The Ring That Chose Me

“How does an ordinary girl marry into a wealthy family?” The top-liked reply read: “Fake an illness, girl. I pretended to have leukemia for three years, and now the Hayes heir wipes my mouth and feeds me every day. The house and car are all in my name!” I thought it was hilarious. Ethan Hayes happened to be my fiancé, so I forwarded it to him. He replied with two words. “Immature.” Later, I treated the post like a joke and pulled it up whenever I needed a laugh. Until the night before our engagement party, when she uploaded a new photo. “You all said a toad like me was dreaming of eating swan meat. Does this count as a slap in the face?” In the photo, a man sat beside a white hospital bed, lowering his head as he peeled an orange for her. A dark green emerald ring sat on his left ring finger. It was my grandmother’s heirloom. There was only one in the world. The inside of the band was engraved with my grandmother’s birth date. I enlarged the photo three times. The tiny words inside the ring were blurry, like a piece of my heart had been carved out. “The ninth day of the winter moon, Year of the Wood Goat.” My grandmother’s birthday. I turned my phone facedown on the marble counter, then turned it over again. The photo was still there. The woman lying in the hospital bed was named Chloe Reed. I had been reading her posts for nearly six months, ever since she’d asked, “Should someone with terminal cancer even bother going on blind dates?” From there, I watched her show off the Hayes family’s cards and cars. I treated every post like a joke and forwarded it to Ethan. Every time, he replied, “Immature.” Or, “Stop giving attention to people like that.” Sometimes, he didn’t reply at all. I called him. It rang seven times before cutting off. The second time, his phone was switched off. Our engagement party was scheduled for noon the next day at the Ritz downtown. Three hundred and eighty invitations had already been sent. Clutching my phone, I walked into the dressing room and took out the box that held the ring I was supposed to wear the next day. I opened it. It was empty. A round impression remained in the red velvet lining, like a fingerprint that had been pressed there for a very long time. My grandmother died when I was twelve. She had placed the emerald in my palm and said, “Claire, this ring chooses its owner. Whoever wears it will be cherished for the rest of their life.” I met Ethan when I was sixteen. At twenty-three, I put on the ring. At twenty-six, I took it off my finger and placed it inside his suit pocket myself. He said he was going to have it cleaned and reinforced, then put it back on my finger at our engagement party. That had been seven days ago. I grabbed my car keys and went downstairs. The hum of the central air-conditioning drilled into my temples like a mosquito. I drove to the VIP entrance of St. Mary’s Hospital. It was one in the morning. The nurse at the front desk wouldn’t let me through. I gave her the name of Ethan’s personal assistant, Jack Carter. She checked the system, and her expression shifted. Then she let me go upstairs. The eighteenth floor was quiet. At the end of the long hallway, the hospital room door was slightly ajar. I walked over along the wall. There was laughter inside. A woman’s laughter—soft and sticky sweet. “Do you think your fiancée knows this ring used to belong to her? Do you think she’ll cry?” “She doesn’t know.” Ethan’s voice was slow and indulgent. “I’ll replace it with a Cartier tomorrow. She won’t be able to tell the difference.” “How can you bear to lie to her?” “Chloe, you’re this sick. How could I worry about anything else?” My fingers dug into the wall. One of my nails split. I pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked. Chloe was propped against the headboard. Her soft hair rested against her shoulders. Her face was pale in a strangely deliberate way—pale, but with rosy lips and bright eyes. When she saw me, she froze for a moment. Then she smiled. Slowly, like a cat licking cream. “Mr. Hayes,” she said, her voice weak and delicate. “Who’s this?” Ethan turned around. He was still holding half of an orange. White strands of pith clung to his knuckles. His ring finger was bare. The emerald was on Chloe’s left middle finger, hanging loosely as if it could fall off at any moment. “Claire.” He stood up, frowning. “What are you doing here?” Not “You’re here.” “What are you doing here?” I stared at his face. He looked as unfamiliar as a stranger I might meet at a convenience store after working late. “Ethan, give me back the ring.” “What ring?” he asked. I laughed. “The one in your inside pocket—or the one on her hand?” His hand instinctively touched the left side of his chest. Then he went rigid. Chloe slowly lifted her left hand and brought the emerald to her lips. She kissed it. “Miss,” she said sweetly, “Mr. Hayes told me this ring belonged to his grandmother. He said it was meant for the person he loved most.” “I thought I could wear it for the rest of my life.” Her eyes turned red, and tears began falling one by one, each at a perfectly measured interval. Ethan stepped forward and blocked her from view. “Claire, Chloe is seriously ill. Don’t upset her.” “Outside.”The hallway lights were so white they looked blue. Ethan walked ahead of me, his back rigid as a drawn bow. I followed him, my heels striking the tile one step at a time. He finally stopped in the lounge at the end of the hall. “That ring,” he began, “was an old family heirloom from my grandmother. You’re mistaken.” I looked at him. “Ethan, your lies used to be better than this.” His eyes flickered. “Claire.” “The inside of the band is engraved with the ninth day of the winter moon, Year of the Wood Goat.” I spoke each word clearly. “That’s my grandmother’s birthday. I don’t know when your grandmother was born, but in twenty-eight years, you’ve never once told me that was her birthday.” He was silent for several seconds. Then he spoke in a soft, slow voice, as if soothing an unreasonable child. “Chloe only has three months left.” “She wants this ring as something to remember me by. I promised she could wear it for a month.” “After that, I’ll return it to you exactly as it was.” “Claire, be reasonable.” Claire. The last time he had called me that was on the anniversary of my mother’s death. He’d held me in the cemetery and promised to stay with me for the rest of my life. I laughed. “Ethan, you know what this ring means to me.” “I know.” His voice was calm. “That’s why I’m asking you to give it to her.” “To fulfill the wish of someone who’s about to die?” I stared into his eyes, searching for even a trace of hesitation. There was none. Only the impatient pity of someone who had been disturbed—the same look he wore whenever he saw someone begging on the street. “When was she diagnosed?” I asked. “Two years ago.” “At which hospital?” “Claire.” He frowned. “Why are you investigating all this?” “I’m doing what a fiancée should do.” He sighed, pulled the red velvet box from inside his suit, and opened it. The empty base faced me. “I’ll have Tiffany send over an identical ring tomorrow.” “I’ll have your grandmother’s birth date engraved inside.” “Claire, it’s only a ring.” “The engagement party will go on as planned, and this will be over.” I stared at the empty box. For a long time. So long that I felt the expression on my face harden. “Ethan.” “Hmm?” “Is this how you plan to fool me for the rest of my life?” He didn’t answer. At the end of the hallway, Chloe’s door opened a crack. Half her face appeared. “Mr. Hayes…” Her voice was soft and clinging, with a tremor of tears. Ethan turned around. The light in his eyes was something I hadn’t seen in ten years. When I was sixteen, on a snowy night, he had pulled me out of a frozen river and wrapped me in his down jacket. He’d looked at me with those same eyes. Back then, that light had been meant for me. “Go home,” he said, though he didn’t look at me. “I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning.” “The engagement party is still happening.” I didn’t move. He didn’t wait. He turned and walked toward the room. Halfway there, he paused. “Oh, and that old ring…” he said. “Just consider it a gift to her.” “She doesn’t have much time left anyway.”I don’t remember how I drove home. I only remember flooring the gas on the highway, reaching a hundred and twelve miles per hour, while a small delivery truck honked at me the entire way. I got home at three in the morning. One by one, I took out the clothes I was supposed to wear to the engagement party. The champagne-colored gown, the pearl earrings, the Manolo Blahnik heels. I shoved everything into a black trash bag. Then I opened my laptop. I went through Chloe’s posts on Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok one by one, going all the way back. She had supposedly been diagnosed two years ago. Her earliest post asking for medical help had been tagged at a small private hospital across town. I called an old college classmate who worked in the hematology department there. The phone rang twice before she picked up, groggy with sleep. “Claire? It’s three in the morning. Have you lost your mind?” “Lily, I need you to look someone up.” “Chloe Reed, twenty-four years old, leukemia. She was supposedly diagnosed at your hospital two years ago.” There was a pause on the other end. “Give me ten minutes.” I stared at my phone screen. Nine minutes and forty seconds later, Lily called back. “Claire, I have to tell you something about this friend of yours.” “Yeah?” “We can’t find her in our system.” “I went through every leukemia patient diagnosed in the last two years. There’s no Chloe Reed.” “She either never came here at all, or…” “Or she’s not sick,” I said. “Exactly.” I hung up. Just as dawn began to break, Ethan called. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t slept all night. “Claire, I’ll be there at nine.” “Okay.” “About last night—” “Ethan.” I cut him off. “I’ve thought it through.” There was an obvious pause on the other end. “Thought what through?” “You were right. It’s only a ring.” I said, “She’s so pitiful. Why would I argue with her?” “The engagement party will go on as planned.” Ethan was silent for three seconds. “Claire, you’re being so understanding.” I smiled but didn’t respond. After hanging up, I opened my contacts and scrolled to a number saved as “Uncle.” My mother had died years ago. I didn’t have an uncle. It was a number my father had left me before he died. He had said, “Claire, if you ever run into a problem you can’t solve, call this number. But you can only call once.” My father had died ten years ago. I had never dialed it. I pressed the call button. Someone answered on the second ring. “Miss Bennett.” The voice belonged to a middle-aged man. He spoke slowly and calmly. “Your father finally managed to make you remember me.” “Mr. Carter,” I said. “I need your help.” “Tell me.” “Chloe Reed, twenty-four years old. She’s been pretending to have leukemia for two years. Her target is Ethan Hayes.” “I want everything on her from the last three years. I want it by ten tonight.” The man on the other end chuckled. “That’s nothing, Miss Bennett.” “Anything else?” I bit my lower lip. “I want a list of every asset Ethan owns that has been transferred directly to Chloe and isn’t connected to a Hayes subsidiary.” “Understood.” “One more thing.” I paused. “The shares my father left me—who currently holds them?” There was a brief silence. “I’ve been holding them in trust for you. Do you want them back?” “I do.” “Before nine this morning.” “Consider it done.” I hung up and walked to the window. The sky had fully brightened. White blossoms had fallen all over the trees below. I picked one up and squeezed it in my palm. At exactly nine, the doorbell rang. Ethan stood outside in a perfectly tailored suit, holding a bouquet of white roses. When he saw me, he froze. “You…you’re wearing that?” I wore an ordinary black dress. My hair was loosely tied back, and I wasn’t wearing makeup. “Yeah.” “Claire, this is our engagement party.” He smiled. “Go change.” “Ethan.” I looked up at him. “Don’t you think what either of us wears today is the least important thing?” He didn’t understand. He only assumed I was still angry. With a sigh, he pushed the flowers into my arms. “Let’s go.”The ballroom at the Ritz looked like a dream. Crystal chandeliers, white roses, and a champagne tower reaching almost to the ceiling. More than twenty members of the Hayes family had come. On my side, there was only my aunt, her husband, and their son. My parents had died young. I had been raised partly by the Hayes family since I was a child—that was the story they told outsiders. The truth was that I moved into the Hayes home at sixteen, after Ethan pulled me from the river and his mother said, “Let the girl stay.” I lived with the Hayes family for eight years, until I moved out at twenty-four. Ethan’s mother, whom I called Mrs. Hayes, sat at the main table. When she saw me enter, her smile deepened. “Claire, come here.” I walked over. She took my hand and pulled me into the seat beside her. “Ethan told me about last night.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t take it to heart.” “That girl is pitiful, and Ethan has always been softhearted.” “Once she’s gone, everything will still be yours.” I looked at her. For twenty years, she had been one of the kindest people in the world to me. She had brushed my hair, baked my birthday cakes, and cried harder than I did at my college graduation. But now she was saying the exact same thing Ethan had said. “Once she’s gone.” She was certain Chloe would die. Or maybe she needed Chloe to die. I smiled. “I’m fine, Mrs. Hayes.” “Good girl.” She patted my hand. At eleven forty, the officiant began the ceremony. Ethan stood onstage in a sharp suit, a white rose pinned to his lapel. He looked every inch the perfect heir. He reached out his hand. “Claire, come up here.” I was about to stand when my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from Mr. Carter. 【Miss Bennett, the files have been sent to your email. Also: Chloe Reed’s real name is Chloe Parker. She has a two-year college degree and worked at the front desk of Hayes Corporation for three months. Two years ago, she accepted a job from Vanessa Hayes, Ethan’s cousin.】 Vanessa. Ethan’s cousin. The main branch of the Hayes family had no daughters. The second branch had always coveted the shares controlled by Ethan. If Ethan was deemed “unfit” because of a scandal involving his personal life, the second branch would have grounds to intervene. I placed my phone facedown on the table. Ethan was still waiting onstage. Everyone in the ballroom was looking at me. I stood and walked up to the stage. Ethan released a breath of relief and clasped my hand. His palm was cold and slightly damp. The officiant began reading the vows. When he reached the words “Do you accept,” Ethan turned around and took a new ring box from his pocket. He opened it. Inside was an emerald. The cut, size, and setting were identical to my grandmother’s ring. But this one was brand-new. Its shine was too fresh, and the inside of the band carried a newly engraved inscription: “The ninth day of the winter moon, Year of the Wood Goat.” Ethan looked at me. His expression was so gentle it could have melted into water. “Claire, I do.” “What about you?” The ballroom was so quiet that I could hear the bubbles bursting inside the champagne tower. I stared at the fake ring in his hand. For a long time. So long that Ethan’s smile began to stiffen. “Claire?” I raised my head and spoke clearly into the microphone. “Ethan, I have something I’d like to ask everyone here.” “If a man gives his fiancée’s grandmother’s heirloom ring to a woman in the hospital who has been faking an illness for three years on the night before their engagement…” “Can that engagement still go forward?”