Author: Momo Chan

After I slapped my Alpha’s mistress, he had me committed to the Pack infirmary, where they pumped me full of drugs to suppress the agony of a shattered mate bond. My father—the Alpha of the Moore Pack—and my brother Johnathan were being held captive by the Quinn Pack. Every time Sebastian betrayed me, I lay in that infirmary bed, enduring pain that tore through me like my chest was being ripped apart from the inside. It wasn’t until Hedy’s pup was born that I finally worked up the courage to beg him—carefully, meekly—to release my family. Sebastian smiled mockingly and spoke as if his words were of no consequence. “Sera, do you have any idea how I first met Hedy?” My breath caught. My nails dug hard into my palms. “Your father and your brother delivered her to my bed.” “Hedy is your half-sister.” He watched the color drain from my face, his expression dripping with contempt, then unlocked his phone and slid it across to me. “Your father and brother were never imprisoned. They’ve been with Hedy this entire time—all three years.” On the screen, Dad and Johnathan hovered around Hedy and her pup, their faces lit with a contentment and joy I had never once seen directed at me. My vision blurred as my eyes filled with tears. Pain tore through my chest, sharp and slow, like a blade working its way deeper. Sebastian went on, talking as though I weren’t falling apart right in front of him. “Sera, you’ve been very well-behaved these past three years. Keep it up. Whatever you want as compensation—name it.” “Although…” A sly smile tugged at his lips. “Even if I offered, you wouldn’t actually want anything, would you?” I wiped my tears away, lifted my face, and smiled. “Sebastian, then compensate me with a hundred million dollars.” A mate like this. A family like this. I wanted none of it. Sebastian’s expression froze. “What did you just say?” I raised my head and looked him straight in the eye, my voice trembling despite myself. “You said you wanted to compensate me. Then give me money.” “A hundred million. Not a cent less.” The warmth bled out of Sebastian’s gaze. He let out a derisive scoff, then spoke toward the phone on the desk. “Hedy, looks like neither of us guessed right.” At some point, the screen had switched to a live video call. Hedy stared back at me, amusement and mockery written all over her face. “Sera, we placed bets—on what you’d demand from Sebastian once you learned the truth.” “I bet you’d refuse any compensation and trash the office in a meltdown. Sebastian bet you’d use it as leverage to make sure he never dissolved the mate bond.” “As for Dad and Johnathan—one guessed you’d demand Sebastian send me away, and the other guessed you’d hurt yourself to force his hand.” She turned the camera to the side. Dad was cradling Hedy’s pup, beaming from ear to ear—but the moment his eyes landed on me, every trace of warmth vanished from his face. “Sera, I never imagined you could be so shameless. You’re no better than a rogue!” Johnathan stroked Hedy’s hair, his eyes full of tenderness and fond exasperation—yet the instant he looked into the camera, his face went cold. “Sera, I know you’re upset.” “If you need money, I can transfer some into your account. But you shouldn’t be asking Sebastian for it.” “Hedy and Sebastian are in love. They don’t owe you a thing.” “Is that so?” I cut him off, eyes rimmed red. “Stealing my mate. Stealing my father and my brother. Destroying my marriage and my family.” “Stringing me along for three years, leaving me to suffer through three years of a severed mate bond.” “And you call that not owing me anything?” Johnathan frowned. “Sera, there’s no need to be so dramatic about it.” “We didn’t set out to deceive you—but you’ve been stubborn since you were a child. If we hadn’t done it this way, you never would have accepted Hedy.” “Hedy’s been in low spirits since the delivery. We were worried about her postpartum depression, so we came up with this little bet to cheer her up. Don’t take it to heart.” “Well, in that case, just give me the money.” “Dad, give me fifty million dollars. Johnathan, thirty million dollars. And I’ll keep playing along with your charade. How does that sound?” Johnathan’s face went dark. “Seraphina, stop horsing around.” I smiled coldly. “It’s just a bit of pocket change. Don’t tell me the Alphas of two Packs can’t even scrape together that much.” “Enough.” “Since money is what you want, I’ll give it to you.” Sebastian shot me a glance and pulled a document from his desk drawer. “Hedy has given birth. In the Quinn Pack, only the Luna’s children can be recognized as heirs. Sign this agreement to dissolve the mate bond, and a hundred million will be transferred to your account immediately.” I looked at the thin stack of papers. I didn’t hesitate for a single second. I grabbed the pen and wrote my name.

Something complicated flickered across Sebastian’s face as he looked at me. “You really care that much about the money? You never used to be like this…” I swallowed against the pain slicing through my chest and forced out a carefree smile. “If I don’t take the money, what else are you going to give me?” His dark eyes locked onto mine, something unreadable stirring in their depths. “You could beg me not to dissolve the mate bond.” “Sera, all you have to do is ask—and I’ll tear up this agreement right now.” Beg him? I bit down hard on my lip, memories flooding back to the early days after I’d discovered his affair with Hedy. I had begged him. Countless times. I’d even taken a silver dagger to my own wrists to force him to come home. My blood had pooled across the floor, and all it earned me was a single sentence: “Don’t do that again. Hedy can’t stand the sight of blood.” “And then what?” I looked at him calmly, my voice laced with contempt. “Then you’ll tell me this was just another one of your little bets—another game to see how pathetic I’d look.” A bitter laugh scraped out of my throat, raw and aching. “Sebastian, stop testing me.” “Haven’t you had enough fun at my expense these past three years?” Something cold traced a line down my cheek. They were the tears I’d held back for so long. Now they finally fell. Sebastian reached up instinctively and wiped them away. Something that might have been guilt flickered through his eyes. He sighed. “Hedy gave birth to my pup, after all. She’s still young, and a little headstrong. But you’re her older sister. You should be more understanding.” “Don’t worry. I’ll give you back the Luna title. Marrying Hedy is just to secure the pup’s status as heir.” He paused, then added, as if to reassure himself as much as me: “I’ll give you a hundred million dollars, too. Take the money, go enjoy yourself for a while, and once I’ve sorted everything out, we’ll form the mate bond again.” “That should make you happy, right?” I tilted my face up, smiled, and let out a soft “Mm.” “Then book me a flight to Switzerland. We always said we’d visit the Alpine lakes together.” Relief washed over him. He pulled me into a tight embrace. “Okay.” “You go ahead first. Once things are settled here, I’ll join you.” “Sera, wait for me.” I rested my head against his shoulder and said nothing. But I knew, deep down, that I would never wait for him again. Once Sebastian was satisfied that I’d given in, he finally spoke again. “You’ll need to move out of the Pack residence for a while.” “Hedy’s moving in. You know she hasn’t been in the best mood since the delivery. Pack up your things. I don’t want her seeing any of your things and getting upset.” He cleared his throat and produced a set of keys from his drawer. “I’ve arranged a new place for you out in the suburbs.” I said nothing, but my mind drifted to the day I’d first moved into the Quinn Pack. We had designed the Alpha residence together, from the curtains to the painting in the entryway. We’d even planned two nurseries: one in pink, the other in blue. He called it our love nest. He carved a nameplate by hand and hung it on the manor door, our names etched side by side. But later, he’d spent his nights tangled up with Hedy in his office until dawn—while I lay alone in the Pack infirmary, losing our pup. I smiled faintly and placed the keys back in his hand. “It’s fine.” From now on, everything I owned would be new. Not just the house. After leaving Quinn’s Group, I went to the Pack infirmary alone. Over the past three years, I had been brought here countless times, crying until I blacked out from the agony of a shredding mate bond. But none of them knew that I’d met a boy here. I pushed open the door to the room. Sunlight streamed through the window lattice, yet a small wolf lay curled up in the darkest corner, shrinking from the light. If the Pack elders had been here, they might have recognized him—the missing heir of the Hadrian Pack. I spoke softly. “I can afford it now. I’m going to take you home and help you shift back into human form.” Sebastian didn’t know that my real destination wasn’t Switzerland. It was Greece.

When I returned to the Quinn Pack to collect my things, the servants gave me strange looks, hovering as if they wanted to say something but couldn’t quite bring themselves to. I frowned and walked into the living room. Then I understood why. Everything I owned had been thrown haphazardly across the floor. And there was Hedy, descending the staircase in a snow-white wedding gown. I bit my lip and stared at her. She gathered the skirt and smiled. “Sera, this is the wedding dress Sebastian designed for you by hand, isn’t it?” “Well, Sebastian’s already given it to me.” “He said you’ve let yourself go—you can’t even fit into it anymore. Good thing someone who can appreciate it came along.” She lifted the hem and twirled. “Sera, what do you think? Does it suit me? Do I look beautiful?” The white gown shimmered like a dream beneath the crystal chandelier. Hedy’s face was radiant, brimming with triumph and joy. Back then, Sebastian had spent several sleepless nights finishing the design sketches for that dress. The first time I put it on, he said: “Sera, this is the only dress like it in the world—for the only girl like you.” His words still echoed in my ears, but his heart had already changed. What Hedy didn’t realize was that I’d already given up Sebastian himself. Why would I still care about a dress that meant nothing to me now? I smiled placidly, and my clenched fists slowly uncurled. “Hedy, hasn’t anyone ever told you that when you take someone else’s things, you have to pay for them?” “That gown is worth thirty million dollars. I want the money in my account today.” Hedy’s expression shifted in an instant. “You bitch! You stole Sebastian, and took my family for all these years. How dare you still have the nerve to ask for money!” She raised her hand and tried to slap me. But the gown’s skirt was far too heavy. I simply sidestepped half a pace, and Hedy tripped over the fabric and crashed to the floor. Dad and Johnathan came rushing down the stairs. “Hedy, what happened?” My brother glared at me with fury in his eyes. “Seraphina, did you bully Hedy again?!” Before I could get a word out, a palm cracked hard across my face. A searing sting spread across my cheek. I stared at my father in disbelief. His face was flushed. His voice cold and sharp. “I know you’ve never truly accepted Hedy. But she just gave birth, her body is still weak. How could you do this to her?” Hedy sniffled, playing the wounded innocent. “Dad, don’t be mad at Sera. It’s not her fault. She said the dress costs thirty million dollars, and if I don’t pay her, I don’t deserve to wear it. But I don’t have any money… She didn’t push me on purpose.” She lifted her pitiful gaze. “It’s all because I can’t afford to pay her. Dad, Johnathan—if we give her the money, will she stop being angry at me?” Dad gave a derisive snort, fury blazing across his face. “Hedy, you’re too kindhearted. Give that bitch money? Over my dead body! I should have known she’s just like her mother. A gold-digging whore!” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I pressed my hand to my stinging cheek and stared at him. His face was twisted with venom, curse after curse spilling from his lips. The mask of fatherly love he’d worn for years seemed to crack before my eyes. Johnathan was quick enough to step in and hold him back. “Dad.” A flicker of hope kindled in my chest. But then, cold as ice, came his next words: “If you push her too far and she makes a scene at Hedy’s wedding, it’ll be a disaster.” “Since she wants money so badly, just give it to her. Think of it as being robbed by a rogue.” He pulled out a check and tossed it at my feet, his voice dripping with disgust. “There. A check for thirty million dollars.” “Take it and get out. Don’t ever show your face around Hedy again and ruin our day.” I lowered my eyes and stared at the check, drawn on the Moore Pack’s account. The last thread of attachment in my heart finally went dark. I bent down slowly, picked up the check, and smiled as if none of it mattered. I looked at the luggage strewn across the living room and decided I no longer cared to sort through any of it. “Since you’re spending money on everything your new sister wants, as your old sister, I certainly won’t stick around here.” “From this day on, I no longer belong to the Moore Pack!” I dug my ID card out of the pile of luggage on the floor, turned around and walked away. “Wait—”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260811ALEAWuOtU7 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni807720”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

The day I got out of prison, it was pouring rain. I followed my husband Julian to the cemetery to visit our son Leo. Rain hammered against the headstone. Julian spoke without warning, his voice eerily calm: “The surveillance footage from the day Leo died—I had someone delete it.” My body went rigid. My daughter Maya looked at me without a shred of guilt: “I’m the one who testified that you abused Leo. I helped clear Aunt Sophia’s name.” Over a thousand days and nights of hell in that prison—none of it compared to the agony of the truth being ripped open. I seized Julian by the collar of his suit, tears streaming, demanding to know why. Maya let out a soft laugh: “Leo’s already dead. You can’t seriously expect a pianist like Sophia to go to prison over it?” “You’re just a housewife. A few years behind bars—it’s not like it killed you.” Julian pried my fingers off one by one, his gaze cold and absolute. “Vivian, you will always be the gracious lady of the Reynold family. Sophia bore me Ethan, yet she can never step into the light.” “As long as you don’t make trouble for her and the boy, I guarantee—you won’t be harmed again.” They looked at me the way you’d look at a dog that had outlived its usefulness. And yet later—every one of them would end up on their knees, begging me to come back. … I crumpled at the foot of my son’s grave, my entire body plunged into ice. Julian crouched down and, with those hands sheathed in bespoke leather gloves, brushed the wet hair from my face. “Vivian, you went digging into Sophia behind my back. That was very disobedient of you.” “So I sent a few men—just to teach you a lesson. To help you learn to be quiet.” “I didn’t expect them to go so far. Breaking your leg like that—it wasn’t intentional.” My lips began to tremble. That day, I’d just gotten my hands on the critical evidence—proof that Sophia had pushed Leo into the lake. Before I could even dial the police, several men pinned me to the concrete floor of the parking garage and smashed my kneecap with a baseball bat. Maya glanced down at me kneeling in the mud: “Spare us the victim act.” “Sophia was about to perform her solo recital at Carnegie Hall, and you just had to go stirring up trouble.” “Dad never meant to hurt you that badly. You forced his hand.” My daughter. Every word out of her mouth was an exoneration for the woman who killed her brother. I dragged myself upright, summoned every ounce of strength left in my body, and slapped my daughter across the face with everything I had. *Crack!* Maya clutched her burning cheek, frozen in shock. Julian shoved me away: “Vivian! Have you lost your mind?! Hitting a child!” I slammed into the ice-cold headstone, blinding pain exploding through my skull. Blood mixed with rain ran into my eyes, staining the entire world a savage, hopeless red. Two hulking bodyguards seized me by the arms, hauled me up, and threw me into the back seat of a car. They dragged me all the way back to the estate on Long Island. In the master bedroom, Julian slammed an adoption agreement down in front of me. “Sign this. Make Ethan legally yours—give him a proper place in this family.” Ethan. His bastard son with Sophia. I swept the wine and porcelain off the coffee table in one violent motion, my eyes burning as I glared at him: “Julian, you’re out of your goddamn mind!” “That woman murdered Leo! I will die before I raise her spawn!” Shards of porcelain sliced open the back of my hand, blood dripping onto the Persian rug. Julian’s brow creased slightly. He pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressed it to my wound: “Vivian, stop being unreasonable.” “All you have to do is show a little of that high-society grace. Accept Sophia and the child.” “You’ll still be my legitimate wife. The title of lady of this estate—it will always be yours.” Nausea churned through me. I wrenched my hand free with every bit of force I could muster. Julian’s expression went utterly dark: “When you’ve learned to think like a proper woman of your station, we’ll talk.” He turned and walked out. The door slammed shut behind him like a verdict. Trembling, I pulled out my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Miami. —

Through the closed door, the servants’ whispers carried with shameless clarity: “Mr. Reynold absolutely dotes on Ethan—tomorrow’s adoption gala is going to be even grander than his wedding to the missus.” “I’ll say. Mr. Reynold took the helicopter to Paris last night just to pick up a custom Dior suit for the boy.” I leaned against the cold wall. I thought of that winter night in the federal women’s prison. A hundred-and-four-degree fever, dragging my ruined leg, pounding on the iron door all night long begging for help. That same night, every major news outlet and TikTok feed in America was running footage of Julian at an auction, bidding a fortune on jewels for Sophia. The gossip outside my door continued: “But isn’t tomorrow Leo’s anniversary?” “Well, Vivian never had Mr. Reynold’s heart, did she? Looks like Ethan’s going to be the heir from now on.” My nails dug crescents into my palms. Before long, the door opened. Julian carried in a glass of warm milk and set it on the nightstand. “Vivian, I’ve already contacted the top orthopedic specialist in the country.” “Your leg can still be saved. Next week I’ll have the jet take you for reconstructive surgery.” He reached out, fingers moving to stroke my hair. I slapped his hand away. The mask of tenderness vanished from Julian’s face in an instant: “Vivian, I’ve gone out of my way for you at every turn. Found you the best doctors in the world.” “How much longer are you going to keep up this irrational nonsense?” I looked up, my stare cutting through him: “Having thugs break my leg—that was going out of your way for me?” “Using your power to shield the woman who murdered our son—that was going out of your way for me?” Julian rubbed his temples, his voice saturated with exhaustion and exasperation: “You’re the one who ruined Leo! A child that young, pointing at someone’s face and cursing at them in public!” “All Sophia did was give him a little shove. Who could’ve predicted a shallow lake would actually drown someone?” “To this day, Sophia’s still seeing a therapist. She tortures herself over it every single day! You can’t pin all the blame on an innocent person!” To protect a murderer, Julian was willing to throw dirt on a five-year-old corpse. I thought of when I was eighteen. Kneeling in the blood-soaked floor of a tenement apartment, my father’s murdered body at my feet, my mother’s wrists slit open beside him. Julian burst through the door and pulled me—shattered, hopeless—into his arms: “Don’t be afraid… From now on, you have me. I’ll protect you with my life.” Every vow, every whispered promise—all of it had rotted into a stinking pool of dead water. “Julian, let’s get a divorce. I’ll set you free.” “I don’t want anything except Leo’s ashes.” Julian’s face went terrifyingly dark: “Divorce? Keep dreaming.” “Tomorrow’s adoption gala—you will be there as the lady of the Reynold family.” “Otherwise you’ll never learn where Leo’s ashes are.” He released me abruptly and stormed out, slamming the door. I stumbled out of the room, half-running down the corridor until I stopped in front of a painfully familiar door at the end of the hall. I pushed it open. What had once been Leo’s nursery was now filled with girls’ children’s clothing, gowns, and an entire wall of Hermès bags. On the wall hung an enormous portrait—Sophia and Ethan, mother and son. This room… had become their personal closet. “Like what you see?” Sophia leaned against the doorframe, swirling a glass of red wine, her eyes glittering with amusement. “When Leo fell into the water, he kept crying and calling for his mommy.” “I’m the one who pushed him back under every time he tried to climb out.” “It took him a full five minutes to stop struggling. When he finally died, his eyes were open so, so wide…” I raised my hand and swung at her face with every shred of remaining strength. Sophia didn’t flinch. The corner of her mouth curled upward. The next instant—searing pain exploded through the back of my skull. I crashed to the ground. The world went black. —

A bucket of ice water crashed over my head, shocking me awake. Bodyguards shoved an ill-fitting gown onto my body and pushed me from backstage into the banquet hall. Instantly—blinding spotlights and a hundred camera flashes erupted in unison, exposing my soaking, wretched figure to every socialite in New York. “So that’s the woman who killed her own child?” “How does she even have the nerve to still be alive? Disgusting.” “Julian’s so unlucky—married to that crippled psychopath.” Laughter and scorn closed in around me. Sophia walked over in towering heels, Ethan’s hand in hers. “Vivian, there you are. You must’ve suffered so much all those years inside.” She wore a Chanel haute couture gown that I recognized instantly—Julian had commissioned it for me as an anniversary gift. I stared at the dress that should have been mine, bile rising in my throat. Five-year-old Ethan suddenly launched himself at me and kicked my left leg—directly into the shattered kneecap. I screamed. Pure reflex—I pushed him away. Ethan toppled onto the carpet and burst into wails. “What are you doing?!” Maya came shrieking across the room, scooping Ethan into her arms, glaring at me with venom: “Haven’t you had enough?! Do you want to go back to prison?!” Julian closed the distance in one stride, his fingers clamping around my arm like a vise: “Do you have to make a scene in front of all these people?!” I fought to wrench free of his grip, dragging my leg, trying to reach the door. Sophia dabbed at her tears and turned to address the surrounding reporters: “Vivian, wasn’t it enough to hurt your own child? Now you’re going after innocent little Ethan too?” “As Julian’s childhood sweetheart, I shouldn’t involve myself in their marriage—but I simply can’t stand by and watch!” Her flawless victim performance had every socialite in the room shaking their heads in sympathy. Then the massive LED screen at the center of the hall lit up without warning. Reporters with microphones swarmed around me: “Mrs. Reynold, according to our investigation, you come from the slums. Your father was killed by rivals. Your mother took her own life in atonement.” “Did you inherit your family’s violent genes? Is that what makes you so vicious?” Flashbulbs strobed. A wall of black microphones pressed against my lips. Buried nightmares surging back paralyzed me where I stood. It took an eternity before I found my voice, and I screamed it with everything I had: “I was framed!!” “Sophia is not Julian’s childhood sweetheart! She’s the other woman who destroyed our marriage!” “Ethan is her bastard son with Julian! Those two killed my son Leo!!” The entire hall plunged into deathly silence. The color drained from Sophia’s face. She swayed on her feet. Julian wrapped a possessive arm around her. He let out a long, pained sigh for the audience, his voice heavy with sorrow: “I’m sorry. My wife suffered severe trauma during her incarceration. She’s experiencing serious psychological delusions.” Then he leaned close to my ear, his whisper surgically cruel: “Apologize to Sophia. Tell everyone she’s not the other woman. Admit you made it up out of jealousy.” I clenched my jaw. “In your dreams.” Julian pulled out his phone, lit the screen, and shoved it in front of my eyes. On it was a message he’d just drafted, addressed to a private military contractor: **[Grind the child’s ashes in the pulverizer.]** My entire body began to convulse. Ice shot from the soles of my feet straight to the crown of my skull. Julian watched me with dead eyes, his thumb hovering over the send button. “No—!!” *Thud.* I dropped to my knees on the freezing marble, tears flooding my vision beyond all control. “I’m sorry… I was jealous of Sophia! I lost my mind! I made it all up!” “I was wrong… I apologize to you both…” —

“Jealousy like that—making a scene over nothing.” “A lunatic like her should be locked in an asylum for life.” I kept my head down, kneeling on the ground, enduring the contempt. Sophia held Ethan’s hand, smiling graciously as she accepted the admiration of New York’s elite. The picture of a perfect family. After the gala ended, Julian pressed the wooden urn into my hands, his tone softening: “Vivian, I know you’ve been wronged. From now on, I’ll keep Sophia away from you.” “You’ve already lost one son. Putting Ethan’s name under yours—think of it as compensation.” I took the urn. My voice was flat, devoid of anything. “Fine.” The instant Julian turned and walked away, I clutched the urn to my chest and ran with everything I had toward the back gate of the estate. But the moment I burst through the alley behind the rear courtyard, a group of masked men in black closed in around me. A dim basement. Sophia withdrew her hand slowly, gazing down at me—battered, broken, curled on the floor shielding the wooden urn beneath my body. A cold smile played on her lips. From her designer handbag, Sophia produced a different urn—white porcelain—and dangled it before my eyes. “Did you really think Julian would give you the real ashes?” My pupils dilated. “Give it to me! Give it to me!!” I lunged like a woman possessed, but the bodyguard’s massive hands slammed my shoulders back down. Sophia crouched, her manicured fingers—nails painted in meticulous lacquer—seizing my chin in a crushing grip: “Julian told me once. When he married you, it was nothing but pity.” “A slum orphan whose mommy and daddy are both dead—what right do you have to be the lady of the Reynold family?” She straightened, carrying the white porcelain urn, and walked toward the garbage bin in the rear courtyard. I lost my mind completely. Hands and knees, I crawled across the floor, leaving a winding trail of blood: “No! Sophia! I’m begging you! Give Leo back to me!!” Martha, the housekeeper, happened to be walking past with a pair of garden shears. I seized the hem of her skirt, clinging with desperate hands: “Martha! You watched me grow up! Help me! Please—save Leo!” Martha stopped. Conflict twisted across her face. In the end, she took one quiet step backward and pulled her skirt free from my grasp: “Mr. Reynold gave his orders.” “Household matters are Sophia’s domain now.” “And if you don’t behave—that goes for you too.” My body froze in place. Boundless cold pierced straight through my heart. Sophia flicked her wrist. Several vagrant men immediately closed in around me. “Have your fun with her.” “And make sure you film every second of her pathetic begging.” The stench—filth and rot—pressed closer. Rough hands tore my evening gown apart. I snatched the pruning shears from the ground and drove the blade against my own carotid artery. The sharp edge broke the skin instantly. “Get away from me!! One more step and I’ll bleed out right in front of you!!” The smile on Sophia’s face only deepened. She held the urn over the reeking garbage bin, fingers loosening one by one. “Go ahead and try, Vivian.” “You wouldn’t want to see Leo’s ashes mixed in with the garbage, would you?” White powder slipped free, falling straight into the rotting heap below. “No—!!” I threw myself forward like a maddened animal, but a bodyguard’s boot caught me square in the stomach, slamming me to the ground. I could only watch—helpless, screaming—as the last trace of Leo merged with garbage and food scraps until it was indistinguishable from waste. Just then, the iron gate at the back of the courtyard groaned open. I turned my head, numb and hollow, and looked directly into Julian’s face—every drop of blood draining from it. —

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260811pXNSJKSpoH 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni877426”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

Eric and I were together for seven years. The thing he said to me most often was: “Sorry, I forgot.” He forgot my birthday. Forgot the trips we’d planned. Forgot to buy medicine when I was burning up with a hundred-and-four-degree fever. I’d cried over it. I’d fought with him about it. He’d always rub his temples, exhausted: “Once this busy stretch is over, I’ll make it up to you.” Looking at the weariness pooled beneath his eyes, I swallowed my hurt again and again, telling myself he was tired—that I shouldn’t make things harder for him. Until Grandma was suddenly on her deathbed, gripping my hand with what little strength she had left: “Harper… I still haven’t met your boyfriend…” I dialed his number with trembling fingers. It rang twice before he hung up. Eric sent back a cold text: **[Busy. We’ll talk when I’m home.]** At the same time, the company’s new intern Sarah updated her Instagram: **[Successfully convinced Boss to ditch work for a movie today!]** Half a face was visible in the photo beside hers. Eric’s. So when I needed him most, his time and attention went to someone else. Then there was no point in continuing this anymore. … The heart monitor flatlined into a cold, unbroken line. I reached over and closed Grandma’s eyes—the eyes that death hadn’t been able to shut. When I signed the death certificate, my hands shook so badly I could barely hold the pen. The nurse looked at me with concern. “Would you like us to contact another family member to help?” I shook my head. Fifteen years ago, my parents died in a car accident. I was about to be placed in a group home when Grandma took three connecting buses to come get me and bring me home with her. To raise me, she’d worked simultaneously as a milk delivery woman, a gardener, and a waitress. She’d wrecked her body doing it, and even on her deathbed, she was still worrying about me—afraid the man I’d chosen wouldn’t take proper care of me. I took three days off. Alone, I contacted the funeral home and watched her go into the cremation chamber. It wasn’t until I was holding the urn that I finally collapsed against the wall and sobbed. Eric’s call came through. “You took time off? Why?” I forced down the sound of crying. “I just… wanted to rest for a couple days.” He paused, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Have you been crying?” I was about to answer when a startled female voice came through from his end: “What happened to Harper? Did some creep grope her on the subway or something? If Eric had been there, no one would’ve messed with her!” Sarah. I had no idea what to say. Before, I would have demanded to know why he was with her again. Told her to mind her own damn business. But now, I just felt tired. When I said nothing, Eric cut in, his tone scolding yet indulgent: “Sarah, knock it off.” “So, Harper, what’s going on?” His voice went soft. “I’m done with work now. Just tell me straight.” All I felt was cold. I mumbled something vague and hung up. After the arrangements were handled, I dragged my exhausted body back to the apartment. The moment I pushed open the door, I froze. Sarah was wearing one of Eric’s dress shirts, bare-legged, curled up in his arms watching a movie. I’d begged him countless times to watch movies with me. He’d always pat my head: “I’ve got a multi-million-dollar case to deal with. Next time, Harper. I promise I’ll make up for every movie I owe you.” He could find the time to watch movies with someone else, but he’d never kept a single promise to me. Was he really that busy? Or was it because I never threw tantrums—so I was the one whose feelings didn’t require maintenance? Hearing me come in, Sarah looked up: “Oh! Harper’s home!” She opened the shoe cabinet with practiced ease, trotted over, and held out a pair of disposable slippers. “Come in, come in—it’s cold outside.” I looked down. On her feet were my favorite fuzzy slippers. As if she were the lady of this house. Before I moved in with Eric, I’d had a Maine Coon I’d raised for three years. He made me give it away, citing his germophobia. Yet now he casually took the blanket he always used and draped it over Sarah’s shoulders. He turned to me, his tone as light as if he were discussing tomorrow’s weather: “Harper, Sarah’s landlord kicked her out today. We’ve got a spare room anyway—let her stay for a while.” “You’ve always been reasonable. I know you won’t make a fuss about it.” Reasonable. I’d been hearing that word for too many years. I looked up, eyes rimmed red. “And what if I do make a fuss?” He stared at me, stunned. I spoke softly: “Eric, let’s break up.” —

The air went still for a beat. Eric’s brows drew together: “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like,” I said. “If you two want to live together, there’s a hotel across the street. Get a room.” Sarah’s eyes reddened, her lower lip caught between her teeth: “Harper, you’ve got it wrong! Eric and I aren’t like that… If it upsets you, I’ll leave right now…” She wiped at her eyes and made to go, but Eric grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him, shielding her. His face went completely cold: “Harper, watch what you say. What’s the point of bullying a young girl?” “How many times have I told you—Sarah is like a little sister to me. We grew up together. She doesn’t know anyone else in Manhattan. What’s wrong with me looking out for her?” “And don’t forget—this is *my* apartment!” Watching movies with her was looking out for her. Moving her into the apartment he shared with his girlfriend was looking out for her. Fighting with me over and over for her sake—all just looking out for her. I smiled bitterly: “OK. Keep looking out for her, then. I’ll move out.” I walked straight to the bedroom to pack. Eric soothed the shaken Sarah and coaxed her into taking a shower before finally appearing in the doorway: “Haven’t you made enough of a scene?” “It’s the middle of the night. Where would you even go? Besides, you have work tomorrow.” When I didn’t stop packing, he softened his tone. “…I promise there’s nothing between us.” My hands stilled. I looked at him: “Eric, do you remember the call I made three days ago?” He pressed his lips together. “I was busy. Forgot to call you back.” “Busy with what?” “Work.” The answer came fast, but his eyes slid away from mine. He’d been with Sarah. I didn’t call him out on it. I quietly zipped my suitcase shut. Seven years, and everything I’d left in this apartment didn’t even fill a twenty-four-inch carry-on. On the couch, Sarah’s clothes and snacks were piled everywhere. Eric blocked the door: “Is this really necessary? All because I didn’t return a phone call?” “Harper, you’re almost thirty. Aren’t you a little old for this childish running-away act?” He rubbed his brow. “I don’t have the energy to coax you back.” I didn’t need him to. I stepped around him and saw the key hanging behind the door. Early in our relationship, he’d pressed it into my palm with a tender smile: “Welcome home, my lady. From now on, this place is our safe harbor.” What a shame that *from now on* was over. I pulled the key off its hook and tossed it on the cabinet, then yanked open the front door. Eric’s expression shifted—he moved to stop me—but from the bathroom, Sarah called out timidly: “Eric, I forgot to grab a towel. Could you get me one?” Eric turned away without a second’s hesitation. From inside, Sarah’s voice came, soft and coy: “Eric, maybe I should just leave. Harper’s so upset…” His tone carried a trace of contempt he didn’t seem to notice: “Relax. She won’t actually leave. She loves me too much. This is just her throwing a tantrum for show—she’ll be back in a couple days.” I smiled, bitter to the bone. So he did know I loved him. But Eric—even love runs out eventually. I pulled my suitcase through the door and let it close behind me. At the hotel, I opened my laptop and started writing my resignation letter. —

Vivian, the HR manager, didn’t approve my resignation. She asked me to come to her office the next day to talk. The next morning brought a downpour. I hadn’t brought an umbrella and was drenched by the time I ran into the building. I was wringing water from my clothes in the lobby when a black Bentley pulled up outside. Eric stepped out with an umbrella, sheltering Sarah in the crook of his arm as they climbed the steps together. He spotted me and frowned. “Why didn’t you call me for a ride?” Sarah covered her mouth. “Seriously, Harper—it’s on the way! You’re soaking wet. What kind of image does that give the company?” I said nothing, quietly straightening my wet sleeves. I’d asked him so many times before. On rainy days when I couldn’t get a cab, I’d ask if he could pick me up since he drove right past. He’d only ever reply with cold indifference: “I’m in a rush. Besides, it wouldn’t look good if colleagues saw. Just take an Uber.” I looked up at him: “Director Eric, we’ve already broken up. Please don’t say things that could give people the wrong idea.” A flash of triumph flickered in Sarah’s eyes. Eric’s gaze went ice-cold: “Fine. Let’s see how long you keep this up. Sarah, let’s go.” In her office, Vivian sighed: “Harper, are you sure about this?” She studied me, her expression caught between admiration and regret. “Back then you turned down an offer from an international firm to come here for Eric. You’ve finally worked your way up to project lead. Quitting over a lovers’ quarrel—it’s not worth it.” Vivian was my college classmate. I gave a tired smile. “Vivian, this isn’t spite. We really broke up.” “My grandma passed away. I want to take her home. Manhattan isn’t the place for me anymore.” She stared at me for a long time, then sighed: “Alright. But you’ve been on this core project for three years. You need to see it through—it’ll be important for your next job search.” I agreed, grateful. My flight was booked for next Wednesday—just enough time to wrap things up. To finish sooner, I stayed late working into the night. At some point Eric appeared, rapping his knuckles on my desk, holding out an iced latte: “Why aren’t you answering my messages?” I checked my phone. An iMessage from two hours ago: **[What kind of milk do you take in your coffee?]** Meanwhile, Sarah had just posted on Instagram—more than a dozen coffee cups spread across her desk, captioned: **[Eric’s such a dummy—didn’t know what I liked so he ordered one of EVERYTHING. I’m gonna turn into a little piggy! He spilled one though, what a waste 🥺]** I looked at the coffee stain on the rim of the cup in front of me and pushed it straight into the trash. “Sorry. I’m lactose intolerant.” Eric blinked, frowning. “Since when?” “Always.” “Sorry. I forgot.” Silence stretched between us. Eric shifted uncomfortably for a long moment before speaking again: “…Harper, that project you’ve been leading for three years—could you hand it off to Sarah? Let her get some practice?” —

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202608112GuSF8d3Cr 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni286846”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

The night before our wedding, my fiancé, Don Lucian Bellandi, slid a prenuptial agreement across the desk toward me. “Sign it, Alessia.” His voice was perfectly calm. I turned to the last page and discovered that once I signed, control of the three docks my father had left me would pass to him. And every time I wanted to use my own money, I would need Valentina’s approval first. She was my best friend. Yet there she stood beside Lucian, holding my prenup, with even the pages I needed to sign already folded down for me. “I drafted the agreement with the attorney.” She handed me the pen. “After the wedding, North Harbor will be transferred into the Bellandi family trust. Lucian will oversee operations, and I’ll handle the accounts and any emergencies.” I looked up at her. “Why would you be managing my docks?” Valentina gave a quiet laugh. “Because signing your name is the only thing you know how to do. If North Harbor were really left in your hands, someone would take it from you within a month.” Lucian leaned back in his chair and said nothing. I kept reading. The agreement covered more than North Harbor. It included the warehouses, shipping licenses, and two properties my father had left me. Once I signed, Lucian would become the primary trustee. Valentina would be the secondary trustee. And I, the actual owner, would need approval from one of them before spending more than fifty thousand dollars. “Is this a prenup or a guardianship agreement?” The room went quiet for several seconds. Lucian frowned. “Don’t start acting up now.” That line again. For the past six years, that was what he said every time I disagreed with him. When I refused to move into the Bellandi estate, he called it a tantrum. When I objected to his bodyguards following me into dressing rooms, he said I was being childish. When I wanted to inspect the docks my father had left me, he accused me of risking my life for no reason. Valentina sat down beside me. “Alessia, we’re trying to protect you.” She softened her voice as if she were speaking to a child who could not understand. “You know how many people have been watching North Harbor since Don Vescari died.” Valentina patted the back of my hand. “Without the Bellandi family, you wouldn’t even have made it through your father’s funeral, much less held on to his territory.” “So I should be grateful that you’re taking it from me?” “No one is taking anything from you.” Lucian finally lost his patience. “Once we’re married, we’ll be a family.” I looked at the two names in the agreement. Lucian Bellandi. Valentina Rossetti. They were the ones who looked like a family. I suddenly remembered my visit to the lakeside estate an hour earlier—the house where Lucian and I were supposed to live after the wedding. My dresses hung in the walk-in closet of the master suite, but only Lucian’s and Valentina’s fingerprints had been registered for the safe room. Even the south-facing suite on the second floor had been recarpeted in the dark green Valentina liked. The housekeeper told me it was Miss Rossetti’s room. Whenever she worked late, she would stay at the estate. No one asked what I wanted. No one cared whether I was willing to hand over everything my father had left me. Lucian glanced at his watch. “The wedding is tomorrow morning. Sign it and get some rest.” He placed the pen in my hand. Valentina stood beside him, looking down at me. They were both waiting. Waiting for me to do what I always did—to hesitate, to hurt, and then to obey. I closed my fingers around the pen. Then, in front of everyone, I tore the agreement in half. The rip of paper cracked through the room. Lucian’s expression darkened instantly. “Alessia, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” I tossed the torn agreement onto the desk. “I’m not signing it.” “And tomorrow’s wedding is off.”

No one spoke. Valentina recovered first. “You’re just overwhelmed.” She bent down to gather the torn pages, even managing a small smile. “A lot of brides lose control before their weddings. Go back to your room. We can talk about this tomorrow.” She reached for my arm. I moved out of her reach. “What gives you the right to send me to my room, Valentina?” Her hand froze in midair. Lucian stood. “Enough.” He told the attorney and the witnesses to leave. When the door closed, he walked over to me. “Tell me what you’re so upset about.” I nearly laughed. Every page of that agreement stripped away one of my rights. Yet he was asking why I was upset. “Where were you this afternoon?” Something shifted in Lucian’s eyes. “At a family meeting.” “Which one?” “Alessia.” His voice turned cold. It was a warning. In the past, that tone would have silenced me immediately. But today, I took out my phone and opened a photograph. In it, Valentina held a cigarette between her lips while Lucian shielded the flame with one hand and lit it with the other. They stood so close they looked as if they were kissing. And in Valentina’s hand were the plans to my family’s warehouse. Two Bellandi capos stood behind them, as if Lucian and Valentina were the true master and mistress of North Harbor. The photo had been taken three hours earlier. At the time, Lucian had told me he would come home for dinner as soon as his meeting ended. “What were you doing at my docks?” Lucian stared at the photograph for a moment. “Warehouse Seven needs to be renovated after the wedding.” “Who approved that?” “It’s necessary.” “Who approved it?” I asked again. Valentina frowned. “Security at North Harbor is inadequate. Lucian plans to move some of the family’s cargo there. We were only inspecting the site in advance.” “What kind of cargo?” She fell silent. North Harbor operated under legitimate shipping licenses. My father had set one absolute rule while he was alive: the Bellandi family could use two of our routes, but drugs and human trafficking would never pass through Vescari docks. Lucian had promised me he would honor that rule. Now he was preparing to renovate Warehouse Seven without even speaking to me. “So the two of you decided everything a long time ago.” I pushed the phone toward Lucian. I watched Lucian, refusing to miss the slightest change in his expression. “After the wedding, I hand over North Harbor and Valentina manages it for you. The two of you ship in whatever you want, while I stay locked away at the estate and sign whatever papers you put in front of me.” I finished the plan they had not said aloud. “I won’t let danger come near you.” Lucian caught my wrist. “You don’t need to know what’s in every shipment, and you don’t need to deal with those people. You only need to be my wife.” Six years ago, my father died in a fire at the docks. Lucian was the one who carried me out of the burning warehouse. My face had been covered in soot, and I had clutched the necklace my father gave me so tightly it cut into my palm. Lucian wrapped me in his coat. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “You have me now.” I was twenty-one. I had lost my father and every source of security I had ever known. For six years, I held on to those words like a lifeline. Only later did I realize it had never been a lifeline. It was a collar locked around my neck. I pulled my hand free. “North Harbor is the inheritance my father left me. It isn’t a dowry I have to hand over when I marry you.” Lucian’s jaw tightened. “Your father is dead. He can’t protect you, and he can’t protect North Harbor.” The moment the words left his mouth, even he went still. My fingers slowly turned cold. Valentina spoke at once. “He didn’t mean it that way.” She always explained him for me. She arranged his meetings, tended his wounds, and remembered every capo’s preferences. She even had to tell me, on his behalf, that he loved me. I stared at him, the words cutting straight through my chest. “You’re right.” “My father is dead, so the two of you decided you were entitled to everything the Vescari family had left.” “But I’m his daughter. Even if I can’t hold North Harbor, neither of you has the right to use this marriage to rip it out of my hands.”

Valentina followed me out of the study. “Do you have to humiliate everyone the night before your wedding?” Downstairs, the staff were still arranging flowers in the ballroom. The entire Bellandi estate already knew something had gone wrong with the wedding. Her gaze passed over me and went first to the closed study door. She was supposed to be my best friend, but she was not worried about what I had just endured. She was worried that I had embarrassed Lucian on the other side of that door. She cared about Lucian’s pride and whether the Bellandi family could take control of North Harbor as planned tomorrow. She did not care that I had nearly lost everything my father left me with a single signature. “Step aside.” I headed for the stairs. Valentina grabbed my arm. “Lucian rejected the marriage the Commission arranged for him because he wanted to marry you. Do you have any idea how much pressure he took on for your sake?” “So I’m supposed to give him everything my father left me to repay him for being willing to marry me?” “Those docks will get you killed if they stay in your hands!” Her voice finally rose. “You can’t even fire a gun. You shake at the sight of blood. You don’t know how to command men or negotiate with the Commission. The Vescari family scattered years ago. Without Lucian, who would still address you as Miss Vescari?” I looked at her. “So that’s what you’ve always thought of me.” Valentina pressed her lips together. Within moments, she had recovered her composure. “I’m trying to help you.” “You can keep telling yourself that.” I returned to my bedroom. My wedding dress hung by the window. Fifteen seamstresses had spent three months embroidering its train. The sapphire necklace Lucian had sent me lay on the bed. Everything was beautiful. And expensive. But there was not a single thing in that room I had chosen for myself. I took off my formal dress and changed into a black one. I packed one suitcase. Over six years, Lucian had given me jewelry, cars, and property. I took none of it. All I packed were a few clothes, my father’s old pocket watch, and a leather-bound ledger. When I opened the door, Lucian was standing outside. His expression changed when he saw the suitcase. “Where are you going?” “Back to the old Vescari house.” “It’s been empty for five years.” “It’s still my home.” He blocked the doorway. “At least three families have people watching you tonight. You won’t make it out of Bellandi territory.” “Are you protecting me or holding me prisoner?” “Don’t force me to use stronger measures on you tonight.” I stared at him. He seemed to realize how harsh that sounded and reached for my face. “Alessia, I don’t want to fight with you. Go through with the wedding tomorrow. We can discuss the agreement afterward.” I turned my face away. “There won’t be a wedding.” “That isn’t your decision.” He did not raise his voice. But those words finally made everything clear. He had always been like this. He opened car doors for me gently. He draped coats around my shoulders gently. And then, just as gently, he decided where I was allowed to go. Lucian took the suitcase from me and handed it to a guard. “Take the luggage back.” He looked at me and added, “She is not to leave the estate until the wedding is over.” Two guards approached me. They had once served my father and protected me for years. But now they answered to Lucian. I did not resist. I simply walked back into the bedroom and closed the door. Ten minutes later, Valentina brought me a glass of warm milk. She set it on the table. “Get some sleep. When you wake up tomorrow, you’ll be grateful Lucian didn’t indulge this little tantrum.” I glanced at the milk without touching it. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow’s wedding?” She paused. Valentina picked up the milk and held it out to me. “Of course. Without me overseeing security, the accounts, and the staff for you, you wouldn’t even know which door to use for your own wedding tomorrow.” I did not take it. Instead, I opened the digital access log the housekeeper had sent me that afternoon. “Then why have you stayed overnight at this estate forty-seven times in the past six months? I wasn’t even here for twelve of them.” She glanced at the log. “I often stay late handling family business for Lucian. There’s nothing unusual about spending the night when work runs late.” “Then why do you have fingerprint access to the safe room in the master suite? And why have you entered it six times?” “Lucian keeps his documents there. He gave me permission.” I turned to the final page and pointed to the order of authority. “Why did you draft my prenup? Why do the estate staff, the safe room, and the harbor accounts all answer to you before they answer to me?” Valentina’s expression finally hardened. “Because before you moved in, I was the one managing this estate, Lucian’s business, and even his escape routes whenever someone tried to kill him.” She stared at me. “For the past six years, I was the one who went with Lucian to meet the Commission. I dug bullets out of him when he was shot. I kept the capos who opposed your marriage under control.” “Alessia, once you marry him, all you have to do is put on your wedding dress and sit beside Lucian. I’ll still be the one deciding how this household is run.” She looked at me as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “I’ve taken on every responsibility that should have belonged to the future Donna. What could you possibly be unhappy about?” I tightened my grip on my phone until its cold edge dug painfully into my palm. Only then did I understand. It was not that she had no sense of boundaries. She had long considered herself the future Donna of the Bellandi family. To her, my marriage was merely a ceremony that would deliver North Harbor to Lucian. My role was to wear the wedding dress. Afterward, she would remain at Lucian’s side and live the life that should have been mine. “Since you’ve worked so hard, why don’t you take my place as the bride tomorrow?” The color drained from Valentina’s face.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202608119UUzDdtQX2 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni419433”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

I was at the hospital waiting for my prenatal results when I got the photos. My husband. And one of his female students. In bed. 【Mrs. Whitmore, wanna guess who he loves more? The baby, or me?】 I drove straight to his office. He didn’t even flinch. “You’re pregnant. I just needed to take care of a normal urge. You’re the only one I love.” To prove it, he deleted her number right in front of me. Not long after, the hospital called me to come pay the bill. “Your husband has penile entrapment and needs surgery. We need a family member’s signature.” I steadied myself against the wall and took the consent form the doctor handed me. The line at the bottom read: after removal, all reproductive function will be permanently lost. I looked at the two of them on the bed, still fused together, and signed. Then I scheduled an abortion for three days later. If he loved living on the edge this much, I’d take him all the way there. … When they wheeled Aiden Whitmore out of surgery, the anesthesia hadn’t fully worn off. His face was the color of paper. He was trying to sit up. The movement tore at his stitches. Cold sweat broke across his forehead. His voice came out cracked. “How’s Lena? Is she okay?” I stood there holding the payment slip, watching the veins jump in his neck, and all I could feel was how absurd this was. He was the one who’d just been cut open on the operating table. And the first words out of his mouth were about whether Lena was in pain. I followed the gurney into the room. He grabbed my hand and held on. “Selene. Tell me. Is she okay?” I pulled my hand free and looked him in the eye, one word at a time. “When the two of you were stuck together, did you stop to ask her? Now that you’re apart, why are you asking me?” I pulled out the bill. My voice was flat. “You’re a professor. Can’t you read the instructions on a sex toy?” His expression darkened. He turned his face away. “You’re three months pregnant. I can’t touch you. So I found someone else to blow off some steam. What’s the big deal? I already told you I don’t feel anything for her. Do you really want to make a scene in a hospital?” I looked at the face I’d loved for seven years, and the only thing I felt was regret. I didn’t argue with him. I turned and went to sign the discharge papers. On the drive home, he held my hand tightly. “Lena and I, it’s just sex. You know how it is. My friends all mess around like that.” “There’s only ever one wife. I know that.” I looked down at his hand around mine. I didn’t pull away right away. He exhaled and tightened his grip. “Go home and rest. I know today was a lot. I promise it won’t happen again.” His promises. I’d heard them so many times my ears had gone numb. Before bed, I took out the disinfectant, the way I always did. His expression changed in an instant. He snatched the bottle out of my hand and hurled it to the floor. Glass sprayed across my calves. Beads of blood rose up and wouldn’t stop. “Enough already. I just had surgery today. Can’t you give it a rest for one goddamn day?” I crouched to pick up the shards. He yanked me back up by the arm. “Selene, I’m telling you right now. Don’t try to use this to control me.” “Did you really think you could keep me on a leash with something like this?” He flung my hand away. I lost my footing and fell backward. My lower back slammed into the corner of the bed. I slid to the floor. My face went bloodless. Something warm was sliding down between my legs. Aiden’s pupils contracted. He scooped me up in a panic and ran for the door. “Selene, don’t scare me like this.” “I’m taking you to the hospital right now. Nothing’s going to happen to you.” I curled up in the back seat. The pain came in waves, dragging my consciousness in and out. I clawed at the seat trying to hold on to something, and my fingers closed around a used piece of lingerie. Beside it, a used imported condom. Aiden’s voice came out guilty. “The lab guys pushed those on me after the project wrapped. I tried them out with Lena first.” I closed my eyes. I didn’t have the energy to deal with him. By the time we reached the hospital, the pain had stolen my voice. He carried me into the ER. His phone kept buzzing against my hip. He glanced at the screen and broke into a sweat. “Lena says she’s hurting down there again. I need to go check on her. I’ll be right back.” He didn’t hesitate. He turned and left. I lay on the exam table with tears sliding out of the corners of my eyes. Close to dawn, Aiden came back reeking of perfume. He saw the anti-miscarriage meds and the diagnosis paperwork on the table and gave a bitter little laugh. “Selene. Your acting is getting really impressive.” “The baby’s fine, isn’t it? You had me over at Lena’s place worrying about you all night.” “And here you are, putting on a whole show over nothing.” I didn’t respond. I picked up my phone and typed out an iMessage. 【Vanessa. Send me that divorce attorney of yours. The one who’s never lost a case.】

When he saw I wasn’t going to speak, he lost interest. He grabbed his coat. “Something came up at the school. I don’t have time to sit around with you.” The door slammed behind him. I sat alone in the hospital room for a long time. Then I asked the nurse to take out my IV and signed my own discharge papers. Back home I started packing. I didn’t want to be scrambling three days from now. The most important thing was the evidence of Aiden’s affair. I screenshotted it page by page. A notification popped up on my phone. Local trending news. “Yale professor rushed to hospital with female student after intercourse-related adhesion. Doctors performed emergency separation on-site.” The video was crystal clear. Aiden and Lena were barely covered by a thin blanket. Every word the doctors said had been recorded. The comment section was on fire. “A Yale professor? So this is what the Ivy League is turning out these days? I’m dying.” “With his own student? Buddy, you can go ahead and bury your career right now.” “His wife’s literally pregnant. Is this guy even human?” The university moved fast. The official announcement said an investigative committee had already been formed. Aiden was suspended from all teaching and research duties. Lena’s situation was under review. I turned off my phone and kept packing. The property deed. The bank statements from every year of our marriage. One folder at a time. Our wedding photo was still sitting on the nightstand. He was smiling with his eyes crinkled up, like a hero coming home from war. The glass already had a crack running through it. I turned the frame face down. My phone lit up. Vanessa had sent me a business card. 【Selene. The cases she takes usually settle at the first hearing.】 The doorbell rang. I opened it, and Lena dropped to her knees at my feet. Her eyes were swollen and red. She grabbed the hem of my pants with both hands. “Mrs. Whitmore. Please. I’m begging you. Let me go.” She was sobbing so hard her voice was barely working. “Please take the video down. If the school expels me, my parents will kill me.” “I’m begging you, Mrs. Whitmore…” I pulled my leg free and spoke coldly. “I didn’t post it. But whoever did? I think they did the right thing.” She lifted her head and stared at me. Her eyes were full of hate. That was when Aiden came home. He walked over in long strides, hauled Lena up, and pulled her against his chest. The look he gave me was ice. “Selene. This time you’ve gone too far.” His voice was heated. He was almost grinding the words out. “If you have a problem, come at me. Lena can’t even go back to her dorm right now. Do you understand that?” Before I could say anything, he drew a long breath. “It’s already all over the news. There’s only one way out of this. We’re getting divorced.” Lena’s head snapped up. Something calculating flickered through her eyes. When I didn’t respond, Aiden reached for my hand. His voice softened. “We’ll get divorced to kill the story. Once the noise dies down, we’ll remarry.” “By then the baby will be here. We’ll be a family of three.” Lena wiped her eyes and spoke softly. “Mrs. Whitmore. Don’t worry. I would never try to take Aiden from you.” I let the corner of my mouth twitch. My voice was very level. “Fine.” Aiden froze for a second. He clearly hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. Lena froze too, watching me like she was trying to work out an angle. I took a step back and started to close the door. “I’ll have my lawyer draft the papers. You can leave now.” Aiden’s face went black. Lena pressed herself against him and murmured, “Aiden, she’s just hurting right now. Let’s go.” He gave a cold snort, grabbed her arm, and left.

I closed the door and looked over the divorce agreement Vanessa’s attorney had just sent. Aiden could have his divorce. But the terms were mine to set. That same night, Lena rushed to go live. She was too young to hold her nerve. By the time I opened the stream, she had over thirty thousand viewers. She was in a little white dress. Her eyes were badly red. Every inch the victim. She covered her face and started to speak, voice choked. “Hi everyone. I’m Lena Bishop. I’m a student at Yale.” “About the video, I’m really sorry for taking up so much public attention.” She wiped clumsily at her tears. “But everything people are saying online is a lie. Professor Whitmore and I are truly in love.” The chat exploded. “Seriously? You slept with a married man and now you’re on live crying for sympathy?” “Girls these days really will do anything for money.” “Where’s the guy? Where’s he hiding? Come out and face this.” Lena bit her lip and looked at the camera, doing her earnest routine. “Professor Whitmore and his wife have been over for a long time. They were already planning to divorce.” “I’m not the other woman. I did nothing wrong.” As the comments turned uglier, she rushed to add: “If you don’t believe me, Professor Whitmore’s wife is going to go live and explain everything.” “Then you’ll all see I’ve been telling the truth.” She ended the stream at record speed. Not long after, my phone rang. I didn’t need to look to know it was Aiden. “She’s young. She can’t handle this kind of pressure. Go live tomorrow and say we’ve been in divorce proceedings for a while.” I didn’t say anything. He took it as anger, and his voice softened. “Selene. I swear to you. This is the last time.” “This is the only way to save my project. You don’t want all these years of my work to go down the drain, do you?” I hung up. I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. The doorbell rang. Aiden’s mother stood outside with an armful of health supplements. The moment she settled on the couch, she took my hand with a warmth I’d never seen from her. “Selene. You’ve gotten thinner.” “That’s Aiden. He hasn’t been taking care of you. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him.” She patted my hand and smiled. “That penthouse in the city? I’ll have it transferred into your name. Consider it a way of making it up to you.” “For the sake of the Whitmore family, go live tomorrow and smooth this over.” I thought about the early years of my marriage, when she had used every chance to grind me down. She had looked down on my family, and at the same time tried to squeeze every last bit of value out of me. I slid my hand out from under hers without making a show of it. Her expression shifted immediately. “All right. I’ll do what you want.” She caught the words and clapped her hands, springing to her feet. “Good girl. I knew you’d see the big picture.” After she left, I went back to organizing my files, one calm step at a time. To make sure nothing slipped through the cracks, I backed everything up to Vanessa. A repeatedly unfaithful Yale professor. I doubted any Ivy would want him now. I was going to watch the Whitmore family destroy their so-called century-old academic legacy with their own hands. I logged into a new social media account and posted my first update. “Hi everyone. I’m Selene Vance, Aiden Whitmore’s wife.” “Tomorrow morning at nine, I’ll be addressing the issue that’s been on everyone’s mind.” But before that, there was something more important I had to do. Something I would end with my own hands.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260811v7wqbu6fQc 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni594817”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

My fiancé told me the neighborhood was getting sketchy and suggested we set up emergency safe words. “You absolutely loathe coconut,” Jackie had said, his arm wrapped casually around my shoulder. “You literally gag at the smell. So if you ever need me in an emergency, just text or call me and say: “I’m craving coconut.” I’ll know instantly that something is wrong. As for mine, let’s make it…” But when I actually found myself in danger and called him, the person who picked up was his “female bestie.” Lexi’s voice was dripping with irritation. “Jackie, your girlfriend is doing her attention-seeking thing again,” she shouted into the background. “She’s calling in the middle of the night saying she wants coconut. Are you actually going to go buy some? If you leave, we’re short a fourth for poker. It’s so annoying!” There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before Jackie’s dismissive voice drifted through the speaker. “I’m not going. It’s that time of the month; she just likes to make a scene when she’s bored.” Later, around one in the morning, Jackie—who had a bad knee and hadn’t stepped foot in a gym in years—sent me a text. “I’m heading to the gym.” I only sent back a detached reply: “Oh, drive safe then.” Then I wrapped myself tighter in my blanket and went back to sleep. … It was Lexi who had hung up the phone on me that night, not even waiting for a response. I sat there, gripping my phone, my entire body trembling. A wave of bitter regret washed over me for ever putting my faith in Jackie’s words. I tried to dial 911, but before my thumb could press the screen, a slick, low voice hissed from the shadows behind me. “Craving coconut? Want me to go buy some for you?” Tears of sheer terror sprang to my eyes. I spun around, my voice cracking as I stammered, “What do you want? Money? I can give you whatever you want. Please, just don’t kill me!” The man only smiled, a slow, casual tilt of his lips as he shook his head. “I don’t want your money. I just want your life.” I froze, the sheer absurdity of the words forcing a question out of my throat. “Why?” His face darkened instantly, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Why? You have the nerve to ask me why? We dated online for months. I gave you everything I had. You broke it off out of nowhere, without a single explanation. Why?” He took a step closer, his voice rising with erratic energy. “I transferred my entire savings to you just to keep you happy. Was that not enough? Women like you—vain, playing with people’s hearts—you deserve to die!” The man’s breathing grew ragged, his agitation peaking as he suddenly lunged forward and gripped my throat. I struggled violently, my hands clawing at his wrists. Yet, as the suffocating pressure mounted, a strange, cold clarity washed over my brain. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I did not know this man. I had never engaged in an online relationship with him, and I had certainly never taken any money from anyone—I didn’t even accept expensive gifts from Jackie. It was a mistake. He had targeted the wrong person. I needed to explain. Just as my consciousness began to flicker into darkness, the grip on my throat suddenly vanished. I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. “Dying like this is too easy for you,” the man muttered, staring down at me with a manic, vacant look in his eyes. “Someone like you needs to suffer. You need to rot from the inside out…” I didn’t waste a second. Dragging air into my burning lungs, I cried out, “I am not the woman you met online! I don’t know who you are, and I have never catfished anyone!” The man paused, let out a dry chuckle, and pulled out his phone. “Still trying to lie to me?” He swiped through his screen and turned it toward me, displaying a series of chat logs. “These are the photos you sent me. Are you going to tell me this isn’t you?” My eyes scanned the screen. The first thing I noticed were the prominent transaction receipts—Venmo and CashApp transfers totaling over two hundred thousand dollars. Then, I looked at the photos. I wanted to tell him that I regularly posted selfies on Instagram, that someone must have stolen them to create a fake profile. But the words died in my throat. I stared, paralyzed. The photos were indeed of me. And someone had definitely used them to catfish this man. But these particular images had never been posted on my public social media. They were intimate, slightly revealing photos—the kind I had only ever shared with one person. A horrifying realization sparked in the back of my mind, though I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it. “I only sent those photos to my fiancé,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “They shouldn’t be anywhere on the internet.” The man let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Right. And wasn’t I your fiancé? The stupid, gullible fiancé who paid for everything?” “No! Please, listen to me,” I pleaded, sweat slicking my forehead as panic escalated. “I have an actual fiancé. We’ve been together for years, and we’re supposed to get married next month.” The man’s expression hardened. “So you’re telling me you were playing both of us?” Desperate, I unlocked my phone and held it out to him. “Look! This is my actual phone number, my real Instagram, my real Snapchat. I don’t have burner accounts. Everything is registered under my real name. I can call customer support right now in front of you to prove it. We can trace where those money transfers actually went!” I broke down, tears streaming down my face. “Please, just believe me! I didn’t do this! I don’t want to die for someone else’s crime!” The man remained silent, studying me with a piercing glare. After a long, agonizing silence, he spoke. “You said you only sent those photos to your fiancé?” I nodded frantically. “So,” he continued slowly, “you’re telling me the person who catfished me and stole my money is your fiancé? He put on a high-pitched voice and pretended to be a woman online?” I wanted to nod, because even though I couldn’t comprehend why Jackie would do such a thing, he was the only one who possessed those photos. “I’ll call him right now!” I said, grabbing my phone and immediately dialing Jackie’s number. It rang and rang, but there was no answer. I called again, and then a third time. Each call went straight to voicemail. “He’s playing poker,” I muttered, my voice hollow. “He probably has his phone on silent.” “Are you done acting?” the man asked quietly. He tapped his screen and played an audio message. “Babe, I really want some of that fancy coconut water, but it’s just so expensive…” A sweet, high-pitched female voice drifted into the quiet room. I had never heard that exact voice before, yet a sickening sense of familiarity crept over me. “Maybe… maybe they used a voice-changer app?” I suggested weakly. The man stared at me, his face devoid of emotion. He stood up, taking a slow step toward me. My mind raced, but my limbs felt heavy, frozen in place by fear. As he reached out to cover my mouth, a sudden memory sparked. “I can’t eat coconut! I’m severely allergic to it!” He paused, his hand hovering in mid-air. I scrambled to my feet, my legs shaking violently, and ran into my bedroom. I pulled open a drawer and retrieved a medical report from three years ago. “Look,” I gasped, thrusting the papers into his hands. “I was hospitalized because of an allergic reaction to coconut oil in a dessert. I literally can’t touch the stuff. Why would I ask you to buy me coconut water?” The apartment fell dead silent. The man stared at the medical report for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath. “I believe you.” Before I could even begin to feel relief, he added, “But a burner account can be set up under any name, and money can be routed through different cards. And just because you’re allergic doesn’t mean you couldn’t have asked for it to give to someone else. None of this is absolute proof.” My heart leaped back into my throat. But the man kept his eyes locked on mine. “However, your reaction tells me you aren’t lying.” Right then, my phone rang. The man gestured for me to answer it. I picked up, and Jackie’s annoyed voice filled the space. “What the hell do you want? It’s the middle of the night. I’ve been losing all evening, and you keep blowing up my phone. You’re ruining my night!” Hearing his voice, a wave of cold fury washed over my fear. I screamed into the receiver, “Jackie, did you share my private photos with someone else? Are you out of your mind? Those were private! Do you have any idea what is happening to me right now—” I caught the man’s warning gaze and abruptly cut myself off. Jackie went silent, but in the background, Lexi’s voice rang out clearly. “Oh my god, what is her problem? Why does she have to call every five minutes? Women are so exhausting.” I felt the man beside me stiffen. The pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place with terrifying precision. “Lexi,” I spat into the phone, “did you catfish someone using my photos?” The line went dead quiet for a second before Lexi flared up. “What the fuck did you just say? Are you insane? I don’t even like dating in real life, why the hell would I catfish anyone? Branda, did you get caught sleeping around and now you’re trying to pin your mess on me?” The louder and more defensive she got, the more certain I became. “Jackie, I—” “Branda, can you stop making a scene?” Jackie interrupted, his voice dripping with cold indifference. “You think everyone is as obsessed with drama as you are? I’m out with my friends. Can’t you have a life of your own for one night? I lost a ton of money tonight because you kept distracting me. Go find a show to watch. “General Hospital” has like fifteen thousand episodes, go catch up on that!” The line went dead. I sat on the sofa, staring blankly ahead. I looked up at the man standing near my door. The threat of immediate violence seemed to have passed, but the tension in the room was still thick. Even if he believed me, there was no guarantee he would let me go. I closed my eyes in exhaustion. When I opened them, the man was already turning the doorknob. He stopped, looking back at me with a cryptic, humorless smile. “Do you know what I used to do for a living?” Without waiting for an answer, he stepped out and closed the door behind him. It took several minutes for the silence to sink in. I reached up and realized my face was soaked with cold sweat. I picked up my phone to dial the police, but my hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t press the numbers. He had entered my apartment without making a sound. If I called the police and they failed to catch him, what would he do? Would he come back for me? Was his final question a curious inquiry, or a quiet threat? I didn’t sleep a single wink that night. The next morning, I dragged my exhausted body toward my office building. As I approached the entrance, I saw Jackie waiting by the doors. He had dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hadn’t slept either. The moment he saw me, he rushed over. “Branda! Are you okay? I was worried sick about you last night! I didn’t sleep at all, and I came straight here to check on you.” I looked at him. Despite my exhaustion, my mind had never been clearer. If he was so worried, why had he ignored my safe word? Why hadn’t he come to my apartment last night, instead of waiting until my exact shift started to show up at my office? I admit, I used to be blinded by my feelings for him. I had tolerated the subtle hostility from his friend group. I had ignored Lexi’s unwarranted dislike of me. But in the face of life and death, all of those excuses evaporated. I let out a soft, cold laugh. “Jackie, when I used my safe word last night, why didn’t you come?” His eyes flickered with guilt, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “We rarely get the whole group together these days. If I just up and left, it would have ruined the whole mood.” “Do you even hear yourself?” I asked, my voice flat. “My physical safety is worth less to you than keeping the mood light for your friends?” Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, Jackie frowned. “Well, Lexi said girls always use stuff like that to test their boyfriends. She said you probably weren’t in actual danger, and that you just wanted to force me to come home and ruin our night.” I scoffed, refusing to waste my breath on his excuses. Instead, I asked the question that mattered. “The private photos I sent you—who did you share them with? Was it Lexi?” Jackie’s posture went rigid, his defense mechanisms kicking in. “Of course not! Why would I do that? Those were private. I’d never show anyone.” “Think very carefully before you answer,” I said coldly. “Sharing intimate images without consent is a crime. I’ve already contacted a lawyer.” “What?” Jackie’s voice cracked. “You’re threatened to take legal action against me? Are you crazy? I’m your fiancé!” “My fiancé distributed my private photos,” I said. “Why shouldn’t I protect myself?” Jackie’s chest heaved as he struggled to find words. Finally, he let out a long breath and deflated. “Okay, fine. I did it. But I swear I didn’t mean any harm! You know how Lexi is… she’s basically one of the guys. She told me she wanted to learn how to be softer, how to be more feminine so she could actually find a boyfriend. She asked to see how you carried yourself, how you took photos. I only showed them to her so she could learn!” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “She used those photos to catfish a man and steal over two hundred thousand dollars from him. And last night, that man broke into my apartment. I almost became her scapegoat. I almost died.” Jackie’s eyes widened in temporary shock, but he quickly shook his head. “No, that’s impossible. There must be some misunderstanding. Lexi is loud and a bit clueless sometimes, but she would never do something like that. Branda, I know you don’t like her, but you can’t just accuse her of a felony.” I felt a sudden, profound sense of exhaustion. “Since you trust her so much—since you couldn’t even bother to check on me—why did you even bother setting up those safe words?” “If I hadn’t wasted my one phone call on you, I would have called the police immediately.” Jackie’s patience wore thin. He shoved his hands into his pockets, groaning in frustration. “But you’re fine, aren’t you? Nothing actually happened. Why do we have to make such a big deal out of this?” He muttered something else under his breath. “What did you say?” I demanded. Jackie gritted his teeth. “I said, aren’t you on your period anyway? If someone breaks in, they either want money or… you know. You don’t have that much cash in the apartment, and since it’s that time of the month, no guy was going to touch you. Lexi was right, you were perfectly safe. You just wanted to ruin my night.” The moment the words left his mouth, I swung my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “We’re done, Jackie,” I said, my voice deadly quiet. “You disgust me.” He stood frozen, clutching his cheek, before his face contorted in anger. “Branda, don’t do this! The venue is booked, the invitations are out, and you’re breaking up with me over this? There’s a limit to how dramatic you can be!” I raised my hand and slapped him again, even harder. “Get lost.” Turning on my heel, I walked into the office building, leaving him shouting behind me. “You’re going to regret this, Branda! You hear me? You’ll regret this!” I pulled out my phone and blocked him, his mother, and his entire friend group across every platform. Over the next week, Jackie tried calling me from dozens of burner numbers. Sometimes he begged, sometimes he made vague threats. I ignored all of them. His friends tried to reach out too. “Come on, Branda, give him a break. Don’t be like this.” I was planning to go to the police station the following morning to file a harassment report. But that night, at 1:00 AM, my phone lit up with a call from an unknown number. I picked it up, and a shaky, trembling voice came through the speaker. “B-Branda… I’m… I’m heading to the gym.” It was Jackie. And those were his exact safe words. I sat up in bed, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. I answered him in a light, casual tone. “Oh. Drive safe then.” I went to hang up, but Jackie panicked, shouting into the phone, “Wait! Please, wait—”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537553”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My father’s lungs have always been fragile, a lifelong battle with severe asthma that finally prompted me to buy the coastal house in Monterey. I wanted a quiet, salt-air sanctuary where he could finally breathe without struggling. So when Victoria told me her assistant, Austin Jenkins, had an aging father suffering from the same condition, and asked if they could stay with us for a short while, I agreed. I wanted to be generous. I had no idea it was only the first boundary she would cross. A few days later, Victoria insisted that Austin’s father, Harvey, wanted the east-facing master bedroom because he loved watching the sunrise. When I refused, she bypassed me entirely and went straight to my father. My father, always the peacemaker and terrified of causing tension between us, packed his bags and quietly gave up his room just to keep us from fighting. But this morning, Victoria pushed the line even further. “Your father gets up so many times in the middle of the night,” she said, her voice entirely casual as she sipped her coffee. “The pacing is ruinous for Harvey’s sleep. I think it’s best if your dad moves out.” I stared at her, wondering if I had misheard. “Repeat that,” I said quietly. “I said your father’s nightly routine is keeping Harvey awake. He needs to find another place.” Oh, someone was definitely moving out. But it wasn’t going to be my father. I looked at Victoria, seeing her clearly—perhaps for the first time in years. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll handle it at breakfast.” … Half an hour later, the four of us sat at the dining table: my father, myself, Austin, and Harvey. Maria, our housekeeper, and Victoria brought out breakfast. But Victoria hadn’t just helped; she had personally prepared a specialized, lung-healthy diet for Harvey, along with a heavy, savory Southern-style breakfast tailored exactly to Austin’s tastes. In six years of marriage, I had never once seen Victoria cook. If Austin and his father hadn’t moved in, I might have gone the rest of my life believing she didn’t know how. The first morning she cooked for them, I had voiced my quiet discomfort. Her response had been swift and dismissive: “Austin is young, trying to make it in the city while caring for an ailing father. As his CEO, it’s my responsibility to look after him. Don’t be so petty, Chris.” I had stayed silent then, pushing my food around my plate. But over the last two weeks, those small moments had accumulated, hardening into a heavy weight in my chest. It wasn’t just the breakfast. Victoria rode to and from the corporate headquarters with Austin every single day. The high-powered CEO of Callahan Group looked less like an executive and more like Austin’s personal driver. And her devotion went far deeper than daily routines. When my father was first diagnosed, I had begged Victoria to pull some strings to get him an appointment with Dr. Charles Crawford, the premier pulmonary specialist in the state. Every time, she nodded, promised she would, and then let it slide, citing her chaotic schedule. Yet, the very afternoon Harvey Jenkins crossed our threshold, Dr. Crawford was in our living room, conducting a private house call that Victoria had personally arranged. Lately, I had caught my father staring out at the ocean, his eyes rimmed with red. “Chris,” he had whispered to me the night before, his voice trembling. “Your mother worried when you married Victoria. You have a brilliant mind, but we aren’t old money. When a woman like that loves you, it’s a dream. But when she stops… the fall is hard.” My father’s choked words had kept me awake all night. I lay in the dark, wondering where Victoria and I had fractured. How had we reached a point where she felt comfortable bringing another young man into our home? Was it because my love had made her feel untouchable? Or was it simply that she no longer cared enough to hide her indifference? She used to care. There was a time when my family’s smallest needs were her priority. Now, her gaze passed over me as if I were a piece of the architecture. “I’m done,” Victoria said, setting her napkin down. Her eyes locked onto mine. The silent command was clear: Tell your father to leave. I stood up, walked down the hall to my study, and returned with a thick folder containing the deed and the original purchase documents for the villa. I laid them on the table right in front of her. She was the CEO of a multi-million-dollar company, yes. But this house was mine. “Read it out loud,” I said, looking her dead in the eye. The contract listed the sole owner of the property: my father, Thomas Wood. I had bought it in his name, a gift for his retirement. Victoria’s face hardened. “You’re being incredibly disappointing, Chris,” she said, her voice dropping an octave. “I expect this to be resolved by the time I get home tonight. Austin, grab your bag. We need to head to the office.” “Of course, Victoria,” Austin murmured, offering me a fleeting, polite nod before trailing after her. One young, attractive, and eager; the other powerful, wealthy, and giving. Watching them walk out the door together, a strange, cold clarity washed over me. I had known the truth for a long time. Six years of marriage is a difficult thing to dismantle; you cling to the wreckage hoping for a spark. But looking at their retreating figures, the last ember died. There was nothing left. Once the front door clicked shut, Harvey leaned back in his chair, picking his teeth with a toothpick. “Hey, you,” he called out toward the kitchen. “Get my medication ready.” He was talking to Maria. “Maria,” I said, “don’t touch it.” Harvey’s eyes narrowed as he glared at me. “What is your problem? Victoria explicitly told you to take care of me. What do you think you’re doing?” “Maria,” I said, ignoring him completely. “Pack up Harvey and Austin’s belongings. Put them on the driveway, then call a service to replace the bedding and deep-clean the guest rooms.” “I asked you a question!” Harvey slammed his hand on the table, standing up. “This is my house, and you are no longer welcome. That’s what I mean.” “You think you can play games with me? I’ll call Victoria right now.” “Go ahead.” I turned my back on him and walked upstairs. My father hurried after me, catching me on the landing. “Chris, did you and Victoria have a fight?” “No, Dad. I’ve just finally opened my eyes. I’m divorcing her.” He stared at me, searching my face. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “Then I’m behind you all the way.” He gave my shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze, then turned back to Maria. “Pack up their things. Don’t leave a single sock.” “I’m sorry you had to go through this, Dad,” I murmured. My father was a proud man, but he had swallowed his dignity, endured Harvey’s crude remarks, and quietly vacated his room, all to keep the peace in my marriage. He didn’t have to endure it anymore. Not for another second. “You… you’ll regret this!” Harvey was already red-faced, his phone pressed to his ear as he dialed Victoria. I walked up to the third-floor terrace. The morning sun was bright, reflecting off the Pacific Ocean. I leaned against the railing and waited. I wanted to see how fast Victoria would tear back here for Austin’s father. I wanted to see what choice she would make when pushed. Within twenty minutes, her Mercedes came roaring down the coastal drive. She had abandoned her workday for Austin’s father. I took out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “I’m divorcing Victoria,” I said. “Are you ready to take the case?” Victoria burst through the front door, Austin close behind her. Austin’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. “Chris, if you have an issue with me, you could have said it to my face. But throwing my elderly father out the minute my back is turned? That’s just cruel.” “If you had any self-respect, you would have taken your father and left days ago,” I said, my voice deadpan. “Stop playing the victim in a house that isn’t yours.” “Chris, that is enough!” Victoria snapped, her face twisted in rage. “Apologize to Harvey. Right now.” “If you don’t leave, things are going to get a lot worse.” “You’ve lost your mind,” Victoria said, taking a threatening step toward me. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on my son, Victoria.” My father stepped between us, his posture rigid. “Chris has given you everything. How can you treat him like this? Where is your conscience?” “What exactly have I done?” Victoria hissed. “Austin is my executive assistant. He was struggling, and I helped him. Is charity a crime now?” “You call this charity?” my father’s voice shook with anger. “I’m old, Victoria, not blind. The way you two look at each other under our own roof—you are humiliating my son, and you don’t even have the decency to hide it.” “Watch your mouth,” Victoria said coldly. “Austin and I have a strictly professional relationship. Only a dirty mind sees dirt everywhere.” Harvey wiped a theatrical tear from his cheek. “Victoria, please don’t fight because of me. We’ll leave.” “He’s right, Victoria,” Austin added, his voice cracking. “We shouldn’t have overstayed. If my father’s health suffers, so be it. We’ll pack up.” “You aren’t going anywhere,” Victoria said, her glare shifting back to me. “If anyone is leaving, it’s them. Chris, I never realized how petty and small you could be. You are a massive disappointment.” She pointed toward the door. “Take your father, go back to your family’s old place upstate, and stay there until you’ve cooled down and learned some gratitude.” I looked at her, entirely unmoved. “I showed you the deed. Are you illiterate, Victoria, or just willfully blind?” “How dare you—” She stopped, surprised by the absolute lack of fear in my eyes. “I don’t even recognize you anymore,” she spat. “No empathy. No sense of the bigger picture.” She turned to Austin, her voice softening. “Don’t worry, Austin. I’ll make sure your father is taken care of. Let’s go.” She walked out, but she couldn’t stay away. Less than two hours later, she was back, slamming the front door behind her. “We need to talk. Alone.” My father gave me a quiet look, then gestured for Maria to join him for a walk along the beach. “I am giving you three days,” Victoria said, her tone clinical, as if she were issuing a corporate mandate. “Three days to apologize to Harvey and Austin and make this right.” She wasn’t here to negotiate. She was handing down an ultimatum. Somewhere along the way, my feelings had ceased to exist in her equations. But three days was perfect. It was exactly the window I needed to set my plans in motion. “Three days,” I said quietly. “You’ll have your answer then.” Shortly after Victoria left, her personal driver—who had been on my payroll for years—sent me a screenshot of a text message Austin had sent her. Thank you for everything, Boss. The new place is beautiful, and my dad loves it. Attached was a photo of Austin and Harvey posing in front of a lavish, newly rented luxury condo overlooking the marina. I glanced at it once and deleted it. I had far more important things to attend to. The moment I first sensed the shift in Victoria—the coldness, the lies—I had begun preparing. I made a series of phone calls, securing the final pieces of the puzzle, and waited for the three days to pass. Victoria didn’t come home during those three days. I barely noticed; her presence in our house had dwindled to almost nothing over the last three years anyway. But I knew exactly where she was. Her driver kept me updated in real time. She was staying with Austin. It was finally time to settle the score. On the afternoon of the third day, I attended an exclusive Patek Philippe exhibition. When I arrived, Victoria was already there, flanked by Austin and Harvey. She was guiding Austin toward the centerpiece of the exhibit: a newly released, limited-edition timepiece. A masterpiece of haute horlogerie, it was nearly impossible to acquire, restricted only to preferred collectors. Money alone wasn’t enough to buy it. Victoria knew my passion for watch collecting. Months ago, she had promised to secure this exact piece for my thirtieth birthday. Today was my birthday. But she had brought Austin instead. As I walked into the gallery, a hush fell over the room. In recent months, Austin had been her constant shadow at every public event, and the whispers in our social circle had been growing louder by the day. Seeing both of us in the same room, guests began exchanging pointed glances, their eyes dating between Austin and me. When Austin noticed me, his usual deferential mask slipped. He tilted his chin up, a smug, victorious glimmer in his eyes. It was a silent declaration of war. My refusal to apologize had earned him a consolation prize: a watch that had been meant for me. Victoria saw me enter, but she didn’t even grant me a glance. “Wrap it up for Mr. Jenkins,” Victoria instructed the sales associate, her voice carrying clearly across the quiet room. The watch’s design featured intricate romantic motifs; it was marketed specifically as a declaration of love—an intimate gift for a life partner. Everyone in our circle understood the theme of tonight’s showcase: Expressions of Devotion. By purchasing it for Austin right in front of me, Victoria was making her choice entirely public. The subtext was loud and clear. I felt the weight of sympathetic glances, mixed with the quiet amusement of those who loved a good scandal. Austin looked positively radiant with triumph, while Harvey kept nudging the sales clerk to hurry up. Victoria finally looked at me, raising her phone slightly. A second later, my phone buzzed with a text from her. This is what happens when you don’t play by my rules. I stood there, letting a slow, calm smile spread across my face. I looked at the sales associate, whose expression shifted from polite excitement to sudden awkwardness as he looked at Victoria’s card reader. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Callahan,” he murmured. “The transaction was declined.” Victoria’s eyes snapped to me, freezing with a cold fury. I smiled wider. “Well, Victoria. Is this a satisfactory answer?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537552”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my twenty-second birthday, a voting poll suddenly appeared on our family’s shared smart-home hub. [Are you willing to exchange Jack for Wright from the parallel universe?] My mother and father both clicked “Yes”. They always said that if it weren’t for my older brother’s tragic death all those years ago, I wouldn’t have been born in the first place. Because of that, they believed it was only fair that I should be the one to bring him back. A moment later, the same poll pinged on Lauren’s phone. She had been my girlfriend for five years. She was also the little girl my brother had pushed out of the path of that oncoming car before he was killed. I stared at her, my heart hammering in my chest. If she just said no, if she just gave me one reason to believe I mattered, I could keep holding on. But she stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity, her eyes cast down as she whispered, “Jack, it’s just a test.” “Your brother saved my life.” “I can’t refuse to help him, even if it’s just a test.” The next second, she tapped “Yes”. The screen flashed a cold, bright notification: [All votes recorded successfully.] [Jack Callahan will be replaced in five days.] My father finally let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. He reached over and gently patted my hair, his touch softer than it had been in years, exactly like the way he used to comfort my brother in the old home videos. “Good boy, Jack.” “When your brother gets back, we’ll remember what you did for us.” I looked at them, blinking hard to keep my eyes from burning, and forced a smile. “Sure.” “I hope the brother who comes back is exactly who you wanted.” 1 My father leaned against the edge of the dining table, exhaling slowly. “Thank God,” he muttered. His eyes were rimmed with red, but a genuine smile was finally breaking across his face. “Wright is finally coming home.” My mother nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “We’ve waited so long for this day.” The candles on my birthday cake were still unlit, melting slowly into the frosting. I stood frozen in the middle of the dining room, a sharp, high-pitched ringing filling my ears. “How long is ‘so long’?” I asked quietly. My father looked up, his eyes flickering with a momentary discomfort. “Since you were six, I guess.” “That was when you started looking less and less like him.” I tried to swallow, but the air caught in my throat. I began to cough, doubling over as tears stung my eyes, but neither of them looked up. Ever since I turned six, my father constantly complained that I wasn’t enough like Wright. He would dig out my brother’s old clothes from the attic and force me to wear them. When I outgrew them, the collars choked me and the seams dug painfully into my skin, but my father would only frown in disappointment. “Wright didn’t look like that in them.” He made me watch Wright’s old home videos over and over, pausing them halfway through to critique me. “Wright didn’t show his teeth when he smiled.” “Wright held his pencil like this.” “Wright spoke softly, with manners.” So I copied him. I learned how to part my hair exactly like Wright’s with my eyes closed. I memorized his gestures, his posture, and his tone of voice better than any school lesson. I tried so hard to erase myself and become my brother. I thought if I could just be a little more like him, my parents would finally look at me with love. But no matter how hard I tried, they would only shake their heads. “Still not him.” “Not even close.” Once, when I was ten, I dressed up in my brother’s favorite sweater and called out “Dad” in Wright’s soft, quiet voice. He stared at me for a long time, and then tears suddenly spilled down his cheeks. “Stop it, Jack,” he said, his voice cold. “No matter how much you copy him, you’ll never be him.” I cried under my blanket all night. But the next morning, I still got up and went right back to studying the videos. It was Lauren who had finally pulled me out of that darkness. In high school, she found me sitting in the hallway, reading Wright’s old childhood diaries to copy his handwriting. She grabbed the notebook and threw it straight into the trash can. “Jack Callahan,” she had said, looking me dead in the eye, “you are not a ghost’s shadow.” Those words had kept me afloat for years. Which was why, when the voting page popped up on her phone, I had still held onto a stupid, desperate shred of hope. But she had voted to replace me anyway. I looked at her now. “Lauren, do you really think I should be traded for him too?” Her throat worked, her eyes darting away from mine. “Jack, it’s just a test. It might not even work.” My tongue felt entirely numb. “But when you clicked “Yes”, did you think about me at all?” She scowled, her patience wearing thin. “Can you not take that tone with me? Your dad has suffered enough. He just misses your brother.” My mother walked over and snatched my wallet from my bag, sliding my ID card out. I reached out to stop her, but she shoved my hand away. “Wright will need this when he gets back.” I stared into her cold eyes. “What about me?” She locked the drawer with a sharp click, her voice dripping with irritation. “You’re brothers. You don’t need to keep such strict scores.” I went back to my room and pulled out my college diploma from the desk drawer. The moment my fingers brushed the paper, the black ink seemed to dissolve under my touch. The name “Jack Callahan” began to fade, letter by letter, and “Wright Callahan” slowly bled through the paper. Even the photo on the ID card blurred into a misty, unrecognizable silhouette. I stared at the shifting letters until my eyes burned, and then I slowly closed them as a tear rolled down my cheek. The door pushed open. My father walked in, and when he saw the diploma, a spark of genuine excitement lit up his face. “Wright never got the chance to grow up,” he whispered. “I guess this makes up for it.” I looked up at him, my face wet. “Dad, what if I actually die?” His fingers tightened on the doorframe, his nails scratching against the wood. After a long, agonizing pause, he said, “Don’t say such morbid things.” When the door shut, I slid down to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. On our family group thread, my father had just changed my nickname. From “Jack” to “Wright’s Vessel”. 2 The next morning, the kitchen island was piled high with food. Garlic butter crab, a beef stir-fry heavy with cilantro, and hot seafood chowder. The steam rose in thick waves, making my head spin. I have a severe shellfish allergy, and I can’t stand the taste of cilantro. My father knew this. Yet there he was, carefully cracking open crab legs and placing the meat into a small blue bowl. “Wright loved crab,” he murmured to himself. “And he always said you can’t skimp on the cilantro, or there’s no flavor. I need to practice making his favorites so he feels at home when he gets back.” I sat with my fork in my hand, frozen. I forced a mouthful of plain white rice down my throat, desperate to swallow the lump in my chest. My throat throbbed with a dull ache. I took a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “Dad, do you even remember I’m allergic to shellfish?” I kept my eyes glued to the white rice, too terrified to look up. My father’s hand froze over the ladle. “At a time like this, you’re really going to throw a tantrum over food? Your brother is going to have a lot of adjusting to do when he gets back. What’s wrong with you skipping one meal?” I nodded slowly, set my fork down, and went back to my room. In the afternoon, Lauren came over. When she saw how pale I was, her brow furrowed slightly. I gripped the hem of my shirt, staring at her for a long time. My voice was barely a whisper. “Lauren, will you go to the beach with me? Just once. I’ve always wanted to go. Since… since I’m going to die anyway.” She froze. For a second, I thought if I begged, she might actually say yes. But then she sighed. “You shouldn’t be running around right now. If something goes wrong with the transfer, your dad won’t survive the disappointment.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Are you really that afraid of him not coming back?” Her expression hardened. “Jack, stop talking like that. I’m doing this because I care about you.” I looked up, forcing my mouth into a wide, painful grin. “You care about me? Is that why you didn’t hesitate to vote to send me to my grave?” She looked down, avoiding my eyes, her lips pressed into a tight, silent line. Suddenly, I realized there was no point in arguing anymore. I went back to my desk and opened the mysterious app on my phone. Using my dad’s go-to password, I actually managed to log in. There, I saw my health reports, my sleep tracker, my emotional logs… They had been tracking my vitals and preparing for this for a long time. My stomach twisted violently. I gripped the desk, a metallic, copper taste rising in my throat. At the bottom of the screen, a red audio file appeared. With trembling fingers, I tapped it. A soft, hesitant boy’s voice played through the speaker. “Don’t choose me… Dad, please don’t make him take my place. He’s your son too.” Like a madman, I grabbed the phone and ran out, thrusting the screen in front of my dad’s face. “Dad, listen! It’s Wright. It’s his voice!” At the first sound of “Dad,” the spoon slipped from my father’s hand, clattering onto the floor. “Wright…” But as the recording played to the end, the excitement on his face curdled into stone. The next second, his hand slapped across my face. My head snapped back, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears as my cheek burned. “Jack! How dare you fake your brother’s voice just to keep him from coming home?!” Mom snatched the phone from my hand and deleted the file. “Your brother died once. Do you want him to die again?” I looked at Lauren, completely numb. “You heard it, didn’t you? He said he doesn’t want this.” I pushed the cancellation screen toward her. “Cancel it. If you cancel your vote, I can live.” Lauren’s finger hovered over the screen. Suddenly, Dad fell to his knees, grabbing the hem of her sleeve. “Lauren, please, I beg you. Wright saved your life. You can’t abandon him now.” Lauren closed her eyes. After a long, agonizing silence, she let her hand fall. “Jack… I’m sorry.” My hands began to turn translucent. Lauren gasped, reaching out to grab me. I stepped back. “Don’t touch me. This is what you chose.” 3 I had nightmares all night. When I woke up, my hand instinctively reached for the side of the bed, looking to hug my little cat. But there was only empty space. My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw off the blanket and dropped to my knees, searching under the bed, then checking the balcony, the closet, behind the sofa. Finally, by the trash can near the front door, I found his little collar bell. A few orange hairs were still stuck to it. I knelt to pick it up. When I stood back up, the world spun. Dad walked out of the kitchen, spatula still in hand. “Stop looking. I gave the cat away,” he said, his voice entirely flat. “Wright is allergic to cat dander. He’s coming back soon, we can’t have that stuff in the house.” I squeezed the bell, the metal digging into my palm. I tried to speak, but my voice shook so hard it didn’t sound like mine. “He’s been with me for seven years… He’s a coward. He gets terrified in new places.” The last words were a sob. Dad frowned. “Jack, your brother is terrified too. Can you stop only thinking about yourself for once?” I gasped for air, but my lungs refused to expand. I leaned against the wall, waiting for the dark spots in my vision to clear, and then I bolted out the door. “Jack!” Dad called after me, but I didn’t look back. I asked the security guards, the neighbors, posted in our neighborhood group chat, and begged the property manager to let me see the security footage. A guard said he saw someone carrying an orange cat out this morning. By the time I reached the back gates of our neighborhood, my legs were shaking. Sweat soaked through my shirt. I dug through every dumpster and searched every bush, but I couldn’t find him. At dusk, a message popped up in the neighborhood chat. [There’s an orange cat shivering under the awning of the back gate. Anyone lose their pet?] When I saw the photo, my whole body trembled. It was my cat. He was curled up next to a cardboard box, his fur soaked, but his eyes were fixed on the entrance of our neighborhood. I grabbed my jacket to run back out, but Dad blocked my way. “You’re going to bring him back?” Mom rushed out of the study. “Jack, how can you be so cruel? Your brother isn’t even back yet, and you’re already trying to make him sick!” She raised her hand to strike me. I stood frozen. In that moment, I almost wanted her to hit me. A stinging face was better than the suffocating weight in my chest. But Dad lunged forward and caught her arm. “Don’t!” he gasped. “What if you mark his face? What will Wright do when he gets back?” Mom’s hand hovered in the air. Staring at the way Dad held her back, the taste of iron filled my mouth. So even this face didn’t belong to me anymore. They dragged me back to my room. I fought them, my fingers clawing at the doorframe until Mom pried them loose one by one. Dad stood like a brick wall in the doorway. The door slammed shut in my face. I threw myself against it, twisting the handle, but it was locked from the outside. Late that night, the neighborhood chat pinged again. A photo was uploaded. My cat lay on the wet asphalt by the back gate, a dark pool spreading into the rainwater beneath him. [Just got hit by a car. He was already gone when I found him. He was staring at the gates the whole time, refusing to budge, like he was waiting for someone.] I stared at the screen, wanting to scream his name, but my chest felt like it had been carved out. All my grief was trapped inside. I opened my mouth, but only broken, ragged whimpers came out. I squeezed my fists so hard my nails cut into my skin, but I felt nothing. It wasn’t until a warm wetness dripped down my fingers that I realized the edge of the bell had sliced my palm open. I curled into a ball on the floor, shaking. Seven years. He had been with me for seven years. When everyone else ran toward Wright, he was the only one who sat by the door waiting for me to come home. And now, they had discarded him too. My phone buzzed. [Would you like to use your final veto to cancel the replacement?] I stared at the picture of my cat’s wet fur. After a long time, I tapped “No”. [Replacement will proceed.] 4 After I selected “No,” a strange peace settled over me. I leaned quietly against the back of the locked door, listening to the muffled voices in the living room. “Why is there still a whole day left?” Dad asked, his voice strained. “It’s already moving fast,” Mom replied. Dad sighed. “It feels too slow. Every minute Wright spends over there, my heart breaks.” Strangely, the pain was gone. The heavy boulder that had crushed my chest for years seemed to melt away. I began to count down the hours in perfect silence. In the afternoon, Dad came in holding a bakery catalog. “Help me pick a cake.” I pointed to a simple white frosted one. He handed me a box of colored candles. “Pick the candles too.” I pulled out the candles and carefully counted eight of them, lining them up neatly on the desk. Dad froze. Wright had died when he was eight. His eyes welled with tears, his gaze shifting to me with a complicated mix of emotions. “Is this a farewell for me,” I asked quietly, “or a welcome for him?” He turned his face away quickly, though his hands shook. “Don’t talk like that.” Later, Mom began packing up my room. My journals, my polaroids, my school certificates—everything went into heavy black trash bags. Dad replaced my bedsheets with a light blue set. “Wright loved this color.” They dragged my desk out, replacing it with Wright’s old art easel. The dust made me cough, a sharp pain blooming in my ribs. Dad looked back. “Don’t inhale too much dust.” He paused, then added, “Keep yourself healthy.” I reached into one of the trash bags to pull out a journal. Dad immediately pinned my hand down. “Don’t keep those. It’ll make him uncomfortable if he sees them.” I let go. The cover of the journal ripped against the plastic bag with a soft tear. Lauren came by in the evening, holding a notebook. “Jack, can you write down some notes about me for him?” Her voice was hoarse. “Like… how my stomach is sensitive and I can’t drink iced drinks. Or how I don’t like people touching my laptop.” My throat felt dry. “You want him to use these notes to get to know you? To love you in my place?” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m just afraid he won’t adjust well.” I took the pen and wrote down every single detail she asked for. I felt absolutely nothing. Mom came in next, holding my debit card. “How much do you have in your account?” Dad whispered, “Wright will need clothes and paperwork when he gets here. It’s going to cost a lot.” The money in that account came from my part-time jobs, my scholarships, and my savings. Without a word, I opened my phone and transferred every cent to my father. When the transaction confirmation popped up, I closed the app. Dad saw the notification, and for a fleeting second, his expression softened. “Jack, you’ve really grown up.” With only two hours left, they made me record a video. Mom handed me a script. “I am Jack Callahan.” “I consent to this replacement of my own free will.” “I was not coerced in any way.” “Please do not blame my family.” “Welcome home, brother.” Dad held up the phone. “Smile a bit. Don’t let people think something is wrong.” Lauren stood to the side, her throat tightening. “Mr. Callahan, maybe…” Tears streamed down Dad’s face. “What are we going to tell people when they ask where Jack went? Do you want Wright to be hated the moment he gets here?” Lauren fell silent again. I looked into the lens and forced my lips to curve upward. The muscles in my face felt stiff and sore. “I am Jack Callahan. I consent to this replacement of my own free will. Please do not blame my family.” I paused, looking directly into the camera. “Welcome home, Wright. But this family… I don’t want it anymore.” Dad’s face went pale. “Delete that. We’re re-recording.” But before he could touch the screen, the mysterious app lit up on its own. [Don’t… don’t make him record that.] [Dad.] [I don’t want to come home like this.] The living room fell into a deathly silence. A second line of text slowly drifted across the screen. [Do you actually remember what kind of person I was?]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537551”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For the eleventh time, I had to call my fiancé, Wayne, to cancel our appointment at City Hall. He sighed, his voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and resignation. “What is it this time with Phoebe?” It was almost comedic, if it wasn’t so systematic. Every single time Wayne and I scheduled our marriage license appointment, Phoebe had an emergency. The first time, she had a sudden, violent bout of food poisoning that left her semi-conscious. The second time, she ate something she was allergic to and ended up in the ER in the middle of the night. I could only offer Wayne my deepest apologies, trying to soothe him. “Phoebe broke her leg and has literally no one else to look after her. I just need to stay with her for a week to help her out.” “She spent an entire semester getting bullied in high school just because she stood up for me. She’s my sister, Wayne. I can’t just abandon her.” “Please, Wayne. Just wait for me one more time. Okay?” Wayne sounded incredibly hurt, almost petulant. “Maeve, you’re really testing my patience here. This is the absolute last time. I won’t wait forever.” I finally breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the sterile wall of the hospital corridor, waiting for the nurse to finish changing Phoebe’s dressings. I idly opened Instagram. And that’s when I saw the post she had forgotten to hide from me. “Fake-sick for the eleventh time to secure my girl’s happily ever after! So glad they finally tied the knot!” The attached photo was a screenshot of a City Hall marriage license reservation. The groom’s name was Wayne. But the bride was Amber. Amber. The girl who had made my life a living hell for three years. … The phone felt like ice against my palm, the screen still glowing, but my vision went completely white. How could Wayne be marrying Amber? And Phoebe—my best friend, my protector—knew about it. She helped him. She kept me in the dark. No. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. My fingers shook so violently I could barely swipe the screen. After a two-second delay, I tapped on the post again, but it was already gone. Deleted. It was as if the news that had just shattered my world had never existed. I sat frozen in the hard plastic hospital chair, so numb I didn’t even hear Phoebe calling my name. “Maeve? Hello? Is this how you take care of a patient?” Phoebe waved her hand in front of my face, her brow furrowed in annoyance as she gestured to her heavy plaster cast. “Look at me. I’m a mess. Getting these dressings changed hurts like hell.” Instinctively, I stood up and helped her ease into her wheelchair. She glanced at the phone still clutched in my white-knuckled grip. “What are you staring at? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” My throat dry, my lips parted, but no sound came out. How could I even ask? What if I had just misread it? What if it was a mistake? Phoebe and Wayne had been my anchors during the darkest chapters of my life. When my depression got so bad that I tried to end things, it was Phoebe who held my bleeding wrists, crying, begging me to stay alive. And whenever I woke up screaming from nightmares, Wayne was always there, wrapping his arms around me, whispering that it was over, that I was safe now. These two people. The ones who had kept me afloat for so long. They were the most important people in my world. They wouldn’t hurt me. I took a deep, shaky breath and shook my head. “Nothing. Let’s get you back to the room.” While I was running a bath for Phoebe, she picked up my phone to play a game. When Wayne called, she answered it without a second thought. “State your business, husband-to-be. Otherwise, stop interrupting my quality time with my girl.” Wayne replied, sounding amused. “Excuse me, you’re the third wheel here.” Phoebe laughed. “Well, look at you, Mr. Grumpy. Someone’s eager to be a married man. So defensive.” The sound of rushing water suddenly felt deafening. The bathroom went dead silent, save for the heavy sound of my own breathing. Phoebe caught my eye from the doorway, her smile faltering for a split second before she smoothly recovered. “Alright, alright. I know you can’t wait to put a ring on our Maeve. Here, I’ll let you talk to your future wife.” I took the phone, my throat tight as I swallowed hard. “What time are you getting in next week? I’ll come pick you up at the station.” My heart sank, heavy and cold. “Seven in the morning.” Wayne paused, sounding genuinely surprised. “That early?” “Yeah,” I murmured. “City Hall opens at eight.” He chuckled softly. “There’s no rush, honey. Go home, get some sleep first. We’ve got all the time in the world. We don’t need to rush this.” I had booked the earliest train just so I could marry him the second I got back. But standing in that bathroom, I realized I was the only one running. A dull, suffocating ache bloomed in my chest. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t even breathe properly. “Sure,” I said. “Whatever you want.” After hanging up, I buried my face in the pillows. Through the fog of my spinning mind, a series of rapid-fire text alerts broke the silence. Phoebe’s phone was charging on the nightstand, the screen lighting up repeatedly. Compelled by some dark, instinctual urge, I walked over and picked it up. The passcode was still my birthday. The lock screen was still a goofy selfie of us. But what was foreign was the burner Instagram account she had logged into, and a group chat I had never seen before. The group was titled: “Operation: Save True Love”. There were only three members: Phoebe, Wayne, and Amber. The chat was a meticulous record of Phoebe’s fabricated emergencies, designed specifically to keep me away. While I was worrying myself sick about her health, Phoebe was actively advising Wayne on how to keep the lie going. “Maeve is clueless,” one message from Phoebe read. “Just tell her you have a last-minute business trip. She won’t nag you. Then you and your girl Amber can go wherever you want. Leave the cover-up to me.” Under Phoebe’s careful shielding, Wayne and Amber had traveled the country. They had chased the Northern Lights in Alaska, where he proposed to her. They had taken engagement photos in fields of wildflowers. And today, they had gotten married. I stared at the image of the marriage certificate posted in the chat, a physical, searing pain tearing through my chest. Pale and hollow, I walked back into the hospital room and confronted Phoebe. I asked the dumbest, most useless question in the world. “Why?” Phoebe froze, her eyes darting to her phone in my hand. “You went through my phone?” Then, she let out a soft, dismissive laugh. “Well, I guess it’s good you found out. Saves me the trouble of walking on eggshells.” “Honestly, lying to you was exhausting. I had to fake an injury just to get you out of the city. At least now the pressure’s off.” My eyes burned, tears finally spilling over as I screamed at her. “Why?” “Why did you lie to me? Why did you hide this? Was making a fool out of me really that fun for you?” Phoebe just stared at me, her expression entirely flat. After a long, agonizing silence, she said calmly, “Because you and Wayne aren’t right for each other, Maeve. You never were. It would have ended in disaster anyway.” A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. “But he’s right for “Amber”? Is that it?” “You guys are sick. Honestly, you make me sick.” I turned and bolted for the door, desperate to escape the suffocating room, only to collide with a person whose face was etched permanently into my worst nightmares. Amber arched an eyebrow, offering a cool, effortless smile. “Long time no see, old friend.” Just hearing Amber’s voice triggered an involuntary tremor in my limbs. Phoebe rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with irritation. “Oh, come on, Maeve. Is the drama really necessary?” Behind Amber, Wayne appeared, holding a gift basket of fruit. When his eyes met mine, he froze, turning pale. He began to stammer, his words tripping over themselves. “I—I just ran into her. She was in the area and wanted to drop by and see how Phoebe was doing.” Wayne seemed to forget that Chicago and Detroit weren’t exactly “in the neighborhood.” It was such a flimsy, pathetic excuse it barely qualified as a lie. I dug my fingernails deep into the meat of my thumb, squeezing until the skin bruised, using the physical pain to anchor myself. Wayne took a tentative step toward me, his brow furrowing with concern. “Maeve? Are you okay? Have you been pushing yourself too hard taking care of Phoebe?” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Not as hard as you two have been pushing yourselves to put on this little show.” “I suppose I should say congratulations. Happy wedding day.” The reality finally clicked for Wayne, and he instantly stepped in front of Amber, shielding her from me. “Don’t blame anyone else,” he said, his voice dropping. “It was my decision to marry Amber.” I looked at him, my mind sluggish, trying to process the betrayal. “Did you both just… forget? Did you forget what Amber did to me?” In high school, Amber and I were polar opposites—I was the straight-A student, she was at the bottom of the class. She hated me for it, convinced that my academic success was some personal slight against her. She wrote vile, hateful slurs on my desk. She stuffed dead birds into my backpack. She once held my head down in a toilet until I couldn’t breathe. Phoebe had transferred to our school during our senior year and became the first person to ever stand up for me. Because of that, she endured an entire semester of Amber’s wrath alongside me. And Wayne… when I finally opened up to him about my past, he had wept, holding me tightly, promising he would protect me. I thought we all shared the same moral compass. I thought we agreed that some things were unforgivable. Phoebe tilted her head, her smile sharp and cruel. “God, you really are naive, aren’t you? You actually thought Amber and I were enemies?” “I knew Amber long before I ever met you, Maeve. She only targeted you because she was jealous of how much time I was spending with you. It was all a misunderstanding.” Wayne chimed in, his voice heavy with self-righteous reason. “I talked to Amber about it, Maeve. She just wanted to be friends with you back then. She didn’t know how to express it. She didn’t mean to hurt you.” “It was just high school drama. Kids being kids. You need to let it go.” I have over a dozen scars tracing the inside of my wrists. Each one represents a night I begged for the pain to stop. The two people who had literally begged me to choose life were now standing in front of me, telling me to “let it go”. The sheer weight of the betrayal crashed over me in a suffocating wave. I clutched my chest, struggling to draw oxygen into my lungs. Wayne watched me, a flicker of genuine worry in his eyes, but I managed to force a small, empty smile. “Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll let it go.” I don’t even remember how I made it back to my hotel room. With trembling fingers, I tore through my purse, searching for the small plastic bottle hidden in the lining. My antidepressants. I hadn’t needed them in over a year. I swallowed the dry pills, the rough coating scraping painfully down my throat. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. A chime at the door broke the silence. I assumed it was the room service I had ordered. But the moment I unlocked the door, Wayne pushed his way inside. He reached out, his hand warm against my cold forehead, his face twisted with worry. “Are you having an episode? Where are your pills? Let me get you some water.” I flinched away from his touch, my expression freezing over. “You are another woman’s husband now, Wayne. Learn some boundaries.” Wayne chuckled, reaching out to playfully pinch my nose—a gesture that used to make my heart melt. “Are you jealous, honey?” “Amber and I only got married for our graduate research project. It’s a sociological study on marital structures. The moment the study is over, we’re getting a divorce.” “I’m still going to marry you, Maeve. You promised me you’d wait. Did you forget?” As if to prove his point, he pulled out his phone and played a voice recording. “Wayne, please. Just wait for me one more time, okay?” Hearing my own desperate, begging voice play back to me made my stomach turn. “To be fair, you made me wait eleven times. It’s only fair you wait for me once, right?” Wayne held out his pinky finger, waiting for me to lock mine with his. It was our thing. We pinky-promised on everything, big or small. In college, we pinky-promised to move in together and adopt a cat. When we started working, we pinky-promised to save every penny for our future home. And now, he wanted me to pinky-promise to wait until he divorced my childhood abuser. The sheer absurdity of it made me laugh. And then, I swung my hand and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. “Who do you think I am, Wayne? Your mistress?” “We are done. We were done the second you and Phoebe decided to make a joke out of my life.” Wayne wiped a bead of blood from the corner of his lip, shrugging as if the blow meant nothing to him. “If hitting me makes you feel better, go ahead. But I’m not letting you go.” “I love you, Maeve. And you love me. You’re really going to throw away seven years of history over this?” Seven years. He knew exactly how long we had been together. Yet he still chose Amber, a girl he had only worked with on a project for three months. Over the last few months, his occasional late nights had turned into constant business trips. Even when he was with me, his eyes were glued to his phone, a stupid, private smile on his face. I hadn’t been completely blind. I had suspected something. But whenever I vented to Phoebe, she would always shoot it down. “You’re overthinking it, babe. Honestly, Wayne doesn’t deserve you anyway. If he’s cheating, good riddance. I’ll find you someone a million times better.” Only now did I realize the sick double-meaning behind her words. I let my head fall, completely drained. “You really think Amber is better than me, don’t you?” Wayne’s expression softened, and he sighed. “You both have your strengths.” “But Amber isn’t the monster you made her out to be, Maeve. She’s incredibly capable, smart, and driven. Working with her has been incredibly seamless.” “Are you sure you didn’t just misinterpret what happened back in high school?” Of course Amber was smart. Smart enough to torture me for years and still go on to lead a perfectly successful, unbothered life. I instinctively pressed my hand against my tenth rib. The rib Amber had broken with a kick when I was sixteen. Even after seven years, the bone still throbbed with a dull, phantom ache whenever the weather turned cold. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. I didn’t have the strength to bare my scars to someone who had already decided they didn’t care. I blinked back the hot tears stinging my eyes and shoved him toward the door. “Believe whatever you want. Just get out.” Once she realized I knew, Phoebe didn’t bother hiding her social media anymore. She unblocked her main account, making all her posts public. Like a masochist, I scrolled through her feed, searching for any sign of hesitation or guilt on their faces. There was none. Just pure, unadulterated bliss radiating from every photo. My tears fell hot and fast onto the screen as I scrolled to the most recent post. No photo. Just a single line of text: “To true love, and leaving the dead weight behind.” Wayne had liked the post. Amber had commented underneath: “Careful, or your little shadow is going to start crying again.” Phoebe replied with a rolling-eyes emoji. “Just enjoy your honeymoon, you two!” I paused on the screen, taking careful screenshots of every single post, ensuring I didn’t miss a single comment or detail. Then, I shut down my phone. I booked a ticket, checked out of the hotel, and called a cab to the train station. When I stood in front of the apartment we had shared, a wave of vertigo hit me. The fingerprint lock chimed, recognizing my hand. In the entryway, our matching house slippers sat side-by-side. The air still smelled of the white tea diffuser I loved. Our cat, Barnaby, trotted over and rubbed his head affectionately against my shin. Everything was exactly as I had left it. Except for the constant stream of honeymoon photos on my feed, reminding me that it was all an illusion. The love was fake. The comfort was fake. I systematically packed up my life, throwing away everything I couldn’t carry. I found a thick stack of Polaroids of Wayne and me. We had decorated them with metallic markers, attaching little NFC audio tags to record our daily memories. My thumb brushed against one, and Wayne’s voice filled the quiet room. “I love you, Maeve. Forever and ever.” I stood there, my heart feeling like a hollow, dried-out shell. My phone vibrated. A text from Wayne, sharing his research progress. “Just two more days and the project is officially wrapped. Then I can finally call you my wife. I can’t wait.” Phoebe’s voice messages also popped up, a barrage of casual dismissals. “Look, Amber is my friend, but you are too. Don’t be mad at me, okay? Tell you what, when you and Wayne finally make it official, I’ll write you a massive check to make up for it.” Barnaby let out a soft meow, nudging my hand as if trying to soothe me. I gently scratched the soft spot behind his ears, then tossed the stack of Polaroids into the trash. “It’s too dirty here, sweet boy,” I whispered. “Let’s go.” Once I settled my affairs in Chicago, I blocked every single one of them. I packed Barnaby into his carrier and boarded a flight to Asheville, North Carolina. At O’Hare, Wayne and Phoebe were seeing Amber off for her flight. Through the bustling crowd, they waved enthusiastically at a figure they thought was Amber, watching her disappear down the jet bridge with lingering affection. Only when the final boarding call echoed through the terminal did they turn back. Wayne smiled, a sense of pride in his voice. “The project went beautifully. A prestigious lab in Zurich just offered Amber a fellowship.” “It makes sense for her to go, but I don’t know if I’ll ever find another research partner as brilliant as her.” Phoebe nodded proudly. “Of course she is. She’s my girl, after all.” A brief silence fell over them as they walked toward the exit, both letting out a soft sigh. “Well, the project is done. Let’s not bring it up again.” “Yeah. Maeve is so sensitive. She holds onto grudges forever.” “Speaking of, I’ve sent her a dozen texts and she hasn’t replied to a single one.” They exchanged a glance, a sudden, inexplicable wave of panic washing over them. “She hasn’t texted you either? Do you think… something happened?” Just then, a hand tapped Phoebe on the shoulder. They both spun around. Standing right behind them, smiling, was Amber—who was supposed to be on the plane. “I decided not to go,” Amber announced, grinning. “I’m staying in Chicago with you guys.” Wayne’s smile froze on his face. He and Phoebe stared at her, their expressions turning ash-gray. “Then… who just got on that plane?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537550”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve always been my brother’s biggest fan. Since we were kids, my favorite thing in the world was taking care of him—bringing him coffee, carrying his gym bag, picking up his takeout. I did it all with a smile. When Charlie got into Columbia, I practically killed myself academically, skipping a grade just so I could catch up and get in too. On move-in day, Charlie showed up at the dorms with a literal entourage of six security guards. While our roommates were practically kissing the ground he walked on, calling him a legend, I was quietly tucking in the hospital corners of his fitted sheet. Only Devin watched me with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t look like his roommate,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “You look like his personal valet.” I just smiled and kept tucking. Later that afternoon, Charlie casually unclasped his brand-new Patek Philippe and tossed it onto my mattress. “This face is too small for me anyway. It’s more your style. Keep it.” As I caught it, smiling, I noticed Devin staring from the doorway. A few weeks later, Charlie flew to Paris for the weekend, leaving just Devin and me in the dorm. “Hey, Troy,” Devin said, not looking up from his laptop. “Do you have any idea what people call you behind your back?” “Charlie Chapman’s lapdog.” The next morning, my girlfriend, Gina—the campus sweetheart everyone swore was out of my league—asked to meet me at the running track. Devin was already standing beside her, his eyes suspiciously red, looking small and fragile. The moment she saw me, her face hardened into a scowl. “Troy, can you seriously have some self-respect for once?” “You let him treat you like a servant just because he throws an expensive watch your way?” “Devin comes from nothing, and even he has more backbone than you.” Devin tugged gently at her sleeve, his voice barely a whisper. “Gina, please don’t say that. I’m not worth you getting upset over.” I looked at their hands, fingers intertwined, and a laugh bubbled up in my throat. Seriously? Did absolutely no one realize that Charlie and I have the exact same last name? … I rolled my wrist, letting out a soft laugh. “You’ve been holding that in for a while, haven’t you, Devin?” I said. “What’s the matter? Did you want the watch too? Too bad you could never afford it.” Devin’s face instantly flushed crimson. His lips trembled, and he took a half-step back as if struck. Gina’s brow furrowed into a tight knot, and she immediately stepped forward, shielding Devin with her body. The disappointment in her voice was palpable. “Troy! I had no idea you were this kind of person.” I tilted my head. “What kind of person is that?” She paused, letting every word land. “Since when did you become so incredibly arrogant? Devin doesn’t have the kind of money you do, and you’re using luxury items to mock him? Have you lost your mind?” She looked at me with pure disgust. I froze. Arrogant? Suddenly, a memory flashed through my mind—a year ago, when Gina had stopped me outside the library. The summer sun had caught her hair, her smile radiant and warm. “Troy, you’re the brightest, most genuine guy I’ve ever met. You’re like sunshine,” she’d said, her ears turning a deep, blushing pink. “Will you be my boyfriend? I want to see you smile like that every day.” I guess when the love fades, “sunny” becomes “arrogant,” and “warmth” is just blinding. My chest tightened, a dull, aching throb pulsing through me. Devin tugged at Gina’s sleeve again, looking like a martyr. His voice was soft, tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to spill over. “Gina, please don’t blame Troy. It’s my fault. I only asked you to talk to him because I didn’t want him to be Charlie’s… well, you know.” He bit his lower lip, playing the part of the wounded soul perfectly. “But he wouldn’t listen. He just used his money to humiliate me.” His voice grew fainter, his eyes red like a frightened rabbit’s. Gina’s expression softened into deep, protective pity. The commotion had started to draw a crowd. Students on their way to class began circling us, whispering. Some recognized the Patek Philippe on my wrist; others recognized Devin. “Isn’t that Charlie Chapman’s shadow? Where did he get a Patek?” “Please, the master gave the servant a little treat, and now the dog thinks he’s royalty.” “Keep it down. You have to respect the owner before you kick the dog.” “Hahaha, his owner is in Europe. Right now, he’s just a stray.” Their words drifted over, perfectly pitched to ensure I heard every syllable. Some covered their mouths, snickering. Others looked me up and down like I was some cheap knockoff on display. And Gina just stood there. She listened to every cruel word, and she didn’t offer a single word of defense. Her eyes held the exact same cold contempt as the rest of them. Devin buried his face slightly behind Gina’s arm, his shoulders shaking. But I saw it. Just for a fraction of a second, the corner of his mouth curved upward. I wanted to laugh. A Patek Philippe? I had a drawer full of them back home. I just hated the attention, so I never talked about my family. But because of that, everyone assumed I was my brother’s lapdog. Charlie had only insisted on sharing a dorm with me because he worried about me and wanted to look out for his younger brother. I took a deep breath, steadying my voice. “I’ll wear whatever watch I want,” I said, looking around the circle. “What does that have to do with any of you?” But that seemed to push Devin over the edge. He suddenly raised his voice, his posture stiffening. “Troy, who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” His eyes were brimming with tears, but he kept his chin high, playing the defiant underdog. “Yes, I’m poor! My family has nothing, and I’ve never owned a luxury watch in my life! But you? You couldn’t afford any of this either without selling your dignity. What right do you have to show off in front of me?” The crowd’s gaze sharpened, pinning me in place. I was so angry I nearly laughed out loud. I hadn’t even started on him, and yet his fragile ego was already shattered. I took a step closer, looking down at him. “Devin, which of your eyes saw that I couldn’t afford this?” Before Devin could respond, Gina let out a cold, sharp laugh. Her face was a mask of utter impatience. “Troy, stop pretending,” she said, her voice dripping with exhaustion. “Maybe the rest of the school doesn’t know your situation, but do you think you can lie to me? You wear the same three faded hoodies every week. You order the cheapest combo at the diner. Last month, you spent twenty minutes calculating how to save five dollars on your phone bill. Devin is at least honest about who he is. What do you actually have?” She gestured vaguely at me, her disappointment turning to mockery. “Even if you wore a real designer bag, it would look like a fake on you. You’re using someone else’s charity to humiliate Devin. Don’t you feel any shame?” A low wave of chuckles rippled through the crowd. I felt a sharp, twisting pain in my chest. Last month had been Gina’s birthday. I remembered her forwarding me a post of a Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet a friend’s boyfriend had bought, accompanied by a wistful emoji. I wanted to give her something beautiful. But I wanted it to come from my own hard work, not my father’s checkbook. So, I took a job at a boba shop near campus. I stood for eight hours a day until my feet were too swollen to fit into my shoes. I tutored high school students, spending two hours on a hot, cramped bus each way, talking until my voice was raspy. I had finally saved enough to buy it for her. But on the day she opened it, she barely glanced at the bracelet before rushing out to go shopping with her friends. She probably didn’t even remember. I took a slow, deep breath, pushing the bitterness down into the pit of my stomach. “Are you done?” I asked, staring directly into Gina’s eyes. “Whether I can afford it or not is my business. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. Excuse me.” I turned to walk away. The crowd parted instinctively, giving me space. But I had only taken two steps when Gina’s voice flared up behind me, sharp and venomous. “Troy, stop right there!” She rushed forward, her heels clicking against the pavement, and grabbed my arm. “Devin was only trying to look out for you. If you don’t want to hear it, fine, but who gave you the right to walk away like this?” I ripped my arm out of her grip. Her anger boiled over. “You are going to apologize to Devin right now, and then you’re going to give that watch back to Charlie.” Give it back? It belonged to my family. Who exactly was I supposed to give it back to? Without a word, I turned and kept walking. Behind me, Gina’s voice pitched higher, cracking with humiliation. “Troy! If you walk away today, we are done!” The whispers in the crowd died down instantly. Everyone was waiting for me to turn around, to beg for her forgiveness. My feet paused for a fraction of a second. Then, without looking back, I took another step forward. When I got back to the dorm, I pulled my laundry bin out from under my bed. Charlie was coming back the day after tomorrow, and his sheets needed to be washed. I stripped his bed, threw the linens into the bin, poured in the detergent, and knelt on the bathroom floor to scrub them. The cool suds ran over the backs of my hands. The bathroom door creaked open. Devin walked in, carrying a bundle of dark sheets. When he saw me scrubbing on the floor, a smug little smile played on his lips. He took a few steps, stopped directly in front of me, and let the sheets fall straight into my soapy water. Dirty water splashed across my face. I looked down. A massive, greasy patch of vomit was smeared across his sheets, sticking directly to my brother’s clean laundry. I snapped my head up. “What do you think you’re doing?” Devin crossed his arms, tilting his chin up. “My stomach hurts, and I threw up. I don’t have the energy to wash this.” He smirked. “Since you’re already doing laundry, do mine too. You’re so good at serving people anyway, aren’t you? We’re roommates, Troy. You shouldn’t play favorites.” His eyes glinted with triumph. I slowly stood up, wiping the soap from my hands onto my apron. I looked down at the disgusting mess in the tub. Reaching down, I grabbed the clean edge of his sheets, pulled them out of the water, and shoved the soaking, heavy mass directly into his chest. “Wash your own garbage.” I knelt back down and went back to scrubbing Charlie’s sheets. The wet, dirty fabric soaked through Devin’s shirt. He stood frozen for a second, stunned. Then, his voice exploded. “Troy! What is your problem? I literally just told you I’m sick! Can’t you have some basic empathy?” I ignored him. Our other roommates, who had just walked in, spoke up: “Devin, you have a stomach ache, not broken arms. How hard is it to wash a sheet? Troy isn’t your maid.” “Seriously, man. Why should he wash your mess?” Devin’s face flushed a blotchy, angry red. He bit his lip, tears springing to his eyes. He threw the sheets violently into his own basket and slammed his way out of the room. The door rattled on its hinges. About twenty minutes later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from an unknown number. “Troy, do you have to be such a bully?” “Would it have killed you to help him? He’s so sick he’s throwing up, and you just don’t care?” “He’s crying out on the campus green right now. How can you sit there with a clean conscience?” Another buzz. “I never realized you were this cold-blooded.” “You won’t even help with a small favor like this. I’m so incredibly disappointed in you.” I stared at the screen and let out a dry laugh. I tapped the notification and typed out a reply. “If you want to wash his vomit-stained sheets so badly, go right ahead. Lick them clean for all I care.” “And by the way, we’re broken up. You don’t have the right to be disappointed in me.” I hit send. Then I opened my contacts and blocked the number. The screen went dark. I went back to scrubbing the laundry. The next morning, I was jolted awake by my phone buzzing repeatedly. Groggily, I unlocked it to find a dozen messages from one of my roommates, topped by a link. The headline read: “Exposed! The True Identity of Columbia’s High-Society Lackey: Is Charlie Chapman’s shadow actually a fraud?” I was instantly awake. I clicked the link. The post had been uploaded to the university forum at three in the morning. “Everyone remembers Troy, right? The guy who clings to Charlie Chapman’s shadow and was literally tucking in his bedsheets on day one?” “You all thought they were roommates? Too naive.” “His father is actually a driver for the Chapman family. In other words, he’s a servant.” “So he really is just the Chapmans’ dog. The truth finally comes out~” The post went on to list my various “crimes” since the semester started. “This guy only cares about sucking up to the rich and looks down on the rest of us from normal backgrounds. Honestly, sharing a classroom with someone this pathetic makes me sick.” At the very bottom, an anonymous comment had been pinned: “I’m his roommate. He never speaks to any of us in the dorm because he thinks we’re beneath him. With the great Charlie Chapman backing him, why would he care about us?” The tone, the phrasing—I could recognize his writing anywhere. The post was already trending, with hundreds of comments piling up. “No wonder he was so eager to serve. I guess he’s been trained to do it since he was a kid.” “People like him are the worst. Imagine being a servant and still acting superior.” “I heard he was dating Gina. How did she ever end up with a loser like him?” Someone had tagged Gina’s account. I clicked on her profile and saw her reply. “We broke up. Thank god.” “He was always the one clinging to me.” The reply had dozens of likes, with people praising her for “dodging a bullet.” Clinging to her? I guess she had completely forgotten how she used to wait outside my lectures for hours just to get my attention. I turned off the phone and sat on the edge of my bed, staring out at the grey, overcast morning. Before I could even process it, my advisor’s assistant called: “Troy, Ms. Weaver wants to see you in her office immediately.” Ms. Weaver pushed a stack of papers across her desk. They were printed pages of the forum post, with several comments highlighted in bright yellow ink. She frowned, tapping her pen against the desk. “The entire department is talking about this, Troy.” “Boasting about wealth, mistreating students from lower-income backgrounds… this is reflecting very poorly on the university. The dean’s office is already asking questions.” “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to write a formal apology to Devin, and we’ll put this behind us.” I let the word settle on my tongue. “An apology?” “He threw vomit-stained sheets into my laundry bin, posted lies on the school forum claiming my father is a servant, and incited a campus-wide harassment campaign against me.” “And you want “me” to apologize to “him”?” Ms. Weaver’s face darkened. “With that attitude, are you trying to make this worse?” I stood up, my chair scraping sharply against the linoleum floor. “Ms. Weaver, you don’t need to worry about this.” “My parents will be back in the city tomorrow. You can discuss it with them directly.” Ms. Weaver’s frown deepened. “Then bring them in!” “I’d love to see what kind of parents raise a child to be this entitled!” I looked her dead in the eye, keeping my voice perfectly calm. “Charles Chapman. Ms. Weaver, would you like me to dial his number for you?” The pen slipped from Ms. Weaver’s fingers, clattering onto the desk. Her lips parted, and she hurriedly scrambled to open the university registry on her computer, scrolling until she hit the name. Her face turned from a flush of anger to a pale, stony white, before settling into an expression of utter horror.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537549”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel