Three years into my secret love affair with my brother's best friend, his adopted sister returned. I decided it was time to end it. I quietly agreed to the marriage alliance my family had arranged for me. The engagement party was an intimate, exclusive affair, with only our closest friends and family invited. As we were serving tea and formally addressing our new in-laws, my brother's phone rang. He answered it, a smirk in his voice as he spoke. "You're not even coming to Thea's engagement party? And after she spent her whole childhood chasing after you, calling you her big brother." On the other end of the line, Sam Kunz's voice caught. "Whose engagement did you say it was?" 1 "What, did you finally break up with that mysterious boyfriend of yours?" My brother, David, was teasing me, but I could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. I couldn't blame him. For three years, I had refused to make our relationship public. He had warned me long ago, "A man who doesn't even have the guts to meet your family? What kind of a future can you have with him? It's doomed to fail." But back then, I was a true believer. I thought love could move mountains. Now, here I was, eating my words. "Yeah," I said, my voice flat. "We broke up." The casual teasing vanished from his voice, replaced by a weighted silence. "Did he hurt you?" The dam I'd built around my heart suddenly cracked, a flood of bitterness welling up inside me. I took a deep breath, shaking my head even though he couldn't see me. "No. It was mutual." "Good," he said, his voice hardening. "Because if he did, I'd have to go break his legs." "Thea, you can't rely on men. If you're going to get married, marry for an alliance. Power and shared interests—that's what's real." "Fine," I said, my voice hollow. "You arrange it. I'll be back in two days." I had just hung up when Sam Kunz walked into the room. "Who was that on the phone?" I was afraid he'd see the traces of tears in my eyes, so I kept my back to him. "Just a friend from school." "Mm." He brushed past me and disappeared into his study. In the three years we'd been together, he had always been like this—cool and distant. I used to think it was just his nature, that he was a man born with a reserve of ice in his veins, someone who disliked physical intimacy. But then there was last night. I'd come home early from a business trip, planning to sneak in and surprise him. The study door, usually locked tight, was slightly ajar. A warm, yellow light spilled from the crack. I crept closer, my hand raised to knock, when I saw him. Sam, his face taut with a pleasure he never showed me. His eyes were glued to his phone screen, one hand moving urgently beneath his waist. I froze, turning to stone. The photo on the screen was not of me. It was Isla, the girl his family had taken in when she was a child, his little "sister." He was so lost in his world that he never even heard me open the door and leave. I checked into a hotel and sat in the sterile silence for hours. And finally, I understood. Sam's coldness toward me these past three years wasn't his nature. His refusal to go public with our relationship wasn't because he was afraid of my overprotective brother. It was all because he didn't love me. He just needed someone—anyone—to act as a smokescreen, a cover for his forbidden feelings for his adopted sister. And I, the girl who had chased him so relentlessly, had been the most convenient choice. He'd simply let me fall into the role of his secret girlfriend. That night, a new post appeared on Isla’s social media feed: "Touching down tomorrow! Someone better be there to pick me up." 2 After the call with my brother, I took a cab back to the villa I shared with Sam. I still had things to pack. He was in the middle of breakfast when I walked in. He glanced up, his expression unchanging, and calmly told the housekeeper to prepare another plate. "I didn't know you'd be back this early, so I didn't have anything made for you." I just nodded. "It's fine." It wasn't that he didn't know. It was that he couldn't be bothered to know, couldn't be bothered to ask. My quiet acceptance seemed to surprise him. Sam's hand paused mid-motion. He looked up from the news on his phone, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He was right to be confused. The old me would have pouted, slid into the chair beside him, and snatched his plate away, chirping, "Well, since you forgot about me, I'll just have to eat yours!" Or I would have wrapped my arms around him from behind, playfully pinching his ear and demanding to know if he'd forgotten me because he didn't love me anymore. A man as sharp as Sam would, of course, notice the shift immediately. But he said nothing more. He simply nodded. "I'm heading to the office. Take your time." He took the suit jacket the housekeeper handed him. For a split second, he hesitated, holding it in his hands. I had the distinct feeling he was waiting for me to do what I always did—jump up and help him into it, smoothing the lapels. Instead, he shrugged it on himself. The sound of his footsteps faded, followed by the decisive click of the front door. "Ms. Crawford," the housekeeper asked gently, "what would you like for breakfast?" I shook my head. "Nothing for me. Could you please get me some packing boxes? I need them today." I grabbed my suitcase and went back to our bedroom. By the time the housekeeper brought the boxes, I had already sorted my clothes and personal belongings. Next, I walked into Sam's closet. Over the years, I'd given him countless ties, cufflinks, suits, and watches. He rarely wore any of them. They only saw the light of day when I insisted, practically dressing him myself. Just like me, his girlfriend. Kept hidden away in the dark. I swallowed the painful lump in my throat and began to methodically remove every single thing I had ever given him, packing them away. It took hours. When I was finally done, I sank onto the edge of the bed, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My phone buzzed. A text from Sam. Driver's on his way to pick you up. He'll be there in thirty. The message was brief, devoid of context or explanation. He was so certain I would never question him, never refuse. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Perfect timing. It was time to finally say goodbye. 3 The lights of the private club swirled in a hypnotic, decadent dance. This used to be one of my favorite places. I grew up coddled and adored, and my personality burned as bright and untamed as a wildfire. My friends used to call me the "Wild Rose of New York's elite." I first saw Sam at my brother's university gala. I was immediately captivated by his cool, almost ascetic aura. I subtly grilled my brother, trying to find out if he was single. David had rolled his eyes. "Him? He's an ice king. What girl would be brave enough to even get close?" A spark of joy ignited in my chest. He was ice, I was fire. We were a perfect match. Behind my brother's back, I began my relentless pursuit. I even changed my university application from Columbia to the University of Miami, just to be near him. When David found out, he was furious, but his anger was always tempered by his love for me. He ended up calling Sam anyway, asking him to look out for his reckless little sister. I had smiled to myself, thinking: It's all going according to plan. Back then, I thought I was a brilliant strategist, with both my brother and Sam playing parts in my grand design. It's only today that I realize how pitifully stupid I was. A waiter led me to the door of a private suite. The atmosphere inside was already roaring. Someone was goading Sam. "Come on, Kunz. You're so protective of that little girlfriend of yours, you barely ever let us see her. Now that Isla's back—the sister you've doted on since you were kids—I have to ask. The girlfriend or the sister? Who's more important in that cold heart of yours?" My feet stopped moving. I held my breath, waiting. Sam took a slow sip of his drink, saying nothing. Isla stomped her foot, pouting at him. "Sam!" Only then did a smirk grace his lips. He set his crystal glass down on the marble table with a soft clink. His voice, cool and clear, cut through the noise. "Girlfriends can be replaced. You only get one sister. You tell me who's more important." "Oof, I've got goosebumps!" the crowd roared with laughter and jeers. Isla stood up, triumphant, pointing a finger at half the people in the room. "You, you, and you! You lost the bet! Pay up!" Sam looked at her, feigning confusion. "What bet?" "They bet me you cared more about your girlfriend," Isla explained, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Losers have to send me twenty grand each." Groans of mock agony filled the room as people pulled out their phones. Sam watched them, a derisive chuckle escaping his lips. "Serves you right." I raised my hand and knocked on the door. 4 The boisterous energy in the room instantly evaporated. Sam's eyes found mine, and the seat next to him was immediately vacated, an unspoken invitation. He hadn't brought me to meet his friends often, but on the rare occasions he did, he'd at least made a show of valuing my presence. I remember one time, after I’d pursued him for so long that his coldness was beginning to wear me down, he suddenly suggested I join him for a gathering. That night, his friends had told me, "You know, you're the first girl Sam's ever brought around, besides Isla." At the time, I just thought of Isla as his sister. I didn't think twice about it. I was just giddy, convinced that his icy exterior was just a front, that deep down, he truly cared for me. Looking back now, I see it for what it was: a performance for his friends, a simple act of courtesy. For him, it cost nothing, but for me, it was the perfect manipulation to dispel my doubts and make me even more devoted. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I ignored the empty seat beside Sam and chose a spot in the farthest corner of the room. A shadow crossed Sam's face. "Thea?" I just smiled, saying nothing. Isla picked up a glass of wine and walked toward me. "You must be Thea," she said. "I'm Isla. Sam's..." She paused, searching for the right word. Sam finished for her. "Sister." Isla's brow furrowed, a flash of annoyance in her eyes. She held the glass out to me, her voice taking on a petulant edge. "Right. Sister. I just got back to the States. This is a toast to you." It didn't take a genius to sense the hostility radiating from her. This wasn't the animosity of a sister towards her brother's girlfriend. So, she's in love with him, too. The image of Sam in his study flashed in my mind, and the whole situation felt grotesquely absurd. I forced a polite smile. "Welcome back. But I'm not feeling well, so I won't be drinking." Isla's lips tightened. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that. I came all this way, and this is my welcome-home party. You won't even have one drink with me?" "I said, I'm not feeling well." The displeasure on her face intensified. She turned to Sam. "Sam, does your girlfriend not like me?" His gaze was cold, his tone flat. "Thea, don't be difficult. Drink it." A laugh, sharp and humorless, almost escaped my lips. "You called me here just to watch me drink?" He lifted his eyelids, his voice a low murmur. "Isla wanted to meet you." So that was it. It was because Isla wanted to see me. It was all so she could size up her competition, so they could both be reminded of the societal lines they shouldn't cross. I was just a tool, a prop in their twisted drama to keep their own forbidden desires in check. I stood up. "She's seen me now. Can I go?" He must have sensed the uncharacteristic defiance in my tone. A storm began to brew in the dark depths of his eyes. I knew he was angry. But I was done placating him. "What has been your problem all day?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, chilling the air in the room. I looked back at him, a knowing, meaningful smile on my face. Sam, I know all about your filthy little secrets. And I'm not playing your game anymore. I turned to leave, but Isla grabbed my wrist. "The party's not over until I say it is. I'm the guest of honor, and I didn't say you could go." I yanked my arm back and, with a sharp, satisfying crack, slapped her across the face. "Is it because you're an orphan that you have no damn manners?" 5 I strode through the dimly lit corridors of the club, a whirlwind of drunken catcalls and slurred propositions swirling around me. A fire was raging inside my chest, and I desperately needed the cold night air to extinguish it. The moment I stepped outside, I finally exhaled. To clear my head, I decided against calling a car and started walking along the side of the road. I hadn't gone far when a black van screeched to a halt beside me. I stopped dead, my hand fumbling in my purse for my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency contact. Sam. In the next second, several masked figures in black jumped out of the van. A burlap sack was thrown over my head, and a heavy blow to my skull sent me spiraling into darkness. When I came to, I was in a deserted factory. My hands and feet were bound tightly, my body suspended in the air. "Lower her a bit," a gruff voice commanded. My body dropped suddenly, jarring my senses. A filthy rag was stuffed in my mouth, and I tried to scream, but only muffled sounds came out. I needed to talk to them, to negotiate, to find a way to survive. But before I could even try, a mountain of a man slapped me hard across the face. My head swam, stars exploding behind my eyes. The man's face was hidden behind a mask. "Sorry about this, Ms. Crawford," he said, his voice flat. "We're just doing a job. You just managed to piss off the wrong person." "Our employer has a message for you. Be a good girl and take these hundred slaps, and you can walk out of here alive." "But if you scream, or if you even think about calling the cops afterward, he guarantees that you'll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder." Tears of pain and terror streamed down my face. The man gestured toward a security camera mounted on the ceiling. "Sir, shall we begin?" A voice came through a speaker. "Yes." I froze, every muscle in my body locking up. It was like being struck by lightning. Even as a single word, I knew it instantly. It was Sam's voice. In a horrifying flash, it all clicked into place. He had arranged this. He was going to have me beaten. One hundred slaps. This was his revenge for Isla. I sobbed against the gag, my muffled cries echoing in the cavernous space as I stared at the unblinking eye of the camera. He loved her that much. He truly, madly loved her. He couldn't stand to see her suffer the slightest indignation. But I couldn't wrap my head around it. How could he be so cruel? For one slap, he would do this to me? Even if he didn't love me, I had given him five years of my life, three years of my heart. Even if he didn't care about me, I was still his best friend's sister. How could you do this to me, Sam? How could you! I thrashed against my restraints, screaming his name through the gag, praying for a single shred of humanity to surface in his heart. There was no response from the camera. Just the sickening sound of one slap after another. The burning sting on my cheeks slowly gave way to a throbbing numbness. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, dripping down my chin, painting my face in crimson.
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