Author: Momo Chan

1 The day I requested transfer to desk duty, the precinct practically sighed in relief. Approval was unanimous—almost celebratory. Only Ivy Hayes objected. The new M.E., my boyfriend’s childhood friend, and self-proclaimed “Corpse Whisperer.” She burst into my office, red-eyed, clutching my sleeve. “Dr. Kearns, please stay. Keep fighting for the victims!” I shook her off and left without a word. In my last life, she was the real deal—a medium who recited autopsy reports after one glance. Families worshipped her. Me? The ghoul who desecrated the dead. I worked tirelessly, but she always unveiled the truth first. One family, mad with grief, abducted me. They did to me what they believed I’d done to their son. Dismembered. Scattered. Then I woke up—back to the day she first declared herself the Corpse Whisperer. … “Hey, Luke, the M.E. report’s in,” a voice cut through the haze. I snapped my head up, my eyes struggling to focus on the familiar faces around me. “Dr. Kearns, how many pages this time?” one of the detectives quipped, his tone dripping with a casual sort of contempt. But I wasn’t listening. I shot up from my chair, my eyes wide with disbelief. The sterile white tiles, the glint of stainless steel, the faint, cloying scent of antiseptic—I was back in the morgue. I had been reborn. “Clara? You okay?” a colleague asked, startled by my sudden movement. I ignored him. I shoved the door open and scrambled to my desk, snatching the freshly printed report. The pages were dense with my own handwriting, a testament to hours of careful, exhausting work. I had to get to the briefing room. I had to report my findings before she could. But just as I burst into the room, ready to speak, Ivy’s voice cut through the air, clear and confident. “Livor mortis is a deep, dark red. Bloody foam in the oral and nasal cavities. The victim was strangled. The perpetrator is approximately five-foot-seven. Time of death was between midnight and one in the morning.” I whipped my head around. Ivy stood at the doorway, her expression a mask of serene certainty. My face went pale. “How… how did you know that?” a detective asked, his voice a mixture of awe and confusion. Ivy offered a small, knowing smile. “I haven’t had the chance to mention it before,” she said softly. “I’m what you might call a Corpse Whisperer. I can hear them. The dead. They whisper their stories to me.” The world tilted on its axis, and for a moment, my vision went black. It was happening all over again, exactly as it had before. This was the day it all began. The day the legend of Ivy Hayes, the Corpse Whisperer, was born. The story spread like wildfire: she was a guide for the departed, sent to our world to give them a voice, to spare their bodies the final indignity of the scalpel. Families, already terrified by the cold reality of an autopsy, clung to her. They saw her as a savior. “What’s the point of a Chief M.E. who just cuts people up when Dr. Hayes can get the truth with a single touch?” “You have no respect for the dead. You’ll get what’s coming to you.” Their curses rained down on me, but I never believed in ghosts or magic. I am a scientist. Driven by a desperate need to prove myself, I threw my entire being into every subsequent case. I refined my techniques, I documented every microscopic fiber, I cross-referenced every last detail. But it was never enough. Each and every time, Ivy would swoop in just moments before I could present my findings, revealing the complete truth to a stunned audience. To the families, I became a monster. The butcher who violated their loved ones for sport. They hated me for it. They hated me so much they kidnapped me, carved me up, and left me for the carrion birds. My parents were destroyed. They fought, they screamed, they demanded justice. But Ivy, the celebrated Corpse Whisperer, simply told the world I’d had a tragic accident—a fall from a cliff, my body ravaged by wild animals. When my parents refused to believe her, when they demanded she be investigated, they were silenced. Ostracized and persecuted by the very families who once lauded them, they died of broken hearts. And now, here I was. Back on the day it all started. This time, I would not let it end the same way. This time, I would uncover the truth. “For real? A ‘Corpse Whisperer’? That sounds like something out of a movie,” someone muttered. “Who knows? Maybe she’s just making it up.” The detectives exchanged skeptical glances, their whispers filling the room. Just then, my boyfriend, Detective Luke Garrison, took the report from my trembling hands. He scanned the pages, then looked up at Ivy, a slow, impressed nod breaking across his face. “She’s right,” he announced to the room. “It matches Clara’s report. Word for word.” The room erupted. Gasps of shock and murmurs of amazement rippled through the crowd. The same colleagues who had been whispering doubts just seconds before now turned to me, their expressions a strange cocktail of pity and disdain. “Guess all that time you spend writing those long reports doesn’t mean much if Ivy can do it in a minute,” one of them whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Seriously. She nails it in a sentence, and we have to read a novel from Dr. Kearns. Gives me a headache.” Their mockery was a familiar sting, a cold poison seeping back into my veins. I forced myself to breathe. It’s just beginning. You can change it. I knew, with every fiber of my being, that Ivy wasn’t a medium. There was no magic. She had a method, a trick. She had to be getting my results beforehand. The next day, for a new case, I laid down the law. “I’m performing this autopsy alone,” I declared. “No one enters the morgue until I’m finished.” Ivy stood at the door, her face a perfect portrait of wounded innocence. “Clara… I don’t understand what I did wrong. Why are you being like this?” The others shot me accusatory looks, but I ignored them. My theory was simple: someone was leaking my reports to her. By locking the door, I was cutting off her source. Let’s see what tricks she could pull now. I sealed the autopsy suite and got to work. An hour later, I emerged with the completed report, ready to present my findings. But as I laid the papers on the briefing table, a wave of confusion washed over the room. Everyone was frowning. A cold dread began to creep up my spine. It was Ivy who broke the silence. “Dr. Kearns,” she said, her voice laced with feigned sympathy, “we’ve already been over all this. I told them everything an hour ago. Is there a reason you’re just joining us?” I stared at her, then at my colleagues. A few of them, people I’d considered friends, gave me small, apologetic nods. I was frozen. It was impossible. The door was locked. No one saw the body but me. No one touched the report but me. How? How did she know? I spent the night replaying every autopsy, every interaction, searching for a crack in her story. Then, it hit me. A detail I’d dismissed as irrelevant. Before every single case, Ivy would spend a long time in the cold storage, where the bodies were kept pre-autopsy. An idea began to form. A risky, desperate plan. That night, I swapped the body scheduled for the next day’s autopsy with a different one. Then, I installed a tiny, hidden camera in the corner of the cold storage room. Sure enough, not long after the precinct had emptied out for the night, the footage showed a shadowy figure slipping into the room. It was Ivy. She carefully examined the corpse on the gurney, taking notes, before meticulously putting everything back in its place and disappearing into the night. A triumphant smile touched my lips. The trap was set. The next morning, I announced I’d be performing the autopsy in the main observation theater, in front of everyone. No more closed doors. This time, they would hear the results directly from me, as soon as I found them. Ivy saw my setup and chuckled. “Decided to stop hiding, Dr. Kearns? I know you’re afraid of me stealing your spotlight, but you can’t fight a natural gift. Jealousy won’t change that.” I ignored her, my focus entirely on the task at hand. Once the detectives and senior officers had assembled, I began, narrating my findings as I worked. But something was terribly wrong. For every observation I made, every conclusion I drew, Ivy would speak it a fraction of a second before I could. The same words, the same details. My heart hammered against my ribs. A chill snaked its way up my spine. She had examined the wrong body. She shouldn’t know any of this. But she did. How? How? I stared at her, searching her smug face for any sign of deception, but found only a cool, confident smile. My mind was a maelstrom of confusion and panic. I faltered, my words catching in my throat. Luke’s voice cut through my haze, sharp and impatient. “Clara, what is wrong with you? Your inefficiency is embarrassing. Honestly, Ivy’s more reliable at this point.” A cold numbness spread through my chest. “I… I don’t understand,” I stammered. He cut me off. “Just stop. You’re clearly not up to this. Take a break. Ivy’s abilities are proven. She can take it from here.” The assembled crowd dispersed, leaving me standing alone in the sterile, silent theater. I was completely and utterly lost. No matter how I spun it, how I analyzed it, I couldn’t figure it out. How was Ivy Hayes doing it? From that day on, I was living in her shadow. The precinct’s faith in her grew exponentially, while I was treated like a relic, an inconvenient and obsolete part of the process. My colleagues’ eyes were filled with scorn. “Did you hear? Other precincts are asking for consultations with Ivy. She’s making a real name for the department.” “Yeah, unlike some people. ‘Chief Medical Examiner.’ What a joke. She’s an embarrassment.” I tried to fight back, to prove my worth, but every effort was effortlessly crushed by Ivy. It was all useless. Soon, her fame spread beyond the precinct walls. The families of victims started refusing autopsies. “You have a woman who can talk to the dead!” one father screamed at me in the hallway. “So why are you insisting on cutting up my son? Why are you torturing him even in death?” “You’re not a doctor, you’re a ghoul! A heartless ghoul!” a mother shrieked, her face contorted with grief and fury. It took the Chief of Police himself to calm them down. Ivy’s reputation soared. She was invited to give guest lectures at the city’s top universities. The day she left for one such lecture, a horrific new case came in. A young female student, her face mutilated beyond recognition, her head severed and grotesquely mounted on her neck with a steel rod. The brutality of the crime sent shockwaves through the city. The state command issued a direct order: solve this case, and solve it now. But we hit an immediate wall. The victim’s family flatly refused an autopsy. “Get the Corpse Whisperer!” they demanded. “Let her talk to our daughter!” With Ivy out of town, the precinct had no choice but to try and reason with them. The Chief spent hours gently, painstakingly explaining the necessity of a proper examination. Finally, they relented. He pulled me aside. “Clara,” he said, his voice low and serious. “This is your chance. I know what’s been said, but a break in this case… that would be a major victory. It would silence the critics.” I threw myself into the work, fueled by a desperate hope. I worked through the night, pushing past exhaustion, determined to reclaim a shred of my dignity. But just as I was about to present my comprehensive report to the family and the command staff, Ivy appeared. She walked to the front of the room and, without a single glance at my report, began to speak. “Time of death was approximately 3 a.m. The lacerations on the neck are irregular, with one blunt and one sharp angle at the wound corners. Tissue bridging is visible within the wound cavity, indicating it was caused by a heavy, sharp weapon, like a cleaver.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “There are multiple lacerations on her face, varying in depth. This suggests a crime of passion, an extreme hatred for the victim. The killer was likely someone she knew.” Then, she turned to the grieving parents, her voice softening with theatrical sorrow. “I am so, so sorry. If only I had gotten here sooner, we could have spared her this… and she could have rested whole.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I stood frozen, a bone-deep chill washing over me. Every single word she had just uttered… was identical to what I had written in my report. The victim’s father snatched the papers from my hand and scanned them, his eyes darting between the page and Ivy. A moment later, his face purpled with rage. “You bitch!” he roared, pointing a trembling finger at me. “What’s the point of you? She knows everything without even looking! You just wanted to butcher my daughter for fun!” “You mutilated her!” the mother screamed, her voice cracking. “She couldn’t even have a proper burial because of you! Don’t you have a soul? Don’t you fear retribution?” “Get out of this precinct! Get out of our sight!” Like a pack of wolves, they surged forward. The father grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head against the wall. A few of my colleagues rushed in to pull them off me. “Everyone, calm down,” someone pleaded. “Dr. Kearns was just trying to find the truth…” “Calm down?” the mother shrieked. “Our baby is dead and desecrated, and you want us to be calm?” Then, Ivy stepped forward, the picture of magnanimity. “Please, everyone, don’t be upset,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Dr. Kearns is still our city’s Chief Medical Examiner. Her professional skills are… undeniable.” She drew out the last word, her eyes flicking towards me with a look of pure, unadulterated contempt. “We simply use different methods,” she continued, turning her gaze back to the crowd. “For me, the most respectful way to honor the dead is to listen to them. To give them a voice. And I, Ivy Hayes, swear that I will do so for every single soul who needs me.” Nausea churned in my stomach. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop it, Ivy!” I shouted, my voice raw. “Stop this charade! What did you do? What dirty trick did you use to steal my work?” I advanced on her, my eyes locked on hers. “You claim to know everything? Fine. Tell me this: what were the residual contents of the victim’s stomach?” I had deliberately left one crucial detail out of the written report. A final, desperate gambit. Let’s see her talk her way out of this. Suddenly, Luke pushed through the crowd and stood in front of me. His face was a mask of fury. He raised his hand and slapped me, hard, across the face. The sound echoed in the silent room. “If you have no talent, then have the decency to shut up and stop embarrassing yourself!” he hissed. “Now get out.” I clutched my stinging cheek, staring at the man I thought I loved. He was a stranger. In that moment, I knew. He wasn’t just a bystander. He was in on it. He knew the truth, and he had chosen her side. A triumphant smirk played on Ivy’s lips. She spoke slowly, savoring each word. “The stomach contents,” she announced, “contained traces of cyanide. A lethal dose, enough to cause death in minutes. That was the true cause of death.” I froze, my eyes wide with horror. How? How could she know that too? The Chief’s face had turned to stone. “Clara Kearns,” he boomed, his voice shaking with rage. “Look at yourself. What have you become? You are a disgrace to this department!” I looked at the ring of accusing faces, at Luke’s cold fury, at Ivy’s victorious smile. A profound, soul-crushing cold enveloped me. It felt like being trapped in a dense fog, unable to see the truth that was right in front of me. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, a brilliant flash of light cut through the fog in my mind. It all made sense. The truth… it was so simple. So horrifyingly simple. I took a deep breath, my gaze meeting the Chief’s. My voice was steady, devoid of all emotion. “Chief,” I said, “I am requesting a transfer. I want to be reassigned to clerical work. Effective immediately. I am no longer a medical examiner.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393619”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The day my wife, Isabelle, went to the airport to pick up her childhood friend, Ross, on his return to the country, our lives shattered. It started with something so small. Our two boys fell, and I helped my own son, Ryan, to his feet first. I didn’t get to Ross’s son, David, in that first instant. For that, she banished us. She sent my son and me to the Sanctuary of Mount Sorrow, a remote monastery, so I could, in her words, “learn the meaning of compassion.” In the gnawing hunger and bitter cold of that place, three years passed. And then, my son froze to death. On the day of his burial, Isabelle arrived at the Sanctuary. Ross was with her. She had come to take my son’s bone marrow. David had leukemia, and she needed to see if Ryan was a match. I told her our son was dead. She scoffed. “Three years, and you haven’t changed a bit. You’d go so far as to curse your own son just to avoid saving David.” Her voice was like ice. “Let me tell you something, Ross. I don’t care if you say he’s dead. Even if he is dead, I’ll dig up his coffin myself to see if his marrow is still viable.” … I was forced to stand at the monastery gates to welcome the distinguished guests. I never imagined that guest would be the very woman who had condemned my son and me to this suffering: my wife, Isabelle. I hadn’t seen her in three years. Her first words to me were, “So, have you learned your lesson?” I stared at her cold, beautiful face, the memory of that day flooding back. It was because two children had fallen, and I had helped Ryan first. She had just returned from the airport with Ross and saw the whole thing. She watched Ross rush to comfort David, and her brow furrowed in anger as she rounded on me, accusing me of being petty. “David is only staying with us for a few days until Ross gets settled. I can’t believe you can’t even tolerate that much,” she had said, her face a mask of disappointment. “Take your son and go to the Sanctuary. Meditate on your failings. You can come back when you’ve changed.” And so, Ryan and I were sent to this desolate place. We were starved of food, of warmth, and sometimes, we were attacked by wild animals from the surrounding forest. In all that time, Isabelle never visited. Not once. Pulled from my thoughts, I gave a numb, noncommittal, “Hn.” Her expression softened slightly, and she finally stated her purpose. “David has leukemia. I need Ryan to get tested as a bone marrow donor. For David’s sake, I’m willing to forgive you and personally take you both home.” My eyelashes trembled. I swallowed the bitter acid rising in my throat. “You can’t take him,” I said softly. “As for me…” A bitter smile twisted my lips. “I’m staying here. To be with my son.” Isabelle’s face instantly darkened. “What do you mean? You know David is dying, and this is how you act? Selfish and narrow-minded! This is a life, Ross! A life we can save!” She didn’t know that every word she spoke was another knife twisting in my heart. Ross, seeing the tension, stepped forward, his voice dripping with false humility. “Ross, I know you’re upset. That Isabelle sent you and Ryan here three years ago because of us. I’m… I’m so sorry.” He bowed his head. “If you’ll just let Ryan get tested, I’ll do anything for you. Anything.” Isabelle immediately grabbed Ross’s hand, her voice softening as she spoke to him. “You don’t have to beg him. He was the one in the wrong. I carried Ryan for ten months. I gave birth to him. Ross has no right to deny me this.” Her gaze, when it returned to me, was burning with fire. I simply stared back. After a moment, Isabelle took a deep breath and barked an order at the men she’d brought with her. “Find Ryan. Tear this place apart if you have to, but you will find him.” She glared at me, her jaw set. The monks who had gathered to watch exchanged uneasy glances. The abbot, Father Michael, finally stepped forward. “Blessings upon you, madam,” he said to Isabelle. “It is not that Ross is unwilling, it is simply that…” Isabelle cut him off with a cold laugh, her eyes still locked on me. “That what?” Father Michael sighed, a deep, mournful sound. “The young boy, Ryan… he passed away from the cold seven days ago.” Isabelle froze for a beat, and then her face contorted with rage. “Ross,” she hissed, her eyes black holes of fury, “is Ryan dead?” I said nothing, my silence a confirmation. She swept her arm across a nearby table, sending a jar of pickled vegetables crashing to the floor. “Ross! I can’t believe it! After three whole years, you’re still the same pathetic man! You’d curse your own son, claim he’s dead, just to keep him from saving David!” “I’m telling you, I don’t care if he’s dead or alive! Even if he’s in a coffin, I’ll have it dug up and pry his bones apart myself to see if his marrow can be used!” 2 A resolve as hard as steel shone in Isabelle’s eyes. She couldn’t fathom how the gentle, kind Ross she knew could have become this unrecognizable stranger. On the drive up to the monastery, she had been filled with hopeful visions of their future together. She had planned to tell him that sending him and Ryan away had been a necessary evil. Three years ago, her company, Fourier Corp, had been on the verge of collapse. To stabilize it, she’d had to enter into a sham marriage with Ross. Sending Ross and Ryan to a remote, safe place under a flimsy pretext had been the only way. She had always intended to bring them back. But the work at Fourier had been relentless, and she’d put it off, day after day. She had assumed that Ross, with his soft, forgiving nature, would melt with a few apologies and a little sweet talk. He always had. He had always spoiled her. As for Ryan… she resented him for stealing Ross’s affection after he was born, but he was still the product of their love. She was willing to win him over, too. Ryan loved to eat and play; she had already commissioned a private amusement park to be built for him. She was certain the little rascal wouldn’t be able to resist such a bribe. She would make up for the hardships they had endured. Then David was diagnosed with leukemia. The thought that Ryan’s marrow could be a match had kept her awake for nights, giddy with excitement. It was the perfect, public reason to finally bring her family home. But Ross had changed. He was lying. He said Ryan was dead. Frozen to death. What a joke. While she hadn’t visited in person, she had sent a truckload of supplies every single month. She’d made sure they wanted for nothing. It was this blatant, clumsy lie that enraged her so deeply. The more she thought, the angrier she became. She strode forward and grabbed my wrist, her grip like a vise. She stared at me, her thoughts a silent scream: Give me back my gentle, kind Ross. He’s not like you. After a long moment, her eyes grew red. She loosened her grip slightly, still afraid of hurting me. Just admit it now, Ross, she thought, her heart pounding. Just apologize, and I’ll forgive everything. She watched my face, her own lips trembling with tension. Then, I opened my mouth. “Isabelle,” I said, my voice hollow. “Our son is really dead.” “You killed him.” “If you hadn’t been so blind, so stubborn, if you hadn’t sent us to this hellhole, he would still be alive.” Every word was a spike driving through her heart. He wasn’t just lying; he was trying to blame her. This man was no longer the Ross she knew. She dropped my hand completely, her head slumping in defeat. When she looked up again, her face was a mask of cold determination. She was about to speak when one of her men ran up to her, breathless. “Ma’am, we’ve found the young master!” I didn’t understand the expression on Isabelle’s face. It was as if I was the one in the wrong. “Ross, I’ve found him,” she said, her voice dripping with disappointment. “Are you still going to stand there and lie to my face with such conviction?” I stared at her for two seconds, and then I began to laugh. A wild, broken sound. Isabelle’s brow furrowed. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “Isabelle, why don’t you ask them what they found?” A flicker of doubt crossed her face. She looked at her man, but he quickly avoided her gaze, his own face pale and frightened. A sliver of panic pierced through her composure as she looked back at my dead-eyed expression. She steadied herself. “Bring Ryan to me.” The seconds stretched into an eternity. Finally, her men returned, carefully carrying a small, crude wooden coffin. It was deep winter, and the monastery was high in the mountains. Even after seven days, my son’s body was perfectly preserved. He lay there with his eyes closed, looking so peaceful, as if he were only sleeping. The color drained from Isabelle’s face. She staggered back. “How… how can this be?” Ross, who had been standing silently by her side, grabbed her arm to steady her. He gave her what he must have thought was a reassuring look, then turned to me. “Ross, I know you hate us, but you shouldn’t have gone this far. To make your own son lie in a coffin just to sell a lie…” He shook his head disapprovingly. “I know we’re all modern people, but this is… it’s a bad omen. Please, have Ryan get up.” I stared at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. Then, I smiled. I couldn’t imagine how a person could twist reality so completely. But Isabelle… she believed him. She peered into the coffin again, at our son’s serene, sleeping face. She wrenched her arm from Ross’s grasp. The next thing I knew, a searing pain exploded across my cheek. I looked at her, stunned. Her face was stone. “Ross, you’ve truly lost your mind.” Her voice was a low snarl. “I don’t know how you found out I was coming today, how you managed to stage this entire drama for me. Is this your revenge for what I did three years ago?” “Fine! You want the truth? I’ll give you the truth! It was for the company! Do you have any idea who Ross is, his status? Our ‘marriage’ allowed me to save the company. And you? What good are you? And you dare to orchestrate this elaborate play to guilt me?” she spat. “And our marriage was fake anyway!” “I don’t care if Ryan is dead or alive. He will donate his marrow to David. And if he is dead, I’ll crack open every bone in his body until I find some that’s still usable!” I just stared at the venomous creature in front of me. A morbid curiosity rose within me, and I asked the question aloud. “Isabelle, why are you so sure Ryan and David will be a match?” I expected her to falter, to show some sign of guilt. She didn’t even blink. “Don’t play games with me, Ross. I’ll tell you the truth. David is my biological son. And so is Ross’s.” “Ross’s family demanded he produce an heir before they would hand over the family business. He didn’t have anyone he truly loved, so to help him, I agreed to have his child.” “But I’m not as sordid as you think. I didn’t want to hurt you, so the child was conceived via IVF. I lied and said I was going overseas for a project for a few months. I was protecting your feelings.” I stared at her, my voice cold as the grave. “So you did all this… for me?” Isabelle’s face twisted in a look of pain. “Because I truly love you, Ross.” “As long as you repent, as long as you let Ryan save David, our family can go back to how it was before.” I closed my eyes, fighting back a wave of pure rage. When I opened them, my voice was flat. “Isabelle, our son is dead. Why can’t you accept that?” “Our family? The moment Ryan died, this family shattered into a million pieces. Isabelle, I want a divorce.” The words hung in the silent air. No one dared to breathe. Isabelle looked at me in disbelief. “A divorce?!” Her eyes darted around the courtyard, and her gaze fell on a young woman in the corner, a local herbalist, who was staring at me with open concern. Understanding seemed to dawn on Isabelle’s face. She turned back to me, her voice laced with arctic cold. “It’s because of her, isn’t it? You made up this entire story to trick me, all so you could divorce me and be with her.” “You’re insane,” I gritted out. She studied my face for a few seconds, and then a slow, chilling smile spread across her lips. “Fine,” she said coldly. “If Ryan is truly dead, then I’ll grant you a divorce.” She paused, her eyes glittering. “But if he’s not, you will never be free of me. Even in death, you will be buried in my family’s ancestral plot!” “Now,” she mused, her voice dangerously soft, “how shall I expose your lie?” Just then, a faint meow came from the corner. Everyone turned. Ross’s eyes lit up. He leaned in and whispered in Isabelle’s ear, “Isabelle, that’s the cat Ryan was always taking care of. He loved that thing more than anything. He wouldn’t be able to stand seeing it hurt.” Isabelle’s gaze fell on the scrawny Ragdoll cat, and her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Seeing her hesitation, Ross pulled back, his head bowed. “You don’t think I’m being cruel, do you? Using a little cat as a bargaining chip…” He sounded ashamed. Isabelle looked from him to me, and a bitter smile touched her lips. “Ross was willing to curse his own son. What you’re suggesting is nothing.” I heard the sneer in her voice but could barely react. My heart gave a slow, heavy thud. It was becoming difficult to breathe. Suddenly, the cat let out a piercing shriek. I looked up.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393618”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 It was Family Day at the kindergarten. My wife, Carol, claimed she had urgent business at the office and told me that Lily and I should skip it, too. My heart ached seeing the disappointment wash over my daughter’s small face. I couldn’t stand it. I decided to take her myself. We had barely stepped through the gates when I saw her. Carol. She was holding a little boy’s hand with one hand, and with the other, she was holding the hand of Andrew, her childhood friend. They looked like a real family of three, laughing and chatting, a perfect picture of domestic bliss. It was only when she saw Lily and me that a slight frown creased her brow, and she finally let go of Andrew’s hand. “Mark, don’t get the wrong idea,” she said, her voice a little too quick. “Andrew’s a single dad, it’s not easy for him. Today is his son’s fifth birthday, and he just wanted to feel what it’s like to have a mother around.” I gave her a long, meaningful look, then crouched down to take my daughter’s tiny hand in mine. “Honey, say hello to the nice lady.” … Andrew, seeing the tension, quickly pulled his son closer, an apologetic look plastered on his face. “Mark, please don’t be angry. Carol was just being kind. This boy… he’s never had a mother. It’s his fifth birthday today. Carol was just helping him fulfill a dream, just for a day.” A humorless smile touched my lips as I stared him down. “Is that so? Well, now that Lily and I are here, I suppose you can give Carol back to us? After all, we’re the real family of three.” Andrew froze for a second. It was his son, Max, who broke the silence. “Mommy, you promised you’d spend today with me and Daddy!” The five-year-old’s eyes, fierce and possessive, glared at me. I raised an eyebrow. Mommy? They were already at that stage? Before I could say another word, Carol stepped in front of them, shielding them as if they were her own. Her voice was laced with impatience. “Mark, you have a child too. Don’t you have any empathy?” she snapped. “Andrew and I grew up together. I’m just spending one day with them. Just one day! Are you really going to make a scene about this?” I almost laughed out loud. Was Andrew’s misfortune somehow my fault? Just then, other parents began to stream into the kindergarten, leading their own children by the hand. A woman waved as she approached. “Max’s mom, Max’s dad, good morning! You three always look so perfect at these Family Day events. Not like my old man, always using work as an excuse. He doesn’t care about our kid’s development at all.” Andrew managed an awkward hello, and I saw a flash of panic in Carol’s eyes. I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Carol, is this what you call ‘just one day’?!” Her face flushed with anger. She grabbed my arm, her grip tight. “Mark, there are people everywhere! Don’t make a scene!” Then, glancing down at our daughter, she lowered her voice to a hiss. “It won’t be good for Lily if this gets ugly, you understand?” Lily, hearing her name, looked around, confused. She didn’t grasp what was happening, only that something was wrong. She pressed her small body against my leg, her hand, now slick with sweat, clutching mine tightly. I felt her fear. I knelt, gently stroking the little ponytail perched on top of her head. “Daddy’s here,” I whispered. “Nothing to be afraid of.” I watched as Carol led Andrew and Max away, their backs turned to me. Within moments, they were surrounded by a crowd of admirers. I could hear their fawning compliments. They praised her for her business acumen, calling her one of the city’s top female executives, the CEO of a billion-dollar company before she’d even hit her mid-thirties. Carol, naturally, basked in the glory, her pride practically radiating off her. Andrew stood beside her, his gaze fixed on her, glowing with a vicarious sense of achievement. Then, Max, held in Carol’s arms, glanced back at me over her shoulder and pulled a defiant, mocking face. A cold smirk crept onto my face. It seemed Carol had let the success get to her head. Yes, I had been spending less time at the office lately to care for Lily, but I still owned 75% of Apex Holdings. I was the one who truly steered the ship. She was just a manager, a title I’d given her out of a sense of spousal duty after she’d latched onto me. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to HR. “Ms. Roberts, remove Carol from her managerial position. Internal announcement Monday.” Then, another to my legal team. “Mr. Davis, draft my divorce papers.” Carol, oh, Carol. If you want to play me for a fool, you’d better be sure I’m not the one holding all the cards. 2 Soon, the Family Day activities officially began. Each family sat at a pre-assigned table. Lily gazed at Carol, who was sitting in the row ahead of us with Andrew and Max, and asked with a quavering voice, “Daddy, why isn’t Mommy sitting with us?” I squeezed my daughter’s soft cheek. She was too young, too innocent to be dragged into this filth. “Because Daddy is a superhero,” I said, forcing a smile. “To make it fair, Mommy is helping the other kids today.” Just then, the teacher announced the first activity—a block-building contest. “And there’s a prize for first place!” she chirped. “A brand-new spaceship Lego set!” Lily’s eyes lit up. She pointed at the box on display. “Daddy, I want that!” “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s do our best!” As the last grains of sand were about to fall through the hourglass, Lily shot her hand into the air, her voice filled with excitement. “Teacher, we’re finished!” The teacher walked over, nodded in approval, and was just about to announce our victory when a small figure darted over from the front row. It was Max. He shoved our carefully constructed masterpiece, sending the blocks crashing to the floor. “Now I’m number one!” he declared, his chin held high in triumph. Lily stared at the ruins of our work, her eyes instantly welling with tears. In a fit of rage, she grabbed a large wooden block and threw it at Max. The first thing Carol said when she rushed over was, “Lily, how could you hit him?! Apologize to Max right now.” A stubborn fire ignited in Lily’s eyes. “No! He pushed my blocks over first! He’s a mean bad guy!” I stood firm behind my daughter. “Carol, anyone with eyes can see who started this. Max owes Lily an apology.” Andrew hurried over and tugged on Carol’s arm. “Carol, let it go. Let’s not stoop to their level. We can be the bigger people here.” The teacher tried to mediate, but just then, Lily’s voice, thick with tears and betrayal, cut through the air. “Mommy, why aren’t you protecting me? Why are you yelling at me?” That one word—Mommy—froze everyone in place. All eyes darted between Carol, Andrew, and me. Color drained from Carol’s face, then flooded back in a crimson tide. Andrew looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Max planted his hands on his hips and glared at Lily. “Who’s your mommy? What are you talking about? She’s my mommy!” My daughter hiccuped, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her face. Her small, milky voice cracked as she cried out, “Mommy, say something!” My heart shattered. I shot Carol a furious glare, my own voice turning harsh. “Carol, are you not going to explain? Are you just going to stand there and let them misunderstand our daughter?” Carol’s eyes flashed. She swept Max up into her arms. “Explain what? For today, I am Max’s mom!” As if to punctuate the statement, she stroked the back of his head. Instantly, the whispers started. The other parents began pointing at me and Lily. “What’s with that kid, calling anyone Mommy?” “I don’t think Lily’s family ever comes to these things. This time it’s just the dad… you don’t think he’s… you know… someone’s side piece?” “I heard that Carol woman is a big-shot CEO, super rich. Maybe Lily’s dad is some gold-digger who tried to hit on her and got caught by his own daughter.” As the venomous rumors swirled around us, Carol said nothing. She just cooed at Max, while Andrew shot me a look of barely concealed amusement. I pulled my sobbing daughter into my arms, gently patting her back. I wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug looks off their faces with my fists, but this wasn’t the time. I couldn’t let Lily be hurt any more. One of the parents, hoping to curry favor with Carol, chimed in with a sycophantic smile. “The young master and Ms. Carol look so much alike! You could be mother and son.” I glanced up at Carol. I saw a flicker of guilt in her eyes before she laughed it off. Andrew, however, was beaming. I’d seen Andrew and his son before, but how had I never noticed? The resemblance between Carol and Max, around the eyes… it was undeniably there. Lily was still crying, unable to stop. I had no choice but to ask the teacher to show me to a quiet room so I could calm her down. In the staff lounge, I held her, whispering reassurances until her sobs quieted and she finally drifted off to sleep. Looking at her swollen, red-rimmed eyelids, my heart twisted into a painful knot. I gently laid her down and slipped out of the room. As I reached the turn in the hallway, I pulled out my phone and dialed my team. “Mr. Davis, Ms. Roberts, I need you both at the Rockwell Kindergarten now. Bring my marriage certificate, the divorce papers you’re drafting, and Carol’s termination letter. And be quick about it.” I was still on the line, hashing out the details, when a piercing scream ripped through the air. It was my daughter’s voice. My heart plummeted into an icy abyss. 3 At the end of the hall, by the bathroom doors, Lily was on the ground, pushed down and sobbing uncontrollably. The ringleader standing over her was Max, his face twisted with malice. “I told you not to call her your mommy! I’m gonna beat the crap out of you!” He punctuated the threat with a vicious kick to Lily’s stomach. She cried out in pain, trying to scramble away, but two other boys grabbed her arms and held her down. “Little homewrecker’s kid deserves a beating!” “My mom says bastards like you should’ve been drowned at birth!” Lily flailed, her small hands batting uselessly at the air, her cries choked and breathless. “You’re lying! She is my mommy! Daddy… Mommy… help me!” “It hurts so much!” “Daddy… Mommy… where are you!” The sight sent a roaring thunderclap through my head. Blood surged, and I felt as if every vein in my body was about to burst. When the boys saw me, their eyes widened in fear at the look on my face. They exchanged panicked glances and scattered like rats. I swept Lily up into my arms and felt her whole body trembling violently. I immediately called 911. “It’s okay, baby, Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here.” By the time the ambulance arrived, a crowd of curious parents had gathered. I sprinted toward the flashing lights, my daughter cradled against my chest. As I passed the activity area, I saw Carol, smiling as she helped Max with his block tower while Andrew stood by, tenderly wiping sweat from her brow. She heard the commotion and looked up, a flicker of confusion on her face. She started to get up, asking, “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Lily?” But Andrew grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Carol, you promised you’d spend today with Max. You have no idea how happy he was last night when I told him he’d have you all day.” Carol hesitated. In that moment of hesitation, I was already in the ambulance with Lily. My daughter had passed out. The paramedics began working on her immediately. When a female medic lifted Lily’s shirt to examine her, she gasped. “She’s so little… who could do something like this?!” My eyes burned with tears, my body shaking with a fear so profound it was paralyzing. On my little girl’s pale skin, angry purple and blue bruises were already forming, with a massive, fist-sized hematoma blooming on her side. Her small body was still shuddering from the shock. The medic’s voice became urgent. “Get the monitor on her, now!” Two hours passed before Lily was stable. Two hours that felt like an eternity. A toxic storm of regret and hatred churned inside me, growing wild and uncontrollable. My own mother was there, weeping with heartbreak and anger. “How could you let this happen? How could you let her suffer so much!” On the hospital bed, with an IV drip in her arm, Lily’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at me, her gaze clouded with confusion. “Daddy, why does everyone say Mommy doesn’t want me?” she whispered. “But I have a mommy. Why didn’t she protect me?” I leaned down and pressed a long, gentle kiss to her forehead. “Daddy will always, always protect you, Lily. You are my most precious treasure in the whole world,” I told her, my voice thick with emotion. “As for your mother… we’re the ones who don’t want her anymore.” When I returned to the kindergarten, the final Family Day activity was underway: drawing a family portrait together. Carol was patiently coloring in a drawing, with Max nestled quietly in her lap. Andrew stood beside them, a look of pure contentment on his face as he snapped pictures of his perfect little family. A scene of tranquil, domestic joy. But why should they get to enjoy this bliss while my daughter was lying in a hospital bed? I stormed over to them and, without a word, swung my hand across Andrew’s face. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backward, and he crashed into the corner of a table with a sickening thud. The sharp crack of the slap stunned everyone into silence. “Mark, what the hell are you doing?!” Carol shrieked. She rushed to Andrew’s side, her eyes filled with concern as she checked his injuries. “Andrew, are you okay? Does it hurt?” Andrew shook his head, playing the victim. “Mark, you must have misunderstood something. I… I apologize to you.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “A verbal apology? Don’t you think that’s a little… insincere?” I moved to punch him again, but Carol lunged to block me. I pivoted, and the full force of my swing landed squarely on her face. A bright red handprint, five fingers starkly visible, blossomed on her cheek. She stood there, stunned for a second, clutching her face. Then, she exploded. “Mark, are you fucking insane? Who do you think you are?!” The kindergarten teachers rushed over, trying to break up the fight, asking what had happened. I pointed a trembling finger at Max. “That little bastard,” I snarled, my voice shaking with rage, “took a group of boys and ganged up on my daughter while I was gone!” Before the words were even fully out of my mouth, Andrew blurted out, “That’s impossible! Max is a good boy. Carol, you have to believe me!” I took a step closer. “Impossible? Then why do you think a 911 ambulance was just here?!” Once again, Carol positioned herself in front of Andrew and Max, a human shield. “They’re just children! What kind of evil could they possibly have in their hearts? Kids roughhouse, it happens! But you… you overreact, you come in here swinging like a maniac!” Seeing my unyielding fury, she saw her chance. In a swift movement, she shoved me with all her strength. I lost my balance and fell, my palm scraping hard against the concrete, drawing blood. The sycophants who had been fawning over her moments before now gathered around, looking down on me, their voices dripping with scorn. “Is this guy for real? Trying to shake down the CEO for money?” “He has no idea who he’s messing with. He’ll be crying when Apex Holdings’ legal team is done with him.” “You think maybe he tried to seduce Ms. Carol before and got shot down? Now he’s back to cause trouble. Look at him, he’s nothing compared to her husband!” “Typical homewrecker behavior!” Just then, the sound of powerful engines grew louder, and three sleek, black executive cars screeched to a halt outside the kindergarten gates. A parent with a sharp eye gasped. “Those cars have the Apex Holdings logo! That’s the executive fleet!” Someone else chimed in, still sucking up. “See? Ms. Carol is no joke. She’s already called in the corporate lawyers.” He then spat in my direction, his face a mask of smug satisfaction. “You’re finished, buddy. Everyone knows the Apex legal team is the best in Rockwell. They never lose. Get ready to pay up and go to jail!” One of the parents, a social media influencer, was already giddy with excitement, her phone held high. “I can’t believe I’m seeing this! Guys, you are not going to believe the drama! Follow me now, and I’ll live-stream the downfall of this male gold-digger!” Andrew’s face lit up with a mixture of surprise and adoration as he gazed at Carol. Beside him, Max puffed out his chest, looking more arrogant than ever.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393617”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Hooves pounded across the Royal Hunt grounds when Crown Prince Alaric’s arrow struck an orphan—Seraphina Moss, his disgraced mother’s niece. No one predicted he’d fall instantly in love. “She’ll be my princess,” he declared. Problem: he was engaged to me, Lady Evelyn of House Ashbourne. Alaric came to my estate, jaw set. “I bound her wounds. We touched. She’s ruined—she must marry me.” His gaze flicked to me. “You’re the Queen’s niece. You have options. Must you steal from a helpless girl?” As if a Ashbourne would fight for a man. Absurd. Before the scandal spread, a royal decree arrived: I’d keep the title of Crown Princess—but the role would go to another. … Prince Alaric stood in the grand hall of my family’s estate, his posture straight and proud. But his gaze never left the delicate figure of Seraphina Moss beside him. “Seraphina is fragile,” he announced to the assembled guests. “She has only just arrived in the capital, and she has already met with such a disaster. I injured her. If I do not marry her, how can she possibly go on?” “Lady Evelyn, you must understand. For a woman, honor is everything. Seraphina now has no other path but to marry me.” “If you have any compassion at all, you will agree to end our engagement.” So this was it. He had been smitten with her since that first glance at the hunt. For two months, he had kept it hidden, only to choose my birthday—of all days—to publicly humiliate me and my family. My father’s hands trembled, rattling the teacup he held. He cast aside all decorum. “Your Highness,” he demanded, “do you have any idea what this will do to Evelyn’s future? What of her honor?” “You begged the Emperor for this match yourself! The entire capital knows of your betrothal to my daughter. To come here now and break it… what does that make of House Ashbourne?” Seraphina, her face a mask of fear, tugged gently on Alaric’s sleeve. “Cousin, please, don’t argue with Lord Ashbourne on my account. I am not afraid of whispers and rumors. At worst, I shall take my own life. I could never bear to be a burden to you.” Alaric wrapped a protective arm around her. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured. “I will not let you face them alone.” Then, he looked at me, his expression a mixture of arrogance and disdain. “Lady Evelyn, you come from a noble house. Surely you would not deign to compete with Seraphina for a man. You have your pick of worthy suitors. To cling to this engagement would only make you appear desperate.” “Or perhaps,” he sneered, “you are just like all the other women in this city, greedy for the title of Crown Princess.” “Since our betrothal, you have refused every invitation to ride, every poetry gathering I have hosted. You’ve been cold and distant. It’s clear you were never happy with this match. Annuling it should be a relief for you.” The House of Ashbourne had never endured such an insult. I was speechless with rage. All I could do was retrieve the betrothal contract. “Your Highness. Here is the contract. From this day forward, our paths diverge. You are free to marry whom you please.” My gaze fell on Seraphina. “And Miss Moss, there is no need for such a sorrowful performance in my home. You have found a wonderful match. Soon you will hold the most coveted position in the empire. Shouldn’t you be happy?” Seraphina swayed, her face turning deathly pale. “Lady Evelyn, I know my station is low. I would never dare compare myself to you, nor did I intend to steal your fiancé. Why must you mock me so?” Alaric let out a scornful laugh. “You were very quick to end things, Lady Evelyn. Could it be you already have another man in your heart? Perhaps my actions have done you a favor?” He swept his gaze across the guests. “Today is your birthday. Why not choose a new suitor right now? I will even provide a lavish wedding gift myself.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Seraphina and left, a smug smile on his face. The hall erupted in whispers. “Has the Crown Prince lost his mind? Breaking his engagement for some unknown cousin!” “But Lady Evelyn is the Queen’s niece! She’s his cousin too!” “You haven’t heard? He shot this Seraphina girl during the hunt and fell for her on the spot. Now he insists on marrying her.” “I’ve never even heard of this woman. The security at the royal hunting grounds is impenetrable. How did she even get in? There’s more to this story.” “I heard she’s related to the Prince’s birth mother…” “Hush! Don’t speak of that. The Prince’s origins are a forbidden topic. His mother was nothing but a lowly palace maid.” My birthday celebration was ruined, ending in chaos and humiliation. And overnight, the news that Crown Prince Alaric had jilted a daughter of House Ashbourne for an orphan girl became the scandal of the capital. 2 The next day, I was summoned to the palace by the Queen. She is my father’s sister, my true aunt, and has always doted on me. Though she has reigned as Queen for many years, she remains childless—a constant, hidden sorrow. Alaric’s birth mother was a scullery maid the Emperor happened upon at a country palace. She was so low-born that even after catching the Emperor’s eye, she was never granted a title. She died shortly after Alaric was born. Because of his mother’s status, Alaric was bullied by everyone, even the palace eunuchs. He nearly didn’t survive his childhood. But my aunt, the Queen, was the Emperor’s cherished favorite. Her power in the palace was absolute. Seeing the boy’s pitiful state, she took him in, raised him as her own, and educated him with the utmost care. And so, although he was only the fourth-born prince, his adoption by the Queen made him the natural choice for Crown Prince. She held my hand, her voice filled with pain. “My dear child, I know you have been wronged. Alaric is a fool who doesn’t appreciate his blessings. I taught him for years, I promised him the most beloved daughter of our house, and he casts you aside for a pretty face he’s only just met!” “With such judgment, how can he ever hope to rule? All my years of guidance have been wasted.” Her voice cracked. “The blood that flows in his veins is not of House Ashbourne, after all. He is not my own. I see now that he can never truly be.” I leaned against her knee, clutching her sleeve. “Aunt, it is not a bad thing that the Prince has shown his true character before our marriage. It is better than me suffering after I have entered the palace.” “A daughter of House Ashbourne will not lack for suitors.” The Queen smiled, stroking my cheek. “Our Evelyn is the finest woman in the empire. Rest assured, the position of Crown Princess is yours and yours alone. No one can take it from you.” The Emperor and Queen were childhood sweethearts. Their bond was deep. Even without an heir of her own, she remained the woman he loved and trusted most. Because she raised Alaric, the Emperor’s affection extended to him as well. He had made the son of a palace maid the Crown Prince. Now, the Emperor had heard of the broken betrothal and was furious. “Fool! The greatest houses in the land would move heaven and earth for a daughter of House Ashbourne, and you cast her aside for some nobody?” “The Queen arranged this marriage to give you the backing of a great house! You have no maternal clan to support you. This was your foundation, and you have destroyed it with your own hands! You are as witless as a pig!” The Emperor stormed out, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. Despite the Emperor’s fury, Alaric remained defiant. He brought Seraphina with him to pay his respects to the Queen. He knelt before her. “Mother, you have always cherished me. All I wish is to marry a woman I love. I am the Crown Prince. Surely I can marry someone of my own choosing?” The Queen looked at him with profound disappointment. “You and Evelyn grew up together. You once knelt before me and begged for this marriage, claiming you adored her, that you would support each other as equals for a lifetime. And now you say she is not the woman you love?” “It seems to me that this Seraphina has blinded you.” Alaric held his head high, his hand clutching Seraphina’s. “Mother, Evelyn is just like all the other dull noblewomen—bound by rules, stiff, and utterly lifeless. But Seraphina is different! She laughs, she jests, she dances dances never before seen at court, and sings all manner of rustic folk songs. She is vibrant and captivating! Mother, if you only got to know her, I am certain you would love her too!” 3 From behind the screen, a scornful smile touched my lips. Singing folk songs, performing vulgar dances, and being “captivating”? You could find a girl like that in any tavern. The Queen’s voice was ice. “Alaric, do you have any idea what you will lose without the support of House Ashbourne?” The Prince laughed. “I know you speak of the backing of the great houses. But Mother, I am the Crown Prince, the future ruler of this empire. The entire world is my domain. What have I to fear?” His face brightened. “I know you are fond of Evelyn. Why not let her be my consort? When I ascend the throne, I will make her a Noble Consort. Surely House Ashbourne would not dare to object?” Behind the screen, I clenched my fists. The insolence of this boy. The Queen’s voice was chilling. “A daughter of House Ashbourne will never be a secondary wife. Alaric, you are my adopted son, but you are not the Emperor’s only son. Do you truly believe you can hold your position on your own?” “Of course,” he replied, his voice firm. “I am the future Emperor, Mother.” Seraphina spoke in a soft, weak voice. “Your Majesty, I know my station is low. If Lady Evelyn joins the palace, I will never compete with her. I will treat her as a sister, and we will serve His Highness together.” The Queen let out a short, sharp laugh. “Hmph. Alaric, you had best be certain. Once you marry Seraphina, there is no turning back.” His voice rang with conviction. “Yes. I will have no regrets.” The Queen waved a dismissive hand. “Very well. You may leave. I will issue the decree in a few days.” The Prince’s arrogance was boundless; he clearly held no respect for the Queen’s family. I knew my aunt had made her decision. I said no more and slipped away. As I was leaving the Queen’s palace, Alaric cornered me at the gate. “Evelyn, I was impulsive yesterday. After some thought, I admit I was wrong.” “My father, the Emperor, reprimanded me today. I realize now that I should not have damaged your reputation.” “I have already requested that my mother, the Queen, decree Seraphina as my official Crown Princess. But the position of Royal Consort is not a slight to you. This way, we can still be together, and I will not have broken my promise. What do you say?” He looked at me with such tenderness, as if expecting me to nod in grateful acceptance. He was disappointed. I took a step back. “Your Highness, our betrothal is over. There is nothing more to discuss.” He reached for me. “Evelyn, I know I was wrong. Please, forgive me this once. I can apologize to you in front of everyone, restore your honor. How about that?” I snatched my hand away. “Your Highness, please conduct yourself with dignity. You declared with your own lips that our betrothal was void. Have you forgotten?” Alaric advanced, trapping me against a pillar. “Evelyn, a woman must be sweet and obedient to be loved. We were betrothed. A woman rejected by the Crown Prince… who in the empire would dare marry you? If word gets out, your life will be ruined.” I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. “You need not concern yourself with my affairs, Your Highness. A daughter of House Ashbourne will never lack for suitors. Even if you scream yourself hoarse, the nobles of this land will still line up at my family’s door.” His face darkened. “Evelyn, a little temper is charming. Too much, and a man loses all interest.” “I will inform the Emperor that the wedding will proceed as planned. When you are my consort, I will take the time to properly teach you how to behave.” From that day on, the Prince paraded Seraphina all over the capital. Because his future bride had no family of means, he commissioned the city’s most luxurious jewelers and silk houses to craft a dowry for her, working day and night. Seraphina had never seen such finery in her life. She stroked the silks, her eyes wide with wonder. Alaric held her close, spending gold like water. “I want everyone to bow to you. One day, you will be the most revered woman in the world.” He showered her with gifts, and a cloud of sycophants followed them everywhere, praising him as a man of true passion, a man who would defy the Emperor and Queen for love, who would cast aside the powerful House of Ashbourne for a humble girl. It was, they said, deeply moving. The more he heard it, the more pleased he became. “I love only you,” he told Seraphina, taking her hand. “One day, you will be my Empress, and rule by my side. Who will dare to speak ill of you then? They will all kneel at your feet. As for that girl from House Ashbourne, she will be fit only to serve you.” Seraphina leaned weakly against his chest. “Cousin, are you truly giving up Lady Evelyn for me? She is the daughter of a great house, the Queen’s own niece. She is far more suited to be Crown Princess. As long as you have me in your heart, I am willing to give up the position. Just seeing you every day is enough…” “Besides, the Queen does not seem to like me. I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” Alaric hugged her tightly. “Do not worry. I am the Crown Prince. Can I not give the woman I love the title of princess? House Ashbourne, for all its power, is still a house of subjects. Offering her the position of consort is the greatest honor I can bestow upon them.” “My mother has no children of her own. She raised me. Who else can she rely on? She will yield, you’ll see.” “As for Evelyn Ashbourne… When a king gives an order, his subjects must obey. I want her as my consort, and House Ashbourne will have no choice but to deliver her to my palace!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393616”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The darling of New York’s elite social circles developed psychosomatic mutism after being dumped by a scholarship student. Her mother, the matriarch of the Reeves family, made an announcement: anyone who could get her daughter to speak again would receive a million dollars. I pushed past a crowd of suitors all trying to coax her with gentle words. “This is a far cry from last night, isn’t it?” I drawled. “When you were screaming ‘Daddy’ in my bed.” “I did not!” The words flew out of Isabelle Reeves’s mouth before she could stop them. Her mother instantly wired a million dollars to my account. I was over the moon. I started following Isabelle around every day, teasing her, raking in a fortune. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t hit me, and in her frustration, she found another way to shut me up—with her own mouth. Overnight, my job title went from “Princess’s Companion” to “Heiress’s Official Boyfriend.” Every time I’d drop a risqué comment, she’d demand a physical rebuttal until I didn’t dare say another word. Then, just before our wedding, her first love—the one who’d been beaten down by the real world—came back. That night, Isabelle didn’t come home. I took the half-empty box of Durex and the savings I’d amassed over ten years, and I walked out of our penthouse. The condoms, I had delivered to them. The savings, I used to buy a one-way ticket back home. … Isabelle Reeves had never met a man with grit. Jimmy Croft, who had worked his way through an elite university abroad on a scholarship, never bowed to the rich and powerful. For Isabelle, a woman who had everything, that kind of defiance was devastatingly attractive. I considered trying to win her over myself, to make her fall for me instead. But Isabelle had seen too many silver-spoon princes. There was no substitute for the rugged, resilient scholarship student. I was poor too, but my unabashed love for money was a turn-off for her. As the princess’s official companion, my high-paying job was on the line now that she had retreated into silence on the other side of the world. So, I took the initiative and sought out Jimmy, hoping to befriend him. As the only two “have-nots” in a sea of “haves” at our university, he was warmer to me than to the trust-fund kids. But the moment I asked, “Could you go see Isabelle?” he threw a glass of wine in my face. “I can’t believe you’re one of her lapdogs too! Leo, have you no integrity? Can’t you see that wealth can’t corrupt the virtuous, and poverty can’t shake the determined? Will you die if you don’t grovel at that princess’s feet?” I wiped my face, unfazed. He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t have his backbone. My entire reason for getting close to him was the money. I’d endured far worse than a splash of wine in my pursuit of a paycheck. But Jimmy refused to see me again. That was a problem. Isabelle had no interest in the wealthy princes trying to “heal her with love.” And she had even less interest in a money-grubber like me. But her mother’s offer only said she’d pay a million to anyone who could make her talk. It didn’t specify the method. So I dropped my bombshell in public. “This is a far cry from last night, isn’t it? When you were screaming ‘Daddy’ in my bed.” “You’re lying!” Everyone froze. Isabelle stared, her face flushing crimson as she lowered her head in shame. But I had it all on video. Her mother called me immediately. “Leo, I knew I wasn’t wrong about you. Sending you to America with her was the right call. Keep it up. For every additional word she says, I’ll give you another million. If you can cure her completely, I’ll give you a hundred million.” My eyes lit up. I hugged my phone, kissing the screen as I stared at the new million-dollar balance in my account. My unorthodox methods made me famous in our circles. Families with children suffering from depression or anxiety started seeking me out. My shock-jock approach was surprisingly effective. The moment I’d drop a risqué line, even the most withdrawn heiress would flush and snap, “I did not!” And so, under the stunned gazes of onlookers, the blushing faces of parents, and the mortified expressions of the young ladies, I would graciously accept my payment. None of them paid as well as Isabelle’s mother, though. After that public humiliation, however, Isabelle clammed up again. I followed her around with my phone, replaying the video, teasing her from every angle, but she wouldn’t say another word. Her eyes would turn red with frustration, but her lips remained sealed. I sighed dramatically. “You really don’t want me to earn a single cent, do you? Good thing I have other clients…” I answered a call from a new prospect. She stopped in her tracks. This new client was in a hurry and offered me a twenty percent bonus. With no sign of Isabelle speaking anytime soon, I turned to leave. A voice came from behind me. I spun around. “What did you say?” She bit her lip, her eyes red as she glared at me. But no matter how much I prodded, she stayed silent. Just as I was about to turn off the recording, she spoke again. It was a whisper, but perfectly clear. “Don’t go…” I immediately sent the video to her mother with a two-word message: “Pay up.” Isabelle turned to walk away. I pressed my advantage, rushing after her. “What was that, sweetheart? I didn’t quite hear you. Could you say it again? Just like you did last night, when you were choking me and begging me to say it…” Passersby stared in shock. Isabelle picked up her pace. “Sweetheart, don’t walk so fast! Or I won’t let you cry in my arms tonight!” She nearly stumbled. The princess had never been subjected to such public scrutiny. Seeing me still recording, still spouting nonsense, she desperately came up with a solution— She shut me up with her mouth. 2 This time, I was the one left speechless. Even after she pulled away, I was dumbstruck. But she was talking. Her words were still a bit shaky. “Do you… do you say those… things to… to them, too?” I slowly raised my phone. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” “Stop filming!” She slapped my phone down. “How… how much are they paying you?” I hesitated, unsure if I should reveal my trade secrets. She shoved a black card into my hand. “I… I have money.” She hadn’t spoken in so long that her words came out slower than they used to. But her mother was ecstatic. A ten-million-dollar wire transfer hit my account instantly. “Keep it up, Leo. Get her back to her old debate-team form, and I’ll add a bonus.” I was thrilled. But Isabelle quickly threw a bucket of cold water on my plans. After giving me the black card, she stopped speaking again. Her final instruction to me was, “You… you’re only allowed to say those things… to me.” So, she’d bought exclusive rights to my dirty jokes. It seemed I wouldn’t be earning that hundred million after all. But, on the bright side, Isabelle’s black card had no limit. And after her mother saw the video of her kissing me, my monthly “allowance” of five hundred thousand dollars was raised to a million. Long-term, it wasn’t a bad deal. 3 On graduation day, I ran into Jimmy again. He was wandering through job fairs, résumé in hand. The other princes and princesses from our elite university had family businesses waiting for them. Only he had to pound the pavement, hustling for a high-paying job. He glanced at the luxury shopping bags in my hands and sneered. “I hear you’ve stooped to serving that little princess.” I didn’t bother answering and turned to leave. “Leo!” he called out, his voice laced with a strange, bitter anger. “Do you really think a girl from a family like that sees you as a person? To put it nicely, you’re her ‘boyfriend.’ To put it bluntly, you went from being the princess’s companion to being her boy toy!” I turned back. “I know.” “You—!” “Are you looking for a job?” I asked brightly. “Want me to put in a good word for you? Great pay, easy work, three-day weekends, full benefits~” “I don’t need your help!” he spat, shooting me a look of utter disappointment. “I’m not like you, content to debase myself! I’ll find my own way!” He stormed off, leaving me standing there. I touched my own face. Where else was I going to find a job that paid a million dollars a month to sleep with a stunningly beautiful woman with killer curves and a passionate nature? I wanted to earn a respectable living too. But not everyone gets to be respectable. All the talk about being cheap or a social climber meant nothing compared to the simple comfort of knowing where my next meal was coming from. If Isabelle ever got tired of me, at least I’d have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life. In a way, wasn’t that its own kind of success? I just never expected her to “play” with me all the way to the altar. When the engagement ring slipped onto her finger, I thought I was dreaming. Isabelle still didn’t talk much. The doctors said her stress-induced speech trauma might be permanent. The few sentences I’d managed to squeeze out of her were already a miracle. It turned out she had channeled all her unspoken words into an insatiable desire in the bedroom every night. It turned out she had been confessing her love through her actions for ten years. I held the bouquet of roses. I thought, Maybe I’ve stumbled into the real thing. A blind squirrel finding a nut. But at a party after our engagement, I saw Jimmy for the first time in years. 4 The seams on Jimmy’s suit were frayed, making him stick out like a sore thumb among the expensive couture of the city’s elite. I’d heard the company he’d finally landed a job at was on the verge of bankruptcy. He’d had a few girlfriends over the past decade, but they all ended for the same reason: money. He had pulled a lot of strings just to get an invitation to this business summit with the Reeves Corporation. His eyes twitched when he saw the engagement ring on my finger. “You and Isabelle?” I nodded. His companion nudged him. “You know him?” “Know him?” Jimmy smirked, uncorking a bottle of wine. “He’s the one who stole my girlfriend.” A cascade of cold wine drenched me, sending a shiver through my body. His friends were shocked. “Jimmy! What the hell is going on?” Jimmy lifted his chin. “My girlfriend was Isabelle Reeves.” “What?!” He savored my humiliation. “Leo, you’re cheaper than a ten-dollar whore.” I wiped my face. And picked up a bottle of wine. Unopened. I smashed it over his head. Glass shards and red wine rained down from his hair. He clutched his bleeding head and screamed, “Are you insane?!” I looked down on him. “That day you threw wine on me, I didn’t retaliate, because that was between us. But now, Isabelle is my fiancée. You’re spreading rumors about the man she’s going to marry. I’m not going to be so nice this time.” His face went pale. The memory of that first wine-throwing incident had given him an unearned confidence, making him walk around like he owned me for the rest of our university days. “You think you can do whatever you want now that you’ve latched onto my ex-girlfriend?” Jimmy gritted out. “If I hadn’t left her, do you think you would have had a chance? A boy toy, played with by a rich girl for ten years. You really think you’re some kind of tycoon now?” His face was a mask of pure mockery. The guests had stopped to watch. Isabelle’s mysterious boyfriend had always been a hot topic of gossip. But she never revealed any information about me. Some speculated I was the scion of a mysterious foreign dynasty; others guessed I was the long-lost heir of a powerful family. Jimmy’s single word—”boy toy”—shattered all their illusions. Just as the humiliation was becoming unbearable, Isabelle appeared. She took my hand, the matching diamond on her ring finger glittering brightly. With that one gesture, everyone knew whose side she was on. Jimmy’s face went white. At this crucial moment, just as everyone was about to dig into my background, Isabelle, who cherished every word, spoke. “He… is my… fiancé.” Her speech was slightly halting, but her tone was firm. The crowd immediately turned their disdainful gazes on Jimmy. “I know him. He’s some low-level manager at a small firm. Couldn’t keep a girlfriend to save his life. I think he’s the one who wants to be Ms. Reeves’s boy toy.” “Hah. Her fiancé of ten years is just a ‘boy toy’ in his eyes? The nerve of some people.” Jimmy wanted to argue, but his face just turned a deeper shade of red. Isabelle took me home. To reward her, I cooked a feast. But Isabelle didn’t touch her food. She was glued to her phone. When I urged her to eat, she showed me an urgent company document and left. She didn’t know her laptop was still open. And on the screen, I saw that she had just accepted Jimmy’s friend request.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393615”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was mindlessly scrolling online when a post caught my eye. 【I accidentally broke my boss’s fiancée’s bracelet. How do I get away with it?】 In the comments, the original poster was relentlessly showing off how special her boss treated her. 【The bracelet broke while he and I were… you know, getting intimate. I wanted to try something new.】 【He told me the beads on this thing are supposed to be a lucky charm, so he wanted me to carry it with me always.】 【He said I don’t have to pay for it, but I feel bad. Does anyone know where I can buy another one?】 Attached was a photo of a faded Kynam agarwood bracelet. It looked familiar. Trying to be helpful, I commented: 【Bracelets like that go for at least a million on the market. You should probably just apologize.】 A second later, she replied with disdain: 【A million? Honey, even if it were ten million, he would never let me apologize for anything.】 【He doesn’t even like his fiancée. I’m his true love.】 I clicked on her profile, only to find that the “boss” she was talking about was my fiancé. Her reply just struck me as bizarre. Zero people cared who her boss was in love with. My focus was on the bracelet. The Kynam bracelet my grandfather gave me was a near-perfect match to the one in the photo, in both size and quality. It was just clear the poster hadn’t taken care of it; the rich color had faded significantly. In the time it took for my silence to register, a mountain of comments had already piled up beneath hers. 【OP, you must not be from Brookhaven. Her company is the biggest player in the city.】 【Fumbling intern and the top-of-the-food-chain CEO? I ship it.】 【Who should apologize to whom is still up in the air. President Blackwood is known for spoiling his favorites.】 A few of those words sent a shiver down my spine. Because I happened to know a “President Blackwood” in Brookhaven. My fiancé, Vincent Blackwood. I navigated to the poster’s homepage. The background image was, unmistakably, my family’s corporate headquarters. My father, impressed by Vincent’s ambition, had sent him to manage the Brookhaven branch, putting him under my nominal command in the hopes that we’d grow closer. I just had no idea that in a few short months, my own company had apparently changed hands. If Vincent was her secret lover, then it was painfully obvious whose bracelet it was. Seeing my property desecrated like this, and the culprit showing not a shred of remorse, was infuriating. I suppressed the fire rising in my chest and clicked back into the thread. 【Since when does Vincent Blackwood call all the shots? That’s news to me.】 【Forget you apologizing—Vincent himself is going to have to make a personal apology for this.】 【Is this the new trend? Homewreckers being this proud and loud about it?】 My comments clearly struck a nerve. She was instantly incensed, firing back with a volley of photos and a tone dripping with arrogance. 【It’s just a million. My boss’s car is worth over ten million.】 【See this diamond? He just won it at an auction a few days ago. He said he’s having it made into our wedding ring.】 【How can some no-name nobody even compare to my boss?】 I clicked open the images. They were all my things, items I’d left behind in Brookhaven. I’d been in a rush to go abroad a few months ago, and bringing everything was too much of a hassle. Before I left, I’d asked Vincent to keep an eye on them for me. I never imagined he’d use them all to woo someone else. As her posts grew more and more heated, a cold smile touched my lips. I pulled out my phone and dialed Vincent’s number. It rang for nearly a minute before he picked up. His voice was clipped. “I’m in a meeting. Whatever it is, we can talk later.” Before I could say a word, the dial tone buzzed in my ear. But in the next second, I refreshed the thread and saw a new reply from her. It was a screenshot of a voice call, the timer already at thirty minutes. 【The boss has been on the phone calming me down this whole time. He even hung up on his fiancée for me~】 Seeing her provocation, I didn’t reply again. Not because I was hurt, but because I had already arrived at the foot of the office building. He still hadn’t read the message I sent him yesterday. Compared to the attentive, cautious man he used to be, Vincent had certainly changed these past few months. I’d chalked it up to the pressures of his promotion, never guessing he was just busy doting on his little mistress. With another cold smile, I called him again. The moment he answered, I spoke first. “I’m at the front door. I don’t care what you’re doing, but I’m giving you two choices.” “You can either come down now and personally escort me in.” “Or, I, as the Chairwoman, can have the front desk inform you that you’ve been summoned.” 2 I didn’t get Vincent. I got Corinne. She sashayed out of the president’s private elevator, her eyes raking over me from head to toe with undisguised contempt. “Ms. Heffner, is it? President Blackwood is in a meeting. You can just come with me.” As she spoke, Corinne’s gaze landed on my dress. The receptionist nearby, quick on the uptake, chimed in, “Corinne, is that a new dress? I bet the President just bought it for you. It’s different from the one you wore this morning.” A delighted grin spread across Corinne’s face. “I only mentioned it offhandedly yesterday. I can’t believe he actually bought it for me today.” The two of them went on, a perfect duet of sycophantic praise, quickly forgetting I was even there. I finally looked up from my phone, my gaze slowly drifting over to Corinne. The tell-tale marks on her neck were vivid, and she made no effort to conceal them. Connecting that to the “getting intimate” she’d mentioned in her post, I knew exactly what had been going on. “I believe I asked for Vincent to come down personally. Is he—” Before I could finish, Corinne cut me off. “President Blackwood is a very busy man. He doesn’t have time for unimportant people.” Her tone was dismissive. “Whatever you have to say, you can just tell me. I’ll pass it along.” The moment the words left her mouth, the crowd of gossiping onlookers murmured in agreement. “Yeah, even though Corinne’s just an intern, her full-time position is a sure thing. The President himself transferred her to be his personal secretary.” “President Blackwood said that what Corinne wants, he wants. We’re all supposed to listen to her.” “If just anyone could demand to see the President, he’d work himself to death.” One by one, they painted me as the one who was being unreasonable. I just arched an eyebrow, my expression unreadable. President Blackwood? Since when was Vincent the president of anything? Corinne, however, mistook my silence for fear. Her eyes darted around before she whipped out her phone. “I’ve been looking after that bracelet of yours. I’ve been spritzing it with my best perfume every day to keep it nice. You can just reimburse me for the cost.” “I’m sorry?” I frowned, not quite catching what she said. She took my expression as a refusal and her voice sharpened into a threat. “That’s the perfume President Blackwood bought me. It’s a four-figure bottle. I barely use it on myself.” When her words finally registered, I was stunned. Not because the perfume was expensive, but because she’d been spraying it on the bracelet. Agarwood is porous; it absorbs scents. Spraying it with perfume is like using a fine wine to clean your floors. It ruins it. Especially since the fragrance Vincent had chosen was one I personally despised; the bottle was still sitting in my room, collecting dust. As Corinne spoke, she leaned closer, and the cloying scent of cheap fragrance immediately assaulted my senses, making me feel sick. I took an imperceptible step back, but she thought I was trying to flee. “Stop right there!” she barked. “You’re not trying to skip out on the bill, are you?” I straightened up, composing myself. Just as I raised my hand, a cold voice cut through the lobby from behind me. “Aurora, even if you are my fiancée, you can’t just bully my secretary in public.” Vincent, having rushed down after my call, stood there, pulling Corinne protectively behind him. He looked at me, his brow furrowed in a tight, disapproving knot. Never mind that our “engagement” was just a casual suggestion from my father that was never even finalized. And never mind that I wouldn’t be caught dead with a piece of trash like Vincent. “Your secretary?” I let out a short, sharp laugh, my eyes sliding to him. “Since when did I approve Corinne’s promotion?” “You damage my property, and now you want me to pay for it?” “I had no idea my company was hiring morons of this caliber.” 3 My words made Vincent’s face flash through several shades of anger and embarrassment. He clearly didn’t want to make a bigger scene, so he reined in his aggressive tone. “I’ll pay for whatever she broke. Corinne is a very diligent worker, she—” Before Vincent could finish his defense, Corinne had had enough. She snatched the bracelet from her purse and hurled it onto the marble floor. “Here, take it back! I wouldn’t want this cheap piece of junk anyway.” Her action made my pupils constrict. My expression turned to ice. “Pick it up.” Corinne froze, about to retort, but a glance at Vincent’s stony silence made her reconsider. Her eyes reddened as she reluctantly bent down. The moment I saw her hands touch the bracelet, I remembered her post—about how it was broken while they were “getting intimate.” A wave of nausea washed over me. “That Kynam agarwood bracelet cost me three million. You can figure out how you’re going to compensate me.” I had barely finished speaking when Corinne’s little sycophant friend, who was helping her up, let out a snort of derision. “Three million? I thought it was something expensive. Corinne is wearing single pieces that are worth dozens of your cheap bracelet.” Even Corinne herself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She pulled out her phone again, her voice full of arrogance. Before she could speak, I tilted my head and held out a hand. “My apologies. I forgot we operate on different scales.” “I meant three million dollars. I wonder how Ms. Corinne intends to pay.” At the mention of the price, I saw the hand holding her phone tremble slightly. She stared at the beads in her palm in disbelief, her voice a shriek. “How could it possibly be worth three million? It’s just a string of wooden beads!” Corinne examined the bracelet over and over, then forced herself to look calm. I watched as she exited the payment app and opened a shopping app instead. After a moment, she let out a breath and brandished her phone screen for everyone to see. On the screen of some bargain-bin shopping app, an identical-looking bracelet was listed for $9.99. I gave Corinne a look that was hard to put into words. This person must have dropped on her head as a child. Who didn’t know these platforms were flooded with fakes? Noticing her search history, I offered a helpful tip. “It’s Kynam agarwood. Not ‘wooden bead bracelet.’” Vincent’s bravado had vanished the moment I said “three million.” Everything he had bought for Corinne had been charged to my supplementary card. Though we had the title of an engaged couple, I had always kept our finances strictly separate. Every expense was tallied, and every personal purchase was deducted from his salary. On the surface, Vincent was the “top-of-the-food-chain CEO.” In reality, he was just an employee. I was the one making the real decisions; he was just the messenger. Seeing Vincent’s silence, Corinne started to panic. She tried to maintain her composure and shut off her phone. “I don’t care if it’s three hundred or three million, President Blackwood will pay for me,” she declared. “He’s a rising star in this industry. You think he’s short on a little cash like that?” Corinne’s arrogance was clearly a well-practiced routine. She pointed a finger at the company name emblazoned across the lobby wall. “The ground you’re standing on belongs to President Blackwood’s company. And this is just Brookhaven.” “He already told me he has no feelings for you. He’s going to end the engagement soon and be with me.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393614”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On my wedding day, I waited and waited for my fiancé, Alex, to pick me up, but the wedding car was nowhere in sight. When it finally arrived, I saw that it was draped in black cloth. Inside, the seats were covered in white linen, transforming it into a hearse. Alex’s young assistant, Chloe, sat in the passenger seat, clutching a small urn. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. “Evelyn,” she sobbed, “please don’t be upset. My little dog, Dot, died yesterday. The fortune teller said today was an auspicious day for a burial, so she could be reincarnated. Alex said we could give Dot a ride on the way. You don’t mind, do you?” I stared at Alex, my voice cold. “For your assistant’s dog, you turned our wedding car into a hearse?” “There’s an old saying,” he said, his voice laced with impatience. “Marriage is the death of love. A wedding car, a hearse… what’s the difference?” I ripped off my veil, threw it to the ground, and made a phone call. “Are you free to get married today?” … The ceremony was in an hour, but Alex wasn’t answering his phone. I pulled up his assistant Chloe’s contact, planning to ask her what was going on. Alex had delegated all the wedding planning to her, telling me, “All you have to do is be a beautiful bride. Let your assistant handle the trivial stuff.” Chloe had insisted on a “unique and modern” approach, forgoing the traditional grand procession. Instead, she suggested the bride and groom drive to the chapel together, hand in hand, for a more “romantic” entrance. Which meant that now, my only option was to wait for Alex to pick me up. I opened my messaging app and saw that Chloe had just posted a new photo. It was a black-and-white shot of her, dressed in mourning, a white camellia tucked into her hair. Her eyes were swollen, a picture of delicate sorrow. She was leaning her head on a man’s shoulder, cradling a small urn. The caption read: “Mommy and Daddy will love you forever.” The man’s shoulder looked familiar, but I quickly closed the app before I could dwell on it. Seeing something like that on my wedding day was just bad luck. A question flickered through my mind—Chloe wasn’t married, was she? Where did the “Daddy” come from? Before I could think any further, Alex called and told me to come downstairs. Clutching my bouquet, I rushed out the door, my heart full of joy. The smile froze on my face. Our wedding car was draped in black. Through the window, I could see the seats were covered in white cloth. It looked exactly like a hearse. Just yesterday, this car had been a vision. It was decorated with my favorite flowers and sparkling crystals, adorned with romantic symbols of love. I had poured my heart into every detail, all for this day. Now, it was all gone. In its place was a somber, lifeless hearse. My blood ran cold. “Alex,” I stammered, “what is this?” From the passenger seat, Chloe rolled down the window, her voice thick with tears. “Evelyn, please don’t be upset. My little dog, Dot, died yesterday. The fortune teller said today was an auspicious day for a burial, so she could be reincarnated. Alex said we could give Dot a ride on the way. You don’t mind, do you?” She sniffled. “I just couldn’t stand all the festive decorations on the car, so I made a few changes with some black fabric. Black and white are very trendy for weddings now, you know. I thought it would work. This way, we don’t have to delay the wedding or Dot’s funeral.” Who in their right mind decorates a wedding car with black drapes and white sheets? The blood rushed to my head. My voice became shrill. “Today is my wedding day, Chloe. Are you doing this just to spite me?” “Alex, we’re getting married today, and you’ve turned our wedding car into a hearse for a dog? Aren’t you worried about the bad omen?” “All our friends and family are waiting at the hotel. Are you seriously going to drive this to the wedding?” Alex’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “It’s just transportation. As long as it gets us to the hotel, what’s the big deal? Can’t you have a little compassion?” 2 “There’s an old saying,” he continued, “marriage is the death of love. A wedding and a funeral, what’s the difference? A hearse is perfectly appropriate.” “Besides,” he added, “Chloe couldn’t even get a taxi while holding Dot’s urn. If we don’t help her, who will? You’re usually so understanding. What’s wrong with you today?” Tears streamed down my face. I lunged forward and started ripping the black fabric off the car. “Who gave you permission to touch my wedding car? What gives you the right?” Chloe rushed over to stop me. “Evelyn, please don’t! Today is Dot’s funeral. Please, let her go in peace.” “Get away from me!” I shoved her. She stumbled back and fell into Alex’s arms. He steadied her, then grabbed me and pushed me to the ground. “Haven’t you had enough? Your wedding dress is white, isn’t it? What’s wrong with white seats? Is this some kind of double standard? Have some decency.” My hand slammed against the pavement. A sharp pain shot through my palm, and blood began to well up. I pointed a trembling finger at the urn in Chloe’s arms. “Alex, do you hear yourself? Have you even for one second considered my feelings?” “A woman gets married once in her life, and you want me to ride in a hearse? Do you even want to marry me?” Alex was about to argue, but Chloe stopped him. “Alex, it’s all my fault. I was just so heartbroken about Dot, I didn’t think about Evelyn’s feelings. The wedding is much more important than Dot. And she was just my pet. I can handle this myself.” Her tears fell onto the small urn. “I don’t have any family in this city. Dot was all I had. She was like family to me. I’m sorry. I just wanted to give her a perfect funeral.” Her voice cracked. “Even if I have to walk, I’ll get to the cemetery.” She opened the passenger door and stumbled out of the car, a fragile, pitiable figure in her black dress. She looked at me, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, Evelyn. Please, get in the car.” Alex got out and grabbed her arm. “You’re not going anywhere. I said I’d give Dot a ride, and I will. Don’t you remember? I said I’d be her daddy, didn’t I?” Suddenly, Chloe’s social media post from this morning flashed in my mind. “Mommy and Daddy will love you forever.” She was Mommy, and Alex was Daddy. And that familiar shoulder… it was his. Chloe had joined Alex’s company as a secretary a year ago. He praised her for being meticulous and thoughtful and quickly promoted her to his primary assistant, entrusting her with many important tasks. I’d heard whispers from older colleagues, subtle hints that I should watch out for Alex and Chloe. But this was Alex, the man I had loved for years, the man who loved me deeply. I would have suspected any other man of cheating, but never him. Now, the truth was staring me in the face. Chloe was more than just a secretary, and Alex was no longer the man I knew. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I choked, unable to speak. Today was supposed to be the culmination of our ten-year love story, and this was happening. Alex turned back to me. “Do you have to be like this? Do you know how far the cemetery is? Do you know how long it would take Chloe to walk there? You know no one will give her a ride while she’s carrying an urn. Do you really have to pick a fight with her when she’s at her most vulnerable?” As he got closer, I caught a whiff of camellia perfume. It was Chloe’s scent. I felt a wave of nausea and took a step back, covering my mouth. He opened the car door and helped Chloe back in. “You don’t have to get out. I said I’d take you, and I will.” He got back in the car and looked at me. “Get in. The wedding is about to start, isn’t it? I promised we’d have the ceremony first. You’ll still be a beautiful bride. After the wedding, we’ll go with Chloe to bury Dot.” 3 Rage surged through me. I yanked open the car door. “Chloe, this is my car. Please get out. I do not consent to you taking this car to a cemetery. I can call a taxi for you, or have a friend drive you.” “Alex, call the wedding planner right now and have them restore this car to its original state.” Chloe looked at me, tears streaming down her face. She wiped her eyes fiercely. “Fine. I won’t disrupt your wedding. I wish you both happiness.” She gently pushed Alex’s hand away and looked up at him, her face a mask of tragic beauty. “Go get married. I told you we weren’t heading in the same direction. Why did you have to make Evelyn angry?” “Just let me take Dot myself.” She pressed her face against the urn. “Dot, Mommy will take you.” Alex exploded. He shoved me away, and I stumbled back into a flower bed. The sharp edge of the planter dug into my back. A searing pain shot through me, and my vision went black. The bouquet fell from my hand. “Enough! Are you done? How long are you going to throw a fit over a car? As long as I’m the one marrying you, that should be enough. What more do you want?” “You’re about to be Mrs. Reed. You’ll have everything. Why are you making things so difficult for Chloe? All she had was Dot, and now she’s lost her too. Are you really going to push her to the edge?” “If I had known you would turn into such a cruel, unreasonable person, I never would have agreed to marry you.” His words were a knife, twisting in my heart. Alex and I were college sweethearts. He was on a full scholarship, from a poor family, and had taken out loans to get through school. We fell in love on campus. To protect his pride, I hid my own family’s wealth and started a business with him. After graduation, we struggled together, enduring countless hardships. Finally, things had started to look up. We had our own company. With my father’s secret help, Alex’s business grew, and he became a rising star in the city’s business world. He had proposed, and today was our wedding. I had invited all our friends and family. I was going to reveal my family’s identity to him at the wedding. I believed we could live happily ever after. But now, as I watched him hold his fragile secretary, as I looked at the car I had bought, now transformed into a hearse, I closed my eyes. Maybe things had changed a long time ago. Maybe I just hadn’t been willing to see it. Alex looked at me coldly. “I’m giving you two choices. One, get in the car now, and we’ll go to the hotel for the ceremony.” “Two, if you’re going to keep throwing a tantrum, then you can walk. After all, you’re the one who doesn’t want to ride in a hearse, right?” Through the car window, I could see Chloe still nestled in his arms, her eyes, when she glanced at me, full of triumph and provocation. She “helped” by saying, “Evelyn, don’t be angry. I’ll try to talk to Alex.” Then she turned to him, her voice a coquettish whisper. I could just make out the words: “Evelyn has been dreaming of marrying you. Even if you leave her here, she’ll forgive you. She’ll find a way to the hotel. But can’t you just humor her a little?” “You can’t just assume she’ll marry you no matter what and treat her like this.” “I’ve spoiled her,” Alex said coldly. “That’s why she’s so unreasonable.” I stared at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. He gritted his teeth. “Fine. If you’re not getting in, then walk.” He stomped on the gas. The car sped off, leaving me standing there. My bridal bouquet was crushed under the tires, a mangled, unrecognizable mess. I sank to the ground, covering my face, and sobbed. A text message came through. It was from Alex. Since you’re being so childish, you must not be in a hurry to get married. We’ll postpone the ceremony until tonight. I’m taking Chloe to bury Dot first. You should take this time to reflect on your behavior. The Mrs. Reed I want is obedient, sensible, and understanding. Not a hysterical brat like you.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393613”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The nanny wanted to become the lady of the house. She secretly taught my son to call her “Grandma.” She was always lecturing me like a mother-in-law, pushing me to have a second child. “If a woman doesn’t have children, is she even a woman?” she’d say. When I finally had enough and tried to throw her out, she declared with arrogant pride, “You’re the one who should get lost. I’m Asher’s real mother!” My husband and I stared at each other, utterly horrified. “Since when,” we both stammered, “was he an illegitimate child?” … I got off work early and went to pick up my three-year-old son, Finn, from his preschool. As I approached the school gate, I saw our nanny, Mrs. Quinn, holding his hand. She held a lollipop in front of him, her face a mask of grandmotherly affection. “Finn, darling, what did I teach you to call me yesterday?” Finn hesitated. Mrs. Quinn dangled the lollipop tantalizingly. “Grandma!” he chirped immediately. “That’s right! Grandma’s good boy! Here you go.” Watching this exchange, my face went cold. Mrs. Quinn was a long-time fixture in my husband Asher’s family. She hadn’t just raised Asher; she had once saved his life. Now, she had volunteered to look after our son, Finn. The entire family respected her deeply. But my relationship with her was… strained. It had gotten particularly bad about a month ago, when Asher and I decided to enroll Finn in an early education program. When Mrs. Quinn found out, she cornered me. “Zoey,” she said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp, “Finn is three now. Don’t you think it’s time for you and Asher to start thinking about a second child?” I was completely blindsided. Asher’s parents had divorced years ago. I had no mother-in-law. Since marrying into the Vance family, Mrs. Quinn had taken it upon herself to act as the family matriarch, constantly lecturing me. Asher respected her, and since her meddling was usually minor, I let it slide. But now she had crossed a line, pushing me about having more children. I didn’t bother to hide my displeasure. “Mrs. Quinn, that is not your place to ask.” She ignored my irritation. “I know you young people are shy about these things. But having babies is a race against time. A woman over thirty has a much harder time conceiving.” Her voice warmed to her subject. “Where I come from, a woman should have at least three to five children. And it’s best if they’re all boys.” As her pronouncements grew more and more outrageous, I raised my voice to cut her off. “Mrs. Quinn, let’s be clear. You are a nanny. That’s all.” Even Asher’s own mother had never pressured me. Seeing the anger in my eyes, Mrs. Quinn finally, reluctantly, fell silent. But I never imagined she’d hold such a grudge. A nanny, secretly coaching my son to call her “Grandma.” If any of our friends heard that, they’d think I was cheating on Asher! 2 I suppressed my fury, forced a pleasant expression onto my face, and walked over. I buckled Finn into his car seat first. Then I turned to Mrs. Quinn, my face a cold mask. “Mrs. Quinn, a person should know their place,” I said, my voice low and even. “I shouldn’t have to teach you what you should and shouldn’t do, should I?” I was giving her one last chance to save face by not spelling it out. But she didn’t take it. She jutted out her chin and reprimanded me. “Zoey Vance, is that any way to speak to an elder? I raised Asher. He’s like a son to me. In the old days, I would have been his wet nurse. It’s only right that Finn calls me ‘Grandma’!” She sniffed. “It’s just like I thought. Someone from a common family like yours has no manners.” I was floored. What kind of twisted logic was that? By her reasoning, if she nannied for a few more families, she’d have children all over the city. I was done arguing. I held up my phone. “I wonder what Asher will think when he finds out he has a new mother.” The Vances treated their staff well, but not so well that they’d let a nanny walk all over them. Thinking I had recorded her, Mrs. Quinn’s face finally changed. Her tone softened, and she mumbled an apology. “Don’t let it happen again,” I said coldly. … Later that evening, I was still mulling over Mrs. Quinn’s recent behavior. When I first married Asher, she had been respectful, keeping to her duties. That all changed about a month into our marriage, when she found Asher in the kitchen late at night, making me a snack. The look on her face had curdled instantly. The next day, while Asher was at work, she confronted me. “Zoey, you have a perfectly good pair of hands and feet. How could you order Asher around like that?” I was baffled. “He’s my husband. Making me a bowl of noodles is hardly ‘ordering him around.’” “No, no, no,” she corrected me, her expression deadly serious. “It is the natural order of things for a woman to serve a man. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping conspiratorially, “Asher is the heir to the Vance family! If people found out he was waiting on you, they’d laugh him out of town!” I was stunned by her archaic mindset. What century was she living in? She was a relic from a bygone era. I tried to reason with her, my temper still in check. “Mrs. Quinn, it’s not ‘waiting on me.’ It’s called taking care of each other. That’s what married couples do.” She just sighed and shook her head. “A girl from a common family. You’ll never understand. The Vances are a prominent family. You can’t compare them to common folk. I think you should quit your job and learn how to be a proper wife.” 3 Before I could protest, she shoved a pile of laundry into my arms. It was Asher’s from the day before. “From now on, you will be washing all of Asher’s clothes,” she instructed. “His underwear and socks must be washed by hand. And when he leaves for work in the morning, you must be up to see him off.” She paused, then added, “That three-thousand-a-month job of yours is pointless. Just quit and focus on taking care of Asher at home. The most important thing now is to get pregnant.” I stared at her, dumbfounded, as she prattled on. This fossil wasn’t going to be reasoned with. So, I threw the clothes right back at her. Especially the two smelly socks. They hit her squarely on the head and face. The pungent odor of a man’s sweaty feet is not a pleasant one. Mrs. Quinn shrieked like a scalded chicken. “Zoey Vance!” I just shrugged, a cold smile on my face. “Whoever wants to wash them can wash them. I’m not doing it.” That was our first major confrontation. I told Asher about it that night. He promised to talk to her, reminding me that she was a long-time family employee and deserved another chance. Of course, he said, if I wanted her gone, she’d be gone. But we were newly married, and I didn’t want to cause a huge scene. I relented. After that, Mrs. Quinn seemed to understand that I wasn’t a pushover, and she backed off. Until I got pregnant. That’s when she started acting up again. 4 When we found out I was pregnant, the whole family was ecstatic, especially Asher, who had always wanted a daughter. But it was Mrs. Quinn’s reaction that surprised me the most. She wept with joy, clasping her hands together in prayer. “Asher has an heir! Thank you, ancestors!” She was more emotional than my own mother-in-law would have been. Not only that, she started doting on me, fussing over my every need, cooking me elaborate meals. The tension between us began to melt away, all because of the tiny life growing inside me. Until I was seven weeks along. One day, Mrs. Quinn grabbed my arm, her face taut with anxiety, insisting we go to the hospital. I was confused. “Didn’t we just have a check-up last week?” She smiled. “We’re not going for a check-up. We’re going to find out if the baby is a boy or a girl. If it’s a boy, we’ll keep it. If it’s a girl, we’ll get rid of it. The firstborn must be a son!” I snatched my hand away, horrified. “Mrs. Quinn, have you lost your mind? My child’s fate is not for you to decide. You’re just a nanny in this house. This has nothing to do with you!” My outburst left her red-faced and sputtering. She bit out, “I’m only doing this for your own good!” “Why don’t you mind your own business?” I retorted sharply. “The Vances give you an inch, and you think you’re the queen of the castle. You have no say over my child!” My words were merciless. Mrs. Quinn was fuming, but there was nothing she could do. I waved a dismissive hand and banished her from my room. I was about to insist on hiring a new nanny, but Mrs. Quinn beat me to the punch with a preemptive strike. 5 After I became pregnant, I started taking a nap every afternoon. That day, I had just fallen asleep when a sharp pain shot through my fingertip. I’m terrified of pain, and it jolted me awake. I opened my eyes and found myself staring into a pair of cold, narrow eyes. I screamed, grabbing whatever was on my nightstand and hurling it at the figure. Only when I heard a familiar cry of pain did I realize it was Mrs. Quinn. Her forehead was bleeding where an object had struck her, and her chin was cut. In my panic, I had even ripped out a chunk of her hair. She was a complete mess. “Mrs. Quinn, what are you doing?” I demanded, my voice trembling. She stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. Then I saw the test tube in her hand and the syringe on the floor beside her. It all clicked. She hadn’t given up. She had snuck into my room while I was sleeping to draw my blood for a gender test. I couldn’t believe it. She was a nanny, not the lady of the house. Why was she so obsessed with my pregnancy? Asher was furious. This was his first child. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone, regardless of gender, trying to harm it. Mrs. Quinn was finally scared. Scared of being thrown out for good. She tearfully reminded Asher of how she had saved his life, begging for forgiveness. She banged her head on the floor until the carpet was stained red. Finding a good nanny isn’t easy, and Asher hadn’t been feeling well himself lately, so I agreed to give her one more chance. After that incident, Mrs. Quinn did seem to behave. She took good care of Finn over the years, and I stopped thinking about replacing her. But I was wrong. Her ambition to be the “mistress” of the house had never died. 6 Lately, I’d noticed Finn seemed withdrawn and unusually clingy. I assumed it was just trouble adjusting to his new school. Until tonight. As I was tucking him into bed, he looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Mommy,” he whispered, “please don’t leave. I don’t want Daddy to get me a new mommy.” My heart sank, but I kept my voice gentle. “Mommy’s not going anywhere. Who told you Daddy was going to get a new mommy?” He was silent for a long time before his voice came out in a choked sob. “It was Grandma Quinn. She said she’s going to be my real grandma soon. And that if you don’t behave, Daddy will get me a new mommy.” A fire ignited in my chest. Not only was Mrs. Quinn defying me, she was threatening my son. And what did she mean, “she’s going to be my real grandma soon”? I pushed down my anger and questions and focused on comforting my son. “Don’t you worry, Finn. Daddy would never, ever replace Mommy.” After reassuring him until he finally fell asleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. A bizarre thought popped into my head. Had Mrs. Quinn started something with my father-in-law? What other explanation could there be? My father-in-law had been a bit of a playboy in his younger days. When Asher was ten, a mistress had even shown up with an illegitimate son of the same age. Asher never went into detail, but the mistress and her son were sent packing. His wife, heartbroken, had insisted on a divorce. My father-in-law, suddenly repentant, had been trying to win her back ever since. For years, his life had been nothing but work and futile attempts at reconciliation. Given his history and heartbreak, it seemed unlikely he’d fall for the aging Mrs. Quinn. But then again, some people have strange tastes. Maybe years of rejection had changed his palate. It was the only way Mrs. Quinn’s recent behavior made any sense. She was acting like she was already the lady of the house. A shiver went down my spine. I shook Asher, who was sound asleep beside me. “Wake up! If you keep sleeping, you’re going to have a new baby brother!” Asher’s eyes fluttered open. He rolled on top of me. “What? Honey, you want to give Finn a baby brother? I’d better get to work!” “Asher!” My protest was swallowed by his kiss.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393612”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Reborn, my first act was rejecting my parents’ $50K allowance—and taking a predatory loan instead. In my past life, my roommate Jessica bound me to a “system” that swapped our finances. No matter what, my account never held over $30. With my money, she became the campus queen—dating heartthrob Ethan Virtue while painting me as her pitiful charity case. When I showed bank statements, every transfer magically shrank to $30. Jessica would flash her phone, crocodile tears gleaming: “See? My parents send $50K monthly. Why can’t Freda face reality?” The backlash was vicious. Relatives who defended me died in “accidents.” My body withered mysteriously. Finally, Ethan’s friends dragged me into the woods—I died after hours of torture. Then I woke up, back in time. This time, I’d see how long the campus princess lasted without my money—and with crushing debt. … “Seriously, Freda, you’re pathetic. All your designer clothes were bought with handouts, and you have the nerve to be flashier than Jessica?” “She’s so generous to you, and you just waste her money. If Jessica wasn’t such a saint, she would’ve kicked you to the curb ages ago!” “Say something! Stop playing dead! Get on your knees and apologize to her right now, or we’ll make you.” The jeers echoed in my ears, and for a dizzying moment, I struggled to place myself. Then it hit me. I was truly reborn, thrown back to the very day my roommate, Jessica Price, used her system to frame me as a poor student living off her charity. Seeing my silence, Jessica stepped forward, her voice dripping with fake empathy. “Freda, don’t tell me you’re going to claim that money came from your parents. That you’re the rich one? If that’s the case, why don’t you show everyone your bank balance?” She smiled sweetly. “Or better yet, have your parents wire you a few hundred thousand right now. That would shut us all up.” Last time, I fell for it. I stared at my thirty-dollar balance in disbelief and frantically called my parents, begging them to send more money. My desperation to prove the truth only played into her hands, funneling immense wealth directly into her account and solidifying her status as the campus queen. When I held up my phone to show the incoming transfers, the numbers had magically changed to pocket change. In an instant, I became a public enemy, accused of being a vain, selfish leech who was bleeding her poor, hardworking parents dry. As I was plotting my next move, the campus heartthrob, Ethan Virtue, finally spoke up, his voice laced with contempt. “Freda, it’s over. Stop being so stubborn. A vain, selfish person like you doesn’t deserve Jessica’s kindness. The thought of you chasing after me makes my skin crawl!” His brow furrowed in disgust as he strode forward and shoved me hard. I stumbled and fell to the ground. It was ironic. During freshman orientation, he had approached me, commenting on the beautiful necklace I wore and asking if he could borrow it to buy a similar one for his mother. Now, a sharp pain shot through my shoulder where I’d hit the floor. The crowd around us erupted in cheers, shouting that Ethan had done the right thing. This only fueled Jessica’s performance. She bit her lip, looking down at me with tear-filled eyes, making no move to help me up. “Freda, I can’t believe it’s come to this. We’re roommates. All you had to do was admit you were wrong. I would have forgiven you. Why do you have to be so stubborn and twist the truth…?” “Who said I was going to be stubborn?” I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up from the ground, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry, your highness. I was being vain. I took the money you gave me and bought all this stuff. As punishment, I’ll donate every last piece to charity for them to sell.” I looked at her with wide, pleading eyes. “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and… continue supporting me.” The crowd, which had been ready to tear me apart, fell silent. They exchanged confused glances, unsure of what to say. Jessica was stunned. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes. “Freda, you don’t have to do that. If you’re really sorry, maybe you should sell the items first and then donate the cash. What if the charity damages them…?” “Oh, I’m sure the professionals can handle it.” If I sold them first, would there be any money left for me to donate? It would go straight to her account. I turned away, my expression turning to ice. I pulled out my phone, opened a predatory loan app, and applied for a small, one-hundred-dollar loan. As expected, the moment the loan was approved, the money never hit my account. I refreshed the app. The name on the loan agreement was now Jessica Price. So, the system was thorough. It didn’t just swap money; it swapped the source, too. I almost laughed out loud. Jessica, your nightmare is just beginning. 2 I took out one hundred thousand dollars in high-interest loans in a single sitting. Then I called my parents, told them I didn’t need an allowance anymore, and applied for off-campus housing. I would live off what I already had. Even so, a heavy pressure lingered in my chest. The system’s parasitic effect on my body hadn’t vanished completely. That afternoon, as I was leaving campus with a small bag, I saw Jessica and Ethan waiting for a car by the road, surrounded by a gaggle of their followers. They spotted me, their faces twisting into identical sneers. “Freda!” Jessica called out, jogging over to me with a bright, cheerful expression. “What a coincidence! We were just talking about you. I’ve been thinking, ‘give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.’ I’ve decided to stop giving you money and help you find a part-time job instead.” It’s amazing what money can do. Dressed head-to-toe in luxury brands, the old, insecure girl who used to subsist on the cheapest cafeteria food was gone. It was hard to believe this was the same person. I couldn’t help but wonder what dark magic she’d used to bind me. She shoved a stack of flyers into my hand, her expression earnest. “I picked out all the best-paying jobs for you. Once you donate money you’ve earned with your own two hands, everyone will forgive you.” She sighed dramatically. “My eyes are killing me from searching for these. Anyway, I’m about to treat everyone to a five-star hotel buffet. How about you pick up the tab this time?” I had never met anyone so shameless. She was spending my parents’ money while trying to force me into working to fund her lifestyle. I glanced at the flyers. They were filled with shady gigs, including an ad for selling my own eggs. Just then, Ethan and the others sauntered over. “What are you waiting for, Freda?” one of them scoffed. “Some of those jobs have application deadlines today. You’d better hurry. They won’t wait for you.” “Jessica’s parents just sent her another hundred grand,” another chimed in. “That’s more than your parents probably make in a lifetime. How can a poor girl like you just stand around doing nothing?” A glittering Rolex had appeared on Ethan’s wrist, a model that screamed “chosen by a girlfriend” and was easily worth tens of thousands. He was burning through my money fast. No wonder he was so eager for me to earn more. I couldn’t help but smirk. “As a student, I think my priority should be my studies,” I said with a pleasant smile. “From now on, I plan to live on thirty dollars a month. Not a penny more. I’d appreciate it if you all held me to that.” I turned to leave, but a hand clamped down on my arm. “Is that how a charity case speaks to her benefactor?” Ethan snarled, flinging my arm away as if he’d touched something filthy. “Jessica went to all this trouble to help you, and you’re just going to walk away? Do you enjoy being a parasite?!” His cold, menacing gaze merged with the memory of his eyes as he watched me die in my past life. My breath caught in my throat. He shoved me to the ground again before turning to leave with Jessica. But this time, a thought struck me. It wasn’t just about sucking up to Jessica. It felt like… he genuinely hated me. 3 It felt like an eternity before my family’s Rolls-Royce finally pulled up to the curb. By then, I was drenched in sweat, on the verge of heatstroke. My driver, Mr. Virtue, took his sweet time parking before giving a cursory double-tap on the horn. “Mr. Virtue, what took you so long?” I asked, collapsing into the back seat, my shirt already soaked through. He, on the other hand, was in a noticeably cheerful mood. He shot me a stern look in the rearview mirror. “You know, miss, you really need to work on that princess attitude. I’m your family’s driver, not your personal slave. I’m an elder, you should show some respect.” He sniffed. “It was just a few minutes of waiting. Most girls aren’t nearly as fragile as you. I’d never let my son date someone with your attitude!” Just then, my phone buzzed with notifications. It was my classmates’ social media feeds. [OMG, Ethan’s family is seriously loaded! He let us ride in his Rolls-Royce! Look at that starlight headliner!] [It was so epic! Next time, we need a second car, though. I’m calling dibs on the Maybach!] [If we hadn’t wasted so much time dealing with that shameless pauper, we would’ve been cooling off in this luxury car ages ago!] I froze. That wasn’t his car. That was my family’s car. I immediately made a call. The results of a quick background check confirmed it. Mr. Virtue’s son was none other than Ethan Virtue. It all clicked into place. No wonder my every attempt to prove my identity in my past life was thwarted. There was always a mole leaking information. And no wonder Ethan was so determined to destroy me. He and Jessica were working together from the inside. My hand instinctively went to the necklace Ethan had “borrowed” during orientation. That’s when it all started. Right after that, Jessica, the girl who could barely afford food, suddenly became incredibly wealthy. Back then, I used my meal card for everything and never checked my bank balance. I had handed them the perfect opportunity. “Miss Freda, what are you doing?” The car screeched to a halt. Mr. Virtue was staring at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide with panic, fixed on my hand as it was about to unclasp the necklace. “That was a coming-of-age gift from your mother,” he stammered. “You’re not taking it off, are you?” His panicked expression was all the confirmation I needed. “Of course not,” I said with a small laugh. “Just admiring it.” I closed my eyes, and from the driver’s seat, I heard a quiet sigh of relief. The moment I got back to the villa, I ripped the necklace off. I called my father and told him Mr. Virtue had been disrespectful and needed to be fired. Then, I enjoyed a gourmet meal prepared by our French chef, and after eating my fill, I collapsed into bed. As I suspected, without the necklace, the crushing weight on my chest lifted. It was as if a massive boulder had been rolled off me. To avoid tipping my hand, I found an identical-looking necklace in my jewelry box and put it on. And now, Jessica, all you have left… is that hundred-thousand-dollar debt.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393611”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Jenna Reed, St. Jude’s new intern, boasted a miraculous gift—performing surgeries without anesthetic, leaving patients pain-free. The truth? She was a parasite, funneling their agony into me. As her fame grew, patients paid fortunes for her procedures while I endured the consequences. Phantom pains left me bedridden, my body failing—hair falling out, bones protruding, every movement agony. When the hospital fired me over complaints, I confronted her. They all pitied me, thinking me insane. Jenna just snapped on gloves, coldly dismissing me: “Save the drama, Claire. I’m prepping for a brain resection.” Five minutes later, a vessel burst in my brain. I died instantly. Then—I woke up. Back on the day Jenna became a star. This time, I paid my way to the front of her line. “I’d like your ‘painless’ procedure too,” I said steadily. … “Are you kidding me, Claire?” Jenna Reed, the hospital’s brand-new intern, looked me up and down with a sneer that sent a chill crawling up my spine. I forced myself to meet her gaze, refusing to flinch. “I have stomach problems,” I said, my tone even. “I was hoping to experience your famous painless gastroscopy. Is that a problem?” On her very first day at St. Jude’s, Jenna had made the audacious claim of performing painless procedures. To prove it, she’d done a bone marrow aspiration on a walk-in patient, right there in the open. She used no anesthetic, and her technique was horrifyingly clumsy—a textbook example of what not to do. I watched, my heart pounding, but the patient didn’t so much as wince. Moments after she finished, a lightning bolt of pain shot through my own right femur. I collapsed, my leg refusing to hold my weight. Jenna, seizing the opportunity, took over all my scheduled surgeries for the day. That was the day she became a legend. Her rise from intern to chief resident was faster than a rocket launch. But while she was being celebrated, I was in a hospital bed, being ripped apart by waves of agony. One moment, it was my leg. The next, a stabbing pain in my heart, followed by the searing burn of a perforated stomach. I had always been the hospital’s rising star, a pillar of the surgical department. When the hospital director, Dr. Finch, heard I’d collapsed, he came to examine me himself. The results? Nothing. Every test came back clean. Dr. Finch’s face went cold. “Claire, I know we’ve been loading you up with work lately, but that’s because we believe in you,” he said, his voice laced with disappointment. “To think you’d fake an illness and push your responsibilities onto an intern… You’ve let me down. You’ve let us all down.” I tried to speak, to defend myself, but a sharp, cutting pain seized my throat. I glanced at the surgical schedule. At that exact moment, Jenna was performing a laryngoscopy on a patient with severe throat inflammation. There’s no such thing as a coincidence that perfect. The connection was undeniable, but in my previous life, no one—not my colleagues, not the patients—had believed me. A dark resolve settled in my heart. This time, I wouldn’t make a sound. I would play the long game, uncover the truth, and avoid the same fate. As I expected, Jenna refused to perform the gastroscopy on me. She let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Claire, let’s be honest,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “We both know you’re not here for a check-up. You’re here to steal my technique.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “If you want to waste time, be my guest. But every minute we stand here is a minute another patient has to wait. Their pain will be on your head.” Her words were a spark in a tinderbox. The other patients who had paid a fortune for their appointments turned on me. “You’re a doctor!” one man shouted. “You’re always telling us to ‘tough it out.’ Why can’t you handle a little discomfort?” “You must make a good living,” another sneered. “If you want a painless scope, pay for a capsule endoscopy. Stop wasting our time!” Suddenly, a middle-aged woman lunged forward, and the sharp sting of a slap exploded across my cheek. CRACK. “My son has been clutching his chest in agony all afternoon!” she shrieked, her face contorted with rage. “If anything happens to him, I’ll hold you personally responsible!” Her violence broke the dam. The crowd surged forward, a wave of fists and feet. While they were distracted, Jenna coolly ushered her first patient into the operating room. A moment later, an excruciating pain erupted in my chest, as if a pair of forceps were stabbing me again and again. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor, my head cracking against the leg of a chair. Warm blood streamed down my face. The sight of my own blood made the mob recoil. “Look at her, faking an injury! She has no shame!” “We just pushed you! We didn’t touch your chest! Don’t you dare try to pin that on us!” Just as the world began to fade to black, I heard a little boy’s voice ring out, clear and bright. “Mommy, Dr. Reed is amazing! I didn’t feel a thing, and the pain is all gone!” The crowd immediately swarmed around Jenna, showering her with praise, leaving me forgotten on the cold floor. As patient after patient went into her room, new agonies bloomed across my body until, finally, I surrendered to the darkness. I woke up in a quiet hospital room. My best friend, Gloria, was sitting by my bed, her face etched with worry. “Your phone,” I rasped, my first thought a desperate one. “Give me your phone.” Gloria had also been one of Jenna’s patients today. It was all part of my plan. Knowing Jenna would never let me observe her, I had asked Gloria to go in my place, a tiny spy camera hidden on her person. The footage on the phone made my blood run cold. Gloria didn’t have a serious condition, just a sprained ankle from a few weeks ago. Jenna didn’t bother with an X-ray or even a basic examination. She went straight for acupuncture. But she wasn’t using proper needles. My temples throbbed as I watched her grab a thick suture needle and start jabbing it into Gloria’s foot. She was hitting all the wrong points, a chaotic, reckless assault that could cause permanent nerve damage. It was pure malpractice. I struggled to sit up, but my right ankle was completely numb and useless. When I tried to move it, a fire shot up my leg, leaving the whole limb tingling and dead. I grabbed Gloria’s hand. “What did you feel when she did that? Does your foot still hurt?” Gloria sighed, a look of bewilderment on her face. “That’s the crazy part. It was a huge needle, but it was like my foot was completely numb. I felt zero pain. And she didn’t even touch the spot that was actually sprained. But here’s the thing, Claire… my ankle is completely healed. The pain is gone.” I sank back against the pillows, my body feeling like a collection of broken parts. I forced my mind through the haze of pain, piecing it together. Jenna could somehow transfer a patient’s pain, and even the post-operative side effects, directly to me. The damage she inflicted on my body was real, but it was invisible to any medical scanner. And because I was her… her vessel, she couldn’t perform any procedures on me. That’s why she had refused. My mind reeled. How could something so bizarre, so monstrous, be real? Then, another thought struck me, a desperate gamble. I dragged myself out of bed and went straight to Dr. Finch’s office to submit my resignation. He stared at the letter on his desk, his fingers drumming a slow, angry rhythm on the polished wood. After a long silence, he looked up, his eyes filled with a deep, profound disappointment. “You’re quitting because I accused you of faking an illness? Or is it what Jenna said? That her promotion threatens you, and this is your way of blackmailing me?” Without another word, he stamped the papers and waved a dismissive hand. “Get out.” That same day, the hospital’s official social media page posted an article. It was a glowing announcement, congratulating Jenna Reed on her promotion to Vice President of Surgical Operations. The comments section was a flood of praise for her, peppered with insults aimed at me. Someone even posted a video of me collapsing at the clinic. “What kind of doctor stoops this low?” the caption read. “She’s so desperate for patients she’d sabotage someone else’s treatment!” Overnight, I became a pariah. The internet wolves descended, calling me unethical, incompetent, a jealous hack. My phone number and home address were leaked. I received a deluge of hate mail, death threats, even photoshopped images of my own tombstone. I had no choice but to move in with Gloria. My reputation was in ashes, but I couldn’t afford to care. Staring at the new surgical schedule Gloria had smuggled out for me, my palms began to sweat. Tomorrow, Jenna was scheduled to perform a gastric suture on a patient. I was no longer an employee. I was no longer even in the hospital. Let’s see if you can reach me now, Jenna. The next day, Gloria set up the camera, pointed at a live feed of the local news channel covering the hospital. I sat on the bed, my eyes glued to the clock, waiting for 10 a.m. When the alarm blared, nothing happened. Tears of relief streamed down my face. I had found it. The medium for the transfer had to be my physical presence in the hospital. I was free. But my relief lasted only five minutes. Then, the agony hit. A convulsion wracked my body. My stomach felt like it was being roasted over hot coals, a searing, fiery torment. I could feel the phantom needle piercing my flesh, the pull of the thread. A cold sweat beaded on my forehead, and the pain was so intense I didn’t even have the strength to scream. A moment later, blood welled up in my throat, and I choked, spitting a crimson spray onto the bedsheets. Gloria rushed to my side, forcing a painkiller into my mouth, but it was useless. It was like trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol. The torture lasted for thirty minutes before it began to subside, leaving me a trembling, hollowed-out wreck. I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat anything. The nausea was overwhelming. Just then, a notification popped up on Gloria’s phone. A top local news story. [Medical Miracle: Patient Eats Minutes After Stomach Surgery! A Genius Is Born!] The patient, a middle-aged man, looked euphoric. There he was, on camera, not a hint of discomfort on his face. He even grabbed two bottles of hard liquor and chugged them down for the reporters. “Dr. Reed is a living saint!” he boomed, his face flushed with excitement. “No anesthesia, and I didn’t feel a thing! Any other surgeon would have me on a liquid diet for months, but Dr. Reed said if I mess it up, she’ll just fix me again, pain-free! Now that’s a doctor who serves the people!” Watching the news, a bitter chill of hopelessness washed over me, wrapping me in a shroud of despair. Why? I wasn’t in the hospital. How could she still be doing this to me? My body was too weak to move, so I had Gloria arrange a video call with a journalist. I had chosen her carefully. Her name was Isabelle Vance. Years ago, she’d gone undercover in a human trafficking ring to expose them. She had even gotten herself committed to a psychiatric ward to uncover patient abuse. She was relentless in her pursuit of the truth. Over the call, Isabelle studied my pale, haggard face, her brow furrowed. “So, you’re claiming that Dr. Jenna Reed is using some kind of… supernatural means to transfer her patients’ pain onto you, all to build a reputation as a medical genius?” She replayed the video of me convulsing in agony, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Finally, she nodded. “I can’t stand by when someone’s life is being destroyed for another’s gain,” she said, her voice firm. “But that doesn’t mean I’m on your side yet. I will help you find the truth, but I reserve the right to believe you might be setting her up.” That was all I needed. I was running out of time. In two weeks, Jenna was scheduled to perform the brain tissue resection on the billionaire’s daughter. If I hadn’t found the truth by then, I would die all over again. Tears of raw fear streamed down my cheeks, my body shaking uncontrollably. I saw a flicker of sympathy in Isabelle’s eyes before she ended the call without another word. The days bled into one another until it was the night before the big surgery. Isabelle was now a true believer. She had hired an informant to pay the exorbitant fee for one of Jenna’s procedures and had watched from Gloria’s apartment as the surgery began. The moment the informant’s minor procedure started—a simple suture for a deep cut—I had screamed out in pain as faint, bleeding pinpricks appeared out of thin air on my own arm. But we were no closer to understanding how. We couldn’t find the mechanism, the key to stopping it. Despairing, I told Gloria to start looking into funeral plots for me. Hearing this, a look of fierce determination hardened Isabelle’s face. The next morning, she marched into the hospital with a camera crew, broadcasting live. “Dr. Reed!” she called out, her voice projecting through the crowded lobby. “A medical gift like yours should be shared with the world! By monopolizing this technique, how many people are being denied a chance at a painless recovery?” Her words struck a chord. Other doctors were resentful that their own waiting rooms were empty. Patients were frustrated that only the wealthy could afford a spot in Jenna’s schedule. A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Isabelle had given them a voice. “That’s right! This is a public hospital, for the people! How can you be so selfish?” “Is the billionaire’s daughter’s life more important than my grandfather’s? What are you trying to say?” Trapped, Jenna’s eyes shot daggers at Isabelle, but with the billionaire himself standing nearby, she forced a strained smile. “This technique was taught to me by my mentor. I… I don’t know how to teach it.” “Then let us record it,” Isabelle countered smoothly. “Let the other doctors learn by observing.” Jenna was cornered. Everyone was watching, and even the billionaire chimed in. “She’s right, Dr. Reed. A breakthrough like this should benefit everyone.” Through gritted teeth, Jenna nodded. Isabelle called it ‘recording a lesson,’ but the moment the camera was in the operating room, she started a live stream. The world watched as Jenna prepared for surgery. She didn’t even sterilize her scalpel. Dr. Finch and the billionaire both flinched. And then, her next move made jaws drop across the globe. She sliced open the girl’s scalp. As she did, a splitting agony tore through my own head. I stared at the screen, my vision blurring, forcing myself to focus on her hands. As she reached for the resection tool, I saw it. The one tiny detail I had ignored from the very beginning. I finally knew. I knew how she was transferring the pain. The truth had been right in front of me the whole time.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393610”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel