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"After my family lost everything, I begged my cheating husband, Julian, for help with my mother's medical bi1ls. ""A mil/l10n per tattoo,"" he said. He knew I had Butterfly disease. I nodded, as n33dles t0re my skin, word by word. Ten mil//l10n strangers watched me b133d. My sick mother saw the stream—and died because of what they did to me. He laughed with his mistress, Daisy, handed me worthless bil1s, tossed me the divorce papers, and called it mercy. Daisy smiled, sent men to finish me, and whispered, ""No one is coming to save you."" I believed her. Until my phone rang in the dark. They tracked her. They found me. The man who broke me finally saw the truth. He begged me to withdraw the divorce papers. But darling... you can't always have your way." "“Butterfly disease.” That’s what they called it. I’d had it since birth, my skin as fragile as the wings it was named after. My family lost everything, so I went to my husband, Julian Thorne, the richest man in Haven City, and asked him for m0neycash. He drove me to a tattoo parlor instead. He leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow lifted. “A milli0n a tattoo. So tell me, how much are we talking?” This was payback, and I knew it. I’d crossed a line when I went after his pampered little pethis pet. I nodded anyway. The first tattoo was a succubus, inked where no one would ever see it. I bit down on my tongue so hard I tasted copper. The second read “Harder,” across my lower back. Blood seeped through the bandages and wouldn’t stop. Ten tattoos later, infection set in at every site. The world began to blur around the edges. Julian tossed a stack of bills at my feet. Ten milli0n in obsolete foreign currency. At the exchange rate, it was worth maybe four hun//dred d0ll@rs. I didn’t cry. Didn’t scream, either. I gathered the bills with shaking hands and looked him straight in the eye. I even smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Thorne. It’s perfect.” Just enough for a proper urnJust enough for a decent urn. *** I was reaching for the last bill when Julian’s heel came down hard on my fingers. “What was that?” His fingers caught my chin, forcing my head up. “Since when do you call me Mr. ThorneJulian? I thought you liked ‘DarlingHubby’ better.” Blood welled up where his fingers pressed. Every place he touched burned like hot metal. I dropped my gaze. Something in me finally quit. “Just give me the papers, Julian. I’ll sign whatever you want.” Once upon a time, a single tear from me would’ve wrecked him for days. That version of Julian was long gone. What looked at me now was cold and empty. A humorless smile tugged at his mouth. “Divorce? After everything I did to get you back on your feet? You think I’m just going to hand you off to some other man like something off a clearance rack?” His voice flattened into something final. “Pack your things. Daisy’s taking the master bedroom. She gets cold at night.” I nodded. The cold air hit me the second I stepped outside. I shook. Pain, shock, I couldn’t tell anymore. I counted the bills with numb fingers. Five hun//dred d0ll@rs. He’d given me an extra hun//dred. My hand was on the door. I was about to go back in and give the extra back when a voice stopped me cold. “Mr. Thorne! We just hit ten milli0n live viewersWe’ve got ten million watching the livestream!” Something inside me brokeSomething inside me snapped clean in two. Ten milli0n strangers had seen me, every humiliating inch of me. It nearly buckled my knees. Every tattooed word felt like it was carving deeper, the physical agony nothing compared to this. With my condition, the lightest touch tore my skin. Once it started bleeding, it didn’t stop. Julian once spent three days camped outside a specialist’s clinic, refusing to leave until the doctor agreed to try an experimental treatment. He was twenty-six when we married. For eight years, he kept his hands to himself, waiting for my body to heal enough to withstand his touch. We didn’t sleep together until my skin could handle it. Afterward, he’d pulled me close and whispered into my hair, “I’ll protect you with everything I have.” Then came Daisy Miller, some sports-academy gir1 he’d met on the court. Young, bubbly, always laughing at his jokes. She lived in a world I’d never get close to. He said it to her over and over in bed. “God, Daisy… I’d die for you.” Now, hearing what the tattoo shop owner said, Julian looked like something had just clickedBehind me, Julian’s voice sharpened. “Her face. Could you see it?” “Blurry the whole time, just like you said.” I grabbed my phone and turned it on. The chat had voted on every word carved into my skin. “tr@sh,” “Free UseCommunity Mattress,” “Sl//utMaster, please f***”… They’d branded me, inch by inch. Screenshots from the stream had already spread across the internet. Everyone was trying to figure out who the blurred-out woman was. Julian’s shoulders sagged. His voice was flat. “None of this would’ve happened if Elarayou’d just listened.” “Once Daisy sees the screenshots, she’ll get over it. She’ll come back around.” The wind outside cut through my coat. It was nothing compared to the cold spreading in my chest. My crime was not letting another woman wear my husband’s initials. Days ago, I’d sent security to have the tattoo lasered off his mistress Daisy’s chest. Julian made sure I paid for it plentyJulian made sure I paid for it ten times over. I yanked my collar up to hide the obscenities on my neck. I bolted from the parlor like the building was on fire. After ten years of marriage, he knew exactly what he was doing. My body had barely survived the needle. Getting them removed would kill me. I’d take those words to my grave. Instead of going home to Thorne Manor, I told the cabbie to turn around. After we went under, Mom had moved from our villa to a studio near Skid Row. The place was no bigger than a walk-in closetbarely fifty square feet, a shoebox with a door. I stepped out onto the curb. An ambulance was parked up ahead. Two paramedics were wheeling a stretcher toward it. A white sheet covered the body from head to foot. My gut twisted. My hands shook as I pulled up Mom’s number. Her phone started ringing. My custom ringtone rang from under the sheet. I shoved past the hands grabbing at me and ripped the sheet away. Her eyes were wide, fixed on something I couldn’t see. I kept shaking my head. My cheeks were wet. “She was fine! She was always fine! This can’t…” One of the paramedics looked over at me. “It was suicide. OverdosePesticide.” No. That wasn’t possible. She’d spent her whole life protecting me. She wouldn’t just abandon me like this. I opened her texts. Someone had sent her a link to the stream. My legs gave out. The pain in my chest turned sharp, stabbing, and I couldn’t stop crying. This was my fault. I killed her. She’d left something in her Notes. [Elara, don’t waste your life on a man who doesn’t love you. Not for me.] [My butterflySweetheart, get out of Haven City. Find your freedom.] I stayed on my knees next to her body and sobbed. As a kid, I bled all the time. Sometimes my skin blistered and weptoozed yellow fluid. The other kids stared at me like I was contagious. Mom was the only one who would touch me. She’d tell me the same thing every time. “You’re not like them, sweetheart. You’re my butterfly.” “If school gets too hard, I’ll teach you myself.” I wouldn’t let the disease win. I kept going to school. Julian transferred to my school in seventh grade. We ended up sitting next to each other. He kept the bullies away from me. Every morning, he’d walk me to class, even when it meant going out of his way. Back then, he was everything to me. I’d found someone else who wanted to keep me safe. After college, I took everything Mom had saved for me and put it into Julian’s company. I never told her. The gamble paid off. The day his company went public, Julian handed me the keys to a car worth milli0ns. Reporters crowded around him, shoving microphones in his face. “Mr. Thorne, why spend that kind of m0ney on your gir1friend?” He stood there in his suit, the picture of a successful CEO, and smiled for the cameras. “She rode on the back of my rusted bikescooter when I had nothing. Stuck with me through all of it. I promised her she’d ride in a Bentley someday. And from now on, that’s Mrs. Thorne.” Then he pulled out a ring and dropped to one knee. Julian had made good on that old line about the woman behind every man. People called us Haven City’s perfect love story. I spent the afternoon at the morgue. A staffer’s voice cut through the fog. “Mrs. Thorne, this card didn’t go through again.” The one I’d just handed him was my last card. The man who’d bought me milli0n-d0ll@r homes and cars had frozen every account in my name. All because his mistress wanted payback. I swallowed hard. I pulled out what little cash I had left and held it out to him. “This is everything I have. Please. Just… just cremate her. I’ll get you the rest.” He shook his head. “This won’t even cover the deposit.” His mouth twisted. “Go crawling back to Mr. Thorne and say you’re sorry. He’d cover this in a heartbeat.” I closed my eyes for a moment. Then I slid the gold bangle off my wrist. “This is worth at least a hun//dred grand. Please. I’m begging you.” His eyes lit up. He snatched it and bit into it. Then he slammed it down on the desk. “I was being polite calling you ‘Mrs. Thorne.’ You think you can scam me with some cheap fake?” Julian had bought me that bangle with his first paycheck. I’d bent it out of shapeThe bangle Julian bought me with his first month's salary years ago was now twisted out of shape by my own hands. My tears dripped onto the cheap metal under the plating. Ten years. Ten years for a gold-plated lie. None of it had ever meant anything to him. I picked up the bangle and used the last of my cash to take a cab back to Thorne Manor. I stopped outside the master bedroom door. Julian’s voice carried through it, easy and satisfied. “She’s no fun. Can’t even take it without bleeding all over the place.” “You’re so much better. With you, I can do whatever I want.” I clenched my fist and pounded the door. “Julian! You killed her. You murdered my mom!” I heard him breathing hard. “I’m not giving your family a dime, Elara Vance. Quit trying to guilt-trip me.” I couldn’t stop the tears. I was choking on my sobs. “I never lied to you. Not once!” “That bangle you gave me. It’s fake. Was any of it real?” He paused for a second. “Elara, what are you even talking about—” I heard sheets rustle inside. Then a woman’s voice cut him off. “Don’t stop, Mr. Thorne. I need more.” “Mmh. Whatever you want.” I kept pounding on the door, screaming at them. They didn’t stop. If anything, my screaming only spurred them on. The headboard slammed against the wallThe bed started banging against the wall. Her moans got louder. I couldn’t see through the tears anymore. I sank to the floor and pulled my knees to my chest. His name kept spilling out of me. Julian… Where did you go? Where’s the man who loved me? Time blurred together. Finally, the door openedI didn't know how much time had passed before the door finally opened. Our wedding photo hung above the bed. Two handprints smeared the glass. One on my face. One on his. I knew exactly how they’d put them thereI knew exactly what they’d been up to. Julian saw me crying. Something flickered in his eyes. He reached for me. Daisy grabbed his hand and pressed it against her stomach. “You’re incredible, Mr. Thorne. I can still feel you.” “I’m twenty-two. I'm in my primeGetting pregnant is easy. Not like Elara, who can’t even give you a child. What’s she good for?” She glanced at my stomach. This couldn’t be happening. My voice came out shaky. “You had a vasectomy…” Julian didn’t even look at me. His voice was flat. “I got it reversed. I’ve built something now. I need an heir.” Something in me gave out. I’d given him everything to build that company. He’d had nothing. My body couldn’t handle that first pregnancy. I’d lost the baby. Julian was the one who’d gotten on his knees and promised he’d never ask me for kids. He’d given me a little lucky charm and told me he just wanted me safe.