Oh, Olivia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Did you think a man like Ryan would be satisfied with just you?" Ryan finally pulled away from her, fumbling to pull up his pants. "Baby, please, this is just a... a thing. It doesn't mean anything." "A thing?" I repeated, heat rising to my face. "How long has this 'thing' been happening?" Before either could answer, I heard footsteps behind me. "Liv? Did you find—" Emilia's voice cut off as she appeared at my side, taking in the scene. "Holy f*cking shit." Ryan's face paled further. "This isn't what—" "If you say 'this isn't what it looks like' one more time, I swear to God I will castrate you with my bare hands," Emilia snapped, her arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. Sophia straightened up, finally adjusting her dress with leisurely movements. She tossed her hair back and had the audacity to smirk. "Ryan and I have an understanding. It's just sex. Great sex, but still just sex." "An understanding?" I laughed, the sound brittle and foreign to my ears. "And when exactly were you planning to include me in this understanding? After you gave me chlamydia, or before?" "Don't be dramatic," Ryan said, tucking in his shirt. "We've been careful." "Oh, careful! Well, that makes it all better then!" I threw my hands up. "You've been carefully f*cking my friend behind my back. Such consideration!" Sophia leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms. "We're all adults here. Monogamy is so... limiting, don't you think?" Emilia stepped forward. "The only thing limiting around here is your moral compass, you backstabbing bitch." "Watch it," Sophia warned, her eyes narrowing. "Or what? You'll sleep with my boyfriend too? Get in line." Emilia turned to Ryan. "And you. You pathetic excuse for a man. Two years? Two f*cking years of her life wasted on you?" Ryan finally managed to buckle his belt. "Liv, baby, please. We can talk about this. It's just physical. It doesn't change how I feel about you." "You feel so much for me that you bought me this dress." I gestured to my outfit. "So, I could be downstairs putting on a show for your friends while you're up here with your d*ck in Sophia?" "The dress looks amazing on you," he offered weakly. I stared at him in disbelief. "That's what you're going with right now? Fashion compliments?" "I'm just saying—" "No, I'm done listening to what you're 'just saying.'" I turned to leave, then spun back. "Two years, Ryan. Two years of me rearranging my schedule for you and believing every word out of your mouth. Was any of it real?" He took a step toward me. "Of course, it was real. I love you, Liv." "Spare me," I spat. "If this is your version of love, I want nothing to do with it." Sophia sighed dramatically. "Can we wrap this up? I have guests downstairs." "You have one less now," I said, turning away. "Enjoy your birthday present. You two deserve each other." Emilia shot them both a final glare before following me out. We marched down the hallway, my legs somehow carrying me forward despite feeling like they might collapse. "I've got you," Emilia whispered, her arm still around me as we descended the stairs. The party continued below us, oblivious to the implosion that had just occurred upstairs. The music seemed too loud now, the laughter too jarring. We pushed through the crowd toward the front door. Someone called my name, but I kept moving, my eyes fixed on the exit. The cool night air hit my face as we stepped outside, and only then did I realize I was shaking. We made it to the sidewalk when I heard the front door open behind us. I refused to look back. "Olivia!" Ryan called out. "Wait!" Emilia turned, positioning herself between us like a shield. "Go back to your birthday girl, asshole." "This is between me and Liv," he insisted but made no move to follow us. "There is no 'me and Liv' anymore," I called back, still walking. "We're done." His response was lost as we rounded the corner, the sounds of the party fading behind us. Once out of sight, my composure crumbled. I stopped walking, my breath coming in gasps. "I can't believe…I can't…" I pressed my hand to my mouth. "I know, honey. I know." Emilia pulled me into a hug. "Let it out." "Two years," I whispered against her shoulder. "Two f*cking years." She stroked my hair. "I'm so sorry, Liv." I pulled back, wiping angrily at my eyes. "Did you know? About them?" Emilia hesitated. "Not for sure. But I had my suspicions." "What? Why didn't you say anything?" She sighed, fishing her phone from her purse. "I saw them at Barton's Café last month. They said they'd run into each other, but it seemed... off. The way they were sitting, the way he touched her arm. I didn't want to say anything without proof. I didn't want to hurt you if I was wrong." "Well, now we have proof," I said bitterly. "Let me call us a cab," Emilia said, tapping her phone. "My car's not here. Jake dropped me off." I hugged myself against the chill, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt in the dress Ryan had chosen. "No cabs available. Let's walk a bit. I'll keep trying for a ride and call Jake. Maybe he can pick us up." "Fine by me." I just wanted to get as far away from Sophia's house as possible. "I'd walk to Mexico now if it meant never seeing Ryan again." We started down the sidewalk, my heels clicking against the concrete. The neighborhood was upscale, with sprawling houses set back from the road, but the street itself was poorly lit. The rumble of an engine cut her off as a convertible slowed beside us. Four guys crowded inside, the stench of alcohol wafting our way. The driver leaned over, his eyes crawling over my body before settling on my chest. "Hey, babes, want a ride?" He grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "We got plenty of room on our laps." His friends burst into laughter. The one in the passenger seat raised a bottle. "We're celebrating! Don't you wanna celebrate with us?" "f*ck off," Emilia snapped, pulling me closer. "Ooh, feisty!" The driver killed the engine. "I like feisty." One guy, thick-necked with a tribal tattoo, vaulted over the door. He staggered toward us, pointing at Emilia. "You got a mouth on you, blondie. Let's see what else it can do." Before I could react, he lunged forward and grabbed Emilia by her hair, yanking her head back. She screamed, clawing at his arm. "Let her go!" I shouted, my marketing executive persona vanishing as pure rage took over. I swung my purse, connecting with his temple. He stumbled but kept his grip on Emilia's hair. "Your friend wants to play rough, huh?" He leered at me, eyes fixed on my chest. "Nice tits. Bet they bounce real good." Chapter 3 Olivia's POV My fist throbbed from connecting with the guy's head, but it hadn't done enough. Emilia whimpered as he yanked her hair harder, forcing her head back at an unnatural angle. "Let her go, you piece of shit!" I hissed, fear and fury colliding in my chest. "Or what?" He laughed, his breath reeking of whiskey. "You gonna hit me with your little purse again?" The other men from the car were climbing out now, their movements predatory as they circled around us. The driver, with his gold tooth catching the dim streetlight, stepped toward me. "C'mon baby, we just wanna have some fun." His eyes never left my chest. "You're dressed like you want attention. We're just giving you what you want." "I want you to let my friend go and f*ck off back to whatever sewer you crawled out of," I spat, backing away until I felt a tree behind me. "Ooh, she's got a mouth on her too," said another shorter but broad-shouldered guy wearing a baseball cap. "I like that. Makes it more fun when they fight a little." The driver reached for me, his fingers grazing my arm. I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!" "Playing hard to get?" He moved closer, pinning me against the tree. "That's cute." Emilia was still struggling against Tribal Tattoo's grip. "Liv, run! Just run!" "I'm not leaving you," I said, looking desperately around for anything I could use as a weapon. The driver pressed his body against mine; one hand braced on the tree beside my head. "Your friend's not going anywhere, and neither are you." His other hand reached for my breast. "Let's see if these feel as good as they look." I brought my knee up hard, aiming for his groin, but he twisted away at the last second. My knee glanced off his thigh. "Feisty bitch!" He grabbed my wrist, squeezing until I gasped in pain. Headlights suddenly illuminated the scene as another car screeched to a halt beside us. The engine cut off, and the driver's door opened. "Is there a problem here?" A deep voice cut through the night. A tall figure emerged from the shadows into the spill of a distant streetlight. Broad-shouldered and imposing in what looked like an expensive suit, he moved with a quiet confidence that commanded attention. "Mind your own business, man," Gold Tooth snarled, but I noticed he'd loosened his grip on my wrist. The newcomer stepped closer, and I caught my breath. Even in the dim light, I recognized him immediately. Alexander Carter. My boss's boss's boss. The CEO of Carter Enterprises, where I'd been working as a junior marketing executive for the past eight months. "I believe these ladies were telling you to leave them alone," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "I suggest you listen." Gold Tooth sneered. "What are you gonna do about it? There's four of us and one of you." Alexander didn't even blink. "True. But I've already called the police, and they're on their way. I'm sure they'd be interested to know about four drunk men assaulting two women on a public street." Tribal Tattoo finally released Emilia's hair, shoving her forward. "Whatever, man. These bitches ain't worth the trouble." Emilia stumbled toward me, and I caught her, pulling her close. "You okay?" I whispered. She nodded, rubbing her scalp. "Bastard nearly ripped my hair out." Gold Tooth took a step toward Carter, puffing out his chest. "You think you're some kind of hero? Rich boy in his fancy car?" Alexander simply stared him down, not moving an inch. "I think I'm someone who doesn't want to see two women harassed by drunken idiots. Now, you can leave on your own, or you can wait for the police. Your choice." For a tense moment, I thought Gold Tooth might throw a punch. Instead, he spat on the ground near Alexander's polished shoes. "Let's go," he muttered to his friends. "These sluts aren't worth jail time." They piled back into their convertible, engine roaring to life. Gold Tooth revved it aggressively before peeling away, tires screeching. Alexander turned to us. "Are you both all right?" Up close, he was even more intimidating than he was at company events. Tall, with sharp features and piercing gray eyes, he had the kind of face that belonged in business magazines, where it often appeared. Despite the late hour, his dark hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place. "We're okay," I managed, suddenly conscious of my appearance: disheveled hair, makeup probably smeared from crying earlier, and this ridiculous dress that now felt like a terrible mistake. "Thank you for stopping." "Do you need a ride somewhere?" he asked, his eyes briefly dropping to my chest before snapping back to my face. "Our cab canceled," Emilia said, still rubbing her scalp. "And my boyfriend's not answering his phone." Alexander gestured to his car, a sleek black car. "I'm happy to drive you both home." I hesitated. This was Alexander Carter, the man who signed my paychecks and whose name was on the building where I worked. The man was known for his ruthless business tactics and cold demeanor. The last thing I needed was for him to realize I was one of his employees, especially looking like this. "That's very kind," I said carefully, "but we don't want to impose." "It's no imposition," he replied. "I'd rather not leave you out here after what just happened." Emilia looked at me with raised eyebrows, silently communicating: "Are you crazy? Free ride in a sleek car with a hot, rich guy? Say yes!" "If you're sure it's not too much trouble," I relented. "Not at all." He opened the backseat door. "Please." The car's interior was all black leather and gleaming surfaces. It smelled of expensive cologne and a new car, a heady combination that made my head spin—or maybe that was the adrenaline crash. "I'm Alexander Carter," he said as he slid behind the wheel. "Olivia," I replied, deliberately omitting my last name. "And this is Emilia." "Pleasure to meet you both, despite the circumstances." He started the engine, which purred to life. "Where am I taking you?" Emilia gave him her address first, and then I gave him mine. "Rough night?" he asked as we pulled away from the curb. Emilia snorted. "You could say that. We were at a birthday party where Liv caught her boyfriend banging the birthday girl." "Emilia!" I hissed, mortified. Alexander's eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that." "It's fine," I mumbled, wishing I could disappear into the leather seat. "It's not fine," Emilia insisted. "Ryan is a cheating scumbag who deserves to have his d*ck fall off." A small smile tugged at the corner of Alexander's mouth. "I take it Ryan is the ex-boyfriend?" "As of about a few minutes ago, yes," I confirmed, wondering why I was discussing my love life with my CEO. "Well, for what it's worth," he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the mirror again, "he sounds like an idiot." Chapter 4 Olivia's POV The car fell silent as we drove through the streets of Los Angeles, the city lights blurring past the windows. I studied Alexander's profile, the strong jaw, and straight nose, wondering why he'd stopped to help us. Everything I'd heard about him at work painted him as cold, distant, focused only on the bottom line. We reached Emilia's apartment building first. Alexander pulled up to the curb, the engine purring quietly as he shifted into park. "This is me," Emilia announced, gathering her purse. She leaned over to hug me, using the moment to whisper in my ear. "Holy f*ck, Liv. He's hot as balls. If he wants to bang you senseless tonight, you better f*cking do it. The best way to get over Ryan is to get under the CEO. Shit, those hands look like they know what they're doing." I pulled back, shooting her a death glare that could have melted steel. "What?" she mouthed innocently before turning to Alexander. "Thanks for the ride, knight in shining Armani. You're a lifesaver." "It was no trouble," he replied politely. Emilia opened the door, then paused to give me one last meaningful look. "Call me tomorrow with ALL the details." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Goodbye, Emilia," I said firmly, my cheeks burning. She blew me a kiss and slammed the door, sauntering toward her building with a little extra sway in her hips, no doubt for Alexander's benefit. As we pulled away, I sank deeper into the leather seat, mortified. "I'm so sorry about her. She has no filter." Alexander's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "No need to apologize. She seems like a good friend." "The best," I admitted. "Even if she occasionally makes me want to strangle her." His lips quirked upward, almost a smile but not quite. "Those are often the best kinds of friends." We lapsed into silence as he navigated through the streets of Los Angeles. The city lights streamed past the windows, creating a kaleidoscope effect that matched my swirling thoughts. I caught Alexander glancing at me in the mirror a few times, his expression unreadable. "Left at the next light," I directed as we approached my neighborhood. He nodded, making the turn smoothly. "Here we are," he announced, pulling up to my apartment building. It wasn't fancy by LA standards but clean and in a decent area. I could just barely afford it on my junior executive salary. He turned off the engine and, to my surprise, got out to open my door. His hand extended to help me out, warm and solid as I took it. The contact sent an unexpected jolt up my arm. "Thank you again," I said, reluctantly letting go of his hand. "For everything tonight." Alexander studied me for a moment, his gray eyes intense. "I hope you're able to move past what happened tonight. Your boyfriend, or rather your ex-boyfriend, clearly didn't appreciate what he had." The unexpected kindness in his voice made my throat tighten. "I'll be fine," I managed. "I'm sure you will," he agreed. "Someone like you won't stay single for long unless you want to." I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was Alexander Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises, flirting with me? No, that was ridiculous. He was just being polite. "Goodnight, Olivia," he said, stepping back toward his car. "Goodnight, Alexander. And thank you for the ride." He nodded once, then slid back into his car. I watched as he drove away, his taillights disappearing around the corner before I turned and entered my building. The elevator ride to my fourth-floor apartment felt endless. My keys jangled in my shaking hands as I unlocked my door, stepping into the darkness of my living room. I flipped on the light, tossed my purse on the counter, and kicked off my heels. The silence of my apartment pressed in around me. Just hours ago, I'd been getting ready for what I thought would be a normal night out with my boyfriend. Now, everything had changed. I peeled off the black c*cktail dress and threw it in the trash. Never again would I wear something just because a man told me it looked good on me. In my bathroom, I scrubbed off my makeup. The woman in the mirror looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. I pulled on an oversized t-shirt and fell onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, probably Ryan finally realizing what he'd lost. I ignored it. Why had he done it? Two years together, and he throws it all away for Sophia? Had he been sleeping with her all along? The signs had been there: the late nights at work, the sudden business trips, the way his phone was always face-down when I was around. I'd trusted him completely. What a fool I'd been. My phone buzzed again. This time, I glanced at it. Emilia. "You home safe? Did Mr. CEO make a move? Please say yes." I texted back: "Yes, I'm home. No, he didn't. Go to sleep." Her response was immediate: "Boring! But seriously, you okay?" "I will be," I replied and realized I meant it. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and stared at the ceiling, my mind racing despite my exhaustion. Sleep seemed impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ryan thrusting into Sophia, her smug face, his pathetic excuses. "f*ck," I whispered to the empty room. "Two years down the drain." I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow. Two years of holidays, family gatherings, inside jokes—all tainted now. But something else kept intruding on my thoughts: Alexander Carter's piercing gray eyes in the rearview mirror. Alexander Carter. My CEO. The man I'd just met while looking like a complete disaster. "He probably won't even remember me tomorrow," I muttered, flipping onto my back again. "Why would he? He's Alexander f*cking Carter." The ceiling offered no answers. I'd worked at Carter Enterprises for eight months and never once spoken to him. I'd seen him striding through the lobby, standing at podiums during company-wide meetings, his face on the company website and annual reports. Always distant. Always untouchable. And now he'd seen me at my absolute worst, heartbroken in a slutty dress. "Great first impression, Olivia. Really professional." I snorted at my own sarcasm. It was as if Alexander Carter would ever connect the disheveled woman he'd rescued with Olivia Morgan, a junior marketing executive. Our worlds didn't intersect. He inhabited the executive floor with its panoramic views of Los Angeles. At the same time, I worked in my cubicle fifteen floors below, crafting social media campaigns for products I could barely afford. I pulled the covers over my head, trying to force sleep to come. But my brain had other ideas, conjuring an image of running into Alexander in the office elevator. Would he recognize me? Would I have the courage to thank him again? Would he look at me with those intense gray eyes and see past the professional facade to the woman he'd rescued? "As if," I mumbled into my pillow. "He probably rescues women from creeps every weekend. It's probably a rich guy's hobby." But what if he did remember me? What if our paths crossed in the office cafeteria or during a presentation? What would I say? Chapter 5 Alexander's POV I parked my car in the circular driveway of my parent's estate, taking a moment to prepare myself for the inevitable Carter family dynamics. Sunday dinner at the Carter mansion, a tradition as old as the oak trees lining the property, was something I both dreaded and looked forward to. The mansion stood like a monument to old money, with stone façades and manicured gardens that screamed, "We've had wealth for generations." My phone buzzed with an email from work, but I ignored it. Work could wait, but family obligations couldn't, especially when Grandfather Harold was involved. I straightened my tie and headed inside, where Martha, our longtime housekeeper, greeted me with a warm smile. "Mr. Alexander, everyone's waiting in the drawing room. Your grandfather arrived early." That was never a good sign. Grandfather arriving early meant he had an agenda. "Is Victoria here?" I asked, handing Martha my coat. "Yes, sir. With her husband. They arrived about an hour ago." Perfect. My cousin Victoria and her investment banker husband Thomas, the power couple who never let anyone forget how perfect their life was. The drawing room buzzed with conversation that stopped when I entered. Mother rose from her seat, elegant as always in her pearl necklace and tailored dress. "Alexander, darling. We were beginning to worry." I kissed her cheek. "Traffic was terrible. Sorry, I'm late." Father nodded from his armchair, whiskey in hand. "Son." That was Father, a man of few words unless discussing business or golf. Victoria sat perched on the antique sofa, her husband's arm draped around her shoulder in that possessive way I found irritating. My sister Valentina was there, too, scrolling through her phone. But it was Grandfather Harold who commanded the room from his wheelchair. At seventy-eight, he might have lost some mobility but none of his mental sharpness or business acumen. "Alexander," he barked. "Sit down. We need to talk." I took a seat across from him. "Good to see you too, Grandfather." "Don't get smart with me, boy. I've been waiting." Victoria smirked. "Some of us manage to arrive on time, cousin dear." I ignored her. "What's this about? I thought this was just dinner." Grandfather Harold waved his hand dismissively. "Dinner can wait. This is about the future of Carter Enterprises." The room fell silent. When Grandfather talked about the company's future, everyone paid attention. He'd built Carter Enterprises from a small family business into a corporate empire and, at seventy-eight, still held the controlling stake. "I've been updating my will," he announced. Mother gasped softly. Father set down his whiskey. "Oh, relax; I'm not dying yet," Grandfather snapped. "Just getting my affairs in order. And I've made some decisions about the company shares." I leaned forward. As CEO, I had a significant stake in the company, but Grandfather's controlling shares would eventually determine who truly ran Carter Enterprises. "Alexander," he fixed his steely gaze on me. "You've done well as CEO. Profits are up. The board is happy. But there's something missing." "Missing?" I frowned. "Our last quarter was our best in five years." "I'm not talking about business." He thumped his cane on the floor. "I'm talking about family. Stability. A legacy." Victoria's husband coughed discreetly. Victoria's smile widened. "What exactly are you saying, Grandfather?" Harold Carter leaned forward in his wheelchair. "I'm saying that to inherit my controlling shares in Carter Enterprises, you need to be married within six months." The room exploded in reactions. Mother gasped again. Father actually put down his drink. Valentina looked up from her phone. Victoria burst into delighted laughter. "Married?" I stared at him. "You can't be serious." "Dead serious." Grandfather's expression didn't change. "Carter Enterprises has always been family-run. Family means stability. Commitment." "I'm committed to the company!" "But not to anything or anyone else." Grandfather shook his head. "You're thirty-three, Alexander. Your relationships last shorter than some of our quarterly reports." Victoria couldn't contain herself. "Oh, this is priceless. Is Alexander getting married? He can't even keep a girlfriend past the three-month mark." "Thank you for that astute observation, Victoria," I said, forcing a smile. "Always a pleasure to have your support." Uncle Richard, Victoria's father, chuckled from the corner of the room. "The boy does have a track record." "A track record?" My father set his tumbler down with more force than necessary. "Last year, we selected a perfectly suitable woman for him. The engagement was announced in the Times, for God's sake. And then what happened, Alexander?" I loosened my tie slightly. "Dad—" "He canceled it two weeks before the wedding," Father continued, addressing the room like I wasn't there. "The merger nearly fell apart because of it." Aunt Patricia gasped dramatically. "Penelope Langford? Such a lovely girl and from a good family. What a shame." "She wasn't right for me," I said firmly. Valentina finally looked up from her phone. "He didn't like her. Said she reminded him of a corporate spreadsheet – technically perfect but utterly boring." "Thank you for sharing that, Val," I muttered. My sister shrugged and went back to her phone. "Just telling it like it is." Grandfather Harold thumped his cane again. "Enough! The terms are simple. Alexander marries within six months, or Victoria receives my controlling stake in the company." Victoria nearly spilled her champagne in excitement. "Really, Grandfather? You'd give me control?" Her husband Thomas straightened his posture, dollar signs practically visible in his eyes. "I didn't build this company for forty years to watch it get dismantled by your husband's investment firm," Grandfather snapped at Victoria. "But at least you understand commitment." I stood up, pacing the Persian rug. "This is absurd. You're reducing the future of our family business to whether or not I get married? What century is this?" "The century where actions have consequences," Grandfather replied. "Victoria may be insufferable—" "Hey!" Victoria protested. "—but she's stable. Married. Committed." Victoria's smirk returned. "Face it, Alexander. You couldn't commit to a woman if your life depended on it. Now your career does, and we all know how that's going to end." Something snapped inside me. I'd tolerated Victoria's barbs for years, but this was different. This was my life's work at stake. "You know what, Victoria? You're wrong." "Am I?" She swirled her champagne. "Name one relationship you've had that lasted longer than a corporate quarterly report." My cousin Matthew, who'd been silently watching the drama unfold, whistled low. "She's got you there, Alex." I straightened my shoulders. "I'll do it. I'll get married within six months." The room fell silent again. "To whom?" Father asked skeptically. "I'll figure that out." Victoria burst into laughter. "Oh, this is too good! Alexander Carter, CEO and eligible bachelor, desperately seeking a wife. Should we put an ad in the classifieds?" Her husband joined in. "Maybe we should start interviewing candidates. Create a shortlist." "I don't need help finding someone," I said through gritted teeth. Aunt Elizabeth, who'd been quietly knitting in the corner, looked up. "What about that nice PR director at your company? Jennifer, something?" "She's married, Mother," Victoria said. "Oh. Well, what about your assistant?" "I'm not marrying my assistant, Aunt Elizabeth." Grandfather Harold raised his hand for silence. "The terms are set. Six months from today." Uncle Richard raised his glass. "To Alexander's impending nuptials! May he find a bride before Victoria gets his office." Victoria clinked glasses with her father. "I'm already planning where to put my new desk." I clenched my jaw. "Enjoy the fantasy while it lasts, cousin. I'm not losing the company." "Six months, Alexander," Grandfather reminded me. "The clock starts now."
As Atticus had said, things were finally calming down. By mid-October, only two unusual little incidents had occurred, involving two Maycomb citizens. No, three, actually. Though not directly related to our Finch family, they were still somewhat connected. The first involved Mr. Bob Ewell, who gained and then lost his job within days, probably making him a unique figure in the historical record of the 1930s: to my knowledge, he was the only person dismissed by the Public Works Promotion Agency for laziness. I suspect that his brief overnight fame only fostered a shorter period of diligence, and his job, like his fame, came and went quickly. Mr. Ewell found himself, like Tom Robinson, soon forgotten. From then on, he continued his weekly trip to the relief office to collect his checks. Instead of showing gratitude, he would mutter and curse incoherently, saying that those self-proclaimed rulers of the town wouldn't let an honest man earn his own living. Ruth Jones, who worked at the relief office, said that Mr. Ewell even openly hurled insults, accusing Atticus of ruining his job. Ruth was disturbed and went to Atticus's office to tell him about it. Atticus told Miss Ruth to calm down, saying that if Bob Ewell wanted to discuss how he had "ruined" his job, he knew how to get to his office. The second incident involved Judge Taylor. Mrs. Taylor went to church every Sunday evening, but Judge Taylor never did. Instead, he stayed in his mansion, enjoying the evenings alone, curled up in his study reading Bob Taylor's annotated works—they weren't related by blood, but Judge Taylor would have been quite pleased if he could claim kinship. One Sunday evening, Judge Taylor was engrossed in vivid metaphors and beautiful prose when a nagging scratching sound abruptly interrupted his attention. "Shh," he hissed at Ann Taylor, his unremarkable, large, fat dog. He then realized he was speaking to an empty room, and the scratching was coming from the back of the house. Judge Taylor dragged his heavy steps to the back porch to let the dog out, only to find the screen door swinging back and forth. He glimpsed a figure flash in the corner of the house; that was the only impression the uninvited guest left on him. Mrs. Taylor returned home from church to find her husband sitting as usual, engrossed in Bob Taylor's writing, a shotgun across his lap. The third matter concerns Helen Robinson, Tom's widow. If Mr. Ewell was forgotten like Tom Robinson, then Tom was forgotten like Radley the eccentric. However, Tom's former employer, Mr. Link Dis, hadn't forgotten him and arranged a job for his wife, Helen. He didn't really need Helen to help out; he said the way things had turned out made him very upset. I had no idea who would take care of Helen's children while she went to work. Kaponi said Helen had a hard time; she had to walk an extra mile every day to avoid the Ewell family. In Helen's words, the first time she passed by, she was "surrounded" by the Ewell family just as she was about to step onto the public road. Day after day, Mr. Link Dis finally discovered that Helen took a longer route to work every day, so he pressed her to tell him the reason. “Please, Mr. Link, leave it alone,” Helen pleaded. “I won’t let him get away with it!” said Mr. Link. He told Helen to come to his shop before going home in the afternoon. Helen obeyed, and by evening, Mr. Link had closed the shop, pulled his hat firmly on his head, and walked with Helen home. They took a shortcut, passing by Ewell’s house. When he turned back, he stopped in front of the crooked gate. “Ewell?” he called out, “I say, Ewell!” The windows, usually crowded with children, were now empty. “I know you’re all in the house, all crawling on the floor. Listen up, Bob Ewell: if I hear my Helen mutter again that she’s afraid to walk this way, I’ll send you to jail before nightfall!” Mr. Link spat on the ground and turned to go home. The next morning, Helen took the same public road to work. No one stopped her this time, but after walking a few steps past Ewell’s house, she turned around and found Mr. Ewell following her. She turned back and continued on her way, and Mr. Ewell followed her all the way to Mr. Link Dis’s house, always keeping a safe distance. Helen said that along the way she heard constant low curses behind her, all very foul language. Terrified, she immediately called Mr. Link, who was at the shop. The shop wasn't far from his house, and as Mr. Link stepped out, he saw Mr. Ewell leaning against his yard fence. Mr. Ewell said, "Link Dis, don't look at me like I'm a piece of trash. I haven't done anything to you..." "Ewell, the first thing you need to do is get your stinking body off my fence. I don't have the money to repaint it after you've leaned on it. The second thing is to stay away from my cook, or I'll sue you for harassment..." "Link Dis, I haven't touched her, and I'm not going to go looking for a nigger!" "You don't need to touch her, just scare her. If harassment isn't enough to put you in jail for a while, I'll sue you under the Women's Act. Get lost! If you think I'm not serious, try bothering her again!" Mr. Ewell clearly thought he was serious, because Helen never mentioned any similar trouble again. “Atticus, this is really bothering me, I’m so fed up.” – This was Aunt Alexandra’s feeling. “He seems to hold a grudge against everyone involved in that case. I know how those kinds of people vent their resentment, but I don’t understand why he does it – didn’t he get his way in court?” “I can understand,” Atticus said. “Maybe it’s because he knows that in Maycomb, very few people actually believe the lies he and Mayella fabricated. He thought he was going to be a hero, but after all his scheming and scheming, all he got was… well, we found this black guy guilty, you can go back to your junkyard. He’s caused trouble for everyone now, he should be satisfied. His resentment will probably subside when the weather gets cooler.” “But why did he go to John Taylor’s house?” "Borrowing? He obviously didn't know John was home; if he had, he wouldn't have barged in. Every Sunday night, John usually only turned on the light on the front porch and the study..." "You don't know if Bob Ewell cut the screen door, you don't know who did it," Atticus said. "But I can guess. I exposed his lie in court, and John made him look like a fool. When Ewell was on the witness stand, I didn't dare look at John once, afraid I'd burst out laughing. John looked at him as if he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don't tell me judges never try to influence the jury." Atticus chuckled. By the end of October, our lives had returned to the familiar routine: school, play, study. Jem seemed to have completely banished what he wanted to forget, and the magnanimity of our classmates made us forget we had a rebellious father. Cecil once asked me, "Is your father a radical?" I went home and asked Atticus, whose gleeful expression annoyed me, but he said he wasn't mocking me, adding, "Go tell Cecil I'm about as radical as 'Cotton Tom' Heflin." Aunt Alexandra was beaming with pride; it seemed Miss Moody had certainly won over the entire mission, as she was once again acting as their leader, and even her refreshments were becoming increasingly delicious. I learned more about the poor Monas from Mrs. Merriweather about their social life: they had almost no concept of family; the entire tribe was one big family. For all the children, there were as many fathers as there were men in the tribe, and as many mothers as there were women. Reverend J. Grimes Everett was doing everything he could to change this, and our prayers were urgently needed. Maycomb had returned to its old ways, almost exactly the same as last year and the year before, with only two minor changes. The first change was that people had torn down the old signs and slogans from shop windows and cars that read "National Recovery Administration - Doing the Job." I asked Atticus why, and he said it was because the "National Recovery Act" note had been removed. I asked who removed it, and he said nine old men. The second change in Maycomb wasn't national, but it started last year. Before that, Halloween in Maycomb was never very organized. Each child did their own thing, only asking for help when something needed moving, like putting a wagon on top of the barn. However, after the incident where Miss Tutty and Miss Fruty's peaceful lives were disrupted, the parents unanimously agreed that the children had gone too far. Tutty Barber and Fruty Barber were sisters, both older ladies, living together in Maycomb's only house with a cellar. Rumor had it that the sisters were Republicans who had moved from Clanton, Alabama in 1911. Their lifestyle seemed strange to us; no one understood why they wanted a cellar. They had the idea, so they dug one, and their lives were never peaceful; they constantly had to drive generation after generation of their children away. Miss Tutti and Miss Fruty's names were Sarah and Francis, respectively. Besides all the typical Yankee habits, they were both deaf. Miss Tutti refused to accept this fact, content to live in a silent world, while Miss Fruty, not wanting to miss anything, had a huge, horn-shaped hearing aid fitted. Jem asserted it was an amplifier salvaged from a Victor phonograph. A few mischievous children, knowing this, sneaked into their living room (except for the Radleys, no one locked their doors at night) on Halloween after the two old ladies had fallen asleep, and secretly moved all the furniture out and hid it in the cellar. I vehemently denied participating in this frivolous act. “I heard them!” The next morning, just as dawn broke, the two young ladies’ neighbors were awakened by the commotion. “I heard them pull up to the door! The heavy footsteps sounded like horses’ hooves. They must be in New Orleans by now!” Two days earlier, a group of itinerant fur traders had passed through town, and Miss Tutty was convinced they had stolen the furniture. “Those Syrians,” she said, “they’re so dark-skinned.” Mr. Heck Tate was summoned. After examining the scene, he said he felt it was the locals. Miss Tutty said she knew the Maycomb accent all too well, recognizing it everywhere, but last night, no one in the living room spoke with a Maycomb accent—the men walked around with their mouths full of rolled "r" sounds. Miss Tutty insisted on using hunting dogs to find the furniture, so Mr. Tate had to run ten miles of dirt roads to gather the country dogs and let them track the scent. Mr. Tate had the hounds use the front steps as a starting point, but they all ran to the back of the house and barked incessantly at the cellar door. After this happened three times, Mr. Tate figured out what was going on. Before noon that day, there wasn't a single barefoot child to be seen on the streets of Maycomb, and none of them would take off their shoes until the hounds were sent away. Upon hearing this, the ladies of Maycomb said that this year would be different. As a result, the Maycomb High School auditorium would be open to the public that day, with adults watching performances and children playing games like "apple in mouth," "toffee pulling," and "tackling a donkey's tail." There was also a prize for the best homemade Halloween costume, with a prize of twenty-five cents. Jim and I complained bitterly. It wasn't because we had played any pranks, but because of the rule. Jim felt he was too old for Halloween tricks anymore, and he said he didn't want anyone seeing him near the high school auditorium that night, participating in those boring games. Oh well, I thought, Atticus will take me. However, I soon heard that I also had to perform on stage that night. Mrs. Merriweather had created a rather ingenious play called "Maycomb County: The Road to the Stars," and she wanted me to play Ham. She thought it would be very pleasing to have a group of children dressed as Maycomb County's main agricultural products: Cecil as a cow, Agnes Boone as a cute butter bean, and another child as a peanut, and so on, until Mrs. Merriweather's imagination ran out and no more children were available for roles. After two rehearsals, I figured out that our task was simply to walk onto the stage from the left, guided by Mrs. Merriweather, the playwright and narrator. When she called "Pork," it was my turn to appear. Then, my friends would sing in unison: Maycomb County, Maycomb County, you'll always be in our hearts. The final scene would be incredibly solemn—Mrs. Merriweather planned to take to the stage, holding the state flag high. My costume wasn't a problem. There was a tailor in town named Mrs. Crenshaw, who, like Mrs. Merriweather, was full of ingenious ideas. Mrs. Crenshaw bent wire mesh into the shape of a smoked ham, covered it with brown cloth, and even painted on it to make the ham look more realistic. I just had to squat down so someone could pull the costume over my head, up to about my knees. Mrs. Crenshaw was very thoughtful, even leaving two observation holes for me. Her craftsmanship was excellent; Jem said I looked like a ham with two legs. However, the costume had its uncomfortable aspects: it was too hot and too tight inside, so I couldn't scratch my itchy nose, and once I was on, I couldn't get out without help. On Halloween, I thought my whole family would come to see my performance, but I was greatly disappointed. Atticus told me, in the most tactful way possible, that he was too tired to go to the show that evening. He'd been in Montgomery for a week and hadn't returned home until that evening. He figured if I asked Jem, Jem would come with me. Aunt Alexandra said she needed to go to bed early; she'd been busy all afternoon helping set up the stage and was exhausted—she stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence. Her mouth opened and closed as if to say something, but no word came out. “What’s wrong, Aunt?” I asked. “Oh, nothing, nothing,” she said. “I just had a shiver; someone must have stepped on my grave.” She dismissed the thing that had startled her and suggested I rehearse it in the living room in front of the whole family. So Jem… Aunt Alexandra rose and reached for the mantel. Mr. Tate quickly rose as well, but Aunt Alexandra wouldn't let him help. For the first time in his life, Atticus didn't show his innate humility—he remained seated. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about what Mr. Bob Ewell had said—that he'd risk his life to get rid of Atticus. Mr. Ewell had almost gotten his wish this time, and it was the last thing he ever did. "Are you sure?" Atticus's voice was very somber. "He is indeed dead," Mr. Tate said. "Absolutely. He can't hurt the children anymore." "That's not what I meant," Atticus murmured as if in a dream. He suddenly looked much older, a sign that his mind was in turmoil: his once-sharp jawline had become loose; the wrinkles below his ears were no longer concealed, clearly visible; his once-black hair was less noticeable, while his increasingly graying sideburns were more striking. "Wouldn't it be better if we talked in the living room?" Aunt Alexandra finally asked. "If you don't mind," Mr. Tate said, "I think we should talk here, as long as it doesn't disturb Jem's rest. I'd like to see his injuries and hear Scout... tell us what happened." "Would it be alright if I left?" she asked. "I'm just an extra person here. Atticus, just call me if you need anything, I'll stay in my room." Aunt Alexandra walked towards the door, then stopped and turned back. “Atticus, I had a feeling about what would happen tonight… I… it’s all my fault,” she couldn’t help but say. “I should have…” Mr. Tate held out his hand, gesturing for her to stop. “Go ahead, Miss Alexandra. I know this has been very upsetting for you. Don’t overthink it, don’t torture yourself—well, if we keep letting our feelings lead us by the nose, we’ll be like cats chasing their own tails. Miss Scout, could you tell us what happened while your memory is still sharp? Do you think that’s alright? Did you see him following you?” I walked over to Atticus and felt him put his arms around me. I buried my head in his lap. “We started walking home. I told Jem I’d forgotten my shoes, so we went back to get them. But all the lights in the school were off, and Jem said I could get them tomorrow…” “Scooter, lift your head so Mr. Tate can hear you,” Atticus said to me. I climbed onto his lap and sat in his arms. “As we were walking, Jem told me to be quiet. I thought he was thinking about something—he always tells me to be quiet when he's thinking. After a while, he said he heard something. We thought it was Cecil playing tricks.” “Cecil?” “It was Cecil Jacobs. He already scared us once tonight, and we thought he was back again. He was wearing a sheet then. The prize for best costume was twenty-five cents, and I don’t even know who got it…” “Where were you when you thought it was Cecil?” “Not far from the school. I even yelled at him…” “What did you yell?” “I think it was ‘Cecil is a big fat hen.’ We didn’t hear anyone respond… A little while later, Jem yelled ‘Hello’ or something, loud enough to wake a dead man…” “Wait a minute, Scout,” said Mr. Tate. “Mr. Finch, did you hear them yelling?” Atticus said he didn’t. He had the radio on. Aunt Alexandra was also listening to the radio in her bedroom. He remembered clearly that Aunt Alexandra had told him to turn the volume down, otherwise she wouldn't be able to listen. Atticus smiled slightly. "I always have the radio turned up really loud." "I wonder if the neighbors heard anything..." Mr. Tate said. "I doubt it, Heck. Most of them are either listening to the radio or have gone to bed early. Miss Mordy might still be awake, but I doubt she heard anything." "Go on, Scout," Mr. Tate said to me again. “Oh, after Jem shouted, we both went on ahead. Mr. Tate, I was completely covered in my costume, but then I heard that sound too—I mean, footsteps. We walked, and the footsteps followed; we stopped, and the footsteps stopped. Jem said he could see me because Mrs. Crenshaw put some glittery paint on my costume. I was playing Ham.” “What’s going on?” Mr. Tate asked, surprised. Atticus explained my role to Mr. Tate and described the construction of my costume. “You should have seen what she looked like when she came back,” he said. “The costume was all crumpled.” Mr. Tate stroked his chin. “I was wondering how Ewell got those marks. He had a lot of little holes in his sleeves, and a couple of puncture wounds on his arms that matched the holes. Could I see that thing you mentioned, if it’s convenient?” Atticus went to get my tattered costume. Mr. Tate turned it over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what shape it was. “It’s very likely this thing saved her life,” he said. “Look.” He held up his long index finger and pointed to Atticus—a clean, bright line was clearly visible on the gray barbed wire. “Bob Ewell seems to have gone too far,” Mr. Tate muttered to himself. “He’s out of his mind,” Atticus said. “I don’t want to argue with you, Mr. Finch, but he’s not insane, he’s ruthless. That despicable bastard, emboldened by alcohol, dared to harm a child. He never dares to confront anyone directly.” Atticus shook his head. “I can’t imagine anyone—” “Mr. Finch, there are some people in this world who you have to shoot before you can even greet them. Even then, their lives aren’t worth a bullet. Ewell is one of them.” Atticus said, “I thought he’d vented his anger after that threat. Even if he wasn’t satisfied, I thought he’d come after me.” “He had the guts to harass a poor black woman, he had the guts to cause trouble at Judge Taylor’s house when no one was home—you think, how could someone like that dare to confront you in broad daylight?” Mr. Tate sighed. “Let’s continue. Scout, did you hear him following you—” “Yes, sir. As we walked…” When we get to the bottom of the tree——" "How do you know it's under a tree? You can't see anything under the cover." "I was barefoot. Jem said the ground was cooler under the trees than elsewhere." "It seems we have to ask him to be our deputy. Go on." "Later, someone suddenly grabbed me and banged my costume hard... I remember I was lying on the ground... I heard a scuffle from under the tree... The sound was like they were hitting the trunk of the tree repeatedly. Jem found me, pulled me and ran towards the road. There was The man—it was Mr. Ewell, jerked him down, I guess. They struggled again, and I heard a strange noise—and then Jem let out a scream..." I stopped—that's when Jem's arm was broken. "Anyway, Jem screamed, and I never heard him again. Then Mr. Ewell strangled me again, and I think... suddenly someone pulled him down. I guess Jem got up. That's all I remember..." "What happened next?" Mr. Tate stared at me sharply. “Someone was panting heavily, staggering back and forth—coughing terribly. At first I thought it was Jem, but the voice didn't sound like him, so I groped around on the floor looking for him. I thought Atticus had come to help us; I was exhausted…” “Who is that person?” “Mr. Tate, he's right there. He can tell you his name.” As I spoke, I half-raised my hand, pointing to the person in the corner. But I quickly lowered my hand after the slightest gesture, lest Atticus scold me. Pointing at people is impolite. He was still leaning against the wall. He was standing against the wall with his arms crossed when I came in, and he'd been standing there ever since. When I pointed at him, he lowered his arms, his palms pressed firmly against the wall. They were pale hands, sickly hands that had never been bathed in sunlight. In the dim light of Jem's room, these hands, against the cream-colored wall, were so glaringly white. My gaze followed his hands down to his sand-stained khaki trousers, then up his thin frame to his ripped twill shirt. His face was as pale as his hands, with only a shadow on his prominent chin. His cheeks were sunken, forming a wide mouth; his temples were slightly sunken, almost imperceptible; his gray eyes were dull and lifeless, making me mistake him for blind. His thin, lifeless hair covered his head like feathers. As I pointed, his palms slid lightly against the wall, leaving two greasy streaks of sweat, before he tucked his thumbs into his belt. A sudden, inexplicable spasm ran through him, like the sound of fingernails scraping against stone. However, under my curious gaze, the tension on his face slowly dissipated. He parted his lips, revealing a shy smile. My eyes suddenly filled with tears, and my neighbor's face instantly became a blur.
“Kneel.” He said. “Wh…What?” I was confused. “I feel a bit offended you ignored me in the first place, little brat. I guess you need to be reminded of your place in this pack. Bow down to me.” I heard him speak while other students started filling out the hallway, bringing out their phones to start filming the occasion. I heard the chuckles and whispers calling me pathetic, weak, and ugly. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to disobey your future Alpha by now?” I kneeled. One day I would be strong enough to disobey him, and then no one would humiliate me again. But I never thought this bully would be my mate…
“Kneel.” He said. “Wh…What?” I was confused. “I feel a bit offended you ignored me in the first place, little brat. I guess you need to be reminded of your place in this pack. Bow down to me.” I heard him speak while other students started filling out the hallway, bringing out their phones to start filming the occasion. I heard the chuckles and whispers calling me pathetic, weak, and ugly. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to disobey your future Alpha by now?” I kneeled. One day I would be strong enough to disobey him, and then no one would humiliate me again. But I never thought this bully would be my mate…
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"
"Five years of secret marriage. She danced relentlessly to fulfill the promise made to her husband's mother — to earn the highest honor in dance, to finally be worthy of being called his wife. Just as she was about to claim the position of dance principal, her husband used his power to hand the title to another woman... 💔🔥 🎬 [ENG DUB] Dancing Toward a Love That's Gone #GoodShort #SecretMarriage #StolenGlory #MustWatch"