Author: Momo Chan

My vacation home. At the dinner table, the elders in my family started asking about my job in the city. “Just running a small business,” I answered casually. Hearing that, my cousin, Tiffany, sitting across from me, let out a snort. “So, selling yourself counts as a business now?” “I even saw your price list online. Quite the menu of services you’ve got there.” After getting everyone’s attention, she feigned magnanimity. “Every job has its dignity. We wouldn’t look down on you just because your profession is… humble.” Egging them on, she turned me into the target of everyone’s accusations. Without missing a beat, I pulled out my phone and made a call. “Pull the funding. I want her completely bankrupt.” Every time I came home for the holidays, I had to face another interrogation from my relatives. I’ve never liked sharing details about my life, so when Aunt Sarah asked about my job in Metropolis City, I just brushed her off. “Oh, just running a small business in the city.” “A business? That’s great! Not like your cousin Leo, who works for someone else, pulling all-nighters just to make a few grand.” “Ashley, you’re so capable, why don’t you help your cousins find jobs?” I felt a wave of awkwardness. But my dad jumped in before I could speak. “No problem! Leave it all to Ashley!” I immediately put down my forks, just about to explain that my “business” was just selling stuff at a flea market, when Tiffany, who had been quietly scrolling on her phone across the table, suddenly burst into laughter. “Seriously, the world is falling apart. Anyone can claim to be a businesswoman now. By that logic, back in the day, wouldn’t all the call girls have been entrepreneurs?” “Tiffany, what are you implying?” “How can you compare your cousin to… well, to *that*? That’s so disrespectful, apologize to Ashley.” I thought the elders were reasonable, that they would side with me. But I quickly realized I was wrong. “I’m not making things up. I’m not the one selling myself in the city, so why should I apologize?” Tiffany said, opening a photo and shoving it in front of Uncle Robert, who had spoken up for me. “Uncle Robert, look, isn’t this Ashley Miller in the picture?” I couldn’t see what was on the photo, but the sudden, strange looks from everyone made me realize the seriousness of the situation. The phone started passing from Uncle Robert’s hand, to Aunt Emily, then to Aunt Carol, and finally landed in my dad’s hands. Before I could say a word, a stinging slap landed on my face. My dad pointed at me, spitting as he yelled, “You shameless brat!” “Don’t hit our daughter!” My mom rushed to shield me, but no sooner had she spoken than my dad handed her the phone. “See for yourself what Ashley Miller is doing out there!” My mom took the phone, skepticism on her face, but her expression instantly turned serious, then morphed into fury. If I hadn’t ducked quickly, the cup in my mom’s hand would have shattered against my head. Slapped and almost hit with a cup for no reason, and then publicly cursed out by so many relatives, I was still completely bewildered. It wasn’t until Tiffany feigned concern, stepping forward to intervene, and said, covering her mouth, “I’m so sorry, so sorry. It’s all my fault for speaking up. I just assumed you all knew about Ashley’s… activities.” “What activities?!” “Don’t pretend. I’ve seen your price list.” Tiffany glanced at me, then finally handed me the photo. [5’7”+ Milf, Cool & Elegant Vibe, Sweet & Sassy] [Online Chat Companion: $80/hour (Text/FaceTime)] [Overnight Escort: $250/night (Local, by appointment)] [Full-day Companion: $500/day (Includes city outings, overnight additional)] [Special requests and long-term arrangements by DM. Serious inquiries only.] [Contact: 132xxxxxxxxxx (State purpose, direct price inquiries will be blocked)] Looking at the content on the poster, I was dumbfounded, especially when I saw the sexy swimsuit photo in the upper right corner. A surge of confusion washed over me. This wasn’t me. “Ashley, I’m not trying to criticize you, but there’s no shame in struggling when you’re out on your own. However, a girl should cherish her body. This line of work you’ve chosen is just… too far out.” “But hey, every job has its stars, right?” “We won’t look down on you just because you’re selling yourself. To each their own, I guess.” Noticing the confusion on my face, Tiffany continued to fan the flames, explaining where she supposedly got the poster. “When my boyfriend and I were out for dinner, someone slipped a little card into our car. I didn’t pay attention at first, but then I saw the photo, and I immediately recognized you.” “I only scanned the QR code out of concern, and I never expected it was actually you offering these services.” The more Tiffany spoke, the uglier my parents’ faces became, especially my dad’s. He turned beet red with rage, grabbed a chair, and was about to throw it at me, only to be held back by the other curious relatives. The relatives and elders who had greeted me warmly upon my return were now standing with their hands on their hips, sneering at me. “Such a disgrace. And to think you even finished grad school. You just wasted all that education.” “I don’t know how David raised his daughter. So shameless for money, she became a prostitute.” Some weren’t satisfied just yelling at me. Taking advantage of the noisy crowd, someone intentionally reached out and pushed me, making me lose my balance and fall to the floor.

When I looked up, I met Tiffany’s smug gaze. She and I had been at odds since we were kids. Being around the same age, we were always compared. I was a straight-A student, always in the top three of my class, while she consistently scraped by, ending up in the worst schools. She always felt she couldn’t measure up to me, and she was desperate to catch up. The constant comparisons had driven her crazy; she started seeing me as her sole rival. Two years ago, it was because I started a job at a financial company in Metropolis City that she quit her job back home and rushed there herself. “That poster has nothing to do with me! The person in that photo isn’t me!” I yelled with all my might, but no one listened. Not even my parents wanted to hear my explanation, they were too busy fawning over Tiffany with the other relatives. “Tiffany, I heard your boyfriend is a big company CEO. He must be super rich, right?” “We always knew Tiffany was capable and successful. She really is the most impressive girl in our family, unlike Ashley Miller, who’s just disgracing us.” Tiffany basked in the attention, and her parents joined in, laughing heartily with their hands on their hips. I got up and took my mom’s hand. “Mom, believe me, it’s all fake.” But she forcefully pulled away from me, then turned and clasped Tiffany’s hand. “Tiffany, your cousin has gone down the wrong path. Please, give her a hand, help her find a decent job.” Then, my mom yanked me hard. “Come here, get on your knees and apologize to your cousin, beg her to find you a job.” Me? Kneel to *her*? “Aunt Karen, it’s not that I don’t want to, but Ashley graduated with a master’s degree. She wouldn’t look at any job that pays less than six figures. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have taken… shortcuts.” “Tiffany Brooks, why are you spreading these lies everywhere?” I pushed past a few relatives and confronted her directly. “You’re spreading baseless rumors with a photo from who knows where. Don’t you know that’s illegal?” Tiffany just gave me a helpless look. She sighed. “Ashley, why are you still so stubborn? You did it, what’s the point in denying it?” “To be honest, I have a lot more evidence. You know I’m in sales; I meet a lot of people. And it just so happens that some of them are your clients.” “You really weren’t careful, letting people take photos while you were… working.” “If those photos from your bed got out, who would ever marry you then?” Tiffany’s words immediately turned the tide again. The judgmental elders started spewing insults at me, each one righteous in their anger. But I wasn’t a lamb to be slaughtered. When someone reached out to push me again, I shoved them back. They hadn’t expected me to retaliate, stumbled, and hit a chair behind them, letting out a cry of pain. That really stirred up a hornets’ nest. Aunt Emily shrieked, “She’s out of control! Doing disgraceful things and now hitting people?!” Uncle John pointed his finger at my nose, about to start yelling, but I cut him off. “If you say you have evidence, then show it to me.” I looked at Tiffany. “But if you can’t, then it’s defamation, and I will pursue legal action.” Tiffany clearly hadn’t expected me to say that; a hint of shock flashed across her face, but she quickly recovered with a smile. “Since you have no shame, then I’ll find them and let everyone judge for themselves.” She turned and sat on the sofa, pulling out her phone and scrolling through it. But after nearly ten minutes, she found nothing. “Well? Can’t find it, can you?” “Finding stuff takes time!” Others also started defending Tiffany. I was about to snatch her phone when I was interrupted by a commotion at the door. My brother, Ben, rushed in, looking disheveled, and after a quick scan of the room, walked straight toward me. I hadn’t even gotten out a “Ben” before his hand swung, connecting with my cheek. “We paid for your education all these years, and you have no shame left?! Your damn promotional poster even got sent to my phone! Are you that desperate for money?!” My cheek stung, but seeing the look on my brother’s face at that moment, I felt an even colder pang in my heart. No one believed me. “I’m saying it again, that has nothing to do with me. It’s all malicious photo manipulation and rumors.” “Then are you going to claim this is fake too?” Tiffany sneered, walking over. “Who wants to see photos of Ashley Miller with her clients? But I’ll warn you, some of them are pretty explicit, so any elders who don’t want to see should look away.” Filled with anger, I snatched the phone from her hand and immediately saw the offensive images on the screen. A naked woman, her hair disheveled, lay on a bed. The background was blurry, but her face was clearly visible, and it was mine. My great-aunt leaned over to look, then recoiled with a disgusted expression. “That’s disgusting, Ashley! You actually do that kind of stuff!” “Enough!” I roared, taking a step back. But I quickly composed myself, showing no anger, only a relieved smile. I pulled out my phone, slowly tapping the numbers on the dial pad, and after connecting, I spoke clearly for everyone to hear, “Hello, I’d like to report a crime.” “Someone maliciously Photoshopped my image to spread explicit rumors about me. Could you please send officers over?”

As I called the police, everyone else looked at me with expressions of utter disbelief, perhaps thinking, *Why would she call the police when she’s the one who did something wrong?* Only Tiffany’s eyes began to flicker nervously. She suddenly spoke up, trying to smooth things over. “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s not a big deal. Everyone makes their own choices, you know. Aunt Karen, Uncle David, please don’t scold Ashley anymore. She’s not stealing or doing anything truly harmful; as long as she can support herself in the big city, that’s all that matters.” How grandly she spoke, without considering who started this whole mess. “Tiffany is so sensible, unlike Ashley. Not only is her behavior immoral, but she stubbornly refuses to admit her mistakes.” “How respectable is Tiffany’s profession? Can Ashley even compare? She’s a professor at Commonwealth University, you know!” I had been furious at my relatives’ words, but hearing that, my interest was suddenly piqued. “A professor at Commonwealth University?” I turned to Tiffany. “Commonwealth University is one of the top-ranked universities in the country. Its professors usually have at least a Master’s or a Ph.D. Even with relaxed requirements, they’d be specialized talents, often from abroad. Tiffany Brooks, which of those criteria do you meet?” “I…” Tiffany choked, but still insisted on her story. “Why do you care so much about my business? You haven’t even sorted out your own mess!” The others also chimed in to support Tiffany, until I proposed: “Commonwealth University’s official website lists all faculty and staff information. Since you’re officially employed there, your name should be searchable on the website, right?” Tiffany tried to stop me, but her mom and other elders held her back. “Just let her search. We have a clear conscience, after all.” Really? I opened the Commonwealth University website, browsed for two minutes, then showed them the blank search results page. “How come there’s nothing?” “Huh, what’s going on? Didn’t Tiffany say she’s been teaching at Commonwealth University for two years now?” “Yeah, she even sent me photos from her classes. Could it all be a lie?” I knew the truth: she’d spun a massive lie just to save face. But Tiffany still wouldn’t admit it. Instead, she put on a conflicted expression, then lowered her head and shyly began, “Actually, I didn’t want to say anything, but since Ashley has pushed me to this point, I have no choice but to admit it. I’m not an official full-time professor at Commonwealth University because…” “Because my boyfriend pulled some strings to get me in. My boyfriend is an entrepreneur, the sole heir of the Stone Group. He just wanted me to have an easy job.” At this, the relatives suddenly burst into laughter, but it wasn’t mocking laughter; it was full of fawning. They crowded around Tiffany and her mom, showering them with compliments. “We knew Tiffany’s boyfriend was successful, but we never knew he was *that* powerful! The Stone Group! That’s a huge company! Tiffany, you’re truly bringing honor to our family.” Tiffany deliberately looked at me, saying proudly, “Even though my boyfriend is influential, I don’t want to depend on him. I just want to focus on my career and be a strong, independent woman. How long can you bank on your youth to make money, right, Ashley?” Before I could speak, she continued her tirade. “We are sisters, after all, and we grew up together. I can’t bear to see you debase yourself.” “How about this: you cancel the police report, and I’ll have my boyfriend find you a job. Whether it’s cleaning toilets or sweeping floors at the corporation, it’s still much more respectable than selling yourself.” As soon as my parents heard Tiffany’s offer, they lunged for my phone. I dodged, but my brother charged forward with all his might and shoved me. While I was on the ground, he snatched the phone. He fumbled with it and said to me, “Are you calling the police because you think your reputation isn’t bad enough? I’m not asking you to find a good job, but please, stop disgracing yourself.” Just at that critical moment, the private room door was opened by the police. “Who called the police?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409381”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On Christmas Day, my best friend, Sarah, had just popped open a bottle of champagne. Then my husband’s call came in: “Olivia, hurry home! Sophia’s depression flared up, and she’s threatening to jump!” “She won’t listen to anything we say. She insists she’ll only come down from the balcony if her mom comes back.” Sarah’s hand, reaching for the champagne, instantly dropped. She turned to grab her car keys from the table. I pressed down on her hand, a soft smile on my lips as I replied: “If she wants to die, let her.” Then I hung up, ignoring my phone as it buzzed relentlessly. Sarah looked frantic. “You’ve loved Chloe so much since she was little! You can’t play games with her life, even if you’re mad at her!” I looked at her, and softly spoke a single sentence. The next second, Sarah’s expression changed. “It wouldn’t be too much if that whole family dropped dead!” Seeing that my call wouldn’t go through, Ethan called Sarah’s phone instead. Sarah turned her phone towards me. Only after I nodded did she hit “answer.” As soon as the call connected, Ethan’s furious voice came through the speaker: “Olivia Hayes, what was that supposed to mean!” He aimed the phone’s camera at Sophia on the balcony, gasping for breath as he spoke: “Look at your daughter! Her life’s hanging by a thread right now. How could you say something like that?” Sophia, in the video, sat on the balcony railing, her eyes swollen and red from crying. She looked as though she could fall at any moment. Dressed in a thin shirt, her hands and face were chapped and red from the biting cold wind. The camera shifted, and Ethan roared at the screen: “Get back here from Sarah Miller’s place immediately, or if anything happens to Sophia, I swear I’ll never forgive you!” I watched Ethan’s frantic face and chuckled. “Impossible.” Ethan’s eyes on the screen instantly widened. “I’m not coming back. As for whether Sophia jumps or not, it has nothing to do with me.” With that, I hung up. I lowered my head and started preparing holiday dinner with Sarah. Just as I finished peeling a potato, my “emergency contact” ringtone echoed from the living room. Seeing “Mom” on the screen, my heart sank. “Olivia, Ethan just called me. He said Sophia’s acting up again and demanding you come home.” Her voice was laced with worry. “Ethan was crying, saying you’d rather let Sophia die than come back. What’s going on?” Ever since Chloe was born, my mom had doted on her, treating her like the apple of her eye. After Chloe developed depression and was constantly threatening to commit suicide, Mom’s heart ached even more. Mom’s voice choked as she pleaded: “Please, for your mother’s sake, will you go back?” “Mom loves Chloe the most. If something really happens, how am I supposed to live the rest of my life…?” Hearing her words, I spoke with difficulty. “Mom, I really can’t go back.” Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, Mom’s voice turned cold. “Olivia Hayes, how can you be so heartless? She’s your own flesh and blood.” “If you don’t come back today, don’t bother calling me your mother!” I gripped the phone, sighed, and slowly began to explain everything to her. … When I finished, Mom gasped in disbelief. “What!” After a long silence, she spoke again, her voice filled with unconcealed rage: “I’m blocking all contact from that Ethan guy right now! To crush his plan of using me to threaten you!” “Don’t worry, Olivia, Mom will always be your strongest backup.” Just as that call ended, Sarah’s gasp rang out from beside me. Sarah’s hand trembled as she handed me her phone. “Olivia, this is bad! Ethan went live…” “The live stream title is—” She looked up, her eyes wide with panic: “To Save My Depressed Daughter, Crowdsourcing Help to Find Her Mother.”

I clicked into the live stream. Thanks to the trending Christmas buzz, the viewer count in the top right corner soared. “What kind of father is this? His daughter’s about to jump in the background, and he’s got time to go live?” “He can’t find his wife himself, so he asks strangers for help? Are we his free labor?” “If she’s going to jump, call the police and firefighters! What’s the point of a live stream? Is he just trying to go viral?” Ethan ignored the screen full of doubts and spoke, sobbing: “My decision to go live today truly comes from a place of desperation…” “My daughter, Sophia, developed severe depression after experiencing a period of intense bullying in middle school.” He pointed the phone at Sophia, still on the balcony. Sophia was now sitting even further out, her face smeared with tears and hair sticking to her cheeks. She wildly waved away Ethan’s mom, who was trying to approach her: “I don’t want you! I only want Mom!” “If I don’t see Mom before midnight, I’m jumping!” Sophia’s words were clearly recorded by the live stream camera. “My daughter ran out to the balcony around nine PM and has been repeatedly saying she won’t come down unless she sees her mom. If anyone gets close, she threatens to jump.” “It’s been over an hour now, and she’s still sitting there…” Ethan placed his phone back on the stand, covering his face in anguish. “But, but… no matter how much I pleaded with her mother, she still refuses to come back.” “I know she thinks Sophia’s depression is a burden, but watching your child die, it’s just too cruel.” I typed a comment, intrigued: “You say her mom won’t come back. Do you have proof?” My comment influenced others below me, who also began to question: “Yeah, yeah, internet trends change too fast these days. Just saying her mom won’t come back isn’t credible enough.” “I just can’t believe a mother would be so heartless as to abandon her own daughter. Mothers love their children most of all!” Ethan caught sight of the comments’ skepticism and pulled another phone from his pocket. “I understand everyone’s doubts, but thankfully, I always record my calls.” My heart sank. Sure enough, as his finger pressed play, my words from an hour ago were repeatedly broadcast in the live stream. That line, “As for whether Sophia jumps or not, it has nothing to do with me,” was played a full five times by Ethan! Only when he saw the live chat comments completely turn to condemnation of me did he contentedly lower his phone. With red-rimmed eyes, he looked into the camera. “I truly couldn’t think of any other way, which is why I resorted to this and bothered everyone…” He clasped his hands together and knelt before the camera. “Please, everyone, help me with any clues to find her, so my daughter can have a peaceful New Year.” The comments were swayed by his emotion: “Don’t worry, buddy. Give us some clues. With so many of us, how can we not find her?” “I’ve never failed to find someone online. Don’t worry, man, your daughter will have a good year.” “I’m also a mother of a child with depression. How could this woman be so malicious? She doesn’t deserve to be a mother!” Ethan pulled out a photo of Sarah and me from his phone. “On the left is my wife, Olivia Hayes, and on the right is her best friend, Sarah Miller.” “They’re together celebrating the holidays now, but I don’t know where her best friend lives…” In the background, Sophia’s cries grew louder. Ethan pleaded earnestly, “Please, everyone, you must help me find her.”

At the same time, my phone was immediately bombarded with messages. My boss, colleagues, and old classmates I hadn’t spoken to in years all sent me texts inquiring. The content was nearly identical, mostly “Olivia, is it really true what your husband is saying?” Or “I can’t believe I know such a despicable person, I’m truly terrible at picking friends!” Ethan’s live stream had completely ignited a storm on the internet. Sarah’s and my information were quickly doxxed by netizens. Twenty minutes later, a highlighted comment appeared in the live stream: “That Sarah Miller is my neighbor! She lives at Parkview Apartments, Building 11, Apartment 302.” I looked at that comment, my body shaking uncontrollably. Because Sarah and I were currently staying at Parkview Apartments, Building 11, Apartment 302! Sarah’s face was even whiter than mine. She pointed at the comment. “Olivia… I don’t have neighbors.” The warm air from the AC blew on me, but Sarah’s words left my back drenched in a cold sweat. If she didn’t have neighbors, then who could this person be? As our address was dug up, the live stream comments plunged into complete frenzy. Everyone was eagerly anticipating how “they” would “deal with” a villain like me after the daughter was rescued from the balcony. Just then, Sarah’s phone suddenly rang with an urgent alarm. Afraid she’d be startled, I took her phone and first saw the content on the screen. With just that one glance, my grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. Someone had dug up Sarah’s car license plate number. Then, using the leaked apartment complex name, they went specifically to the building’s parking garage. They found Sarah’s car, parked in the underground garage. And maliciously splashed it with a bucket of animal blood and guts! Pig lungs and liver were hung on the car windows, leaving disgusting smears. It was her brand-new car, bought just last month. A wave of fury consumed my mind. I looked at Ethan on my phone, still endlessly thanking the comments. I scrolled to the bottom of the screen and initiated a “request to join live stream.” I knew that if I didn’t appear soon. They dared to vandalize the car this step, next they’d dare to smash the apartment. Ethan quickly accepted my live stream request. By the time my face appeared in the live stream, the viewer count had reached 100,000! A hint of apology was on his face. “Wife, I didn’t mean to use such an extreme method to force you to appear…” “It’s just—” He aimed the camera at Sophia again. Sophia’s appearance was even more terrifying now than before. She’d gotten a razor blade from somewhere, and her right arm was already gashed and bloody. She was surrounded by police officers and medical personnel, but no one dared approach her. If this standoff continued, she’d die from blood loss even if she didn’t jump. “If you don’t come back, our daughter is really going to die.” My gaze only lingered on Sophia for a second before immediately returning to Ethan. My voice was almost flat as I spoke: “Ethan, give Sophia the phone.” Ethan looked hesitant. “I can give it to her, but wife, can you promise not to say anything to upset Sophia? Her state is really fragile right now…” “I’m giving you a choice.” I adjusted my glasses. “You can also choose not to give her the phone. But if Sophia does something because she doesn’t see me, that won’t be my fault.” Ethan was enraged by my indifferent attitude. But fearing something might truly happen to Sophia, he reluctantly slid the phone across the ground to her. Before sliding it, he threatened: “Olivia Hayes, I’m warning you. If Sophia really dies because of you.” “I won’t let you get away with it!”

As soon as Sophia picked up the phone, the frantic look on her face vanished instantly. Her complexion was pale, tears still clung to the corners of her eyes, and her lips trembled as she murmured: “Mom, why won’t you come back to see me?” “I just wanted you to hug me… will you come back?” I looked at her pitiful appearance, but my heart felt no ripple of emotion. Instead, I turned and asked a seemingly unrelated question: “Sophia, do you still remember why you got depression?” A flicker of confusion crossed Sophia’s face. “Mom, does that matter?” I looked at her sternly. “It matters.” She tightly shut her eyes, her expression instantly becoming one of profound pain, as she shook her head wildly: “Mom, I don’t want to remember, I feel so awful.” Ethan, seeing Sophia like this, roared at me from a distance: “Olivia Hayes, what are you doing? Didn’t I tell you not to upset Sophia!” “Are you deliberately trying to force our daughter to die?!” I cut him off loudly, hardening my face as I emphasized to Sophia: “Sophia, if you don’t tell me why you have depression, I will not come back.” The comments scrolled furiously across my screen: “My God, is she even human? Her daughter’s in this state, and she still wants to upset her.” “My heart aches watching this. Sophia just wants a hug from her mom, why treat her like this…” “I’m a psychology student; patients are already emotionally agitated, and forcing her to recall the cause of her illness—she’s trying to force her daughter to die!” “Can someone arrest this mother? She’s disgusting, how is this any different from intentional murder!” Sophia’s eyebrows furrowed, and she painfully opened her mouth, speaking with great difficulty: “It’s because, in eighth grade, some girls in my class started ganging up on me.” “They forced me to give them ten dollars every day. If I didn’t, they’d find people to corner me in an alley after school.” As she spoke, her body trembled even more violently. “One day, they even… in the alley…” At this point, Sophia was utterly overcome with pain and lost her voice. But I wasn’t satisfied and pressed on: “What did they do to you in the alley!” Ethan couldn’t bear to listen, yelling furiously from the perimeter, his voice distorted: “Enough, Olivia Hayes!” “We both saw the surveillance footage from that day in the alley; we both know exactly what happened! Why do you insist on asking?” “Didn’t you yourself propose a pact that day? This incident, it would disappear from our home, and no one would ever mention it again.” He shrieked: “Are you only satisfied if you force Sophia to die today…?” “Is this how you’re a mother? I truly misjudged you!” Sophia opened her eyes, raised the phone, and asked me pleadingly: “Mom, I’ve told you everything. Can you come back now?” “Normally, if I just got a cut, you’d be so worried, looking everywhere for bandages. How have you changed now…” I stared at her coldly, and the words I spoke made everyone’s faces change. “No.” I added: “Even if you die here today, I will not come back.” Then, silently, I mouthed something to her. After seeing what I mouthed, Sophia’s lips trembled, and her eyes filled with shock. In an instant, before anyone could react. She threw the phone away, swayed backward, and with a decisive fall, plunged towards the ground below.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409380”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

1 My husband of ten years had never brought home more than three thousand dollars a month. He claimed he was constantly making mistakes, incurring three-hundred-dollar or five-hundred-dollar penalties that stripped his take-home pay down to a meager two thousand. For years, my own salary was the only thing keeping our heads above water, paying off the mortgage, the car loan, and our daily expenses. But then, our seven-year-old daughter was severely injured. I had no choice but to quit my job to become her full-time caregiver, leaving the entire financial burden on his shoulders. To pay for her specialized treatment, my husband worked day and night, picking up food delivery shifts the moment he clocked out of his day job. Yet, we slid deeper and deeper into debt. Ultimately, my daughter missed her critical window for treatment, and the doctors had to amputate her leg to save her life. I thought this was simply our tragic fate, a burden we were destined to bear, until I went to file for her disability benefits and stumbled upon a hidden bankbook. It held a balance of over twenty-five million dollars, a fortune built from the very bonuses and commissions he claimed he had never received. And his plan for that money? To fund a lavish, multi-million-dollar fireworks display for his first love. … Because neither of us made much money, after paying off the house and the car, we had barely enough left to cover groceries. We lived on the knife-edge of survival. Our daughter, Rachel, was only7, but she possessed a heartbreaking maturity. She would quietly skip breakfast, saving the five dollars I gave her for lunch so we could use it for bills. Desperate to ease our burden, she secretly started earning her own pennies at school, running errands, buying breakfast, and carrying homework for her wealthier classmates. I was entirely in the dark until last week, when her teacher called to tell me Rachel had been struck by a car while crossing the street to buy breakfast for a classmate. Only then did I realize how much weight her tiny shoulders had been carrying. I quit my job immediately to stay by her hospital bed, but her condition continued to deteriorate. The doctors assured me she would survive, but they warned me that only a specialized, imported drug could save her leg from permanent tissue death. The catch? Each pill cost twenty thousand dollars, and she needed two pills a month. Our combined savings couldn’t even cover half of a single dose. We sold our car, listed our home, and mortgaged every asset we possessed, but the gap remained impossibly wide. The specialist warned us that the golden window for saving her leg was closing rapidly. Desperate, we begged our relatives, reached out to old friends, and launched a crowdfunding campaign online. Late one night, Rachel’s small, frail hand brushed against my arm. Her voice was barely a whisper in the quiet ward. “Mom, please stop the treatment. I don’t want you and Dad to suffer so much for me.” Hearing her speak, the emotional dam I had built over the past weeks completely shattered. I held her close and wept through the night, but when the sun rose, I had to wash my face and continue searching for ways to scrape together the money. “Maddie, I can’t do this anymore.” My husband, Kevin, walked into the room wearing his worn delivery vest, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “Between my office job and these late-night deliveries, we aren’t even making a dent in the cost of that medicine. Maybe we should just let them amputate. Prosthetics are incredibly advanced these days, she can still live a normal life.” We had a screaming match right there in the corridor. I couldn’t accept that my little girl would have to go through life missing a limb, but reality eventually caught up with us. Because we couldn’t pay the hospital fees, the specialty medication was halted, and the surgeon had no choice but to amputate. Losing her leg seemed to drain the last bit of life from our family. After she was discharged, we moved into a cramped, dingy one-bedroom rental. The small space was constantly filled with the medicinal smell of ointments and a suffocating silence. Kevin threw himself into his work with even greater intensity, working his day job and delivering food until the early hours of the morning. He would collapse onto his cot the moment he got home, barely speaking a word to us. I thought he was drowning in guilt and exhaustion. Until the afternoon the community center notified me that Rachel was eligible for disability assistance. While searching our closet for our marriage certificate, my fingers brushed against a small, stiff booklet tucked deep inside the inner pocket of an old suit jacket he rarely wore. It was a dark blue, textured bankbook, unassuming at first glance. Driven by a sudden, inexplicable urge, I flipped it open. It was a private account in his name, registered with an exclusive private bank known only to the city’s ultra-wealthy. My eyes scanned down the printed rows of transactions, eventually stopping at the final balance. I counted the digits once, twice, my mind going completely blank. I stared at the string of zeros, refusing to believe my own eyes. Twenty-four million, five hundred and sixty-seven thousand, eight hundred dollars. I had known Kevin for ten years and been married to him for eight. He always claimed his base salary was thirty-five hundred dollars, but insisted that after various deductions, he never brought home more than three thousand. His explanation was always the same: his superiors were vindictive, and the company found every excuse to dock his pay. I had begged him to find another job, but he always refused, claiming he owed a debt of loyalty to the firm. Now, looking at this bankbook, the puzzle pieces fell into place with a sickening click. The most recent deposit was a wire transfer from a week ago: a project commission of thirty-five thousand dollars. A week ago, we were begging on our knees for Rachel’s medical fees, and Kevin was weeping, claiming he wanted to jump off a bridge to end his misery. Yet, he was secretly sitting on a fortune. I forced myself to remain calm, grabbing my identification documents and the bankbook before heading out the door. I needed to know exactly where every single cent had come from. During the two-hour transit to the bank, I tried to rationalize his behavior, desperate to find an excuse. Maybe the account didn’t belong to him. Maybe the funds were being held in trust for his firm. But when the account manager printed out the complete transaction history, the truth stared back at me, cold and undeniable. 2 Clutching the thick stack of printed statements, I listened to the bank manager explain the account’s history with polite professionalism. “Mrs. Bennett, your husband is one of our premier private banking clients. His financial portfolio is exceptionally robust.” Kevin had spent years telling me that Grayson Group stripped his commissions, but the statements showed they had never docked a single dime. In fact, his monthly take-home pay had consistently exceeded twenty-five thousand dollars. My eyes scrolled down the pages, finding transaction after transaction that aligned with our family’s worst crises. Three years ago, Rachel was rejected from a prestigious private academy because we “couldn’t afford” the tuition. On that exact day, Kevin’s account received a deposit of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, labeled as a bonus from an overseas clean energy venture. Two years ago, my mother required an urgent cardiovascular procedure. Kevin claimed the company’s funds were locked up, forcing me to swallow my pride and borrow thirty thousand dollars from every relative we had. On that same day, his account cleared a wire transfer of five hundred thousand dollars for his annual management bonus. One year ago, Kevin had a minor collision with a luxury vehicle, claiming he had to pay a five-thousand-dollar deductible out of pocket. I took extra shifts to cover the cost, while his account was credited with seventy thousand dollars for quarterly performance. Every single time we were pushed to the brink of despair, every time I lay awake at night crying over utility bills, every time our daughter suppressed her own wishes because she knew we were poor, he was holding a fortune in his pocket. He chose to watch us drown. He chose to let us suffer, using our pain to play the part of the tragic, hard-working family man. Hot tears spilled over my cheeks. How could a man hold tens of millions of dollars in his hands and look his wife in the eye, weeping about how hard it was to put food on the table? “I’m fine,” I said, wiping my face and offering the manager a polite smile. “Thank you for your help. I’ll take these records with me. There’s no need to inform my husband of my visit.” Stepping out into the humid air, my mind was a chaotic blur. I knew I couldn’t handle this alone, so I pulled out my phone and dialed the number of the most ruthless divorce attorney in the city, Mr. Douglas. With his guidance, I finalized Rachel’s disability registration. But Mr. Douglas gave me a sobering warning: simply finding the money wasn’t enough to secure everything in a court of law. I needed to discover exactly what he was saving this money for, and why he had gone to such extreme lengths to hide his true financial standing from his own family. Since Rachel’s amputation, our neighbors had been incredibly supportive, dropping off home-cooked meals and helping with the garbage. But none of them knew the storm brewing inside me. Every evening, I had to look at Kevin and pretend to be the same supportive, grateful wife, thanking him for working multiple jobs to support us. That evening, Rachel mentioned she was craving her father’s homemade chicken noodle soup. I bought the ingredients early and called Kevin to let him know. An hour later, a text popped up on my screen: [Got a high-paying delivery order on the other side of town. Don’t wait up for dinner.] In the past, I would have felt a pang of guilt, wishing he didn’t have to work so hard. But tonight, I was standing across the street from a trendy uptown lounge, watching him park his delivery scooter. He pulled off his helmet, laughing and joking with a group of well-dressed men as they walked inside. “You think this is easy for me?” Kevin’s loud voice drifted from a semi-private booth near the back of the lounge. I slipped into the adjacent booth, hiding behind the high leather backrest, my phone’s voice recorder active. “I’ve spent ten years playing the poor bastard!” Kevin scoffed, taking a long swig of his drink. “Looking at those miserable pennies every month made me sick. And Maddie actually believes I’m some useless, low-earning failure.” His childhood friend clapped him on the back. “Come on, Kevin, you’re playing the long game. For Victoria, it’s worth every second.” Victoria. Victoria Ross. His first love, the girl who had walked away, his sacred muse. “I didn’t have the means back then,” Kevin sighed, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “Her family looked down on me and forced her to marry that wealthy snob. Now that her husband’s firm has collapsed, it’s my turn to step up. I’m going to give her the life she deserves.” He smiled, a look of pure satisfaction on his face. “I have more than enough to buy her whatever estate she wants. I’m going to give her everything.” One of his friends leaned forward, lowering his voice. “But what about your daughter? The kid just lost her leg. Why didn’t you use some of that cash to save her?” I held my breath, waiting for his response. Kevin slammed his glass onto the table, his voice turning cold and sharp. “Why should they get to spend my money?” “They’re nothing but dead weight. If Victoria hadn’t married that guy, I would have never married Maddie in the first place. I was just lonely.” “Every cent I made is for Victoria. She’s landing back in the country this weekend. I’ve coordinated a private, luxury fireworks display for her homecoming. You guys better show up.” The sound of clinking glasses and raucous laughter echoed through the booth. I switched off the recording, slid out of the lounge, and walked into the cool night air. When I got home, the nanny had already put Rachel to sleep. I sat in the dim light of the living room, staring at our wedding photograph on the wall. Was defying my own family to marry him worth it? No. It was a joke. I picked up my phone and dialed Mr. Douglas. “Mr. Douglas, I have new evidence. Along with the bank records, I have a recording of him admitting to hiding marital assets and intentionally withholding medical funds from our daughter.” Kevin, you think you can keep playing this game? You want to give your muse a beautiful fireworks display? Then I will make sure that when those fireworks reach their peak, you fall straight into the abyss you’ve dug for yourself.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453928”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After slaving away like a dog for the Campbell family for twenty years, I received my termination notice on the exact day their biological daughter returned. My mother pointed at her and said, “From now on, she will be running all operations at Campbell Corporation.” The biological daughter, Bianca, who didn’t even know how to format a basic spreadsheet, immediately posted a smug picture on her social media, showing off the Porsche and the company shares that used to be mine. Our chief financial officer looked at the measly three-hundred-dollar severance check in his hand and let out a long, heavy sigh. I calmly handed over every key in my possession, walked out the door, and took a position at our fiercest rival’s firm. Two weeks later, my mother found me, weeping hysterically. “Why did the banks freeze all of our credit lines? What did you do to us?” … “My biological daughter is back. The corner office belongs to her now.” Before I could even speak, a girl dressed in my custom-tailored haute couture outfit sashayed over. This was Bianca, the true heiress of the Campbell family. She pointed a manicured finger at my face, her lips curling into a mocking sneer. “The fake should know her place. Pack your bags and get lost.” “This dress is entirely wasted on you anyway.” She gestured to my wrist. “And that watch you’re wearing, my mother bought that for me. Take it off.” Her tone was so self-assured, as if she were confronting a common thief. I looked at them: the woman I had called Mother for twenty years, and the biological daughter who had been back for less than a day. “Starting today, Bianca is in charge of everything,” my mother announced, her words signaling the end of an era. With that single sentence, my twenty years of dedication to the firm were entirely wiped clean. Our CFO, Mr. Henderson, walked over, his hand trembling slightly as he held an envelope. He slid a few bills across the polished desk, his voice barely a whisper. “Mrs. Campbell’s orders… this is your severance. Not a single penny more.” Three hundred dollars. It wasn’t even enough to fill the tank of the Porsche I had been driving. It wasn’t a severance package: it was spare change thrown to a beggar. The profits I had generated for this company were measured in the tens of millions. Now, my exit was valued at three hundred dollars. I didn’t touch the cash. I simply looked at my mother and Bianca with absolute calm. I placed my apartment keys, the office keys, and the combination to the corporate safe onto the mahogany desk. Then, I unclasped the luxury watch from my wrist and let it clatter beside them. “I hope you don’t regret this.” Bianca let out a sharp laugh, snatching up the car keys and snapping a photograph. She grabbed the share transfer agreement my mother had prepared, posting both images to her social media with the caption: Returned to the rightful owner. I’m back! Within seconds, my phone vibrated with notifications as the company group chats lit up. The very employees who had called me “Director Campbell” yesterday were now lining up to flatter Bianca. Even the security guard at the front gate looked away, pretending not to see me as I walked past. I was treated like a leaper carrying a plague. I walked out of the building carrying a single cardboard box containing nothing but a few of my favorite business textbooks. I took one last look at the glass tower. I no longer had a home. The moment I stepped onto the street, I dialed a number I had kept saved in my phone for three years. “Mr. Crawford, does your previous offer still stand?” 2 A low laugh echoed from the receiver. “Of course, Natalie. I’ve been waiting for you.” The moment I hung up, my screen filled with dozens of unread messages from suppliers and banking representatives. “Director Campbell, is the proposal for next quarter finalized?” “Natalie, when will our outstanding invoice be cleared?” I drafted a single, cold template and sent it to everyone: I have officially resigned from Campbell Corporation. Please direct all future business inquiries to Miss Bianca Campbell. The top-floor office of Crawford Enterprises offered a sweeping view of the city’s financial district. Marcus Crawford slid an authorization agreement across the glass desk. “Full executive authority. HR, finance, and operations: you have the final say.” I signed my name without a moment’s hesitation. “My first move is to secure the talent.” Meanwhile, Campbell Corporation was undergoing a massive, chaotic restructuring. Bianca had decided my old office was too plain, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to redecorate it. The sleek leather chairs were replaced with pink velvet sofas, and the desk was cluttered with useless, expensive crystal ornaments. “That old-fashioned style of management is completely obsolete,” Bianca boasted, spinning in her executive chair while taking selfies for her followers. “We’re adopting a flat structure now. No more bureaucratic approvals, if I like a proposal, we move forward.” Mr. Henderson rushed into her office, holding a stack of corporate expense reports. “Miss Campbell, how can we charge these luxury handbags to the company account? This is a severe compliance violation!” Bianca didn’t even look up from her phone. “I’m the executive director. What’s wrong with buying a few bags? It’s for corporate public relations.” Mr. Henderson’s hands shook with frustration. He marched down to my mother’s office to protest, but she merely waved her hand dismissively. “Bianca is just settling into her role. What’s wrong with spending a little money? Don’t bring Natalie’s rigid, joyless rules into my office.” Mr. Henderson stood frozen, letting out a silent sigh before retreating from the room. That afternoon, a major municipal client called demanding the technical specifications for an active project. The files were locked on my old computer, secured with an advanced encryption protocol. Bianca tried a dozen passwords, growing increasingly frustrated. “Call IT! Tell them to break this piece of garbage open!” The IT department was summoned, and they forced open the hard drive. But because the security protocol had been bypassed, the system triggered a self-defense wipe, leaving the data corrupted. “What is this garbage?” Bianca sneered, staring at the screen. “Miss Campbell, the data is corrupted. We cannot send this to the client,” the technician warned. “The client is screaming for it,” Bianca said, applying a fresh layer of nail polish. “Just make up some numbers and send it over. They won’t know the difference anyway.” Two hours later, the client’s furious tirade was directed straight to my mother’s personal line. My mother spent the evening offering groveling apologies and promising discount rates, barely managing to salvage the relationship. When she hung up, she offered Bianca nothing more than a gentle scolding. “Be more careful next time, darling. Don’t let them catch you making mistakes.” Bianca rolled her eyes. “That client was just looking for a reason to complain.” At that exact moment, I was sitting in a quiet cafe across the street. Campbell Corporation’s Sales Director sat opposite me, his face lined with exhaustion. “Natalie, it’s a circus over there. That spoiled child doesn’t know the first thing about logistics, but she insists on micromanaging every shipment.” I took a sip of my coffee and slid a contract across the table. “Crawford Enterprises is expanding. We’re offering double your current compensation package.” His eyes lit up, his hand dropping over the contract. “Let me pack my desk.” That evening, Bianca posted another update on her social media, showing her signing a stack of documents with the caption: Running a corporation isn’t that hard. Some people just liked to pretend they were busy to seem important. I zoomed in on the photograph. The documents she was signing were non-binding letters of intent, riddled with glaring legal loopholes that left the company completely vulnerable. I put my phone down and dialed our acquisitions department. “The Westside development project Campbell Corp is bidding on: intercept it.” The next day, the news of the lost bid reached the Campbell executive suite. Instead of panic, Bianca addressed the senior management with condescending amusement. “A low-margin project like that is only fit for beggars. We are focusing on high-end ventures. Let them have the scraps.” She had no idea that the Westside project was Campbell Corporation’s only source of steady liquid cash flow. In the company’s inbox, an automated red-flag warning from their primary lending institution arrived. Bianca glanced at the screen, annoyed by the notifications. “Why is there so much spam today?” She selected all, clicked delete, and emptied the trash folder. The screen was clear, and her world was quiet once more. 3 The annual regional commerce summit was held at the grand convention center. Desperate to save face after losing the Westside project, my mother made a grand entrance with Bianca by her side. I encountered them near the registration pavilion. I was wearing a tailored, unadorned black power suit, devoid of any jewelry. “Well, look who it is,” Bianca sneered, clutching my mother’s arm. “Does Crawford Enterprises pay that poorly? You can’t even afford a decent necklace. Still looking like a basic assistant.” I ignored her, walking past to greet several prominent industry leaders. “Mr. Ross, Mr. Thomas, it’s wonderful to see you again,” I said, offering a warm smile. The executives immediately paused their conversation, their faces lighting up as they reached out to shake my hand. “Natalie! We heard you joined Crawford Enterprises. Marcus certainly lucked out getting you on his team!” “We must schedule a lunch next week to discuss the new distribution channels!” Bianca was left standing on the perimeter, her smug smile hardening into a mask of embarrassment. My mother’s face turned pale as she quickly ushered her daughter toward their assigned seats. When it was Campbell Corporation’s turn to present, Bianca walked onto the stage, clutching a speech she had spent the previous night memorizing. Her presentation slides were filled with overly stylized fonts and flashy graphics. “In the coming fiscal year… we plan to… build a synergy… of luxury ecosystems…” she read, her voice flat and devoid of any logical structure. The applause from the audience was polite but sparse, most of the executives already checking their phones. During the Q&A session, I raised my hand. The moderator immediately recognized me, passing the microphone down the row. Seeing me stand, Bianca’s eyes flashed with a sudden, sharp panic. “Miss Campbell, in light of the projected volatility in raw material costs next quarter, what is Campbell Corporation’s specific hedging strategy?” It was a standard industry question, but it was the lifeblood of a manufacturing firm. Bianca froze. She didn’t even know what the word “hedging” meant. She looked desperately toward our mother in the front row, who was frantically making hand gestures, but it was useless. “Regarding that query…” Bianca stammered, forcing a nervous laugh. “We will simply negotiate with our suppliers to bring the prices down.” A heavy, dead silence descended on the hall. Then, a ripple of quiet amusement broke through the crowd. Negotiating against global market index prices was an absolute joke. Marcus Crawford took the microphone from my hand, adding a dry postscript. “It seems Campbell Corporation’s strategy relies on wishful thinking. Fascinating.” The laughter in the hall grew louder. Bianca’s face burned crimson, and she looked as if she wanted to sink through the floor. My mother rushed onto the stage, grabbing the microphone. “What my daughter means is that we are optimizing our supply chain management to mitigate overhead,” she explained, using her twenty years of industry standing to salvage the situation. The next morning, the financial media was ruthless. Campbell Corp’s New Director Displays Shocking Ignorance. Attempting to Negotiate Against Global Markets: A Corporate Comedy. Campbell Corporation’s stock price immediately began to slide. Back at their estate, my mother threw the morning papers onto the coffee table. “This is your idea of being prepared?” Bianca burst into tears. “Mom, Natalie set me up! She used industry jargon I’ve never heard of before!” My mother let out a tired sigh, her heart softening at her daughter’s tears. “Alright, dry your eyes. Once the bank approves our capital injection, we can stabilize the stock price. The Campbell family can weather this storm.” Desperate to prove herself, Bianca secretly took a meeting with a foreign investment firm called Sinclair Holdings, which promised a guaranteed thirty percent return on short-term capital. The representative was impeccably dressed and spoke with a smooth, aristocratic accent. Bianca bypassed my mother’s approval, signing a high-yield leverage agreement. “Once this return clears, I’ll see who dares to look down on me,” she whispered as she signed the document, already imagining the city’s elite bowing to her success. In my office, I reviewed the photographs sent by my private investigator. The man shaking hands with Bianca in the pictures was a notorious international financial fugitive. I closed the file and opened a finalized document. With a single click, I sent a hundred-page risk assessment report to Campbell Corporation’s primary credit institution. The report detailed their fraudulent R&D claims, their corrupted technical data, and Bianca’s unauthorized, high-yield leverage agreements. Ten minutes later, the Campbell executive suite erupted into chaos. Our former Sales Director, accompanied by the entire corporate accounts team, walked into Bianca’s office and dropped their resignation letters onto her desk. “What is the meaning of this? This is mutiny!” Bianca shrieked. “Crawford Enterprises offered us double our salary,” the director replied with a cold smile. “And honestly, we’d prefer not to starve under your leadership.” Before she could process their departure, the procurement manager burst into the room, his face white with panic. “Miss Campbell! Our raw material shipments have been halted! The budget supplier we switched to has been shut down by federal regulators for toxic waste violations! Our warehouses have been sealed by court order!” Bianca collapsed into her chair. “Call Sinclair Holdings! Tell him we need an immediate withdrawal of our investment to cover the emergency procurement!” She dialed the number with trembling fingers. We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service. Only the cold, automated recording echoed in her empty office. The luxury investment firm had vanished into thin air, taking the company’s remaining liquid cash with them. Mr. Henderson marched into my mother’s office, holding a red-inked financial summary. “Mrs. Campbell, we are ruined! All of our corporate accounts have been frozen!” My mother’s vision blurred, and she gripped the edge of her desk to keep from fainting. “How is that possible? What about our credit lines?” “The bank just issued a formal default notice.” Mr. Henderson’s hand shook as he handed her the document. “Due to material breaches of contract and extreme operational risk, the bank has recalled all outstanding loans, halted all pending credit, and initiated asset liquidation.” My mother clutched the document, her manicured nails tearing through the paper. “Natalie… this was Natalie’s doing!” The empire was crumbling in an instant. Suppliers lined the street outside their building, holding signs demanding unpaid wages. The factory floors fell silent as workers walked off the job. Bianca locked herself in the executive washroom, her phone ringing continuously with threats and demands from creditors. Late that night, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I picked it up, and the agonizing, hysterical crying of my mother echoed through the line. “Why? Why did the banks freeze everything?” she wailed, her voice thick with panic. “Natalie! What have you done to us?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453927”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 At four o’clock in the morning, my codependent, drama-addicted best friend pounded frantically on my front door. “Paige! My boyfriend is going to break up with me! We have to go kneel outside his apartment together and beg him to stay, please?” I stared at her in utter disbelief. “Why do I have to kneel?” Natalie nodded quickly. “It makes me look more sincere! If he sees you swallowing your pride for me, he’ll definitely soften up!” I opened my mouth to refuse, but she suddenly whipped a kitchen knife from her purse, pressing the dull side against her own wrist. “Paige, I love him so much. If he leaves me, I swear I won’t survive the night!” Terrified of what she might do, I allowed myself to be dragged through the freezing pre-dawn air to the high-rise downtown. We knelt on the hard concrete, shivering as the darkness slowly gave way to the first pale light of morning. Finally, just as the first rays of the sun began to warm the glass facade, the lobby doors swung open. A tall man walked out, his arm wrapped protectively around a heavily pregnant woman. The moment I raised my head, my mind went completely blank. The man was Derek Harrington, my husband of seven years, the man I had been in a bitter cold war with for the past month. Beside me, Natalie’s tears vanished. She stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees, and smugly pulled Derek away from the pregnant woman’s side. “We had a bet, Derek! Whoever got Paige to kneel and apologize first got you to yourself for a whole month! I won, sweetie. You can’t break your promise now.” My eyes drifted to the pregnant woman. She looked horribly familiar. She was Scarlett Moore, the underprivileged student Derek and I had sponsored through our charitable foundation for the past seven years. “No wonder you agreed to let me have Derek last night, Natalie,” Scarlett murmured, resting a hand on her round stomach, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “You already had this little performance planned.” “That’s enough,” Derek said, raising a hand to pacify both women. “Scarlett, you’re pregnant, go home and rest for the month. Natalie, you won, but you need to show some consideration for Scarlett’s condition.” Only after he had comforted them did his gaze finally land on me. “Stop fighting it, Paige,” he said, walking over to grab my hand. Our matching platinum wedding bands glistened in the morning light, feeling like cold iron against my skin. “Why that face? It was just a harmless joke. Besides, you know how I am.” Yes, I knew exactly how Derek Harrington was. He was a notorious playboy, a man driven by a desperate need to win. When our families arranged our marriage of convenience, he had promised to clear out his harem, and I had foolishly believed the reformed bad boy myth. “So… you slept with the girl we sponsored, slept with my childhood best friend, and conspired with them to make me kneel on the street, all just to see me submit?” “Of course,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my forehead. “In a marriage, someone has to have the upper hand.” “I admit the method was a bit extreme this time, but you’re my wife. No matter what happens, I would never let an outsider threaten our home.” Natalie grabbed my arm, her expression bright. “Paige, we’ve been best friends forever. You always said you wanted me to find a reliable man. I trust your taste, Derek is perfect. Besides, I’m a free spirit, I have no intention of marrying him or ruining your household.” Scarlett offered a timid smile, cradling her stomach. “Me too, Mrs. Harrington! This baby was an accident, but I only view you and Mr. Harrington as my benefactors. No matter the gender, I only want financial security, I would never try to take your place.” Looking at my husband’s modern-day harem, I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “This is the fidelity you promised me after our wedding?” Derek blinked, looking genuinely surprised. “Isn’t this enough?” “I’m a man, Paige. I was never going to spend my entire life tied to one woman. I agreed to the merger because I thought you understood that. I thought you didn’t mind.” “If you hadn’t tried to freeze me out this month, you would have never even known about them.” He wiped a tear from my cheek. “Be good, Paige. Stop making a scene. You are still the only one who matters to me.” I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. He didn’t get angry. He simply chuckled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “Go home and wait for me. Tonight, I’m all yours.” 2 By the time my driver found me sitting near the apartment gates, I was shaking with silent sobs. As the city lights blurred outside the window, my mind drifted back to our university years in London. Derek had been the campus playboy, always surrounded by beautiful women. At a party once, a classmate had joked about who would eventually be forced to marry him to settle his wild streak. When someone mentioned my name, the others immediately laughed it off. “No way! Paige Reynolds believes in true love and old-school romance. She’d never touch a guy like him.” Amid the laughter, Derek’s expression had turned serious. He pushed his companions aside, sat down next to me, and whispered, “If my partner is you, Paige, I’d give it all up.” I had looked away, hiding the secret love I had carried for him ever since he had defended me against high school bullies years before. Later, when the Harrington family faced a severe liquidity crisis, I found him drinking himself to sleep at a private club, and proposed our corporate merger. He had looked at me with tear-filled eyes, promising, “I’ll clear everyone else out, Paige. No matter how rotten I am, I’ll never bring that dirt home to you.” The car came to a stop. We were back at the estate we had designed together, the home we had shared for seven years. In corporate marriages, emotional decay was common, but I had never expected Derek and me to end up like this. I packed my bags quickly, preparing to move to a private townhouse under my own name. But as I opened the passenger door, my assistant called, her voice tight with panic. “Mrs. Harrington, we have a crisis!” “The shares of Harrington Enterprises are plunging. Someone leaked photographs of Mr. Harrington taking a young woman to an OB-GYN clinic. The media is claiming your marriage is over, and institutional investors are threatening to pull their capital!” I ordered the driver to take me directly to the medical plaza. The main entrance was already swarming with reporters, their flashes reflecting off the glass doors. I pushed through the crowd, heading straight to the private VIP wing on the top floor. Inside the examination room, Derek was kneeling beside Scarlett’s chair, his ear pressed against her pregnant belly. “You’re here,” he said, standing up and smoothing his tailored suit. “The lobby is packed with reporters. Did you have any trouble getting past them?” The truth hit me with sudden, freezing clarity. “You leaked those photos yourself.” “Of course,” he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I told you to wait for me, but you tried to leave. I had to use a little leverage to bring you back.” I couldn’t believe my own ears. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much this scandal is going to cost the firm?” Scarlett whimpered, shrinking behind him. “Mrs. Harrington, please don’t be mad at Derek. It’s my fault, my stomach was hurting, and he only came to support me. If you want to blame someone, blame me!” “Blame you?” I let out a cold laugh, thrusting my phone screen toward her face. “In three hours, we lost seventy million dollars. I could liquidate every asset you own, and you still couldn’t cover the margin call!” Scarlett burst into tears. “Why are you yelling at her?” Derek snapped, pulling her behind him. “Scarlett grew up in a small town, she doesn’t understand corporate finances. It’s nothing a joint public statement can’t fix. Why take it out on a pregnant woman?” “I only wanted to teach you a lesson, I didn’t expect the market to react this violently. But since we’re here, you’ll have to help me coordinate with the public relations team to clean this up.” His casual tone reminded me of our first year of marriage. An aspiring actress had tried to use Derek’s name for publicity, leaking photos of him escorting her to a hotel. Before the story could even break, Derek had blacklisted her and sued the photographer into bankruptcy. When the dust settled, he had thrown himself into my arms, murmuring, “My darling, you have no idea how hard I had to fight to keep my reputation clean for you.” Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my lower abdomen, forcing me to gasp. Derek’s eyes narrowed with concern. “What’s wrong?” He reached out to steady me, but I flinched away from his touch. He turned to his assistant. “Take my wife downstairs to the executive clinic for an immediate evaluation.” Then, he looked back at me, his voice softening. “Let them check you over, then go back to the house and wait for me. I’ll make sure this is settled by tonight.” I pushed past him, walking out of the ward. Just outside the clinic doors, a familiar physician called out to me. “Mrs. Harrington! I was just about to call you. Your laboratory results from last week are finalized. Congratulations!” 3 Even as Derek pushed open the front door of our estate that evening, the doctor’s words from earlier were still echoing in my ears. “Twins. Almost eleven weeks along. Everything looks perfectly healthy.” “Three months already…” I whispered, my hand resting gently on my flat stomach. “If I terminate the pregnancy now… will it be very painful?” The doctor had paused, her expression turning incredibly serious. “Mrs. Harrington, from a professional standpoint, I strongly advise against that. Your uterine lining is exceptionally thin. If you choose to terminate this pregnancy, it is highly unlikely you will ever conceive again.” A hand waved in front of my face, breaking my trance. “Are you listening to me?” Derek’s voice brought me back to the dim living room. “I’ve scheduled a press conference for tomorrow morning to clarify the hospital photos. As long as we stand together before the cameras, the rumors will die down.” I didn’t answer, my palm pressing against my stomach. “Derek,” I said softly, “if I were pregnant… would you change?” He froze, then let out a low laugh. “What a question. Are you really this jealous of Scarlett?” He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “No matter what happens, you are my only wife. Natalie, Scarlett… they’re just distractions. They don’t compare to you.” “Even if Scarlett has the baby, I’ll simply establish a trust fund and send them abroad. Then, it will just be you and Natalie left here with me.” He looked down at me, his tone filled with a sickening kind of tenderness. “Don’t worry, you and Natalie have been friends since childhood. She would never hurt you.” I smiled. It was exactly what I had expected. Every trace of the love I had carried for him since our youth vanished into nothingness. So be it. Our marriage was a commercial transaction, a quest for profit. I should have never expected a soul. For the sake of the life growing inside me, I agreed to the compromise. “What time is the conference?” Derek let out a long, visible sigh of relief. “Ten o’clock tomorrow morning.” He patted my head. “You’ve had a long day. Go get some rest.” With that, he turned and walked toward the master bath. The next morning, we stood arm-in-arm before a wall of flashing cameras, presenting the perfect picture of corporate solidarity. Derek addressed the room with his trademark charm. “First, I want to thank everyone for their interest in our personal lives.” “The young woman in the photographs is an employee of our foundation. As her employer, I was merely assisting with a medical emergency. Any rumors of inappropriate conduct…” He offered a self-deprecating smile. “A few blurry photos and some internet gossip shouldn’t be enough to cause such a stir, surely?” A reporter in the front row pressed further. “Mr. Harrington, your bachelor years were quite colorful. Is this joint appearance merely a public relations stunt to stabilize the stock price? Is your marriage actually intact?” Derek’s laugh was warm and easy. “We all have our wild years. But from the day I married Paige, I understood the responsibilities of a husband.” He offered me a playful, apologetic look. “If you keep digging up my past, my wife might make me sleep on the couch tonight!” The room filled with polite laughter. I offered a gentle nod and a warm smile for the cameras, doing exactly what was required to reassure our institutional investors. The narrative was already shifting online: The Reformed Playboy, Corporate Power Couple, True Love in High Society. I kept the smile fixed on my face, watching him. Seeing the crisis averted, Derek relaxed, preparing to deliver his closing remarks. But suddenly, the phone in his pocket began to vibrate. My smile grew wider.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453926”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My fiancée, Kristin, had a best friend named Brooke who proudly called herself a master of training men. She preached that all men were inherently flawed beasts who needed to be broken and house-trained. Under Brooke’s constant brainwashing, Kristin turned my life into a series of endless rules. I had to be on call twenty-four hours a day. Going on a business trip required submitting a written request for approval three days in advance. Every hour, I had to send my live location and video-call her to prove exactly what I was doing. I had to do ten things to please Kristin just to earn a single kiss, and I had to perform ridiculous public displays of affection to prove my loyalty. My buddies laughed at me. “Gavin, man, that good-husband training of yours… you might as well be in a maximum-security prison.” I would just smile it off. “Happy wife, happy life, right?” I was planning my ninety-ninth proposal, waiting for the exact moment my company went public. But then Kristin and Brooke burst into the conference room with a mob, ripped the stockings off my female business partner, and pulled them over her head. That was the exact moment my patience snapped. If they wanted a dog, they could go find another one. I was done playing fetch. … Ten minutes prior. I had just closed the deal of a lifetime with our investor, Diana Ward. The moment her pen touched the contract, my company would be cleared for its IPO. Just as Diana raised her pen to sign, a shrill screech shattered the quiet of the boardroom. “Kristin, watch how I handle this homewrecking whore!” Brooke did not even hesitate. She lunged forward and grabbed Diana by the hair. “Tear her apart! Look at that slutty face of hers!” Kristin’s face was twisted in absolute rage. They had brought five or six women with them. Some screamed, others swung. The room descended into absolute chaos. “Suit jacket on top, fishnets and stilettos on the bottom? What kind of business meeting is this? She is practically begging to be bent over!” “Exactly! Kristin, if we were ten minutes late, they would be rolling around on the lounge sofa!” Brooke’s words poured gasoline on the fire. Kristin glared at me, her eyes burning with a deep, ugly resentment, as if she had caught me red-handed. “Have you lost your minds? Get off her!” I snarled. When Brooke finally let go, she ripped out a bloody clump of Diana’s hair. Kristin leaped in, tearing Diana’s stockings off her legs and forcing them over her face. Seeing Diana exposed, I threw my suit jacket over her shoulders. She was shaking, her voice trembling with pure rage. “Is this your idea of a professional negotiation, Gavin?” “I am so incredibly sorry. I will make this right, I promise…” Before I could finish, Kristin ripped my jacket off Diana and threw it to the floor. “Why are you apologizing to her? She is a cheap homewrecker! She deserves to be humiliated!” “Exactly! Rising to the top at her age? We all know how she got her promotions,” Brooke sneered. Diana let out a sharp, furious laugh. “This is slander! I will sue you into the ground!” “Go ahead! Sue us! You came in here to seduce my fiancé, and now you are playing the victim?” Kristin sneered. My face turned cold. “Kristin! Shut up! Apologize to Diana right now!” “You are making me apologize? Gavin, I love you so much! What did I do wrong?” Suddenly, she was the victim. I bowed deeply to Diana. “Please, let my assistant escort you out first. I will handle this.” Diana glared at me, adjusted her torn clothes, and stormed out. Looking at the hysterical Kristin and her smug group of friends, a profound emptiness settled in my chest. Eight years of knowing her, six years of loving her, and I was finally, utterly exhausted. Eight years ago. Kristin was the golden girl of our university. An heiress with the title of campus queen, she had a line of suitors stretching out the door. I was nobody, a poor kid getting by on scholarships and hard labor. I worked night shifts just to buy her the fresh organic milk she liked every morning. My poorly written love letters filled her locker daily. Back then, Brooke would laugh and say, “Probably some broke loser dreaming of a miracle.” But Kristin never threw them away. I could not afford expensive roses, so I gathered fresh wildflowers from the hills. I quietly cleaned her classroom, pulled her shifts, and changed my elective courses just to catch a glimpse of her. If she wanted something done, I did it in secret. For two years, I loved her in absolute silence. Then, one day, she blocked my path. “Gavin Pierce. It is been a month. Where are my letters? Where is my morning milk? Where are my wildflowers?” I stood there, completely frozen. Dozens of rich guys showered her with designer bags, but she had noticed the broke kid. “I know your mom is sick. I paid her medical bills. Now, what do you have to say to me?” She was wearing a white summer dress, her smile so bright she looked like an angel. I stammered, “Thank you…” “Wrong answer,” Kristin whispered, stepping closer. Confused, I took a breath. “I love you?” Kristin stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to my cheek. “Bingo.” 2 During those weeks when the letters had stopped, I had been working myself to the bone trying to raise money for my mother’s liver surgery. Kristin paid for everything, hiring the best specialist in the country. The eighty thousand dollar bill was settled without her even blinking. Every day after class, she came to the hospital with me, bringing food and telling jokes to keep my mother’s spirits up. When we started dating, Brooke screamed at her, asking what she could possibly see in a pauper. Kristin simply laced her fingers through mine in front of everyone. “Because Gavin shows me what real love looks like.” When my mother was recovering, Kristin stayed up all night with me. This girl, who had never washed a dish in her life, tried to help empty my mother’s drainage bags. I held her hand, my eyes burning with tears. “Kristin, I swear, I will spend the rest of my life making you happy.” Though my mother eventually passed away from post-op complications, Kristin remained my anchor through the darkest days. But then, Kristin’s father was caught in a massive cheating scandal. Her mother committed suicide in grief, and their family empire was torn company by company by greedy board members. After that, Kristin changed. Staring at the shrieking woman in front of me, my restraint finally snapped. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. The sharp sound cut through the chaos instantly. Kristin froze, her hand flying to her cheek. Her cheek swelled rapidly, and a bead of dark blood welled at the corner of her lip. “You… you struck me?” She looked at me in utter disbelief, her eyes pooling with tears. My chest heaved with fury. I pointed toward the glass doors. “Who let these people in? Pack your bags and get out. You are fired!” I screamed at the security guards. “Gavin, are you blind? That woman was practically throwing herself at you! Or are you two already sleeping together?” Brooke shouted, stepping in. You would think they had caught me in bed rather than a board meeting. The veins on my neck bulged. “Get. Out.” The girls looked at each other, suddenly uneasy. They had never seen me like this. For eight years, I had been trained to protect Kristin from even the slightest scratch. Hitting her was unthinkable. Kristin burst into hysterical tears. “You will regret this, Gavin! I swear you will!” Brooke hugged her, sneering at me. “See, Kristin? This is what happens when you let a broke dog get too comfortable! You think staying by his side when he was poor means he will be loyal? Men are trash at their core! If I had not been watching him like a hawk, he would have cheated on you years ago!” The other girls chimed in. “Seriously. Brooke is the master at this. Look at how she turned her own husband from a player into a loyal pup! Toby does not even dare look at another girl. Brooke is a literal genius.” Brooke pointed a finger at my face. “Gavin, you know exactly how much Kristin did for you. If you get down on your knees right now and beg her for forgiveness, maybe she will take you back. Otherwise…” Here it was again. The endless humiliation, the emotional abuse. After her family fell apart, Kristin became paranoid. Brooke convinced her that all men were liars. To help us, Brooke took total control of our relationship. She boasted to Kristin, “My Toby is so obedient. If I tell him to jump, he asks how high.” Toby, indeed, never looked up in public. Brooke was incredibly proud of her creation. Back then, I tolerated it all just to give Kristin peace of mind. But soon, Brooke became a permanent fixture on our dates. 3 If a female passerby brushed past my shoulder, Brooke would scream in the street, forcing me to vow my undying love to Kristin on the spot. When I was building my company, working eighty-hour weeks, I had to answer hourly video calls. If I was even seconds late, Brooke would smirk on the screen. “Twenty-eight seconds to answer, Gavin? Hiding another woman under your desk?” Then Kristin’s face would darken, and I would spend the next hour begging for forgiveness. Whenever Kristin made a hand gesture representing a number, I had to immediately wire her that exact amount of cash. “A man’s heart is where his wallet is,” Brooke had declared. Even when I collapsed from a stomach ulcer due to stress, I did not dare miss her calls. Every holiday, every anniversary, I had to spend thousands on elaborate gifts just so Kristin would not feel embarrassed in front of her friends. Even when my company was struggling for cash flow, I took out personal loans to buy her what she wanted, always making sure to buy Brooke a matching luxury item too. But Brooke’s demands only grew. She helped Kristin set up a point system. Good behavior earned points; mistakes deducted them. Travel required three days’ notice. I was not allowed to make eye contact with female clients or give them compliments. I could not ride in an elevator or a car with another woman. My friends thought I was insane, but I did it all. Yet, Brooke mocked me. “He is only doing this because he has not gotten into your pants yet. Once he gets what he wants, he will change.” So, for six years, our physical relationship never progressed past simple kisses. And even those had to be bought with ten completed favors. I kept telling myself she was just insecure because she loved me. Once my company succeeded, I showered them with money, but their tests only became more sadistic. They sent honeytraps to seduce me during business trips. They tore up my business proposals just to see if I would raise my voice. They installed tracking software on my phone, suffocating my every move. Staring at Brooke’s smug face, I let out a low, cold laugh. “Otherwise what?” “Otherwise, I will personally make sure Kristin never marries you! Ninety-nine proposals? You can try nine hundred and ninety-nine times, and you will still die alone!” Brooke barked. I looked past her, staring directly into Kristin’s eyes. “Is this what you want too?” Kristin’s response was to step forward and slap me again, hard. I slowly picked up the torn pieces of the Diana Ward contract. “I was going to sign this today. Once signed, the company would have gone public, and my net worth would have skyrocketed.” “For our ninety-ninth proposal, I bought the estate overlooking the bay. I bought the sports car you wanted. I had a custom wedding gown made to your exact measurements, and I bought a rare emerald jewelry set at an auction…” Kristin’s anger suddenly wavered, replaced by a flicker of greedy anticipation. But then, I spat out a mouthful of blood and looked her dead in the eye. “But now, it is over. We are finished, Kristin. There won’t be a ninety-ninth proposal.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453925”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 A year into my marriage, I was dragged into an alley, stripped of my jacket, and pinned to a wall. A woman live-streamed my humiliation, slapping me while screaming, “You homewrecking whore!” “I’m married! You have the wrong person!” I yelled, but she shoved a marriage certificate in my face. The photo showed her with my husband, Mark, dated three years prior. My life imploded. My TV station promotion was revoked, and I was blacklisted from the industry. In total despair, I climbed onto our penthouse balcony, ready to jump. Just as I prepared to leap, I heard voices inside. Gina, my attacker, laughed. “Mark, you’re wicked. Using a fake certificate to destroy her just to make me laugh after only three months.” Mark’s voice was indulgent. “Anything to make you happy, babe. Play with her however you want.” I stared at the glass door, my heart shattering. The nightmare I had endured for a month was nothing but a cruel game for his amusement. The wind on the balcony was freezing, yet their laughter carried perfectly to my ears. I closed my eyes, recalling the living hell of the past month. After being publicly branded as a mistress, I had posted my actual chat logs to prove I had been deceived. But every attempt at clarification only invited more vicious harassment. My colleagues shunned me, and strangers on the street spat in my direction. “Look at how she dresses. You can tell she is a home-wrecker.” “All those designer bags are probably paid for in bed.” I had tried to tune out the noise and bury myself in my work. But during a live broadcast, a guest unexpectedly asked me why I chose to destroy another woman’s family. I finally cracked, sobbing hysterically into the microphone. “I am not a mistress! I had no idea he was married!” Nobody believed me. The footage of my breakdown was edited, memed, and shared across the internet, triggering a fresh wave of harassment. I lost my job, and my career was effectively dead. Fear and nightmares became my nightly companions. I consumed sleeping pills by the handful, and my hair fell out in clumps. When Mark finally returned from his trip abroad with Gina, I confronted him, only for him to shrug with complete indifference. “You only asked if I had a girlfriend when I was studying in Europe, Alice. You never asked if I had a wife. How is that a lie?” The final thread of my sanity snapped. Death felt like the only escape. But standing on the balcony, learning the truth, I froze. If all of it was a lie, what was the point of the agony I had endured? Rage, hot and violent, surged to my head. I threw the balcony door open. Mark’s smirk froze. My words cut through the room like a blade. “Why would you do this to me?” He frowned, gesturing for Gina to wait outside. Then, he sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette. I was highly allergic to tobacco, coughing instantly as the smoke hit my lungs. Normally, he would never smoke near me, but today, he was entirely unmoved by my distress. Mark spoke calmly, taking a slow drag. “Since you heard us, I will be direct. Alice, I know you love me, but I am bored.” “I am bored of your unchanging hairstyle, bored of always having to soothe your insecurities, and especially bored of your predictable routine in bed. I need excitement, and Gina gives me what you can’t.” I took a ragged breath, fighting the nausea rising in my throat. “Mark, how can you do this? Does my mother’s memory mean nothing to you?” At the mention of my mother, his expression stiffened slightly. “It has been years, and you still use her death to guilt-trip me. I know she saved my life, but was marrying you not enough of a repayment?” We had been neighbors growing up. When a fire broke out at the Fairfax estate, his parents were away, and even their nanny had fled, leaving Mark trapped inside. My mother was the only one who ran into the flames to pull him out. She died shortly after from severe smoke inhalation. Her sacrifice had always been a sacred boundary between us. Hearing him dismiss it so casually, combined with weeks of humiliation, pushed me over the edge. I lunged forward and slapped him across the face. “I regret that she ever saved an ungrateful beast like you!” The slap left both of us stunned. Then, Mark let out a low chuckle. “That is the first time I’ve ever seen you look this angry.” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This look actually suits you. It is quite stimulating.” “Since Gina is outside, why don’t we try the bathroom?” A wave of intense revulsion washed over me. I stared at him, unable to recognize the boy I had loved since childhood. I grabbed a heavy crystal vase from the table and hurled it at his feet, screaming at him to get out. After he left, I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. Exhaustion weighed heavily on my limbs, and I dragged myself toward the bedroom, needing to sleep. But when I pushed the door open, my breath hitched. Our wedding portrait had been ripped from the wall and thrown onto the floor. My face had been defaced with black marker, with the word “WHORE” scribbled across my forehead. Next to the frame lay two dusty handprints, and as I stepped backward, my bare foot brushed against something slick. A discarded condom wrapper. I gagged, but my stomach was entirely empty. Pain consumed me, but my eyes remained completely dry. The tears refused to come. Then, my phone buzzed. Mark had posted a new update on his social media: “Returning to my family. Looking forward to spending the rest of my life with my beautiful wife.” The attached photo showed him and Gina, their silhouettes framed by a golden sunset. In that instant, my world shattered, and the tears finally spilled over. But beneath the grief, a cold, sharp resolve began to take root. 2 Over the next few days, I quietly compiled evidence of his infidelity, determined to dismantle his reputation. But the deeper I dug, the colder my heart became. Three months ago, on my birthday, I had sat alone in our dark apartment waiting for him until dawn. That entire night, he had been setting off fireworks on a private beach with Gina. Two months ago, I had sat alone in a hospital corridor, holding a positive pregnancy test and trying desperately to reach him. He had ignored my calls because he was busy buying heating pads and preparing tea for Gina’s menstrual cramps. One month ago, when the fake mistress scandal broke and the stress caused me to miscarry in a cold hospital room, he was in Iceland, watching the northern lights with Gina. I ran to the bathroom, vomiting until my throat tasted like copper. Only when my stomach was completely empty did the numbness in my chest offer a brief reprieve. The following morning, I sent the entire folder of evidence to a prominent investigative journalist. Back at the apartment, I forced myself to sit at the desk and draft a divorce agreement. My eyes grew misty as I typed. We had been childhood sweethearts, quietly harboring feelings for each other for years. We had promised that once he graduated from his university in Europe, we would finally build a life together. In the beginning, he would wait outside my office for hours, regardless of how late my shift ended. When I fell ill, he postponed a multi-million-dollar merger just to spend six hours simmering fish soup to bring to my bedside. On the night of my promotion, he had purchased a flawless diamond at an auction and knelt before me. I had insisted on keeping our marriage private because I did not want people accusing me of marrying for money. I never expected that my desire for privacy would provide the perfect cover for his betrayal. I eventually fell asleep at the desk, exhausted. By the time I woke up, the internet had exploded. But when I opened the trending news, my vision blurred. The evidence I had sent had been entirely manipulated. Instead of exposing his affair, the headlines presented a forged confession, claiming I was apologizing for being a mistress. They had used advanced voice-cloning technology to replicate my voice, and an AI generator to copy my handwriting. The digital mob turned on me with renewed ferocity. My photos were doctored with offensive captions and circulated across every platform. My personal accounts were deactivated, and my phone number was leaked online. Vicious messages and threatening calls flooded my inbox. Strangers demanded to know my nightly rates. I let out a hollow laugh. This was Mark’s retaliation. In the past, whenever I faced minor criticism online, he would use his family’s PR firm to scrub the internet clean within minutes. Now, he had used those same resources to build my personal purgatory. The front door clicked open, and Mark walked in. Rage eclipsed my judgment. I grabbed a glass mug and hurled it at his head. “Mark! I am not a mistress! She is! Sign the papers!” He ducked, the glass shattering against the wall. Before I could move, his hand clamped around my throat, pinning me against the wall. Oxygen left my lungs, and my eyes watered from the pain, but his grip did not loosen. Just before I lost consciousness, he let go, leaving me to slide down the drywall, gasping. “Have you calmed down?” Mark asked, straightening his cuffs. “If you pull another stunt like that, the consequences will be far worse.” “Alice, a little jealousy is fine, but this behavior is getting tedious. Stop trying to use these dramatic schemes to win back my attention.” “You love me too much to actually leave, and I need a wife who understands the family dynamics. This arrangement suits both of us perfectly.” He glanced at the divorce papers on the desk and let out a dry chuckle. “Do you honestly think you can survive a divorce? You have no career left. Who will support you if you leave me?” “Behave yourself, and once I’ve had my fun, I will clear your name.” I coughed violently, my throat burning. He ignored my pain entirely. “Gina has been crying for days because of the stress. I am throwing a grand wedding ceremony to reassure her, and she expects you to apologize to her in person before she will forgive you.” He turned toward the door. “Whether you show up is up to you. But if Gina remains unhappy, I will make sure your life becomes even more uncomfortable.” After the door clicked shut, my chest heaved with a mixture of laughter and tears. That evening, a new headline dominated the social media channels: “The Prodigal Son Returns! Fairfax Heir Spends Millions on a Lavish Wedding to Honor His Wife!” The comments section was filled with venom directed at me, with users criticizing my upbringing and mocking my mother’s passing. I sat on the kitchen floor, clutching the trash can, feeling an absolute detachment take over. The residual warmth I held for the boy who had once knelt in the rain to slide a ring onto my finger vanished completely. My phone vibrated, displaying an unknown number: “I received the files you sent. When are you free to discuss this?” 3 The wedding of the century became the sole topic of conversation online. The public narrative was set: Mark Fairfax was a reformed romantic protecting his fragile wife, while Alice was a desperate intruder who had tried to steal him away. When Mark returned to the apartment, he tossed an invitation onto the table. “The ceremony is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Do not be late.” The day after tomorrow. The anniversary of my mother’s death. I stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the hardwood floor. “I cannot make it. I am visiting my mother’s grave.” “And when are you going to sign the divorce papers?” He ignored the question entirely, letting out a soft grunt. “Your mother has been gone for years. There is no point in visiting a headstone. Gina’s parents will be there, so you can pay your respects to them instead.” A dull ache flared in my chest. Seeing my defiance, he pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it, revealing my mother’s delicate gold necklace. “This belonged to her, correct? If you choose to skip the ceremony and upset Gina, I cannot guarantee what will happen to this.” My jaw clenched so hard it ached. Before my anger could boil over, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I forced myself to take a slow, deep breath, checked the message, and looked at him calmly. “Mark, do you truly want me to offer my blessings to Gina in front of the press?” He smiled. “Absolutely.” On the day of the wedding, the venue was swarming with reporters. In the dressing room, Gina stood before the vanity in a custom satin gown. Her lapel bore a white rose labeled “Bride,” while Mark wore one labeled “Groom.” On the table lay a withered, black rose labeled “Mistress.” Gina let out a soft whine, and Mark immediately grabbed the black rose, pinning it roughly to my blouse. The sharp pin scraped against my collarbone, drawing a thin line of blood, but he did not care. “Do you truly want to go through with this?” I asked, looking into his eyes. He frowned. “It is just a flower, Alice. Don’t be dramatic.” Gina turned around, her expression triumphant. “During the ceremony, you will read the apology slides I prepared, word for word. Then, you will kneel and beg for my forgiveness.” “You will kowtow nine hundred and ninety-nine times before you are allowed to stand. Do you understand?” I remained silent, staring back at her. Annoyed by my silence, Mark gripped my jaw tightly. “Do not embarrass us today.” I shoved his hand away, maintaining my cold stare. Before he could speak, the double doors opened, and a crowd of reporters and high-society guests entered the suite. They immediately crowded around Gina and Mark, offering praise, before their eyes landed on my lapel. The whispers began instantly. “How pathetic. Some women truly have no dignity.” “She actually had the audacity to show up. If I were Gina, I would have had security throw her out.” I reached up, ripped the black rose from my chest, and threw it to the floor. “I am not the mistress. Gina is.” Nobody believed me. The sneers only intensified. Mark stepped closer, grabbing my wrist under the cover of his sleeve and squeezing until my bones ached, signaling me to be quiet. Gina offered a fragile, pitying smile to the cameras. “Please, do not be too harsh on Alice. She was simply blinded by her affection for Mark. She is here today to make things right.” The music began, and they walked out to the altar hand-in-hand. After the vows were spoken and the rings exchanged, I was escorted onto the stage under the harsh glow of the spotlights. But as the projector screen behind us lit up, Mark’s face drained of color, turning a sickly, translucent white.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453924”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 When my stepson pushed me down the stairs, Garrett’s immediate reaction was to cover the little monster’s eyes and scream at me. “Have you lost your mind? Hurting yourself just to frame my son?” Seeing me curled on the floor in agony, he threw out another line: “That is enough! If this baby is gone, we can always have another. We can have countless children, but I only have one Danny! Stop being so dramatic!” Even as the blood began to pool beneath me, staining the hardwood, he was still murmuring comforts to his son, telling him not to be afraid. Through the gaps in Garrett’s fingers, I saw the chilling, triumphant smirk on my stepson’s face. This was the third child he had managed to destroy. By the time the man finally noticed the deep red pool expanding across the floor, panicking as he tried to lift me, my heart had already turned to ash. On the stretcher to the ambulance, I pulled off the oxygen mask and looked at him with absolute calm. “Garrett, I want a divorce.” … The moment I fell down the stairs, my instincts took over, and I wrapped my arms tightly around my swollen stomach. The pain was immediate, a sharp, tearing sensation that soaked my dress and left a bright trail of blood on the floor. “Clair!” A desperate cry rang out. Garrett rushed toward me, his knees slamming hard against the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hands shook as he reached for me, terrified to touch me. The usually composed, commanding CEO was weeping, his tears falling onto my face. “Don’t worry, don’t worry… the ambulance is on its way… Clair, please hold on…” Gathering my remaining strength, I grabbed his sleeve, pointing toward the top of the landing. “It was Danny… he pushed me… he did it on purpose…” Garrett froze. He slowly turned his head to look at his eight-year-old son, Danny, who was shrinking into the corner of the landing, sobbing as if he were the one traumatized by the blood. “Daddy… I am scared… there is so much blood…” Danny whimpered. The conflict in Garrett’s eyes lasted only a fraction of a second. The next moment, he pulled the boy into his arms, using his hand to shield Danny’s eyes from the scene. When he looked back at me, his gaze was filled with pleading. “Clair, you are in too much pain. You are hallucinating.” He wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, his voice hurried and tense. “Danny is only eight years old. He is terrified. It was just a tragic accident!” “An accident?” I whispered, my body shaking from the physical pain, though my chest felt even colder. The first time, it was a bottle of lubricant left directly outside the bathroom door. The second time, it was a high dose of laxatives mixed into my morning milk. This was the third time. Garrett continued to ramble, trying to convince me, or perhaps trying to convince himself. “I know you are hurting, and I am devastated about the baby too… but Danny is my only son. He has had a difficult life since his mother passed. As the adult, can’t you be more understanding?” More understanding? At the cost of my unborn children’s lives? As Garrett leaned down to kiss my forehead, attempting to quiet my protests, Danny looked at me through the gaps of his father’s fingers. His tear-streaked face held no trace of fear. He grinned, his lips moving silently to form three words: Go to hell. In that moment, I finally accepted the truth. Some people are born wicked, and some people choose to remain blind. Garrett’s love was too crowded, trying to accommodate the role of a devoted husband while protecting his monstrous son, and my children were the ones sacrificed to keep the peace. As they lifted me into the ambulance, Garrett clutched my freezing hand, his voice hoarse from crying. “Clair, don’t close your eyes, please… we can have other children, I will make this up to you, but Danny is my only boy…” With his other hand, he gently patted Danny’s back, whispering, “Don’t be scared, buddy. Daddy is right here.” The suffocating hypocrisy finally snapped my last nerve. I reached up and ripped the oxygen mask off my face. The medical monitors began to beep frantically. Garrett stared at me in terror. “Clair, what are you doing? Doctor! Help her!” I looked at the man I had loved for seven years, my voice barely a whisper. “Garrett, I want a divorce.” 2 When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The heavy, warm weight in my abdomen was gone. “Clair, you are awake…” Garrett, who had been sitting by my bedside, gripped my hand. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw covered in dark stubble, looking as though he had aged a decade overnight. “I am so sorry… it is my fault. I didn’t protect you.” He pressed his face against my palm, his warm tears wetting my skin. Watching his display of grief, I felt nothing but a dull absurdity. I stared at the ceiling, my mind drifting back to three years ago, shortly after we married. We were happy then. Danny had been living with his grandparents in the country, quiet and isolated. It was my own sympathy that drove me to suggest bringing him to live with us. “Let us bring him home,” I had told Garrett back then, wrapping my arms around his neck. “A child needs his father. I will treat him as my own.” Garrett had been deeply moved, holding me close and telling me how lucky he was to have me in his life. I had naively believed that kindness could change a person. Instead, my misplaced sympathy had brought a natural-born monster into our home, a child who would systematically destroy three of my pregnancies. “Garrett,” I said, my voice dry and hollow. “When Danny pushed me, he stood at the top of the landing, waiting until I reached the exact step before he moved. He wasn’t scared. He was smiling.” Garrett stiffened, his shoulders shaking. He buried his face in his hands, running his fingers through his hair as if trying to block out a truth he could not accept. “Clair, I know you are angry… I am devastated about our baby too! That was my flesh and blood!” He looked up, his expression torn between grief and denial. “But the therapist said Danny is experiencing a severe stress response! He lost his mother at a young age, and he is deeply insecure. He is just afraid that a new baby will take away our love. He didn’t mean to do it. He is only eight!” “Does insecurity excuse murder?” I asked, my voice flat. Garrett flinched at my tone. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice desperate. “He is still a child. He doesn’t understand. We are still young, Clair. We can have other children. Please, don’t blame Danny. He had nightmares all night, crying and saying he was sorry. He is terrified too…” Looking at him, the last trace of warmth in my heart died. To Garrett, the lives of my three unborn children did not equal the weight of his son’s insecurity. I closed my eyes, pulling my hand from his grip. “Garrett, since you care about him so much, I will leave this house to him.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Panic flickered in Garrett’s eyes. He tried to reach for me, but I pulled away, my cold expression silencing him. Over the next two days, I refused to speak to him, refused to eat, and instructed my lawyer to send the divorce papers directly to the ward. 3 Garrett finally realized that I was serious about leaving. On the third morning, the door to my room opened, and Garrett entered, dragging Danny behind him. His grip was firm, lacking his usual tenderness as he pulled the boy to the side of my bed. “Kneel down.” Garrett’s voice was hoarse, his eyes rimmed with red from days of sleeplessness. Danny trembled, dropping to his knees on the cold tile. Tears immediately spilled down his cheeks, his small hands twisting together in a display of helplessness. “Clair… I am sorry… I know I was bad…” “I didn’t mean to do it, I promise I will be good… please don’t make Daddy leave…” The boy sobbed hysterically. To any outsider, I would have looked like a cruel, heartless stepmother. I watched the performance with a cold detachment. “Garrett, if you brought him here to put on a show, you can both leave.” “It is not a show,” Garrett said, taking a deep breath as if he had reached a difficult decision. Ignoring Danny’s crying, he looked at me, his eyes filled with a desperate resolve. “I know I have failed you, Clair. I have let you down.” “The car is waiting downstairs. As soon as he apologizes, I am having my driver take him back to his grandparents’ estate in the country.” My fingers tightened around the bedsheet, my breath catching in my throat. Sending him away? Danny was Garrett’s entire world. For seven years, even when Danny had physically injured a classmate at school, Garrett had never so much as raised his voice. Whenever I had suggested boarding school, it had led to explosive arguments, with him accusing me of being cold-hearted. But now, he was choosing me over his son? “Are you serious?” I asked, my voice dry. “I am,” Garrett said, kneeling beside the bed and burying his face in my hands. “I have thought about it for the past forty-eight hours. I am grieving our child too, but I cannot lose you. If his presence in this house causes you pain, then he cannot stay.” “This house needs you, Clair. Let us start over, just the two of us, please.” He looked up, his eyes filled with a raw, broken devotion. Beside the bed, Danny continued to cry, begging his father not to abandon him, but Garrett did not look back. He kept his eyes locked on mine. My heart, despite my best judgments, wavered. I had loved him for seven years, and I knew how much this boy meant to him. If he was truly willing to send his only son away to protect our marriage… perhaps I was his priority after all. Perhaps, without Danny’s influence, we could return to the life we once had. My mind warned me to refuse, but looking at his exhausted, pleading face, my old affection took over. “Garrett…” My eyes burned with unshed tears. “This is the very last time.” A look of immense relief washed over his face, and he pulled me into a tight embrace. “Thank you… thank you, Clair. I promise I will make this up to you. I will never let you suffer again.” 4 I closed my eyes, letting a single tear slip down my cheek. The first week after my discharge was the most peaceful time I had experienced in seven years. The house was quiet, free of Danny’s screaming and malicious pranks. Garrett was attentive, returning home early every evening to prepare meals and speak softly, as if terrified of disrupting my recovery. “Clair, try this soup. I let it simmer for three hours.” He held the spoon, blowing on it gently before offering it to me. “The doctor said you need to rebuild your strength. Once you are feeling better, we will take a trip together.” Seeing the exhaustion lingering in his eyes, I felt a touch of sympathy. Perhaps he had truly changed. Perhaps sending the boy away was the fresh start we needed. A few days later, Garrett went to the study for a scheduled video conference. As I sat on the balcony enjoying the afternoon sun, a gust of wind blew a freshly washed towel over the railing, landing in the courtyard of the neighboring villa. The house belonged to a neighbor who had moved abroad, and it had recently been leased to a new tenant. Rather than bothering the staff, I decided to walk downstairs and retrieve it myself. But as I approached the iron gate dividing our properties, a familiar, high-pitched laugh echoed through the garden. “Die! Die! The little monster is dead! Hahaha!” The blood in my veins turned to ice. I stepped closer to the climbing roses on the fence, looking through the metal gaps into the neighboring yard. Danny, who was supposed to be hundreds of miles away at his grandparents’ estate, was standing on a wooden play set, dressed in a brand-new track suit. In his hand, he held a small, handmade red doll, the protective amulet I had spent weeks sewing for the baby. “Go to hell! You don’t get to steal my daddy!” Danny threw the doll hard against the gravel, laughing hysterically, his expression identical to the one he wore the day he pushed me. And Garrett, who was supposed to be in his study on a business call, was standing right below the play set. He didn’t reprimand the boy. Instead, he picked up the muddy doll, dusted it off, and pressed a finger to his lips. “Danny, keep your voice down!” Garrett’s tone was filled with a gentle, indulgent sigh. “What did you promise Daddy? Until Clair calms down, we have to play the secret game. If she hears you, Daddy won’t be able to sneak over through the back gate to see you every day.” “She is just being dramatic,” Danny sneered, crossing his arms. “Daddy, when can I come back? I want to live in the big house again.” Garrett patted his head, sighing softly. “Soon, buddy. Just be patient. Once she is fully recovered and stops bringing it up, Daddy will bring you home. You are my boy, nobody can send you away permanently.” The world seemed to fracture around me. The country estate had been a lie; Danny had simply been hidden next door. His remorse had been a temporary tactic, and my grief was dismissed as mere drama. He had made his choice. He chose to treat me like a fool, continuing to harbor the monster who had killed my children. An absolute numbness settled over me. My love, my grief, and the seven years I had invested in this man dissolved into nothingness. I walked back to our house, pulled my suitcase from beneath the bed, and packed my belongings. I took nothing that Garrett had bought me, leaving only the signed divorce agreement on the kitchen counter, tucked beneath the cold, unfinished soup. Goodbye, Garrett. Take your fatherly devotion and your monstrous son, and burn in hell together.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453923”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My husband’s childhood sweetheart always had a knack for taking things that belonged to me. After being reborn and realizing I would only end up dead if I kept fighting her, I decided to put a clear price tag on every single piece of my personal property. Claiming she suffered from severe motion sickness, she insisted on riding in my husband’s passenger seat every single time. I simply pasted a laminated payment code on the dashboard with a note: Passenger Seat Subscription. Fifteen thousand dollars a year. Renewals get a twenty percent discount. When she took a fancy to my quarterly project proposal, my husband knocked on my office door to plead her case. I didn’t even bother looking up from my laptop. “Seventy-five thousand dollars. The moment the wire transfer clears, I’ll take my name off the cover page and put hers.” On our son’s birthday, I cleared my schedule and rushed to his preschool to pick him up. But when the teacher brought him out, he looked up and told her, “She is not my mommy. I am not going with her.” As we stood there in a tense standoff, his favorite aunt, Rosemary, arrived late, clutching the expensive toy I had personally bought and wrapped for him. Toby immediately threw his arms around her legs, looking up at his teacher. “See, Ms. Jennings? This is my real mommy.” My husband, Hank, stepped forward to explain, but I cut him off. I held out my hand toward him, my face entirely blank. “One million dollars, and I will sign the legal custody transfer papers today.” Hank stared at me in absolute disbelief. “Alicia, are you seriously taking your anger out on our own son?” he hissed. “He is only four years old! You need to stop this nonsense!” Toby flinched slightly at my words, but his face quickly flushed a deep, angry red. He clung to Rosemary’s designer coat even tighter. “One million is fine! I don’t want a horrible mommy like you anyway!” So that was it. In his eyes, the mother who woke up two hours early every morning to prepare fresh, organic breakfasts, the mother who turned down a major promotion just to have more time to tuck him in, was nothing but a horrible nuisance. Rosemary played the gentle saint, patting Toby’s head. “Toby, sweetie, I told you it’s bad manners to speak to adults like that.” Toby pouted, pointing a finger at me. “But she has bad manners first! When Daddy was spending time with you the other day, she kept calling and calling to ruin his mood! You taught me that we have to give bad people a taste of their own medicine!” Hank’s face suddenly went pale. “Alicia, that night was only because Rosemary’s car broke down…” I raised a hand, cutting off his pathetic excuse. “You spent our wedding anniversary with her. That counts as an extra service. You owe me for that, too.” Hank froze, looking at me as if I had suddenly transformed into a stranger. After a long, heavy silence, he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out an elegant black card, and threw it onto the concrete. “Alicia, when even your own flesh and blood can’t stand you, maybe you should look in the mirror and figure out what’s wrong with yourself.” He guided Rosemary and Toby toward his car, leaving me to breathe in a cloud of exhaust fumes. I didn’t argue. I simply bent down and picked up the sleek plastic card. The sharp corner bit into my palm, but the physical sting only cemented my resolve. In my past life, when Hank let Rosemary strip away everything I owned, I had sobbed, screamed, and clawed for my dignity. My hysterics had earned me nothing but his disgust. He had eventually even given away my mother’s burial plot to Rosemary, just so she could bury her golden retriever. In a fit of blind rage, I had slapped Rosemary across the face and demanded a divorce. I thought taking a stand would make him realize his mistakes. Instead, to punish me, he agreed instantly. He hired the most ruthless corporate lawyers to exploit every legal loophole, ensuring I was cast out on the street without a single penny to my name. Days after the divorce, I was diagnosed with acute cardiomyopathy. I was so broke I couldn’t even afford the ambulance ride, forcing myself to crawl to the hospital. Desperate to survive, I swallowed my pride and called Hank over and over. He never picked up. Instead, Rosemary sent me a voice note from his phone. “Alicia, you gave this man up of your own free will. There are no refunds in this game.” While waiting for life-saving money that would never arrive, all I received were photos of her gloating. In the final moments of my life, I stared at my phone screen, watching Rosemary lounging in my silk pajamas, wearing my favorite perfume, and kissing my husband on the fresh, clean sheets I had washed myself. Reborn into this life, I knew love was a luxury I couldn’t afford. But money, cold and hard, could keep me alive. I just hadn’t expected the son I had cherished so deeply to turn against me so easily. Before the cold sadness could settle into my bones, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was the hospital. “Ms. Archer, we have excellent news. A donor heart has successfully matched with you. We can schedule your transplant surgery for next month.” The news hit me like a physical wave. My knees buckled, and I had to lean against the brick wall of the preschool to keep from falling. This time, I wouldn’t die in a dark, sterile hospital corridor. The moment I hung up, a text from Hank popped up. “I lost my temper earlier. I know I promised you a proper wedding ceremony back then. The designer just delivered your custom gown to the estate. Why don’t you come home and try it on?” I didn’t reply, but I didn’t refuse either. When I married Hank five years ago, his family’s shipping empire had just collapsed. He was so poor we couldn’t even afford a simple registry wedding. Back then, I believed in his brilliance. I knew he would build his way back to the top and give me the dream wedding he always promised. But when he finally regained his fortune, Rosemary came crawling back, stealing his attention, his warmth, and my son’s love. The wedding I had waited half a decade for had never materialized. When I pushed open the front doors of our penthouse, the first thing I saw was Hank and Toby circling Rosemary, who was draped in the cascading white silk of my custom wedding gown. They were showering her with praise. Noticing my presence at the door, the smile on Hank’s face instantly withered. He walked over to me, reaching out to wrap an arm around my waist, but I stepped back. “Alicia, listen to me…” he began, his voice laced with practiced guilt. “Rosemary’s mother is in the final stages of cancer. Her dying wish is to see Rosemary walk down the aisle. Rosemary doesn’t have a partner, so I thought we could do a mock wedding first, just to give her mother some peace of mind. Your ceremony will just have to be pushed back a little longer.” I stared past him at Rosemary. The gown, which had been meticulously tailored to my exact measurements, somehow fit her shorter frame perfectly. Rosemary looked down, biting her lower lip in mock hesitation. “Hank, maybe we shouldn’t. Alicia has been looking forward to this for five years. I feel terrible.” She made a show of trying to unzip the back, but Toby lunged forward like a little bullet, slamming his small body directly into my stomach. “You mean woman! You’re just jealous because Aunt Rosemary looks like a beautiful fairy in that dress! Your stomach is all wrinkly like old tree bark, you look ugly in everything anyway!” The force of his impact knocked me flat onto the hardwood floor. A sharp, searing pain flared in my chest, leaving me breathless and dizzy. Seeing me curled up on the floor in agony, Toby shrank back, a flicker of guilt crossing his face, though he still kept his chin stubborn and high. Hank rushed over, trying to pull me up. “Toby! How could you push your mother like that?” His eyes fell on my midsection, where the faint stretch marks from carrying Toby remained, and a shadow of shame crossed his face. “Alicia, if you really mind this, I can find someone else to play the groom…” I shook off his hand and pushed myself up, dust clinging to my clothes. “I don’t mind,” I said quietly. I pulled out my phone and opened the calculator app. “On top of the venue and the dress, we need to factor in the rate for the wedding night. If you’re playing the husband, you need to pay for the full package.” Before I could finish typing the numbers, Hank slapped the phone out of my hand. It clattered loudly against the floor. “Alicia, are you insane? Toby is standing right here! Rosemary and I are completely innocent! I don’t know what kind of demon has possessed you to make you this greedy!” I looked up, meeting his furious gaze. “She wants to take everything I have, and I can’t stop her. Is it really a crime to ask for financial compensation?” Hank choked on his words, his chest heaving with rage. “I am not doing this with you,” he spat. He pulled out his phone, typing furiously. A second later, my phone vibrated with a bank notification. The deposit was massive. “I must have been completely blind when I married you!” he yelled. He grabbed Rosemary and Toby, guiding them out of the apartment and slamming the heavy oak door behind them. The noise echoed through the empty penthouse. I stared at the long string of zeroes on my screen, fighting back the hot tears stinging my eyes. When Hank and I started out, he had nothing. We used to share ten-dollar takeout boxes and live in a damp, moldy basement apartment. He felt so guilty about our poverty that he would take night shifts delivering food just to buy me the pastries and boba tea he saw other girls enjoying. Once, when I offhandedly complained about how hard it was to dry clothes in the damp basement, he spent half his monthly earnings on a small, portable dryer for me. When I caught him drinking cold tap water in the middle of the night to quiet his hunger, I cried, holding him tight. He had wept into my hair, promising me that once he made it, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me. Yet every single promise he fulfilled was handed directly to Rosemary. And now, when I demanded the only thing that could actually save my life, I was told he was “blind to marry me.” I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to distract myself by scrolling through social media. But my feed was entirely dominated by Rosemary’s posts. Hank had taken her to the wedding planner’s office. The digital mock-ups of the venue she posted were the exact designs I had spent months curating down to the last detail. The wedding I had dreamed of for five years was being handed to another woman. I squeezed my phone, ready to block her account, when a flash of silver on her wrist caught my eye. When I realized what she was wearing, the blood rushed to my ears. I grabbed my keys, looked up her tagged location, and drove there like a woman possessed. “Give me my bracelet back!” I lunged toward Rosemary the moment I burst into the bridal boutique, reaching for her wrist. That bracelet was the only keepsake my mother had left me. For years, I had kept it safely tucked away in a velvet box, barely brave enough to touch it myself. And now, it was resting on Rosemary’s wrist. Before I could touch her, Toby threw himself in front of her, shoving me back with all his might. “This is my gift to Aunt Rosemary!” he shouted, blocking her like a tiny shield. “Just tell me how much you want! I’ll pay you right now!” He held up his smart watch, tapping the screen to bring up his digital allowance wallet. The sheer shock of it numbed the physical pain of my fall. I stared at my four-year-old son, my limbs turning utterly cold. “Toby, what did you just say?” Toby rolled his eyes. “I asked you how much. You sell everything for money anyway, don’t you? Name your price.” My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t draw breath. When he was barely old enough to speak, I had shown him that bracelet. I had told him it was the only piece of his grandmother I had left, the only thing keeping her memory alive. Back then, he had buried his face in my neck, whispering in his sweet, baby voice, Mommy still has Toby. Now, using the very smart watch I had bought him for his birthday, he was trying to buy my mother’s final keepsake to give to another woman. Rosemary made a show of slipping the silver band off her wrist. “I’m so sorry, Alicia. Toby told me you never wore it, so I assumed you didn’t want it anymore.” Hank, who had been discussing the catering details nearby, hurried over when he heard the commotion. Seeing Rosemary taking off the bracelet, he glared at me. “Alicia, what are you making a scene for now?” “It’s just a piece of old jewelry. Your wrists are too thick to wear it anyway. What’s the harm in letting Rosemary borrow it for a few days?” I lost all control. “It is my mother’s heirloom!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “Rosemary, you steal everything from me! Aren’t you afraid my mother’s ghost will come for you tonight?” My scream drew looks from the boutique staff, making Hank’s face darken with embarrassment. “Give it back to her, Rosemary,” Hank said stiffly. “I’ll buy you a brand new one. Wearing things from dead people is bad luck anyway.” Toby chimed in immediately. “Yeah! Let Daddy buy you a bigger, prettier one!” With those words, he snatched the silver bracelet from Rosemary’s hand and flung it directly at me. “Don’t!” I shrieked. I scrambled forward, reaching out desperately, but my fingers only brushed the cool silver before it hit the tiled floor. It shattered into three jagged pieces. In that split second, a part of my own soul seemed to break with it. I fell to my knees, blindly gathering the sharp fragments, my tears splashing hot against the cold marble. “Stop making a scene,” Hank muttered. Seeing the blood dripping from my palm where a sharp edge had sliced my skin, he reached down to pull me up. “It’s just an object. Is it really worth all this drama?” I slapped his hand away with all the strength I had left, my eyes burning red. I reached into my bag, pulled out the divorce papers I had carried with me, and hurled them directly at his face. “We are done, Hank. We are divorcing…” Hank, however, barely glanced at the document, assuming it was another asset transfer agreement. He caught the papers, his face turning incredibly cold. “Alicia, so cash isn’t enough anymore? Now you’re trying to leverage my company’s shares?” He let out a dry, mocking laugh. “You probably told Toby to throw that bracelet just so you could use my guilt to extort more assets from me, didn’t you?” He pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled his signature on the back page without even reading it. “You’re incredibly calculating, Alicia. I’ll sign it this once out of pity, but don’t think you can play this card a second time.” He tossed the papers onto my bleeding hands and walked away without looking back. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by the ruins of my mother’s keepsake, I let out a soft, hollow laugh. He didn’t realize there wouldn’t be a second time. I didn’t want him, and I didn’t want our son. For the next few weeks, I lived entirely in the hospital. The money Hank had transferred to my account was more than enough to cover the transplant surgery, the private suite, and years of post-operative care. With a new heart, I would finally put the tragedy of my past life behind me and begin again. On the morning of the surgery, as the nurses prepped me for anesthesia, the lead surgeon suddenly walked into the room, pulling off his sterile gloves. “I am terribly sorry, Ms. Archer. We cannot proceed with your surgery today.” My heart did a terrifying flutter. “What do you mean? Why can’t we?” Despite the expensive therapies I had been buying, my cardiomyopathy was advancing rapidly. During my brief hospital stay, I had suffered three separate cardiac episodes. The most severe one had landed me in the ICU for twelve grueling hours. Only my sheer, stubborn will to live had pulled me back from the brink. My body simply did not have the time to wait for another match. The surgeon looked incredibly uncomfortable. “The donor heart that was matched to you has just been reassigned.” I clutched my chest, panic clawing at my throat. “Reassigned? To whom? Is it a matter of money? I can pay double, triple, whatever they want!” The doctor avoided my eyes, pulling his surgical mask up as if trying to shield himself from my desperation. I swung my legs off the operating table, stumbling after him, my voice rising in a frantic pitch. “You know my condition! I won’t survive another waiting list! How can you just take it away? This is murder!” My screams echoed down the sterile hallway, drawing the attention of patients and staff alike. “Who took my heart?” I shrieked, tears streaming down my face. “Do the wealthy get to decide who lives and who dies?” The gathering crowd began to murmur in sympathy, and a sympathetic nurse quietly pointed toward the executive wing. I ran down the corridor, ignoring the nurses calling after me, only to freeze when I saw the figure standing guard outside the VIP operating theater. It was Hank. He was standing like a sentinel, blockading the doors. Rosemary, who was sobbing softly in a nearby chair, looked up and saw me. She immediately ran over, grabbing my wrists. “Alicia? Are you saying my mother stole your heart?” She sank to her knees, weeping against my shins. “I was wrong to take your things, Alicia. I’ll apologize, I’ll give everything back! Just please, don’t take this chance away from my mother!” Hank’s face contorted with disgust. “Alicia, just because your own mother is dead, you want to drag Rosemary’s mother to the grave with her? How can you be so utterly malicious?” My fingernails dug deep into my palms, the copper taste of blood filling my mouth as I bit my lip. “Hank, her mother has terminal, systemic cancer! A heart transplant won’t save her! Rosemary is doing this on purpose just to—” Before I could finish, Rosemary began frantically bowing, her forehead cracking against the linoleum. “I’ll give you all the money you want, Alicia! I’ll pay you back for the heart, just please let my mother live!” A cold sweat broke out across my body, my chest tightening so painfully I could barely form words. “I don’t want your money! I want my match! Give me back my heart!” “That is enough!” Hank roared, grabbing my arm and yanking me away from Rosemary. “You’re faking a heart condition just to spite Rosemary’s mother, using people’s pity to cause a scene in a hospital! Alicia, you have crossed the line!” He signaled the security guards, who quickly seized my arms. I thrashed against their grip, but my weak, oxygen-deprived body was no match for them. My heart began to beat in a chaotic, erratic rhythm, a crushing pain blooming behind my ribs. By the time they threw me out onto the asphalt of the hospital driveway, the suffocating grip of death was already closing in on me. I reached out a trembling hand toward the onlookers, silently begging for help, but the crowd simply sneered and turned away. “Disgusting woman, trying to steal a dying old lady’s chance at life. Still acting even now.” My hand fell limp against the cold pavement. As the darkness swallowed my consciousness, my final, fading prayer was that in my next life, I would never, ever cross paths with Hank again. Meanwhile, inside the hospital, the transplant surgery went ahead. Shortly after, Hank hurried through a hasty, lavish wedding ceremony with Rosemary. But as he stood at the altar, preparing to exchange rings, Alicia’s pale, sweat-streaked face kept flashing behind his eyes. She had looked so incredibly fragile at the hospital. “I’m sorry, Rosemary,” Hank muttered, suddenly pulling his hand back. “Let’s pause the ceremony here. Your mother is still heavily sedated anyway, she won’t notice.” Without waiting for her response, he tore off his boutonnière and walked out, dialing his assistant. “Check Alicia’s medical records at the hospital. Now.” Ten minutes later, his assistant called back, his voice shaking with terror. “Sir… the records show Mrs. Archer was diagnosed with acute, end-stage cardiomyopathy. Her transplant surgery was scheduled for exactly one week ago…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453922”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At Nolan’s birthday party, I called off our engagement. He only offered a faint, dismissive smile. But his friends immediately erupted into loud laughter. “Since when did you learn to play hard to get, Audie?” One of the guys winked at Nolan’s childhood sweetheart, Hailey. “Princess, your turn to shine.” Hailey rolled her eyes playfully, walked over to me, and smiled. “Audie, don’t say things in anger. How did Nolan annoy you this time? Tell me, I’ll beat him up for you.” The routine was all too familiar. Every time Nolan and I had a disagreement, the moment she stepped in to mediate, he would swallow his pride. This time was no exception. He walked over with a helpless expression, not even bothering to ask what was wrong. “Okay, it’s all my fault. Stop making a scene, Audie. I really don’t want to get beaten up by her.” He exchanged a quick, knowing look with Hailey, a silent signal that said, got her. The laughter swelled around us, easily swallowing my quiet, building grief. I tilted my head back slightly, forcing the tears back from my eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Nolan. And I’m not making a scene.” As I turned, my phone buzzed in my palm. A flight notification popped up: Your flight departs in three hours. 1 My wrist was suddenly grabbed. “Come on, everyone is having a good time today. Can you stop throwing a tantrum?” I turned to look at his handsome face, feeling a strange sense of detachment. “I said, I’m not throwing a tantrum.” Hailey stepped in, wrapping her hands around Nolan’s neck from behind. “Who told you to make Audie mad? Believe it or not, I’ll choke you to death!” He laughed, letting go of my wrist to pull her hands down. “Alright, with your tiny arms? Please.” Hailey squealed playfully. “Nolan, you’re bullying me again! I’ll scratch your face so no one will want you…” Her fingers fluttered over his face, messing up his carefully styled hair. Laughter erupted around them. Ever since Hailey returned from Europe, this scene had played out countless times. No one in his circle found it weird. After all, in the years before I entered his life, they had always been this close. The passenger seat of his car had practically become her designated throne. The dashboard was cluttered with her cheap knickknacks. Nolan would complain about her terrible taste but warn me not to touch her things. Meanwhile, my things began to vanish. “Where’s the safety charm I hung here?” “Oh, Hailey said the color clashed with the interior so she took it down. I’ll ask her where she put it later.” He had completely forgotten. Three years ago, I had climbed ninety-nine hundred steps to St. Jude’s Chapel on the Peak just to get him that blessing. My legs were so sore I could barely stand for days. Later, when I asked her about it, she gave a careless shrug. “Oh, I thought it was some cheap street-vendor junk, so I tossed it out the window. My bad, Audie.” I had stared at her, unable to accept her apology. “It’s your fault for not stopping me!” she had laughed, nudging Nolan. “You’ve always been a hurricane, how could I stop you?” Nolan replied. Every single time, the script repeated itself. If I showed the slightest hint of discomfort, they would start roughhousing. Then someone would say how sweet and understanding I was, how I wouldn’t mind. My boundaries were slowly eroded until they ceased to exist. Even now, remembering it brought a dull sting of pain. Hailey smeared a dollop of cake frosting onto his hair. He merely laughed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “The only one nobody wants is you, Hailey. I’m an engaged man, unlike you, still single after a tour of Europe.” He glanced down at me. “Look at my Audrey. Gorgeous, sweet-tempered. Nothing like a wild cat like you.” A shadow crossed Hailey’s eyes, but she instantly recovered, wrapping her arm around mine. “Audie, are you still mad about our anniversary the other day? I only called Nolan away because of a dare…” 2 I instinctively pulled my hand back. Her smile froze. That day, I had spent four hours in the kitchen preparing his favorite dishes. Seven years was a significant milestone. It meant we had survived the seven-year itch. If he had spent that night with me, I would have wiped the slate clean of all the times he ignored me for Hailey over the past year. But he didn’t. He hadn’t even sat down for a minute when Hailey’s call came. “Nolan, do you like me?” He smiled. “What kind of game is this?” “Our old spot in ten minutes. If you don’t show up, I have to take a penalty drink.” “You’re always a headache. Wait there.” He grabbed his keys. He didn’t notice the fresh burn on my hand from the stove. He didn’t see the light die in my eyes. “Nolan, when will you be back?” He paused for a fraction of a second. “Soon. Hailey got caught in some stupid drinking game, I have to go bail her out.” It was always the same excuse, and it always worked on him. At that moment, I realized that holding on any longer was just humiliating myself. “Alright, Audrey, it was just a game of Truth or Dare. I was just playing along. Besides, we have anniversaries every year, it’s nothing special. Making a scene over this is really childish.” Nolan’s tone sharpened when he saw Hailey’s awkwardness. But he used to be so different. He used to cherish every milestone. He would book my favorite restaurant a month in advance, plan elaborate lantern displays. “Every anniversary reminds me that I’ve been lucky enough to have you for another year, Audie. I’m the luckiest man alive.” Later, those grand gestures went to Hailey. “She’s been stealing my things since we were kids. It’s a bad habit she can’t shake. Audrey, we’re an old married couple now, we don’t need those silly teenage rituals. Besides, what’s mine is yours, why bother wrapping it up?” The tension in the room grew heavy. Someone tried to clear the air. “Audie’s too sweet to get mad over something like that.” “Yeah, Nolan, just give her a cuddle. If you don’t know how, let Princess Hailey give you some tips.” Hailey’s eyes welled with tears. “Audie, I’m so sorry. Nolan and I have just always been this way. I didn’t think about boundaries. I won’t do it again.” Her voice trembled, making her look like the victim. I hadn’t even uttered a word, yet the gaze of the people in the room shifted. “Audie, don’t blame Hailey. We’ve all grown up together, it’s not that serious.” “Exactly, we never had these issues before. Why are we suddenly talking about boundaries?” “If that’s the case, I guess none of us have boundaries.” “It’s Nolan’s birthday, everyone was having a blast, and now it’s ruined…” Once, Nolan had organized countless dinners just so I could fit into his circle. Now, he stood by, silently agreeing as they picked me apart. I had no desire to watch their play continue. “I’m sorry for ruining the mood. It won’t happen again.” I looked at Nolan, whose face had darkened. “The engagement is off. We’re done. There won’t be a next time.” As my hand touched the brass doorknob, Hailey suddenly lunged forward, pushing me aside, and ran out sobbing, her hands covering her face. “Hailey!” The crowd rushed out after her. In the chaos, I was knocked to the floor, my fingers stepped on multiple times. The fresh scrapes flared with pain, mingling with the sting of the old burns. Nolan turned back to look at me, his eyes filled with profound disappointment. 3 “She’s always had fragile pride. You deliberately brought up breaking the engagement just to hurt her, to paint her as the homewrecker. If anything happens to her, Audrey, I will never forgive you.” The tears I had held back finally spilled over. He walked away without looking back. I returned to our shared townhome, bandaged my fingers, and picked up the suitcase I had packed days ago. As I reached the front door, Nolan walked back in. His eyes fell on my suitcase, his brow furrowing. “Are we still doing this? Are you trying to drive her to the edge? Audrey, when did you become so utterly unreasonable? You used to be so understanding…” “Nolan, do you not understand plain English? I said we are over. What the two of you do is none of my business.” I tried to step around him, but he grabbed my arm. “Come with me to Hailey’s. She’s in a terrible state. You’re going to apologize to her, clear the air, and we can put this behind us.” “Let go of me, Nolan! I have a flight to catch…” Ignoring my protests, he dragged me to his car, locked the doors, and drove off. He hauled me into Hailey’s living room. She was curled on the velvet sofa, sobbing softly. Her friends surrounded her, wiping her tears, offering to take her on trips, while throwing venomous glares at me. “Stop crying, Hailey. I brought Audrey to apologize.” Nolan looked at her with pure tenderness. I kept my lips pressed tight. The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Everyone was waiting for my submission. “Go on, apologize!” “Look at what you’ve done to her. Just say you’re sorry.” “Apologize!” I clenched my fists, my body swaying slightly from exhaustion. “I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?” Hailey burst into fresh wails. “Stop it, guys! It’s my fault. Audie has every right to be mad… I should never have come back…” Suddenly, a girl stepped out of the crowd and slapped me across the face. “She has never had to take this kind of abuse!” It was Becca. Two years ago, when she wanted to host her first art exhibition, she had begged me to bring Nolan to boost her profile, even tagging me in posts as “the future Mrs. Nolan” to draw a crowd. Nolan flinched when the slap landed, reaching out toward me instinctively, but Hailey’s renewed sobs pulled him back. I remembered how, when we first started dating, a tabloid had written a nasty article about my background. The next day, the publisher was shut down, and no one in his circle dared to speak a word against me. Now, they stood united against me, their faces twisted with satisfaction. “If I apologize, can I leave?” I asked, my voice flat. My pride had finally been ground into dust. Nolan nodded. “Once you apologize, everyone will move on. We can go back to how things were.” Back to how things were… I let out a hollow laugh. “Fine.” I gave Hailey a polite bow. “I’m sorry. I was petty, jealous, and malicious. I caused you distress. Please forgive me.” She blinked, wiping her eyes. “As long as you don’t misunderstand Nolan and me anymore, Audie.” “I won’t,” I said, looking at the floor. I turned and walked out. Nolan followed me to the porch. “I’ll drive you home.” “No need. Go back and comfort her.” He sighed. “This is over now. Don’t let it happen again, Audrey. I still prefer you when you’re sweet and understanding.” “Understood. It won’t happen again.” I went back to the house, rescheduled my flight to Sedona for the next morning, and sat on the edge of the bed with an ice pack on my cheek. I opened my phone and saw Hailey’s social media update from five minutes ago. 4 It was a screenshot of a group chat. I used to be in their circle’s group chat, but ever since Hailey returned, the main chat had gone dead. This was a separate group, one without me. [Becca: @Nolan, Hailey took such a hit today. How are you going to make it up to her? Don’t think a cheap apology from you-know-who cuts it.] [Nolan: Seven-day trip to Cabo. My treat, for everyone.] [Friend A: Wow! Classic Nolan. You’re the best!] [Friend B: Thanks to Princess Hailey, we get a free vacation!] [Hailey: Is Audie coming?] [Becca: Why would we invite that wet blanket?] [Friend C: Seriously, if she goes, she’ll just ruin the vibe.] [Nolan: She’s not coming.] [Friend A: Awesome! Can’t wait!] [Becca: She’s just green with envy because of Hailey.] [Friend B: You guys always said she had a sweet temper, but she’s actually so toxic.] [Friend C: Makes sense, she’s not from our world. She’s probably terrified Nolan will dump her, so she acts out.] [Nolan: Don’t say that in front of her.] [Becca: Nolan, you spoil her too much.] The screenshots went on for nine pages. I scrolled through them, feeling entirely numb. There was no anger, only a strange, calming sense of finality. Hailey’s caption read: And here I thought someone would choose his girl over his friends. My bad! Nolan had commented: Pack your bags, and don’t forget your essentials this time. Remember to bring your heating pad, your cycle is due. Hailey replied: I’m stealing all your sweaters anyway! What’s yours is mine! When Nolan returned home, I was still holding the ice pack. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’ll be back in a week,” I said. “Okay.” I didn’t look up from my screen. I could feel his gaze lingering on me. “Audrey, aren’t you going to ask me where I’m going?” I looked up, my eyes blank. “What?” Nolan hesitated, then knelt in front of me. “Does it hurt?” It took me a second to realize he was asking about my cheek. “Oh. It’s fine.” I went back to scrolling through travel guides for Sedona. “I’m going to Cabo with Hailey and the guys. When I get back, we’ll take our engagement photos.” “Sounds good. Have fun.” “Audrey…” I let out a soft laugh at a travel video on my feed, typing a quick comment. Nolan stood up without another word and went to pack his bags. A few minutes later, he called out, “My flight is at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.” “Okay. Mine is too… I mean, have a safe flight.” That night, I curled up on the very edge of the mattress. Nolan wrapped an arm around my waist, whispering in my ear: “We won’t see each other for a week. Tonight…” I sat up abruptly. “Sorry, I’m not in the mood.” “Is it your period?” “Yes.” I lied. He had forgotten anyway. “Alright,” he said, his disappointment clear. The next morning at the airport, I spotted their group near the boarding gates. “Is our Princess happy today?” “How could she not be? Nolan left his future bride behind just to keep her company.” “Oh, stop it, you guys…” Nolan smiled, though he looked distracted. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with his call. “Audrey, it’s going to get cold this week, make sure to turn on the heater. Look over those dress designs, when I get back…” Just then, the airport intercom crackled to life: Passengers boarding flight 402 to Sedona, please proceed to gate twelve… The announcement played through the receiver and in the physical terminal at the exact same time. Nolan’s breath hitched. “Audie… where are you?” I raised my eyes, my gaze colliding with his across the crowded terminal. He was looking around frantically. Nolan’s eyes widened. I hung up the call, stepped forward, and handed my ticket to the gate agent. Suddenly, a loud shout echoed behind me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453921”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel