Author: Momo Chan

My mother had her awakening after she divorced my father. Her new life, she declared, would be dedicated to loving herself. So she went to music festivals, flew to Cabo for girls’ weekends, and backpacked through Europe. She’d be gone for weeks, sometimes a month. What she seemed to forget was that the year of her great awakening, I was only five. Just a little girl who knew only how to stand in a dark house and cry for her mom. 1 I was in the middle of planning a graduation trip to Greece with my best friend, Chloe, when my mother’s name flashed on my screen. She told me she’d been in a car accident. She said she needed me. Her voice was thin and reedy, laced with a guilt that felt entirely foreign. But I didn’t hesitate. “Oh, wow. That’s tough,” I said, my tone breezy. “But my flight is in two days.” I paused, for effect. “Look, just… hang in there. I’ll be back in six months, we can talk then.” After I hung up, Chloe looked at me, her brow furrowed. “Are you sure you don’t want to postpone?” I shook my head, turning back to the half-packed suitcase on my bed. “Nope. No need.” “But, Mia… that’s your mom.” I offered her a tight smile and said nothing. For years, every messenger she sent started with that exact line. She’s your mother. She gave birth to you. They’d tell me we were the closest two people on earth could be, that there was no wound too deep to forgive. The closest two people on earth. I used to believe that ridiculous idea, back when I was a child. It’s why, when my parents fought over custody, I chose her without a second’s thought. I thought she’d be the one to hold my hand while I grew up. That belief shattered on my fifth birthday, during a trip to Disneyland she’d begrudgingly agreed to. We were in a restaurant when we saw him—my father, remarried. The moment she spotted him, my mother was in the middle of snapping at me, shoving her backpack onto the stroller with a huff. “Mia, do you have any idea how much stuff I have to lug around just for you? This is the last time you beg me to come to this place, you hear me—” Her words choked off. My dad was sitting with a tall woman, both of them smiling so wide their eyes crinkled. Between them sat a little boy. For a second, I froze. Then, a joyful, instinctive cry of “Daddy!” started to form on my lips. Before it could escape, my mother’s fingers dug into my hand. Her nails felt like tiny daggers pressing into my skin. I looked up at her, my eyes welling with tears. “Mommy, that hurts,” I whimpered. She didn’t hear me. She was lost in her own world, her gaze locked on my father. I watched as her eyes turned red. The moment a tear escaped her eye and traced a path down her cheek, my own tears started to fall. I buried my face in her leg, tugging on her hand. “It’s okay, Mommy. I’m here. Don’t cry.” Her gaze dropped to me, a single tear landing on my face. It was ice cold. She reached out and touched my face, her fingers tracing a slow path from my forehead to my chin. Every inch, measured and deliberate. Then, her voice changed. “I never noticed before,” she whispered, her tone hollow. “You look just like him.” She stared at me, but I knew she wasn’t seeing me anymore. “He was a monster. I wonder if you’ll grow up to be just as disgusting.” I stared up at her, at the raw grief in her eyes, and didn’t understand. I just knew that the way she was looking at me sent a spike of terror through my small body. A sob broke from my chest. But my mother just wiped her own tears away, pried my fingers from her dress, and walked away. She left my cries behind her, as decisively as if she were leaving me behind. After that day, everything changed. The morning pancakes disappeared. I learned to wait, my stomach aching, until she finally decided to get out of bed. Sometimes, when the hunger was too much, I’d fill my belly with cup after cup of cold tap water. I never dared to ask why there was no breakfast. I never dared to ask why she always looked at me with that strange, cold expression. I just tried to be quiet. I tried to be invisible. Until one afternoon, I was playing with a puzzle in my room, my stomach growling, when a sharp, pungent smell drifted through the door. I covered my nose and ran out. My mother was just coming out of the kitchen, carrying a steaming plate. When she saw me, her face split into a brilliant, unnerving smile. “You’re awake! Come, try Mommy’s new recipe.” 2 The plate was a sea of crimson red, dotted with a few pathetic-looking pieces of chicken. I instinctively recoiled. Chili peppers. I knew them. One of her friends, a woman named Sharon, had once dared me to eat one as a joke. The prank ended with me coughing and crying in the emergency room, my mother holding me and sobbing harder than I was. But now, her voice was bright, almost manic. “Before I had you, I lived on spicy food. It was my favorite,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a strange light. “You’re my daughter. I bet you’ll love it too.” She picked up a slice of pepper with her chopsticks and held it to my lips. “Go on, try a bite. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything this good.” I looked from the pepper to her smiling face, my own mouth trembling. After a long moment, I summoned my courage and took it. A searing heat exploded in my mouth, rocketing down my throat. Tears and snot streamed down my face as I choked. My mother burst out laughing. The sound was loud and clear, a sharp counterpoint to my desperate, gasping cries of “Mommy.” From that day on, the simple, mild dishes of my childhood were replaced by a parade of glossy, crimson meals. Each one felt less like dinner and more like a test. She would present the fiery plates with a flourish, then sit back and watch, a look of intense fascination on her face, as I cried my way through every bite. I forced it down. I shoveled the peppers into my mouth like a form of self-punishment, a single tear rolling down my cheek for every swallow. And through it all, I would force a smile and say, “It’s so yummy, Mommy.” Because only then would she transform back into the mother I remembered. Only then would she gently stroke my hair and murmur, “Good girl.” Until one night, a pain like a hot knife twisting in my gut woke me up. I stumbled out of bed, doubled over, and knocked on her door. It opened, and her footsteps stopped in front of me. I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but her voice was thick with annoyance. “What is it? Did you eat something bad?” The pain was so intense I could only curl into a ball on the floor, unable to speak. After a few seconds, a hand landed on my back, patting gently. A wave of relief washed over me, and I started to lean into her, ready to be held and comforted. But then I heard her mutter under her breath. “Such a pain. Another all-nighter.” A pause. “I can handle spice just fine. Why didn’t you get any of my genes?” In that instant, I looked up. And in the dim light from her room, I saw it clearly: the deep, profound annoyance in her eyes. The doctor called it acute gastritis and said I’d need an IV drip for a few days. My mother sat beside my hospital bed, silent, distractedly scrolling through her phone. After a long time, she turned to me. The strange delight she took in watching me eat the peppers was gone. So was the irritation from earlier. All that was left was an emotion I’d never seen before, something that terrified me. She took a deep breath, her voice clear and steady. “Mia, you being in the hospital has created a huge problem for me.” I stared at her, confused. Her voice was flat. “Did you know I have an important lunch meeting tomorrow? It’s something I’ve been looking forward to for a very long time.” She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “And now, because of you, everything has to be canceled.” My mouth opened, and a small voice came out. “I’m sorry, Mommy. It’s my fault.” Her expression remained cold. She said my name in the same tone she used to tell me to eat my dinner or go to bed. “Mia.” “I’ve had a lot of time to think these past few days.” Her gaze, which had been drifting around the room, finally settled on me, sharp and determined. “After I married your father, I had no life of my own. There were endless chores. After you were born, it only got worse. I was so busy, so tired… I hated the person I saw in the mirror.” “My life just… stopped. It was all about the two of you.” As she spoke, her voice softened into something strangely gentle, almost wistful. “From now on, I’m going to live my own life.” I stared at her, the twisting pain in my stomach miraculously gone, replaced by a vast, hollow numbness that spread through my limbs like a fast-acting poison. She didn’t seem to notice the terror crystallizing in my eyes. She just looked at me. “Mia, you’re a big girl now. You’ll grow up, and you’ll understand. Right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Maybe she didn’t need one. She reached out and tucked the blanket around me, a gesture that was almost tender in its detachment. Then she picked up her purse from the bedside table and stood up. “Press the call button for the nurse when the IV bag is almost empty. I’ll be back in the morning.” The sharp click of her heels echoed in the hallway, growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared completely. In the sterile silence of the hospital room, only one sound remained: my own voice, hoarse and broken, repeating the word “Mommy” over and over again. I didn’t understand what she’d said. I didn’t know what “living her own life” meant. But I felt it in my bones. My mommy was leaving me. 3 When my mother picked me up from the hospital, I clung to the hem of her skirt, my knuckles white. I hadn’t slept the entire night, convinced she would never come back. Seeing her walk through the door had been a dizzying relief. The moment we got home, a secret joy bloomed in my chest. See? She still wants me. But the second we were inside, I watched her pull a large suitcase from the hall closet. With a manic, joyful haste, she began throwing clothes and makeup inside. There was a lightness in her movements I’d never seen before, a smile playing on her lips. “Mommy?” I whispered, reaching for her hand. She didn’t look up. “Oh, I made plans with Sharon. We’re going to that music festival in the desert. I have to leave now if I’m going to make it on time.” I stood frozen. “Mommy, what about me?” She finally paused, her eyes skimming over my pale, sweat-slicked face without a flicker of concern. “The medicine is in the bag on the counter. You’re a big girl. You can take care of yourself for a few days.” A few days? The residual weakness from the hospital was instantly consumed by a tidal wave of panic. I grabbed her sleeve, tears streaming down my face. “Don’t go! I’m scared to be alone… my stomach still hurts… Mommy, please!” My cries were shrill in the quiet apartment. Her brow furrowed, the cheerful smile vanishing, replaced by a familiar, sharp-edged irritation. She yanked her arm away, the force of it sending me stumbling backward onto the cold tile floor. “What are you crying for? Stop it!” she snapped. “I said I’ll only be gone for a few days! Can’t you be a little more independent? Stop clinging to me all the time! I’m exhausted enough as it is.” Her voice rose, cracking with a frantic self-pity. “No one has ever helped me! I just want a moment to breathe! Why is that so much to ask?” The zipper on the suitcase shrieked as she pulled it closed. The doorbell rang. My mother’s face instantly transformed, the anger replaced by a bright smile as she hurried to the door. Outside stood Sharon, dressed in a trendy festival outfit, and her daughter, Jessica. Jessica was wearing a brand-new pink dress, clutching a beautiful doll, her face alight with excitement. Sharon’s eyes fell on me, and she flinched. A flicker of awkwardness crossed her face. “Oh, Mia. Look how big you’ve gotten.” I didn’t speak. I was afraid of this woman, the one who had made me eat the pepper. After that incident, my parents had a huge fight, and I hadn’t seen her since. Sharon must have remembered too. She gave a strained laugh and turned back to my mother. “Ready? The Uber’s waiting downstairs.” My mother grabbed the suitcase. “Let’s go, let’s go. We’ll be late.” They turned, laughing and chatting, as they walked away. My mother glanced back at me one last time, not with concern, but with a warning. “Be good and stay inside.” The heavy security door slammed shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot. It cut off their laughter and locked my sobs inside. Through the thick metal, I faintly heard Sharon’s voice. “…Hey, are you sure about this? Leaving her alone? What if she tries to go outside?” My mother’s footsteps stopped. A few seconds of dead silence. Then, the distinct sound of a key sliding into the lock. Click. A clean, cold, metallic sound. From the outside, my mother had thrown the deadbolt.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394374”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The takedown went sideways. My dad, Deputy Chief Miller, was taken hostage shielding a civilian. Then the feed went live, broadcast by the scumbag who had a knife to his throat. “You’ve got ten minutes,” the man snarled into the camera. “Let me walk, or he’s dead.” My hands shook as I frantically dialed Cole’s number. He was my father’s protégé, the detective my dad had personally trained. He was also the only person I knew who could get to that warehouse in time. The phone picked up. “Cole,” I choked out, my voice a raw whisper. “The address I just sent you—you have to go. Now! You’re the only one who can save my dad.” He cut me off with a light, condescending laugh. “Phoebe, is this another attempt to get my attention? Does this jealousy thing ever get old?” A cat meowed in the background, followed by a woman’s playful, syrupy voice. “Bro, that’s way too much soap!” “I just talked to your dad yesterday,” Cole said, his voice softening for her, not for me. “He put in his retirement papers. What kind of danger could he possibly be in? Just be good, okay? Don’t make things difficult.” He hung up before I could scream. Thirty seconds left on the kidnapper’s countdown. I called Cole again and again, my desperation clawing at my throat. Each call went straight to voicemail. He’d blocked me. At the same moment, an Instagram story popped up on my feed. It was from Jenna, his “best friend.” [Image: Cole and Jenna, heads close together, laughing as they lather a fluffy white cat in a sink. The lighting is warm, intimate.] Caption: My dad just has to say the word, and my bestie drops everything to come give my baby a bath. The brotherhood is real, people. The corners of his eyes crinkled with a joy I hadn’t seen directed at me in months. He was glowing with a sweetness that felt like a physical blow. On the livestream, the knife dragged across my father’s throat. His eyes, wide with shock, found the camera for a split second before he collapsed. My phone slipped from my numb fingers. My heart, in that precise moment, stopped beating and turned to stone. 1 The department brought my father’s body home. At the funeral, one of his oldest friends, a captain from the narcotics division, pulled me into a hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Phoebe. Your father cracked more major cases than anyone in the history of this precinct. He died a hero, saving a civilian. He’s the pride of the department.” He choked up then, his eyes filled with a pity that went beyond grief. I knew what he was thinking. Everyone in the department knew my fiancé had ignored a hostage situation involving his own mentor to stay home with his “best friend.” I stood before the polished headstone, dry-eyed, clutching the detective’s shield my father had been awarded years ago. Its sharp edges dug into my palm, the pain a welcome anchor, a reminder to stay upright. My phone buzzed. A text message. My condolences, Phoebe. I’ve been briefed on what happened. I will make sure you get justice. It was from Captain Evans, my father’s successor and a man I trusted implicitly. I scrolled through my phone. Not a single call, not a single text from Cole. Steeling myself, I dialed his number. I just wanted him to be here. To say one last goodbye to the man who had treated him like a son. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing. My dad had poured everything into Cole, personally mentoring him, fast-tracking his promotion to Detective. He had been a good student. He had been a good fiancé. Until Jenna came back to the States. Then came the missed dates. He wasn’t there for my birthday. He wasn’t there when I had the miscarriage. He wasn’t there when my father was dying. And now, at his funeral, he was still gone. Hours later, after the last of the mourners had left and I was alone in the rain, his text finally came through. Phoebe, you need to be more understanding. Stop with the drama. It’s exhausting. Jenna is my friend. You have no right to be jealous of her. A second text followed. I took a couple days off to go hiking with Jenna, clear her head. The signal is bad up here. Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency. Those two messages shattered the last, fragile piece of hope I had for him. For us. I tilted my head back, letting the cold rain wash over my face, mixing with the tears I could no longer hold back. The sting was sharp, real. Then, with a decisiveness that felt foreign and terrifying, I blocked Cole’s number, his social media, every possible avenue of contact. Don’t worry, I thought. I’ll never bother you again. Back at the apartment, I locked myself in my room and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. He answered immediately. He didn’t speak, but I could hear the steady, calm rhythm of his breathing. I took a shaky breath. “It’s Phoebe Miller.” His voice was a low baritone, steady and reassuring. “I know. I’m here.” “I want to inherit my father’s badge number,” I said, the words coming out in a rush. “I want to finish what he started. I need you to approve my request to go undercover.” Silence. I could picture Captain Evans on the other end, his brow furrowed with concern. “That crew works for the Kael Syndicate,” he said finally. “Your father, a deputy chief, couldn’t get out alive. I can’t let you walk into that kind of danger. Besides…” “I already passed the internal evaluation,” I cut in, my voice sharp with urgency. “I’m the top candidate for this operation. You know my mother died when I was young; my dad raised me by himself. He’s all I had. I can’t let the men who did this to him walk free. I won’t.” A heavy sigh came through the line. “Does Cole know about this?” “No,” I said, the word like ice. “And he doesn’t need to.” “Alright,” he conceded. “Send me the report. I’ll make the arrangements. The operation begins in two days. That gives you time to get your personal affairs in order.” He paused for a beat. “Come back safe, Phoebe. For your dad. And for… for the people who truly care about you.” “I will.” After hanging up, I started packing. I decided to sell everything I owned, including all the gifts Cole had ever given me. While clearing my desk, I found a framed photo of us. We were at the beach, the sun bright in our eyes. He was hugging me from behind, his chin resting on the top of my head. We looked so happy. The sight of it was nauseating. I pulled the photo from its frame, tore it precisely down the middle, and dropped his smiling face into the trash. Just then, I heard a key in the lock. The front door swung open and Cole walked in, his arm around Jenna. She was practically draped over him, her chest pressed intimately against his bicep. Her eyes immediately landed on the baby grand piano in the corner—my father’s piano. Her face lit up. “Bro, there it is!” she squealed. “I played it last time I was here, remember? The acoustics are amazing, and it looks so good in photos! You promised you’d give it to me. No take-backs!” Cole’s smile faltered when he saw me standing in the middle of the living room. “Phoebe. You’re here. Good,” he said, forcing a casual tone. “Jenna loves this piano. I’m going to have it moved to her place. You haven’t played in years, anyway. It’s just collecting dust.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My father had spent his entire savings on that piano for me. And he was just… giving it away? Without even asking? “What did you just say? That was a gift from my father. It’s mine. Don’t you dare touch it.” Jenna let out a little “oops,” her eyes darting to the trash can. She leaned over, delicately plucked the torn half of the photo between two fingers, and dangled it in front of Cole. “Looks like we really pissed off the dragon lady, bro,” she said with a smirk. “She’s already tearing up pictures of you. We better get this piano out of here before she takes a sledgehammer to it.” Cole’s face darkened. “Phoebe, have you had enough? First, you lie about your dad being in trouble, and now this? How childish can you be?” He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a low, threatening tone. “This piano is leaving today, whether you like it or not. It’s not like you can play it anymore with that useless hand of yours.” The words struck me like a slap. “You forgot how my hand got this way, Cole?” I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. “I took a knife for you. The tendons were severed. Do you not remember that?” Jenna clicked her tongue, putting on a show of magnanimity. “Come on, Phoebe, that’s not fair. My bro remembers your sacrifice, he appreciates it. But he’s right, you can’t use the piano now. And what’s his is mine. It’s only natural that he’d give it to me. We’ve known each other forever. We don’t keep secrets, or possessions, from each other.” Cole looked at Jenna with sickening fondness. “Exactly. It’s just a piano. My best friend wants it. Can’t you just be generous for once? Instead of tearing up photos and throwing a tantrum?” I laughed, a sharp, broken sound. “My father is dead, Cole!” I screamed. “You think this is a tantrum? He was held hostage by armed criminals, and you were closer than anyone. The entire department knows you were the only one who could have saved him! And what were you doing?” I pointed a shaking finger at Jenna, who was smirking triumphantly. “You were washing her cat!” “He adored you! He was your mentor! Why didn’t you save him? You didn’t even show up for his funeral!” “That’s enough!” Cole roared, his voice cracking like a whip. “Are you still keeping up this act? Constantly talking about your dad being dead, cursing your own father… I never knew you were this twisted.” Jenna’s tone was pure innocence, but her eyes danced with malice. “You’re still holding a grudge over that? All he did was wash my cat. It wasn’t a big deal. We’re best friends, Phoebe. We don’t have all those complicated rules you seem to live by.” She ran a possessive hand over the piano’s glossy lid. “I really do love it, Cole.” He grinned, a flash of the old charm, and gave her a quick, playful slap on the ass. “Of course. We’re ride or die. I’d pull the moon down from the sky for you.” His gaze shifted back to me, his expression turning to ice. “The piano is moving today. And from this moment on, you are not to touch it.” He pulled out his phone and started dialing a moving company, right in front of me. Something inside me snapped. I grabbed the nearest thing—a heavy wooden jewelry box—and hurled it at them. It caught Jenna on the side of the head. Cole exploded. He lunged forward and slapped me, hard, across the face. The force of the blow sent me stumbling back into the piano bench. I put my hand out to catch myself, and a sickening crack echoed from my injured wrist. Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot up my arm. Tears welled in my eyes. For a second, Cole froze, a flicker of shock on his face. He reached out to help me up. I recoiled as if he were toxic. “Don’t touch me,” I spat. “You’re filthy.” He snatched his hand back, his face a mask of fury. “Fine. Have it your way. You care so much about this thing? I’ll have it chopped up for firewood.” Jenna dabbed at a tiny scratch on her forehead, her expression aggrieved but her voice triumphant. “Look, Phoebe, you’ve drawn blood. You can’t just assault me and get away with it. How about this? As compensation, you give me the piano, and I’ll convince my bro not to press charges.” “Get out,” I seethed. “Both of you, get out!” A surge of adrenaline drowned out the pain. I grabbed the piano bench and heaved it toward them. It crashed to the floor with a deafening bang. Jenna shrieked and hid behind Cole. I stood in front of the piano, my eyes blazing. “Anyone who touches this piano,” I snarled, “will have to go through me.” “You’ve lost your damn mind, Phoebe!” Cole was livid. He shoved me aside with brutal force. I crumpled to the floor. He loomed over me, his eyes filled with pure disgust. “Look at you. This pathetic, crazy act. No wonder your own father couldn’t stand you. If he really is dead, you probably drove him to it. You deserve this.” He still had the audacity to mention my father. With every ounce of strength I had, I launched myself up and slapped him across the face. The impact sent a shockwave through my already broken wrist. “Shut up!” I screamed. “You don’t have the right to even say his name!” His head snapped to the side. His eyes were wide with disbelief. Jenna gasped dramatically. “Phoebe, how could you hit him? I would never even dream of hurting a single hair on his head!” Just then, the doorbell rang. The movers had arrived. Cole’s face was tight with suppressed rage. “That’s the one,” he said, pointing at the piano. “Take it.” “No!” The movers hesitated, looking from my desperate face to Cole’s furious one. “Sir, the lady doesn’t seem to agree…” Cole scoffed and pulled a thick wad of cash from his wallet. “Triple the rate,” he snapped. “You don’t have to listen to a crazy person.” Jenna chimed in, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Gentlemen, please don’t mind her. She’s my friend’s girlfriend. She’s got… you know…” She tapped her temple with a single finger, a universally understood gesture for she’s not well. “Right,” the lead mover said, casting a pitiful glance my way before nodding to his crew. “Let’s get to work.” “No! You can’t!” I tried to block their path, but Cole grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. His grip was like steel, but his voice was a mockery of gentleness. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Your doctor said this piano is a trigger for you. We’re just moving it for your own good.” They lifted my father’s piano and carried it out the door. I watched it disappear down the hallway until it was gone. Cole released me. His eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. I was numb, hollowed out by despair. I looked at him, my own eyes burning. “Cole,” I whispered, the words tearing from my raw throat. “We’re done.” He didn’t even turn around as he slung his arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “Fine with me,” he called back. “Don’t come crying to me when you regret it.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394373”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Audrey and I had been together since college. Eight years. We were weeks away from the wedding when she told me. She wanted to bring the great love of her life, Leo, into our marriage. Both of us, serving her. I felt a vein begin to throb in my temple, a low, hot drumbeat of rage. I kept my voice level. “Are you saying you want your old flame to be your affair on the side?” Audrey just shook her head, a lock of perfect blonde hair falling across her face. “He wouldn’t be the one on the side, Cole. You would.” I stared at her, the sound in the room seeming to warp and bend. Had she lost her mind? Did she really just ask me, Cole Hayes, the sole heir to the Hayes fortune, to be her number two? … 1 Seeing the silence stretch, Audrey must have mistaken my shock for consideration. Her voice softened, dropping into that placating tone she used when she wanted something. “Leo’s just… he’s gentle. He doesn’t have a family with money, no real safety net. If he were the ‘other man,’ he’d get hurt. People would talk.” “So your solution is for me to take that role?” The fire was licking up my throat, but my voice came out cold as ice. A frown flickered across her perfect features, a brief crack in the facade. She was annoyed that I wasn’t making this easy. “Cole, I don’t want it to be like this. But Leo… he has nothing. I have to think about his future. And don’t worry,” she added, as if it were a grand concession, “you’ll both be my husbands. I can love you both equally. Leo is a kind soul. He won’t give you any trouble.” When she first chased after me on campus, she swore it was me or no one, that her world began and ended with me. Now, on the doorstep of our wedding, she was pitching a threesome where I was the consolation prize. It was laughable. Utterly, tragically laughable. I took a step back, a physical distance to match the chasm that had just opened between us. The disgust must have been plain on my face. “Miss Monroe, I think you should leave. Since you clearly have another great love, our engagement is off. There’s nothing more to discuss.” She sighed, a long-suffering sound, and looked at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “Cole, be serious. The invitations have been sent. The venue is booked. If you call it off now, what will that do to your reputation? Don’t say things you don’t mean.” My entire body was trembling with a rage so pure it felt electric. Leo. He’d been orbiting her for years, this sad, handsome ghost. And now, he makes his move right before the wedding. It was calculated. They knew I was in a corner. They were counting on me being too proud to back out. “So, according to you, I should be thanking you?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Thanking you for not just showing up with him at the altar as a wedding day surprise?” Her face hardened, the soft pleading gone. “It’s just a title, Cole! You’re a Hayes. Do you really think anyone would dare look down on you? Why are you being so petty?” She took a step closer, her voice rising. “What century are we in? Who says a beautiful woman can only have one man? Cole, I know you. I know you’re generous, and I know you love me. I need you to be the thoughtful, gentle man I know you are, not some toxic, possessive asshole.” I closed my eyes. I fought it. I really did. But I couldn’t hold it back. My hand moved before I’d even fully decided to let it. The crack of my palm against her cheek echoed in the cavernous living room. Her head snapped to the side. A furious red blotch began to bloom on her skin. She cradled her face, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Cole! You’re insane!” “The invitations went out to everyone in Port Sterling!” she shrieked, her voice turning shrill. “They all know you’re marrying me! You call this off now, and we’ll see what woman ever agrees to marry you again!” “I’m telling you, this wedding is happening, with or without your little temper tantrum! If you want to have any kind of future in this city, you’ll go to your parents and you’ll tell them this was your idea!” My face was a frozen mask. I stared at her for a long, silent moment. Of course. She’d come today for a reason. My parents were in Europe for the month, touring our international sites. She thought she had me isolated, cornered. She could force my hand, then wash hers clean of the whole mess, enjoying the best of both worlds. A strange question popped into my head. “What’s my name?” I asked suddenly. Audrey blinked. “Cole? Have you completely lost it?” I raised a hand, a subtle gesture. My security detail, always waiting just out of sight, materialized and moved towards us. “When we were dating, I didn’t mind you calling me Cole.” The absurdity of it all made a bitter laugh escape my lips. “But now… I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. From now on, you’ll address me as Mr. Hayes.” My voice dropped, hard and final. “Get her out of my house.” Two large men flanked her, taking her by the arms. Her shock turned to panic. “You can’t! I’m going to be your wife! I’m the future Mrs. Hayes!” I scoffed. “You think? If I wanted to, I could have a line of women from here to Paris ready to take your place. Who the hell do you think you are, Audrey?” “Today, you’re getting a little reminder of why I can do whatever the hell I want in this town.” I met the head of my security’s eyes and sharpened my tone. “Throw her out.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394372”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three days before our wedding, my fiancé sold the house we’d spent three years building into a home. His buddies were floored. “Are you insane, Liam?” Leo’s voice crackled through the speakerphone I could hear from the hallway. “You sold the house because Maya wanted some vintage handbag? Does Ava know? Where the hell is she supposed to live after you get married?” “Yeah, man,” Ben chimed in. “Ava poured her heart and soul into that place. Every paint chip, every fixture—that was all her.” I heard the glug of liquor being poured, then Liam’s dismissive sigh. “She’s so in love with me,” he slurred, his voice thick with arrogance. “She nearly died for me, took a knife that was meant for my back. You think she’s going to care about a house?” A bitter laugh. “Besides, she’s always saying, ‘Home is wherever you are.’ This is just a little test. Let’s see if she really means it.” I stood frozen outside the private room of the downtown lounge, the hot and sour soup I’d brought for him growing cold in my hands. I listened for another moment, then silently turned and walked away. On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, Liam’s calls came one after another, frantic and demanding, like a death knell for a life I no longer wanted. “Ava, where the hell are you? My entire family is waiting at City Hall!” I gazed out the window at the familiar oak-lined street below, my street. “I already took care of it, Liam,” I said, my voice calm. “I’m home.” 1 That house was my masterpiece, the canvas for a life I’d spent three years meticulously planning, starting with the very first design sketch. But all it took was Maya whispering, “I want it so badly,” for Liam to liquidate my dream and turn it into a designer bag for her. Standing outside that lounge, my hand trembled so violently I thought I might drop the soup. Each breath felt like swallowing shards of glass. Inside, Leo pressed on, his voice laced with disbelief. “Look, Liam, you have to at least tell her. Selling a house isn’t like selling a used car. She’s going to come home, find the locks changed, and she’s going to kill you.” Liam waved it off impatiently. “Will you guys stop? It’s always ‘Ava, Ava, Ava.’ You think I’m gonna leave her on the street? We’ll rent something. It’s not a big deal.” “But it is a big deal,” Ben argued. “It was your wedding house. It’s different. This is… man, this is a really shitty thing to do.” Liam’s frustration boiled over. “If she knew, she’d just cry and ask a million questions, and I don’t have the energy to deal with that right now.” He paused, his voice dropping with chilling certainty. “Look, she worships the ground I walk on. She’s not going to leave me over this. Don’t forget about the scar on her back. That’s for me. Selling a house is nothing compared to that.” Someone in the background started snickering. “I get it, man. It’s all for Maya… Can’t blame you. A woman like that could make any man lose his mind.” “Haha, we all bet you’d end up with Maya anyway. Same background, perfect match.” Liam’s tone hardened. “Shut up. Don’t ever let Ava hear you say that. If she flips out because of you guys, I’ll have your heads.” The laughter grew louder. “Alright, alright, our lips are sealed. You’ve got Ava wrapped around your little finger, we get it.” Just then, Liam’s phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with a single name: Maya. The room fell instantly silent, the air thick with sly glances. “Speak of the devil.” Liam didn’t deny it. A slow smile spread across his face as he answered, his voice instantly dropping to a warm, gentle murmur. On the other end, Maya’s voice was a sugary purr. “Liam, did you really get ‘The Stardust’ for me? I heard it went for over three hundred thousand at the auction!” “Yep. All paid for. It’ll be in your hands next week.” “Oh, but… wasn’t that terribly expensive?” “Three hundred grand is nothing. If it makes you happy, it’s worth every penny.” A soft, contented sigh drifted through the phone. “You are just too good to me. The second I get it, you’ll be the first person I show it to.” Liam’s eyes crinkled with pleasure. “I’m counting on it.” The moment he hung up, his friends descended. “Three hundred thousand for a bag! Damn, Liam, is she just going to move right in with that thing? Does Ava have any idea?” Liam grabbed a bottle of whiskey. “Ava and I are basically an old married couple. She’s not into all that flashy stuff… Maya’s different. She’s fragile. She needs to feel secure.” Standing in that hallway, a profound cold seeped into my bones. The furniture in our home—my home—was a collection of treasures I’d hunted down in every consignment shop and outlet mall in the tri-state area. I remembered finding a beautiful mid-century modern sofa, priced at two thousand dollars. Liam’s face had fallen instantly. “Two grand for a couch? Do you think money grows on trees? We could sit on the floor for free.” He ended up picking one himself. As he grudgingly paid, I saw the bill: $188.80. It wasn’t that he was cheap. It was that his generosity was a currency he never spent on me. Driving home, I rolled down all the windows, letting the fierce wind whip against my face until my cheeks were numb. Three years. I had been a fool for three years. When I’d first told him I wanted to design our home myself, he’d spun me around in his arms, laughing. “Of course,” he’d said. “It’ll be perfect.” In that moment, I truly believed he cherished me. He had to remember. He had to. He had to remember the glint of the mugger’s blade, the way I’d moved without thinking, shoving him out of the way. The wound was an inch from my spine. I was in a coma for three days. He sat by my bedside, weeping, promising he would love me for the rest of his life. But he hadn’t cherished it. Or maybe, to him, my scar wasn’t a symbol of my love, but a get-out-of-jail-free card. A license to be reckless with my heart. My doctor had warned me that extreme emotional stress could aggravate the nerve damage around the old wound. I tilted my head back, trying to swallow the lump in my throat, but a dull, heavy ache was spreading through my chest. Liam’s call came through, his voice nearly drowned out by the thumping bass of a nightclub. “Ava, the guys are throwing me a last-minute bachelor party. Don’t wait up, okay? Go to sleep.” I was silent for a beat too long. “Okay,” I finally said. At 1 a.m., unable to sleep, I opened Instagram. Ben had just posted a nine-photo grid. The caption read: To my best friend on his last night of freedom! In the center photo, Maya was a vision of laughter, a shimmering handbag clutched in one hand. She was draped all over Liam, her body pressed against his, and his hand was resting firmly, possessively, on the small of her back. The comments were a dumpster fire: “Holy shit, is that ‘The Stardust’? Liam, you’re a legend!” “They just look so right together. What a shame.” “@Liam_G You better watch it, man. Don’t let Ava see this!” Liam himself had replied. “Ava’s not petty like that. If she threw a fit over something this small, maybe we shouldn’t be getting married at all.” I shut my phone, my face a blank mask. He was certain I wouldn’t dare. Just as he was certain I’d swallow the fact that he’d sold our house, that he’d bought another woman a $300,000 purse, that every time he was with her, the excuse was always, “We’re just friends.” But this time, the place where the knife had gone in… it didn’t hurt anymore. And I was done swallowing lies. 2 I went to my physical therapy appointment alone. “How many times do I have to tell you?” Dr. Evans said, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. “The scar tissue gets inflamed in damp weather. Someone needs to be with you to help apply the treatment.” I managed a weak smile. “I can handle it.” Not long after I left the clinic, the sky opened up in a torrential downpour. I ducked into a corner café to wait it out and saw them. Liam was holding a fork, a smile lighting up his face as Maya leaned in, delicately taking the bite of cheesecake he offered her. The infamous handbag, ‘The Stardust,’ was perched on her arm, sparkling even in the gloomy light. And the watch on her wrist was the one Liam had claimed last week was a “gift for an important client.” A bitter, mocking laugh escaped my lips. I turned and ran back out into the rain, not caring that I was soaked to the bone. When Liam got home, I had just finished showering, my hair still dripping onto my shoulders. He stopped short when he saw me. “What happened to you? You look like a drowned rat.” “I was at the hospital.” His expression froze. “What for? What’s wrong?” I let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “I’ve reminded you about my PT appointment every week for the last month.” He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, Ava. Anyway, you’re healed. Missing one appointment won’t kill you.” I just stared at him. “The doctor said if I don’t keep up with the therapy, the nerve damage could become permanent.” That shut him up. For a moment. When he looked at me again, his eyes were glinting with annoyance. “Are you trying to use that scar against me again?” So that’s what this was to him. My pain was just a bargaining chip. When I didn’t respond, his temper flared. “Why are you giving me that look? So I forgot to go with you to one appointment. Is it really that big of a deal?” My gaze drifted to the collar of his shirt. “You have a little whipped cream,” I said softly, “right there.” He instinctively reached for his collar, then froze. “You…” I continued in that same, quiet voice. “The watch looks good on Maya. It suits her.” His face turned a dark, blotchy red. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Were you following me? Ava, what is wrong with you? She just moved back to the States, she’s lonely, I was just keeping her company!” He was shouting now. “She’s been on her own her whole life, she has no one! It’s pathetic! All she has is me!” He took a breath, his voice dripping with righteousness. “Do you have to be so damn petty about everything? Does it make you feel good?” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “That’s rich. I was at the hospital alone, too. I don’t see you feeling sorry for me.” He was cornered, and he came out swinging. “It’s not the same thing… and when have I not cared about you? Do you really need me to hold your hand through everything?” Before he could finish, his phone rang. It was Maya again. He snatched it up. Her voice came through, thick with tears. “Liam… I think I’m getting sick from the rain. My head is killing me…” “Stay right there. I’m on my way.” He hung up and stormed towards the door without a second glance at me. He paused with his hand on the knob, turning back to deliver one last blow. “You need to stay here and think about your attitude. And tomorrow, you’re coming with me to finalize the flowers for the reception.” He sneered. “And stop with the whole stalking thing. It’s classless.” He was gone. His words, however, hung in the air, buzzing around my head. Classless. He was right. I just couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to see it. My heart, it seemed, had been blind for years.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394371”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Everyone claimed Michael Long was obsessed with me. To force me to him, he severed my fiancé’s legs and sent them in a satin-lined box—my birthday gift. I retaliated swiftly: had him kidnapped, cut his hamstring, and gouged out an eye. He wasn’t angry. He just smiled, bloody and terrifying. “See? We’re cut from the same cloth. A match made in hell.” I smiled back, horrified he was right. We spent eight years carving a path of blood. Then a pristine, ethereal woman appeared beside him—clean, untouched by our filth. She came to my door, flowing white dress like an angel. “Michael says you’re too dirty now. Only I am worthy.” I nodded, unimpressed, then took a knife and carved a new reality into her perfect face. “An angel? Let’s see if heaven accepts scarred ones.” Her screams were a divine symphony. I took a photo of her blood-streaked face and sent it to Michael: “Come get your dog.” 1 Ten minutes. That’s how long it took for Michael to arrive, a pistol tucked into his waistband. “What did you do?” he growled. “I disciplined your disobedient pet. Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” I lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around my fingers as I rubbed my ear. “What’s that? I can’t hear you over all the barking.” “Elara, you—” The woman in his arms, Alyssa, was sobbing hysterically, clutching her ruined face. “Michael, kill her! Please, kill her for me!” she shrieked. “She destroyed my face! She’s just jealous that you love me!” Michael pushed her hands away. The moment he saw the bloody gashes, his eyes turned crimson. He whipped out his gun, pressed the cold muzzle to my forehead, and racked the slide. His voice was colder than the steel. “Elara. You’ve gone too far.” “She’s just a girl! She’s not like us!” I laughed, a puff of smoke clouding his face as I casually pushed the barrel aside. “So? You’re going to kill me to avenge her?” I took another drag, my voice laced with amusement. “Or maybe… you want to ruin my face, too? Give her a little payback?” My own blade was already pressed against his stomach. “You know I’m not this little fool. You know the consequences.” In a flash, Michael’s men surrounded me. I pressed the knife a fraction of an inch deeper, drawing a bead of blood. Michael hissed in pain. For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, a slow, dark smile spread across his face. He raised a hand. “Stand down,” he commanded his men. “I didn’t call you. Get the hell out.” He turned his gaze back to me, his one good eye boring into mine. “Elara. You’ve got guts.” “Takes one to know one. You taught me well, after all.” To make me just like him, he’d presented me with my fiancé’s legs. To force me to marry him, he’d wrapped my hand around a knife and plunged it into my fiancé’s heart. “Once you’re as filthy as I am,” he had whispered, “no one else will ever have you.” He had dragged me from my pedestal down into the gutter with him. Now this pristine white lily was stained with blood, never to be clean again. And he was claiming he preferred purity? Hilarious. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like my gift?” I taunted. “Then again, you always preferred taking limbs. I suppose I was a bit too merciful. I’ll try to do better next time.” Alyssa, incensed, tugged at his arm, begging him to defend her honor. Michael watched me for a long, silent moment before finally turning to leave with his men. “Mark my words, Elara,” he snarled over his shoulder. “This isn’t over.” The consequences came faster than I expected. That night, Michael summoned every doctor on the Family’s payroll to treat Alyssa. He threatened their lives, demanding they ensure not a single scar remained on her precious face. The news reached me while I was feeding the sharks in my private aquarium. I clicked my tongue. “It’s been too long since you had a real meal, hasn’t it, my pretty?” I murmured to the circling predator. “Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure you’re fed soon.” My loyal retainer, Arthur, draped a coat over my shoulders, his face a mask of fury. “The Boss has gone too far this time, Miss Elara. This is the first time he’s ever turned on you for another woman.” He lowered his voice. “Without your support, this Family would have never fallen into his hands.” I just shook my head, a smile playing on my lips. “She’s just a toy, Arthur. Let him play. When he’s done, I’ll be there to clean up the mess.” I pressed a finger to his lips, my tone sharp. “And remember, there is no ‘Family’ anymore. We are a legitimate corporation now.” I turned back to the massive tank, to the hundred smaller fish Michael had so painstakingly curated. “Dump them in,” I said, my voice flat. “Useless things don’t deserve to live.” The small, colorful fish scattered in a panic, but there was no escaping the shark’s gaping maw. A crimson cloud bloomed in the crystal-clear water. I watched, fascinated, and sent a photo to Michael. “Fun, isn’t it? A bit of an appetizer. You should raise more next time.” He didn’t text back. Instead, a video call request popped up. It was Alyssa’s triumphant face that greeted me. “What’s the matter? Disappointed to see me?” she chirped. “I’m so sorry to tell you, but not only did Michael not abandon me over a few scratches, he promised to make you pay. All your personal doctors are here with me. I hear you need a shot every night just to sleep. I wonder if you’ll have sweet dreams tonight?” She leaned forward, deliberately revealing a fresh love bite on her collarbone. “You’re so foul, Elara. Disgusting.” Her voice dripped with saccharine pity. “But I’m different. My hands… are clean.” My lips curved into a smile. “Is that so? A word of advice: clean things don’t last long in the Long family.” I hung up. Moments later, Arthur entered with a file. “Miss Elara, you asked me to find these items. They’re up for auction tomorrow night.” Finally, some good news. “Eight years,” I whispered. “It’s taken eight years. Prepare fifty million. I’m bringing them home tomorrow.” At the auction, it was inevitable that our paths would cross. Alyssa clung to Michael’s arm, her voice dripping with mockery. “Miss Elara, what a coincidence. Is there something here that catches your eye?” she asked. “Though, Michael already told me everything tonight is mine. As compensation.” Michael felt my gaze on him and patted her hand reassuringly. “She’s right, I did,” he confirmed, his tone flat. “You went too far last time, Elara. Consider this your apology to her. Don’t be childish.” I almost laughed. When I’d dealt with a rival crew that came for his head, I left dozens of bodies in my wake. All he’d said then was, “Good girl.” Now, for Alyssa, I was being childish? I stared at him, my voice low. “You didn’t see my photo last night?” “I imagine not,” I continued, not waiting for an answer. “Otherwise, how could you possibly be in the mood for a night out?” Michael’s expression froze. He shot a look at Alyssa, who stammered for a moment before admitting she’d seen the photo of the fish being devoured. “They were just some stupid fish! I didn’t think they were important, so I deleted it for you.” Michael’s breathing hitched. “Who gave you permission to do that?” he hissed. But the moment a tear traced a path down Alyssa’s cheek, his anger deflated. “Forget it. Let’s just watch the auction. We’ll talk when we get home.” As the auction began, Michael, without even looking at the catalogue, bought out the entire event. He invoked the “Emperor’s Bid”—a single, massive payment that won him every lot for the rest of the night. Gasps echoed through the hall. My face went cold. One by one, the lots were hammered down, all to him. Then came the final three items. I shot to my feet. My mother’s emerald bracelet. My father’s crucifix, blessed in Rome. And my grandfather’s antique pocket watch. My last remaining heirlooms. I cornered the auctioneer. “Those three items. They must be mine, no matter the price.” The man turned pale. “Miss Elara, you know the rules of the Emperor’s Bid… please don’t make this difficult for me. Perhaps… perhaps you could speak to Mr. Long directly?” I found Michael’s private box. Just as I was about to speak, Alyssa pointed at the stage. “Michael, darling, I love those last three pieces! They’re my favorite. I want them.” Michael’s face tightened. “You just said they were tacky.” “Well, I’ve changed my mind,” she pouted, placing a hand on her stomach. “Are you going to deny me? Both of us will be very upset. When our baby is born, I’ll be sure to tell him what a cheapskate his father is!” My breath caught in my throat. I stared at her still-flat stomach. So that’s why this woman was so bold. She was carrying his child. Michael’s face hardened as he looked at me. “Elara, I promised these to Alyssa. If you like them, I’ll find you something similar later.” “You know what these mean to me!” Eight years ago, when a rival family ambushed us, those heirlooms were lost. I slaughtered a hundred of their men, but their leader, to spite me, would never tell me where they were. In the end, it was Michael who tortured the location out of them over the course of a month. His voice was tight with suppressed rage. “They’re just things from dead people, Elara. Why are you so obsessed?” “I said I’ll make it up to you. This time, they go to Alyssa. You owe her that much.” Alyssa stepped forward, her smile laced with poison. “That’s right, Miss Elara. Your parents are dead. Won’t keeping their things just make you sadder?” She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think… maybe they died so horribly as cosmic punishment for all your sins?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394369”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was at a luxury car dealership, scrolling on my phone while waiting, when I stumbled upon a livestream of my husband Adrian’s graduation. The camera briefly showed a young woman—one of his grad students—linking arms intimately with him. Just then, the salesman pointed at my screen. “I know that guy! He bought a car here the other day.” I pointed at Adrian. “Him?” “Absolutely. A client that generous? Unforgettable.” He gestured to the girl. “That must be his wife. The car was for her.” “A seven-figure car… rich and devoted,” he added. An icy knot tightened in my chest. After the stream, I called Adrian. “Honey, my car’s old. What’s a reasonable price for a new one?” He dismissed me. “Just get it fixed. Stop being materialistic, Beth.” I found the girl’s social media and commented under her new car photo: 【Nice car. Too bad the broke freeloader who bought it will soon be kicked out with nothing. Hope he can still afford you then.】 1 I put my phone away and pointed to a car in the center of the showroom—the exact same model Adrian had bought for his student, Bianca. “That one. I’ll take the fully-loaded version.” The salesman’s eyes lit up. “M-Ms. Thorne, are you sure? The top-of-the-line model is over two hundred thousand dollars…” Without a word, I pulled a black card from my purse and handed it to him. My only condition was that I wanted to drive it off the lot within the hour. The old car I had been driving was a wedding gift from my father. After all these years, it was falling apart. I’d mentioned wanting a new one several times, but Adrian always lectured me about how, as a professor’s wife, I needed to be modest and not chase after material possessions. And I, like a fool, had believed him. I never imagined it was just a script he used to manipulate me. With the new keys in my hand, I drove straight to Northwood University. It was 5 p.m., just when Adrian would be getting off work. I parked the car in the most conspicuous spot right by the main entrance. Students stopped in their tracks, pulling out their phones to take pictures. This was exactly the effect I wanted. I didn’t have to wait long, but it wasn’t Adrian who showed up first. It was Bianca. When she saw my new car, identical to hers, a flash of panic crossed her face. Her voice was already trembling as she approached me. “Mrs. Thorne…” “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. Please don’t misunderstand Professor Thorne.” Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears welling up as if on cue. “The university doesn’t provide housing for grad students, and Professor Thorne saw how exhausted I was commuting four hours every day from the suburbs. He was just worried about me, a young woman traveling alone… that’s why… that’s why he helped me buy the car.” “I’m going to pay him back! I promised I would, as soon as I start working.” She dabbed at her eyes with a delicate hand, her performance drawing the attention of passersby. “Is that Professor Thorne’s wife? She looks so intimidating.” “Yeah, Bianca is such a sweet, hardworking person. She would never do something like that.” “Rich wives are always so paranoid. They think every younger woman is a homewrecker.” I watched her act, a perfect, pitiful little victim. What a masterclass in manipulation. Just then, Adrian arrived. He saw the tear-streaked Bianca and the whispering crowd, and his face instantly darkened. He walked straight past my car without even glancing at me, handing a tissue to Bianca with a soothing murmur. “Don’t cry. I’ll handle this.” Then, he turned to me, his voice barely suppressing a roar. “Beth! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He shouted my full name, loud enough for half the campus to hear. “Can’t you bring this up at home? You have to come here and make a scene in front of a student? Have you no decency?” He pointed a shaking finger at me. “And what was that comment you left on Bianca’s photo? Delete it, right now! And apologize to her!” “Apologize?” I laughed as if he’d told the funniest joke in the world. “Why should I?” Adrian’s eyes finally landed on my new car, and his brow furrowed. “This car… you bought this?” I stepped out and dangled the keys in front of his face. “That’s right, darling.” I raised my voice, making sure every single gawker could hear me. “Since you were so generous as to buy one for your student, I couldn’t let your actual wife look too shabby, could I? So I bought this one for myself. Fully loaded. Paid in full, with my own card.” “If you want something in life, you work for it. That’s what real strength is. A young woman with her whole life ahead of her shouldn’t be looking for shortcuts, getting involved in things she’ll be ashamed of later.” I shot a pointed look at the now-pale Bianca. “After all,” I paused, my gaze returning to Adrian’s thunderous face, “his gravy train is about to come to a screeching halt.” 2 We walked into the house, one after the other. Adrian tossed his keys onto the console table and sank into the sofa, adopting his usual cold-war stance. I changed my shoes and poured myself a glass of water, ignoring him completely. When I met him, Adrian was just a poor kid from the countryside. I married him against my parents’ adamant objections. In his eyes, that desperation became proof that I was weak, that I could be easily controlled. He was convinced that if he gave me the silent treatment, just like he always did, I would eventually break and come crawling back, apologizing and begging for his forgiveness. But this time, I said nothing. And just as I expected, he couldn’t stand the silence. “Beth, what is it you want?” “There’s nothing going on between Bianca and me.” He walked over, his tone softening slightly, but still laced with that infuriatingly paternalistic air. “She’s a gifted student from a poor family. I was just trying to help a talented person in need.” “She said she would pay me back. Why do you have to be so unreasonable? Humiliating her in front of the entire university? How is she supposed to face anyone now?” Every word was a defense of Bianca, an indictment of me. I laughed inwardly, my face remaining a placid mask. “Is that so? Well, if she’s such an exceptional student, then I really should get to know her better.” “How about this? Let’s take her out for a meal sometime. It can be my apology for my… rash behavior today.” Adrian stared at me, clearly taken aback by my sudden capitulation. A flicker of smug satisfaction crossed his face before he nodded in agreement. The dinner was at an exclusive private kitchen. Bianca was wearing a white dress, her makeup flawless, looking even more radiant than the day before. Adrian took the menu and spoke to the waiter with an easy familiarity. “Bianca is allergic to seafood, and she doesn’t like cilantro or spicy food. Extra sugar in the braised pork belly; she has a light palate, prefers things sweet.” He had it all memorized. Then he turned to me. “Beth, what do you want?” I smiled and told him to order for me. A few minutes later, a large platter of grilled lamb chops was placed in front of me. He had forgotten. Or perhaps, he had never bothered to remember that I am severely allergic to lamb. Bianca pointed at my plate with a giggle. “Mrs. Thorne, you’re so amazing. You can eat anything. I’m so picky with my food, it must be such a hassle for Professor Thorne to always remember my preferences.” “It’s no trouble at all,” Adrian chimed in immediately. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” Watching his fawning display, my heart grew colder with each passing second. I put down my chopsticks and casually brought up the past, my tone light as I spoke to Bianca. “You know, it wasn’t easy for your Professor Thorne to get where he is today. When I first met him, he was an apprentice at a hair salon. Everyone called him ‘Tony’.” Bianca choked on her tea, nearly spitting it out. Adrian’s face went black. I ignored them and continued. “He was so poor back then, he couldn’t even afford rent. I thought it was a waste for a university graduate to be washing hair, so I paid for his master’s and his Ph.D.” “Even his current teaching position at the university… my father had to pull a lot of strings to get that for him.” Bianca probably never imagined that the brilliant professor she so admired had such a sordid history as a kept man. Adrian looked like he was about to explode, but under my calm, steady gaze, he didn’t dare say a word. Because every word I’d said was the absolute truth. The rest of the meal passed in a strange, suffocating silence. As soon as we got home, Adrian clutched his stomach and announced he had diarrhea, a frequent excuse of his lately. I used to believe him, naively buying him all sorts of probiotics. Now I knew it was just a cover. While he was in the shower, on a whim, I picked up his phone from the nightstand where it was charging. I had never checked his phone before, so his password was simple: his birthday. I opened his messaging app. Pinned to the top was Bianca’s profile picture, a cute little white rabbit. The chat history was completely wiped. But then I went back and opened his text messages. The most recent one was sent just a few minutes ago. 【Bianca, don’t listen to her nonsense. I’m the one in charge of my family now. She’s just a clueless housewife who’s been depending on me for years. Stick with me, and I’ll take care of you.】 ‘Depending on me for years.’ The words made me tremble with rage. His meager professor’s salary could barely cover a designer coat, let alone the lavish dinners he used to impress people. But the naive Bianca had bought his lies, replying with a shy emoji. Followed by: 【So… same place tomorrow?】 3 A jolt went through me. I remembered something. Not long ago, Adrian had mentioned wanting to stay at our other, unused villa for a few days, claiming the quiet environment was better for writing his thesis. I hadn’t suspected a thing and had given him the keys. Now I realized, it was indeed a quiet, perfect place for… certain activities. The next morning, I drove directly to the suburban villa. A faint, unfamiliar perfume lingered in the air. I had never worn that scent. I slipped on a pair of house slippers and walked inside. The closer I got to the bedroom, the tighter an invisible hand squeezed my heart, making it hard to breathe. Just then, the bedroom door opened. Bianca emerged, wrapped in a sexy silk nightgown, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Honey, is that you? I’ve been waiting for you…” Her words died in her throat when she saw it was me. I didn’t give her a chance to speak. I walked up and delivered two sharp slaps across her face. Smack! Smack! Bianca stumbled back, stunned, clutching her rapidly swelling cheeks. “You… you hit me?” “Hit you?” I sneered. “You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing. This is my house. You’re trespassing. I could have you arrested.” The mask of innocence dropped. “Don’t act so high and mighty, Beth,” she spat. “You think you’re still the untouchable heiress? Stop deluding yourself! Adrian told me everything. Your family is nothing but an empty shell now. Even this villa is in his name!” At that moment, the front door opened. Adrian walked in, carrying breakfast. He froze when he saw the scene. His eyes locked on the red handprints on Bianca’s face, and his gaze shifted to me, blazing with fury. “Beth, are you insane?! Why are you hurting Bianca?!” He rushed to her side, shielding her behind him. Watching him protect her so fiercely, my heart turned to ash. “Adrian,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “have you forgotten who bought you this house?” His pupils contracted. “I’ll give you one last chance,” I said, pointing to a utility knife on a nearby table. “You have two choices.” “One, take that knife and shave her head. If I’m satisfied, we can pretend none of this ever happened.” “Or two,” my voice dropped to an icy whisper, “you can keep protecting her. But I will call my father right now and have him cut off all your project funding and get you kicked out of the university.” He knew, better than anyone, that my father could and would do exactly that. Everything he had—his title, his status, his reputation—was a gift from my family. “Beth, do we have to do this? After all our years of marriage…” “Marriage?” I cut him off. “Did you think about our marriage when you were lying about writing a paper and screwing her in this bed? Did you think about our marriage when you were using my family’s money to buy her a luxury car, while refusing to buy me a new one?” With every word, the color drained from his face. I pressed the knife into his hand. “Choose. Your future… or your true love.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394368”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

This year marked my fifth anniversary with Poppy. One evening, while using her laptop in the study, I stumbled upon a document titled “Proposal_Plan.docx.” I opened it. The title inside read in bold letters: “May 20th Proposal Plan.” I froze for a second. Poppy had always turned down my own proposals. Was it because she wanted to be the one to ask? In that instant, a wave of sweetness and anticipation washed over me. On May 20th, I kept checking my phone, my heart pounding with excitement for Poppy’s message. But it was a colleague’s shriek that shattered my fantasy. “Poppy is proposing in the garden! The company garden!” I didn’t wait to hear more. I just ran. When I finally reached the garden, breathless and dizzy, the scene before me stopped my heart. Poppy was on one knee, holding a ring, looking up with adoration at another man. My fists clenched at my sides, but I didn’t rush forward. I didn’t demand an explanation. After a moment of deafening silence, I slowly pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I sent a text to my father. “Dad, about that marriage arrangement you mentioned… I’m in.” 1 My father called the second he got my message. He let out a long sigh, then chuckled. “Finally! I’ve been trying to talk you into this for ages, son. I was starting to lose hope.” His voice was warm with relief. “You’re my only son, Bob. Of course, I want you to marry a woman from a family of equal standing. I don’t care who you date, but marriage… marriage is a serious matter. It’s a family decision.” “I know, Dad,” I managed to say. My gaze drifted back to the couple in the garden, now locked in a kiss. A single, hot tear traced a path down my cheek. The people around them were cheering, the air thick with joy and celebration. It felt like I was standing under my own private storm cloud. “What’s all that noise?” my father asked. “When are you free? We need to arrange a dinner with the Sterling family.” “This Saturday,” I said, my voice flat. I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket. Perhaps the intensity of my stare finally broke through her bliss, because Poppy turned her head and her eyes met mine. Shock flickered across her face. She hadn’t expected to see me here, to see me witness this. She quickly looked away, leading the man back to a seat at a decorated table. The garden, the enormous cake, the champagne, the crowd of friends… Five years. We had been together for five years, and she had never once formally introduced me to her friends. Yet here they all were, every single one of the close girlfriends from her graduation photo, witnessing her happiness. One of them stood, raising a glass. “I knew it! I always said you two were meant for each other. I’ve been waiting years to toast at your wedding!” Poppy had kept our relationship a secret. Even her best friends didn’t know I existed. But this man… they all knew him. The sun was shining, but a bitter chill seeped into my bones. Wiping my tears, I turned and walked away from the garden, away from the place that had just broken my heart. I thought I was the star of her proposal plan. Turns out I was just an audience member. No, not even that. I returned to our apartment, feeling hollowed out. A courier was standing by the door, waiting. He saw me and walked over. “Mr. Vance?” I nodded. He handed me a bouquet of flowers. “Man, your girlfriend is really something,” he said with a grin. “First time I’ve ever had an order for a woman sending flowers to her guy on a special day.” I forced a weak smile, took the flowers, and unlocked the door. Tucked into the bouquet was a small card. It read: Happy Anniversary, my love. With a sneer, I ripped the card to shreds and threw it in the trash. So, she remembered I was her boyfriend. Then why in the hell did she propose to someone else today? I collapsed onto the sofa, burying my face in the six-foot-long teddy bear she had given me for my birthday. The scented candle on the coffee table was her favorite. This apartment, which we had designed and decorated together, was filled with three years of our shared memories. And just now, I had watched her betray every single one of them. I lay there for a long time, drifting on the edge of sleep, until the sound of a key turning in the lock jolted me awake. 2 Poppy walked in, looking tired. She was holding a collectible figurine. After slipping on her slippers, she came straight to me. She held out the box. “Bob, look. I got you that limited edition figure you wanted.” I took it from her. She seemed to think this was enough, that I had already forgiven her, and sat down beside me. “What were you doing at the garden today?” she asked. I didn’t answer, just turned the box over in my hands. She took my left hand and placed it on her thigh. “His name is Brian. He was my neighbor growing up. We were childhood friends.” “A few days ago, he was diagnosed with leukemia. He doesn’t have much time left. His one last wish… was to marry me.” “I wanted to make that wish come true for him. That’s why I proposed, with our friends there to see it. Can’t you understand how difficult this is for me?” I just stared at her, saying nothing. She squeezed my hand. “I’ve already set a date. The engagement party is on the fifteenth of next month.” Her tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. What a coincidence. That was the same day I was getting engaged. I pulled my hand back and gave a quiet, “Mm.” Poppy used to say I had a possessive streak, that I’d get angry if she ignored me. I’d worked hard to change, to control my emotions. She seemed stunned that I wasn’t screaming, wasn’t throwing things. “I’m just here to pack a few things. I’ll be moving in with Brian tomorrow morning,” she continued. “You’ll be here by yourself for a while. He needs me to take care of him. I’m sorry you have to be the one to make the sacrifice.” I kept my expression neutral, my eyes fixed on the figurine in my lap. Seeing my silence, Poppy seemed to take it as acceptance. She leaned in, her lips aiming for mine. I stood up abruptly, a smooth, deliberate motion that made her kiss hit empty air. I noticed then that her lips were slightly swollen, and there were faint hickeys on her neck. A scent clung to her, the smell of another man’s intimacy. It made my stomach turn. My coldness finally seemed to register. A flash of anger crossed her face. Forgetting all about packing, she spun around, changed her shoes, and stormed out of the apartment. I tossed the figurine aside, walked into the bedroom, and pulled out a suitcase. Anything Poppy had ever given me, I left behind. This home, built with my heart, I was leaving it all behind. The next morning, the first thing I did at the office was print out my resignation letter. Poppy and I had gone to the same university. After graduation, she’d started here. I’d turned down my father’s offer to join the family business just so I could be with her, starting from the bottom together. As our friends started getting married and having kids, I’d hinted to Poppy that I wanted the same. But she always said it was too soon, that she needed to establish her career first. I didn’t want to pressure her, so I told my parents to give us more time. Now, she was a general manager. Her career was stable. When I found that proposal plan on her computer, I thought we were finally going to be a real family. It was all just a delusion. 3 My colleague Ben, in the next cubicle, leaned over the partition. “Bob, what are you doing? The director is promoting you to project manager next month. Why would you quit now?” “I’m getting engaged soon,” I said with a smile. “Might be moving to a new city.” Another colleague passing by overheard and stopped. “Wow, congrats, man! That’s great news!” He paused. “Speaking of which, I heard from the director’s assistant that Poppy is getting engaged too!” He pulled out his phone and opened up his social media feed. “Look, man. She and her fiancé make a perfect couple. I heard they grew up together. He was her first love.” My smile froze. The post was from last night. I’d checked my feed; there was nothing new from her. She’d hidden the post from me. I opened our chat history. I hadn’t noticed when it happened, but most of our recent conversations had been about work. Suddenly, Ben flinched and ducked back into his cubicle. I looked up. Poppy was walking into the office, with Brian trailing right behind her. He looked perfectly healthy, moving with a light step that didn’t suggest a man with only months to live. Poppy clapped her hands for attention. “Everyone, can I have a moment? This is Brian, our new project manager. Please make him feel welcome. I expect you all to cooperate with him moving forward.” Ben’s face went pale, his eyes darting between me and Brian. One by one, my colleagues went up to shake Brian’s hand and introduce themselves. I remained at my desk, the resignation letter still in my hand. Poppy’s gaze fell on me, her expression hardening. “Everyone has greeted the new manager. Why are you just standing there? Come and say hello.” Brian walked over with a smile, extending his hand. “Looking forward to working with you. Hope you’ll cut me some slack while I’m learning the ropes.” I put down my letter and reached out to shake his hand. But Poppy grabbed Brian’s arm, pulling him away. “You don’t need to waste your time on employees who don’t know their place. Let me give you a tour of the office.” My hand was left hanging in the air. Ben came over and gently pulled me back into my chair. “Bob,” he whispered, “that new manager… he’s Poppy’s fiancé. The diamond on his finger? I heard she bought it for him in Paris. Everyone in this office knows how capable you are. How could she just give your promotion to him?” I just shrugged with a hollow smile. It didn’t matter. I was already leaving. If anything, Brian’s appointment just made my decision to walk away from Poppy even easier. I took a deep breath, collected myself, and walked towards Poppy’s office with my resignation and a stack of project files. The door was ajar. I knocked lightly. “Come in,” she said, her voice cold, not even bothering to look up. I walked in and placed the files on her desk. 4 Poppy began flipping through the documents, her brow furrowed, her expression growing darker with every page. Finally, she looked up at me, a mocking sneer on her face. “And here I thought you’d finally learned to control that temper of yours. It didn’t even take a full day for the real you to come out.” “Are you trying to threaten me with your resignation?” she scoffed, then snatched the papers and hurled them at my face. I ducked, the pages fluttering to the floor around me. I knelt and began to pick them up. Leaning back in her chair, Poppy continued her tirade. “Brian has the same degree as I do. I believe he is more than qualified to be project manager. Are you throwing a tantrum because you think he stole your promotion?” I calmly stacked the papers and placed them neatly back on her desk. My face was a mask of indifference. “You’re right,” I said, my voice even. “Brian studied the same thing as you. You know his capabilities. But what about me? What were all the years I spent working beside you?” She gave me a contemptuous glance. “Do you really need me to tell you what your capabilities are? From now on, you’ll be Brian’s assistant. You can learn a thing or two from him about how to do your job properly.” A bitter, weary laugh escaped my lips. “You really think the world revolves around you, don’t you? I’m not throwing a tantrum. I am quitting. And for the record, I think I’m more capable than he is. I don’t need to learn anything from him.” She slammed her hands on the desk and shot to her feet. “Fine! You’ve grown a backbone, have you? We’ll see where you end up after you walk out that door.” The look in her eyes was that of a stranger. I had never seen this side of her. My hands clenched into fists. I turned and walked out of her office. For five years, my entire world had revolved around Poppy. And now, she had not only pushed me away, but she also wanted me to play second fiddle to her new fiancé. Now that I saw her for who she truly was, I wasn’t stupid enough to waste another second of my life on her. Back at my desk, I began packing my personal belongings. My eyes fell on a glass jar filled with paper stars that Poppy had folded for me. With a heavy sigh, I placed it in the box with everything else. Box in hand, I was about to leave for good when Brian rushed into the office, his face a mask of panic. “Excuse me, everyone, could you please stop what you’re doing?” he announced. “My Rolex is missing. I’m going to need everyone to cooperate with a search.” A murmur went through the office. “I saw his watch this morning. I looked it up online—it’s worth a fortune.” “How does something just disappear off your wrist?” “Someone must have taken it when he wasn’t looking.” Poppy stood by Brian’s side as she called security. They started searching everyone, one by one. When they got to me, I put my box down to let them look. Poppy’s eyes locked on the jar of stars. She hesitated for a moment, then tipped the entire box over, sending its contents crashing onto the floor. The jar shattered. The colorful stars scattered across the tiles around my desk. With the sound of shattering glass, something between us broke for good. A security guard knelt, sifting through my things. Poppy nudged my belongings around with the toe of her shoe. Suddenly, Brian grabbed her arm and pointed at the floor. “Poppy, look! Isn’t that my watch?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394367”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was penniless the day the Sterling family’s true heiress kicked me out of the house. All I had with me was a single cosplay outfit. To make ends meet, I started taking commissions from the city’s elite circle of billionaires, specializing in embodying the one that got away—their unforgettable lost loves. It worked like a charm. And soon enough, no matter which tycoon my ‘sister’ Stella tried to win over, she was met with the same cold line: “Oh, you’re the one who bullied my commissioned muse, aren’t you?” When I was dropped into this ‘mistaken-identity’ novel, the story was already in its final act. I was the fake heiress, despised by everyone and cast out onto the streets. Luckily, my real-world profession was as a cosplayer. And as everyone knows, the world of novels runs on two fundamental laws. First, billionaires are a dime a dozen. Second, you never, ever chase after the one that got away, especially if she’s moved overseas. This created a perfect market for my skills. I could become, for a price, the ghost of a love they’d lost. Business was booming. Tonight’s commission was to accompany a Mr. Marshall to a gala. He was a quiet, intense man who ran a shipping empire. The moment I stepped into the grand ballroom, however, I ran right into my sister. Or rather, my ex-sister. Stella Sterling, draped in a couture gown, stared at me, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arching in surprise. “Well, well, if it isn’t my dear sister,” she announced, her voice dripping with venom, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Dressed so… quaintly. Are you here begging for scraps? Or have you finally decided to find yourself a sugar daddy?” In the novel’s narrative, I was the imposter, the one switched at birth. I’d grown up coddled, adored by my parents, wanting for nothing. That all ended when the real heiress, Stella—sallow-skinned and gaunt from a life of hardship in a forgotten rural town—returned. Overnight, I became a master of self-effacement. She liked my bedroom? I moved out. She wanted a ‘real’ family vacation with just her and our parents? I stayed home. When she was cornered by a group of thugs in an alley, I threw myself in front of her, shielding her from their knives. I took three deep cuts for her. I barely survived. When I woke up in the hospital, Stella was holding my hand, her face a mask of tear-streaked sorrow. “Ava,” she’d sobbed, “they told me… they told me you hired those men. Were you that desperate to get rid of me? Did you hate me that much for taking your place?” My parents, standing behind her, embraced their precious, trembling daughter. They called me a monster, a venomous snake they had unknowingly raised. The wounds I’d suffered, they said, were my just deserts. They refused to listen to a word of my defense. They just threw me out. And so, they would never know the truth. The fake heiress they so despised had already bled out on the grimy pavement of that alley. Perhaps it was for the best. At least the original Ava died clinging to a happy delusion—that if she was just a little kinder, a little more selfless, her parents might finally look at her with love again. A few months had done wonders for Stella. She was radiant now, all sharp angles and polished glamour, with no trace of the scrawny, awkward girl she’d been. I, on the other hand, was pale and drawn, a lingering shadow of the injuries I’d sustained for her. “You look dreadful, Ava,” Stella said with a saccharine smile. “Maybe I should ask Mom and Dad to take you back? I’m sure they could find a place for you… scrubbing toilets, perhaps?” She pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. I smiled back. A slow, wicked grin. Then I lunged. Don’t mess with a cosplayer who can trek three miles in six-inch heels carrying a forty-pound prop. Taking down a pampered socialite like Stella was child’s play. I tackled her to the marble floor, the sound of her shriek echoing through the ballroom. I straddled her, raining down slaps left and right. The sharp, satisfying smack of my palm against her cheek silenced the polite chatter. Gasps erupted around us. Women in glittering gowns recoiled, champagne flutes shattered, and the scene devolved into chaos. No one dared to intervene. I was a cornered animal, ready to bite anyone who came near. A panicked assistant, seeing the commotion, scrambled upstairs to find the host of the evening. The room at the end of the second-floor hall was cloaked in darkness. Hearing footsteps, a figure lounging on a sofa lifted his head, a thread of irritation in his voice. “What is it?” The assistant stammered, “Mr. Marshall, sir… there are two women fighting downstairs. They… they’ve knocked over that new oil painting you acquired. The thirty-million-dollar one.” A heavy, weary sigh filled the silence. The man rose languidly from the sofa. “Let’s go.” By the time Jeremy Marshall arrived, Stella’s right cheek was already swelling into a plum-colored bruise. If his bodyguards hadn’t pulled me off her, I would have made sure the other side matched. The moment she saw him, Stella burst into a fresh round of theatrical sobs, clutching her face. “Mr. Marshall, you have to do something! This… this bitch Ava tried to have me killed a few months ago, and now she’s crashed your party just to attack me! She’s ruined everything! You have to make her pay!” The noise seemed to grate on him. He shot a cold glare at his staff. “Useless, all of you. Get security in here and call the police—” He stopped mid-sentence. I looked up from the floor. My dress was a simple, plain white. My dark hair fell like a curtain around my shoulders. My eyes, wide and almond-shaped, shimmered with unshed tears. I looked like I’d been wounded to the very soul but was too afraid to speak of it. Jeremy froze. His perpetually half-lidded eyes flew wide open. He stared at me, his mouth parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. He looked rooted to the spot, afraid that a single move might startle me. Afraid he might shatter the waking dream. Stella, oblivious, continued her screeching. “Mr. Marshall, what are you waiting for? Throw this trash out!” Jeremy finally snapped back to reality. He walked over until he was standing beside me, then looked down at the whimpering girl on the floor. “She hit you?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. Stella nodded eagerly. “Yes! She did!” “Then it must have been your fault,” Jeremy stated flatly. “Get out.” Stella’s jaw dropped. She was the one who’d been assaulted. And she was the one being thrown out? What kind of twisted logic was that? As two imposing bodyguards ‘escorted’ her from the ballroom, Stella’s nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. The hatred for me burned hotter than ever. A fake, a nobody with tainted blood… how does she always manage to bewitch everyone? But then, a triumphant smirk touched her lips. She remembered the rumors. Jeremy Marshall had a lost love, a ghost from his past, and he had sworn he would never marry. So what if Ava had his favor for a night? She would always be a dirty little secret, a mistress people whispered about behind their hands. Stella, on the other hand, was about to marry into the Westwood family—the undisputed royalty of the city’s elite. Once she was a Westwood, she would spend the rest of her life grinding Ava Sterling into the dust beneath her heel. Back in the ballroom, Jeremy gently extended a hand to me. “May I have this dance?” he asked. I’d seen this man on the news. The bastard son who clawed his way to the top of a corporate dynasty. Ruthless, cold, and utterly unforgiving. But right now, the tips of his ears were red. He looked as clumsy and hopeful as a teenage boy. I smiled and placed my hand in his. “Of course.” His fee was a hundred thousand dollars. The request itself was achingly simple. He just wanted me to dance with him. “My girlfriend… she passed away from an illness,” Jeremy said, his voice a low, steady murmur as we swayed to the music. “She was cruel. So cruel she hasn’t visited me in my dreams once in the three years she’s been gone. So cruel she refused to accept my proposal, even at the end.” Before Jeremy had been acknowledged by the Marshall family, he was just an outcast, a ‘little bastard’ that everyone scorned. She was the only one who saw him, the only one who would sit with him, who would hold his hand. “But she got sick. Really sick. It was going to cost a fortune to save her.” “I worked three jobs. I sold my blood. It was never enough.” His eyes, dark and haunted, turned red at the corners. He quickly brushed a hand across his face. “My biological father found me. He said if I agreed to come back, to take the family name, he would get her the best doctors in the world.” “But he lied to me. He never paid the medical bills. She died… she died in that hospital bed, waiting for a treatment that never came.” “When I confronted him, he just laughed. He told me, ‘Son, if I’d cured her, you would have married her.’ He said I was a Marshall now. I could have any woman I wanted. Why would I chain myself to some poor girl from the sticks?” The music swelled, a wave of strings and horns rising to a crescendo, drowning out the broken fragments of his voice until I could no longer hear the words, only the pain. As the final note of the waltz faded, Jeremy pulled me into a gentle embrace. A single, hot tear landed on my shoulder. I heard him whisper, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.” “She loved to dance. I was always too shy, too awkward… I never danced with her.” “Now I have. My dream came true. And that’s enough.” The next day, photos of me and Jeremy dancing were splashed across every gossip site. The headline was in bold, brutal type: 【FAKE HEIRESS SHAMELESSLY IMPERSONATES DEAD WOMAN TO SEDUCE BILLIONAIRE TYCOON!】 I didn’t need a crystal ball to know Stella was behind this. She didn’t stop there. A swarm of paparazzi descended on my hotel, ambushing me outside my room. “Miss Sterling!” one of them shouted, shoving a microphone in my face. “Don’t you feel it’s ghoulish, pretending to be a dead woman for money?” When I ignored them, another reporter produced a megaphone. “MISS STERLING, WHAT’S YOUR OPINION ON THE TRAGIC LOVE STORY BETWEEN MR. MARSHALL AND HIS DECEASED GIRLFRIEND? DO YOU THINK YOU CAN EVER REPLACE HER IN HIS HEART?” It was a blatant, cruel provocation. Flashbulbs strobed, blinding me. But I just smiled. I tilted my head up, looking directly into the camera lenses. “Mr. Marshall and I have a purely professional relationship. He is my client, and I am his commissioned muse. He hired me to embody his first love for one evening.” The reporters stared, momentarily stunned. The scandalous narrative they’d been fed had just crumbled. A collective groan of disappointment rippled through the pack as they started to disperse. “Don’t you dare leave! I’m not finished!” I snatched a microphone from a stunned reporter, taking command of the situation. “That young woman may be gone, but I want to make one thing crystal clear,” I declared, my voice ringing with conviction. “Despite the monstrous interference of a heartless old man, she and Jeremy Marshall loved each other with everything they had, right until her very last breath.” I had a job to do, and professional integrity demanded it. I had to honor the memory of my client and his lost love. A love that pure, that profound, did not deserve to be twisted into something ugly by tabloid vultures. That afternoon, Jeremy called. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I was in meetings all morning. I’ve had my security team clear out the reporters, and I’ve sent a check for a million dollars over to you. Consider it a small token for your trouble. If they bother you again, you call me immediately.” I laughed. “Keep your check, Jeremy. Our agreed-upon price was one hundred thousand, and I won’t take a penny more. But there is something you can help me with. Do you know the Westwood heir?” “Who? Leo Westwood?” “Yes. Stella’s fiancé.” There was a pause. “We’re not exactly friends,” he admitted, his tone hesitant. I said nothing. Jeremy thought for a moment, and then a slow grin spread through his voice. “But… I do know his grandfather. The old king himself. Does that count?” “Who’s that?” “Arthur Westwood.” Arthur Westwood was seventy-eight years old. While he no longer possessed the devastating good looks of his grandson, he was the undisputed patriarch of the family. After his wife passed away, he’d lost all interest in the family empire, handing the reins over to his son and grandson. In the years since, his health had steadily declined. He spent his days watching over a framed photograph of his late wife, a man already half-gone, waiting for the end. A living ghost. So, when I stood among his wife’s prized rose bushes, dressed in a vintage blush-pink dress, and turned to look at him with a gentle, knowing smile, the old man clutched his chest with a strangled gasp. He almost checked out right then and there. Thankfully, the Westwood family doctor was a miracle worker. Arthur survived. “The resemblance… it’s uncanny,” Arthur whispered, chewing on a nitroglycerin tablet as he gave me a thumbs-up. “Eleonora… she always loved to wear pink.” Arthur and Eleonora had been inseparable for over fifty years. On her deathbed, she had made him promise. “I’m going first, but you’re not allowed to follow me. You have to live, Arthur. You have to live well.” Death was a force you couldn’t fight, only endure. Arthur, sobbing like a lost child, had nodded dumbly, snot and tears running down his face. And then she’d slapped him. Right across the face. His feisty Eleonora glared at him, her eyes blazing with the same fire he’d seen the day they first met. “Did you hear me, you old blockhead?!” Only when he nodded again, like a chastised schoolboy, did she smile and finally close her eyes. Now, looking at my face—a perfect echo of his young Eleonora—Arthur felt a familiar tremor of fear. The healthy, lifelong terror of a man utterly ruled by his wife. If Eleonora knew he was wasting away, moping and listless, she’d grab him by the ear and yell, “Are you deaf, old man? I swear I’ll box your ears if you don’t listen to me!” And just like that, Arthur Westwood found his motivation. His back stopped aching. His legs felt strong again. He could take the stairs two at a time. A week later, a housekeeper was polishing the grand foyer windows when she froze, her face paling as if she’d seen a ghost. With trembling hands, she scrambled to the landline and dialed the Westwood heir. “Mr. Leo! It’s an emergency!” “What happened?” Leo’s voice was sharp with alarm. “Is it Grandpa? Is he alright? Is he at the hospital? Stay calm, I’m on my way.” “No, sir, it’s not that! It’s… sir, your grandfather has a rose clenched between his teeth, and he just sped off on your Ducati motorcycle…” Leo was silent for a beat. “…He what?” Today was the last day of my commission. Arthur, clad in black leather, had taken me to one last place. The cemetery. “My son and that grandson of mine, they’re more old-fashioned than I am,” he said, a roguish twinkle in his weary eyes. “They say this place is bad luck, that I shouldn’t come so often. I don’t listen to them. I sneak out.” He grinned. “Besides, I figured she’d want to see this outfit for herself. You look fantastic.” The cemetery’s paths were a winding labyrinth, but Arthur navigated them with an expert’s ease, leading me to a large marble headstone. It was a double plot, but the name on the left was still uncarved, waiting for its occupant. Arthur reached out and stroked the cool stone. He smiled softly. “Eleonora, my love, look who I brought to see you today.” “Doesn’t she look just like you did? She’s doing this thing called… commissioned cosplay. It’s all the rage now. You always did love to keep up with the times. I think you would have liked it.” “This young lady I hired is a real professional. And her temper’s much better than yours…” He placed the rose he’d brought at the base of the stone, his tone conspiratorial and affectionate. “But, uh… for the record, I always preferred you feisty.” I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. The cemetery was profoundly still. We sat there before the small monument, talking to her, our voices weaving together in the quiet air. At five in the evening, we left. My week-long commission was over. Arthur handed me a check with a flourish. I glanced down. My eyes widened at the number of zeroes. “Take it, Miss Ava,” he said, his smile kind as he noticed my hesitation. “Thank you for spending this time with an old man. I haven’t had this much fun since… well, since my wife passed.” I smiled back. “Keep it, Arthur. Next time you want to hire me, it’s on the house.” “No next time,” he said with a wave of his hand, his gaze turning towards the sky. “The more I look at you, the more I miss her.” He paused. “By the way, young lady, is there a special young man in your life?” I shook my head. “You’re not about to set me up, are you?” He chuckled. “Of course not. I just wanted to tell you something.” “Don’t search for love. Wait for it.” “Wait for the one who will truly love you to find you.” He gave me a quick wink and turned away. “Enough of that. I’m going to buy you a shaved ice. This old shop has been here forever. Eleonora adored their strawberry flavor…” He started across the street, a frail old man moving through the rush of modern traffic. I could almost see it: decades ago, a vibrant young woman dragging her handsome lover by the hand, laughing as they argued over which flavor was better before disappearing into the crowd. The rose garden she planted, I thought, is in full bloom now.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394366”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Camryn swapped my fate with a man dying of cancer, leaving me with seven days to live. She gripped my hand, her voice a placating murmur. “Ethan is so young, Jon. I can’t just watch him die. It’s just a temporary switch. You’re strong, you can take it. I’ll find an experimental treatment to save you, I promise.” I pulled my hand away. I couldn’t wait. “I’m a time traveler,” I told her, my voice flat. “If my body’s life force becomes unstable, the temporal rift will pull me back.” Her face hardened. “Not this again! You pull this ‘temporal rift’ nonsense every time we have a disagreement. It’s been seven years, Jon. You’re still here, aren’t you?” She told me to stop being dramatic, that she’d have news about the treatment in three days. On the first day, she married Ethan. They christened my marriage bed while I collapsed three times. On the second day, she threw a party with our friends to celebrate their union. I had twenty-four nosebleeds. On the third day, she took him to the hospital for a check-up. I was in the emergency room next door, fighting for my life. Seven years of shared struggles and triumphs, all erased by a newcomer’s smile. Camryn, this time, I’m really going home. … A delivery of 9,999 roses arrived at the farm gate. My employees buzzed with excitement. “Mr. Hayes, Ms. Vereen really loves you! She even remembered today is the farm’s fourth anniversary…” A dull ache started in my chest. I managed a faint smile. If she truly loved me, she’d know I’ve always hated flowers. My love was for the golden stalks of wheat, the simple grains that fed the hungry. Camryn called, her voice husky and languid, as if she’d just woken up. “Jon, honey, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot it’s already the fourth day. The clinic hasn’t gotten back to me about the treatment yet. Are you holding up okay?” If I told her the truth, she’d mock me, accuse me of faking it. “I’m fine,” I rasped. A sigh of relief on her end. “Good. As long as you can handle it. I’m in a conference at the hotel near the farm today, so I can’t be with you.” She hung up before I could reply, but not before I heard the sound of a man’s breathing beside her. The city’s most luxurious hotel was just a few miles from my farm. I was there making a delivery of fresh vegetables when I overheard the kitchen staff gossiping. “Ms. Vereen booked the entire hotel just for Mr. Thorne’s birthday. Did you see the ninety-thousand roses in the ballroom? A grand declaration of her love…” “I know, right? Exactly 90,000, not one more, not one less. I heard they picked out all the slightly imperfect ones and sent them to that nearby farm…” “Wait, isn’t Mr. Hayes the owner of that farm? Did you get them? Ms. Vereen said the rejects could be used as animal feed…” I smiled and nodded, but my body was trembling uncontrollably. Making a hasty excuse, I fled to the hotel lobby, tears finally streaming down my face. Around the corner, I heard Camryn’s voice drifting from an elevator. “Camryn, you actually found a way to swap their fates. But what about Jon? Hasn’t he been giving you trouble?” Camryn, touching up her lipstick, replied with a careless shrug. “Trouble? What leverage does he have? He’s a handsome orphan with no family to back him up. The farm was a gift from me. Every fight for the past seven years, he’s tried to scare me with that ridiculous time-travel story. And what happened in the end? He’s still right where I want him, too pathetic to leave.” Her friends gave her a thumbs-up. “Brilliant, Camryn. Find a guy with no connections. He wouldn’t even dare break up with you.” Another friend sounded puzzled. “But I thought Ethan could last another six months with chemo. The Mystic said Jon only has seven days. Why put Jon through it at all?” The elevator doors opened, and Camryn’s voice grew faint, but I heard her reply clearly. “I can’t bear to see Ethan suffer through chemo, losing his hair, getting so frail. As for Jon… he’s used to hardship. A little more won’t kill him. I’ll find a way to keep him hanging on.” In the stairwell, I couldn’t stifle the coppery tide of blood that surged up my throat. I lay there, unconscious, for the rest of the night. Day five had arrived. 2 I woke to a body screaming in pain and a phone ringing incessantly. The moment I answered, Camryn’s frantic voice shot through the line. “Jon, get over here, now!” I thought something had happened to her. But when I arrived, I found Ethan slumped against her shoulder while she frowned at a thermometer. “97.7 degrees!” He didn’t have a fever, but Ethan was whining. “Camryn, I feel awful. My normal temperature is 97.2. Even a slight increase means I’m getting sick.” Camryn placed a cooling patch on his forehead before looking up at me. “Jon, the Mystic left a book of instructions. If Ethan gets a fever, it means the fate-bond is unstable.” She looked at me, her expression pained, but she said the words anyway. “There’s a remedy. It… it requires a small piece of your flesh for a tonic.” Her voice was a whisper. “Just a tiny piece. I’ll take it from somewhere hidden, it won’t even leave a scar. And you know those new high-yield grain seeds you wanted? The ones that can grow anywhere? I can get them for you…” So, she always knew what I wanted. I looked down at the hand she was holding. “Camryn, do you feel anything?” She looked confused. “What do you mean?” I had been vomiting blood on my way over. A kind pharmacist took my temperature. 105.8. Her cool hand was wrapped around mine, yet she felt nothing of the fire consuming me. I smiled faintly and held out my arm. “Which part do you want? Go on. Cut it.” If I stood any longer, I would collapse, and she would just accuse me of putting on a show. The knife in Camryn’s hand trembled. There was more sweat on her brow than on mine, the person about to be cut. As the pain lanced through me, my mind drifted back. When I first met her, her company had gone bankrupt. We were starting over, huddled together for warmth in a damp basement apartment. I’d gotten a fever, and she’d cried all night, swearing she’d never let me suffer again. Later, when she rebuilt her empire, she forbade me from doing any work that involved knives. She said my body was as precious as her own heart. Now, that same woman held the blade that sliced into my flesh. Just as she was finishing, Ethan suddenly “stumbled,” falling against her. The knife, which had just left my skin, plunged deep into the wound again. Blood gushed out. The pain was so intense I nearly blacked out, stumbling back against a table to stay upright. Camryn didn’t even see me. She was already wrapping her arms around Ethan, her voice thick with concern. He started complaining he was cold. She consulted the Mystic’s book again, which said he needed to be immersed in warm water. She personally helped him into the bathtub in our master bathroom—our marriage bathroom. Only then did she turn back to bandage my arm. Then she slipped out of her clothes and got into the tub with him, holding him close. She handled him with the tender care one would reserve for a priceless, fragile treasure. My legs finally gave out. I collapsed onto our bed. Through the open door, Camryn spoke to me, her eyes never leaving Ethan. “You know, Jon,” she said softly, “looking at him, it’s like seeing you when we first met. You were like a lost, wounded little rabbit, so helpless. He needs me, just like you did. You understand, don’t you?” Blood seeped through my bandage. I forced a weak, pained smile. “Yes. I understand.” When I first arrived in this time, everything terrified me. I was like a rabbit, yes. But I never stole the only carrot from another rabbit’s paws. Seeing me nod, she relaxed. “You’ve been through a lot today, Jon. Go home and get some rest.” Go home? This was our home. The sanctuary we designed together, heads bent over blueprints and fabric swatches for countless nights. We had become strangers. As I closed the door behind me, I paused. “Camryn… thank you.” Thank you for spending your last pennies on fever medicine and soup for me when I first arrived. Thank you for seven years of warmth and full meals. And thank you for showing me that even in this era of monogamy, love can be divided. 3 I thought the pound of flesh was my final goodbye. But after Ethan recovered, he insisted on coming to the farm to “thank me.” He made me a “nourishing, blood-replenishing soup” in the farm’s kitchen. As I reached for the bowl, his face twisted into a sneer. He let it drop, shattering it on the floor. “Jon,” he said, his voice low, “we’re both rabbits. But I’m the one who’s going to win this race.” Before I could even mourn the wasted soup, Ethan was on the ground. He let out a cry, grabbed a pair of shears from a vegetable basket, and started cutting himself. “Brother Jon, it’s my fault I’m sick, my fault you had to get hurt! I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me! I’ll give the flesh back to you!” Camryn, who had been outside on a business call, burst into the kitchen. She shoved me aside and gathered Ethan into her arms. Ethan’s eyes were red with tears. “Camryn, I just wanted to thank him, but I think… I think he resents me.” The older women who worked on the farm rushed to my defense. “Ms. Vereen, Mr. Hayes would never do something like that! We have security cameras, we can check the footage. It must be a misunderstanding.” Camryn nodded, her face grim. Unfortunately, the security system had “unexpectedly malfunctioned” right after they arrived. She shot me a look of pure ice. “Jon. Apologize to Ethan.” When my staff tried to intervene again, she roared, “Anyone who says another word is fired. And you’ll never work in this town again.” These women were from poor families. They couldn’t lose their jobs. Facing the sniveling, triumphant Ethan, I bowed low. “Mr. Thorne. I am sorry.” I held the bow for nearly a full minute, my body shaking, on the verge of collapse, before he finally spoke. “It’s okay, Brother Jon. As long as you know you were wrong, you don’t have to apologize…” Satisfied, Ethan went off to “tour the farm.” Camryn’s tone softened slightly. She handed me a small bag. “Jon, these are the seeds you wanted. This strain can survive even in the most extreme conditions. You’ve learned so much over the years, you can grow good crops even without special seeds, but…” I shook my head. She didn’t understand. The place I came from… “extreme conditions” was an understatement. Still, I thanked her sincerely. There was nothing else left to say to her. I turned to leave, but one of the old farmhands ran up, panicked. “Mr. Hayes, you have to come quick! Mr. Thorne saw a wild rabbit in the fields… he set the whole farm on fire trying to catch it!” It was harvest season. That grain was meant for donation to impoverished regions. I sprinted outside. The sight of the inferno turned my blood to ice. My mind snapped back to reality, and I grabbed a hose, yelling for everyone to help. Camryn grabbed my arm, pulling me back. Her voice was cold steel. “What is wrong with you? Were you born starving? It’s just some grain! Are you going to get everyone killed over it?” The fire burned, and my heart bled with it. She didn’t know. I had been starving to death when I traveled through time. My homeland had suffered a three-year drought, and when the rains finally came, so did war. I had seen men sell their wives for a bag of grain. I had seen the starving eat the dead. I had witnessed every horror humanity was capable of, all for a mouthful of food. She was right. I was used to hardship. That’s why I didn’t care that she’d swapped my fate and left me to die. But I could not accept watching life-saving food burn to ash before my eyes. I turned and punched Ethan square in the jaw. Camryn exploded. “Jon! Who the hell gave you permission to touch him?” On the spot, she declared she was revoking her gift of the farm and kicking me out. She threw the tattered clothes I’d arrived in seven years ago at my feet. “Don’t you forget who saved you,” she hissed. “Maybe a little hardship will remind you of your place.” When she first found me, I was filthy and dressed in rags that hung off me like a shredded bedsheet. But back then, her eyes had held stars when she looked at me. Now, I was back where I started. I found myself in the same dark alley where I first appeared. Several pairs of predatory eyes glinted in the shadows. I ducked my head, intending to find a police station, but the men—scarred and tattooed—blocked my path. Their words froze me in place. 4 “So this is the guy Ms. Vereen was talking about? He looks like he needs a lesson.” “Hey, pretty boy. The boss lady said you got too big for your britches after all these years. She sent us to teach you some manners.” “Tonight, she said you’re all ours to play with. Hahaha.” Darkness fell like a shroud as they descended on me like beasts. All I remember is the rain of fists, the silent screams caught in my throat, and my body shaking uncontrollably. I faded in and out of consciousness, waking only to more pain. Dimly, I felt a finger check for my breath. “Shit, is he dead?” “Why is he so hot? His body’s on fire. Let’s get out of here.” When I woke again, it was the morning of the seventh day. My body was a furnace. I staggered to a public park restroom and washed the blood from my skin. The icy water was a brief relief. Leaning against the wall, I stumbled out into the morning light. Camryn’s luxury car was parked at the curb. I recognized the license plate. ETHN LUV. Ethan, I love you. She was leaning against it, watching me. Ethan was asleep in the back, covered with her designer coat. Seeing my battered state, she held out a hand. “Tough night? Have you learned your lesson?” Her fingers were long and clean. The same fingers that had pulled me from the mire so many times. But this time, she was the one who had pushed me into the abyss. I nodded, terrified, my knees buckling. I didn’t dare take her hand. I frantically tried to wipe the grime and blood from my clothes, from my skin. But how can you wipe away bruises and broken bones? Camryn frowned at my pathetic attempts. “You’re just a little dirty. When have I ever cared about that?” She smiled, pulled me to my feet, and pushed me into the car. “Jon, someone sent an experimental cure. You’re going to be saved.” She took me back to the house. On the table were two vials of medicine. I was confused, but she touched her nose, looking away. “Ethan’s cancer cells have started growing back. The Mystic said your life force will stop working for him after tonight. He’ll be sick again, the cancer will return.” A cold dread washed over me. If I was going to be fine after tonight anyway, why had she brought me back? She suddenly grabbed my hands, her voice pleading. “Jon, this drug has never been tested on a living person. But since your body is already fighting the cancer… could you test its effectiveness for Ethan? Please?” Her words were a poison that dissolved my heart. I swallowed the lump in my throat, my voice trembling. “If I die from this… will you have any regrets?” She looked surprised. “Die? It’s just a test, how could you die?” If there was no risk, why not just give it to Ethan? I didn’t ask. I just stated my condition. “Can you get me the cultivation method for those seeds?” She let out a breath, a confident smile returning. “I knew you’d need it. I got it for you already.” A single sheet of paper. I memorized it in seconds. When I looked up, any last flicker of feeling I had for her was gone. “Do it, Camryn. Give me the drug.” As the needle slid into my arm and the medicine flowed into my veins, color returned to my face. She turned to Ethan, hugging him and crying out with joy. “Ethan! You’re saved! Your disease can be cured!” The entire house erupted in cheers. I was an outsider at my own execution. Unseen by Camryn, I slipped out the door. I returned to the park where my journey in this world began. I held on until midnight, when my original life force flooded back into my body. But just as I felt myself become whole again, a column of light enveloped me from above. Clutching the precious seeds to my chest, I vanished from this beautiful, cruel era. After midnight, Camryn injected the second vial into Ethan. Watching him sleep peacefully, she finally felt at ease. But then a servant interrupted her. “Ms. Vereen, there are two people at the door. They call themselves the Temporal Bureau. They’re asking to see Mr. Hayes.” 5 Camryn went downstairs, frowning. A strangely dressed man and woman were waiting in her foyer. The woman stepped forward excitedly. “Ms. Vereen, our records show that your partner, Mr. Jon Hayes, is not native to this timeline. Could you please tell us where he is? We need to see him.” The man handed her a business card. The texture was rough, the job title something she’d never seen. Camryn let out a short, mocking laugh. “The Temporal Bureau? Pfft. Jon’s really stepped up his game, hiring actors now?” The woman tried to explain. “We’re not actors, Ms. Vereen. Seven years ago, a temporal rift opened, and Mr. Hayes was accidentally displaced into this era. It’s taken us this long to locate him.” Camryn rubbed her temples, her patience wearing thin. “How much is he paying you? I’ll double it. Now get out. And tell Jon I’ll see him later, but he needs to stop with these ridiculous fantasies.” The two were escorted out into the misty dawn. As Camryn turned to go back inside, the man called out. “Camryn Vereen! It’s clear Mr. Hayes told you about his origins. You were willing to believe a Mystic could swap human fates, so why is it so hard to believe Jon is a time traveler? Do you even know him? Do you know where he came from? Do you have any idea the kind of suffering he endured?” Camryn stopped, her eyes turning to ice as she looked back. “Suffering? And I haven’t been good to him all these years? He uses that story to manipulate me, to get more out of me. Ethan has a terminal illness, and instead of showing a shred of compassion, Jon gets jealous and tells lies, all because he knows I care about him. Now get lost, you con artists, before I have you arrested.” The heavy doors of the Vereen estate slammed shut. The woman looked up at the man. “Brother, she doesn’t believe us. How are we going to find Mr. Hayes?” The man smiled faintly. “Let’s go. Jon isn’t here anymore. As for Camryn Vereen… she’ll be begging for our help soon enough.” … Two days later, medical scans confirmed that Ethan was completely cancer-free. Camryn held a press conference. A reporter asked, “Ms. Vereen, you must have moved mountains to achieve Mr. Thorne’s miraculous recovery. We heard a rumor that you even employed a Mystic to swap his fate with someone else to buy him time?” Camryn raised an eyebrow and denied it coolly. “That’s absurd. That was just a story I told Ethan to keep his spirits up, to stop him from despairing.” She would never let the world know she had sacrificed me. But just as she thought the matter was settled, the Mystic himself stormed into the press conference. He pointed a trembling finger at her. “Ungrateful woman!” he roared. “You can deny my power, but it’s a pity for the boy who gave his fate to you. You will never see him again!” Camryn shot to her feet. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘gave his fate to me’?” The Mystic sneered. “Ms. Vereen, did you really think this was the first time I’ve performed a fate-swap for your family?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394365”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After three years of secretly marrying Kevin Robinson, the world’s biggest movie star, I was finally pregnant—with twins. A boy and a girl. A miracle. The moment the news broke, he announced it publicly. The internet went wild. From that day, he canceled all projects to become my personal chef. “Sweetheart,” he’d say, holding a steaming bowl, “this collagen broth is perfect for the babies. Finish every drop.” His manager Renee—also my best friend—personally vetted eight elite maternity nurses for me. I was drowning in happiness. Until one night, I heard a voice from my womb: Mom, help! He’s taking all our life force! Then a boy’s voice, full of contempt: You think you can compete? Once I’m born, my real mother Renee will be the new Mrs. Robinson. You and your mom will just be cold bodies on an operating table. I rested a hand on my belly, a cold smile forming. So you all love a performance? I’ll play along till the end. The next day, I went to renowned gynecologist Dr. Alistair Torrence. “I need a C-section now,” I said calmly. “Save the girl. Preserve the boy as a specimen.” … Dr. Torrence didn’t ask why. He simply picked up the ultrasound wand and glided it over my stomach. On the screen, two tiny points of light huddled together. One was brilliant, the other faint and flickering. “Fascinating,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on the monitor. “One life force is actively devouring another. This kind of energy vampirism… I’ve only ever read about it in ancient texts.” He looked up at me, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “Nina, are you certain? This boy… he has what the old texts call a sovereign’s destiny. A once-in-a-century phenomenon.” My eyes were chips of ice. “All I know is that he wants me and my daughter dead.” Dr. Torrence was silent for a moment before setting the instrument aside. “I can schedule the procedure, but not now. The girl is too weak; she wouldn’t survive it. I’ll prescribe you a tonic to calm your system and strengthen her heart. As for our little ‘sovereign’… we’ll have to blunt his edge first.” I took the prescription, thanked him profusely, and left. The moment I got in the car, a vicious, twisting pain ripped through my abdomen. The monster inside was thrashing, a furious storm in my womb. Bitch! Who did you talk to? You dare try something against me? When I’m grown, the first thing I’ll do is flush your ashes down the sewer! The agony made my vision swim in black spots, and a cold sweat soaked through my clothes in seconds. I bit down hard on my lip, enduring the inhuman torment. Then, another, fainter voice whispered. Mommy… don’t be scared… I’ll give you some of my strength… A gentle warmth spread from my core, and the pain actually began to recede. Gasping for breath, the murderous intent in my eyes only deepened. My daughter. So small, and already trying to protect her mother. And that parasite, whose only goal was to drain her dry and leave us for dead. Renee. Kevin. You two bastards just wait. When I got home, Kevin was pacing the living room like a caged animal. The second he saw me, he crossed the room in three long strides and pulled me into his arms. “Where have you been? Why weren’t you answering your phone? Do you have any idea how worried I was?” The panic and fear in his voice sounded so real. I leaned against his chest, feeling the powerful, steady beat of his heart, but all I felt was a spreading chill. Such an actor. He really does deserve an Oscar. “I just went for a walk to clear my head. My phone was on silent,” I explained softly, looking up at him, my eyes welling with manufactured tears. “Kevin, I’m scared.” He froze, cupping my face in his hands. “Scared of what? I’m right here.” “I’m scared… I’m scared I’ll die on the operating table. That I’ll never get to see you or the babies.” My voice trembled as I put on the performance of a lifetime, my body shaking with fake sobs. Kevin’s heart practically broke on the spot. He hugged me tighter, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t say that! I’ve hired the best doctors in the world. Nothing will happen to you! I won’t let anything happen to you!” Hmph. Stupid woman. Scared now, are you? You should be. You’re about to die on that table! Hearing the boy’s venomous thoughts, I cried even harder. Yes, I’m terrified. Terrified I won’t get to send you all to hell myself. Seeing my distress, Kevin quickly fetched a bowl of soup. “Stop thinking such things. Here, try some of the broth I made for you.” He sat on the edge of the bed, scooping up a spoonful, blowing on it gently before bringing it to my lips. Drink up, drink up! This batch has a little something extra. It’ll weaken you, bit by bit, until you don’t even have the strength to struggle when the time comes! the boy’s gleeful voice shrieked in my head. I looked at Kevin’s concerned face, and a wave of nausea washed over me. “Oh, honey, you’re so good to me,” I said, taking the spoon from him. I brought it towards my lips, then let my hand “slip.” The bowl crashed to the floor, porcelain shattering, soup splashing everywhere. “Oh my god!” I gasped, my face a mask of apology. “I’m so sorry, it just slipped.” Kevin’s brow furrowed, his voice sharp with annoyance. “Why are you so careless?” My eyes immediately filled with tears again. I looked at him, my lower lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to… It’s just, the babies are so active today. They’re kicking so hard it hurts, and my hand just gave out. The boy, especially. He’s so strong.” A flicker of pride lit up Kevin’s eyes. “Is he? That’s my son. Strong, right from the start.” He took my hand. “You just focus on staying healthy and bringing him into this world. The Robinson family will finally have its heir.” Heir? You bet! And once I inherit everything, the first thing I’ll do is flush this bitch’s ashes down the sewer! The vicious voice echoed again, laced with an insane arrogance. I closed my eyes, forcing down the rage. He continued, oblivious. “By the way, Renee made an appointment for you at the Summit Sanctuary. The abbot there is famous for his blessings for expectant mothers and newborns. We should go tomorrow, what do you think?” The Summit Sanctuary again. In three years of marriage, Kevin and I were apart more than we were together, and we’d never been able to conceive. Six months ago, Renee had “helpfully” introduced me to the abbot at the Sanctuary, suggesting I go for a “wellness retreat.” Soon after, I was pregnant with twins. Thinking back, it was obvious. My “darling son” was their masterpiece all along. They used some kind of dark ritual to implant their embryo in my womb, all so that my daughter and I could serve as stepping stones for their son’s glorious future. I nodded, feigning agreement. Kevin cleaned up the mess on the floor. He tucked me in, placing a soft goodnight kiss on my forehead. “Goodnight, my love. And goodnight to our babies.” He stepped out, closing the bedroom door behind him. The smile on my face vanished, replaced by a mask of ice. Mommy, Daddy’s going to see the bad lady now, my daughter’s timid voice whispered in my mind. Shut up, you jinx! My mom is the one Daddy really loves! the boy’s voice snarled back. You and your useless mother are both going to die! I slowly sat up and opened an app on my phone—a baby monitor I’d installed to record milestones. I never imagined its first use would be to catch my husband in the act. On the screen, Kevin had no sooner closed my door than he slipped into the guest room next door. Renee was waiting for him, draped in a sheer lace nightgown. She threw herself into his arms. “Is she asleep?” Kevin wrapped his arms around her waist, lowering his head to kiss her. “Out cold. Must have been a long day arranging things with the abbot.” Renee traced circles on his chest with a manicured finger. “It’s never too much trouble. Anything for our son.” Her voice was a seductive purr. “I just feel so bad for you, having to pretend with that boring face every day.” Kevin chuckled, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her toward the bed. “Not for much longer. Once our son is born and drains every last drop of fortune from that mother-daughter pair, you won’t have to suffer anymore. You’ll be the one and only Mrs. Robinson. As for her… who remembers a dead woman?” The scene that followed was too vile to watch. I shut off the monitor, my face devoid of expression, and sent a few text messages to Dr. Torrence. Just then, my daughter’s weak, helpless voice came from my belly. Mommy, it hurts. He’s taking my things again. The boy’s voice was filled with the innate cruelty and arrogance he was born with. I’m taking what’s mine! A waste of space should know her place! I closed my eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t be afraid, little one. Mommy will protect you. As for that monster and his snake of a mother, I wouldn’t let a single one of them escape. The next day, I obediently followed Renee to the Summit Sanctuary. The air was thick with incense, the sound of chanting filling the halls. The abbot, a man who projected an aura of serene wisdom, broke into a wide smile the moment he saw Renee. “Miss Renee, welcome.” His gaze then shifted to me, a calculating, greedy glint in his eyes. “And this must be Mrs. Robinson. Indeed, a woman blessed with a deep well of fortune.” Renee’s chin lifted with pride. “Abbot, my friend’s fortune is in your capable hands.” “Of course, of course.” The abbot handed me a folded talisman to keep on my person, then offered me a bowl of murky water. “Madam, drink this. It will ensure the safety of mother and child, and ward off all calamities.” I took the bowl of yellowish liquid, a strange, cloyingly sweet odor rising from it. Drink it! Drink it now! This is the ‘Fortune-Transfer Charm’ my mother paid a fortune for! It’ll siphon every last drop of your luck over to me! Once you’re an empty husk, our new life begins! the boy shrieked with excitement inside me. I smiled meekly, took the bowl, and under his watchful gaze, drank every last drop. Then, right in front of him, I vomited everything onto the pristine floor. Kevin’s face instantly darkened. But before he could say a word, I clutched my stomach and let out a pained groan. “Kevin, my stomach… it hurts so much… the babies, my babies…” The annoyance on his face was immediately replaced by alarm. “Don’t panic, I’ll call an ambulance right now!” Renee rushed in at the sound of the commotion. A flash of triumph crossed her face before she masked it with frantic concern. “What’s happening? Quick, we have to get her to a hospital!” On the way to the hospital, my body was wracked with convulsions, my hair plastered to my skin with cold sweat. Kevin and Renee flanked me, murmuring useless words of comfort. But in the chaos, I could suddenly hear their thoughts as clearly as my own. Kevin: [Just give birth already. I’m so tired of this act.] Renee: [The doctor’s all set. This surgery will be the end of them both—one body, two graves.] And my “darling son” was practically dancing in my womb. Yes! Finally! I can get away from this poor, pathetic excuse for a mother! I’m going to my real mom, Renee! Once I’m born, I’ll be the chosen one, the center of the universe! As for you and your worthless daughter… you can get ready to turn to ash! I curled into a ball, feigning agony, but a razor-thin smile touched my lips. Good. Let’s see who turns to ash first. At the hospital, I was rushed straight into the emergency room. Renee had arranged everything; the lead surgeon was one of her puppets. “Mr. Robinson, Mrs. Robinson, the situation is critical. The patient is showing signs of a major hemorrhage. We have to perform an emergency C-section immediately!” the doctor announced grimly, holding out a critical condition notice. Kevin put on a flawless performance of a man falling apart, grabbing the doctor’s arm. “Doctor, please, you have to save my wife and my children!” Renee stood nearby, crying her eyes out. “Nina, you and the babies have to be okay!” An A-list actor and his B-list actress. A match made in hell. I lay on the gurney, watching their little show. [Stop the acting and sign the papers already, I can’t wait!] [Just kill the woman and the little bitch spawn so my son can be born safely!] Their thoughts were so much more honest than their tearful performances. I lifted a trembling hand and clutched the fabric of Kevin’s shirt. “Honey, I’m scared…” Kevin immediately bent over me, taking my hand in his. “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. I’ll be with you the whole time.” His voice was as smooth and gentle as silk. But his thoughts screamed in my mind. [God, you’re such a good actress. If it wasn’t for your life force, I wouldn’t be able to stand touching you.] I looked at him and suddenly smiled. “Kevin, do you love me?” He was taken aback for a second, then his expression melted into one of deep affection. “Of course. You’re the only person I love.” “Then… if there are complications in the surgery… if you have to choose… do you save me, or the baby?” I stared directly into his eyes. The question hung in the air, instantly freezing the atmosphere in the room. Renee’s face paled. Kevin hesitated for a long moment before speaking, his voice heavy with false emotion. “I choose you. I only want you to be safe.” [Choose you? In your dreams. Neither you nor that little bitch is leaving this hospital alive!] His inner roar was so loud it made my ears ring. I smiled, satisfied. “Okay. As long as I have your word, I can rest easy.” I was wheeled into the operating room. The moment the doors swung shut, I saw Renee lean into Kevin’s embrace as they exchanged a triumphant look. Inside the OR, the lights were a harsh, sterile white. The surgeon Renee had hired, a man named Dr. Evans, approached me, a scalpel gleaming in his hand. He looked at me as if I were already dead. Mommy, I’m scared… my daughter’s voice whimpered. Scared of what? It’s an honor for you to be a stepping stone on my path to greatness! the boy’s voice boomed, more arrogant than ever. I slowly closed my eyes. It was time for the curtain to fall. Suddenly, the operating room doors were pushed open. Leading the way wasn’t Dr. Evans, but a lean, elderly man with sharp, intelligent eyes. He was followed by two nurses who efficiently and decisively escorted the original surgical team out of the room. Dr. Evans’s face went white. “Who are you? Who let you in here?” The old man didn’t even spare him a glance, walking directly to my side. “Nina. Are you alright?” I opened my eyes and gave him a weak smile. “Dr. Torrence. You’re finally here.” Dr. Evans, seeing his plan crumble, tried to protest. “You can’t do this! This patient is in critical condition! If you delay the surgery, who will be responsible?” Dr. Torrence shot him a look that could freeze fire. “I am taking over this procedure. You can leave. Or,” he added, his voice dropping, “you can stay and observe what a real C-section looks like.” Dr. Evans scrambled out of the room as if the devil himself were on his heels. The doors closed once more. Dr. Torrence pulled on a pair of sterile gloves, his voice calm and steady. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.” I nodded, a profound sense of relief washing over me. As the anesthesia entered my system, my consciousness began to fade. Just before I slipped into darkness, I heard the boy’s terrified, disbelieving screams. What’s going on? Where are the people my mother hired? No! You can’t touch me! I am the chosen one! You’re all worthless trash! How dare you lay a hand on me! But this time, there was no one left to hear his tantrum. Outside the operating room, Dr. Evans ran to Kevin and Renee, his face a mask of panic. “Mr. Robinson, it’s a disaster! The operating room… an old man named Alistair Torrence has taken over!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394364”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel