Author: Momo Chan

Before she died, Emma begged me: “My new pen pal has depression. Please keep writing to him for me, save him.” After hesitating for a long time, I began to mimic her handwriting, keeping up the correspondence for three years. That was until Gavin, fully recovered, tracked me down and showed up at my door. As I stood there wondering if I should confess that I was the one behind the letters, floating text suddenly drifted across my field of vision like a live chat overlay on a screen: [Does this side character seriously think she’s the female lead? She’s just a ghostwriter.] [Once she takes credit, the male lead marries her. But when he finds out she’s a fake, he takes his anger out on her, divorces her, and ruins her life.] I stared at the man standing in front of me. Except for that very first letter, every single word sent over the last three years had come from my hand. I shook my head. “I’m sorry. The person you’re looking for is no longer here.” 01 I recognized Gavin the second I saw him. He looked much more mature than the photo he had slipped into one of his letters three years ago, but his face was unmistakable. Gavin panicked instantly. “No longer here? What do you mean she’s no longer here?” In his desperation, his hands flew forward and gripped my shoulders tightly. “Ouch, let go of me,” I said, swatting his hands away. “Who even are you? Let’s talk like civilized people, keep your hands to yourself.” Realizing he had let his emotions get the better of him, he let go of me immediately. “I’m sorry. What did you mean when you said she’s no longer here?” “Aren’t you looking for Emma? She’s dead.” In truth, I still had one unmailed letter sitting inside my apartment. Over the past year, I could tell from his replies that he had recovered from his depression and no longer needed “Emma” to keep him anchored. Because of that, I had started spacing out my replies, hoping he would naturally adapt to her gradual departure. “Dead?” Gavin looked completely shell-shocked. “How is that possible? She messaged me just last month.” I gave him a wary look. “Who are you, anyway? Why are you asking about her?” “We were pen pals. Did she ever mention that to you?” “Sorry, we weren’t that close. But she really is dead, so you can stop looking. If you don’t believe me, ask her other friends.” Emma had been a solitary, eccentric person who kept to herself. If she had any friends at all, I was the only one. “How did she die? When?” “Aren’t you her pen pal? Didn’t you know she was sick? She passed away earlier this month. You’re just too late.” 02 The floating comments in my vision flared up with skepticism: [Did she forget who is standing in front of her? Why is she lying about Emma’s death? And why is she pretending she doesn’t know him?] [Wait, this is wrong. Isn’t she supposed to claim she’s the one who wrote the letters? She should say she only used Emma’s name because she was shy, accept his proposal, and marry him.] [If she acts like this, how is the actual female lead supposed to show up? In the original plot, the male lead finds out the side character is a fake, forces a divorce, gets drunk, and has a wild night with the female lead. That’s how their true love story is supposed to start…] Reading the floating comments made me even more glad that I was playing dumb. Over the last three years, because I wasn’t great at inventing a fake life for Emma, I had simply written about my own daily routine. I was living a perfectly fine life; I had no desire to marry some rich guy only to be tortured and ruined. Gavin blocked my path as I tried to leave. “Can you take me to her grave?” “I don’t even know who you are,” I said, refusing him flatly. “First of all, it’s not safe. Second, I have to go to work.” He pulled out a credit card and a stack of letters. “There’s fifteen thousand dollars on this card. I want to hire you to take me to her. These are Emma’s letters. You must recognize her handwriting.” I recognized it, of course; I had practiced mimicking Emma’s handwriting until it was flawless. But I pushed them away. “Sorry, I don’t know how you found this place, but Emma and I were just roommates. I can’t tell her handwriting apart. I need money, but I’m not taking sketchy cash from a stranger. For all I know, you’re trying to kidnap me and sell my organs. Let me through, or I’m losing my punctuality bonus.” I took a step down the stairs. “You’re Fiona, right?” he said. “You weren’t just her roommate. You were her only friend.” 03 “Emma talked about you in her letters. She said you were wonderful to her, and she was incredibly grateful for you.” Oh, great. I had written so many letters over the years, sometimes after a glass of wine or two, that I had completely forgotten what I’d said. I must have let my vanity get the best of me and thrown in a few compliments about myself. [Look at her panic. She definitely remembers what the male lead looks like, so why is she playing dumb? Does she hate a comfortable life?] [He’s incredibly wealthy! With how much she knows about him, she could easily extract millions. Why is she throwing this opportunity away?] [Maybe she’s playing hard to get.] [Maybe she thinks confessing too early makes her look desperate.] “Fiona, you don’t need to be so defensive,” Gavin said softly. “If you’re uncomfortable, you can invite some friends or family to join us. I just want to visit her grave.” Emma was an orphan, and I had handled her funeral and burial. She once told me: “I’m totally alone in this world. When I’m gone, just put my ashes in a jar and dump them in the ocean.” I had teased her in return: “No way, I don’t want to end up eating a fish that ate you. I’ll buy you a cheap plot, don’t worry.” Even a cheap plot was a huge expense for me, so I had spent quite a bit of my savings on a small headstone that simply read: Emma. I let out a sigh. “Fine, I’ll request some time off and take you.” When we arrived at the cemetery, Gavin stood silently before the small headstone for a long time. It must have been incredibly hard for him to accept. He had fought his way out of a dark place, expecting to finally meet his savior, only to find a cold piece of stone. Eventually, he walked back over to me. “Fiona, is there anything you need? I want to repay you for taking such good care of Emma.” I thought about it, then pointed at the headstone. “Could you reimburse me for the grave? I’m really tight on money. Emma wanted me to scatter her ashes in the ocean, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Still, the plot was a massive expense for me.” [Haha, of course the side character is a gold-digger. Even now, she’s only thinking about money.] [She only marries Gavin for his wealth anyway.] [If she weren’t so greedy, how else would the pure and innocent female lead stand out?] “Of course,” Gavin replied instantly. “I’ll pay you back ten times that amount.” I smiled, thrilled by the sudden windfall. Just then, the cemetery keeper walked by and recognized me. “Hey there! Visiting your friend again? I’ve never seen anyone visit a grave so often. You’re here every single month!” Crap. Busted. 04 [Haha, she just said Emma died this month, but she’s been coming here every month. Let’s see how she lies her way out of this one.] [Her face is completely white. The male lead definitely noticed.] “Every month?” Gavin looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I thought you said she died recently?” I forced myself to stay calm, though my hands were sweating. I let out a heavy sigh. “I was talking about my mother. I miss her, so I come here every month to talk to her. Also, in the months before Emma passed, I came to look at plots for her. I didn’t want her to have nowhere to go when the time came, but no matter how many months I checked, the price never dropped.” Gavin looked only half-convinced. “Did Emma leave any final words for me?” I wanted nothing more than to sever any connection with this man. I shook my head. “She lost her ability to speak toward the end. It was my first time dealing with something like that, so I was too frantic taking care of her to ask.” “Did she pass away in your apartment?” I nodded. It was indeed my apartment; she had stayed with me, and I couldn’t just throw her out when she got sick. “Thank you for taking care of her.” “Don’t mention it. We were friends.” Suddenly, he asked, “Where is your mother’s grave? I’d like to leave some flowers.” Oh god. My mother was alive and well, living in another state. [The side character grew up without a mother in this town, so she’s totally making things up now.] [The male lead absolutely detests being lied to. His punishments are usually brutal.] I declined quickly. “No, thank you, Mr. Gavin. I promised my mother I would only ever bring my future husband to see her. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.” He accepted the excuse surprisingly easily. We walked back to his car. When we reached my apartment building, I said, “You can just drop me off here, Mr. Gavin.” Gavin remained quiet the whole ride. Once we pulled up, I reached for the door handle, but the doors remained locked. “Fiona, I have a request,” he said. I paused. What now? “May I see the room Emma lived in?” “It’s my apartment, so that’s not really appropriate. Besides, I’ve already cleared out her things.” “I’ll buy the apartment from you, then.” “No way,” I snapped, raising my voice. “This is the only thing my father left me. Absolutely not.” The lock clicked open. I scrambled out. “Fiona, please,” he said, getting out of the car. “Emma was incredibly important to me. She saved my life. I just want to see where she spent her time.” And then, he dropped to his knees. [Oh my god, when did the male lead become like this? Kneeling for love? He’s a multi-millionaire heir!] [I love this devoted husband energy! This is pure, unadulterated love.] [Look at his broad shoulders and narrow waist… how is she resisting this? Even if she’s a terrible side character, she gets to enjoy this view.] I couldn’t stand a scene in public, so I pulled him up. “Just for a minute. Then you leave.” He got up remarkably fast. My apartment had no trace of Emma, especially since she had passed away three years ago. The decor was soft and pastel pink, which was the polar opposite of Emma’s actual style; she had loved deep blue. “This is the guest room where she stayed. Take a quick look. I threw everything of hers away after she died.” He walked in, his long legs taking him straight toward the desk. I realized too late that I had made a terrible mistake. His fingers picked up an envelope. “I thought you said you cleared everything out?” The envelope was addressed to Gavin, signed by Emma. And the letter inside was a simple, normal update about daily life. It sounded nothing like a dying person.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “455088”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 When I transmigrated into this trashy romance novel, my little sister was kneeling in the pouring rain, begging her billionaire boyfriend not to dump her. I lunged forward and slapped her right across the face. She cupped her cheek, tears welling in her eyes. “Summer? You hit me?” I shook my hand, which was completely numb from the impact. “Are you awake yet?” She sniffled. “Yeah. Fully awake.” I shoved the umbrella into her arms, spun around, and glared at the billionaire standing on the mansion’s porch. “Your turn, Gavin. Are you going to get on your knees yourself, or should I fetch a non-slip mat for you?” Rain hammered against the pavement in front of the Harrington estate. The marble tiles were polished so bright they practically reflected my face, which was still trying to adjust to this high-definition world after only three minutes of transmigrating. My name is Summer. One second I was on the subway, reading a trashy, angsty web novel and complaining about the plot; the next, I was standing outside a mega-mansion. Right before my eyes was my little sister, Jasmine, kneeling in the rain. She was clutching a breakup agreement, soaked to the bone, sobbing so hard she couldn’t even form words. Gavin Harrington stood on the sheltered porch, holding a black umbrella low. Not a single drop of water touched his bespoke suit. The words coming out of his mouth were as toxic as they get. “Jasmine, someone like you doesn’t belong in the Harrington family. You aren’t worthy.” In my head, the original plot instantly popped up. In the novel, Jasmine suffered a miscarriage for this man, faced endless public humiliation, got constantly misunderstood, and was eventually locked in his mansion’s basement. Even on her deathbed, she still had to listen to him say “I love you.” My blood pressure skyrocketed on the spot. My wet shoes slipped on the slick pavement, and I almost did a full face-plant into a bow. Thankfully, I caught my balance. Gavin’s brow furrowed. He looked like he was waiting for me to join the crying fest. I marched up to Jasmine, raised my hand, and smack. It was a crisp, resounding slap. Even the sound of the rain seemed to quiet down for a second. Jasmine stared up at me, hand on her cheek, water dripping from her eyelashes. Her lips trembled uncontrollably. “Summer?” I crouched down, grabbed her by the shoulders, and stared straight into her dazed eyes. “When you look at him right now, is he still glowing in a romantic soft-focus filter?” She turned her head dazed to Gavin. Gavin raised his chin, looking down his nose at her with utter contempt. Jasmine sniffled. “No.” I nodded in satisfaction. “What does he look like to you now?” She took another look, hesitated, and muttered, “Like a guy who got locked out of his apartment for not paying his rent but is still trying to act like the president of the HOA.” I almost applauded right there. Brilliant. The slap therapy worked perfectly. Gavin’s expression soured. He stepped forward a fraction. An umbrella-toting bodyguard immediately adjusted his coverage. The sheer dramatic staging of it made it look like they were shooting a high-fashion cologne ad. “Summer, you dare strike her?” I stood up, rainwater dripping from my hair. Just as I was about to strike a powerful, intimidating pose, my nose tickled. “Achoo!” The sneeze blasted directly toward Gavin. The bodyguard’s umbrella wobbled. A fine mist of sneeze-spray settled on the front of Gavin’s pristine suit. Combined with his scowling face, the high-society romantic drama instantly devolved into an infectious disease control hazard. I wiped my nose with my sleeve. “Sorry, Mr. Harrington. My reflexes are more honest than your personality.” Behind me, Jasmine let out a sharp, muffled snort, trying desperately to suffocate a laugh. Gavin raised his hand. A bodyguard offered a handkerchief, but he ignored it. He didn’t even look at me, keeping his cold gaze locked on Jasmine. “Jasmine, if you walk out of this gate with her, don’t you dare think of ever coming back.” Jasmine’s shoulders slumped slightly. I could already guess her line in the original book: Gavin, I truly love you. I reached out, grabbed her head, and physically rotated her ninety degrees so she was facing the main exit of the gated community. “Don’t look. It’s bad for your eyesight.” With her neck twisted, Jasmine squeaked in a muffled voice, “Summer, my neck doesn’t rotate like a security camera.” I let go and snatched the breakup agreement from her hands. The pages were packed with dense legal jargon: Jasmine was forbidden from harassing Gavin, forbidden from appearing near the Harrington estate, forbidden from speaking to the media, and forbidden from seeking compensation. The line for the payout amount was completely blank. I looked up. “Mr. Harrington, this contract is incredibly eco-friendly.” Gavin glared at me. “What do you mean?” “You saved a ton of paper by omitting the dollar signs.” One of the bodyguards failed to suppress a chuckle, his shoulders twitching before he quickly looked down at his shoes. Gavin descended the stairs, his umbrella escort moving in perfect synchronization to keep him dry. He stopped right in front of me and lowered his voice. “How much do you want?” I pulled out my phone, opened the calculator app, and tapped the screen furiously. Gavin watched me with a smirk of sheer disdain. I shoved the screen right in front of his face. It read: 250. His jaw tightened. “Are you mocking me?” I shook my head. “You misunderstand. That’s your appearance fee. In Vietnamese Dong.” Jasmine couldn’t hold it in anymore. She burst out laughing, quickly biting her own hand to muffle the sound. Gavin stared at me as if he wanted to file me away as a breach of contract. Just then, a sleek black sedan pulled up to the gates. The tinted window rolled down halfway, revealing a strikingly handsome face. The man wore gold-rimmed glasses and held a folder. He glanced at my outstretched phone screen. “Mr. Harrington, the board of directors is waiting.” Gavin snapped his gaze away from me, his voice stiff. “Gideon, you’re just in time. Escort these two off the property.” Gideon looked at my soaked sleeves, then glanced at the damp spot on Gavin’s chest. He remained silent for two seconds. “I can escort them out, but sanitation and disinfection fees will be billed separately.” I locked eyes with him through the rain. He was exceptionally good-looking, but his tongue was lethal. Gavin’s face went completely dark. I helped Jasmine stand up. As we passed Gideon’s car, he slid an umbrella through the open window. Jasmine reached for it, but I snatched the handle first. “Thanks. I’ll get it back to you.” Gideon stared at me. “The umbrella has a tracker.” My hand slipped, and I almost dropped it. He pushed up his glasses. “Just kidding.” I let out a breath. Then Gideon added, “It only has a Venmo code.” I looked down. Sure enough, a printed QR code sticker was taped to the handle. Jasmine whispered beside me, “Summer, do billionaires usually run side-hustles as umbrella rentals?” I stared at Gideon’s clean, elegant face, grinding my teeth. “Sis, remember this: even if a guy looks like a model, he might just be a smart-rental umbrella in human form.” The car window began to roll up. Just before it closed completely, Gideon’s voice drifted out. “Deposit is eighty-eight bucks.” I stood in the rain clutching the umbrella, thinking this novel world was absolutely exhausting. I hadn’t even dealt with the toxic billionaire yet, and I was already getting hit with a mobile transaction fee. 2 Back in our cramped apartment, Jasmine sat on the sofa clutching a mug of hot water, a faint red handprint still visible on her cheek. I rummaged through the drawers for ointment but only found a bottle of eucalyptus oil and half a block of hotpot base. Jasmine stared at the eucalyptus oil, shrinking back. “Summer, maybe we just let it heal naturally?” I shoved the bottle back into the drawer. “Fine. If your brain can wake up from love, your face can handle a little swelling.” She looked down, cradling her mug, her ears flushing red. I spread the breakup agreement across the coffee table. Next to it, I lined up the phone recordings, photos, the degrading text messages Gavin had sent her, and the stack of receipts for all the expensive gifts she had bought him over the years. The more I read, the more I wanted to list Gavin on eBay. Title: Billionaire, barely used, brain unboxing pending. Jasmine said softly, “Summer, Gavin wasn’t always like this.” I looked up. She immediately clutched her mug tighter. “I’m sorry! He was always like this. I just had a beauty filter on in my head.” The doorbell rang. Jasmine flinched, the lid of her mug rattling. I peeked through the peephole. Two men in sharp suits stood in the hallway, holding leather portfolios, their expressions so uniform they looked like they had been manufactured in the same factory. “Miss Lin, we are here on behalf of Mr. Harrington.” I didn’t open the door. I just yelled through it, “Did you bring care packages?” There was a pause outside. “We require Miss Jasmine Lin to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Mr. Harrington is willing to offer an additional hundred thousand dollars.” Jasmine’s eyes lit up for a fraction of a second before quickly dimming again. I reached out and covered her ears, shouting through the door, “Too low!” The voice outside responded, “Name your price.” I thought about it. “Have Gavin Harrington come here himself and sing I Will Survive. No lip-syncing, and he’d better hit the high notes.” Silence fell over the hallway. After a few seconds, a horribly familiar male voice echoed through the wood. “Summer, don’t push your luck.” Gavin had actually come. I unlocked the door and cracked it open just enough to show half my face. Gavin stood in the hallway, flanked by his assistant and two bodyguards. He held a revised contract, his face practically screaming: I am gracing you with my presence, so you’d better bow down and thank me. The moment I saw him, I slammed the door shut. Bang. Jasmine blinked, holding her mug. “Summer, aren’t you going to negotiate?” I leaned against the door, latched the safety chain, and cracked it open again. “Negotiating like this gives me a sense of security. Besides, it matches his gutter-dwelling vibe.” Gavin glared at me through the gap. “I will give you three hundred thousand. Leave this city.” I pulled out my phone and opened a food delivery app. “Hold your horses. Let me check how many pepperoni pizzas three hundred grand can buy.” A vein pulsed on Gavin’s temple. “Summer!” “Don’t worry.” I swiped the screen. “With the local coupons, that’s about thirty thousand pizzas. Mr. Harrington, are you trying to drown us in cheese?” The assistant couldn’t help himself. He let out a sharp cough. Gavin whipped his head around. The assistant immediately stared at the wall, his face turning a deep crimson. Jasmine peeked out from behind me, her voice soft but steady. “Gavin, I won’t bother you anymore.” Gavin’s expression relaxed slightly, clearly waiting for her to start crying. But Jasmine continued, “Just return the massage chair I bought you last year.” The draft from the hallway whistled through the crack. Gavin’s eyelid twitched. I looked back at her, a wave of sisterly pride washing over me. Look at that. The kid was finally learning how to collect debts. Gavin gritted his teeth. “Jasmine, are you sure about this?” Jasmine hesitated for half a second before opening her phone’s notes app. “And the watch I got you for your birthday. That was twelve thousand. The organic royal jelly your mother made me buy, five grand. And the pet grooming bill for your dog, Duke. I paid nine hundred bucks for that, and the dog bit my ankle right after.” The more she read, the smoother she got. No tears fell, but her mouth was moving at lightning speed. “Oh, and those forty boba teas I ordered for you when you said you were in a bad mood. You only took one sip, said it was too sweet, and left. I stayed up until three in the morning drinking them so they wouldn’t go to waste.” I chimed in, “That counts as emotional distress. I suggest we charge him per cup.” The billionaire filter on Gavin’s face was peeling off like cheap paint. He slapped the contract against the door. “Don’t regret this.” I slipped the contract through the crack and looked at it. This time, the compensation line indeed said three hundred thousand. I pulled out a pen and added two zeros to the end. Gavin sneered. “Are you out of your mind?” I handed it back. “Mr. Harrington, if you’re going to insult us, at least adjust for inflation.” At the end of the hallway, the elevator dinged. Gideon walked out, carrying a transparent document folder. His gaze drifted from our high-security doorway negotiation to Gavin’s thunderous expression. “Mr. Harrington, the Chairman wants you back at the office.” Gavin suppressed his rage. “What are you doing here?” Gideon held up the folder. “Delivering the receipt for the umbrella deposit.” My scalp went numb. Jasmine whispered behind me, “Summer, he tracked us down to collect a debt.” Gideon approached and slid the receipt through the door crack. I took it, looked at it, and stared at him. “The deposit was eighty-eight dollars. Why does this receipt say eight thousand eight hundred?” Gideon’s eyes behind his glasses remained perfectly calm. “The umbrella you took was a limited-edition commemorative piece.” I looked down at the black umbrella leaning against the wall. Printed in tiny font on the canopy was: Harrington Group 10th Anniversary Employee Benefit. I looked back up. “Your employee benefits are that expensive?” Gideon nodded. “The price reflects the fact that nobody wanted them.” Gavin finally snapped. “Gideon, whose side are you on?” Gideon tucked the folder under his arm, his tone deadpan. “Billed hourly, right now I am on the side of the receipt.” I watched him through the crack. For the first time, a thought popped into my head. This man is unhinged. But he is exactly the kind of unhinged I need on my team. The hallway motion-sensor light clicked off. In the sudden darkness, Jasmine grabbed my arm nervously. Gavin’s voice drifted through the gap, sounding like a utility shut-off notice. “Jasmine, I am giving you one last chance.” I was about to lay into him when Gideon’s voice echoed in the dark. “Mr. Harrington, motion-sensor lights require sound.” In the next second, he clapped his hands twice. The light flickered back on. Revealing Gavin’s face, pressed right against the door crack, trying to peek inside. Our eyes met from a mere three centimeters away. Jasmine let out a shriek and splashed her mug of hot water straight through the gap. Outside the door, Gavin unleashed a scream that was decidedly un-billionaire. 3 Gavin was howling and hopping down the hallway while his bodyguards scrambled around him. The corridor echoed with the sounds of dropping dignity and urgent requests for burn ointment. I shut the door tight, locked it, and turned to Jasmine. She was holding her empty mug, her face pale. “Summer, did I just ruin everything?” I patted her shoulder. “You just physically terminated a toxic engagement. High efficiency, really.” Jasmine’s lips twitched, wanting to smile but not quite daring to. Suddenly, our phones began to vibrate frantically. The original novel’s plot was fighting back. A PR account associated with the Harrington Group had just released a statement. It heavily implied that Jasmine had been stalking Gavin for years, and after failing to extort money from him, she had thrown boiling water at him in a fit of rage. Underneath the post, armies of internet trolls and bot accounts were marching in, calling her a gold-digger, an attention seeker, and a lunatic obsessed with marrying into wealth. Jasmine watched the comments roll in, her face draining of color. I snatched the phone away. “Don’t look into the dumpster. Roses don’t grow there.” Her eyes welled with tears. “But everyone believes them.” I opened a drawer and pulled out a small megaphone. It was a relic left behind by the original host of this body from when she used to sell hairpins at a street market, which was bright pink with two faded strawberry stickers. Jasmine stared at me, startled by the prop. “Summer, what are you doing?” I hung the megaphone around my neck, opened a video editing app on my phone, and began organizing our evidence. “Gavin loves public opinion. Let’s give him a feast.” As the sunset bled through the windows, I dragged Jasmine straight to the Harrington Group headquarters. The office tower was buzzing with rush-hour traffic. When the security guards spotted the neon-pink megaphone in my hand, their expressions instantly switched to high alert. I cleared my throat. The megaphone let out a screeching feedback howl, making passing white-collar workers collectively shrink their necks. “Attention, passersby and lovers of gossip! The Harrington Group’s Annual Relationship Fraud Customer Service Desk is now open!” Jasmine tugged at my sleeve, her fingers trembling. I handed her my phone. “Read the ledger.” She looked at the screen, then at the gathering crowd. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. I raised the megaphone. “During his relationship with my sister, Mr. Gavin Harrington accepted gifts totaling twenty-three thousand six hundred and forty-eight dollars! This includes a high-end massage chair, designer watches, organic supplements, dog grooming bills, and forty boba teas!” Someone in the crowd snorted. “Dog grooming counts too?” I nodded into the mic. “Even the dog got pampered, while my sister didn’t even get a thank-you!” Jasmine sniffled, lifting her chin. “And the Uber fares!” I passed her the megaphone. Her hands shook as she took it, her voice wavering at first but growing clearer with every word. “Every time we had an argument, he made me get out of his car and find my own way home. I had to take Ubers back just to apologize to him. The total round trips cost me nine hundred and seventy dollars!” The onlookers began whispering and chuckling. Two security guards lunged forward, trying to grab the megaphone. I sidestepped them, but my heel caught on a loose paving stone. I tilted sideways, losing my balance. A firm hand caught me by the back. The crisp scent of pine and rain filled my nose. I looked up. Gideon was standing right behind me, holding a coffee cup in his other hand. The coffee sloshed slightly but didn’t spill a single drop. Inappropriately, I found myself thinking: This guy’s balance is perfect for waitressing. “What are you doing here?” I asked. Gideon looked at the pink megaphone around my neck. “Working.” I pointed at the crowd. “It’s a circus outside your office tower. Aren’t you going to do something?” He looked down at his phone. “I’m waiting for the PR department to clock out.” I blinked. “Why?” Gideon turned his screen toward me. The internal PR group chat was scrolling at lightspeed. “There’s a woman holding a relationship fraud seminar downstairs.” “Security can’t catch her. She has insane agility.” “Mr. Harrington is asking who let her in.” “The revolving doors refuse to take the blame.” Gideon tucked his phone away. “If they haven’t clocked out, I can’t bill for overtime.” I stared at him, managing to squeeze out, “Your rebellion against capitalism is oddly refreshing.” Before Gideon could reply, the revolving doors spun open violently. Gavin stormed out. He had changed his shirt, but a patch of red skin was still visible on his collarbone. His expression was darker than the twilight sky. Jasmine’s hand holding the megaphone shrank back. I stepped half a pace forward, shielding her. Gavin growled, “Summer, have you had enough?” I turned the megaphone volume to maximum. “NO!” The piercing screech of feedback echoed across the plaza. Gavin’s eye twitched. He lunged to grab the device. Gideon smoothly extended his coffee cup between us. “Mr. Harrington, it’s hot.” Gavin froze. In that split second, the burn on his neck must have triggered a vivid flashback. I seized the opportunity to step back and hit play on my phone’s audio recordings. Gavin’s voice blasted through the speaker. “Jasmine, you are absolutely nothing without me!” The crowd gasped. Jasmine stood tall behind me, her shoulders no longer hunched. She looked at Gavin, her face completely devoid of the broken, pleading look from the original book. Gavin lunged again to shut off my phone. My foot slipped on the wet stone. This time, I couldn’t catch myself. I went down, taking the megaphone with me. Gideon reached out to catch me, but his coffee was caught in the crossfire. My elbow shoved his arm. Splash. The coffee splattered directly onto the massive digital billboard flanking the lobby entrance of the Harrington Group. The giant screen flickered violently. The corporate promotional video glitched, suddenly cutting to a bright blue error screen. Then, the megaphone fell to the pavement, triggering a pre-recorded intro I had set up earlier: “Welcome to the premier episode of: Gavin Harrington’s Epic Downfall!” Every single person outside the building looked up at the giant screen. The display flared to life. 4 On the massive digital screen, Gavin’s voice, “You are absolutely nothing without me!” looped three times in high-definition audio. With each repetition, Gavin’s face turned a shade closer to a boiled lobster. A security guard tried to pull the power cable, but the display’s control box was mounted too high. He jumped twice, only grabbing handfuls of empty air. A passing software engineer holding a boba tea yelled directions. “Reboot it! Hold the power button for ten seconds!” The guard roared back, “This is a commercial display, not your home router!” Gideon stood off to the side, staring down at his coffee cup. Only a smear of brown foam remained at the bottom. I cleared my throat. “I’ll pay for it.” He looked at me. “The coffee or the screen?” I immediately turned to Jasmine. “Jasmine, look! A wild guilt-trip in its natural habitat.” Jasmine looked up at the sky with a face so earnest it was almost heartbreaking. Gavin finally snapped out of his trance. He marched up to me, his finger practically poking my forehead. “You set me up?” I picked up the pink megaphone and blew the dust off it. “Mr. Harrington, this is called customer feedback.” He lowered his voice to a threatening hiss. “Do you think a couple of audio clips can ruin me?” I opened my phone’s gallery and held up a screenshot of the text messages showing he had made Jasmine wait in a torrential downpour for five hours. “I also have pictures.” I swiped to the next image, a voice-to-text transcript of his mother demanding Jasmine deliver imported supplements but forbidding her from entering the house. “And audio transcripts.” I kept swiping, showing screenshots of his friends betting on how long Jasmine would last in a group chat. “And group chats.” Gideon reached out, his fingers gently pressing down on the edge of my phone. I looked at him warily. “Are you confiscating the evidence?” He adjusted his glasses. “Your battery is at four percent.” I looked down. My breath caught. Gideon handed me a power bank. The casing, naturally, was another Harrington Group 10th Anniversary Employee Benefit. I took it in silence. Just how many unwanted promo items did this company manufacture? Gavin saw Gideon helping me, his brow furrowing into a tight knot. “Gideon, don’t forget who signs your paychecks.” Gideon checked his watch. “My employment contract explicitly excludes accompanying you during public embarrassments.” Several chuckles erupted from the crowd. Gavin’s temper flared. He turned to his bodyguards and ordered them to clear the plaza. The crowd began to disperse, pushing Jasmine back. I reached out to grab her, but she pulled away, taking a firm step forward. “Gavin Harrington.” Her voice was still thick from crying, but it carried perfectly through the megaphone. “You always said I couldn’t survive without you.” Gavin stared at her, his expression a complex mix of anger and expectation, clearly waiting for her to beg. Jasmine pulled a plastic card from her purse. “This is the gym membership you opened under my name. You never went once, and the trainer texts me every single day asking when you’re coming in.” Gavin froze. She held the card high. “Refund me the money. I’m taking up boxing.” The crowd burst into full-blown laughter. I almost squeezed the power bank to pieces, my heart bursting with sisterly pride. I wanted to commission a plaque for her. The last shred of Gavin’s romantic ego was utterly demolished by the word “boxing.” Just as the security guards were starting to sweat from the sheer chaos, a sleek silver luxury van pulled up to the curb. The door slid open, and Mrs. Harrington stepped out. She was immaculately put together, her hair coiffed without a single strand out of place, her pearl necklace gleaming under the streetlights. “What is the meaning of this?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but the plaza instantly fell quiet. Jasmine’s face paled. In the original novel, Mrs. Harrington was a major source of misery, famous for using multi-million-dollar checks and icy glares to crush the female lead into oblivion. I slung the megaphone over my chest, preparing for battle. Mrs. Harrington walked over, her gaze sweeping past Jasmine before settling on me. “So, you’re Summer?” I nodded. She reached into her designer bag and pulled out a card. Jasmine tensed. I braced myself. Here it comes. The classic “take five million and leave my son” routine. Mrs. Harrington slid the card toward me. “There is a thousand dollars on this.” My face practically cracked open. She lifted her chin. “Leave my son.” The onlookers fell into a collective, stunned silence. I stared at the card, taking a few seconds to process it before asking, “Mrs. Harrington… is your son really worth that little nowadays?” Beside me, Gideon turned his head away, his shoulders shaking slightly. Mrs. Harrington’s face turned livid. Gavin growled, “Mom!” Mrs. Harrington glared back at him. “Shut up! The company’s stock is tanking, and you’re out here hosting a relationship exit interview?” My eyes lit up. Ah. So the Harringtons do care about public scandal. Just as I was about to strike while the iron was hot, Mrs. Harrington turned to Gideon. “Gideon, take them to the conference room. We will settle this inside.” Gideon nodded. I took a step back. “We aren’t going.” Mrs. Harrington sneered. “Scared?” I held up the megaphone. “Just worried your conference room doesn’t have cameras.” Gideon tapped his phone screen a few times. “It does. And it records audio.” I looked at him. He added, “I just had it serviced today. I still have the receipt.” I was certain of it now. This man has an unhealthy obsession with receipts.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “455087”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“Dad! I’ve paid off David’s penthouse apartment in full, and I even hired a live-in house manager. David won’t have to worry about a thing in his retirement!” My son, Kevin Miller, sounded thrilled. I, however, was stunned, somewhat at a loss. After my divorce, I had worked tirelessly, alone, to raise my son. He graduated college and successfully landed a coveted offer from a top tech company, earning a hefty six-figure salary. But the first thing he did after receiving his first-year bonus was to arrange a lavish, all-inclusive retirement for my own brother, David Stone. “David was so good to me when I was a kid. Now that I have the means, naturally I want to repay him first!” “He looked out for me then, and now I’ll look out for him!” Watching my brother, David, and my son, Kevin, chummily with their arms around each other, I couldn’t help but laugh. Last month, I’d tried to bring up wanting to catch up on my missing social security payments. What did he say again? “Social security is all a scam! At your age, you should be focused on your career!” “It’s pathetic to think about taking it easy before you’re even old enough. You have no ambition!” Thinking of that, I tossed the already melted pill into the trash. When I spoke again, my voice was devoid of emotion. “Alright, then. Let’s find a time for you to formally separate your residency from mine.” The moment the words left my mouth, the living room fell into a dead silence, which was then shattered by Kevin Miller’s furious roar. “Dad! You’ve really lost it!” “How can you be so petty at your age? Your heart is smaller than a pinhead!” David Stone looked awkward, patting Kevin’s back, his words hesitant. “Mark… I know… I know you think I’m taking advantage of Kevin’s filial devotion. I also feel it’s not right, but Kevin is such a loyal kid…” I remained expressionless, pulling open the front door. “Got it. This is my house. Please leave!” Kevin Miller was so enraged his face flushed crimson. He clenched his fists, about to step forward. Seeing the situation escalating, David quickly pulled and pushed Kevin out the door. “Mark! You’re angry right now. I’ll take Kevin for now. We can talk again in a couple of days when you’ve cooled down!” I watched, wide-eyed, as the uncle and nephew walked away with their arms around each other, feeling a huge chunk of my heart hollowed out. For the next week, Kevin acted as if I didn’t exist, completely silent. It wasn’t until Sunday afternoon that my ex-wife’s call came through. “Mark, I swear, ever since we divorced, you’ve become more and more unreasonable!” “You’re going to hurt your son over something so trivial?” “It’s been a week, and you haven’t even bothered to reach out. Don’t you know you should apologize to your son when you’ve done something wrong?” I held the phone in silence, not uttering a word. “Mark! Are you listening?! Kevin’s been in a terrible mood these past few days, drinking himself miserable! Do you, as his father, even have a heart?!” “I’m warning you, Kevin is my only son!” “You were so adamant about raising him back then. If I’d known you’d act like this, I never would have agreed to let you take him!” Her words cut through me like a knife. She was right! All these years, I’d pulled double duty as both his mom and dad, raising him alone. How much he used to depend on me when he was little. But I don’t know when it started, my sacrifices were simply taken for granted. No matter how much I did, it seemed it could never compare to a few superficial words of warmth from his mom, whom he only saw twice a year. I choked back the lump in my throat, my voice trembling. “Is that so? I haven’t been good enough to him?” “Sarah Johnson, have you given a single penny in child support all these years? His food, his clothes, parent-teacher conferences, every ache and sniffle—which one wasn’t me?” “How dare you accuse me?” The woman on the other end was speechless, unable to utter a word for a long time. I wiped my eyes and simply hung up the phone. Before I could put my phone down, it rang again. It was David Stone. I hung up immediately. The next second, SnapChat notifications started pinging, one after another. [Mark! Aren’t you being too much?! What did Sarah do wrong? What did Kevin do wrong? Can’t you ever look for reasons within yourself?] [The way Kevin is now just proves he’s a good kid who knows how to repay kindness. I truly can’t understand how you could be a father like this!] [No matter what, Kevin is your only son. Do you really want to sever ties with him forever?] [Alright, I know you’re mad at me. I apologize, is that enough?!]

His condescending tone made me laugh bitterly. My temper boiled over, and I typed a reply directly. [What? So you *do* know you shouldn’t have taken it? If he treats you like his real dad, then I’ll step aside. From now on, he’s your son! Isn’t that perfect?] David Stone’s chat box showed “typing…” for a long time. In the end, not a single word was sent. I sat on the sofa, looking at the empty apartment, and couldn’t hold back my tears. How could a person end up like this? After being betrayed by my wife and my own brother, even my only son stabbed me in the back. What else is this but being completely alone and betrayed? … In the darkness, I dreamt of my first half of life. Married for 24 years, I hadn’t lived a single day for myself. At first, I tried desperately to be good to my wife, only for her to get involved with my own brother. Later, I devoted myself to my son, only for him to leave me with nothing. When I opened my eyes again, I looked at the paltry four-figure balance on my phone and the payment reminder from the social security office, finding it utterly absurd. I should have cried for myself. But I didn’t. I opened a local job search app, carefully sifting through suitable positions. From now on, every penny I earned would no longer be for anyone else. Only for myself. They say children are your retirement plan. But now, even my own son couldn’t be relied upon. Who else could I rely on? Only myself! The next morning, I finalized an agreement with a high-end property management company, taking on a live-in house manager position, with food and accommodation included. I started packing my luggage. Kevin Miller had a lot of things, and I sorted them out too. Since I decided to cut ties with this ungrateful wretch, I might as well be thorough. I was still debating whether to call him to pick up his stuff when the door was pushed open with a bang. Kevin Miller stormed in, fuming. “Dad, are you crazy?! I already told you, if I needed cash, I could just do some freelance work. Why would you become a live-in house manager? Isn’t that embarrassing?!” “You packed all your bags and didn’t even tell me?” “If the property management company hadn’t sent the contract confirmation to my email, I would still be in the dark!” I watched him explode, expressionless. While he caught his breath, I pointed to the pile of packages on the floor. “Perfect timing. All of this is your stuff. Take it with you.” His face immediately turned ashen. “What do you mean? Are you really kicking me out? Just because I object to you becoming a house manager?” “Dad, you’re almost fifty, can’t you use your brain?!” “If people find out that my dad, Kevin Miller’s dad, is working as a house manager, how am I supposed to show my face after that?!” I stopped what I was doing, looking at him, feeling a bit estranged. “Is that so? What do your feelings of shame have to do with me?” “You only think about yourself. Have you ever considered my situation?” Kevin Miller’s brows furrowed, “What situation could you possibly be in?” “I’m working myself to the bone out there, and you’re living comfortably at home. What more do you want?” I couldn’t help but sneer. “Kevin Miller! Did I raise you to be too naive?!” “The little money I earned from odd jobs all these years, you completely drained it before the end of each month. Now I only have a few thousand bucks left in my account!” “How many times has the social security office sent payment reminders? Do you understand what that means?!” Kevin Miller looked impatient. “Didn’t I tell you? You have me as a son; that crappy insurance is a waste of money!” “Do you really think I’d abandon you when you’re old?” I pulled at the corner of my mouth, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly trouble you.” “You still have to impress your mom and her lover. What about me?”

“What I said yesterday came from the heart. You’re an adult now, and you’re also your mom’s son. From now on, you don’t need to worry about my affairs.” Kevin Miller trembled with rage, his fists clenching audibly. “Enough! What ‘lover’?! What ‘lover’?!” “Hasn’t David done enough for you? After you divorced my mom, to spare your feelings, David hasn’t even agreed to marry Mom yet!” “Just for that, what’s wrong with me supporting him in his retirement?!” I nodded, not arguing further, simply politely pushing the luggage towards him, then ‘escorting’ him out. The moment the door closed, I immediately contacted a locksmith. See? How could I entrust my golden years to an ungrateful wretch who couldn’t tell right from wrong? On my first day of work at my employer’s house, I received a call from my dad. “Mark, Kevin just called me. What’s going on? Did you really go and become a house manager?” “And don’t be so harsh with the boy. Kevin was really hurt by you this time; his voice sounded hoarse on the phone.” Hearing that, a pang of sadness hit me. “Dad.” “Was I wrong?” “Yes, I admit that right after Sarah and I divorced, David, as his uncle, did help look after Kevin for a few days.” “But David stole my wife! Kevin was a victim too!” “How could he turn around and forget me, the father who raised him from diapers, and go support the man who broke up my family in his retirement?” There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment. “…What?” “Didn’t Kevin tell you? I scrimped and saved to put him through college, helped him find a job.” “Now that he’s received his bonus, the first thing he does is arrange retirement for Sarah and David, and then he turns around and calls me petty!” “Now their ‘happy little family of three’ is doing just fine. What am I supposed to do?” “I only have a few thousand dollars in my account, and social security keeps sending reminders. If I don’t renew it this year, am I really supposed to rely on that ungrateful wretch?” Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, yet I laughed aloud. “I’m earning money with my own hands to secure my own future. What’s wrong with that? Now, just because he finds it embarrassing, I have to back down?” “Do you think that’s fair?” After a long time, there was a deep sigh from the phone. “Mark, I know the boy didn’t act honorably, but no matter what…” “Kevin is still your only son, after all…” Before he could finish, I interrupted him directly. “Dad!” “I don’t have the same good fortune as you and Mom. I know my own son; I can’t rely on him in the future.” “So, starting today, I have to plan for myself.” Hanging up the phone, I stood in the small room assigned to me at my employer’s house, a jumble of conflicting emotions swirling inside me. Even though everyone said this line of work, “serving people,” wasn’t respectable. But this employer offered a very good salary – twelve thousand a month, with food and accommodation included. It wasn’t until now that I fully understood. The idea that children are your retirement plan. Sometimes, your own flesh and blood can be less reliable than the actual balance in your bank account! My own son, just to save a few grand, declared social security a scam. But the salary my employer provides, if I save it for a year, I can fill that entire retirement fund shortfall! I thought my attitude had made everything clear, and the matter would be over and done with. To my surprise, a month into my job, David Stone showed up at my employer’s house with Kevin Miller. Seeing me, Kevin Miller’s frown was so deep, you could almost see him crushing something between his brows. “Dad! How long are you going to keep this temper tantrum up? That’s enough!” David Stone looked around the staff room, his face still wearing that phony look of apology. “Mark! No matter how angry you are, you can’t embarrass Kevin and Sarah like this!” “Ignoring your own son to come serve strangers, doing this kind of work—what were you thinking?” “Just to spite us?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409896”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

It was Christmas Eve, and I was temporarily called in to cover for a colleague at the blood draw station. Suddenly, a little girl cut into the line, her accompanying middle-aged father, masked, quietly urged, “Excuse us, my daughter’s in a hurry.” Seeing no one behind objected, I proceeded to verify their information. “Is this the bone marrow matching sample for Zoe Davies?” The girl obediently extended her arm, but the man suddenly reached out, blocking the needle. “Wait, we’re not doing it today.” I cursed him in my head, but when I looked up, they were already walking away, leaving the consent form on the counter. The guardian’s signature, “David Miller,” stared back at me. That was my dad’s name, and I recognized his handwriting. I pulled out my phone, my fingers stiff with cold. “Dad, are you working at the office today?” A hospital-specific PA announcement echoed from the other end of the line. He paused for three seconds. “…Yes, I’m at the office.” I remained silent. After hanging up, I accessed the hospital system backend and typed in Zoe Davies’ name. “Patient: Zoe Davies. Matching recipient: David Miller. Relationship: Father-Daughter.”

“Nurse? Are you going to continue?” An old man in line behind me impatiently poked his head forward. I snapped back to reality, realizing my knuckles, pressed against the counter, were white. “Apologies, just a moment.” I forced myself to finish the remaining work, my mind replaying Dad’s words. As soon as my shift ended, I rushed into the locker room, locked the door, and only then dared to take out the paper again. “Patient: Zoe Davies, Age: 6, Diagnosis: Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia.” “Matching Recipient: David Miller. Relationship: Father-Daughter.” “Father-Daughter.” Those two words seared my eyes. I pulled out my phone and opened the hospital’s internal system, typing in “Zoe Davies’” name. A more detailed medical record page popped up. The earliest visit was nine months ago. The most recent was three days prior, an outpatient visit where a new round of chemotherapy drugs was prescribed. The contact phone number field listed an unfamiliar mobile number. The address was: Willow Creek Residences, Building 1, Apartment 602. This wasn’t our family’s address, nor was it Dad’s company apartment. I stared at the address, racking my brain. Nine months ago was precisely when Dad started his frequent “overtime” and “business trips.” Mom even felt sorry for him, saying the company had many projects that year, and I should bother him less. I opened my navigation app and typed in the address. 8.5 kilometers from the hospital, a mid-range apartment complex called Willow Creek Residences. I don’t know how I walked out of the hospital building, but I hailed a taxi. “Driver, to Willow Street, Willow Creek Residences.” On the way, I clutched the consent form in my pocket, my hands clasped in silent prayer that my worst fears wouldn’t come true. I arrived at the complex, pulled up my mask, and hid behind a large maple tree to the side. Just as I was about to freeze, starting to wonder if I had the wrong place or if this was all a ridiculous misunderstanding, a figure too familiar for comfort appeared in the complex. It was Dad. He went upstairs and appeared in a window on an upper floor. He bent down, his silhouette clear. He was stroking the little girl’s head. So gently, so tenderly. When I was little and had a fever, he would touch my forehead like that. But in recent years, such touches grew rare. He was always busy, and his head rubs became perfunctory, quick pats, his attention always seemingly elsewhere. It turned out his tenderness and time hadn’t disappeared. They were just given to someone else. I held back tears, raised my phone, my hand trembling slightly, but I still managed to capture that window, those three figures huddled together. I don’t know how long I stood under that tree. The window lights went out eventually, but my father never came out. It seemed Dad wouldn’t be coming home tonight. Thinking of Mom still waiting at home for Christmas Eve dinner. I dragged my numb legs out of the complex. On the way home, I tried to compose myself, attempting to make my expression look normal. “Alice, you’re back?” My mom, wearing an apron, peered out from the kitchen, a smile on her face. “Perfect, I just finished preparing dinner. Your dad just SnapChatted that something came up at the office and he’ll be late again this year, told us to eat first.” I opened my mouth, wanting to tell her the truth. But my throat felt completely constricted. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing the truth that was about to burst out. “I’m going to wash my hands.” Turning towards the bathroom, my tears finally broke free. I turned on the faucet, letting the sound of the running water mask my sobs. At the dinner table, I tentatively asked Mom, “Is Dad really that busy with work? Not even a break for the holidays.” “I understand. Work is important.” I lowered my head, chewing the pasta in my mouth forcefully, but tasted nothing. My stomach felt like it was filled with ice. I couldn’t wait any longer. On the last day of my holiday, I arrived at the hospital early. I casually chatted with the nurses in the hematology ward. “Busy lately, huh? Can’t even get peace during the holidays.” “Tell me about it, especially those high-risk leukemia kids; treatment can’t stop. There’s a little girl named Zoe, only six, poor thing.” My heart clenched sharply. “Zoe? That’s a unique name.” “It is. She’s also adorable, and her dad is very dedicated. He comes almost every day, stays with her through treatment, coaxes her to take medicine, sometimes he stays all night. Dads like that are rare these days.” “They are…” I murmured, my throat dry.

Coming every day. Staying all night. Running around for her. These words were like fine grains of salt scattered on my heart. I remembered my appendectomy, how I cried out in pain, wanting Dad to hold me. But he was away on a “project inspection,” and it was Mom and Uncle who stayed with me for three days. When I was struggling with insomnia due to stress during my final exams in high school, he would only say, “Don’t overthink it, just do your best,” and then go back to his work in the study. He wasn’t incapable of giving, nor did he lack time. I decided to get one step closer to that other family. I put on casual clothes and a beanie, covering most of my face. In my hand, I carried a stack of prepared survey forms and brochures. She saw me and paused, startled. “You are…?” “Hello, sorry to bother you.” I tried to make my voice sound steady, even a little shy, like a student. “I’m a volunteer from the local Red Cross chapter. Excuse me, is this where Zoe Davies lives?” Hearing Zoe Davies’ name, her guarded look softened slightly. “We’ve received information about some families in need from the City Children’s Hospital’s Hematology Department. We’re very concerned about Zoe Davies’ situation.” She hesitated for a few seconds, then stepped aside. I took a deep breath and walked into another home. My gaze was immediately drawn to a large framed photo hanging on the central wall of the living room. “That’s my husband and daughter.” I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to stay clear-headed and maintain my expression. Just as I was about to probe further, the sound of a key turning in the lock suddenly echoed from the front door! David Miller stood at the doorway, carrying an insulated food container. “Grace, I made some fish soup for Zoe to help her get her strength back…” I sprang to my feet, pulling up my mask, and made to leave. “Sorry, something urgent just came up! I’ll leave these materials with you. You can call the number on them if you have any questions!” I pulled down my beanie, stumbled out of the complex, and gasped for air. After some time, my phone vibrated in my pocket. “Alice, your shift must be almost over, right? What do you want for dinner tonight? Your dad just called and said he might be late again tonight, has an unavoidable engagement. Shall we just eat something simple, just the two of us?” “Late again!” My last nerve snapped. “Mom! Dad is seeing someone else!” Mom didn’t say anything, just told me to come home. When I got home, Mom was sitting on the sofa, as calm as if nothing had happened. She pulled out her phone and showed me a SnapChat message. “Your husband has another home at Willow Creek Residences; his daughter is six years old.” “I didn’t want to believe it,” Mom’s voice trembled slightly, as if she were talking about someone else’s life. “Your dad, he has many flaws. He’s lazy, stubborn, sometimes he doesn’t keep his word. But… for twenty years, I thought, at least he had a bottom line. I secretly checked his phone, the lock screen password was still your birthday, the chat history was clean, and the bank statements showed nothing unusual. I even wondered if someone sent it by mistake or if it was malicious slander.” My last emotional defense collapsed. I pulled out the consent form from my pocket. Then I took out my phone and showed her the pictures. “Mom! Look closely, Dad is seeing someone else!” I took Mom and hailed a taxi to that hospital room. But from inside, suppressed sobs from a woman and a man’s low growl could be heard. Just as I was about to push the door open, it was suddenly pulled open. Dad, his face ashen, walked out and collided with me. When he saw me, his pupils constricted, and a flash of panic crossed his face, quickly replaced by feigned anger. “What are you doing here?” “That’s what I should be asking you, Dad. Didn’t you say you had an important meeting at the office today?” The murmuring patients, family members, and medical staff around us all turned their gazes our way. Dad’s face flushed crimson, then turned ashen again. He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong, almost dragging me into the nearby fire escape stairwell. “Alice Miller! What are you trying to do?!” he snarled, a vein throbbing in his temple. I pulled out my phone, opened my gallery, and swiped through the intimate photos of him and Grace Davies, one by one.

His shoulders slumped, and his voice softened, pleading: “Alice, Alice, listen to me… Dad was just confused for a moment… I was really just confused! I’m sorry to your mom, I’m sorry to you… But things are already like this, Zoe is so young, and she’s so sick… She needs her dad, she needs money for treatment… Your mom isn’t well, and she’s strong-willed, she definitely wouldn’t be able to handle it if she found out! Alice, please keep it a secret for Dad, okay? Dad promises, I’ll make it up to you two properly in the future, just don’t tell your mom, I’m begging you…” I stopped looking at him, turned, and pulled open the stairwell door. Outside, Mom was standing there, I don’t know how long she’d been there. Dad’s legs buckled, and he sank to his knees. “Sarah, Sarah, let me explain…” Mom didn’t look at Dad; she just took my hand. “Alice, let’s go home.” “Mom…” I began cautiously in the car. “Alice,” she cut me off, her voice soft but exceptionally clear. “When your dad knelt down, I wondered what kind of person I had truly known for these past twenty years.” “Then I thought about that child, Zoe, only six years old, diagnosed with leukemia.” My heart sank. “Mom, what do you mean?” “The child is innocent.” Mom’s words were like a needle, piercing my most sensitive nerve. “What about me?! Am I not innocent? For these twenty years, isn’t *our* family innocent? Mom, Dad lied to us! He has two families! That child… that child is his evidence!” “I know. I know all of it. But Alice, that child is dying.” “So what?” “So we’re supposed to be saints, give our money and resources to save his and the other woman’s child? Mom, wake up! When he begged me to keep it a secret from you, he only thought of himself and that child! He never considered how much you’d suffer if you found out!” “If he had considered me, none of this would have happened in the first place.” Mom looked up, a terrifying resolve in her eyes that I’d never seen before. “Alice, I will work with your dad to save that child. As for your dad and me,” she paused, “we’ll talk about it once that child’s condition is stable.” I stared at Mom in disbelief, as if seeing her for the first time. “You’re crazy!” I grabbed my bag and signaled the driver to stop. “If you want to be a saint, go ahead! I don’t want to see either of them again!” I sat down on a stone bench, quietly sobbing. I even wondered if I was wrong? I pulled out my phone and called my boyfriend, Ethan Hayes. “Ethan,” I choked out, almost incoherent. “My dad… my mom… they’ve all gone crazy… Are you home? Can I come over?” “I’m home. Take your time, don’t rush, I’ll wait for you.” Half an hour later, I knocked on Ethan’s apartment door. I poured out everything that had happened that day, from the confrontation at the hospital to my mother’s shocking decision. Ethan listened quietly, his brow gradually furrowing. “So, your mom’s saying, save the person first, then deal with right and wrong.” “That’s not even about right and wrong!” I sprang up from the sofa, agitated. “Ethan, why are you saying that too? That’s his mistress’s child!” Ethan was silent for a moment. He then took out a file folder. “Alice, there’s something your mom didn’t want me to tell you. For the past eight months, your mother has been secretly commissioning me to investigate your father.” Ethan’s voice was low. “She started to suspect something was wrong about nine months ago, but she had no evidence. She asked me to investigate your father’s itinerary, spending records, communication links…” I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning, frozen on the spot. Nine months ago… that was precisely when Dad started his frequent “overtime,” and also Zoe’s earliest medical visit. “Why… why did you keep it from me?” My voice trembled. “She said you were still young, and with your job at the hospital, you were already under a lot of stress. She didn’t want you to be distracted.” “She said today she’d use ‘her half’ of the money to save Zoe,” I looked at Ethan, and he nodded, confirming my guess.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409895”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Five years ago, my family suddenly went bankrupt. My sister got cancer, and the entire family relied on me to survive. But when I returned to the villa we used to live in, I found the lights blazing inside. My parents and my sister, who was supposed to be gravely ill, were enjoying a lavish dinner in the living room, their mouths greasy with food. They were watching a video of me working three jobs a day, pointing and commenting. “No, she’s still not ruthless enough. She can’t even compare to us when we started from scratch.” My mother, Eleanor, said, eating premium Kobe steak. “She needs to suffer a bit more before she’s worthy of being our heir.” My sister, Chloe, casually tossed the birthday teddy bear I bought her into the trash. “Olivia still isn’t working hard enough.” I was utterly heartbroken. It turned out the bankruptcy was fake, the illness was fake, everything was a lie concocted by them to pressure and “educate” me. So, I partnered with my arch-rival and had all of my family’s assets seized. You said I wasn’t working hard enough, not ruthless enough? Well, now that I am ruthless, why are you crying and begging me?

It was four in the morning, and Northwood City’s sanitation trucks hadn’t arrived yet. As usual, I carried a woven bag bigger than myself and skillfully slipped into the greenbelt outside The Summit Estates. This was Northwood City’s wealthiest neighborhood. I felt a pang of guilt because my parents had repeatedly warned me not to come near here. “The debt collectors are waiting around there for us; whatever you do, don’t go near it.” But I often came secretly. After all, my face was so rough now that I barely recognized myself. And the rich people here were too lazy to even break down cardboard boxes they’d only used once. For a scavenger like me, it was more cost-effective. “Olivia, we’re still short five hundred for this week’s medicine. You need to find a way.” Last night, before I left, my mom grabbed my hand, her eyes swollen like golf balls from crying. My dad, Robert, lay sprawled on the bed in our leaky basement, clutching his chest, looking like he could kick the bucket at any moment. To save those five hundred bucks, I hadn’t eaten dinner for three days straight. My stomach was churning with hunger. I sped up my rummaging. Suddenly, a flash of pink appeared, and my hand froze. On top of a pile of freshly dumped kitchen waste, a pink teddy bear lay face down. Its belly was torn open, revealing the stuffing, and one eye was missing. It looked utterly pathetic. Just last night. I had scraped every penny together from my living expenses, then spent two agonizing hours at the toy store entrance haggling with the owner, almost begging him, just to buy this defective bear for fifty dollars. It was my adopted sister Chloe’s eighteenth birthday gift. Because I couldn’t afford wrapping paper, I had clumsily embroidered a few words on the bear’s paw: “Chloe, Happy Birthday.” Now, that line of text was stained with coffee. I frantically dug it out. My hands began to tremble violently. Just yesterday, when I presented this bear, my dad slapped me across the face and cursed, “Our family can’t even put food on the table, and you’re buying this garbage! Vain! A spendthrift!” My mom, Eleanor, cradled “sick” Chloe and said with a pained expression, “Olivia, you’ve disappointed us so much. Your sister can’t even afford her medicine, and you’re wasting money.” I knelt on the ground, admitting my mistake, swearing I would gather the medicine money by tomorrow. But still, this was a gift I had painstakingly saved up for my sister. *Vroom—* A black Maybach slowly drove out of the villa district, breaking my thoughts. The car windows were tinted, but I recognized the license plate—it read ‘ELITE8’. Wasn’t this the car of the mysterious billionaire who supposedly bought our foreclosed house? The driver had a crew cut, and that profile… it was clearly Mike, our old family driver! Dad had said that Mike had gone back to his hometown after we went bankrupt, hadn’t he? Driven by an inexplicable urge, I dropped my woven bag. And followed the car. I watched, mesmerized, as the car drove towards the villa we used to live in. The villa was brightly lit; it looked nothing like a seized property. I crouched behind the bushes and, through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, witnessed a scene I would never forget. My dad, Robert, who was supposedly paralyzed and unable to walk in the basement, was now energetically cutting a cigar, full of vigor. My mom, Eleanor, was wearing a face mask, directing the staff to carry boxes of luxury goods upstairs. And Chloe, who supposedly had a terminal illness, held an Hermès bag, pouting in distaste: “This color is so old-fashioned, Mom. Your taste is terrible.” Mom wasn’t angry; instead, she chuckled and coaxed her: “Alright, alright, we’ll go change it tomorrow, as long as our Chloe is happy.” “Oh, right,” Chloe suddenly remembered, “I accidentally lost the teddy bear Olivia gave me.” Dad blew out a smoke ring and sneered: “Good riddance. Just seeing that thing irritates me.” “Only suffered for half a year, and already can’t control her spending? Wasting money buying things? No sense of saving at all.” *Boom—* My world completely shattered at that moment. No bankruptcy. No terminal illness. No debt. For the past six months, I had been working day and night, washing dishes, doing manual labor, collecting trash, selling my blood. I lived in a moldy basement, eating their stale leftovers. I thought I was saving this family. Turns out, I was just a monkey for their after-dinner amusement.

What could I do if I rushed in now? Demand answers? Cry and lament? I bit my lip hard until I tasted blood. I quietly crept around to the back of the villa, where the staff quarters were. A window there was always left open; it was my secret passage for sneaking out to play when I was a child. I climbed in and hid in the secret compartment of the wardrobe in the second-floor study. The view here was the best, and I could hear everything happening in the living room. In the living room, a huge projector screen descended. “Alright, alright, today’s episode of our ‘Tough Love’ reality show is starting.” Dad excitedly rubbed his hands, beckoning Mom and Chloe. The screen lit up. The scene showed a day of heavy rain. I was riding that rickety old scooter I’d salvaged from a dump, delivering takeout. The rain was too heavy, and the road collapsed. I, along with my scooter, tumbled into a mud pit. The takeout food spilled everywhere. I ignored the bleeding cut on my leg, knelt in the muddy water, picking up each container, crying as I wiped them clean. Because if that order got a complaint, I would have to pay twenty dollars. Twenty dollars, enough to feed our family ramen for three days. “Oh my gosh, Olivia is so clumsy.” Chloe’s gasp echoed from the living room. She pointed at the disheveled, mud-covered figure on the screen, frowning. “Dad, I don’t think Olivia is suited for hardship?” “Crying like that for twenty bucks, she has no foresight.” Dad, however, looked serious. “Chloe, don’t talk nonsense if you don’t understand.” He pointed at me on the screen, using his cigar. “That look in her eyes is exactly right.” “People can only unleash their potential when they’re pushed to the brink.” “She used to spend ten dollars on books without batting an eye; now she’s kneeling for twenty dollars.” “What does this show? It shows her vanity has been crushed; she’s starting to understand the value of money.” “That’s exactly the effect we’re looking for.” Mom, Eleanor, walked over, holding a goblet of expensive champagne, taking an elegant sip. “We started from scratch, we know that building an empire is easy, but holding onto it is the real challenge.” “Olivia was too pampered before, too soft-hearted. If we don’t let her experience the hardships we went through, how will she take over the business in the future?” “Look how capable she’s been these past six months? Working three jobs a day, and she doesn’t complain about being tired.” “She’s a true heir of the Blackwood legacy.” Mom said, not noticing the resentment in Chloe’s eyes. The screen shifted, cutting to a different scene. It was me, standing outside a 24-hour convenience store, staring at the pastries inside, hesitating for nearly ten minutes. Finally, I turned and left, thinking two dollars each was too expensive. In the scene, I was forlornly nibbling on half a dry piece of bread I’d found. I rubbed my stomach, which was cramping from hunger, and reached for the beef they’d left on the table. As I ate, tears streamed down my face. Then, the scene shifted again. It was me washing dishes at a greasy diner. My old rival, with a group of rich kids, came to humiliate me. She splashed boiling hot oil from the fryer on my hand and threw two hundred dollars on the floor, telling me to pick it up. On the screen, I endured the searing pain, bent down, and picked up the two hundred dollars. Because back then, Dad was pretending to be sick in bed, saying his heart was hurting him to death. Seeing this, Dad nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent! She knows when to bend and when to stand tall!” “This is what it means to truly swallow your pride!” “She wasn’t picking up money; she was picking up her lost dignity. A qualified heir must learn to shed her pride.” Chloe pouted, a hint of jealousy in her voice: “Dad, how much longer are you going to test her?” “What if she finds out the truth and hates us?” “Hate?” Dad sneered. “She’s my blood, I’m her father.” “I’m doing this for her own good. This is the highest form of elite education.” “When she stands at the pinnacle of wealth in the future, she’ll kneel down and thank me.” My fingernails dug deeply into my flesh. So that’s how it was. My past six months of hellish living, in their eyes, was a meticulously planned reality show. They watched me bleed, watched me kneel, watched me beg for food like a dog. Not only did they feel no pity, but they were here, toasting and celebrating it.

I didn’t tip my hand. I returned to that moldy basement as if nothing had happened. For the next two days, I woke up early as usual, still rummaged through trash bins, but my eyes were no longer vacant. I began to discreetly observe this “poor” home. Before, I was too foolish, too desperate to save them, and I had overlooked so many obvious flaws. For example, Mom. Although she wore old clothes bought from a bargain store, her face had smooth, radiant skin. If you got close, you could still smell the subtle scent of a high-end moisturizer. How could a poor person have such a glowing complexion? Poor people, like me, have sallow complexions and chapped hands. Then there was Chloe. She was lying on the small bed, playing on her phone. Seeing me enter, she immediately hid the phone behind her back and weakly coughed twice: “Olivia… you’re back.” As she reached for a glass of water, I grabbed her wrist. It was a hand that had recently been meticulously cared for, nails perfectly rounded, even coated with clear nail polish, glowing with a soft pink sheen. “Chloe, your nails look great, like they’ve been treated at a top salon,” I said, a faint smile playing on my lips. Chloe’s face stiffened, and she recoiled her hand as if shocked: “This is… I just messed around with it myself.” I glanced at the pile of dirty clothes in the corner, which Mom had deliberately left for me to wash. I suddenly spoke, “Chloe, the bear I bought you…” “The bear… I’m sorry, Olivia, I accidentally lost it…” “But you’ll forgive me, right? After all, a bear like that, you can earn back by cleaning toilets for three days.” “But I…” “Enough!” Mom shoved me, shielding Chloe behind her, her eyes wide with fury: “Your sister isn’t well, and you’re still upsetting her! It’s just a silly bear, it’s lost, so what?” I staggered from the shove, my heart chilling to the core. But I wasn’t ready to give up completely. I wanted to give them, and myself, one last chance. That evening, Dad’s “condition” worsened. He coughed convulsively, as if his chest was tearing apart. He grabbed me, rehashing the usual drama: “Olivia… the doctor said the surgery would cost half a million… Dad doesn’t want to die…” Mom, beside him, dabbed her eyes, and then, her true intentions became clear: “Olivia, that crippled Mr. Wallace said that if you marry him, the dowry will be exactly half a million…” I took a deep breath, knelt by the bed, and stared intently into their eyes. “Dad, Mom. If I don’t marry Mr. Wallace, if our family really has to live in a basement and pick up trash for the rest of our lives, will you… still love me?” “Can’t we stop begging others? Just be together as a family, even if it’s a little hard, it’s okay?” The warmth in Dad’s eyes vanished, replaced by impatience. “Shut up! What’s ‘a little hardship is okay’? Without money, you’re worse than dirt! If you don’t want to save me, just say so. I raised you this long, and you won’t even make this small sacrifice? You ungrateful wretch!” Mom’s face also turned cold: “Olivia, don’t be so selfish. That’s your dad’s life! What’s wrong with you enduring a little hardship?” At that moment, I heard the sound of something in my heart completely shattering. They had money, yet they still wanted me to sell myself. They weren’t bankrupt, yet they pushed me to the brink. “Alright,” I lowered my head, hiding the tears and hatred welling up in my eyes. “I’ll raise the money. Even if I have to sell myself, I’ll get the money.” Dad lay back, satisfied, believing I had finally submitted. Late at night, when their snores were like thunder, I pulled out my burner phone from under the bed. The light from the screen illuminated my pale face. My fingers trembling, I transferred all the encrypted files to my cloud storage. After doing all that, I looked at my sleeping parents and softly said in my heart: Goodbye, Dad, Mom. This was the last lesson you taught me—push someone to the brink, and they will fight to survive.

When I walked out of the basement, the sky was just getting light. Chloe was standing at the top of the stairs, I don’t know when she got there. She held a cup of hot milk, not a hint of sickness on her face. She looked down at me from above, a malicious smile playing on her lips. “Olivia, are you going to marry that cripple?” “Actually, Mom and Dad are doing this for your own good. After all, you know, only those who truly enjoy the finer things can rise above. Anyway, even if we weren’t bankrupt now, Dad and Mom’s heir could only ever be me.” She took a step closer, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “So go on, be your crippled bride. I’ll enjoy the Blackwood family’s wealth and prestige for you.” She finished, covering her mouth with a triumphant giggle. I looked at her delicate face and nodded. “Chloe, you’re right.” “Some people are born to roll in the mud.” Only, that person might not be me. I didn’t look back, rushing straight into the curtain of rain. The cold raindrops stung my face, mixing with my tears. I didn’t hate the rain; the colder it was, the fiercer the fire in my heart burned. An hour later, I stood beneath the Titan Holdings building. This was Northwood City’s tallest building, and the only place that could truly overlook the Blackwood Group. Ethan Blackwood, Northwood City’s notorious business madman, was also my dad’s most feared arch-rival. I barged unimpeded into the top-floor office. Before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, a man stood with his back to me. “Get out.” His voice was cold and sharp. I didn’t retreat. Instead, I walked forward step by step and firmly slapped the USB drive, still damp from the rain, onto his expensive office desk. “Mr. Blackwood, I have a business proposition I’d like to discuss with you.” Ethan Blackwood turned around. He looked at me, soaking wet, covered in mud, yet with eyes that burned with an alarming intensity, and his eyebrow slightly raised. “The eldest Miss Blackwood? What, here to plead for your father?” “No.” I lifted my head, meeting his eagle-sharp eyes, and a crooked smile played on my lips. “I’m here to take him down.” Ethan Blackwood picked up the USB drive, intrigued. “What’s in this?” “The very core of Blackwood Group’s operations.” My voice was hoarse, but every word was clear and strong. “Ledgers proving tax evasion, offshore money laundering schemes, and all the evidence of cut corners on the Bayview Towers project.” “Mr. Blackwood, my dad always said that a person needs to be wolf-like, to show no mercy, even to family.” “These past six months, he taught me a lot. Now, I’m here to show you what I’ve learned.” Ethan Blackwood scrutinized me for a long moment, then suddenly chuckled. “If you give this to me, the Blackwood family is finished. You’ll lose everything, and even bear the infamy.” “What do you want?” Thunder rumbled outside the window. I didn’t need money, nor did I need status. I stared at Ethan Blackwood, saying each word distinctly: “I want them utterly ruined.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409894”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The morning I got my university acceptance letter, I woke up early and made Mom some toast and coffee. She seemed surprised, then smiled, wrinkles crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “Your acceptance letter arrived, didn’t it? It’s much more stable to stay close to home. I heard it’s a big, wild world out there, easy for someone young like you to get led astray. Besides, wouldn’t it be better to stay close? You could still have my home-cooked meals every night.” “Oh, and I already canceled your plane tickets. It’s too dangerous for a bunch of young guys your age to travel alone. If you really want to go, Mom will take some time off and go with you later.” “What’s with that expression? Everything Mom does is for your own good.” She hadn’t even finished speaking, taking a few bites, when she suddenly frowned. “This coffee… it tastes a little off?” I looked at her, and for the first time in months, I truly smiled. “Yeah, I added some of that rat poison you bought yesterday.” Maybe it was my expression, but Mom froze, her gaze immediately shifting to the rat poison on the shoe cabinet, which had been opened at some point. She’d just bought it and hadn’t gotten around to opening it yet. “Just because Mom changed your major, you’re going to kill Mom?” I looked at the disbelief on her face, barely suppressing the chilling sense of impending release, and picked up the glass of milk next to me, taking a sip. The bitter taste of the rat poison shot through my throat, making me gag and want to throw up. Just like every day since I received that community college acceptance letter. “I’m kidding.” Mom paused, then breathed a sigh of relief, and continued her lecture. “Mom knows you wanted to study medicine, but everyone says being a medical student is incredibly tough, a real grind. It’s not like being a teacher, which is much more chill and you get long breaks. Plus, you have a good grasp of the humanities, you should become an English teacher.” “Worst case, you can just marry a doctor, right? That way you won’t have to study so hard, and you can spend more time at home with Mom. By the time you’re thirty, you’ll definitely thank Mom for changing your major.” My hands, hanging by my sides, clenched tightly and trembled slightly, but Mom didn’t notice a thing. Actually, the poison was in my cup. I drank the last mouthful. “Mom, remember, you killed me with your own hands.” … Everyone said my mom loved me very much. When I was five, she divorced my dad, citing incompatible values, without hesitation. Mom didn’t take a dime in child support. She worked nine-hour shifts during the day and then set up a stall at the night market in the evenings. While she stir-fried noodles for customers, she’d supervise my homework. Whenever customers saw this, they’d feel for her, praising her as the most responsible mother in the world. She worked tirelessly, raising me all by herself. In first grade, my essay, “My Mom,” won the city’s gold prize. The principal, a friend of my mother’s, presented the award to me. After handing me the certificate, she patted my shoulder meaningfully. “You’re a boy, you need to learn to be good to your mom. She’s had such a hard life, and you’re all she has.” I nodded hard and said loudly. “I’ll definitely be good to Mom!” Mom stood below the stage, tears streaming down her face, applauding for me. For my eighteenth birthday party, Mom spent half a month taking a class and personally made my favorite chocolate mousse cake. She smiled and asked what I wished for. From her expectant gaze, I could tell she hoped my wish involved her, something like a dutiful child wishing for her health or safety. But I didn’t say anything, blowing out the candles in one breath. My wish actually *was* about my mom. Except it was to hope my mom would die soon. Or that I would.

I never liked milk since I was little. Because I’m lactose intolerant, every time I drank milk, I’d throw up and have diarrhea. The doctor said you don’t necessarily need milk to get calcium. But Mom believed milk was the most natural and purest high-calcium food, and that kids absolutely had to drink it. She didn’t have much money to buy branded milk from the supermarket, so she worked for a dairy delivery service in our apartment complex, waking up at four every morning to deliver milk to nearly two hundred households. By the time she finished at seven in the morning, she’d bring a few leftover bottles from the station for me to drink. Every time I saw Mom’s face, drenched in sweat after working for half the day, I’d feel a pang of pity. “Mom, our teacher said mustard greens and spinach also have calcium. I’ll just eat more at school. Can you please stop delivering milk?” Mom smiled and waved her hand. “Mom’s not tired. Hurry up and drink it, then Mom will take you to school.” Under Mom’s expectant gaze, I could only endure the discomfort and drink an entire bottle of milk. The way to school included a muddy, bumpy dirt path. I sat on the back of Mom’s scooter, my stomach acid surging up my throat several times, which I forcefully swallowed back down. But as soon as we reached the school gate, while greeting the teacher on duty, I couldn’t hold it in anymore and threw up in front of everyone. There were a few classmates and their parents around. Feeling embarrassed and mortified, I burst into tears. “Mom, I don’t want to drink milk anymore! Every time I drink it, I want to throw up!” Mom’s eyes instantly reddened, and she declared loudly. “You’re the shortest boy in your class! I wake up early and go to bed late, only sleeping four hours a night. Isn’t it all to save money to help you grow? Otherwise, why would I work so hard delivering milk?” “If it weren’t for you, Mom wouldn’t have gotten divorced. I wouldn’t be working this hard!” She cried to everyone around her, recounting the difficulties of raising a child alone after her divorce. Because Mom came to school every day to bring me lunch and pick me up, many parents and teachers knew her. Everyone’s gaze towards me changed subtly. Finally, Mom swayed, looking like she might faint at any moment. The teacher immediately rushed over to support her. The teacher frowned at me. “Alex, your mom loves you, that’s why she sacrifices so much for you and wants you to grow up strong. You need to understand how hard it is for her. If you act like this with your mom, I’ll have to give you a serious warning. Now, come apologize to your mom.” I was somewhat dazed, not understanding why feeling sick from drinking milk meant I wasn’t being understanding towards Mom. But out of respect for the teacher and guilt towards my mom, I still timidly apologized. Mom wiped away the moisture from the corners of her eyes while stroking my head. I heard my classmates whispering nearby. “Alex made his mom get divorced! So mean. I definitely don’t want my parents to divorce.” “I love drinking milk! My mom won’t even buy it for me. I wish Alex’s mom was my mom.” “My mom said if you don’t listen to your parents, you’re an ungrateful brat.” “Alex is an ungrateful brat!” In elementary school, the concepts of bullying and emotional blackmail weren’t yet defined. I only knew that from that day on, classmates seemed to slowly stop playing with me. They’d whisper behind my back that I was an ungrateful brat, heartless, and even said I had bad breath. Actually, that was the smell of stomach acid coming up, and fermented milk. The teachers also always looked at me meaningfully when teaching lessons about family. “Only your mother in this world would never harm you.” “Mothers are the greatest people in the world. Children, you must always listen to your mothers, only bad children don’t listen to their mothers.” “Mothers are the greatest people in the world.” I held that thought in my heart and wrote it into my essay. Later, the essay won an award, and I once again became the “good child” the teachers talked about. The teacher specifically printed out my essay and posted it on the classroom wall, for classmates to study and learn from. The teacher asked me, “Alex, tell us, what kind of person is your mother to you?” I thought for a moment. “Mom is… the hardest working person in the world, and the person who loves me most in the world.” I gave the rote answer, and the teacher was very satisfied. She nodded, smiling as she looked behind me. I abruptly turned to look out the window. My mom, in her work uniform, was peering in through the window.

Ever since I started elementary school, Mom quit her decent editing job at the newspaper and became a cashier at a supermarket near the school. Editing required long hours, from eight to six, and was very demanding, making it hard to focus on anything else. As a cashier, she only had to work six-hour shifts, giving her more time to be around the school and “supervise” my studies. I wrote that essay for three whole days. When I first wrote it, Mom wasn’t happy. So she sat beside me, watching me rewrite it. Perhaps due to her background as an editor, the grammatical errors and inappropriate similes in my essay infuriated Mom. She snatched the pen from my hand, correcting it while scolding me in my ear. “Why are you so stupid, don’t you have a brain? Can’t you just make things easier for Mom and give her less to worry about?!” If I accidentally made a mistake, she would immediately hit the back of my hand hard. She never used any tools to hit me. Mom said it was her way of sharing the pain with me, so I would remember and correct my mistakes. If I made too many mistakes, Mom would suddenly hit her own face, slapping herself. “Don’t you feel bad for Mom? Otherwise, why aren’t you studying properly?!” “I do, I feel bad for Mom, Mom, please stop hitting yourself!” As soon as I cried, Mom would rush into the kitchen, grab a kitchen knife, hold it to her wrist, and yell at me. “Mom is trying so hard to teach you, even hitting herself like this, why do you still make mistakes? Are you not even trying to study? Are you trying to kill Mom?!” In the end, Mom practically wrote two-thirds of the essay herself. No one noticed how mature the vocabulary and sentence structure were, far beyond what a first grader could write. I wasn’t good at writing at all. The one who was good at writing was Mom, the former editor. To me. Mom was the woman holding a knife. … As the years passed, people gradually forgot about the milk incident. But because Mom was always at school, whenever I got close to a classmate and she saw it, she would immediately interrogate them about their family background and grades, insisting on chatting with us. During these chats, Mom couldn’t talk about anything but me. “Hey, don’t pat Alex’s shoulder, he has homework tonight. What if you hurt him?” “Did you just sneeze? Are you catching a cold? Don’t sneeze towards Alex, that’s intentionally trying to infect him. If Alex gets sick, I’ll have to talk to your parents tomorrow!” Seeing a classmate from a less privileged family with some dirt under their fingernails, Mom frowned and said in front of them. “Alex, be careful who you make friends with. Some people just carry that ‘poor’ vibe, and you need to keep your distance. Those people won’t amount to anything later, you’re different from them.” At ten years old, kids already have self-respect. The classmate’s face turned bright red, and they quietly tucked their hands into their sleeves. Then, they grabbed their backpack, hastily said, “Ma’am, I have to go,” and ran off without looking back. Throughout elementary school, I didn’t have many friends, but Mom was very happy, because then no one would lead her precious son astray. Whenever I watched classmates walking arm-in-arm with envy, Mom would pull me forward. She pursed her lips. “What kind of friendship do kids have? Once you move up a grade, you’ll never see them again. Your main goal right now is to study, not make friends.” “Besides, you can tell Mom anything, Mom is your best friend.” I looked at Mom, saying nothing, and wrote all my teenage worries in my diary, painstakingly getting through six years of elementary school. In junior high, during the second semester of eighth grade, a transfer student joined our class. Because our school had a special fast-track admission program for prestigious high schools before the state-wide middle school exams each year, good students could get into the gifted class. So, during this critical period before the exams, transfer students from other areas would often come, hoping for a better opportunity. The transfer student had excellent grades. When the teacher assigned seats based on grades, she specifically told her to sit next to me. “Hi there, I’m Sarah.” The girl smiled and pulled out the chair next to me. “Where did you go this summer? My parents and I went to Macau, their Portuguese tarts were especially delicious. Here, try one!” Sarah was friendly with everyone. She took out a box of tarts from her backpack and shared them with the classmates around her. I quietly read my book, and she didn’t disturb me, instead quietly placing the last tart on the corner of my desk. Even so, Mom, who was peering in to check on us, noticed it. There was no teacher in the classroom, so she rushed over to us and loudly told Sarah: “Hey, kid! My Alex has a sensitive stomach and can’t eat unsanitary food from outside. Don’t make him get diarrhea!” I hunched my head even lower. But to my surprise, Sarah showed no embarrassment or fear. Instead, she smiled at my mom and said. “Don’t worry, Ma’am, I washed my hands, they’re not dirty. Plus, these are from an old, famous shop in Macau! My mom and I waited in line for a long time to get them.” Mom froze, as if she hadn’t expected a child to respond to her harshness so gracefully. She was silent for a few seconds, then her voice grew shriller. “Your parents work hard to earn money and take you out to see the world, and all you know is to show off to your classmates. You don’t think about how to study hard to repay your parents’ kindness, you don’t understand their good intentions, you don’t appreciate how hard they work for money!” “I will absolutely not let my son sit next to a child like you. You’ll lead my son astray!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409893”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My boyfriend was a warehouse worker. The moment he got home, I forced him to go back out in the rain to buy me a $199 strawberry cake. His voice was tired. “I don’t have enough money. Rent’s due tomorrow. Can I just buy the strawberries for now?” I grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at him. “Get out! You loser!” After I kicked him out, I sulked on the couch. Suddenly, floating comments popped up on the screen in front of me: [This villainess is scolding a billionaire heir! He was framed and lost his memory, which is why he’s a warehouse worker!] [The real female lead will be here soon, and the male lead is about to regain his memory! Then he’ll know what a liar this villainess is!] [This drama queen is already pregnant. She’ll use her pregnancy to throw tantrums, but she’ll be taken care of right after giving birth, and the child will be abused!] I touched my lower belly, completely stunned. Just then, the door opened. Johnson came back, soaked to the bone, holding a small piece of strawberry cake. He looked at me nervously, carefully saying, “I unloaded another truckload of goods. I bought you the cake. Please don’t kick me out again, okay?”

Johnson stood at the door, rain dripping down his pants, his eyes like a lost puppy. Those words from the comments were still floating in front of me. “Villainess,” “billionaire heir,” “liar,” “pregnant,” “taken care of,” “child abused.” My legs felt a little weak. Normally, I would have snatched the cake, cursed him a few more times for being a “good-for-nothing,” then devoured it all and made him sleep on the couch. But today, I didn’t dare. I took a deep breath, my voice a bit dry. “You… go change your wet clothes first.” Johnson clearly froze. He probably thought I’d keep yelling at him. He nervously held out the strawberry cake. “I didn’t mean not to comfort you earlier. I just wanted to unload more goods, earn enough money to buy you the cake…” The man was drenched, his old clothes clinging to his strong chest and abs. I looked at his hands, which were pale and wrinkled from the rain. A chill went down my spine. For the past year, I had constantly yelled at and berated him, and he had never talked back. “I said, go change your clothes first!” I turned my face away, my voice tight. Johnson lowered his eyes. “Okay, I’ll go right away.” He put down the cake and fumbled for dry clothes. While he was in the bathroom, I stared at the cake on the table, tears almost falling. The comments said I was pregnant, then I’d be clingy and refusing to let go, and finally, the original female lead would get rid of me, and my child would be abused. If I wasn’t pregnant, it would be fine, but what if I really was… [Is this villainess finally scared? Too late!] [Honestly, it’s too late for her to act nice now, the female lead is already on her way.] [Poor male lead, he’s been yelled at for so long.] I bit my lip, forcing the tears back. Johnson came out in dry clothes, saw me staring blankly at the cake, and cautiously said, “Want me to feed you?” I grabbed the cake. “Come on, let’s return it.” “Huh?” He was confused. “It’s too expensive. How many shifts would you have to work for this? Let’s return it.” I pulled him and started walking out. Johnson was dragged along, his face full of disbelief. “You… aren’t you the one who wanted strawberry cake the most?” “Not anymore.” I didn’t dare look at him. After returning the cake, I took the $199 and stuffed it into his pocket. “For rent.” Johnson stood there. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. He just looked at me, his eyes holding an indescribable light, a mix of surprise and heartache. “Simmons, are you… on your period?” he asked tentatively. “No!” I almost cursed again, but bit it back. “Let’s go home.” Our rental apartment only had one bed. That night, I curled up on the very edge, my back to him. Johnson got into bed after his shower. After a long silence, he suddenly said in a low voice, “I’m really tired today… can we not try anything fancy?” My body stiffened. “Try anything fancy” was his euphemism. Normally, if I was in a good mood, I’d make him work hard in bed. He never refused, even if he’d worked his butt off all day and his back was aching. But now, the comments said I was pregnant. I instinctively covered my lower belly, my mind a mess. “Uh… let’s just sleep.” My voice was muffled. It was quiet for a few seconds behind me. Johnson softly said, “Oh,” his tone tinged with disappointment and confusion. [Why is the male lead disappointed? We don’t approve!] [The male lead is only being good to the villainess because he was tricked. Once he regains his memory, he’ll know she lied to him.] [Female lead, Moore, hurry up!] I buried my face in the pillow.

I barely slept a wink all night. Johnson, on the other hand, was asleep, his breathing even, one arm still draped over my waist. Even though I’d rejected him, he still habitually protected me. As soon as dawn broke, he quietly got up. I pretended to be asleep, peeking at him through narrowed eyes. He tiptoed to the kitchen, cooked oatmeal, fried eggs and bacon. Johnson then quickly ate his portion, leaving mine warming in the pot. He walked to the door, then turned back, kissing my forehead very lightly. After the door closed, I waited a few minutes, then immediately got up. Ignoring breakfast, I put on a mask and went to the pharmacy to buy two different brands of pregnancy tests. Back home, I rushed into the bathroom, my hands shaking so much I almost couldn’t open the packaging. Those few minutes of waiting were the longest minutes of my life. Two lines. Both tests showed two lines. I sat on the toilet, my legs too weak to stand. I really was pregnant. Everything the comments said was true. [Told you, pregnancy confirmed!] [Female lead, Moore, is almost here!] [The villainess’s good days are over. Once the male lead regains his memory, she’ll be the first one he kicks out, for lying to him for so long.] I suddenly remembered the first time I met Johnson. He was in an accident at a construction site and was sent to the hospital, the back of his head covered in blood. But that face, that demeanor—you could tell he wasn’t an ordinary person. I was possessed, and when he woke up, I told him, “I covered your fifty thousand dollars in medical bills. I’m your lifesaver.” I thought he’d be eternally grateful and give me hundreds of thousands, or even millions, as a reward. Instead, he honestly said, “Thank you, but I’m just a construction worker… I’ll work hard to pay you back.” I was stunned then. But his face was so handsome, and he was so compliant with me. Before I knew it, we were together. Later, I quit my nurse job and let him support me. I hated that he was poor, so I cursed him every day, made him do this and that, and constantly told him to “get out.” He never said a single “no.” Thinking back now, how could he be so good to me when I treated him so terribly? I covered my face, unable to even cry aloud. [Now you know how to cry? What were you doing before?] [The villainess is also pitiful, vanity is fun for a while, but the crematorium is unavoidable.] I came out of the bathroom, washed my face, and looked at my swollen eyes in the mirror. No, I couldn’t just sit there and wait to die. The comments said I’d “use my pregnancy to throw tantrums, be clingy and refuse to let go.” So I wouldn’t throw tantrums, and I wouldn’t be clingy. I had to find a way to survive, and save my child. But… would Johnson still be good to me, who had lied to him, after he regained his memory? I sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought, suddenly remembering the things I used to yell at him. “You’re a loser,” “I must have been blind to get with you,” “You’ll never be able to afford a house in your life.” He just remained silent then, and worked even harder, doing construction and running food deliveries. I clutched my chest; it ached terribly. In the afternoon, I forced myself to go grocery shopping, wanting to learn how to cook. Before, Johnson always cooked when he came back. I never even stepped into the kitchen. After two hours of struggling, I made a plate of completely burnt pork chops. In the end, I ate two slices of bread for dinner. When Johnson came home that evening, he saw the tidied apartment, then the bread and two plates of “dark cuisine” on the table. He froze. “You… made these?” His voice was tight. I lowered my head. “Yeah, try some.” He picked up a fork, ate a bite of the black pork chop, and swallowed it without changing his expression. “It’s delicious.” My nose stung, and I almost cried. He put down his utensils, frowning as he looked at my hands. “Don’t do this anymore. I’ll cook when I get back.” I shook my head hard. “You can’t do everything… you’re already so tired from work.” Johnson was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly grabbed my hand. “What’s wrong with you?” [Male lead, don’t touch her!] [This villainess suddenly got smart, is she faking it now?] [Even if she does this, it won’t change the fact that she lied to the male lead. He’ll definitely settle scores with her when he regains his memory!] I was startled and pulled my hand back. “N-nothing’s wrong.” He looked at me, his eyes holding tenderness, confusion, and an emotion I couldn’t quite place. I was restless, terrified he’d see through me.

Over the next few days, I was like a different person. Instead of sleeping until noon, I woke up early to have breakfast with Johnson. After he left, I did the laundry, even though I ruined one of his work uniforms. I also tried to learn how to cook, though the results were still pretty terrible. Every time Johnson came back, he’d silently take over the chores from me, pushing me onto the couch. “Rest, I’ll do it.” [Why is she faking being so virtuous? Why didn’t she think about being good to him when she used to yell at and hit him?] [LOL, even begging won’t work, female lead Moore has already arrived.] [The villainess’s fate in the later stages will be miserable, just wait and see.] Every time I saw these comments, my heart felt like it was being squeezed. But the better I treated him, the higher my chances of survival later. Even if he regained his memory and didn’t want me, at least he’d remember these few days of me being good, right? Johnson also started acting strangely recently. He kept getting calls from unknown numbers in the evenings. Each time, he’d go out to the balcony or outside the door to answer, his voice very low. He’d come back looking serious. When I asked who it was, he’d say “the foreman from the warehouse.” I didn’t believe it. The comments said Moore had found him. One night, he went to the balcony again to take a call. I quietly followed, and through the crack in the door, I heard him say, “…I don’t remember anything from before. I have a girlfriend now. Please don’t come looking for me anymore.” Then he hung up and stood on the balcony for a long time. I retreated back to bed, my heart pounding. [The male lead is so devoted, so loyal even with amnesia.] [He’ll still choose Moore after regaining his memory. They’re from compatible backgrounds, you know.] [The villainess doesn’t deserve the male lead’s true feelings. Why didn’t she think about today when she was yelling at and hitting him?] After we lay down that night, Johnson turned over to face me. “Simmons,” he called me. “Hmm?” “I’m not too tired today. What kind of fancy stuff do you want to try? I’m open to anything.” I opened my mouth, unable to speak. Finally, I managed to blurt out, “I don’t want to.” He reached out and touched my face. “Did I do something wrong? Tell me, I’ll change it.” I took a deep breath, wanting to throw caution to the wind. “Johnson, I’m actually preg—” Before I could finish, his phone suddenly rang. He glanced at the caller ID, his brows furrowing. He hesitated for a moment, then answered. “Hello?” I don’t know what the other side said, but his expression changed from confusion to shock, and finally to a seriousness I’d never seen before. “I understand.” He hung up and immediately sat up to get dressed. “What’s wrong?” I asked nervously. “Something urgent came up. You go to sleep first, don’t wait for me.” He quickly kissed my forehead, put on his shoes, and left. The moment the door closed, comments floated across my vision: [Moore has arrived with a neurosurgeon. They’re helping the male lead regain his memory tonight.] [The villainess’s good days end here.] [By this time tomorrow, Johnson will be a billionaire heir, with no connection to this rental apartment.] I sat alone in the darkness, feeling cold all over. Johnson didn’t come home all night.

At ten in the morning, there was a knock on the door. I thought Johnson was back and rushed to open it. Standing outside the door was a woman, dressed in a designer outfit, carrying a Hermès bag, her makeup flawless, down to every strand of hair. She stood at the entrance of our rental apartment, completely out of place amidst the shabby surroundings, like a valuable rose stuck in a pile of trash. She sized me up, her eyes filled with unconcealed disdain. “You’re Simmons?” [She’s here, she’s here! The original female lead, Moore!] [That aura, the villainess is completely outclassed.] [It’s over, it’s over, the villainess is done for.] Before I could speak, she walked straight into the apartment, glanced at the cramped living room, and pursed her lips slightly. “My name is Moore, Johnson’s fiancée.” She turned to look at me, her tone flat. “He had amnesia, which is why he was with you. Now he’s regaining his memory, and it’s time for him to come home.” I gripped the doorknob tightly. “What’s your proof?” She took out her phone and showed me a photo of Johnson with an old man, with a luxurious villa in the background. Johnson in the photo wore a custom suit, his demeanor completely different from now—distinguished, cold, like another person. “This is a photo of him with his grandfather, Stuart.” Moore put away her phone. “His true identity is the only son of the Alston family in New York, the sole heir to the Alston Group. Do you, a nurse, really think you’re good enough for him?” Every word was like a needle pricking my heart. Because this relationship, from the very beginning, was something I’d tricked him into with lies. But hearing her say it to my face still made me so miserable I wanted to cry. “He… regained his memory?” My voice trembled. “Yes.” Moore sneered. “Last night’s treatment went very smoothly. He’ll remember everything. Do you think he’d still want you after remembering who he is?” I bit my lip, saying nothing. Moore looked around the room again, scoffing, “You let him live in a place like this? And let him work hard to support you?” “Miss Simmons, not only are you not worthy of him, but you also made him suffer so much. If you had any conscience, you’d disappear on your own.” She offered me a plane ticket. “This afternoon’s flight. Go wherever you want, just don’t come back.” I didn’t take it. Moore placed the ticket on the table. “Miss Simmons, you’ve taken care of Johnson for half a year. The Alston family thanks you. But some dreams should end.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t harbor any false hope. After he regains his memory, the first thing he’ll investigate is that lie about the fifty thousand dollars. You know what you did.” My whole body stiffened. “Just leave. I’ll give you five hundred thousand dollars, enough for you to live on for a while.” I picked up my phone and called Johnson. No answer. I called again. Still no answer. I called seven or eight times, all unanswered. [The male lead regained his memory, he doesn’t want to answer her calls.] [He’s about to be in an arranged marriage, why would he care about her? The villainess brought this on herself.] [Honestly, five hundred thousand dollars isn’t bad. Take it and leave. It’s a better outcome than in the original story.] My last bit of fantasy shattered. I suddenly laughed, looking at Moore. “Do you think five hundred thousand dollars is enough to get rid of me?” “How much do you want?” Moore narrowed her eyes. My mind raced. Even if I had to leave, I needed to save enough money for the child. “Fifty million,” I said. “Are you insane?” “Then there’s nothing to discuss.” I turned, making a move to close the door. “I’ve been with Johnson for so long, I don’t believe he’d be so cruel as to abandon me. I’ll just cling to him and never let go, what can you do about it?” Moore’s face was ashen, veins bulging on the hand gripping her bag strap. After a long silence, she gritted her teeth. “Thirty million. That’s the most.” “Deal.” I answered quickly, though my heart was trembling. I’d never seen so much money. After the transfer was complete, Moore said coldly, “The plane is at three this afternoon. If you try to pull anything, I guarantee your life will be miserable.” She left. I stared at my phone screen. Johnson’s calls still weren’t going through, and tears splashed onto it. He must hate me now that he’d regained his memory. I sniffled, wiped away my tears, and started packing my luggage. I blocked all of Johnson’s contact information, then dragged my suitcase out of the rental apartment. As I passed the fruit store downstairs, the owner called out, “Simmons, your boyfriend ordered a strawberry cake yesterday, said he’d pick it up today. Want to take it?” I paused, then shook my head. “No, you can return it.” On the way to the airport in the taxi, I cried the whole time. The driver glanced at me several times in the rearview mirror, wanting to say something but holding back. At the airport, I checked in. I wiped my face and dragged my suitcase towards security. Just as I handed over my boarding pass and was about to go through the gate, the airport announcement suddenly blared: “Attention all passengers, all flights are temporarily grounded. Now broadcasting a search—”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409892”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

After a drunken one-night stand with my best friend’s brother, I became his secret girlfriend. Eight years into our secret relationship, my family forced me into an arranged marriage. “Dennis, my family gave me an ultimatum. I have to get married this year.” He paused, then lightly kissed my forehead, repeating his usual, “Just wait a little longer.” But then I scrolled through Anna, the intern’s, Instagram. The picture was her and Dennis’s marriage certificate. The caption: Got the CEO! Easy win! Eight years I spent chasing him with no results, and she got him in three months. Suppressing the bitterness in my heart, I liked the post. My comment: “Congrats! Wishing you everlasting happiness.” After that, I agreed to the wedding date my family had set. Suddenly, my phone rang. For the first time, Dennis’s voice was panicked: “Chloe, don’t misunderstand. I just lost a game with friends, that’s why Anna and I got married…” I cut him off: “Dennis, I’m getting married.” A two-second pause on the other end of the line. Dennis’s voice came through, laced with impatience, mixed with a girl’s soft laughter in the background. “Here we go again.” “Are you that desperate to get married? The company’s cash flow is tight; can you please stop making things worse?” I stood in the evening breeze, holding my phone, my voice flat, without a ripple of emotion. “I’m not making things worse. I really am getting married.” He scoffed, as if he’d heard the funniest joke. “You don’t even have a guy you’re casually dating. Are you marrying thin air?” I was about to say Nelson’s name. But he was already rushing to hang up: “Alright, I have another call. Getting married was just a dare I lost, don’t overthink it.” The dial tone buzzed. I stared at the disconnected screen, my fingertips cold and stiff. Eight years. He always said, “Don’t overthink it.” The next day, I walked into the office carrying a few boxes of donuts and my wedding invitations. The office was buzzing. Anna was surrounded by a crowd, her face flushed crimson. “Anna, you’re amazing! Mr. Dennis is such a cold person, and you got him in three months?” “You’re our boss’s wife now! Don’t forget about us!” Anna covered her face, giggling, her voice just loud enough to carry across the entire office. “It’s not what you think, really. We just lost a game and got the certificate. Please don’t spread rumors.” I sneered. She announced it to the world on Instagram; how is that not spreading rumors? Her sharp eyes caught sight of the donuts in my hand. She trotted over in her high heels, took my arm, and shook it. “Did Mr. Dennis ask you to prepare these little gifts for us? Thank you!” I was about to say no. She snatched the donuts, pushing them into colleagues’ hands. “Everyone, try some!” The crowd cheered their thanks, praising Mr. Dennis for being so romantic and thoughtful. Just then, Dennis stepped out of the elevator. Everyone cheered, shouting, “Thank you, Mr. Dennis, for the little gifts!” Anna shyly looked up at him. Dennis froze for a moment, then forced a smile, responding, “Glad you all like them.” “Those are mine.” The moment I spoke, the entire office fell silent. All eyes were fixed on me. Dennis’s face instantly darkened, a hint of panic in his eyes. “Chloe, this is the company, not a place for your tantrums.” “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” I met his gaze. “The donuts are my treat. I’m getting married next Saturday.” His face went dark, as if ink was dripping from it. He strode over to me, grinding out in a low voice: “Do you have to push my buttons like this?” Someone nearby snickered: “Chloe, we’ve never even seen you with a boyfriend. Who are you marrying? You’re not going crazy with jealousy because Anna married Mr. Dennis, are you?” Anna’s eyes instantly reddened. She bit her lip and chimed in. “Ms. Chloe, I know you used to like Mr. Dennis, but he’s just not interested in you.” “When rumors about you two started, Mr. Dennis privately clarified to us that you were just ordinary colleagues.” At her words, the way everyone looked at me changed instantly, like I was a failed gold-digger now lashing out in anger. I looked at Dennis. He turned his head away, his gaze fixed on the window, not even offering a single word in my defense. Eight years of a secret relationship. How many times had I endured client dinners for him, secured how many vital deals, how many times had he played dumb when people gossiped about me throwing myself at him? Now, he wouldn’t even grant me this small bit of dignity. Someone else joined in the taunting: “Ms. Chloe, Mr. Dennis and Anna are married now. If you keep bothering him, you’ll be a mistress. If that gets out, how will our company land any clients?” “Exactly. Trying to steal a junior colleague’s husband, how pathetic.” I looked at these colleagues I had personally trained and mentored, and suddenly felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat. I had originally planned to send them wedding invitations, but now, there was no need. My hand, hanging at my side, gripped my phone tightly. I swept my gaze over everyone. “Since that’s the case, I should introduce my fiancé.” I was about to open my photo album to show the picture of Nelson and me. Suddenly, my wrist was grabbed. Dennis snatched my phone, his face looking utterly terrible. “Everyone, get back to work!” He yelled at everyone, then dragged me by the arm toward his office. Behind us, I heard voices comforting Anna, and felt the contemptuous stares aimed at me. Inside the office, he slammed the door shut and irritably tugged at his tie. “I told you the marriage certificate was just a game! Do you have to make a scene and embarrass everyone?” “If it was just a game.” I looked up at him, my voice as cold as ice. “Why didn’t you clarify earlier? Why did you let them call me a mistress?” He choked for a moment, then spoke with a touch of self-righteousness. “Anna’s thin-skinned; I couldn’t possibly embarrass her in front of everyone, could I?” So my dignity could be trampled on. I reached out, pulled my phone from his hand, and turned to walk toward the door. My hand touched the doorknob, and I paused, not looking back. “My wedding is next Saturday. You and Anna are welcome to come.”

As I reached the underground parking garage, my phone rang. It was the HR recruiter who had contacted me before. “Ms. Chloe, about the Marketing Director position at that listed company we discussed, they’re willing to increase your salary by another twenty percent. Could you reconsider?” This salary was top-tier in the industry. “I accept,” my voice was steady. “Additionally, I’ll bring a multi-million-dollar deal with me. Please help me secure the corresponding commission.” The HR on the other end almost shrieked with excitement: “Don’t worry! We’ll make sure everything is perfectly arranged for you!” I hung up, got into my car, and my finger slid over Nelson’s name in my WhatsApp contacts. I sent him a message: “Hold off on signing the contract for now. Wait for my update.” Dennis said the company was struggling and told me not to make things worse. But in these eight years, which company crisis hadn’t I fought tooth and nail to overcome? This collaboration with the Nelson Group was something I had swallowed my pride and humbly begged Nelson for three times to get. It was a deal that could save Dennis’s company. The car exited the underground parking lot, and the scenery outside flashed past. Just like my eight years with Dennis, gone in the blink of an eye. I first saw Dennis outside my university dorm. He was my best friend Mansoor’s older brother, picking her up for summer break. He stood under a tree in a white shirt, a small mole at the corner of his eye when he smiled. I fell for him at first sight. Later, at our graduation party, we both drank too much and ended up sleeping together. I naturally joined his startup, starting as an entry-level intern. At first, he said we couldn’t go public because he was afraid people would say I got ahead through connections. I waited. After I used my own abilities to rise to the top position in the marketing department, he said he was afraid it would affect my friendship with Mansoor. I still waited. I always thought he would give me a title eventually. It wasn’t until I saw the marriage certificate on Anna’s Instagram that I finally woke up. He wasn’t unwilling to get married; he just wasn’t willing to marry me. I drove back to the apartment Dennis and I had shared for five years. Leaving the company would take a few days to process, so I decided to pack my things and move out first. I pulled out a suitcase and opened the closet; his clothes took up most of the space. I used to tell him his style was too dull and asked him to try bright hoodies. He’d say he was the boss and needed to be serious. But now, in the most prominent spot in the closet, hung several bright, trendy hoodies. It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing to change; he just wasn’t willing to change for me. I folded my clothes one by one into the suitcase when I suddenly heard the lock turn behind me. Dennis walked in. He saw my open suitcase and frowned. “Anna and I really have nothing going on. Can you please stop this?” He walked over, intending to take my hand. “Getting married was too rash of me. I’ll go to the city hall with her this afternoon to get divorced. Once the contract with the Nelson Group is signed and the company is stable, we’ll go public, okay?” I opened my mouth, about to say, “Let’s break up.” He suddenly interrupted me, glancing around the room: “Oh, right, where did you put the keys to the Flower Gardens apartment?” “In the bottom drawer of the nightstand,” I paused, then still asked, “Are you selling the apartment to cover the cash flow gap?” He paused, then smiled, his tone very casual. “Selling? No. It’s just sitting empty. Anna’s lease is up, so I told her she could move in there for now.” My heart felt like it was severely blocked by something, aching dully. The Flower Gardens apartment was the one he said he bought for us as our wedding home last year for my birthday. Now he was letting another woman live in it. He seemed not to notice my pale face and spoke again: “Oh, and the Nelson Group contract, once you’re done with it, just hand it over to Anna. Her probation period is almost up, and this deal will help her get permanent employment. Don’t worry, I’ll still give you the full commission.” Before I could speak, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, answered immediately, his voice impossibly soft. “Mmm, I’ll send you the address. Just have the moving company go straight there…” He walked out the door while talking on the phone, not even sparing me a glance. The door clicked shut. I stood in the empty living room and suddenly let out a laugh. Turns out, my eight years of youth meant less to him than an intern who had only been there for three months.

I pulled my suitcase out of the apartment without looking back. I went straight back to my parents’ house. Ever since I agreed to marry Nelson, my mom’s smile hadn’t left her face. She rushed to greet me as I came in, taking my suitcase. “I told you Nelson was reliable. We watched him grow up; we know him inside and out. Your father and I will absolutely be at ease if you marry him.” Nelson and I grew up together. My mom and his mom are best friends; they even joked about arranging our marriage when we were babies. If I hadn’t met Dennis in college, I probably would have married Nelson a long time ago. I knew he had always liked me. This time, when Dennis’s company’s cash flow was breaking, and he was at his wit’s end, it was I who swallowed my pride and went to Nelson, begging him to give Dennis a chance for a collaboration. He was silent for a long time, but finally nodded. Thinking about it now, I was incredibly stupid. After dinner, I hid in the study to organize my work handover documents. My phone vibrated. It was a WhatsApp message from Dennis: “Coming back late, don’t wait up for me.” I looked at the message and immediately deleted his chat. By the time I finished organizing, it was past ten. I showered, lay in bed, and casually opened Instagram. The first post was Anna’s update from half an hour ago. The photo’s background was the living room of the Flower Gardens apartment. Dennis and a few friends were arm in arm, playing a drinking game, with a pile of empty bottles on the table. The caption: He called me his darling in front of all his brothers. I’m so shy. The comments below were all teasing, saying Mr. Dennis was too doting. I stared at the screen for two seconds, then calmly pressed exit. No sadness, no anger. Eight years of affection had already burned out completely the moment he allowed my colleagues to call me a mistress. A new WhatsApp message popped up. It was from Nelson: “Are you free tomorrow? The bridal shop said the custom dress is altered. Want to go try it on?” I replied, “Okay.” The next day, Nelson came to pick me up early. My mom smiled as she saw me off, even packing two boxes of his favorite pastries. In the car, I felt a little embarrassed. I scratched my head and told him: “Could you please keep the Nelson Group contract on hold for me? I’m planning to switch to a new company and want to use it as a strong start.” He turned his head to look at me and smiled: “Why not just come work for my company?” “It’s better to keep business and personal separate,” I smiled back. At the bridal shop, the consultant immediately greeted us with a smile, holding a mermaid-style wedding dress. “Mr. Nelson specifically instructed us to alter it three times to your measurements. It’s sure to look beautiful on you.” I changed into the wedding dress and stood in front of the mirror, frozen for a long time. Before, when Dennis and I passed bridal shops, if I lingered a little too long, he would say he would design a one-of-a-kind dress for me later, so there was no need to rush now. I waited eight years and never got a dress designed by him. Instead, I wore one custom-made by Nelson. “Want to take a photo for Instagram?” Nelson stood behind me, his voice very gentle. I nodded and handed my phone to the consultant: “Could you please take a photo of us together?” He paused, then his eyes crinkled in a wide smile. He quickly walked to my side, gently and courteously placing his hand on my waist. The photo came out beautifully. I uploaded it to Instagram, editing the caption: Next Saturday, Cloudtop Chapel. Everyone is welcome to join Nelson and me at our wedding. One minute after I posted it, the comment section exploded. “OMG! Is that Mr. Nelson from the Nelson Group? Chloe, you kept that a secret!” “Who was saying she was throwing herself at Mr. Dennis before? Their faces must be so swollen right now!” “Mr. Nelson is a million times better than Mr. Dennis!” As I was scrolling through comments, my phone suddenly rang. It was Dennis. I answered, and from the other end came his drunken mockery, sharp and piercing. “Chloe, you’re something else! To force me to marry you, you actually got Nelson to put on an act with you? You’ll stop at nothing for a title.” I was about to speak when Nelson suddenly reached out, took my phone, and put it on speaker. His voice was calm, yet undeniably firm, echoing through the receiver. “Mr. Dennis, Chloe and I are really getting married.” “She waited for you for eight years; I waited for her for twelve.” “Thank you for not marrying her.” On the other end, there was a deathly silence. After several seconds, Dennis’s frantic roar came through: “Impossible! Chloe, say something!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409891”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The night before my engagement party, my fiancé’s childhood friend said she had a surprise for me. She tricked me into going to the hotel’s rooftop glass conservatory, locked the door, and turned on all the sprinklers. It was a stormy December night. Ice-cold water crashed down on my head, and the conservatory walls were all transparent glass. Downstairs, guests held up their phones, watching me shiver in misery. She smiled, innocent and malicious. “Aria Hayes is always so high and mighty, isn’t she? Let everyone see what she looks like begging for mercy when she’s frozen.” My fiancé, Ethan Vance, stood downstairs, watching me through the rain. His voice was cold. “Just don’t kill her.” “Someone from her small-town background needs to learn the hard way that the Vance family isn’t easily impressed.” Later, I smashed the glass and came down from the rooftop. Wiping the blood from my face, I called my lawyer. “Notify the board. Withdraw investments, freeze accounts, and halt all project payments for Vance Group first thing tomorrow morning.” “Also, send tonight’s video to the police.” “Unlawful imprisonment, intentional assault, invasion of privacy—don’t miss a single charge.”

The moment the icy water hit me, I could barely breathe. The glass conservatory door was locked from the outside. All four walls were transparent, and the lights were blindingly bright, illuminating my pathetic state with nowhere to hide. The terrace of the banquet hall downstairs was packed with people. They stood, champagne glasses in hand, as if watching a meticulously planned performance. Some laughed, some whistled. Others held up their phones, their cameras pointed at my rain-soaked face. “This show is intense!” “Mr. Vance really knows how to have fun, arranging this kind of surprise for his fiancée the night before their engagement.” “What surprise? Didn’t Tiffany Blackwood say? It’s a test.” “A test to see if she’s worthy of joining the Vance family!” One taunt after another, they pierced through the sound of the rain and into my ears. My fingers gripped the doorknob, but the door wouldn’t open. An electronic lock hung outside the glass conservatory, its screen glowing red. Tiffany stood outside, wearing a pristine, beautiful evening gown, her makeup flawless, like an untouched gardenia. She held a white umbrella, a wide smile on her face, and waved a remote control at me. “Aria, don’t look at me like that.” “Everyone just wants to see how much you truly love Ethan.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was just enough for those nearby to hear, and another burst of laughter erupted from the crowd. I raised a hand to wipe the water from my face, my voice trembling. “Tiffany, open the door.” She tilted her head, as if she’d heard something amusing. “But the game has just begun.” “We made a bet to see how long you can last without begging for mercy.” She took a step closer, looking at me through the glass. “Haven’t you always said you’re independent, strong, and capable?” “Well, prove it to us.” I looked at her innocent face, my heart growing colder by the inch. Tonight was the eve of my engagement party with Ethan. The Vance family had booked the entire mountaintop hotel. Tomorrow morning, all the media would be present. Ethan had said it was the proper recognition he owed me. He said I had stood by him through the Vance Group’s toughest three years, helped him rise from a marginalized illegitimate son on the board to his current position of power. He owed me a proper status. I had once felt truly happy. For this engagement party, I had canceled three important meetings, personally reviewed every guest list, and every financial transaction. But now, the man who was supposed to give me that recognition stood in the center of the terrace downstairs. He didn’t come up, nor did he tell anyone to open the door. The rain was blocked by the eaves. Ethan stood in the warm, bright light, wearing a black suit, watching me with cold eyes as I shivered under the icy water in the glass conservatory. I shouted at him through the glass. “Ethan! Tell her to open the door!” I thought he would at least frown, but he merely flicked his cigarette ash, unhurriedly. “Aria, Tiffany Blackwood just likes to play games.” “You’re older than her, and more sensible. Don’t hold it against her.”

At that moment, the icy water pierced into my very bones like knives. I stared at him, my eyes red-rimmed. “You know I’m afraid of this!” When I was eight, I was trapped in a collapsed old warehouse. Outside, the rain poured down relentlessly, water rising above my knees. It was dark, surrounded by broken wood. My mother, trying to save me, was crushed by a fallen beam. She pushed me out, but she never made it out herself. Since then, I’ve been afraid of confined spaces, of the continuous sound of water, of any night I can’t escape. All these years, I had never told anyone. Only Ethan knew. Because back then, when the Vance Group was cornered by debt collectors in the underground parking garage, he was also locked in his car for an entire night, protecting project documents. When I accompanied him for psychological counseling, he held my hand and said, “Aria, from now on, I’ll protect you from your fears.” Now, he stood downstairs, turning my fear into everyone’s amusement. Tiffany laughed, chiming in. “Ethan said it himself, I just like to have fun.” “Aria, don’t be so petty.” She turned to face the guests downstairs, her voice suddenly rising. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s bet officially begins.” “If she cries and begs Ethan to save her within half an hour, I lose.” “If she endures without begging, I’ll transfer a hundred grand to each of you.” The crowd erupted. “Miss Blackwood is generous!” “Well, then we’re definitely betting she can’t hold out.” “A woman from a small town, does she really think a designer gown makes her fit for high society?” “Is Mr. Vance really going to marry her? I always thought it was just a fling.” My fingertips went numb. Rainwater streamed down my hair and into my eyes, stinging them open. I pounded on the door. “Ethan, I’m telling you one last time, tell someone to open the door!” Ethan finally looked up at me. His expression showed no guilt, only annoyance at being publicly challenged. “Aria, do you really have to make this scene so ugly?” “Tiffany has been spoiled by us since she was little. Why are you being so serious with her?” “Besides, aren’t you the best at solving crises? You can’t even handle this small matter?” I stood there, stunned, and then a smile, grim and cold, stretched across my face. So, in his eyes, my fear, trapped in a downpour, was just a small matter. All the crises I had shouldered for him these past three years had ultimately become his reasons to humiliate me. Tiffany’s face twitched when she saw me smile. She hated this look on me, hated that even at my most pathetic, I still refused to bow my head. She raised her hand and pressed the remote control. The next second, the water pressure from the conservatory’s sprinklers suddenly intensified. Colder water poured down, and my knees buckled, almost making me fall. A collective gasp rose from downstairs. It wasn’t worry; it was excitement. “She’s about to break!” “Quick, record it! This video is definitely going viral tomorrow!” “Mr. Vance’s fiancée is quite stubborn…” Tiffany leaned closer to the glass, lowering her voice so only I could hear. “Aria, stop pretending.” “I know you’re terrified of places like this.” “Ethan told me himself.”

My heart plummeted. Her smile grew sweeter. “You thought he kept your secrets?” “Sorry, he tells me everything when he’s tucking me into bed.” “He said you were trapped as a child, so you never sleep soundly when it rains.” “He said you seem tough, but deep down, you’re still that little girl afraid of darkness and water.” My ears buzzed. These words were colder than the storm itself. Ethan and I had been together for three years. I had shielded him from the board’s power grabs, secured overseas financing for him, and revised acquisition plans for him at four in the morning. The night he had a stomach hemorrhage, I stayed by his side in the hospital all night. When he was framed by Julian Vance for embezzling public funds, I found the accounting loopholes and pulled him out of the mess. He knelt before me and said, “Aria, without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” “When I reclaim the Vance Group, I’ll marry you.” I thought it was a promise, but it turned out, to him, I was just a useful tool. Someone who would work tirelessly for a little kindness. Tiffany tapped on the glass. “Aria, don’t blame me.” “I just want you to recognize your place.” She looked up at Ethan, her voice suddenly softening. “Ethan, you won’t blame me, will you?” Ethan stubbed out his cigarette. “Don’t go too far.” Tiffany immediately pouted, looking wronged. “How am I going too far? You clearly promised me I could have fun tonight.” “You even said the engagement was just a temporary arrangement.” ‘Temporary arrangement’ cut through my heart like a dull knife. I looked up at Ethan. “Is she telling the truth?” Ethan frowned. He seemed not to have expected Tiffany Blackwood to let it slip in public. But quickly, he regained his aloof composure. “Since you heard it, there’s no need for me to hide it.” I was drenched, standing in the icy water, looking at him. “So tomorrow’s engagement party is also a sham?” He said calmly, “It’s not a sham, it’s just an engagement, not a marriage.” “Aria, you should understand that a Vance family marriage can’t just be about love.” “Tiffany has the Blackwood family behind her. She’s the most suitable person to stand by my side.” My nails dug into my palms. “Then what am I?” A hint of impatience finally flickered in Ethan’s eyes. “Do you have to ask such unpleasant questions?” “I haven’t treated you badly these past three years.” “You wanted a position, I gave you Vice President.” “You wanted respect, who in Vance Group dared not call you Miss Hayes?” “As for marriage, I can’t give it to you, and there’s no need to deceive you for a lifetime.” He spoke calmly, as if my three years of dedication were only worth a Vice President title. Tiffany laughed, leaning close to him. “Aria, you should be grateful for what you have.” “Someone with no connections, no family name, no parents to back you up, to get as far as an engagement with Ethan, that’s already incredibly lucky for you.” Someone nearby echoed, “Exactly.” “If Mr. Vance really married her, where would the Vance family’s reputation be?” “What good is being capable? High society wives are all about pedigree.” “Aria should wake up. She’s at most a meritorious figure on Mr. Vance’s path to power. A loyal servant doesn’t become the queen.” I looked at those who had once nodded and deferred to me in meeting rooms. They called me Miss Hayes when they respected me. Now, seeing Ethan not protect me, they immediately changed their tune. A man in a grey suit, Mark, smiled and raised his phone. “Miss Hayes, would you like me to take a picture for remembrance?” “After all, starting tomorrow, Miss Blackwood will be standing by Mr. Vance’s side.” “This look tonight, it’s your last time as the leading lady.” I didn’t say anything more because the most intense wave of fear had passed. When a person hurts to the extreme, they often become clear-headed. I raised my hand to my right ear; my earring was still there. It wasn’t an ordinary earring. Three months ago, when I noticed irregularities in the Vance Group’s internal accounts, I had my security team create an emergency device for me. By pressing it three times consecutively, it would automatically pinpoint my location and send an alarm to my lawyer, assistant, and private security. Ethan didn’t know. He always thought I had entrusted all my trump cards to him. But he forgot that someone who had climbed out of a ruin would never truly surrender their life into anyone’s hands. I lowered my head, pretending to be choked by the rain, and raised my hand to cover my ear. Once, twice, thrice. The earring vibrated slightly. The signal was sent.

Tiffany thought I was about to break, and her eyes lit up. “Ethan, is she about to cry?” “I knew she couldn’t pretend for long.” She took out her phone and pointed it at me. “Come on, Aria, look at the camera and say you were wrong.” “Just admit you’re not worthy of Ethan, and I’ll open the door.” I looked up at her. “Tiffany, are you sure you want to continue?” She froze for a moment, then scoffed. “It’s come to this, and you’re still threatening me?” “Aria, you don’t really think you’re still Miss Hayes, the one everyone at Vance Group reveres, do you?” “Your position was given by Ethan. He can give it to you, and he can take it back.” I slowly straightened up. “Then ask him if the Vance Group can still take back my position now.” A dark flicker crossed Ethan’s eyes. “Aria, what do you mean?” I looked at him through the rain. “It means you’d better pray I’m okay tonight.” “Otherwise, tomorrow, the Vance Group won’t have an engagement party, only a liquidation meeting.” The crowd laughed again, thinking I was just bluffing. Tiffany Blackwood bent over laughing. “Liquidation meeting? Who are you going to liquidate? The Vance family?” “Aria, are you frozen stupid?” Ethan’s face darkened. “Enough.” He looked up at me, his voice lowered. “Aria, don’t overestimate your importance.” “The projects you’re working on are ultimately the Vance Group’s.” “Your connections were also made on the Vance Group platform.” “Without the Vance Group, you are nothing.” I looked at him, and the last shred of pain in my heart burned to ash at that moment. “Alright. Ethan, then we’ll see tomorrow.” “We’ll see who truly becomes nothing without whom.” Tiffany didn’t like that look in my eyes. She wanted to see me cry, wanted to see me beg, wanted to see me lose all dignity in front of everyone. But I didn’t, and the smile on her face gradually faded. “Aria, you’re really tough.” She handed her umbrella to someone nearby and walked to the electronic lock herself. “Since you won’t admit you’re wrong, let’s make it harder.” She pressed another button. The automatic blackout blinds around the conservatory suddenly dropped, thick black curtains slowly covering the transparent glass. Light was cut off, and my breathing instantly became ragged. Confinement, darkness, and the sound of water pressed down on me simultaneously. My vision blurred. Tiffany stood outside the door, watching me through the last remaining gap. “You said you wanted to liquidate them?” “Come on, walk out of here first, then talk.” The curtains completely fell, plunging the conservatory into a dim twilight. Only the white lights above flickered like a malfunction, on and off. The water kept falling, each drop like the rain leaking into that old warehouse. I heard my mother calling me, “Aria, crawl out. Don’t look back.” I bit down hard on my lower lip, the metallic taste of blood spreading in my mouth. I couldn’t collapse, at least not now. There were still people outside waiting to laugh at me. Ethan was still standing there, waiting for me to bow my head and surrender. I fumbled my way to a corner. There was a decorative iron flower stand in the conservatory. I used all my strength to lift the flower stand and slammed it hard against the glass door. The first strike only left a crack in the glass. The people outside were startled. Someone shouted, “Is she crazy?” “That’s bulletproof glass; she can’t break it.” “Aria, stop struggling. It’s better to just admit you’re wrong.” I didn’t stop. The second strike, the third. My wrists were numb from the impact, the web between my thumb and forefinger split open, and blood mixed with rainwater dripped onto the floor. The cracks in the glass grew denser. Tiffany finally panicked. She banged on the door, shouting, “Aria, don’t do anything reckless!” “If that glass breaks, you’ll get hurt!” I scoffed. “Now you’re afraid I’ll get hurt?” Tiffany’s face went pale. She looked back at Ethan. “Ethan, she’s really going to smash the door!” Ethan frowned deeply. “Aria, stop.” “You’re just making things worse.” I swung the flower stand again, smashing it down. With a loud crash, a corner of the glass door finally shattered. Cold wind rushed in. I kicked hard at that.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409890”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

We were watching the Northern Lights in Iceland when Ethan suddenly moved the camera from me, aiming it at a stranger standing nearby. “Let’s break up. The truth is, it was her who saved me on that snow mountain three years ago. I always thought it was you.” My lips were purple with cold, and I stared in disbelief at the boyfriend I’d dated for three years. He casually adjusted the girl’s scarf as he spoke. “I proposed to the wrong person back then. I saw you were pathetic and just played along, pretending to be your boyfriend for three years.” “Now that my true savior has appeared, I can’t possibly let her feel wronged.” “I promised her I’d propose ten seconds after seeing the Northern Lights.” “Ten, nine, eight… The countdown’s over. You can leave now. Don’t ruin our proposal video.” The aurora blazed brilliantly, but my heart felt colder than Iceland’s snow. He didn’t know. That girl three years ago just happened to pass by. The one who actually dug him out of that snow pit was me. But now, it didn’t matter anymore.

The sound of glacial water was grating in the cold wind. I didn’t turn back to watch Ethan Blackwood put a ring on Serena Davies. Behind me, I heard cheers and shouts from the people we came with. But in the vast, empty ice field, the sounds were quickly swept away by the wind. It was ten kilometers to the hotel. Ethan had driven me here in his SUV. Now, the car keys were in Ethan’s pocket. I pulled my thin windbreaker tighter, stepping through the snow, walking back one step at a time. I hadn’t gone far before my legs were already frozen numb, leaving me to move forward almost instinctively. Three years ago, on that snow mountain, it was just as cold. It was on an untouched mountain in Alaska. I was originally a jewelry designer looking for inspiration, but I got caught in a sudden avalanche. During my escape, I saw Ethan buried in a snow pit. The rescue team couldn’t get in at all. I used my bare hands to dig in the ice and snow for four hours until I finally pulled him out. His face was blue and purple from the cold. My fingers were frozen stuck to the snow then; I couldn’t pull them apart. Before he lost consciousness, he gripped my wrist tightly, feeling the scar there. He said he’d remember that scar, that he’d repay me. Later, when he confessed his feelings, I thought he’d finally remembered. Looking back now, I was incredibly naive. I walked the ten kilometers of snow for a full three and a half hours. The moment I pushed open the hotel doors and felt the warmth hit me, an uncontrollable shiver ran through me, and I collapsed onto the carpet, utterly drained. Next to the lobby sofa were two familiar suitcases. The receptionist explained that the gentleman I was with had checked me out of my room and had my luggage moved here. I propped myself up using the sofa, my fingers so stiff I couldn’t even pull a zipper. The hotel doors swung open again. Ethan walked in, arm around Serena, both laughing and chatting. Serena was wearing the matching white down jacket I’d bought for ten thousand dollars. I’d planned to wear it tonight to see the Northern Lights and had left it in the hotel closet. Seeing me standing helplessly by my luggage, Ethan immediately dropped his smile. “What are you still doing here?” He released Serena, walked up to me, and calmly scanned me. “Didn’t I tell you to get lost? Who are you trying to play the victim for, hanging around the lobby?” I lifted my face, red from the cold, and looked at the man I’d loved for three years. “Did you check me out of my room?” My voice was hoarse as if I’d swallowed sand. “Serena is delicate; she can’t stand the cold wind in a polar tent.” “Your room faces south, it’s warm, so what’s wrong with letting her have it?” Ethan pulled at his tie, his tone self-righteous. “You even slept in a tent on the snow mountain back then. The lobby sofa is good enough for you for one night.” Serena peeked out from behind him, looking at me timidly. “Scarlett, I’m so sorry.” “Ethan said you’re tough and can handle the cold, so he insisted on giving me your room.” “He also made me wear this down jacket, said you’re thick-skinned and don’t need such nice clothes.” She said “sorry,” but deliberately stroked the fur collar of the jacket. The huge diamond on her ring finger glittered blindingly under the lobby lights. Looking at that diamond, I didn’t cry, nor did I argue with him like I used to over a single word. Because when a person is truly heartbroken, even getting angry feels like a waste of energy.

I bent down, using my stiff fingers to open the combination lock on my suitcase. My hands trembled so much it took me three tries to get it open. Ethan frowned, pressing down on my suitcase. “Scarlett Hayes, what trick are you pulling now?” “Why are you opening your suitcase in the middle of the night? Trying to throw your clothes all over the floor to force me to give in?” He snorted. “I’m telling you, Serena is the one who truly saved me.” “You usurped her place for three years and enjoyed the benefits of being my fiancée for three years. Now, giving her a room is what you owe her.” I slapped his hand away. It wasn’t a strong blow, but Ethan quickly recoiled. I pulled my passport from the inner compartment of the suitcase, then stood up, took out my phone, and opened the calculator. “What are you doing?” Ethan watched my actions, his tone impatient. “Calculating.” I didn’t look up, my fingers rapidly tapping on the screen. “For three years, we lived in the downtown apartment. Rent was fifteen hundred a month, fifty-four thousand over three years. You never paid, I covered it all.” “You were hospitalized three times for stomach issues; medical bills totaled eighty-six hundred, which I paid upfront.” “Your car maintenance, and household utilities and property management fees, let’s say five thousand.” “And this trip to Iceland, the plane tickets and hotel were booked by me with my credit card half a year in advance, a total of ninety-two hundred.” I pressed the equal sign and held the screen up to Ethan. “Total: seventy-six thousand eight hundred.” I looked calmly into his eyes. “Transfer the money to me, and we’re even.” “Propose to whoever you want, let whoever you want wear my clothes.” Ethan froze. He stared at the numbers on the screen, taking ten seconds to react. “Scarlett Hayes, have you gone insane with greed?” Ethan pulled out his phone and opened his bank account. “Calculating with me? Don’t forget, you’ve been supported by me for three years. How dare you ask me for money?” “What did I ever take from you?” I met his gaze directly. “Besides giving me an empty title of girlfriend, did you ever pay a single penny?” He choked on his words, his face instantly turning ashen. Serena grabbed his arm. “Ethan, don’t be angry.” “Scarlett probably just can’t accept us being together and is trying to get your attention with money.” “Just give it to her, consider it charity for a beggar.” Ethan took a deep breath, his fingers flying across the screen. *Ding!* My phone received a deposit notification. One hundred thousand. “Take the money, grab your junk, and disappear from my sight immediately.” Ethan shoved his phone back into his pocket, avoiding my gaze. “Scarlett Hayes, the way you throw away your dignity for money is truly disgusting.” I looked at the balance in my account, didn’t argue, and simply put my phone away cleanly. “The extra twenty-three thousand two hundred is for you buying that second-hand down jacket.” I zipped up my suitcase, turned, and walked up the steps to the hotel entrance. The wind and snow were still heavy. I didn’t look back. Ethan stood rooted to the spot. He watched my unwavering back as I left, a frown creasing his brows. But he quickly turned, pulling Serena into his arms. “Don’t mind that crazy woman. Let’s go back to the room.” Dragging my two suitcases, I walked to the roadside in the dead of the Icelandic night. I was lucky; I happened to find a local taxi that had just dropped off passengers. I sat in the warm car, but I couldn’t stop shivering. At the airport waiting lounge, I curled up on the cold chair, and three years of memories flooded my mind. To care for Ethan’s delicate stomach, I gave up an opportunity to study in Paris, cooking different dishes for him every day. For Ethan’s career, I used my severely injured hand, staying up late to help him organize documents. I thought it was love. Turns out, in their eyes, that was “throwing away my dignity for money.” I touched the scar on my wrist and smiled.

The plane took off four hours later. I boarded the plane with a high fever, and slept for over a dozen hours in my seat. When I landed, it was already late at night. I took a taxi directly to the hospital. My high fever had turned into acute pneumonia. I lay in the hospital for three days. During these three days, Ethan didn’t call or text once. Of course. Ethan was busy being affectionate with Serena under the Northern Lights; why would he remember a greedy, insatiable liar like me? On the day I was discharged, I made a point to see an orthopedic specialist. My hands, frostbitten on that snow mountain years ago, had been aching more and more lately. Especially my right hand; sometimes I couldn’t even hold a water glass without it trembling. The old specialist examined my X-rays, frowning. “Ms. Hayes, the frostbite on your hand was too severe back then.” “Although nerve repair was done, have you not taken proper care of it these past few years? Did you often use cold water? And do heavy labor?” I stayed silent. Ethan was a picky eater; he’d only eat vegetables I’d washed and cut myself. He was a germaphobe; his clothes had to be hand-washed. “Now, nerve necrosis has worsened, and there’s severe cartilage damage due to overuse.” The doctor sighed, putting the X-rays back in the bag. “From now on, forget about drawing intricate designs; even lifting a heavier plastic bag will cause a tearing sensation.” “I recommend you arrange conservative treatment as soon as possible, or this hand will truly be useless.” I walked out of the hospital with the diagnosis in my hand. I turned back to the apartment I’d lived in for three years. Pushing open the door, a faint scent of the air freshener I’d used when cleaning before I left still lingered. I dragged out several large cardboard boxes from under the bedroom bed and started packing. Actually, I didn’t have many things. Most of the items in the house were Ethan’s clothes. And his favorite ornaments and the tea set he habitually used. My belongings consisted only of a few old clothes, plus a box of design sketches I hadn’t gotten around to throwing away. The lock suddenly clicked. Ethan walked in with Serena. Seeing me squatting on the floor, packing boxes, Ethan paused, then frowned. “Scarlett Hayes, what kind of drama are you stirring up now?” He loosened his tie, habitually tossing his jacket onto the sofa, and strode to the coffee table to pour water. “After all that hassle in Iceland, my stomach trouble flared up again. Go make me something to eat.” His tone was completely natural, as if we had never broken up, as if nothing had happened that night in Iceland. Ethan was convinced I’d taken the money and was just throwing a tantrum. He thought if he just asked, I’d obediently go to the kitchen and get to work. I stopped what I was doing, stood up, and looked at him. “There’s no hot water in the kettle, and no food in the kitchen.” My voice was flat. “Also, we’ve broken up. I have no obligation to wait on you anymore.” Ethan’s hand, pouring water, paused, and water spilled on the coffee table. He turned, his face dark. “Haven’t you made enough of a scene? I gave you the money, what more do you want? Threatening me by leaving?” Ethan pointed at the cardboard boxes on the floor. “Put your things away, and I’ll pretend none of this happened today.” “Serena is generous; she won’t hold it against you for impersonating her. You can just stay at the company and continue to be my assistant.” Serena looked around the room, then walked to the master bedroom door and peered inside. “Ethan, this apartment is so small.” She turned, smiling sweetly at me. “But since Scarlett is moving out, we can just knock down the wall of the guest room to turn it into my walk-in closet.” “Finally, my bags will have a place.” I looked at this couple, talking as if I wasn’t there, and my lips twitched. “The apartment is rented, and the lease expired yesterday. I’ve already terminated it with the landlord.” I sealed the last strip of tape on the cardboard box. “If you want to live here, you’ll have to sign a new contract yourselves.” “Though the landlord said the rent has increased to two thousand.” Ethan’s face darkened. “Scarlett Hayes, that’s enough!” He took a few steps towards me, kicking one of the cardboard boxes. “I admit it was my fault for not telling you Serena would be joining us in Iceland.” “But you already took a hundred thousand. What more drama are you causing?” “Do you really think the world revolves around you?” I looked at the gray shoe print on the box. “Ethan Blackwood, it’s been three years.” “You wouldn’t even bother to find out who I really am, or what truly happened on that snow mountain.” I picked up the tote bag next to me, which contained my usual sketchbook. “If you think I was after your money, then so be it.” I walked past Ethan towards the door. “Stop!” He grabbed my arm. Ethan’s gaze dropped to my black tote bag. The zipper on the tote bag wasn’t fully closed, revealing a corner of the black sketchbook inside. Serena suddenly shrieked. “Oh! That’s my design sketch!”

Serena snatched the bag from my hand, and the sketchbook slid out. I had drawn that three years ago when I was recovering from my injuries at the foot of the snow mountain. It contained all my inspirations, and there was even a page with a sketch of Ethan sleeping. “Give it back to me.” My face went cold, and I reached out my hand to her. Serena hugged the sketchbook, hiding behind Ethan, her eyes red-rimmed. “Ethan, those are my preliminary sketches for this jewelry competition. How could Scarlett steal my things?” Her voice trembled with feigned grievance. “I know she’s jealous that I’m with you, but she can’t steal my dream!” Ethan stood in front of Serena, looking at me with disappointment. “Scarlett Hayes, when did you become so malicious?” He accused. “First, you stole Serena’s identity as my savior for three years, and now you’re even trying to steal her design sketches?” I stared at the man in front of me. “Ethan Blackwood, do you even use your brain?” I pointed at the notebook. “Open it and see whose handwriting it is!” “What’s drawn on the first page? Do you dare to look?” The first page was a drawing of an old pocket watch. It was a family heirloom left to him by Ethan’s grandfather, which had been damaged by the cold three years ago on the snow mountain. It had taken me half a month to draw its entire structure. Ethan snatched the notebook and flipped it open. He didn’t look closely, just glanced at it and then threw the notebook on the floor. “If Serena says it’s hers, then it’s hers.” The man said coldly. “What kind of design sketch could a cripple like you, who can’t even hold a paintbrush steady, possibly draw?” Hearing that, my chest tightened. Why couldn’t I hold a paintbrush steady? Because of *him*. I took a deep breath, squatting down to pick up the notebook. Just as my fingers were about to touch the notebook, Serena stuck out her foot, her high-heeled shoe stepping on the sketchbook. “Scarlett, stealing is wrong.” “If you really want it, I can make you a copy.” She said, smiling. I didn’t say anything, pulling hard at the notebook with my left hand. Serena used the force of my pull, cried out, and fell backward. With a crash. She fell onto the living room coffee table, and the fragile glass instantly shattered. “Ah! It hurts so much!” Serena clutched her leg, crying loudly. Ethan’s eyes went red with fury. “Scarlett Hayes, you’re asking for trouble!” He spun around, lifted his foot, and kicked me hard in the shoulder. I was squatting on the floor, and unprepared, I tumbled backward. My right hand, which the doctor had just declared its nerves necrotic, pressed hard onto the scattered glass shards to brace myself. A piercing pain shot through my palm. Several glass fragments pierced my palm, and blood gushed out, staining the carpet. My whole arm trembled with pain, and cold sweat broke out. Ethan froze when he saw the blood on the floor. He instinctively took half a step forward, reaching out to me. “Ethan… my leg hurts so much. Is it broken? I’m so scared…” Serena behind him was still crying, clutching his pant leg. Ethan’s outstretched hand paused. He pulled his gaze away, bent down, and picked up Serena. As he walked past me, Ethan’s leather shoe stepped on the scattered sketchbook. The sole rolled over the sketch of him, leaving a muddy imprint. “Scarlett Hayes, since your hands enjoy stealing, they deserve to be useless.” He looked down at me. “If you dare to upset Serena again, I’ll make sure you can’t work in this entire industry!” The front door slammed shut. Silence fell over the apartment. I sat in a pool of my own blood, looking at the ruined sketchbook and my bloody, mangled right hand. Strangely, I didn’t shed a single tear. I used my uninjured left hand to pull out my phone and dialed that number I hadn’t called in three years. The call connected quickly, and a deep male voice answered. “Scarlett?” “Mr. Sullivan.” I looked at the bloodstains on the carpet, my voice eerily calm. “You said before that the Sullivan family needed a marriage alliance. I agree.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409889”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster