Author: Momo Chan

My back screamed with a throbbing ache shooting down my spine. Penniless, I asked each of my three sons for twenty dollars—just enough for pain relief patches. I never imagined those twenty dollars would make my daughters-in-law declare war. Jessica, my eldest’s wife, wrecked my living room. Brenda, the second, hurled curses at me. Jerry, the youngest’s wife, sobbed and threatened divorce. All accused me of favoritism, each convinced her husband shouldn’t have given me the money. A chill seeped into my bones. My 1,500 monthly social security check was split evenly—500 to each—every time. I gave them my life: babysitting, cleaning their homes, running a food stall at night. The stall’s Venmo? Rotated daily among them. Every cent I earned went to their pockets. But this time, I’d had enough. Silently, I booked a one-way bus ticket home. … Jessica stormed into my house like a hurricane, her face a mask of fury. She jabbed a finger at me, her voice shrill. “What is this act, Eleanor? Asking your son for twenty dollars? Don’t play the victim with me! You’re just trying to make me look bad. I don’t believe for a second you don’t have twenty bucks to your name! This is just another one of your little games, always favoring the other two. The second you need something, you come crawling to us. What, do we owe you?” Jessica had a temper like a lit firecracker, and for years, my eldest son, Mark, had bent to her every whim. He tried to placate her, stepping between us. “Jess, come on, don’t make a scene. It was twenty dollars. What’s the big deal if I give my own mother twenty dollars?” That only enraged her further. Her eyes widened, and she snatched the fruit bowl from the coffee table, smashing it on the floor. “What’s the big deal? What’s the big deal?” she shrieked. She pointed a trembling finger at the scattered organic Honeycrisp apples. “Do you know how much these cost? Eight dollars a pound! She can afford to buy fancy apples, but she can’t scrape together twenty dollars for a box of painkillers? This isn’t about the money, Mark! It’s about sending a message! She’s telling you that I, your wife, am a monster who mistreats her!” She was working herself into a frenzy. “And she didn’t just ask you! She asked David and Leo, too! She gives us her piddling five hundred dollars a month and then manipulates her sons into giving it right back. She gets to look like a saint while we look like ungrateful bitches. You think I’m stupid? You think I’m the easy one to bully?” The more she spoke, the more agitated she became. She grabbed a chair and brought it down on the television, the screen spiderwebbing with a sickening crack. She moved on to the tables, the windows, smashing everything in her path, her screams echoing in the small house. “You want to bully me? I’ll show you! My mother didn’t raise me to be your doormat! You want to play favorites? Fine! Your precious youngest is the golden child, and your eldest is just dirt under your feet! Well, if I can’t be happy, you sure as hell won’t be either!” Mark turned to me, his face a portrait of frustration. “Mom, why? Why did you have to ask me for money? You knew this would happen. It’s like you wanted us to fight!” I tried to explain, my voice barely a whisper over the ringing in my ears. “The apples were a gift. Maria, from the stall next to mine, her family grows them. She gave me a few, and I was going to divide them evenly among the kids.” I pulled out my phone, showing them the text messages. “I asked all three of you for the same amount because I was trying to be fair. I didn’t want anyone to feel singled out.” I thought that would calm her, but Jessica just let out a cold, sharp laugh. Her words were laced with venom. “Oh, the devil was an angel before he fell. You’re a real piece of work, Eleanor. On the surface, you’re the generous mother-in-law, giving away your whole pension. But behind our backs, you’re secretly taking it all back from your sons. You get the good reputation, and the money ends up right back in your pocket. You’re a damn genius.” I was about to protest, to tell them that I genuinely didn’t have a single dollar on me, that the pain in my back was so blinding I had to do something. But just then, the front door burst open again. It was Brenda and Jerry, with my other two sons in tow. They didn’t bother with greetings, just launched straight into a tirade. Brenda, my second daughter-in-law, pointed a finger right at my nose. “What the hell is wrong with you? God, I must have been cursed the day I married into this family! Are you that desperate for twenty bucks? You’re always fawning over the oldest or the youngest. What about us in the middle? We’re just chopped liver to you! You old hag, you treat me like this now? You just wait. When you’re on your deathbed, I won’t lift a finger. You can rot for all I care!” That set Jerry off. She started sobbing dramatically. “Mom, when have you ever favored us? Just because Leo is the youngest, they always accuse you of spoiling him, but you never do! If anything, you favor them! You make a pot of stew, and their kids get all the meat while mine gets the bony scraps! I can’t do this anymore! I want a divorce! Whoever wants to live in this hellhole can have it!” With a wail, Jerry ran out of the house. Leo, my youngest, chased after her, calling her name. David, my middle son, wrapped his arms around a fuming Brenda, murmuring apologies. “I’m so sorry, honey. You shouldn’t have to go through this. I’m so sorry…” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. From the time they were little boys, I had drilled one lesson into my sons: respect women. When you get married, your wife comes first. You listen to her. You cherish her. I taught them this because my own marriage had been a bitter pill I was forced to swallow every day. My husband was a cold, distant man who barely acknowledged my existence before he finally ran off with another woman, leaving me to fend for myself and our boys. I had to be both mother and father, the foundation that held our fragile world together. I never wanted my sons to inflict that kind of casual cruelty on their own wives. And now, looking at them, I saw that my lesson had stuck. They were nothing like their father. But in my quest to save their wives from my fate, I had damned myself to a life of ever-deepening misery. After the storm passed and my three daughters-in-law had left, I stood alone in the wreckage of my home. Shards of glass glittered on the floor like cruel diamonds. My heart didn’t just ache; it bled, drop by painful drop. I had tried, I truly had, to be a good mother-in-law. I was fair. I was just. I watched all their children, did all their housework. Every dollar I scraped together from my pension and my food stall, I divided equally among them. I bought them houses—three identical starter homes in the same subdivision, putting down every penny I had for the down payments. All they had to do was cover the mortgage. My life was a relentless cycle. One day at Mark’s house, cleaning. The next at David’s. Then Leo’s. I picked up the grandchildren from school, made them dinner, and then headed to the market to work my stall from 8 p.m. until 1 a.m. I survived on three, maybe four hours of sleep a night. I was a spinning top, constantly in motion, never allowed to rest. I sat there for hours, surrounded by the chaos, the silence deafening. Then, with a clarity that felt both terrifying and liberating, I confirmed my bus ticket for three days’ time. The next day, the calls started. One by one, my sons phoned, their voices edged with complaint. “Mom, where are you? You didn’t pick up the kids from school.” “Mom, what’s going on? Lily was late for school today, which made me late for work. This is messing everything up.” “Mom, stop sulking. If you want this family to function, you need to pull yourself together and focus on the kids.” A tiny, foolish part of me still held out hope. They were my flesh and blood. Surely, they cared about me, somewhere deep down. I tried one last time. “My back is in agony,” I said, my voice thin. “I can barely walk. I saw an old chiropractor, and he said I need to stay in bed for a couple of months. If I don’t, it could get serious.” Mark’s reply was dismissive. “Mom, every adult’s back hurts. It’s a minor thing, nothing to worry about. Don’t work yourself up.” This, from the same son who, just last month, had spent a hundred dollars on an imported back brace for his own mother-in-law. David was no better. “You bought those pain patches, right? You’ll be fine in a couple of days. It’s not like you do any heavy lifting, just watching the kids.” Leo, my youngest, was the cruelest of all. “Mom, you’re being scammed. That ‘old chiropractor’ is just trying to bleed you dry. How much money do you have left? You should transfer it to me. I’ll keep it safe for you so you don’t get tricked out of it.” That was it. The last flicker of hope died, leaving nothing but cold, hard ash. I had no expectations left for my three sons. That evening, as I lay in bed, the pain a hot poker in my spine, there was a soft knock on my door. It was Lily, my nine-year-old granddaughter, Jessica and Mark’s daughter. I had raised her since the day she was born. She crept into the room. “Grandma,” she said softly, “Mom’s really mad you didn’t go to the market tonight. She wants you to go.” “I can’t, sweetie,” I told her. “Grandma’s back hurts too much.” Lily sighed, her young face filled with a sympathy far beyond her years. “I know. I told her your back was bad. But she said this month has 31 days, so it’s her turn to get an extra day of the stall money. She said Aunt Brenda and Aunt Jerry got the extra day the last two times, so it’s not fair. You have to go, or she’ll lose out.” I’d been running that little food stall for thirty years. It was that stall, along with my salary, that had put a roof over their heads, paid for their weddings, and supported their families. After they married, Jessica was the first one to get her hooks into it. She’d secretly taped her own Venmo QR code over mine on the cart, pleading that her family had an emergency and she needed cash fast. I couldn’t say no. But to be fair, I let Brenda and Jerry do the same for a few days. Once they got a taste of that easy money, there was no going back. They devised a system: a daily rotation of their payment accounts on my cart. When I pointed out I’d have no money to buy supplies, they’d waved it off. “Don’t worry, Mom, we’ll cover the costs, split it three ways. You just do the cooking and selling.” They had been so sweet then. “You’re so good to us, Mom,” they’d cooed. “When you’re old, we’ll take care of you just like you were our own mother.” But the more I gave, the more they demanded. Lily’s voice pulled me back to the present. She squeezed my hand, mumbling, “Why does this month have to have 31 days? Why couldn’t it just be 30?” Just then, Jessica appeared in the doorway, her face like a thundercloud. Seeing me in bed only made it darker. “Well, Lily’s grandmother,” she said, her voice dripping with ice. “What is the meaning of this?” I met her gaze, my own face a cold, blank mask. “There is no meaning.” Jessica’s face flushed a blotchy red. The verbal machine gun started up again. “You talk and talk about being fair, but what do you call this? It’s my turn to get the extra day’s earnings, and suddenly you’re too ‘sick’ to work! If it was Brenda’s turn, or Jerry’s, you’d crawl to that stall on your hands and knees if you had to! You play these games, you show your favoritism, and you think there won’t be consequences? Fine. You want to make a point? So will I. If you don’t go to that stall tonight, you can forget about us ever taking care of you when you’re old and useless!” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I can’t even count on you now. What makes you think I’d ever count on you in the future?” Jessica froze, stunned that I had talked back. She stomped her foot.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393494”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My colleague was just joking around, slapping a parking ticket on my windshield and snapping a picture to prank me about a violation. I fell for it. Logging onto the city’s traffic violations website, I wasn’t prepared for what I found. It wasn’t a parking ticket. It was a crystal-clear, high-resolution photo from a traffic cam yesterday. In the photo, Julian’s first love, Claire, was in the passenger seat. She was unbuckled, leaning across the console to press a kiss to his cheek. And Julian… he was smiling. A radiant, unreserved smile I’d never once seen him wear for me. Staring at that image, a cold clarity washed over me. This one-sided devotion, this decade of chasing a ghost—it was time to let go. I quietly paid the fine online. Then, I drove myself to the clinic and had the abortion. I drafted the divorce papers and had them messengered to his office. From this day forward, the mountains are just mountains, and I am just me. … My best friend, Tessa, got the news and burst through my door, frantic. “What the hell is going on with you and Julian? Did he cheat on you?” I lifted my swollen, red-rimmed eyes, managing a smile that felt more like a grimace. Ten years of looking up to him, of orbiting his world, had earned me a marriage that was nothing more than polite, respectful distance. I had mistaken it for happiness. Today, a single photograph had shattered that illusion. Marrying me… for Julian, it had always been a compromise, hadn’t it? Tessa looked at my pathetic, crumbling state, and her anger flared. “I told you, Liv. I told you Julian Vance was no good, but you wouldn’t listen. You were determined to follow that path until it led you off a cliff.” “Good riddance, I say! It killed me watching you trail after him like some pathetic puppy!” She took a breath, her tone softening slightly. “Listen, Ian has that international project he needs someone to lead. Why don’t you think about it?” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I managed a small nod, and only then did I realize tears were already streaming down my face, silent and unstoppable. I fumbled around for a tissue, but Tessa just sighed, pulling me into a hug. “Don’t hold it in. Just cry.” And I did. The dam of my composure broke, and I clung to her, sobbing out all the grievance. After she dropped me home, she had to run. I called Ian to get the details about the project and realized it was a perfect fit for my skills. I accepted on the spot. The departure date was in one week. I could handle the work handover online. Later, washing my face, I caught my reflection in the mirror—this haggard, miserable-looking woman. For the first time, I felt a surge of disgust at myself. My phone buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. “Olivia,” Julian’s voice, infuriatingly polite. “Could you do me a favor and bring my black suit to the office? Thanks.” Habit took over, and I agreed before I could stop myself. The line went dead before the wrongness of it all sank in. After a moment of hesitation, I decided not to call back and refuse. Julian was often “too busy” to come home anyway. This was my chance to pick up the signed divorce papers in person. When I arrived, Claire was leaning over Julian’s shoulder, both of them focused on his computer screen. A stray strand of her hair brushed against his cheek. He gently caught it, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that stole my breath. His eyes flickered up and met mine. The softness in his expression vanished, replaced by a cool annoyance. “What took you so long?” he asked, his tone accusatory. Claire smiled, a soothing hand on his arm, and took the suit from me. “Don’t be harsh, Julian. He’s just stressed out by the team. Thank you for bringing this, Olivia. Don’t mind him.” She played the part of the gracious lady of the house perfectly, making me feel like the shameful intruder. If this had happened right after she’d returned to the country and become his secretary, I would have erupted. But now, my voice was flat, devoid of the fury she expected. “Are the papers signed?” Julian’s eyebrow arched. He let Claire help him into the fresh suit jacket. “What papers?” “Julian, we should go. We’re going to be late,” Claire interjected, cutting off our conversation. He gave a slight nod, tossing a dismissive remark over his shoulder as he followed her out. “We’ll talk at home.” As they walked away, Claire glanced back at me, a triumphant, unconcealed smirk on her face. I searched his desk, but the divorce agreement was nowhere to be found. My hand accidentally nudged the mouse, and the computer screen lit up. His desktop wallpaper filled the screen: Julian and Claire, leaning against a seaside railing, their gazes locked, their faces alight with a deep, shared affection. Another intimacy I had never known. I grabbed my bag and fled. Back home, I collapsed behind the front door and wept again. Letting go… it was so much harder than I’d imagined. But it was okay. One day, I would rip Julian out of my heart, root and stem. Mindlessly scrolling through videos to numb the pain, a “People You May Know” suggestion popped up. I meant to swipe past it, but my thumb slipped and opened the profile. It was Claire’s. The latest video was from a funeral. The caption read: In these difficult times, I’m so glad I have you by my side. The deceased was just a distant uncle of hers. And there, standing beside her, was Julian, playing the part of the devoted partner. Watching him on screen, so present and attentive, a bitter realization dawned on me. Julian wasn’t always “drowning in work.” He was just never available for me. He’d used that same excuse—”work is just too crazy right now”—to leave our own wedding reception halfway through. I remembered the flicker of apology in his eyes and thought it was guilt. I had even comforted him, telling him not to worry. How laughable it all seemed now. He was probably already regretting it back then. 2 That night, as expected, Julian didn’t come home. But I saw him the next day at the university’s alumni homecoming. He was on stage, holding Claire’s hand as they presented a large donation. I stood in the audience and listened as he shamelessly introduced her to the host as “the most important person in my life.” In that moment, I felt a wave of relief that I had honored his request for a “low-key” wedding and hadn’t invited a single friend from college. As if sensing my presence, he turned his head, and his eyes met mine across the crowd. A frown creased his brow, but his hand remained firmly clasped around Claire’s. A bitter taste filled my mouth. I lowered my head and walked away, heading toward the grassy banks of Mirror Lake on campus. Footsteps followed me. “You came to the homecoming? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have picked you up.” No mention of holding her hand. No explanation. No flicker of panic at being caught. A sardonic laugh escaped me. “Is there even room for me in your car anymore?” Julian rubbed the bridge of his nose, a picture of weary frustration. “Liv, do you have to be so aggressive? What happened to the considerate, understanding woman I know?” The woman I used to be? What was she like? She worshipped him as the god who had pulled her from the mire. His smile was her sun, his frown her storm. Her entire world revolved around him, a self-erased satellite in his orbit. Honestly, if Julian had just told me he wanted to be with Claire, I would have stepped aside. I knew from the start that our marriage was just a spiteful rebound on his part, a way to get back at her after they broke up. I was the secret admirer who saw it all unfold and willingly walked into the trap. Now that their old flame was rekindled, he should have been pushing me out the door. His deliberate avoidance of the topic was something I just couldn’t understand. “Julian, there you are!” Claire’s voice called out. She approached us, navigating the soft grass in her high heels. She feigned surprise at seeing me. “Oh, Olivia, you’re here too?” She walked right up to Julian, straightening his collar with a familiar ease. “The dean is looking for you for a photo. We should head back.” Julian glanced at me, waiting for a response I wouldn’t give. He sighed, then said, “Wait for me. We’ll leave together.” “Don’t you have that conference call to rush back for?” Claire reminded him with a sweet smile, then turned to me, her voice dripping with mock apology. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get a cab home, Olivia.” Julian hesitated. Suddenly, Claire shrieked, “A snake!” In a flash, Julian shoved me aside. He scooped a frantic Claire into his arms and sprinted toward the safety of the paved path. And me, standing right at the water’s edge, I was the one he pushed. The shove sent me stumbling backward, right off the bank and into the lake. The summer water of Mirror Lake should have been warm. But as it closed over me, it felt bone-chillingly cold, a frigid shock that seeped into my very marrow. Through the shimmering surface, I saw Julian’s eyes—wide with guilt and panic. He started rushing toward me, but I had already scrambled back onto the bank before he could reach me. “Liv, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see…” I managed a weak smile. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” Without another glance, I turned and walked away, my body and soul dripping with a cold I couldn’t shake. I saw Julian’s fists clench at his sides. For the first time, he looked as if he realized I was slipping away, truly out of his reach. He started to follow, but a glance back at the still-trembling Claire stopped him. Instead, a text message arrived: Go home first. I’ll explain later. I let out a hollow scoff. Explain what? That his first instinct was to protect her? Or that his solution was to throw me into a lake? Whichever it was, I didn’t want to hear it. I was tired of his self-serving lies. That evening, a troubled Julian came home early for once. He found the kitchen cold and dark, me quietly eating takeout on the couch. A strange sense of relief seemed to settle over him. “Is this how you take care of yourself when I’m not here?” he murmured, his tone chiding but gentle. “We should hire a housekeeper. There’s too much to do around here. It breaks my heart to see you so tired.” My hand, holding my fork, paused mid-air. What a considerate, caring husband. These were the exact kinds of empty pleasantries he’d used to make me believe that, over time, he’d actually fallen for me. They were the reason I had become so hopelessly dependent on him. But a lie is still a lie. I wiped my mouth and spoke, my voice steady. “Let’s get a divorce.” 3 Julian froze for a second, then let out a weary laugh. “Still throwing a tantrum, are we?” he said, stepping closer. “Claire and I are in the past. You and I are married now. You need to trust your husband.” He reached out to pat my head, his tone placating, as if offering me an easy way to back down. I didn’t take it. “Make your own dinner.” It was perhaps the first time I had ever flatly refused him, and he looked genuinely taken aback. I had no intention of continuing the conversation. I moved to sidle past him toward the bedroom, but his hand shot out, grabbing my arm. “Liv, are you not feeling well?” he asked, his voice still infuriatingly gentle, painting me as the irrational one. I snapped. “What if I’m not? In five years of marriage, have you ever actually cared?” “We’re husband and wife. Who else would I care about?” “Fine. Then tell me, when was my last period?” His mouth opened, but no words came out. Of course he wouldn’t know. Just like he didn’t know I was pregnant. I’d had morning sickness in front of him several times, and he’d just casually told me to take some antacids. “But you know Claire’s, don’t you?” I stared at him, tears welling in my eyes. I expected him to get angry, to yell, to desperately deny his relationship with her. He did none of those things. He just sighed, a deep, world-weary sound. “You need to calm down. I’ll be working late at the office tonight.” There it was again. His escape hatch. Every time I tried to confront him, he’d retreat behind the shield of “work.” A cold war waged under the guise of mutual respect, and Julian was a master of it. Something inside me broke. I grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and hurled it at him. He didn’t dodge in time. It struck him on the temple, leaving an angry red mark. His eyes, which had been full of weary patience, slowly filled with rage. “Olivia, there’s a limit to this nonsense.” He turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving me in a crushing, dead silence. There’s no point in screaming into a valley that gives no echo; you only exhaust yourself. I slid down to the floor, my gaze landing on our wedding photo on the wall. I started to laugh, but the laughter choked into sobs. I don’t know how long I sat there, lost in a daze, before my phone rang. I pressed the answer button, and Julian’s furious voice crackled through the speaker. “Olivia, get over here and control your damn friend.” The mention of Tessa jolted me to my feet. I hung up and rushed to the restaurant he’d named. The moment I stepped inside, I saw it: Claire, clutching her cheek, weeping pitifully in Julian’s arms, while Tessa was being held back by two waiters, looking ready to commit murder. I hurried to Tessa’s side, trying to calm her down. Julian didn’t even look at me. His face was a thundercloud. “Tessa, don’t think for a second that because you’re Olivia’s friend, I won’t touch you.” His voice was dangerously low. “Apologize to Claire. Now.” “Screw you!” Tessa spat. “Don’t you dare try to frame me, you cheating piece of trash! I wish I’d slapped her, but I never got the chance!” Julian’s anger pivoted and crashed down on me. “Olivia, what kind of lies have you been feeding her? I told you Claire and I are just friends! Are you deaf?” His voice rose, drawing stares from the other patrons. “Today, neither of you is leaving until you apologize to Claire.” “Fine,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. “But before we do anything, let’s have the manager pull up the security footage.” Tessa’s eyes lit up. Claire, however, just cried harder. “It’s okay, Julian, forget it,” she sobbed. “I… I didn’t realize Olivia misunderstood me so deeply. Maybe… maybe you should just stay away from me from now on.” With that, she turned and ran out of the restaurant, tears streaming down her face. Julian shot me one last venomous look before rushing after her. “Olivia,” he bit out before he left, “if anything happens to Claire, I swear, we are done.” My throat felt tight. I lowered my eyes, saying nothing.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393493”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My classmate Missy—now engaged to the city’s richest bachelor, Carter Thorne—sent a group chat invite to everyone but me. “I’ll serve tea to Carter’s great-grandaunt tomorrow,” she wrote. “Certain jealous people should stay away.” It started when a photo surfaced of me kissing Carter’s forehead, calling him “sweet boy.” For two years, Missy branded me a homewrecker and bullied me relentlessly. I replied: “Even if invited, I’m busy overseeing my junior’s engagement.” The next day, they ambushed me at the party. “You shameless bitch!” they screamed, breaking my hands, killing my cat, and locking me in a dog cage after pouring chili oil on me. Meanwhile, Missy knelt for hours, begging the great-grandaunt to accept her tea. Too bad my hands were broken. I couldn’t drink it anyway. 1 Carter Thorne, the powerful tycoon who ruled the city’s business world, was kneeling respectfully before me, docile as a puppy. “My fiancée, Missy Vance, is a sweet and sensible girl. I’ve brought her here today for Great-Grandaunt’s approval. She’ll serve you tea and pay her respects, and from now on, she’ll join me in honoring you.” Sweet and sensible? The memory of Missy’s vicious words in the group chat made me frown. Carter’s grandfather, his hair already silver, saw my displeasure and immediately dropped to his knees, assuming he’d overstepped by arranging the engagement without my consent. “Although the younger generation is quite fond of this girl, if you do not approve, Aunt, then she is not worthy of marrying into the Thorne family.” The Thorne family was a century-old dynasty with strict, unbending rules. Though I was young, my seniority in the family was absolute. I held the reins of the family’s resources and its very future. To the outside world, he was the revered patriarch of the Thorne family, but in my presence, he had to kneel, never daring to cross the line. I gave him a cold smile and gestured for him to rise. “It’s fine. Let things proceed as planned.” She didn’t want me at her engagement party? I’d like to see how Missy Vance planned on marrying into my family. After they had all respectfully departed, a message popped up on my phone. The contact name read: That Annoying Dog, Damien Sterling. “Babe, when are we going to go public? If you don’t give me a proper title soon, I’m going to have to show up at your door and demand one.” The four great families of the capital were currently in a delicate balance of power. Damien Sterling was the formidable chairman who presided over all four, including the Thornes. The man everyone else feared was a shameless flirt when it came to me. I couldn’t resist teasing him. “Then by all means, come.” After I was done with my duties, I realized I was starving. I picked up my cat, Patches, and wandered through the manor. The engagement party was being set up in the side hall, with staff already arranging decorations. The evening’s festivities hadn’t begun, and the guests hadn’t arrived yet. Everyone was busy. When I reached the main dining hall, I saw that the luncheon table, which should have been cleared hours ago, was untouched. I remembered then: no one eats until I do. I sat down and began to feast. I’d barely taken two bites when a sharp blow struck the back of my head, nearly sending my face into the bowl. A woman’s shrill voice screeched in my ear. “You filthy beggar! I haven’t even eaten yet, and you dare to steal food?” Clutching the throbbing back of my head, I looked up and met Missy’s eyes. She had no idea that the haute couture gown she was wearing was one I had personally selected, yet her eyes were filled with nothing but contempt for me. “Skylar Thorne, have you no shame? I told you not to come. Not only did you sneak in, but you’re freeloading here too.” Her three lackeys stood beside her, their faces mirroring her disdain. “Do you know where you are? This is the Thorne estate. A poor country bumpkin like you doesn’t belong here.” “Look at what she’s wearing, so provocative. She’s obviously here to seduce Mr. Thorne and ruin the engagement party.” “Exactly! And she had the nerve to call him her ‘sweet boy.’ Mr. Thorne is the future head of this family. Who the hell do you think you are?” I gritted my teeth and retorted, “When I call him my sweet boy, it’s an honor. He should be smiling in his sleep.” To gain my approval, Carter had gone to great lengths to please me. In a moment of affection, I had kissed his forehead like one would a cherished junior. He was overjoyed and posted about it online, which led Missy to believe I was trying to seduce him. That was the beginning of two years of relentless bullying. They tore up my homework, stuffed dead rats in my desk, and poured red ink on my chair. They even started rumors online that I was sleeping with a middle-aged teacher and that my sick days were for abortions. For two years, my reputation at school was in tatters. I reported them to the police time and again, but it always ended with a forced, meaningless apology. I never imagined she would be audacious enough to bring her cruelty into my own home. “I am Carter’s great-…” Before I could finish, Missy grabbed the soup tureen in front of me and dumped it over my head. “Ah!” The scalding broth streamed down my head. A searing pain shot through me, so intense it felt like my scalp was shrinking. Before I could recover, Missy grabbed my ponytail and slammed my head against the table. Bang, bang, bang. My face repeatedly hit the hard surface. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I let out a choked cry of agony. Missy burst out laughing. “Hahaha, listen to her. I bet she sounds just as slutty when she’s servicing a man.” The thought seemed to enrage her further. She ordered her friends to hold me down. “Since you dared to steal food, we’ll break your hands.” “Missy, you wouldn’t dare!” I screamed. The words had barely left my mouth when she grabbed the heavy tureen and brought it down on my hands. Again and again, a piercing, bone-deep pain shot through my fingers. I was held down so tightly I couldn’t move, forced to watch as she smashed my slender, white fingers, twisting them into grotesque, unnatural angles. Just then, Patches, who had been bristling with rage, leaped at Missy, scratching her hands. “Ah! You damn animal!” Missy kicked him, sending him flying across the room. “Patches!” While they were distracted, I fought through the pain, broke free, and threw myself in front of my cat. “Don’t you touch him! If Carter finds out, he’ll never forgive you!” Patches was a gift from my grandfather; he meant the world to me. The previous family head had been stripped of his title and cast out by the family council for accidentally stepping on Patches’ paw and making me frown. He was now a beggar. Carter had earned my approval only after meticulously caring for Patches, even catching his diarrhea in his bare hands. “That’s right,” one of the girls said, a flicker of doubt in her eyes. “I’ve seen the Thorne family’s cat in the news several times. It looks exactly like this one.” Missy, however, only grew angrier. “Are you trying to threaten me, you pathetic loser?” she sneered. “There are plenty of animals that look alike. Your cat is as worthless as you are. And even if it is the Thorne family’s cat, you think Carter would blame me over a damn animal?” A cold smile touched her lips as she exchanged a look with her friends. “Kill the beast. I’ll take responsibility.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393492”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day the Hawthorne family, Miami’s wealthiest dynasty, came to claim me, I was one of Hollywood’s brightest rising stars. The whole city’s paparazzi were there, live-streaming my homecoming. But Brielle, the Hawthornes’ adopted daughter, stood at the door, blocking my way. “Sister,” she began, her voice dripping with faux concern, “we’ve looked into you. You’re famous for a… certain scandalous art-house film. The Hawthorne family has its standards. You’ll have to change your clothes in front of everyone before you can come in.” She smiled sweetly. “Father said that when he and my brother aren’t home, I’m the lady of the house. I hope you can understand.” In my past life, I would have been cautious, desperate to protect my image, and would have probably swallowed my pride. But this wasn’t my past life. I was reborn. I kicked over a large, ornate planter by the door, sending dirt scattering across the pristine marble. Shoving the stunned Brielle aside, I scoffed. “A joke! You want to strip me? You’re not worthy.” “Every inch of me is insured for more than you’re worth. If you so much as pluck a single hair from my head, you couldn’t afford it.” “‘Lady of the house’? We’ll see how long it takes for you to be on your knees, begging me.” 1 The moment the words left my mouth, a tidal wave of paparazzi surged forward, flashes erupting like a lightning storm, nearly blinding me. “Marissa! The rumors are true! You’re the long-lost Hawthorne heiress!” Brielle reached for my dress, and I slapped her hand away. “Don’t you dare!” “Even if I weren’t a Hawthorne, I’m still a multi-million-dollar celebrity! I’m warning you, touch me again, and you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” Brielle clutched her face, her eyes burning with fury. “You…!” This was the kind of raw confrontation the paparazzi lived for. They shoved their microphones in Brielle’s face. “Ms. Hawthorne! Marissa is a huge star! Aren’t you happy to have a sister like her?” “And besides, she’s the real Hawthorne by blood. Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” A slow, calculating smile spread across Brielle’s face. “Of course I’m happy to have a sister. But this… this was Father’s wish.” “And I’m about to launch my own career, you know. I understand what’s acceptable and what isn’t. I would never sell my body for a bit of fame. So let’s be clear, no one here is better than anyone else.” She looked at me, a condescending tilt to her head. “Today, as her older sister and the lady of this house, I’m simply teaching her the Hawthorne way.” I let out a sharp laugh. “‘Lady of the house’? We’ll see what the real Hawthornes have to say about that. For now, you’re nothing but a cuckoo in the nest who thinks she’s a swan.” Just then, the family butler stepped forward, whispering to Brielle but speaking loud enough for the closest cameras to hear. He glanced at me with a sneer. “The master said actresses love their drama. He told you not to be afraid. You are the only daughter of his heart. No one will bully you!” 2 The butler’s words sent the paparazzi into a frenzy. “The master? Does that mean Marissa’s return won’t change Brielle’s status at all?” “Looks like it! So what if she’s back in the family? She’s still second-class!” My phone buzzed violently. My agent, Amy, was on the line, her voice a shrill shriek in my ear. “Marissa! My god, are you insane?! Get back here right now! Forget this family reunion!” “The live-stream has gone viral! The internet is exploding! They’re all saying you’re an ungrateful brat! This is the Hawthorne family we’re talking about!” “Do you have any idea how much Hawthorne Capital has invested in our agency?! Are you trying to kill me?!” I listened to her tirade and let out a soft laugh. “It’s fine, Amy. Just sit back and watch the show. If anything goes wrong, I’ll take the heat.” Amy’s voice was thick with tears. “My sweet girl, do you know who Kurt Hawthorne is? He’s the heir! He’s famous for being obsessed with his sister!” “You’ve made an enemy of Brielle. You think he’ll let you get away with this? The second Hawthorne Capital pulls their funding, you’ll be the first one the agency shelves!” Suddenly, there was a commotion on her end of the line. “Oh, hell! I have to go! We just got a message from Hawthorne Capital’s business affairs! Listen to me, Marissa! Come back now!” She hung up. I smiled to myself. She didn’t know that I was a major, silent partner in our agency. I’d used the fortune I’d built to invest, but I’d kept it quiet, not wanting to be accused of getting ahead because of my money. The Hawthorne family was going to ‘shelve’ me? Not likely. Seeing me hang up, Brielle leaned in, her voice a low, taunting whisper. “Looks like my brother has already made his move. I’d listen if I were you.” “So what if you have Hawthorne blood? With an attitude like that, you’ll never set foot in this house again.” Just then, a flame-red Ferrari screeched to a halt in front of the gate. The legendary Hawthorne heir, Kurt Hawthorne, stepped out, his face a mask of cold fury. Brielle’s expression transformed instantly. She ran to him, her voice a delicate, wounded cry as she grabbed his arm. “Kurt… you’re finally back…” Kurt walked straight up to me, his eyes raking over me from head to toe. “You’re Marissa?” The paparazzi held their breath, their faces alight with glee. They stretched their necks. “Mr. Hawthorne! The hottest rising star, Marissa, is your long-lost sister! How do you feel?!” Kurt scoffed. “Marissa may share our blood, that’s true. But Brielle has been in our family for years. She is, and always will be, the only sister in my heart.” “Besides,” he continued, his voice dripping with contempt, “Brielle is a few months older than her. For Marissa to come here on her first day and show her such disrespect… it’s clear she’s had a lack of proper upbringing.” My phone rang. It was my adoptive mother. She must have seen the live-stream and was furious. I ignored the call. Kurt looked at me, pressing his advantage. “I don’t care what kind of star you are. The Hawthorne estate is not a stage for your publicity stunts. If you plan on making a scene here, don’t blame me for being merciless.” The paparazzi buzzed, turning all their cameras on me, waiting for my response. I met the cameras with a smirk. “This is being live-streamed to the entire country. Everyone can see what’s happening. Who was it that tried to strip my clothes off just now? And somehow I’m the one making a scene?” “And didn’t you just pull the funding from my projects? What’s with the self-righteous act now?” “I had no idea the great Hawthorne family was so good at twisting the truth.” My words sent the live-stream chat into an explosion. A tidal wave of supportive comments flooded the screen. I didn’t even need to look to know public opinion was on my side. Brielle’s face tightened, but she quickly shifted back into her innocent-little-damsel routine. “My brother didn’t mean it like that. He just… he can’t stand to see me get hurt.” She paused, then added in a tone of magnanimous charity, “We’re the Hawthornes, Miami’s wealthiest family. We can certainly afford to feed one more person.” Her eyes reddened. “What happened today was just standard Hawthorne protocol. My sister must have misunderstood. After all, she didn’t have much of an education. She’s been working since she was very young, so she has more… real-world experience than I do. It’s only natural she’d think the worst of people.” I laughed coldly and raised my hand as if to strike her. She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and cowering back. I lowered my hand, my smile dripping with scorn. “Do you know who the first person to seek me out for a DNA test was?” “Let me tell you something. Whether or not the Hawthorne family accepts me isn’t up to a little stray like you.” 3 All I knew was that after I went missing, my birth mother searched for me for years, until, consumed by guilt and despair, she took her own life. And I, after I became famous, was on screens everywhere. My grandmother saw me and recognized me instantly as her long-lost granddaughter. She came to my door time and time again, begging me to take a DNA test, desperate for me to come home. The person who wanted me back was never the high-and-mighty Mr. Hawthorne, and it certainly wasn’t the arrogant Kurt Hawthorne. Brielle’s eyes flew open. “So what if Grandmother recognized you!” she shrieked. “This is the Hawthorne house! What does her word matter here?” She pointed a trembling finger at me. “My brother is the one Father chose! He is the one and only heir to the Hawthorne fortune! If he says you can’t come in, you’ll never set foot past this gate!” I laughed inwardly. She really wasn’t family, was she? She didn’t even know who really called the shots here. I gave her a cold stare, pulled over a chair, and sat down with a cool, unbothered air. A smirk played on my lips. “Fine. Then we’ll wait for the master of the house to return.” Seeing the viewer count on the live-stream skyrocket, I smiled. If I didn’t blow this up today, these two would never learn who was really in charge. I was casually scrolling through the live chat when a furious roar cut through the air. “What is going on?! When did the Hawthorne estate become a public stage?!” I looked up. It was Arthur Hawthorne, his eyes wide with rage. I rose slowly, a mocking smile on my face. “No one’s treating this place like a stage. But some people seem to have forgotten their place and started thinking they’re the masters here.” Arthur’s eyes scanned the forest of cameras, and his face turned a furious shade of purple. “Henderson!” he bellowed at the butler. “Get these reporters out of here!” The paparazzi erupted. “On what grounds? We’re just filming Marissa!” “What a tyrant! The great Arthur Hawthorne won’t even let his own daughter in the door! Is there no decency?!” A vein throbbed in Arthur’s temple. “My daughter? Who knows if she’s just after our money! Don’t think that filming a few sleazy movies makes you a princess!” “We’re gracious enough to acknowledge her, and instead of being grateful, she comes here to ruin the Hawthorne family’s century-old reputation!” I looked at him and felt a profound sense of irony. This man, who had changed his own name just to marry into wealth, had the audacity to lecture me. Seeing my silence, Kurt thought I was scared. He arrogantly ordered the security guards, “Get them all out of here! And for the next few days, if I see a single negative headline about the Hawthorne family, there will be consequences!” The reporters exchanged uneasy glances. Most of them reluctantly lowered their cameras, seemingly forgetting that this was all being broadcast live. Brielle pointed at me, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Looks like there won’t be a family reunion today. When the great star is ready to change her clothes and walk over a pit of fire, we can talk.” Arthur looked at me with disgust. “Don’t think a little shared blood gives you the right to throw your weight around in our house! We don’t welcome women who sell their bodies!” “Now get out, before you dirty our home!” Just then, a powerful, commanding voice boomed from the entrance. “I’d like to see who dares touch a single hair on my granddaughter’s head!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393491”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After our parents’ divorce, my sister Serena—playing the saint—discovered our father was dating a Manhattan socialite. Desperate to become an heiress, she came to me with crocodile tears. “Aria,” she whispered, “Dad gets violent when drunk. Let me take the hardship for you.” With that, she left our mother’s arms and dramatically joined our father. In my past life, Serena had stolen Mom’s secrets, learning our grandmother was a Boston elite matriarch. She stayed with Mom, expecting a lavish life—but Mom worked as a cleaner and hot dog vendor, barely affording rent. Resentment festered in her. Meanwhile, as the daughter of a social-climbing tycoon, I lived in luxury—acing the SATs, racing professionally, and winning figure skating titles. Serena’s jealousy turned deadly. After a race, she stabbed me seven times in public. Reborn on divorce day, I watched her make the opposite choice—a six-year-old “martyr” smirking in triumph. But she didn’t know—she’d just chosen a fate worse than a dog’s. 1 I lowered my head, hiding the inferno of hatred in my eyes. I heard our father, Steven, ask, “Serena, you want to come with me?” He was actually more interested in me. Like Serena, he had pursued my mother for her status as a Boston heiress, dreaming of marrying into a dynasty. But my grandmother, with her sharp intuition, saw the rot in his character and forbade the marriage. Just as my mother hesitated between love and family, Steven got her pregnant and convinced her to run away with him, assuming my grandmother would eventually relent. He was wrong. Once it was clear Grandmother wouldn’t acknowledge my mother, Steven began cheating. He posed as a bohemian artist, charming his way into the beds of powerful, wealthy young women. The reason for this divorce was that he’d finally caught his big fish: Victoria Sterling, the woman who became my stepmother in my last life. As a Manhattan socialite, Victoria was adored and untethered, but she couldn’t escape her one duty: a strategic marriage. When it was discovered she was barren, her family cast her out. Shunned and ignored, she appeared to waste her time with a parade of male models, but in secret, she was meticulously, ruthlessly devouring the family business from the inside out. Now in her thirties, her empire was taking shape, and she wanted to marry a man who already had a daughter. Steven didn’t hesitate to pit Serena and me against each other. After a screening by Victoria’s team of “experts,” I was deemed the more suitable candidate to be her heiress. In my last life, ignorant of Steven’s scheme, I dutifully went with him. The moment we arrived at the Sterling mansion, Victoria threw me into the crocodile pit. “Aria,” she’d said, her voice a silken thread, “if you want to be my daughter, you must first learn to survive. The gators will be released in three hours. Prepare yourself.” “No!” I thrashed in the water, screaming in terror. “Don’t let them eat me! Please!” The elegant woman’s voice remained impossibly gentle. “You have to save yourself, little bird.” 2 I cried, pleading with Steven, who was hiding behind Victoria. “Daddy! Help me! Please, save me!” He ignored my terror, echoing her words. “Aria, your mother is right. You need to listen. For Daddy’s sake, you have to survive!” “She’s not my mother!” I shrieked. Victoria bent down slightly, tilting my face up. “Aria. If you want a mother’s love from me, you must forget Clara completely. Be a good girl, pass this test, and you can take my name.” I didn’t answer. Instead, instinct took over, and I sank my teeth into her wrist, hard. Steven scrambled down, prying at my jaw. “Aria! You little wolf! Let go!” Victoria was unruffled. “You can bite through my hand, Aria, but the crocodiles will still be behind you in exactly one hundred and sixty minutes.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I was powerless. I released her and swam to the iron bars of the enclosure, forcing down my fear, studying the dark shapes gliding beneath the surface and the layout of my prison. I had to live. After three days of a brutal battle of wits with the crocodiles, Victoria had them killed. Without giving me a moment to breathe, she locked me in a dog cage and fed me raw meat. Her “training” never stopped. As I grew up, I became exceptional. In public, when she needed me to be her showpiece, she was the epitome of a loving, gentle mother. But any time I faltered, any time I failed to meet her impossible standards, she would devise new ways to punish and torture me. So, while the world knew me as the “All-Around Genius,” my soul was a warped, twisted thing. If Serena hadn’t killed me, it was only a matter of time before I took Victoria down with me. Since I was reborn, I would, of course, grant Serena her wish. Let her go be Victoria’s dog. I would stay with my mother and heal myself. 3 Terrified of missing her chance to change her destiny, Serena hugged Steven’s leg and nodded vigorously. “Daddy! I want to go with you! I’ll stay with you and take care of you!” Steven hesitated. Just then, my mother knelt down to my eye level, her voice soft. “Aria, what about you? Do you want to be with Mommy or Daddy?” “Mommy,” I said, without a second’s thought. Though Mom was heartbroken to lose Serena, she wouldn’t force me. My decisive choice moved her deeply. She pulled me into a hug, her voice thick with emotion as she made a solemn promise. “Aria, I will make sure you grow up healthy and happy.” I answered with all the sincerity I could muster. “I’ll always stay with you, Mommy.” Last time, Mom gave all her love to Serena, who threw it away. This time, I would cherish it. Steven suddenly shouted, “Clara, I haven’t agreed! What gives you the right to take Aria?” Mom ignored him, whispering for me to take Serena to our room to pack our things. I nodded obediently. Then I walked to Serena, took her hand, and forced my voice into the innocent tone of a seven-year-old. “Come on, Serena. Let’s go upstairs.” A flash of unchildlike malice crossed her six-year-old face. She quickly masked it, giving me a dismissive nod. I hid my own seething hatred, leading her up the stairs while my mind raced, searching for an escape. We’d only taken a few steps when she shoved me from behind. In that split second, an idea sparked. I let her momentum carry me backward, intentionally letting my forehead slam into the sharp corner of the banister. Unfortunately, my seven-year-old body wasn’t as tough as my mind. When I hit the ground, a wave of real, agonizing pain washed over me, and a genuine scream of pain tore from my lips. Serena rushed to my side, rubbing her eyes and fake-crying. “Aria, what happened! Oh, no, I’m so scared…” Mom’s first instinct was to call 911. Steven, however, stormed over and roared at me. “Aria! How dare you fall like that! What if it leaves a scar!” Victoria was an extreme perfectionist. She treated her adopted daughter as a masterpiece to be displayed to the world, and scars were unacceptable defects. Seeing Steven’s panic, I knew my plan had worked. I was safe, for now. 4 Mom whirled on Steven. “What are you yelling about! Get out! Aria is staying with me, so don’t you dare raise your voice at her!” Steven couldn’t reveal his scheme, terrified he might lose Serena too. All he could do was stall. “Since Aria’s hurt, let’s get her treated first! We can talk about who gets which child after she’s out of the hospital.” Mom, too worried about me to argue, snapped, “Fine.” Steven used the excuse of needing a cigarette to slip outside and call Victoria. Knowing the outcome was sealed, Serena tugged on Mom’s sleeve, her voice cloyingly innocent. “Mommy, Aria was dancing around on the stairs and fell all by herself. She almost tripped me, too. When she gets better, you have to…” Mom cut her off. “Go sit over there for a minute.” A moment later, Steven returned, his face transformed. He had his orders from Victoria. “Clara, I’ve decided. I’m taking Serena. You can have Aria. From now on, let’s not contact each other unless it’s absolutely necessary.” “Good,” Mom said, her voice clipped and final. Just like last time, they decided to sell the house, and Mom took her half—eight hundred thousand dollars in cash—upfront. With Victoria backing him, Steven was surprisingly quick to pay. While I was in the hospital, Steven couldn’t wait. He flew with Serena to New York to present her to Victoria for inspection. I eagerly awaited their fate. When I was discharged, Mom and I left that painful city and started a new life in Philadelphia. She still worked as a cleaner by day and sold food from a cart at night to put me through school and raise me. I was never ashamed of her work. Instead, I found every way I could to help. The one good thing that came from Victoria’s “training” was that it had made me brilliant. Healed by my mother’s love, I slowly went from repressing those memories to letting my true intelligence shine. When I became the city’s top scorer in the middle school championships and won a ten-thousand-dollar prize, Mom cried. She asked me carefully, “Aria, is my job… not respectable enough? If you become a top scorer in high school, with all the reporters… will you have to tell them your mother is a cleaner?” I hugged her tight. “Of course I will! I’ll tell the whole world how hard you worked to raise me. Without you, there would be no me.” Her voice broke. “Aria, you are my pride and joy.” 5 With some savings in the bank, and at my suggestion, Mom decided to open a small roast duck bistro. It was my summer break, so I was there to help. For the first three days, we offered a massive discount, and the place was packed. On the fourth day, with prices back to normal, things were much quieter. I had just finished prepping vegetables when Steven and Serena walked in. Steven, in a sharp suit, and Serena, in a flowing designer dress, looked utterly out of place. I rushed over to block them. “What are you doing here?” Serena smoothed her skirt, looking at me with disdain. “Still playing the saint, Aria? Do you have any idea that the brooch I’m wearing is worth more than your mother will make in a lifetime of running this pathetic little restaurant?” She had clearly adapted to and was reveling in her life of obscene wealth. Given her intellect, I couldn’t imagine how she’d passed Victoria’s twisted tests, even with the advantage of rebirth. How did she do it? Just then, Steven whispered a warning to her. “Don’t forget why we’re here. Don’t upset your mother.” Then he turned to me with a greasy smile. “Aria, it’s me, Daddy. I heard your mom opened a shop, so I brought Serena to show some support. It’s been so many years…” “My mother and I are doing just fine,” I cut him off. “We don’t want to see you. Please leave.” Serena exploded. “Don’t you fucking pretend with me, Aria!” “Get out!” I roared back. Steven stepped between us. “Aria, don’t mind Serena. Look, your… Auntie Victoria invited you to come visit. She likes you very much.” So, Victoria was willing to tolerate a scar on my forehead. She still wanted to lure me to her mansion. Just how useless was Serena? And why did she keep her around? “What are you thinking about!” Serena snapped. “It’s an honor that Mother wants to see you!” “I only have one mother,” I said coldly. “Her name is Clara. And I don’t have a father or a sister.” Steven’s smile faltered. “Aria, just think about it, okay? Your Auntie Vic… she really admires you.” “No,” I refused. “Not interested.” Steven’s composure finally shattered. “Don’t think you’re so great just because you were a middle school champion! The Sterling family is richer than God! This is your only chance to climb up in the world!” I was unmoved. “It’s a climb I’m not interested in making.” Serena erupted in a fury. “Dad, forget it! Let’s not take her back! So what if she was a top scorer? The country is full of them! Mother can sponsor any number of smarter, more cooperative girls! Look at her, working in this dump. She can’t even focus on her studies. She’s so arrogant. In three years, she’ll never beat me on the SATs!” Steven spat in my direction. “Ungrateful little wolf.” He turned to Serena. “Let’s go ask your mother first.” After they left, I turned and saw my mother sitting on a stool, staring blankly, tears streaming down her face. “Aria,” she began, her voice trembling, “it’s all my fault. The truth is…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393490”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The moment I was reborn, my sister had already been drugged. “Ash, I’m so hot…” Her warm breath ghosted over my earlobe. But this time, instead of making the same mistake, I knocked on the door of the man she truly loved. In my last life, I fell for my adoptive sister. Fueled by alcohol, I gave in to the impulses I had long suppressed. Even though I knew she was calling out another man’s name, I carried her into my own bedroom. The next morning, when we were discovered, she was forced to marry me. On our wedding day, the love of her life, her “white moonlight,” went hiking to clear his head. He fell from a cliff. As he lay dying, he sent her one last text message. [My dear Luna, let’s be together in our next life.] My sister, Luna, stared at that message in silence for an entire night. Then, during our honeymoon, she pushed me off the very same cliff. I clung to the edge, begging her to pull me up, but she just laughed, a wild, terrible sound. She pressed her foot onto my hand, grinding it back and forth into the sharp rock. Through her maniacal laughter, I finally understood. She blamed me for his death. And then I woke up, back in the present, watching my sister, flushed and feverish with desire. 1 “I’m so hot, Ashton…” she murmured, her voice thick with a desire that wasn’t for me. “Hot… help me…” Under the influence of the aphrodisiac, Luna’s consciousness was fading. Her glossy red lips were slightly parted, emitting soft, breathy moans. The feeling of her soft body pressed against my arm was a visceral reminder that I had been given a second chance. In my last life, emboldened by alcohol, I lost all reason to her whispered pleas. I crossed a forbidden line, and it led to my brutal death at the bottom of a ravine. But now, reborn, I refused to repeat that mistake. Ashton, the man she loved, was staying in the guest room on the second floor. The moment he opened the door, I pushed Luna into his arms. “My sister’s had too much to drink,” I said, my voice flat. “She’s been calling your name.” I turned and walked away, ignoring the complex look in Ashton’s eyes. The sound of his door closing behind me was a profound relief. Because of one selfish choice, my past life had ended with Luna forced into a loveless marriage with me, and Ashton dead. Luna’s heart had filled with a murderous hatred, and she’d changed our honeymoon plans specifically to lead me to that cliff and exact her revenge. Even now, the visceral terror of that fall lingered in my soul. This time, I had given them their chance. Surely, the ending would be different now. The next morning, a servant woke me. As I entered the dining room, my eyes met Luna’s. Unlike the dead, hollow look she’d had in our last life, this time her eyes were practically overflowing with joy. Seeing me, she cleared her throat and lifted her hand from under the table, her fingers intertwined with Ashton’s. “Now that everyone’s here, I have an announcement,” she declared. “Ashton and I have decided to get married. We’ll let you all know the date once it’s set.” “I’ll take good care of Luna,” Ashton said with a slight bow. “Soon, we’ll all be family. I hope you’ll all be patient with the new guy.” Watching them, a perfectly matched pair, my mind drifted. If this were my past life, what would I be doing right now? Throwing things? Screaming? My silence seemed to bother Ashton. “Caden isn’t saying anything,” he teased, a malicious glint in his eye. “Don’t you want your sister to get married? Or… do you just hate me?” I snapped back to reality just in time to see the corner of his mouth twitch into a smirk before it vanished. He immediately turned to Luna, his expression one of wounded innocence. “Luna, Caden is your brother. I don’t want any trouble between you two. If he can’t accept this right away, I can leave for a while.” Luna frowned at me, her gaze sharp. “Ashton is going to be your brother-in-law. If I see you giving him that sour face again, don’t blame me for being harsh. Do you understand?” I had no intention of getting between them this time, but they seemed determined to drag me in. My already small appetite vanished completely. I mumbled that I understood and turned to leave. Luna slammed her hand on the table. “Get back here and eat. Are you going on a hunger strike just because I said a few words to you? Where did you pick up such a pathetic habit?” I had already decided to leave this house soon. I didn’t want to spend my last days here fighting. Seeing the anger in her eyes, I sat back down and forced a few bites of food. Then I stood up and smiled. “I’m done, Luna. Ashton. You two enjoy your meal.” I had barely reached my room when the doorknob turned. Luna walked in, her expression serious. 2 “You should knock before entering.” My words made her brow furrow. “Are you avoiding me?” she asked abruptly. “Or are you throwing a tantrum because of Ashton?” “We’re not children anymore. I just think we should be mindful of appearances. I don’t want your fiancé to get the wrong idea.” I shook my head and offered a small, formal bow. “I’m very happy for you and Ashton. I wish you a long and happy life together.” I tried to sound playful, but for some reason, it only seemed to anger her more. “Are you sure you mean that?” “At your eighteenth birthday party, you kissed me while I was drunk and asleep. On your twentieth, you stood outside my door all night. On our graduation trip, you buried a stone with our names on it under the lover’s rock at the shrine…” As I stared at her in shock, a cruel smile spread across her face. “Caden, did you really think I didn’t know? You thought you were being so clever, hiding your feelings, but you were so obvious. Everyone in this family knows you’re in love with me!” She lifted my chin with her fingertips, her red lips parting. “I was adopted by our parents before you were even born. We were raised as brother and sister. But the moment you found out we weren’t related by blood, you started having inappropriate feelings for me.” “And what makes me angriest,” she continued, her voice dripping with venom, “is that you knew I loved Ashton, yet you deliberately antagonized him at every turn.” In the privacy of my room, she unleashed all the malice she had kept hidden. “So you should be grateful you never confessed your feelings to my face.” “Because if you had… it would have only disgusted me.” Even though I had already let go of my feelings for her in this life, her words still sent a sharp, stabbing pain through my heart. I lifted my head, meeting her gaze, searching for an answer for the me of the past. “In your eyes, was I really that terrible?” “What else would you be?” She pulled her hand back and wiped her fingertips with a tissue from the desk. “Last night, even though I was drugged, I wasn’t completely unconscious. I saw the desire in your eyes. And I’m telling you, if you had dared to do anything, I would have killed you.” She threw the used tissue at me. “The thought of you touching me makes my skin crawl.” I never knew. I never knew she had started hating me so long ago. I pressed my lips together, forcing back the tears. It was a good thing I had already moved on. If I hadn’t, this truth would have been unbearable. “I understand,” I said, my voice low. “I’ll be more careful from now on.” I lowered my head. My professor from abroad had just emailed me, accepting my application. I just had to get through these last few days. I had no fight left in me. But I didn’t know Luna could be even crueler. She walked to the window, glanced outside, and then turned back to me. “Ashton’s room is a bit damp. He’s not sleeping well. Your room gets the best sunlight. You can move out today. He’ll take this one.” Sunlight streamed through the window, framing her in a halo of light. I couldn’t quite make out her expression. Her voice turned cold. “What, you’re not willing?” I kept my head down, my voice as neutral as I could make it. “No. This was your room to begin with. You can give it to whomever you want.” This room had been Luna’s a long time ago. But when I was seven, I nearly drowned and suffered from a persistent chill for a long time afterward. She had insisted I take her room, the one that got the most sun. I had almost forgotten. She used to be good to me. But now, she had someone she loved more. And she was giving him all her affection, without reservation. Luna narrowed her eyes. “You’re really okay with this?” I just grunted in affirmation. It wasn’t until the servants had moved almost all of my belongings into another room that she finally spoke again, unable to contain her suspicion. “You used to cry and throw a fit if I was nice to anyone else. Why are you suddenly so well-behaved? Are you plotting something?” She was testing me. “I don’t care what you’re planning, but if you hurt Ashton, don’t blame me for what I do. You know what I’m capable of.” The last of my things were moved into the guest room. I stepped inside, and just before closing the door, I looked back at her. “A well-behaved, obedient little brother. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” “I’m not going to target anyone. I just want to be left alone.” I shut the door, cutting off her hissed reply: “You’ve got a lot of nerve.” She was angry. But this time, I wasn’t going to comfort her.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393489”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my eighteenth birthday, my stepmother, Sharon, sent me a text. She demanded I return every single dollar of child support my father had given me over the years. If I didn’t, she was going to come to my school and make my life a living hell. I tried to be patient. [This is court-ordered child support from my father. If you have an issue with it, you need to talk to him.] That’s when she exploded. [You’re a fucking adult now, why the hell should you get my husband’s money! I swear, you’re just like your mother, a common whore!] [Give the money back now, or I’ll make sure you can’t even finish high school!] Reading her venomous words about my mother, I started shaking with rage. The patience was gone. I was done. [Fine,] I typed back, my fingers flying. [You want to come? Fucking try me.] 1 I stared at the word “whore,” my chest heaving with anger. I immediately screenshotted Sharon’s vile rant and forwarded it to my father. [Get your wife under control!] I added. [My mother has done nothing to you people. You’re the one who owes her. Who the hell does she think she is, calling my mom names?] Seconds after I hit send, my phone rang. It was my dad, Robert. But before I could even say hello, I heard Sharon’s hysterical screaming in the background. “You little bitch! How dare you tattle on me! I want my husband’s money back, and you have no right to refuse! That’s our joint marital property, and if you don’t return it, you can kiss your high school diploma goodbye!” Before I could get a word in, she snatched the phone and continued her tirade. “And I’m going to go to that whore mother of yours’ workplace! That job is all she has to support the two of you! Let’s see how high and mighty she acts when she’s unemployed!” My jaw clenched so hard it ached. I held the phone tight and spat back, “Fine, you psycho! Bring it on! You dare show your face at my mom’s job, and I swear, I’ll drop out of school just to go to your son’s and make sure every single person there knows his mother is nothing but a cheap tramp who slept her way into a marriage!” “You call my mom a whore? What does that make you? Something lower than the trash they sweep out of a brothel!” I had completely lost it. Sharon was stunned into silence, realizing I wasn’t the pushover she thought I was. “You just wait,” she snarled, before hanging up. My heart leaped into my throat. I was terrified the crazy woman would actually go after my mom. I grabbed my backpack and bolted out the door. I’d barely made it to the entrance of our apartment complex when my friend called. “Jessica, you need to get over here! It’s bad!” My mind went blank. I ran, sprinting like my life depended on it, all the way to my mom’s office. Before I could even push through the crowd that had gathered, I heard Sharon’s voice, amplified by a bullhorn. “Come on, everyone, take a good look! Get a nice, long look at this home-wrecking slut! This is the whore who uses her daughter to bleed my husband dry every single month, scamming and tricking us out of our hard-earned money!” Sharon stood in the center of the spectacle, holding my mom by the collar of her shirt like a helpless animal. My mom, her face flushed with shame, was trying to explain. “That’s not true!” Her eyes were red with desperation. “Sharon, please, don’t lie!” “You can say whatever you want about me,” my mom pleaded, “but you can’t slander my daughter!” “Oh, please!” Sharon spat, cutting her off. “Your little bitch was just demanding more money from my husband today! Don’t you dare deny it! Like mother, like daughter. A whore gives birth to a little whore. You’re both rotten to the core!” She was on a roll, slinging mud with wild abandon. “And another thing,” she bellowed into the bullhorn. “If you’re so desperate for cash, why don’t you just spread your legs and sell it? Stop playing the victim and teaching your bastard child to do the same! Who do you think you’re fooling?” My mom is a gentle person. She’s never won a fight in her life. If she had, she wouldn’t have been kicked to the curb with nothing the second my dad’s business took off, replaced by his mistress. Seeing my mom like that, so humiliated, my scalp tingled with rage. I wanted to tear Sharon to pieces. She could attack me all she wanted, but she was not allowed to touch my mom. I lunged forward to protect her. The moment Sharon saw me, she pointed a triumphant finger. “Well, well, well!” she crowed. “Look who it is! The little bastard has arrived!” She aimed the bullhorn at me. “Everyone, look! This is the one! She’s a legal adult, but she still finds ways to leech money off my husband every month. The little bit of money he manages to save isn’t even enough for our own family, and now he has to support her and her mother on the side!” “I ask you,” she cried, playing to the crowd, “could any of you tolerate this?” With a few twisted sentences, she had completely flipped the script. She painted my mom and me as the home-wrecker and the illegitimate child, tearing her happy family apart. The crowd immediately turned on us, their whispers turning into pointed accusations. “That girl looks so clean-cut. I can’t believe she’d do something like that! Ruining a family is a one-way ticket to hell!” “Exactly! And look at her daughter. She has a nasty look about her. The poor wife must have been pushed to her limit to make a scene like this.” “To think someone like that works right in my neighborhood… I’d better keep a closer eye on my husband. Who knows when a snake like that could slither in.” “I’m writing a complaint to her HR department this afternoon. There’s no way a mistress should be allowed to keep her job!” The words were like stones. My mom cared about two things in this world: her dignity, and me. Years ago, to avoid a messy public battle and to protect me, she had signed an unfair divorce agreement, leaving with nothing. She’d been raising me in a tiny rental apartment ever since. I saw every struggle, every sacrifice she made. And now, to see it all twisted by Sharon’s lies, I was about to explode. I started toward the women who were shouting the loudest, ready to fight, but my mom grabbed my arm. I turned and saw her eyes, red and swimming with tears. She shook her head. “Let it go, Jessica.” “The truth will speak for itself,” she whispered. My own tears threatened to spill. I wanted to scream that the world doesn’t work that way, that truth and dignity have to be fought for. But looking at her broken expression, I swallowed my anger. “Okay,” I agreed. My mom had suffered enough. I couldn’t let her endure this humiliation because of me. My surrender was a victory in Sharon’s eyes. She stood on her moral high ground, her voice booming with triumph. “Have you two decided?” she yelled. “If you have, then pay up!” She held up a bank statement. “My husband has spent almost ten thousand dollars on your daughter. I want every single cent back. If you don’t pay up, neither of you is leaving here today!” As if on cue, one of the onlookers chimed in. “You have no morals, and you’re teaching your daughter to be just as shameless! Pay the woman back!” “Yeah, ten thousand dollars! Do you know how long it takes a normal family to save that much? And you two just squandered it! Disgusting!” My mom’s policy was always to de-escalate, to let things go—unless it was about me. Hearing them call me shameless, she finally snapped back. “Don’t you talk about my daughter that way! She’s a good girl! She’s not what you say!” Unfortunately, she was no match for them. The woman just sneered. “If she’s so good, she should stop taking money from another woman’s husband.” “Exactly! A whore wanting a monument to her chastity. I’ve seen it all now!” “Oh, you have no idea,” Sharon said, seizing the moment. “This little brat has been walking all over me for years. I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t pushed me too far.” Sharon took out her phone, held it to the bullhorn, and pressed play. My own furious, sharp voice filled the air. “…Something lower than the trash they sweep out of a brothel!” “You all heard that, didn’t you?” Sharon said, her voice trembling as if she were the victim. “That’s how she talks to me. If I don’t stand up for myself, I’m afraid she’ll be the death of me one day!” That did it. Even the few people who had been neutral now shot me looks of disgust. “Are all illegitimate kids this vicious now? That’s terrifying.” “What’s to be scared of? The law protects them. It gives these rats from the gutter all the power they need.” My mom, furious, tried to argue with them, but I held her back and shook my head. Her quiet arguments were no match for a rabid dog like Sharon. I looked straight at my stepmother. “You want money, is that it?” Sharon’s eyes lit up. “Spit it out!” “And,” she added, tilting her head back and looking down her nose at me, “you have to apologize.” “Get on your knees and apologize to me!” she commanded. “You’ve hurt me deeply. If you don’t beg for my forgiveness, this isn’t over!” Seeing her smug, triumphant face, I couldn’t help but smile. “Beg for your forgiveness?” I walked toward her. “Are you even worthy?” “You want money?” I said, enunciating every word. “There is no money.” “But if you want, you can ask my dad.” Before I left my apartment, I’d made a call. If she wanted a public spectacle, then I was going to make sure everyone knew the whole story. My mom might be a pushover, but I’m not. The day I found out Sharon destroyed my parents’ marriage, she became my lifelong enemy. And I never go into a fight unprepared. I pulled out my own phone, the screen already on a video call, and aimed it at Sharon. I looked at the screen and spoke to my best friend on the other end. “Where’s my dad?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393488”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My childhood best friend, Monica, looked like she belonged on a movie screen. The line of guys hoping to ask her out could’ve stretched around the block. One day, I asked her if I could cut in line. She rolled her eyes and told me I was nuts. “Alright, you think I’m nuts? Fine. From this moment on, Monica Dean, I’m going full-on psycho. I’m shutting down every guy who even thinks about you.” 1 From that day forward, whenever someone tried to confess their feelings to Monica, I would be there to “run interference.” I’d yell at the top of my lungs, “Monica Dean doesn’t shower for weeks at a time! And she has the worst case of athlete’s foot you’ve ever seen! The second she takes her shoes off, the stench could knock you out from a block away!” Every time I did this, Monica would fly into a rage, screaming, “Johnny Vance, you are so dead!” Monica and I were the definition of childhood sweethearts, having grown up side-by-side. She was the kid every parent compared their own to—not just stunningly beautiful, but brilliant in school, too. There was never a shortage of guys trying to win her over. The first thing she did every morning when she got to her desk was to sweep the pile of love-offering breakfasts into my arms. Thanks to the money I saved on food, I built up a pretty respectable comic book collection. Of course, I didn’t get all this for free. More often than not, I’d do her chores at home so she could have quiet time to study. Sometimes, I even took the beatings meant for her. Her father was a drunk and a misogynist who bitterly resented the fact that his wife, frail and in poor health, had only managed to give him a daughter. Having another child, a son, was out of the question. Because of this, he’d beat her mother when he was drunk. Even when he was sober, he’d find excuses to lash out at them. His favorite line was that his life was cursed, that he’d married a woman with a “useless womb” who gave him a “worthless girl,” making him a laughingstock. Monica had a stubborn streak. Every time he said it, she’d fire back. She’d say her mom was the best mom in the world, and she wasn’t worthless. The man standing in front of them, the one who beat his wife and daughter, he was the most pathetic, useless man on earth. And every time she said it, she’d get a brutal beating. Her mother would always tell her to just endure it, that he’d be better once the alcohol wore off. But Monica refused to back down, wiping away tears as she cried, “Mom, you’ve put up with this for years! Has he ever changed? Has he ever gotten better?” One time, her dad pulled off his belt and came at Monica. I saw it happen and rushed forward, wrapping my arms around his legs. I screamed for Monica to run. But she just stood there, refusing to move. “I’m not running,” she said. “If he has the guts, let him kill me.” Her dad cursed at me, telling me to let go or he’d beat me too. But I held on for dear life. In my heart, Monica was someone I had to protect. And so, the leather belt in her father’s hand came down hard on my back, again and again. It stung so bad it felt like my skin was splitting open, and I howled in pain. Finally, my parents burst in and stopped the whole tragic affair. Later, as my mom was putting ointment on my back, she said I had rocks in my head. “Someone’s hitting you with a belt and you don’t even know to run?” “I couldn’t run,” I said. “If I ran, what would happen to Monica?” My mom sighed. “You little rascal. I know you like Monica. But couldn’t you have grabbed her and run together?” My face instantly turned bright red. “I don’t like her! I just… I just didn’t want to see her get hurt.” My mom didn’t scold me for taking a beating for Monica. On the contrary, her heart ached for her. Every time Monica came over to do homework or play, my mom would see the bruises on her arms and couldn’t help but ask, “Honey, does it hurt?” Monica would always put on a brave face. “Not at all, Auntie.” My mom would dab ointment on her wounds, her own eyes welling up with tears at the sight of her. But this was the nineties. A woman in our small town had no voice. Just saying the word “divorce” was considered a sin. 2 Monica had tried to convince her mom to divorce her dad. Her mom had flown into a rage, scolding Monica and accusing her of trying to turn her into a shameless, disgraced woman. In her anger, Monica’s mother, for the first time ever, hit her. Monica had endured countless beatings from that man without shedding a single tear. But this time, the tears flowed freely. After that, Monica never mentioned divorce to her mother again. She also stopped telling me how pitiful her mom was, how unlucky her life had been. When we got to college, Monica essentially cut off all contact with her family. She paid her way through school with work-study jobs. During winter and summer breaks, she barely ever went home, staying on campus to work and earn money. My mom’s heart went out to her. She’d say, “That girl has it so tough,” and would often slip me extra cash, telling me to take good care of Monica. In college, Monica’s aura seemed to grow even more somber. Her cool, distant eyes always seemed to keep people a thousand miles away. She was tall, with flawless skin and exquisitely delicate features. She could just sit there, doing nothing, and outshine everything around her. There was a “Campus Queen” poll on the university’s online forum, and her votes were so far ahead of everyone else’s that she won by a landslide. The number of guys trying to date her back then was staggering. I could have paid for a decent meal just by selling the love letters she received as scrap paper. Because everyone knew we were close, and they’d confirmed we weren’t a couple, a lot of guys tried to get to her through me. Until one day, I asked Monica, “Can I cut in line?” She gave me a long, serious look and told me I was insane. From then on, whenever someone asked me for her contact info, I told them about her supposed athlete’s foot and her aversion to showering, and how the stench could kill a man. I’d add that it was an incurable condition, and whoever ended up with her would suffer for life. After I spread this rumor, the number of her pursuers did, in fact, drop significantly. Monica seemed to enjoy the peace and quiet. But then a post exploded on the university forum. It detailed Monica’s tragic background: her alcoholic, abusive father, the constant fighting at home, her unhappy childhood. It mentioned that she was putting herself through college all on her own. The post shot to the top of the forum’s hot list. Suddenly, my story about her being a smelly girl with foot fungus was completely forgotten. A wave of chivalrous sympathy washed over the male student body. They started sending her all sorts of things, and the number of guys pursuing her became even greater than before. There was always a crowd of them waiting outside her dorm. They wanted to fetch her water, save her a seat in the library, and some even tried to just hand her money. Monica was beyond annoyed. She put a “hit” out on me. She said I had leaked her private life to the world, and she would never forgive me. Growing up, Monica was the undisputed leader of the neighborhood kids. If you crossed her, she would make you pay, and she showed no mercy. 3 I had lived my entire life under Monica’s “reign of terror.” So when I heard she had put a hit out on me, my first instinct was to find a place to hide. But I had seriously underestimated her influence on campus. I thought I’d be safe in the men’s dorm, that she couldn’t get to me there. But when her legion of admirers heard about the hit, they eagerly volunteered to help. They dragged me out of my own dorm room. A mob of guys shoved me in front of Monica, all of them trying to claim credit. Monica dismissed her followers and grabbed me by the ear, parading me across campus for all to see. She dragged me to a secluded spot and told me to get on my knees and repent. I looked at her and said, “Monica, I swear to God, you’ve got the wrong guy. I didn’t post that on the forum.” She stared at me, her gaze like ice. “Johnny, do you really think I’d believe you? In this university, so far from our hometown, who else knows about my family besides you?” “It really wasn’t me.” I didn’t know how to explain. She was right. In this place, miles away from home, I was the only one who knew her secrets. I had only applied to this university because I found out she was coming here. We had left our old lives behind to start fresh. We were from the warm south, and this northern city was freezing. I had a hard time adjusting at first. My mom had told me, “You little rascal, you wear your heart on your sleeve. If you didn’t like Monica, would you really have moved so far away?” “If it wasn’t you, then who was it? Did you tell someone else about my past?” she demanded. I knew it was her private life. Many people had asked, but I had never told a soul. “No, Monica, I swear. I didn’t post it, and I’ve never told anyone about your family.” Her expression suddenly changed. “And you think I’d believe that? When we were kids, you’d sell me out for a single piece of candy. Now, for some petty gain, you’d leak my information. It’s not impossible.” Hearing her say that, a sharp pain lanced through my chest. When we were kids, playing hide-and-seek, Monica was a master. She would always find a spot where no one could find her. But I knew her habits. No matter where she hid, I could always find her. Once, another kid gave me a piece of candy to reveal her hiding spot. Monica was found, lost the game, and chewed me out for what felt like an eternity. She swore she’d never speak to me again. But what she didn’t know was that it was a White Rabbit candy—her absolute favorite. I kept it hidden for a long time, not daring to give it to her while she was still mad. Later, I gave it to her as a surprise. It was a sunny afternoon. We were sitting on a tree branch. She ate the candy, her face lit up with a blissful smile. She even carefully folded the wrapper and handed it to me. “Here, keep this safe for me.” I happily took the wrapper, my own mouth watering a little. But seeing her happy made me even happier. But now, her misunderstanding cut me deep. “Monica, you really don’t believe me?” I asked, looking up at her.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393487”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

To preserve his precious star’s perfect hundred-win record, my husband stole my legal files, ensuring I would suffer a devastating defeat in the most important case of my life. He felt no guilt. He just tossed a credit card at me. “The world only needs one top female lawyer, Charlotte. Abby’s career can’t have a single loss. So, just quit the bar. I’ll take care of you from now on.” On his orders, I was blacklisted from the entire industry. The next time I appeared in court, it was for a divorce. And I was both the plaintiff and my own counsel. Standing in the courtroom again felt surreal, a ghost of a life I once knew. Across the aisle, Abby Monroe stood in a razor-sharp power suit, her expression dripping with contempt. “No lawyer, Charlotte? Still as overconfident as ever. I made you lose once, I can do it again. You’re really going to these lengths just to get Ethan’s attention, aren’t you?” Ethan Bonerz stood beside her, his face a thundercloud. He just stared at me, his jaw tight, saying nothing. Compared to their bustling legal team, my solitary presence felt stark and cold. I arranged my documents, then met her gaze with a calm, deliberate smile. “Abby, do you really want me to remind everyone here how you actually won that case?” Her arrogant smirk froze on her face. I ignored her, closing my eyes to prepare. It was a ritual I’d maintained since my first day in the profession: arrive early, shut my eyes, and mentally walk through the entire trial. Breathing in the familiar scent of polished wood and old paper that clung to the courtroom, a wave of calm washed over me. But my meditation was rudely shattered. Ethan strode across the aisle, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to my feet. He pursed his lips, still affecting that condescending air of his. “Withdraw the petition. Come home with me, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened.” The warmth of his skin against mine was a lie. Underneath it, I could feel a tremor, a faint, almost imperceptible shaking. I wrenched my hand away. “Defendant, please respect the plaintiff.” He stared into my eyes, rooted to the spot. After a long moment, a bitter, self-mocking smile twisted his lips. “You’ll regret this, Charlotte.” In the business world, he was known for his bold, decisive moves. Here, in the courtroom, he was a man of few words, letting Abby do all the talking. She acted as his sole representative, her questions coming like a volley of arrows. Seeing my silence, she seemed to smell victory, landing her final blow with a sneer. “You haven’t improved at all.” When it was my turn, I wasted no time on speeches. I presented my evidence directly. “The defendant is the at-fault party due to adultery during the marriage. Pursuant to state family law, I request an immediate, final decree of divorce.” A murmur rippled through the gallery. Across the aisle, the defendant’s party lost their composure. Ethan shot to his feet, his voice laced with panic. “Abby and I were just living together so I could take care of her and the child! Nothing happened between us. That’s not proof! I don’t agree to the divorce!” I pointed out, my voice steady and clear, “The defendant has just admitted, on the record, to cohabitating with another woman during our marriage.” … The gavel fell. Divorce granted. Outside the courthouse, Abby blocked my path. In over a decade of practice, this was likely her first loss. She spoke through gritted teeth, “The only case you’ll ever win is your own divorce. After what happened, who in New York would dare hire you?” “I would. I dare.” The voice came before the man. A figure stepped between us, shielding me from Abby’s glare. He was smiling, a picture of easy confidence. Abby recognized him instantly. In the New York legal world, everyone knew Gary Vance, the man who had built a ten-firm empire from the ground up. “Ms. Monroe,” Gary said, his smile widening. “First, my warmest congratulations on your loss. Second, I’ve already extended a formal offer to Charlotte. Starting tomorrow, she will be my firm’s new ace attorney and partner.” Abby stared, incredulous. “Mr. Vance, you… you two…” I didn’t know when Ethan had come to stand behind me, but his voice was a low, almost spectral murmur. “Charlotte, you didn’t have to do all this—the fake divorce, hiring this guy just to make me angry. The case is in the past. You only lost your job, it’s not the end of the world. Why can’t you be magnanimous like Abby? Why can’t you just move on?” Gary started to speak, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Fine,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “I’ll be magnanimous. I’ll move on.” “Here’s how. You issue a public statement, right now. Admit that you stole my materials for the Westgate Construction case, causing my appeal to fail. Admit that your actions led the plaintiff to take his own life, destroying his family. You do that, and I’ll move on.” The color drained from both their faces. A few months ago, I had taken on a monumental wrongful conviction case, one that had captured the city’s attention. Driven by a lawyer’s sense of duty, I stepped in. It was a losing battle. Everyone knew the construction worker was innocent, yet he was saddled with millions in damages and a decades-long prison sentence. The case was the most-watched trial in New York in a decade, for one simple reason: the plaintiff’s counsel was the legal world’s undefeated legend, Abby Monroe. The defendant’s counsel was me, the rising star. This was Abby’s hundredth case. She had publicly boasted that she would make me suffer a humiliating defeat. At the time, Ethan and I were still newlyweds. I was drowning, juggling work and home life, poring over legal texts until my hair fell out in clumps. But I found it—the key piece of evidence that could overturn the whole case. I was ecstatic. I called the victim’s family, worked with them to convince a key witness to testify. Everything was finally turning in our favor. I couldn’t wait to tell Ethan. He was reviewing financial reports, and his hand paused mid-air. He looked up slowly, but there was no joy for me in his eyes. “Charlotte, stop digging. You’re exhausted.” I didn’t catch the hidden meaning in his words. I went to him, taking his hand, my voice full of the warmth of a new bride. “Honey, this is the most important case of my life. No matter how hard it is, I have to clear my client’s name. The trial is tomorrow. You have to wish me luck!” He shot up from his chair, yanking his hand from mine without a word. The next morning, I knew something was wrong. The key evidence was gone. The digital backup had been wiped. A cold sweat broke out on my skin. I couldn’t imagine who could have cracked my password. It was too late to call the police; I had no choice but to go to court and fight with what I had left. What shattered me completely was the witness. On the stand, he recanted his testimony. In that instant, my mind went blank. The judge’s voice upholding the original verdict was a distant drone. I don’t remember how I left the defendant’s table under Abby’s mocking gaze, or how I pushed through the swarm of reporters outside the courthouse. All I remember is snapping back to reality with my client’s wife and daughter collapsed at my feet, their wails tearing through the air as they asked me why. Why? I fled, disoriented and panicked, and stumbled right into Ethan and Abby. She was hooking a finger in his tie, pulling him close, the air thick with intimacy. Her voice was a sultry whisper, a warm breath against his ear. “Ethan, darling. Thank you for destroying the evidence for me. And for giving me the witness’s information. It’s the only way I could have won. I’ll be sure to reward you properly.” Ethan stroked her hair, his voice gentle. “Her winning or losing is nothing compared to your perfect record.” The sight of them, so cozy and triumphant, made my stomach turn. As far as I knew, Abby was ten years our senior, divorced, with a child. A small sound escaped my lips, and they both turned. They saw me standing there, pale as a ghost. “Charlotte…” Ethan started towards me, but Abby held him back. She looked at me, a triumphant smirk on her face, and made a thumbs-down gesture. Then, with a sickeningly sweet smile, she mouthed a single word. “Loser.” Ethan seemed to think he’d done nothing wrong. I screamed, my voice raw with hysteria, demanding an explanation. He just waved a dismissive hand, his tone detached, as if he were a mere spectator. “Abby helped me out of a tough spot once. This is just a small thing for you, Charlotte, but for her, it’s her hundred-win reputation. You should know what’s more important.” “A small thing?” A laugh, sharp and brittle, escaped my lips. “The breadwinner of a family is wrongfully imprisoned, and you call that a small thing?” “The hopes of countless other workers are crushed, and you call that a small thing?” “In your eyes, Abby Monroe’s reputation is the only thing that matters?” Perhaps the raw disappointment in my eyes provoked him. His face darkened with irritation. “What else? Let me be clear. To me, Abby is more important than anyone else. She helped my mother escape a gambling-addicted husband. She helped me get away from my deadbeat father. There’s nothing she could do that I wouldn’t forgive.” He continued, his voice hardening, “Just quit being a lawyer, Charlotte. The world only needs one top female attorney, and Abby’s career can’t have a single loss. I will clear every obstacle from her path. From now on, you’ll stay home and take care of me. I’ll provide for you.” He tossed a credit card at my feet, and without a backward glance at the broken woman I had become, he turned and walked away. From the window, I watched him go. I saw Abby run to him, throwing herself into his arms. They looked like lovers. Was this really just about repaying a debt? My heart was a hollow chasm, but I had no time to dwell on it. The damage was done. All I could do now was try to mitigate the fallout and compensate my client’s family as best I could. But before I could even begin to form a plan, I received the news that would haunt me for the rest of my life. My client, seeing no hope, had drowned himself in the river. His wife, unable to bear the grief, had tried to follow him. Their daughter had done the same. The daughter was rescued, and was now fighting for her life in the ICU. The moment I got the call, I rushed to the hospital. The traffic was a nightmare. I abandoned my car and ran. I stumbled and scrambled, and just as I neared the hospital intersection, a small figure darted out and shoved me hard, sending me sprawling into the middle of the road. A car screeched to a halt just a foot from my head. The driver rolled down his window, roaring, “Are you blind? If I weren’t a good driver, you’d be dead!” I stammered my thanks and grabbed the little girl who had pushed me. “What do you think you’re doing?” The girl, seeing she couldn’t escape, let her eyes dart around before plopping down on the pavement and bursting into a theatrical wail. “Homewrecker! You’re a homewrecker! You stole my daddy! Waaah, you’re a bad woman!” Onlookers immediately began to stare and mutter. The driver spat in my direction. “Breaking up families. Would’ve been better if I’d just hit you.” My head was spinning, but I managed to keep some semblance of composure. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “You will be held accountable for every word you just said.” Seeing me call the police, the girl scrambled up and ran into the arms of a woman standing nearby. It was Abby. And standing right beside her, his face a mask of stone, was Ethan. — In the mediation room, the three of them sat across from me. The little girl, Anna, kept making faces and taunting me. Abby did nothing to stop her, instead stroking her head encouragingly. “She’s just a child, Charlotte. Why are you making a big deal out of this?” Ethan’s voice cut in, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. “Ethan, I was almost killed!” “But you weren’t, were you?” Abby shot me a resentful glance. “Why bully a child? I’ll apologize on her behalf, and we can let this go. She’s a minor, you can’t do anything to us anyway.” “No need to apologize,” Ethan said, stopping her. A fresh wave of pain washed over me. I looked at the man before me and suddenly, he was a stranger. I remembered a time when I’d gotten a small papercut, and he had fussed over me, carefully applying a bandage. Now, I had narrowly escaped death, and he didn’t care at all. He was telling me to let the person who tried to kill me walk free. “Go home, Charlotte. Don’t make me say it again.” His cold, dismissive tone was like a plunge into an icy abyss. My heart froze over. “Give me an explanation.” Ethan looked up, startled. Then, as if he understood something, he frowned. “Anna and Abby are on their own. The little girl is young and doesn’t understand. She sees me as a father figure. I happen to like kids, so I’ve been playing along. That’s why she misunderstood our relationship. I’ll explain it to her when she’s older.” I let out a bitter laugh. “You like kids, Ethan, but you never wanted to have one with me, did you?” We were supposed to be in our honeymoon phase, but Ethan was never home. I was shy, but one night I gathered all my courage, my face flushed, and asked him to stay home from work, just for one night. He was surprised, but he agreed. That night, just as passion was building, his phone rang. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled away and left. Embarrassment, disappointment, shame… a storm of emotions swirled inside me. I sat alone on the bed and cried the entire night. He obviously remembered it too. He stammered, “Anna had a high fever that night.” I walked to the window, looking down at the city lights twinkling below, and laughed coldly. “So what you’re saying is, Anna has a mother, she has grandparents, she has a family. But the one person she can’t live without is a ‘father’ she has no blood relation to? Is that it?” “Enough!” He strode over to me, grabbing my shoulders and forcing me to look at him. “When did you become so jealous?” His pupils reflected my face, haggard and worn down by the endless turmoil he and Abby had created. And suddenly, I felt so tired. It was all so meaningless. I broke free from his grasp and walked away. My hand was just about to touch the doorknob when his voice, hard as steel, came from behind me. “Stop being a lawyer. Be a housewife. This is a notification, not a negotiation.” “Besides, Charlotte, you’ve already lost the right to be a lawyer.” “I’ve blocked every single one of your escape routes.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393486”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Silas Roberts, the city’s most feared tycoon, had built a golden cage—a manor for his collection of wives. After acquiring ninety-nine, he demanded me, pregnant and vulnerable. When his men came, our housekeeper begged my husband Tony: “Think again! Roberts’ tastes are… unusual. The baby—” Tony remained cold. “She goes. If the child is lost, so be it. She’ll still be Mrs. McKean. We can try again.” In my past life, I resisted. Tony’s assistant Stella went instead—and later slit her wrists. The autopsy showed she’d been pregnant too. Tony never spoke of it… until the day I gave birth. He took our son to the rooftop and jumped. Only then did I see his hatred. Reborn, I didn’t fight. I stepped calmly into Silas’ car. … “Did you hear? Mr. Roberts specifically requested the missus. He threatened to bankrupt Mr. McKean’s company if she didn’t go! And Mr. McKean agreed.” “But Mr. Roberts is in his sixties! He’s a known sadist. Any woman who enters that manor comes out a shell of her former self… How could Mr. McKean just watch her walk into a fire pit?” “It just shows you the power of a first love, doesn’t it? If it had been Stella, his precious assistant, he would have let the company burn before sending her away!” The living room door was ajar, and I could hear the hushed gossip of the maids. Mrs. Gable, who was helping me pack, couldn’t hold her tongue. “Mrs. McKean, don’t listen to their nonsense! Why don’t you go and plead with him? You’ve been husband and wife for years; surely he can’t be that heartless!” I managed a weak, weary smile. “It’s no use, Mrs. Gable.” Everyone in our circle knew that Silas Roberts’s power was absolute, his methods ruthless. Tony would never risk angering him for my sake. I was under no illusions about that. In my previous life, the moment Mr. Roberts’s demand reached Tony, he’d agreed without a second thought. To convince me to go willingly, he’d feigned devotion, spinning lies about how he’d rather lose his company. My heart had just begun to soften when I saw him downstairs, locked in a passionate embrace with his “white moonlight,” Stella. So, I’d reneged. I’d threatened to kill myself, even holding a knife to my pregnant belly, until he finally relented. That was when Stella stepped forward, offering to take my place. The look in Tony’s eyes… they were bloodshot with a tormented love. The day he drove her to Roberts’s villa, he promised her, right in front of me, that he would divorce me and marry her the moment she returned. But the day after Stella came back, she was dead. The autopsy report was clear: Pregnant. Tony handled her funeral arrangements quietly. He never mentioned the divorce again. I’d foolishly believed that while he’d loved Stella deeply, her death had made him see the value of our marriage. I thought he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I never imagined that on the day I gave birth, he would personally carry our child to the hospital rooftop and end his life. As I watched the tiny form fall, I realized Tony had been wearing a mask all along. He had never let go of Stella. He had always, always hated me. So this time, when I heard Mr. Roberts’s summons, I didn’t fight. This time, I would give them what they wanted. “Mrs. McKean, the master is back. He’s asking for you downstairs.” I nodded calmly. “I know.” When I entered the living room, Stella was there too. I paused, watching as Tony clutched her hand, making no effort to hide his affection. Could it be? I wondered. Is he reborn, too? “Lena,” Tony began, his voice flat. “Mr. Roberts has requested you in two days. Go and pack.” He added, “And starting today, Stella will be moving in.” The old me would have screamed, thrown things, caused a scene. But now, I just nodded and said, “Okay.” Tony flinched, avoiding my gaze. “What new trick are you playing now?” he snapped impatiently. “I’m telling you, throwing a fit won’t work this time. The consequences of defying Mr. Roberts are worse than death.” Stella chimed in at the perfect moment. “That’s right, Lena. This is to protect the McKean Corporation. Besides,” she added with a saccharine smile, “to be noticed by Mr. Roberts… it’s really an honor for you.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, is it? By all means, take this ‘honor’ for yourself.” Tony’s temper flared. “Mr. Roberts wants you! Why are you taking it out on Stella? Don’t you dare use that tone with me. Apologize to her. Now.” I ignored him. But behind him, Stella suddenly dropped to her knees, a picture of noble sacrifice. “Mr. McKean, please don’t be angry with Lena because of me. I’m just an assistant. It’s fine if she looks down on me or says a few harsh words.” Her voice trembled. “As long as it saves the company, I… I am willing to go to Mr. Roberts in her place!” Her knees hadn’t even touched the floor before Tony was rushing to her side, helping her up with a pained expression. “Stella, stop. You’re pregnant. Don’t kneel to her.” He looked at her, his eyes filled with adoration. “I know you would do anything for me, but Mr. Roberts wants Lena.” He then turned his cold, hard gaze on me. “I’m warning you, don’t you dare try anything with Stella, or I swear I will make you regret it.” He softened his tone, a manipulative shift. “And if you’re worried I’ll leave you when you get back, you can relax. I promise, I won’t divorce you over this.” The words made me want to laugh in his face. Instead, I turned, retrieved a folder from the side table, and held it out to him. Tony frowned. “What is this?” I smiled, a thin, sharp curve of my lips. “It’s time to abdicate the throne, Tony. Let’s get a divorce.” 2 I offered him the file, the words “DIVORCE AGREEMENT” printed boldly across the front. He didn’t even look at it. He swatted it from my hand, sending papers scattering across the floor. “Lena, have you lost your mind? I just told you I wouldn’t divorce you.” “I know you don’t want to go,” he said, his voice laced with false sympathy, “but if you don’t, my company goes under! You wouldn’t want everything I’ve worked so hard for to be ruined because of you, would you?” I had to marvel at his skill. Such effortless moral blackmail. He made it sound as if my refusal would be a deliberate act of sabotage. Did he really think I was the same gullible woman from our past life? This time, I already had a plan to deal with Mr. Roberts. Seeing my silence, Tony’s face darkened. “Lena, I’ll be honest with you. The baby in Stella’s belly… it’s mine.” He offered it like a twisted consolation prize. “If you can just get the company through this crisis… I’ll even let you be the child’s mother, in name.” “No, thank you.” I cut him off, nudging the scattered papers with my foot. “I have no interest in being a stepmother, and even less in having some other woman’s child call me ‘mom’.” “Lena!” I ignored his furious shout and turned, heading back upstairs. Watching me pack my suitcase with a calm, methodical slowness, Mrs. Gable’s eyes reddened again. “Mrs. McKean, are you really going?” Her voice was thick with emotion. “I just don’t understand. When Mr. McKean’s parents passed, you were the one by his side day and night. You helped him through the darkest time of his life. How can all those years of devotion mean less than some gold-digger who came crawling back from overseas because she couldn’t make it on her own?” “He swore he would only love you for the rest of his life! How did that… that thing bewitch him?” I shook my head, my smile sad. “Don’t call me Mrs. McKean anymore, Mrs. Gable. I have nothing to do with this family now.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “But… ma’am… if you go to Mr. Roberts’s… they’ll skin you alive…” My hands stilled. It seemed even she believed this was a death sentence. Just as I was about to speak, a glass of cold water was flung in my face. “Oh, I am so sorry, Lena! My hand slipped…” It was Stella. She held an empty glass, her words an apology, but her face was a mask of smug triumph. “Then again,” she continued, her voice dripping with condescension, “you probably don’t need to pack much. I’m sure Mr. Roberts’s estate has everything you could possibly need. You’re not the first woman he’s… hosted, after all.” Mrs. Gable trembled with rage. “You’ve gone too far!” “It’s fine, Mrs. Gable.” Stella, assuming I was too afraid to fight back, let the provocation in her eyes intensify. Her gaze drifted mockingly to my stomach. “I hear Mr. Roberts has… eclectic tastes. The women who visit him all come back… broken. I wonder how many days you’ll last…” She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “And even if you do manage to return, I doubt that thing inside you will.” I wiped the water from my hair, and with a speed that surprised even myself, I slapped Stella hard across the face, shoving her out of my room. “Don’t you worry about it,” I said coldly. “I never planned on keeping it anyway.” I was about to turn away when Stella grabbed my arm. “Lena,” she hissed, her face close to mine, “what do you think Tony would do to you if I were to… fall down these stairs?” Her words were pure poison. Then, with a wicked smile, she threw herself backward. “Ah! Help me!” Tony’s face went white. He didn’t hesitate for a second, lunging forward to catch Stella in his arms. “Stella, are you alright?” She put on a masterful show of benevolence. “I’m fine… Mr. McKean, don’t blame Lena. She’s just jealous that I’m carrying your child. She didn’t mean it…” Her words only fueled Tony’s hatred for me. He stormed toward me and slapped me, the crack echoing in the hallway. “You disgust me, Lena!” he spat. “She defends you even after what you just did! You’re not worth a single hair on her head!” His voice grew more vicious with every word. “You deserve to be used and discarded by that old man! I hope he plays you to death!” He ordered the bodyguards to drag me to the small, dark cellar. “Don’t give her a single drop of water without my permission!” Mrs. Gable knelt outside, her cries muffled by the heavy door. “Mr. McKean, you can’t do this to her! You know she has claustrophobia! She’s terrified of the dark! She’ll die in there…” Tony was deaf to her pleas. Stella, rubbing her head as if in pain, added fuel to the fire. “Mrs. Gable, you work for the McKeans. Why are you always taking Lena’s side? What has she given you? Do you protect her like she’s your own daughter?” Mrs. Gable snapped. She lunged at Stella, ready to tear her apart, but the guards restrained her. She kept vigil outside the cellar door all night, her soft sobs the only sound in the darkness. She was still there the next evening when Mr. Roberts’s men came to collect me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393484”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel