Author: Momo Chan

Three years long-distance, and the shared calendar between me and my boyfriend Evan turned out to be a record of his life with his assistant, his junior colleague Sage. I’m his girlfriend—the real one—and if I wanted to see him, I had to submit a booking request to Sage in advance. Anniversary dinner? Denied. Birthday celebration for me? Denied. Even when I was running a fever of 102, I typed “I want to see you” into the calendar, and Sage deleted it outright. When I asked Evan about it, all he said was: “Sage manages my time for me. Don’t drag me down with trivial things.” Later he took first place in the national competition. I stood in the audience clutching a cake I’d carried across seven hours of travel, and I heard him laugh into the microphone: “Thank God for Sage. She shielded me from every unnecessary distraction.” After the ceremony, he finally saw me. His brow furrowed. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you not to bother me during the competition?” Sage took the trophy from him and turned to me, her voice gentle. “Sweetheart, truly loving someone means clearing the path for their future, not monopolizing their time.” I nodded, and swallowed back the congratulations I’d rehearsed for weeks. If he thought I was a distraction, a drain on his time, then I would step out of his future entirely. … I stood in the shadows of the backstage corridor, still holding the cake, its frosting beginning to slump. Seven hours on a long-distance bus, two transfers—just so he could take a single bite. “Evan, just one bite. After that, I promise I won’t make a scene.” That familiar weariness surfaced in his eyes, the look of a man enduring a difficult child. “I have to watch my sugar before the ceremony, and there’s a media interview afterward. You rode seven hours on a bus just to force cake down my throat?” I said nothing more. I turned and went back to the motel. That night I opened the settings page of our shared calendar. The cursor hovered over the “Leave Shared Calendar” button. I paused for two seconds, then clicked. A confirmation box popped up: “This action will permanently sever your calendar link with Evan Chen. Continue?” “Continue.” The moment the screen refreshed, the hotel door swung open. Evan walked in, glanced at the untouched cake box on the table, adjusted his tie knot, and said casually: “You haven’t left yet? I guess you missed the last bus.” I pushed the plastic knife back down into the box. “I rebooked. Leaving tomorrow morning.” Sage followed him in, set the trophy carefully on the windowsill, her smile pitched just right. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Lena. The committee added a last-minute interview. Evan’s phone has been with me all day—there was no way to tell you in advance.” “It’s fine.” I closed the cake box. “I’ve booked another hotel.” Evan frowned, reached out and touched the back of my hand. His voice softened. “Your hand’s freezing. Why go to all that trouble? Take the suite tonight—Sage in the outer room, you in the inner, I’ll crash with the guys.” That line, once, would have been enough to convince me he still cared about propriety. But Sage had already unzipped a suitcase and pulled a set of men’s pajamas from an inner pocket, handing them over with practiced ease. “Your stomach meds are with me too. Take them now, so you don’t wake up hurting in the middle of the night.” Evan took the water glass and tipped the pill back. “Good thing you remember.” I lowered my eyes to the five hand-drawn sun symbols on the cake box. That was my private mark, one I’d designed back in my meteorology research days. Junior year, he’d said he would draw me a sun for every year we survived apart. The fifth—he’d never gotten around to it. Sage leaned over to look. “The little cloud is cute. The colors are a bit faded, though. Lena, Evan can’t eat dairy cream anymore—it makes him drowsy. Let me cut him a small slice.” “No need.” I lifted the box. “If he won’t eat it, throw it out.” Evan caught my wrist. His grip wasn’t tight, but I couldn’t move. “Lena, don’t be petty. Sage is taking care of me. Do you have to twist every kind gesture into something ugly?” “Then take a bite.” Sage let out a soft sigh and picked up the plastic knife. “I’ll have some for him. That way your effort isn’t wasted.” She sliced through the fifth sun. Cream smeared across the base of the trophy. Evan pulled out a tissue and wiped her fingers first. The pressure on my wrist suddenly eased. He let me go, his voice smoothing out. “Be good. Once things settle down, I’ll make up the anniversary. All right?” “When?” “We’ll figure it out later.” I pulled up my own work calendar and, right in front of him, deleted next month’s birthday reminder. Then I deleted the ticket-purchase date for our New Year’s Eve trip. He saw it. All he did was rub his temple. “Don’t threaten me with deleted reminders. Isn’t that a little juvenile?” I didn’t explain. I picked up the cake and walked to the door. Sage suddenly called after me. “Lena, did you leave the shared calendar? The admin panel just flagged an unlink request.” Evan’s hand paused around the water glass. He didn’t ask me why. He just looked at Sage. “Don’t approve it yet. Give her a three-day cooling-off period.” As Sage tapped at her phone, I caught sight of one of her own blue entries still on the screen. Tomorrow night, nine o’clock. The title was a single word. Replace.

I reached out and stopped the elevator door as it began to close. “Sage, what are you replacing tomorrow night at nine?” She blinked, then flipped her phone face-down in her palm. “Just a system task. Do you really need to look up competition terminology, Lena?” Evan stood at the end of the hallway. His tone cooled several degrees. “Tomorrow is the results conference. We have to swap out the pitch files. Lena, stop reading personal grievances into everything.” I released the elevator door. “Fine.” The next afternoon, my supervisor called me into the conference hall. “Your urban rainfall prediction model was added to the demonstration lineup at the last minute. The original author’s seat is in the front row. Go grab your credentials.” I froze for two seconds. That model had taken me two years of overnight work to complete. Evan had borrowed it once to optimize a competition algorithm. He had promised to display only the joint module, never to touch my byline. But when the screen lit up, the cover page displayed two names in bold: Evan Chen and Sage Wang. The moderator smiled into the microphone. “Our two young researchers have integrated a meteorological model into a traffic scheduling system. I hear even a shared calendar served as inspiration?” Sage lifted the mic and answered with polished modesty. “It was mainly Evan’s idea. I just helped him organize his day-to-day data. The scattered records weren’t technically sophisticated, but they did offer a small spark.” Someone nearby murmured: “I hear his girlfriend studies meteorology too. Probably just logs weather for him.” “Three years long-distance—how could she possibly keep up with his project? Personal assistant, at best.” My supervisor’s head snapped toward me. “Isn’t the original model documentation yours?” I didn’t answer. Evan had already seen me. His eyes lingered for a moment, then slid away, and he went on explaining a set of unique sun-coded parameters in the model. During the Q&A, I raised my hand. “Why is the fifth code group missing?” Evan tapped the presenter’s remote in his hand, his expression steady. “The early sample data had limited value. We ran a cleaning pass.” “And who authorized you to clean it?” The hall went quiet. Sage was the first to laugh. “Perhaps you’re not familiar with collaboration protocols. Evan is the project lead—he certainly has the authority to remove low-value data. No need to hold everyone up over an old record.” Evan looked at me, his voice lowered. “Lena. Sit down. We’ll talk after this is over.” “What about the original model’s byline?” He tapped the remote lightly. “Your model didn’t pass independent review. Adding your name prematurely would compromise the judging. Once the project stabilizes, I’ll append a supplementary statement. Don’t make a scene in front of everyone.” My supervisor rose to his feet. “She submitted a complete validation report. I signed off on it myself!” Sage’s face flickered, but she recovered with a smile. “Professor, there were too many file versions. I may have missed one in the sorting. Evan’s been working himself to the bone lately. Since Lena’s already come all this way, why force him to handle domestic matters onstage?” Evan didn’t so much as glance at the report. He simply gestured to the staff. “Continue.” The screen switched to the acknowledgments page. Advisors. Teammates. Partner laboratories. Name after name lit up. Every one but mine. When the applause broke out, I unpinned the “Original Author” badge from my chest and set it on the empty seat. Evan caught up with me backstage and closed his fingers around my wrist. “Have you made enough of a mess today? The byline is only postponed—we’re not cutting you out.” “That ‘replacement’ scheduled for nine tomorrow night. Is that when you cut me out of the project?” He was silent for a moment, then reached out to straighten my crooked collar. “It’s a temporary measure to avoid impropriety. You’re my girlfriend. If your name goes on the paper, the review board will suspect a conflict of interest. Sage is just a collaborator—she fits better.” I looked at him. “So a girlfriend is less above suspicion than a colleague.” “Don’t be difficult.” He released my hand. “Once I secure the graduate school recommendation, what you gain from this won’t be any less than a byline. I promise.” Sage poked her head through the door. “Evan, the school wants promotional photos. Only core members are permitted. Lena, since you’re not on the team, please step aside for a bit.”

The staff pulled up a rope barrier and cordoned me off outside the frame. Before the shutter clicked, I caught sight of the sun-shaped pin on Evan’s chest. That was mine. I stepped over the rope and pointed at his lapel. “Give me back the pin.” Evan glanced down. He didn’t remove it. “I borrowed it to hold my tie. You’ll get it after the shot. Don’t keep everyone waiting.” Sage looped her arm through his to adjust their pose. “Lena, it’s just a little pin. Today is Evan’s big moment. Let him have it.” The photographer waved his hand impatiently. “Non-essential personnel, step back. Girlfriends included—don’t disrupt the promotional workflow.” My supervisor moved forward, but the vice dean intercepted him. “Young people’s collaboration disputes should be settled privately. The school just won a gold medal. Let’s not make a spectacle.” I thought that, at the very least, my supervisor would speak up for me. Instead he looked at Evan on the stage, then quietly tucked the validation report back into its folder. “Lena, sit tight for tonight. I’ll ask him for a proper explanation.” Sage beckoned the group over with a smile. “Everyone, come closer. Evan doesn’t like wasting time.” Evan stood at the center. The pin caught the flashbulbs and gleamed. The number on the back read 442. That was the commemorative pin the meteorological bureau had given me after I completed my first solo severe storm warning. Evan had once threaded it onto a red cord and said that when our long-distance days ended, he’d hang it beside the shared calendar in our new home. After the photos, he unpinned it and held it out. “Hold on to this. Try not to lose things all the time.” I opened my palm to take it. The clasp snapped with an audible click. The body of the pin dropped onto the thick carpet. I didn’t bend to pick it up. I only stooped for the broken metal clasp and slipped it into my pocket. “If it’s broken, I don’t want it.” Sage covered her mouth. “Maybe I fastened it too tight. Don’t be upset, Lena. I’ll buy you a new one.” “Can you buy back the serial number?” Evan frowned, bent to retrieve the fallen pin body himself, and closed it in his fist. His voice stayed calm. “Objects are just objects. If you insist on measuring a relationship by an old pin, the only person you’ll hurt is yourself.” I slipped my hand into my pocket and felt the broken clasp. “Is the model just an object too?” “That’s different.” He tapped his phone awake. “The school’s celebration dinner is tonight. Go back to the motel first. I’ll have a driver take you. Don’t sleep through your bus tomorrow.” “I was invited too.” Sage flipped open the guest list. Her fingertip stopped at the bottom. “There’s only one seat for an original-author observer, but given the conflict of interest, the school has given it to an external professor. If you go, Lena, there won’t be a seat for you.” At the restaurant entrance, the invited guests signed in one by one. The receptionist was an upperclassman from my undergraduate days. When she saw me, her eyes slid away. “Lena, please don’t put me in this position. The guest list was confirmed by Evan personally. Your supervisor was just hauled off by the vice dean to drink with the investors. There’s no one here who can stand up for you tonight.” Inside, someone was riling up the crowd. “The gold-medal duo—sit together, take a photo!” “Evan, tell us. Who couldn’t you have made it without on the road to success?” Evan lifted his glass and answered mildly. “I couldn’t have made it without someone who can keep pace.” My chest tightened. Through the table’s laughter, Sage pushed his stomach medication toward him. “Guess I’ll grit my teeth and keep up for a few more years, so you don’t get dragged down by unnecessary emotions.” The glass doors slid shut. The upperclassman pressed a folder into my hands and whispered: “This is the removal notice. I shouldn’t be showing it to you, but the dates inside are wrong.” I waited until I reached the far end of the hallway before I opened it. The document stated that, due to my prolonged absence from the project, I voluntarily surrendered my byline and any subsequent rights. The signature line was blank, but attached was an exported record from the shared calendar. Blue entries stretched back two years, saturating every day. My yellow entries had been categorized as invalid data. And the deletion timestamp wasn’t the day of the anniversary— Two years ago, on September 17th, the night Evan first handed his account permissions to Sage, the replacement plan had already been drafted in the system. At the bottom of the document was a single line of small print: “To take public effect at 9:00 PM tomorrow evening, pending confirmation from the original author.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260804UdgnJD1YDL 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni091112”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

My fiancé, Don Julian Ashford, lost the hearing in his left ear years ago—an ambush by a rival family when he was seventeen. He hears everything through his right ear now. Three years. Every time I raise my voice at him, he can’t make it out. But he can hear Sienna Vaughn, my closest friend, tap her fingernail against a coffee cup from three meters away. Sienna never speaks up. She directs him with gestures. Two soft taps on the table. Julian’s on his feet, sliding an Americano across the counter into her hand. She glances toward the window. He’s already up, drawing the blackout blinds. Meanwhile I’m sitting on his right. I say his name twice at ordinary volume. He turns. Blinks. “Sorry, baby. Louder. Didn’t catch that.” I bury the hurt. Tell myself he’s just worn out from the wedding logistics. Until the engagement shoot. Julian pulls Sienna into the frame. Arm around her shoulder. “Group shot. She’s here anyway.” The photographer hesitates. Hands the proof to me. In the photo, Julian’s right pinky is hooked around Sienna’s. He’s laughing, loose. I set the bouquet down on the vanity. Watching him lean into her, smiling the way he used to smile at me—I don’t cry. I don’t ask. If he’s never going to hear me, I’m done spending myself on him. *** The photographer fans thirty proofs across the table. Julian’s eyes slide past me. Land on Sienna. “Sienna. Which one?” Sienna doesn’t answer. Just taps one shot with her index finger. The group shot. Julian turns to the coordinator. “This one. Blow it up. Front-of-house welcome board.” The coordinator freezes. Looks at me. Sienna takes a graceful half-step back. “A maid of honor probably shouldn’t be on the welcome board, Julian.” Julian’s already lifted her Burberry trench off the chair. “Come on. You’ve been with us since day one.” Only then does he remember I exist. Turns to me. Asks my blessing. I smile. “Sure. Put it in the middle.” There’s not going to be a bride standing next to it anyway. He nods, pleased. Reaches to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I tilt my head. Pretend to fix my hem. His hand hangs in the air. Drops. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t notice I’ve dodged him, because at that exact moment Sienna’s nail has just tapped the rim of her empty water glass. Twice. Julian goes to the bar. Comes back with a bottle of room-temperature Fiji. No ice. Her temperature. Sienna looks up. Mouths at him, silent. Thank you. Julian reads every curve of her lips. Meanwhile, my “Pour me one too” is delivered less than two feet from his left ear. He doesn’t even turn his head. I open my phone. Pull up the Newport venue booking and the first-class tickets I’d reserved for the grandparents. I start with the Acela. Six first-class seats, Boston to Penn. Cancel. Refund. Confirm. While Julian is adjusting the angle of Sienna’s straw, the last notification pings. I hit cancel on the full hotel reservation. Eighteen thousand four hundred, refunded to my Amex. He never once turns to see what I’m doing. Next: welcome favors. Forty boxes. Curated them one at a time last month. Fortnum & Mason English Breakfast paired with Harney & Sons Earl Grey. Julian’s grandmother has drunk that exact combination every morning since 1998. Sienna picks up a Walker’s shortbread from the samples. Wrinkles her nose. Pushes the whole tin two inches away. Julian sees. Turns to the favors manager. “Swap the entire lot. Blue Bottle pour-over sachets instead. Sienna recommended them before.” I raise my voice. “The grandparents don’t drink coffee.” Julian raps his knuckle against his own right ear. “Baby, the louder you get the less I hear. It’s just noise. Manager, go ahead.” The manager brings over the change order. Bottom line jumps from thirty-eight hundred to twelve thousand four. Sienna’s at the sample table, ribbon looped through her fingers. It’s tangled around her wrist. She doesn’t work it loose. She just frowns at Julian. Julian crosses the room. Unwinds it, coil by coil, from her wrist. The morning we went to City Hall to register, I had a fresh pair of Manolo Blahniks on. Not broken in yet. He walked three yards ahead of me. Kept checking his watch. Called back for me to hurry up. “Nora. Move it. You’re embarrassing me.” He couldn’t hear my heels dragging on the floor. He just thought I was slow. The manager’s still holding out the pen. I set the change order back on the table. Take a step back. Smile at Julian. “Your call. You sign.” He frowns. But Sienna’s watching. He signs. Chase Sapphire. Twelve thousand four. Ashford’s ports move hundreds of thousands in and out every day. That customs pipeline was built on three patents in my name, three years ago. But he tells me to front the wedding money. Says it’s a small enough item that I can handle it solo. While they’re picking gift-wrap colors, I open the beverage supplier’s back end. Forty tables. Champagne tower. Two magnums of Dom Pérignon per table. Delete. Cancel. Confirm. Julian comes back with a sample bag of Sienna’s coffee. Still riding the buzz of a decision made together. “Nora. Dinner?” Three times louder than he was speaking to me two minutes ago. Because Sienna is watching. Because Julian has to perform the doting-Don-fiancé for whatever audience is present, to secure the shape of his role. My actual thoughts have never entered the calculation. He only softens in front of the family. “Whatever,” I say. Ordinary volume. He doesn’t hear. He turns back to Sienna. “Sushi?” She nods. Traces a small circle in the air. “The conveyor spot in SoHo. Got it.” He doesn’t look at me once. I follow them out of the venue. My phone is dark in my hand. The confirmation email is already sitting in my inbox. Your cancellation has been processed. Refund will be returned in 5–7 business days.

The movers set the last three boxes down in the new apartment. Sienna’s already on the sofa, flipping through a Vogue. She said she stopped by to walk her entrance routing for the maid-of-honor procession. The TV is on. Midday news. Sienna lifts a finger. Touches her own right ear. Julian’s out of the kitchen in two steps. The TV is off. I’m in the hall, holding a box of books. I ask him at ordinary volume. “Bookshelves in the master. Left wall or right wall?” His back’s to me. He’s pouring Sienna room-temperature water. He doesn’t turn. I ask again. Louder. He still doesn’t turn. Sienna takes the glass. Walks into the master bedroom. Sits on the edge of the bed. Looks up at the Murano floor lamp in the corner. “That lamp’s a little dim.” Half the volume of my question. Julian is in the room within seconds. Reaches up. Takes the shade off. That’s a 1960s Venini. I sat on 1stDibs for an entire week to snipe it. I follow him in. “What are you doing to it?” Julian reads Sienna’s lips. Translates her silent line to me. “The light’s too dim. We’ll swap it for something brighter.” Sienna shakes her head from the bed. “Really. It’s fine. Don’t switch it on my account.” Julian hands me the lamp. “It’s not a big deal, baby. Sienna has sensitive eyes. Pick another one. You’re on 1stDibs every week anyway.” I don’t answer. I turn. Set the lamp inside a box that’s already been packed shut by the door. Later that afternoon a Bergdorf Goodman car pulls up on Marlborough Street. Two associates hang the bridal and bridesmaid pieces one by one on the rolling rack in our foyer. Sienna tries the short bridesmaid dress. Stands in front of the full-length mirror. Her eyes settle on her own right calf. A three-inch scar rides the outside of it, exposed by the hem. Sienna touches the scar with a fingertip. Doesn’t speak. Julian’s gaze follows her finger down. His brow tightens. Sienna reaches for my reception gown hanging next to her—Oscar de la Renta, full train, two months of hand-embroidered custom work. She lifts it. Holds it up against her own body. “This length would cover it.” Julian turns to me. The tone he uses on subordinates. “Sienna has that scar. The short cut doesn’t work on her. Nora, switch to the alternate short one. Give her this.” He pauses. Reaches into his inside pocket. Pulls out a check. Three thousand. “For your trouble. Buy yourself a new one.” The scar on my calf is three times the size of that fine line on hers. The year he stepped into Ashford Holdings, he refused to be seen wearing a hearing aid—not in front of the family, not in front of rival houses. He carried the whole winter alone rather than expose the weakness. Wouldn’t buy one for himself. I liquidated the trust my grandmother left me. Placed the order for the implantable Phonak Lyric. To hand it to him myself, I drove up from Newport overnight. Ninety-five was frozen through. My car went into the guardrail. My right calf was pinned by the crumpled door. Fourteen stitches. That night, in the corridor at Mount Auburn, he held my leg and cried. Swore that from that day forward every inch of Ashford ground would carry my name on it. That on our wedding day he’d let all of Boston see Julian Ashford’s wife in the longest, most exquisite gown the city had ever laid eyes on. Three years later, he no longer remembers the scar on my leg. I take the check. The associate leads Sienna into the fitting room. Julian watches the curtain fall. Turns. Pats my shoulder. “You’re the best, Nora. Nobody handles things the way you do.” I smile at him. Open my phone. Pull up the licensing file on the customs pipeline registered to Ashford Holdings. Three patents. All in my individual name. Expiration: 9 a.m. tomorrow. I don’t renew. Three termination notices. Signed one at a time. Sent to Ashford Holdings legal. CC’d to Julian’s personal assistant. Julian is outside the fitting-room curtain. He doesn’t hear the send tone. Sienna walks out of the fitting room in my reception gown. Train sweeping the floor. Embroidery catching the light. Julian looks at her. His eyes light. “Beautiful.” He has never said that word to me. Not once. I save every delivery receipt to a folder. New folder. I name it. T-minus 2 days.

Wedding rehearsal. The Breakers, main ballroom. Sound system running at half power. Julian gets halfway down the aisle and stops. Palm pressed to his right ear. The officiant calls him under the floral arch. He shakes his head. “Too loud. I can’t hold it here.” Sienna rises from the first row. Walks up to him. Reaches into her Louis Vuitton pouch and produces a pair of custom silicone earplugs. She rises on her toes. Julian leans down. Lets her fit them in. They meet each other’s eyes. Both smile. The guards on either side of the hall stare straight ahead. They stopped registering intimacy between the Don and Sienna a long time ago. Music. My cue. Julian, earplugs in, is watching Sienna’s hem. She’s standing too close to the dais step. His eyes stay on her shoes. He’s afraid she’ll trip. I stop in front of him. He doesn’t lift his head once. “Julian.” Nothing. Louder. “Julian.” Still nothing. Sienna reaches over. Taps his elbow. He finally lifts his eyes. Reaches for my hand. His fingers barely brush mine before his gaze slides past my shoulder to the teleprompter. He hasn’t prepared a single line for the ceremony. I pull my hand back. “We can skip this part.” Julian assumes I’m overheated. He exhales. “Good. We’ll run it tomorrow.” I step aside. Sit down on one of the ballroom chairs. Open my work email. Three years ago, when Julian was courting me, I’d just finished Harvard Law. He told me the women of the Ashford house don’t work. I didn’t agree. Three years on, I’ve made senior associate at Cravath. And, on a consultant basis, I’ve built out—on three patents in my own name—the customs pipeline that turns Ashford Holdings’ black books into clean ones. He doesn’t know. He thinks he’s the one keeping me. I send my resignation to Karen in HR. Effective tomorrow. Rehearsal ends. The planner puts the ring box in my hand. A pair. Both GIA-certified loose stones. Four months. Five cities—Manhattan Tiffany flagship, Chestnut Hill, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, Miami—one stone at a time under the loupe. Sienna leans in for a look. She slips her own left ring finger into the smaller band. Just testing the fit. Julian picks up the smaller ring. Grabs Sienna’s hand. Slides it on. “Let’s see if it fits.” The ring catches at the second knuckle. Sienna’s finger is thicker than mine. Won’t go on. Won’t come off. The joint starts going purple. Julian panics. Plunges her hand into ice water. Works it back and forth. Sienna’s eyes rim red. The joint shifts from purple to blue. Julian raises a hand toward the back of the hall. Two capos step out of the shadows. The one in front carries a small black leather case—the kit the family uses for jewelry maintenance. Rings, cufflinks, tie bars. The capo drops to one knee in front of Sienna. Looks up at Julian. Julian nods. The case opens. A full miniature jeweler’s set, arranged by size. He selects a jeweler’s ring cutter. The jaws thin as a blade. The jaws bite in against the inside of the band. Metal on metal. A millimeter at a time. Sienna trembles. Julian cups her wrist with one hand, presses her shoulder down with the other. His voice pitched low. “Look at me. Don’t make a sound. There are family men here.” Thirty seconds. The band hits the floor in two pieces. The capo rises. Gathers both halves. Extends them to Julian with the deference the position calls for. Julian takes them. Doesn’t look. Sets them on the chair beside him. He’s already checking Sienna’s finger for broken skin. Turns to me over his shoulder. “What size did you pick, Nora. Too narrow. If you hadn’t insisted on that cut, her finger wouldn’t have caught.” “Whatever. Get a plain band tomorrow. I don’t want the other families laughing at us.” That center stone. I spent four months with a loupe on it, under every angle of light. The day we chose it, he held my hand and said the stone was the anchor of our marriage. No flaw permitted. I pry the center stone off the setting. Drop it in my clutch. Nine that night I call a private buyer in the 47th Street diamond district. Someone I’d cleared through diligence for a Cravath client three years ago. He verifies the GIA number. Sixty-three thousand. Cash. I take it. Then I log into our joint Chase account. Every dollar I put in for the wedding. Deposit. Retainer. Fitting fees. All mine. Not one dollar from the Ashford family—Julian said family funds went through a separate channel, that these “personal expenses” would be squared up “later, in one shot.” I move every line back to my own name. Joint balance: $0.00. Julian’s bandaging Sienna’s finger while the last transfer clears. Careful. Pressing the gauze flat so no water gets in when she showers. I close my phone. Look at the two halves of the band on the floor. Nice setwork. Not worth anything now.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260804JH9il3G6j5 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni714372”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

The wedding cars had been idling outside my father’s house for three hours. Marissa Belrose refused to move from the seat beside my fiancé—the seat that was supposed to be mine. She was my fiancé Dominic Sterling’s assistant. The girl who’d been fighting me for the front passenger seat for eight months. She was looking straight at me through the window. “Nora. Didn’t you say you get carsick? This time the front is yours. I’ll sit next to Dominic.” “Can you get on with the wedding now?” “Nora. You know that’s my seat.” I looked past her. Two of Dominic’s men stood by the lead car. Neither had moved. Neither had looked at me. Their eyes stayed on Dominic, waiting for his order. But Dominic never gave the order to move her. I swallowed the heat rising in my throat. “Dominic. Get her out.” Dominic shook his head. Gave me that tired look. The one he’d been giving me for a year. “Nora. She’s not feeling well. Are you going to make a scene over a seat? Are you getting in or not?” “If you keep this up, don’t bother. Walk yourself to the church.” He checked his Patek. I smiled. “Fine. Then I’m not marrying you today.” I didn’t hesitate. I turned and walked toward the car trailing right behind the wedding procession. I looked at the man inside. “You said you’d wait for me. “ “Come marry me. Right now.” *** The wedding cars had shown up three hours late to begin with. I looked at Marissa in the back seat. She was wearing the sea-island cotton shirt I’d had custom-made for Dominic. Turnbull & Asser. Madison Avenue. His initials embroidered over the pocket in French navy. I finally understood. My fiancé had spent the night in bed with his assistant. Dominic wasn’t answering his phone that whole morning. Nobody at the Sterling compound in Newport would tell us anything. My father thought there’d been an accident on I-95. He pulled his old bike out of the garage and rode ten miles down the route we’d mapped. Until he flagged the wedding convoy down himself. The lead car was empty of him. My father’s bike folds. It would have fit in the trunk. But he rode the ten miles back. His jacket was streaked with dust. He stopped in the little grove behind the house and brushed himself off before he walked in the front door. He wanted to spare me the humiliation in front of the guests. Something in my chest twisted so hard I couldn’t breathe. Every ritual my parents had planned got skipped. Dominic never got out of the car. His only explanation: “Sorry. Rough night.” But the lipstick on his collar was visible from ten feet away. Chanel red. Not my shade. Marissa pulled three sentences out of the air and poured the whole mess on me. “Nora. You know there’s nothing between me and Dominic. You’re the one making a scene in front of everyone. That’s on you.” “You’re supposed to be his Donna. Don’t you know how to give a Don face when he’s off balance? That’s the least a Donna does.” She said it leaning into Dominic’s chest. My custom shirt against his lapel. Her look at me was pure triumph. Something in my ribs pulled tight. Today Dominic was wearing yesterday’s shirt. It reeked of Marissa’s perfume. “Marissa had too much last night. Nothing clean in her bag. It was the only shirt at the apartment. I gave it to her.” So he’d taken the shirt I’d made for our wedding and put it on her. I pressed every feeling in my chest flat. “Dominic. Call off the wedding.” Dominic glanced at his watch. Impatience flickered across his face. “Nora. Get in the car or I’ll make you regret it.” “So you’re really calling off the wedding over a seat?” “Yes.” I cut him off before he could finish. Dominic looked at me. Nodded slowly. “Fine. Have it your way.” He turned back to Marissa, reaching in to adjust the shawl across her lap, careful, unhurried. He had never once touched me in public that way. “Get comfortable. We’ll be moving in a minute.” Then he climbed in beside her and closed the door. He looked at me through the glass, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Marissa, impatience written across his whole face. “Nora. The passenger seat is yours. Or the back of the sedan behind. Take your pick.”

The relatives saw where things were going. But the men standing beside Dominic’s car kept them from saying a word on my behalf. One by one they made excuses. Stepped back toward the porch. Toward their own cars. Toward anywhere else. Ten minutes ago there had been fifty people in the driveway. Now the driveway was empty. Just me. My mother. My father. “The church keeps calling. Are we going or not?” Dominic rolled the window down. That edge in his voice. Daring me. Marissa already had her phone out, posting from beside him. 【Riding in the wedding car with Dominic today. Comfy seats. Could get used to this. 💍】 A picture of herself in the seat next to him. The comments came in fast. 【OMG finally!! I always said you two were endgame.】 【Thank GOD it’s not that uptight Whitfield girl. Dominic deserves better.】 【So happy for you.】 Congratulations poured in like a series of slaps. And he liked the post. “Nora. You want me to sit with you?” My father took my hand. Voice low. Careful. Dominic and I had been together seven years. Started at Cornell. Everyone I knew knew how much I loved him. The Sterlings were a rising Mafia Family out of Newport. My father ran a two-bay auto shop in Cranston. I was nobody’s daughter from nowhere important. The gap was Grand Canyon wide. My father had been afraid he couldn’t protect me. I’d never told him what Dominic really was. But thirty years under the hoods of other men’s cars had taught him things. No ordinary man swaps his factory windows for ballistic glass.No ordinary man’s driver carries a gun. My father had figured it out on his own. He’d tried to stop this engagement for two years. He didn’t come to two Christmases because of it. But I insisted on marrying Dominic. After graduation I clawed my way up. Nine shots of Woodford at a sit-down to close a deal. Never blinked. I knew what I was to Dominic, and what I wasn’t in Family. I wanted to be useful to him. I wanted to earn my seat at the Family table by helping him move the dirty money into the clean columns. Five years to make it from admin to Chief of Staff at the Sterling firm. Running the properties. Running the construction contracts. Running every piece of paper that let dirty dollars come out white. Standing at Dominic’s right hand. He’d sworn he kept work and us in separate rooms. Then Marissa Belrose walked in with a title and took the exact seat I’d bled five years to earn. Dominic and I had our first real fight the day Marissa was hired. Two weeks of silence. Ended without resolution. Last night, packing my things, my father, who has never once bent for anyone, pulled me aside before he turned the light off. “Whatever you decide from here on out, kiddo, your dad supports you. Just don’t stop coming home.” I looked at Dominic now, at the way he was speaking to me, at what he had done to my parents’ morning. Dad. I understand now what you were afraid of. I don’t want to marry him anymore. I pulled the veil off my head. Dropped it on the pavement. “Dominic. Take your people and go. I’m not marrying you.” Dominic’s face darkened as he stepped out of the sedan. “Nora. Playing hard-to-get doesn’t work on me. Think carefully.” “Seven years with me. Wedding’s half done. You walk now, you’re a woman the Sterlings threw away. Who’s going to take you after that?” He said it in front of my parents. Didn’t blink. The sky had gone dark. A fine drizzle started. Marissa saw Dominic get out. She slipped out of the car behind him. “Nora. Sweetheart. This is just because you think Dominic and I are too close, right?” “If you’ll just get through the ceremony today. Give Dominic his moment. I promise. I’ll turn in my notice tomorrow. I’ll take care of the baby. I’ll leave.” She said it looking straight into my eyes, her hand stroking her stomach in slow. Then she threw herself against Dominic’s chest, sobbing on cue.

A baby. The word passed through me like a live current. Marissa curled into Dominic’s chest like a stray kitten. Her palm settled on her stomach. She hit the word pregnancy deliberately. “When.” I forced it out through my teeth. The white satin glove on my hand was crushed in my own grip. Dominic’s face was dark. “Don’t listen to her. Get in the car. If you don’t want her around, I’ll send her away tomorrow.” My father stepped in front of me. His voice was iron. “My daughter gave you seven years of her life. You spent them running around with other women. You think that’s decent?” He only moved his foot half a step forward. Dominic’s arm shot out to shield Marissa’s stomach. Pulled her against him. I laughed. “Dominic. You lie like a teenager.” “Send her away where? To the maternity suite at the Four Seasons in Boston?” Dominic went still. Last month I’d seen a reservation confirmation on his phone. Four Seasons Boston. Booked for the day after our wedding. Special note attached to the booking: prenatal-suitable amenities requested. I’d thought it was for our honeymoon. I’d started prenatals a month early. Walked away from a Providence account I’d spent half a year closing. Cut caffeine. Cut wine. I’d let all of it go because I thought Dominic was finally going to take me in. Make me one of the Family. I’d been prepping my body for a child. I hadn’t understood, until this moment, that the room was already occupied. My eyes moved down to Marissa’s stomach. She was showing. “What. Can’t handle it? Just because I’ve got his baby?” “What if I told you my child is the one who’s going to carry the Sterling name? And you? You spend the rest of your life at that table and no one on it will ever call you one of us.” Marissa’s voice pushed harder with every sentence. The provocation in her eyes tipped over into open contempt. My father’s face went white with rage. “You have no shame. You’re not going to hurt my daughter. Tomorrow I’m parking myself outside your office with a sign that says you seduced an engaged man.” “I don’t have much left. But I’ve got enough for that.” My father barely finished the sentence. Marissa’s hands flew to her stomach. She pitched backward. “Dominic. My baby. Something’s wrong.” The rain came down harder. From drizzle to full downpour. Dominic crossed the driveway in three strides. He caught her against his chest. “Nora. Get your father’s mouth under control. Apologize. To Marissa. Right now. One more word out of him and I’ll have his tongue on the floor of this driveway.” “If anything happens to Marissa, I don’t know how I’ll answer to her father.” I looked up. Met his eyes. “Answer? Which father are you planning to answer to, Dominic?” “Marissa’s. He’s practically my father-in-law.” Something cold slid down my back. My father was still standing right there. In the rain. And Dominic had just called another man his father-in-law to his face. Five years I’d spent trying to earn a seat at that table. And Dominic had handed the title I’d never been given to a woman who’d never worked a day for it. “Nora. Stop playing word games. Last time. Get in the car. You know what I’m capable of. I’ve always thought you were a smart woman. Don’t make me revise that.” The sentences from him. Like the rain. They put out every last ember of expectation I’d had for seven years. For this wedding, my parents had put together a $40,000 gift for Dominic. The gap between our families was real. My parents had scraped for half their lives to pull that money together. Just to give Dominic respect. All so I could stand as Dominic Sterling’s Donna without ever bowing my head. And now Dominic was calling Marissa’s father Dad. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I finally understood that everything I’d done, every year I’d bled, would never buy me one ounce of respect from this man. “And if I say no?” Dominic’s brow knit at the center. “Fine.” “You. And you. Take that house apart. Every board. Every window. I want the driveway looking like a crater by the time we pull off. Consider it Marissa’s wedding gift from the bride.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260804tkuFlFdGCq 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni188845”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

The day before Thanksgiving. I was on the Acela Express to Boston, ready to give my husband a surprise. The food cart rolled by. The girl across from me spoke at the same time I did. “No nuts, please!” We both froze for a second. Then we shared a smile. Her fiancé, she said, had a severe nut allergy. After all this time, she avoided them too. I smiled back and replied, “My husband’s the same. Even a trace of nuts sends him straight to the ER.” “Oh my god, exactly the same!” She pulled up her phone and leaned closer. “Look. When I order takeout for him, I always add a note in all caps. NO NUTS. Three times.” I saw the note. And right below it—I saw the delivery information. Julian Vance. Pier 7, Seaport. Apartment 1803. The sandwich in my hand suddenly felt too hot to hold. Julian was my husband. Pier 7, Seaport, Apartment 1803. That was my destination. The train plunged into a shadow. The window reflected my pale face. She was still smiling. “Are you going to Boston too? Maybe our guys are colleagues.” … “Hey, you went quiet. Are you okay?” Chloe tilted her head, her eyes so innocently clear. “It’s nothing,” I said. My throat felt like it was closing up. “It’s just… such a coincidence.” “Right? I feel like we were meant to meet!” She grinned so hard her eyes crinkled. Then she poked at her fifteen-dollar train salad with disgust. “What is this? The lettuce is all wilted.” “That’s train food for you.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “You’ll have to make do.” “No way.” She shook her head, a pout in her voice. “It would kill my fiancé if he knew I was eating this.” With that, she swiped open her phone again, shoving the screen in my face. “See? This is the French restaurant he took me to last Thursday. The bottle of wine alone was over a grand.” I said nothing. I just looked down at the identical salad in front of me. Last Thursday. I had a 102 fever and drove myself to the clinic for an IV. My phone screen was blindingly bright. I texted Julian, asking for two thousand dollars for the medical bill. Three hours later, he sent a single reply. “In a meeting. Use your credit card. Don’t bother me with petty stuff like this.” So this was the meeting.

I looked down. My throat felt tight. It took me forever to get the words out. “He really goes all out for you.” Chloe’s smile got even sweeter. She looked completely smitten. “He just loves spending money on me. He gives me twenty thousand a month as an allowance. I tell him I can’t spend it all, but he insists. He says he works his ass off just to make me happy.” She cupped her chin and leaned closer. “So, what about your husband? How much does he give you a month?” I swallowed a mouthful of cold lettuce and said drily, “Five hundred.” Chloe froze. Her eyes went wide as saucers. “Five hundred? What can you even do with five hundred dollars? Julian spent almost forty grand last month just taking me shopping.” She didn’t say anything else. Her eyes swept over me and stopped on my faded T-shirt. I knew that look in her eyes all too well. It was pity, mixed with a weird, awkward discomfort. I found that shirt at an outlet mall. Thirty-five dollars. I’ve had it for three years. Chloe seemed to sense how awkward things had just gotten. She quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, how did you and your husband meet? You should tell me the story.”

Chloe dug a bag of organic dried fruit out of her purse and offered it to me. I recognized the brand. I’d picked it up and put it back on the shelf at Whole Foods more times than I can count. Every time I saw the price tag, I’d quietly walk away. “We were college classmates,” I said. “Back then, he was so poor he couldn’t even afford his textbooks. I worked two cafeteria jobs. Every penny I saved went to his tuition. We’d split a single cold sandwich for dinner. That was our meal.” Chloe’s eyes lit up. She looked genuinely moved. “Oh my god, that’s amazing… You stuck with him through the absolute worst of it. So now he must worship the ground you walk on, right? Maybe not big on words, but grateful as hell? He must treat you like a queen.” I turned to stare out the window, at the blur of scenery rushing past. My voice was flat. “No.” I paused. “Now… he’s probably tired of me.”

Chloe was about to say something comforting, but her phone buzzed. She glanced at it and let out a little laugh. Then, she turned the screen towards me. “Look how cute my fiancé is.” I stared at the two messages. 【Babe, wait for me right at the exit. Be good, don’t wander off.】 【We’re spending Thanksgiving together. I can’t wait to see you.】 And I thought about the text Julian had sent me last night. A curt, dismissive message. Project’s at a critical stage. Can’t make it back for Thanksgiving. I had planned to surprise him. I was going to sneak up to Boston on the train. Now, it looked like the surprise was turning into a complete shock. I forced a smile. “Yeah. He’s really into you.” Chloe looked a little embarrassed. “He’s insisting I move to Boston. He wants us to be together before the baby arrives.”

My chest tightened, making every breath hurt. Julian and I had been together for seven years. I worked multiple jobs to support his startup. I ran myself into the ground. My body has never been the same since. In those seven years, I had three miscarriages. Last month, I finally got pregnant again. I was overjoyed. I showed him the test results. He told me to get rid of it. I froze. He put on this look of deep concern. He said my health was too poor. That the pregnancy would be a risk. He said we only needed each other. That we could stay child-free forever. I was so moved I could barely think. I actually believed he was doing it for me. Looking at the girl across from me, I finally got it. He already had another family. “Hey, you spaced out.” Chloe’s voice pulled me back to reality. “It’s nothing.” I forced a smile. “Your fiancé… he really loves you.” “Yeah. He’s gotten everything ready for me.” She pulled out her phone again, showing me more photos. “This is the home he bought me last month. It’s a waterfront condo in the Seaport. Killer view.”

The photo showed a huge, bright living room overlooking the Boston Harbor. But my eyes locked on the date the photo was taken. It was from last month. That was when my handmade jewelry business was falling apart. My cash flow had dried up. I was desperate. I had nowhere else to turn. For the first time in my life, I swallowed my pride. I begged Julian, crying, to lend me thirty thousand dollars. All I needed was to survive the month. I told him I’d pay him back as soon as my next collaboration advance came in. But he was so annoyed. So dismissive. “Where am I supposed to find spare company cash to fund your little hobby? I told you you weren’t cut out for business. You should close up shop and stay home.” I couldn’t get that thirty thousand dollars. So my business—my baby for three years—had to be sold. I had to sell it off cheap to cover the debt. I locked myself in my room and cried all night. And I still kept making excuses for him. Telling myself his business was struggling. Telling myself I had to understand. But his company wasn’t struggling at all. He was using that money to buy another woman a multimillion-dollar waterfront home.

Chloe was completely clueless, still gushing about her perfect life. “Did your husband buy you a house?” I twisted the cap off my water bottle and took a huge gulp. “No.” Chloe frowned. “Your husband doesn’t appreciate you. At all. That kind of man is completely selfish.” She was furious on my behalf. “You’re only with him because you’re too nice and you put up with it. If it were me, I would’ve dumped him ages ago.” I looked at her, so innocent and naive. It all felt so ridiculous. Julian had spoiled her into this clueless princess. With his own hands, he crushed my pride. He turned me into a bitter, paranoid mess, always bracing for the next blow. “You’re right.” I turned to the window. My voice was quiet. “I really shouldn’t be with him anymore.”

The train rolled on smoothly. Chloe must have sensed how uncomfortable I was. She tried to change the subject. “Do you like dogs?” “My fiancé got me a golden retriever. He’s such a good boy.” In the photo, she was holding a big, beautiful golden retriever. She was smiling brightly. A few young guys stood around them. They were all laughing and playing with the dog. “His partners and friends love him. They always ask me to bring him to their get-togethers.” She covered her face, a little embarrassed. “They always joke around, calling me Mrs. Vance. But we’re not even married yet.” I stared hard at that photo. Chloe’s happy laughter faded away. My hands started to shake again. The golden retriever had a small nick in its left ear. A scar from when he was a puppy. That was my dog. He was the only piece of my parents I had left. His name was Sunny. Three months ago, Sunny disappeared. I went into a total panic. I plastered the entire neighborhood with ‘Lost Dog’ flyers.

Julian even canceled his work. He spent two whole days with me, searching in the pouring rain. He watched me cry until I threw up. Then he pulled me into his arms like it broke his heart. “Eleanor, you still have me. I’ll always be here for you.” After losing Sunny, I fell apart for a while. I’d wander the streets alone late at night. The only way I could sleep was by taking a handful of antidepressants. Every night, Julian would set out a glass of warm water. He’d watch me take the pills. Then he’d sigh and say I was “too emotional.” But Sunny was never lost. And the men in the photo, the ones calling Chloe “Mrs. Vance”… I knew them. They were Julian’s business partners. His best friends. We had been together for seven years. He never once let me into his social circle. His excuse? The business world was too complicated. He was “protecting” me from it. Turns out, he had no problem introducing a partner to his friends. It just wasn’t me.

Bzzz… Bzzz… On the table, Chloe’s phone buzzed again. “It’s my fiancé!” She answered happily and hit the speakerphone button. “Babe, where are you?” Julian’s voice came through the phone, crystal clear. I held my breath. I didn’t dare make a sound. “Almost at the next stop, I think.” Chloe whined into the phone. “This train salad is disgusting. I’m starving.” “Don’t worry. When you get here, I’ll take you to that Italian place you love in the North End. I already made a reservation.” Julian’s voice was syrup-sweet. “It’s windy out. Remember to put on your coat when you get off. Don’t catch a cold.” “Okay, okay, you’re so fussy. I’ll see you soon.” Chloe hung up with a playful huff. The train car fell quiet again. And right at that moment, my own phone screen lit up. A text. It was from him, too. 【Project’s crazy busy. Don’t text me unless it’s urgent. I won’t have time to check.】

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni331052”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

The night my grandmother was dying, Ethan Carter finally agreed to take me home. She was holding on by a thread—just wanted to see, one last time, the man I’d loved for seven years. We were halfway there when Ethan got a call from Claire Bennett. On the other end, she was crying so hard she could barely speak. “Ethan, I’m at the hospital alone. I’m so scared.” Ethan went quiet for a few seconds, then turned the car around. “Grace, Claire saved my life once. I can’t just ignore her.” This wasn’t the first time. On my birthday, he went with Claire to try on gala dresses. When I had a fever that wouldn’t break, he took Claire to her therapist. Now my grandmother was on her deathbed, asking to see him just once—and he still chose her. At three in the morning, my grandmother held my hand, her breath faint, and asked, “Is he almost here?” I smiled. “Almost.” But by the time she took her last breath, Ethan still hadn’t come. I closed her eyes for her and slid the wedding envelope she’d clutched all night—the one she’d wanted to place in Ethan’s hands herself—into the drawer. My phone lit up. A message from Ethan. “Claire fell asleep. I’ll come by later.” I didn’t reply. I just shut the drawer, and with it, the version of myself that had waited seven years for him. The day we buried my grandmother, I didn’t tell Ethan. I called the funeral home myself. Stood on the hill at the cemetery and watched the workers shovel dirt back into the ground, one scoop at a time. Aunt Linda was crying so hard she couldn’t stand straight. She grabbed my arm and asked, “Grace, where’s that fiancé of yours? Your grandmother’s gone, and he can’t even show his face?” “He’s busy.” My voice was so hoarse I couldn’t manage another word. After the last shovel of earth fell, I crouched in front of the headstone and set down a lilac honey cake—Grandma’s favorite. My phone buzzed. Ethan was calling. His tone was unusually gentle. “Grace, I’m at a furniture store picking out a dining table for the new place. Do you like round or rectangular?” I held the phone, frozen for a few seconds. It had been so long since he’d asked what I liked. I was about to answer when I heard Claire’s voice through the receiver. “Ethan, a square one. Grace’s family is small anyway—a square table is more than enough.” Ethan made a sound of agreement, then asked me, “What do you think?” “I—” “And this sideboard.” Claire’s voice was closer now, so clear she might as well have been standing in front of me. “White is too plain. Walnut is more refined. Grace already dresses so dull—the house shouldn’t feel that cold too, right?” Ethan let out a small laugh. “She’s really not great at picking these things.” I gripped my phone tighter. I’d wanted to pick a round table. Grandma always said that when a family eats together, they should sit in a circle. That’s what makes it feel like home. Ethan was still talking on the other end. “Grace, why aren’t you saying anything? Which one do you want?” Claire’s voice went soft, coaxing. “Ethan, let’s just go with this set. I’m sure Grace won’t mind.” “She never does.” I listened to those words—she never does—and suddenly felt so tired. Ethan and I had been together for years. Once, I really did think we were good. Until his mentor brought Claire back from abroad, and I realized some things had never truly ended. Back in college, they were everyone’s idea of a perfect pair. Same major, effortless chemistry. Even their advisor said it was a shame—wondered how they’d never gotten together. After Claire came back, that chemistry became even more obvious. Ethan was in the habit of hearing her opinion first. He consulted her on work matters, and in everyday life, he instinctively factored her in. And Claire acted like she’d always belonged there—arranging things for him, deciding for him. Most of the time, she’d already made the call before remembering to say to me: “Sorry, Grace—did I overstep?” The table, the sofa, the curtains—all chosen to Claire’s taste. It was supposed to be my home, but I couldn’t get a single complete thought out. I was quiet for a long time. Finally I said, “Whatever you two decide.” A brief silence on the other end. Ethan sounded relieved. “Then we’ll go with Claire’s pick.” I hung up. Grandma, I’m sorry. I made you wait alone again. On the long-distance bus back to the city, Ethan called again. This time, his voice was tinged with urgency. “Grace, I heard you went back to the town by yourself? Why didn’t you call me? I’ll go with you tomorrow to see your grandmother.” I was silent for a long time. He didn’t even know she was gone. “No need. She’s already buried.” Silence on the other end. A long silence. Then he said, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I—” The call cut off mid-sentence. Claire must have needed him again. That afternoon, Ethan’s mother called. Her first words after I picked up: “Grace, I heard your grandmother passed? My condolences.” “But the wedding is only two weeks away. Keep the funeral low-key—don’t let it overshadow the happy occasion.” I tightened my grip on the phone. She continued, “Ethan’s been exhausted lately, and Claire’s health is fragile. Don’t pile everything on him.” “Claire’s the bridesmaid for the wedding. She’s delicate—don’t let her run herself ragged.” “You don’t have many relatives on your side, so keep the program simple.” I closed my eyes. “I don’t have any family left.” A pause on the other end. As if she hadn’t heard me at all. “Anyway, the wedding can’t be a mess.” “If your grandmother were still here, she’d want you to marry into this family with dignity.” Of course Grandma wanted me to marry with dignity. That’s why she spent her last night alive clutching that envelope, waiting for Ethan. But no one cared. That night, I opened Instagram. Claire had posted something new. In the photo, she and Ethan sat in a Japanese restaurant. She was holding a piece of salmon with her chopsticks, tilting her head toward the camera with a smile. Ethan sat across from her, his face out of frame—but I recognized the hand wearing his watch. He was pouring soy sauce for her. The caption read: “Thanks to Ethan for feeding this patient despite his busy schedule. Very touched.” Posted at six p.m. Which meant that when I told him Grandma had already been buried, he was having dinner with Claire. I pressed my phone face-down on the bed, rolled over, and stared at the ceiling for a very, very long time.

Three days after I got back to the city, I went to the wedding planning company. The receptionist recognized me and immediately walked over with a smile. “Ms. Grace, you’re here! Ms. Claire was in this morning—she already signed off on the final proof of the invitations.” I stopped. “What final proof?” “The invitations.” She pulled out a printed sample and handed it to me. “Ms. Claire said you gave her full authority, so we had her sign the approval.” I took the invitation. The cover font had been changed, sure enough. Beneath the gold-foil names, there was a set of initials. E.C. E for Ethan. But my name is Grace. “The C stands for…?” The receptionist blinked, then flipped through the notes. “Oh—Ms. Claire said the bride’s name could be written as Claire. More international, more elegant.” Claire. I stared at those two letters and suddenly laughed. “Cancel the wedding.” The receptionist went blank. “Ms. Grace, what did you say?” “Terminate the contract. Keep the deposit. I’ll pay the cancellation fee.” I placed my bank card on the counter. She panicked and made three phone calls in a row. The planner rushed over and grabbed my hand. “Ms. Grace, did you and Mr. Carter have a fight? Why don’t you take some time to think it over? Ms. Claire—” “It has nothing to do with her.” I signed the papers and stood up. As I turned, Claire walked through the door. She wore a white sundress and carried the bag Ethan had bought her last month on her arm. She froze when she saw me, then smiled and walked over. “Grace! You’re here too? I was just about to talk to you about the color for the bridesmaid dresses.” “No need. Work it out with the planner.” I stepped around her and headed for the exit. She caught up from behind and grabbed my wrist. “Grace, are you upset?” “Is it because I changed the dessert last time? I really didn’t mean to—I just thought cranberry fit the overall color palette better.” I looked at her hand. Fair, nails filed smooth, painted a pale pink. I suddenly thought of my grandmother’s hands—joints swollen and twisted, yet still gripping that envelope with all her remaining strength. “Claire.” I pulled my wrist free. “The lilac honey flavor was my choice. Because my grandmother loved it.” Her expression stiffened for an instant. Then quickly returned to that look of wounded innocence. “I didn’t know. Grace, why didn’t you say something sooner? If you’d told me, I definitely wouldn’t have changed it.” Seven years. Every single time: “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” When I did speak up, she pretended not to hear. When I didn’t, she took it as consent. “It’s fine.” I smiled. “You chose well. I’m heading out.” I walked through the doors and the sunlight hit me so hard I felt dizzy. My stomach started hurting again. A dull ache, wave after wave—it had been getting more frequent over the past three months. I leaned against a pillar on the sidewalk, fished the painkillers from my bag, and dry-swallowed two. Three months ago, the day I got my diagnosis, I sat in the hallway outside the oncology department and called Ethan. It took seven calls before he picked up. The background noise was loud. A woman was crying. He said, “Grace, Claire’s having another episode. I can’t leave. Let’s talk tonight.” I said, “Ethan, my test results came back today. The doctor said—” He cut me off. “Hold on. Claire, don’t cry, I’m here.” “Grace, what were you saying? Bad signal—let’s talk when I’m home.” He hung up. That night, he came home exhausted and fell asleep on the couch. His phone sat face-up on the coffee table. The screen lit up. A message from Claire. “Ethan, thank you for being with me today. You must be so tired. Get some sleep. Goodnight.” Followed by a kiss emoji. I stood behind him and stared at that message for a long time. Then I walked into the study, folded the diagnosis report, and slipped it between the pages of my journal. I never brought it up again.

After leaving the wedding planner, I went to Ethan’s office. My stomach was still aching. I leaned against the elevator wall and swallowed two more painkillers. The receptionist saw me and smiled. “Ms. Grace! Mr. Carter’s in a meeting—would you like me to let him know?” I set the manila envelope on the desk. “No need. Just pass this along to him.” She looked confused. “You’re not going to wait?” “No.” Passing Ethan’s office, the door was half-open. Claire’s voice drifted out. “Ethan, this apartment is really nice—the guest room even has its own bathroom.” “If I stay over once in a while, it’ll be convenient.” Ethan said, “Let Grace take a look. If she’s happy with it, we’ll lock it in.” Claire laughed. “When has Grace ever not been happy? You could put her in a basement and she’d think you were doing her a favor.” Ethan said quietly, “Don’t talk about her like that.” But there was no reproach in his voice. Claire asked again, “So the wedding invitations are going with the version I approved this morning? Grace isn’t going to suddenly change her mind, is she?” Ethan gave a short laugh. “What’s she going to change her mind about?” “The wedding’s almost here. She’ll throw a fit for two days, then get over it on her own.” Claire sounded relieved. “I thought she was actually angry today.” “She’s not like that.” Ethan’s tone was certain. “She can’t let go.” I stood outside the door, and suddenly I wanted to laugh. So it wasn’t that he didn’t know I loved him. He knew it too well. And so my concessions, my silence, my hurt—they’d all become his safety net. He was certain I couldn’t let go. Certain I couldn’t leave. Certain that no matter how many times he turned around to be with Claire, I’d be standing in the same spot, waiting. Just like the night Grandma was dying. When he turned the car around, he didn’t even glance back at me. Because he knew I’d make excuses for him, smooth things over, swallow every humiliation on his behalf. I didn’t listen any longer. I turned and walked into the elevator. Downstairs, my phone buzzed. A message from Ethan. “What’s the key card and keys supposed to mean?” I didn’t reply. Soon, a second message came in. “Grace, what are you pulling now?” A third. “The wedding’s almost here. Don’t make us a joke in front of everyone.” I looked at the screen and felt, all at once, utterly drained. I turned off my phone and took a cab back to the apartment. Ethan finished his meeting and the receptionist brought the envelope into his office. “Mr. Carter, Ms. Grace stopped by earlier. She asked me to give you this.” Ethan opened it. Inside were the key card to the new apartment, the spare keys, and the engagement ring he’d given me. His brow creased. Claire asked softly, “Did I do something wrong? Did Grace misunderstand?” Ethan tossed the envelope into a drawer. “She’s just throwing a tantrum.” “She wouldn’t even cancel the wedding. Where’s she going to go?” Then he texted me. “I’m coming home tonight. You’re going to explain yourself.” A few minutes later, he added: “Enough is enough.” No reply. Ethan stared at the chat, mildly irritated but not worried. Every fight before this one, Grace had caved first. This time wouldn’t be any different. Claire asked, “Ethan, are we still going to that Japanese place tonight?” Ethan checked the time. “Yes.” “I’ll drop you off at the hospital after dinner, then go deal with her.” Claire smiled. “Won’t Grace be even angrier?” Ethan grabbed his jacket, tone casual. “She’s loved me for seven years. She won’t actually be angry.” “She can’t leave me.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260804Bi2z6mgHgV 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni747619”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

I stood by Liam from the days when he had nothing until he finally had everything. And yet, six months into our marriage, I was the one asking for a divorce. Lily, the girl I had been sponsoring, cried and swore she would cut off all contact with him. Liam did not try to stop me. He only sat there in silence, his thumb moving back and forth over the divorce papers, before he said quietly, “Lily reminds me of the way you used to be.” “Back then, I had nothing. I couldn’t give you the best. Now, whenever I see her, it’s like seeing you back then. I just wanted to make up for everything you went through with me.” So taking Lily to eat hot dogs from street carts, carrying her bags through the mall like a free porter, bringing her to Sedona to make wishes, spending a fortune at an auction to win her the “Moonlight Heart” diamond ring, staying up all night to keep her company – all of that was compensation. Compensation meant for me, handed to someone else. I did not want Liam anymore, either. …… I laughed and gave him a faint, mocking smile. “Liam, am I dead?” I was alive and standing right in front of him. What gave him the right to give my compensation to someone else? Liam said nothing. His mouth tightened as he watched me in silence. Lily went even paler, her legs nearly giving out beneath her. In the past, this would have sent me into hysterics. I would have screamed at him for being so emotionally detached. I would have hated how calm he always stayed, as if no matter what happened, he could never be the one at fault. But today, I only laughed softly. I uncapped the pen and tossed it in front of him. “Sign it. I’m only asking for half. That’s fair.” Ink splattered across his hand. Maybe I imagined it, but Liam’s fingers seemed to tremble for an instant. He picked up the pen. This time, his hand shook harder. He tried several times, but he could not bring himself to write his name. Finally, the pen struck the table with a sharp crack. “Ava, it’s really not what you think. You’ve misunderstood us.” “You can’t just throw away our marriage like this. I won’t agree to it.” Lily seemed to snap back to herself then. Tears welled in her eyes. She stumbled toward me, clutched the hem of my dress, and begged, “Ava, Liam and I really don’t have anything going on. He only treats me like a sister, like a younger version of you he wants to make things up to.” “Please don’t fight because of me. I’ll leave. I’ll leave right now. Just don’t be angry anymore.” I sighed. It was the same thing I had already said. Was I dead? Since I was not dead, why was my compensation being spent on someone else? “Lily is a girl you sponsor,” Liam said. “Are you seriously jealous of her?” “If I wanted another woman like you, why wouldn’t I just get a mistress?” By the last sentence, irritation had crept into his voice. “Isn’t that exactly what she is?” I asked, too exhausted to argue. No husband bought another girl a diamond ring. No husband stayed up all night talking to another girl. Once or twice could be called looking after someone. But twenty times in a single month? And he still expected me to call that innocent? I used to think I was being oversensitive. Now I realized I had been too slow. Too stupid. “Ava! You’ve lost your mind!” Liam rounded on me, furious. “She’s nineteen. She just started college. Do you have any idea what an accusation like that could do to her?” “She’s not like you. She didn’t go straight to work after high school. Are you trying to destroy her future?” Three questions, each one heavier than the last. Liam did not even realize how much he cared about Lily. My eyes burned. The tears would not stay back. He was right. I was not like Lily. I had started working early for him. I had woken before dawn and collapsed after dark for him. I had turned down an offer from a top university for him. He could forget all of that. But what right did he have to use it to hurt me? I tilted my head back and wiped my tears away roughly. It took everything I had to get the words out. “If that’s how you feel, then sign.” “Liam, let’s end this cleanly.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260804tWhOGwnjCU 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni929806”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

Chapter 1 When my buddy got married, I gave him five thousand dollars as a wedding gift. My girlfriend, Claire, scoffed. “You barely make that in a month. Why are you playing the big shot?” I explained that he was my childhood best friend, a brother to me. She just clicked her tongue and didn’t say another word. That night, she secretly swapped the five thousand dollars in the envelope for five bucks. The next day, my buddy, Mark, called me. “Evan, did you make a mistake with the envelope? Why is there only five dollars in here?” I gripped my phone, listening to Claire lounging in the living room, casually explaining: “Money doesn’t equal friendship. It’s the thought that counts.” A week later, her childhood best friend, Julian, got engaged. A fleet of drones lit up the night sky, spelling out “Forever and Always” amidst a shower of thousands of rose petals. Down below, he was gifted a five-hundred-thousand-dollar watch, standing in the middle of a massive, fully rented-out grand ballroom. Claire stood next to me, gazing up at the spectacular show, her voice soft and tender: “It’s nothing, really. The whole thing cost barely a million.” “When a brother gets engaged, you have to do it right.” As the sky rained cascading lights, she and Julian stared at each other across the crowded room for a long time, as if no one else existed. In that moment, the last shred of self-deception in my heart finally shattered. … The drones rearranged themselves in the sky, spelling out “Julian, Wishing You Happiness.” The words glared blindingly bright against the night sky. Around me, people gasped in awe. “Half a million just on the watch! Claire doesn’t play around…” “Julian is so lucky. I heard they flew in a specialized drone team all the way from Europe just for this…” I tilted my head back. My neck ached, and my eyes stung. Flashing through my mind on a loop was Mark’s confused, hurt voice asking about the five dollars, and Claire’s absolute indifference, not even bothering to look up from her phone. Five dollars for my brother. One million dollars for hers. Back then, without even looking at me, she tied her silk scarf and said: “Money doesn’t equal friendship. Why do you have to use cash to prove something?” Now, she stood here, throwing a million-dollar spectacle just to prove to the entire world exactly how much she valued another man. “Evan?” A clear, bright voice called out from beside me. I turned my head. Julian had walked over at some point. He was decked out in a matching set of a luxury watch, cufflinks, and a tie clip. The ballroom lights caught the diamonds, making my eyes sting even more. “How do they look?” He tilted his head slightly. “Claire flew all the way to Switzerland to custom order these for me. She said for an engagement, you absolutely must have a complete set to show how much you care.” I recognized the brand. Even the cheapest set in their catalog cost seven figures. For my twenty-fifth birthday, she gave me a two-hundred-dollar belt. It didn’t even come with a brand authenticity card in the box. I heard myself let out a dry laugh. “She’s very thoughtful.” One of their friends, clearly a few drinks in, stumbled over with a grin. “Claire, look at the treatment Julian is getting! The custom Swiss set, the private drone show… you really know how to take care of a brother.” He turned to me, his words slightly slurred: “So, Evan, when are you gonna pop the question to Claire? I bet she’d go even crazier for your wedding!” Every eye in the vicinity turned to me. Claire didn’t say a word. She just stood there, swirling her champagne glass, watching me with a half-smile. It was that familiar, calculating gaze. She was probably waiting for me to show grievance, jealousy, or whatever pathetic emotion she was anticipating. After a long pause, I just smiled calmly. “We’ll see.” The truth was, I had been waiting for Claire for a long time. In the fall of our sophomore year of college, she kissed me outside my dorm and promised she would marry me the very first autumn after we graduated. But she broke that promise, year after year. Claire’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Her gaze shifted from my face and landed on Julian’s dazzling custom accessories. “My wedding will naturally be the most spectacular event of the year. As for your fiancée, Julian…” “She can’t even afford to buy you a proper engagement gift. What kind of trash are you marrying?” Julian stared at her, the end of his sentence tilting up playfully. “Claire, the girl I’m marrying is so broke she can’t even put together a decent dowry. But look at you… you spent an entire month planning my engagement party. The drones, the watch, the yacht, flying to Switzerland for my accessories…” “Those who know us say it’s just friendship. Those who don’t might think you’re the one getting engaged today, Claire.” “If you really can’t bear to see me go…” “Why don’t you try crashing the wedding today?” The group of friends erupted in laughter. “Careful, Julian! Don’t challenge Claire, she might actually do it!” “Yeah, yeah! Once Claire gets an idea in her head, there’s nothing she won’t do!” Everyone was waiting for Claire to respond, to see if she would laugh in defeat or deliberately throw back a flirtatious joke. Not a single person remembered that I was Claire’s boyfriend, standing right next to her. I set my glass down on a passing tray. Then, I turned around, walked through the room filled with laughter and flashing lights, and headed straight for the grand ballroom doors. If there was no room for me in their world, I would just show myself out. By the time Claire caught up to me, I was already at the entrance to the parking garage. She grabbed my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. “Evan! What the hell is your problem?” Her voice was low and laced with irritation. “This is Julian’s engagement party, and you just walk out in front of everyone?! Where are you putting his pride?!” I looked up at her. The neon lights from the street illuminated her from behind. That face I had loved for eight years was now twisted in an annoyed scowl, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Claire. In all these years, what is the most expensive thing you’ve ever bought me?” She froze. “That belt. Two hundred dollars. You bought it on a whim at the mall on my birthday. You told me then that ‘it’s the thought that counts, there’s no need to be flashy.’” “But Julian’s tie clip? You flew to Europe specifically for it. His watch, his cufflinks, his tie clip—how much did that cost?” My voice was dead calm. “And the drone show tonight, the yacht, his half-million-dollar watch. Claire, explain to me right now… what exactly does ‘the thought that counts’ mean?” Claire’s frown deepened. “Why are you comparing yourself to Julian? He’s my brother…” “Brother.” I let out a sharp laugh. “You buy your brother a half-million-dollar drone show, but you forced me to give my brother a five-dollar wedding gift.” The color drained from her face. “Evan, stop being unreasonable. I already explained your friend’s wedding gift to you—” “What did you explain?” I cut her off. “Every single word you said was just an excuse to justify your own actions.” She was silent for a few seconds, her expression darkening completely. Finally, she reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a sleek black credit card, and threw it at my face. The edge of the card clipped my cheekbone. It stung sharply. “You’re mad because it wasn’t enough money, right?” Her voice turned ice-cold. “Take this card. Go pay your friend back. Buy whatever the hell else you want. Is that enough? If not, I have plenty more.” I looked down at the credit card lying on the concrete and found it utterly hilarious. Even now, she still thought this was about money. Eight years. And she had never, not once, understood my actual pain. Her phone rang right at that moment. Claire glanced at the screen, her frown relaxing slightly as she answered: “Julian? I’m coming back right now… you guys keep drinking… just ignore him…” She hung up, already taking two steps back toward the venue, before pausing and glancing over her shoulder. “Take some time to cool off. Stop throwing a tantrum out here.” Her footsteps faded away. I crouched down and picked up the credit card. I flipped it over. Written on the back in permanent marker were two words: “Julian’s Fund.” It turned out that even the scraps I had to fight tooth and nail for had already belonged to him all along. I clenched the card in my hand, my fingernails digging into my palm, a dull ache spreading through me. Then, I tossed it into the trash can next to me. When I got home, my phone buzzed. It was a screenshot from Julian. I tapped it open. The timestamps were from the day of my friend Mark’s wedding. [Hahaha I’m dead, swapping five thousand for five dollars? Claire, you are ruthless.] [A bet is a bet.] [Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out?] [If he finds out, he finds out. I’ll just pay him back. But… don’t tell him it was your idea, I don’t want him getting mad at you.] I stared at those lines of text for a long, long time. My lips twitched, trying to form a smile, but I couldn’t. So the five dollars was because of a bet with him. So she “didn’t want him getting mad at you,” which is why she didn’t even bother giving me a real explanation. She would rather let me think she was a cold, heartless monster than let him take a single ounce of blame. I casually tapped into Julian’s social media feed. His newest post was a photo carousel. The center photo was a close-up of him and Claire clinking champagne glasses. The caption read: [Fake engagement party, hired actors to play the fiancée’s family. We bet on whether someone would have the guts to crash the wedding. They didn’t. But after she found out it was fake, she got completely wasted. Not sure what she’s so happy about.] Someone commented below: [Julian, you’re playing a dangerous game. Aren’t you afraid the fake wedding will become real?] He replied with a tongue-out emoji: [I just wanted to see if she would actually crash the wedding. The result? Eh, she passed.] I dropped my phone face-down on the sofa. I stood up and walked to the bedroom, ready to pack my bags. When I pulled open the drawer of the nightstand, sitting right on top was a property deed and a stack of interior design blueprints. Every style, every color was customized perfectly to her taste. I had booked a restaurant, bought a cake, and slipped the blueprints into the gift box, waiting to see the look on her face when she opened it. Would she smile? Would she freeze in shock? Would she hug me? Digging underneath the blueprints, I found a crumpled ultrasound printout. She was pregnant. I pinched the piece of paper, the edges already worn soft from me folding and unfolding it over and over again. The house and the baby. Was this enough of a reason to give her one more chance? Late that night, Claire stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. She clumsily pushed open the bedroom door, saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, and walked over, dropping to one knee in front of me and resting her forehead against my knees. “Evan,” she slurred. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have yelled at you today.” Her hand covered mine. Her palm was burning hot. “Please don’t be mad at me anymore, okay? Tomorrow is our anniversary. I’ll take you to that restaurant you’ve been wanting to go to. We’ll celebrate, just the two of us.” I looked down at the messy crown of her hair. Then, I pulled the blueprints and the ultrasound from the drawer and held them out in front of her. “Claire. I bought that house. The one you said you wanted. I had it designed exactly the way you described.” “And this—” I gently placed the ultrasound on top. Her eyes landed on the paper, and her pupils constricted. “You went through my things?” Her voice instantly turned freezing cold. “It’s been two months. Why didn’t you tell me?” She stared at the ultrasound for a few seconds, then looked up at me, a mocking sneer curving her lips. “Evan, what are you trying to pull here? Forcing me to marry you? You’re using a fetus and a house to blackmail me?” “Blackmail you? I’ve been preparing this house for almost two years. I just found out about this baby—” “Enough.” She cut me off, snatched the ultrasound, and ripped it cleanly in half with a loud RIIIIP. The pieces drifted onto the bedsheets. Then, she grabbed the blueprints and tore them to shreds as well. “I’m getting an abortion,” she said. “What did you just say?” “I said I’m getting an abortion.” She rubbed her temples, her tone growing intensely irritated. “Evan, wake up. Can you stop being so desperate to get married? Using a house and a baby to trap me? I didn’t think you’d stoop this low.” In that split second, as my eyes burned red, I suddenly remembered the college track field. She had grabbed my hands and said, “Evan, let’s get married the second we graduate. I’m terrified you’ll run away.” Now, coming from the exact same person, just eight years later, it was called being “desperate to get married.” She probably realized she had crossed a line. Her tone softened slightly, and she reached out, pulling me into a hug. “Tomorrow is our anniversary. I’ll spend the whole day with you. I already had my assistant book the restaurant and order flowers. I’ll think about the house and the baby, okay? We can talk about marriage later. Just… slowly.” I let her hold me. Her chin rested on the top of my head. Her breathing gradually leveled out, the smell of alcohol wafting up. A few minutes later, she went completely still. She had fallen asleep. I gently pulled myself out of her embrace. I stood up, carefully picking up the shredded pieces of the ultrasound from the bed, one by one, holding them in my palm. Then, I opened my suitcase and began packing my clothes. There was no tomorrow for us. And there was no “later” for a wedding. The next morning, I went to the real estate office alone to process the cancellation of the house purchase. My phone screen lit up. A message from Claire: [Let’s do the anniversary another day. Julian finally managed to score tickets to that concert he’s been dying to see, I have to go with him. You have plenty of free time anyway.] You have plenty of free time anyway… Those casually dismissive words made it clear. In her eyes, the eight years of me waiting and accommodating her were nothing more than me having nothing better to do. Right after that came a message from Julian: [Forgot to tell you, Claire and I were actually together way before you came along. Before you even knew her, we were a thing. She just said she wanted to try something new, so I let you borrow her for a few years.] [Also, just a heads-up. Those ‘vitamins’ Claire has been giving you all these years? I picked those out for her. They’re pills designed to slowly destroy male fertility. You’ve been taking them for so long, you’re probably completely sterile by now. There is zero chance she’s keeping that baby. But don’t be sad. She never intended to have your kid in the first place. You can’t lose what was never yours, right?] There was a video attached. I tapped it open. The camera shook slightly. Julian’s voice was thick with tears: “Claire… the doctor said I might never be able to have kids.” From off-camera, Claire’s voice sounded muffled but tender: “Don’t cry. I’m right here.” “Are you going to leave me because of this?” “No. Don’t overthink it. I promise, I will never have anyone else’s child.” The video ended. I stared at the black screen, my fingertips ice cold. Eight years. I thought she was being thoughtful and caring. Every time she handed me a glass of warm water and my daily “vitamins,” she was ensuring I would never be a permanent fixture in her life. And the most pathetic part? I had actually hesitated, wondering if I should give her another chance because of the baby. Julian sent another file. I opened it. It was a folder containing over nine thousand photos. Every single one was of him and Claire. They had trekked through deserts, scuba-dived in the deep sea, hugged under sunsets, and kissed on the rim of a volcano. It looked like they had lived out every grand, passionate romance in the world. In my eight years with Claire, I could count the number of photos we had taken together on one hand. She always said she hated taking pictures. She said being in front of a camera made her wildly uncomfortable. It turned out that excuse just didn’t apply to him. Tears hit the screen, one after another, blurring their smiling faces into distorted puddles of water. I turned off my phone and shoved it into my bag. Sitting at the signing desk in the real estate office, the fluorescent lights overhead were blindingly bright. The agent said softly, “Mr. Davis, if you are confirming the cancellation of the purchase, please sign here.” I took the pen. I remembered her dragging me through the cherry blossoms eight years ago, panting as she promised to “hold my hand forever.” I remembered the tips of her ears turning red the first time she kissed me. I remembered her saying, “The first autumn after we graduate, I’ll marry you.” Those memories bled together like old photographs left in the rain—blurring, fading, washing away. Until there was nothing left but a blank void. When the pen tip touched the paper, my hand trembled slightly. I finished signing, then slowly walked across the real estate office lobby. I leaned heavily against the wall, a dull, aching weight crushing my chest. As I passed the waiting area, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my phone light up. Julian had sent another video three hours ago. I tapped it open. It was from the concert. The jumbotron had just cut to the audience. Julian turned his head and kissed the corner of Claire’s mouth. The entire arena screamed. From off-camera, his voice carried a triumphant laugh: “We’ve known each other for over twenty years. What’s mine will always be mine. She can’t run away.” I turned off the screen and kept walking. As I rounded the corner, I nearly collided head-on with two people. Claire was supporting Julian’s arm, whispering something to him, a folder of documents in her other hand. She looked up, saw me, and froze. “Evan? What are you doing here—” Julian seamlessly interjected: “Claire came with me to look at properties. She said she wanted to buy me a house. Didn’t expect to run into you. What a coincidence.” I stopped walking. The harsh white lights of the hallway glared down on us. I looked at her, and I smiled. “I came to take care of that house you didn’t want—” “I canceled the purchase.” “Claire, we’re done.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “533241”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Chapter 1 My husband is the captain of an international cargo ship, spending ten months out of the year out on the ocean. I had always trusted him implicitly. But I had a little private ritual that no one ever noticed. Every time his ship docked for supplies, I would invite the First Officer’s wife out for a few drinks. Her husband was a man of few words, but she was chatty and a terrible lightweight. We’d talk about family gossip, ship drama, and usually, by the third drink, she’d lean in and say something revealing. “Your husband is incredibly romantic. Last month when the ship docked in Marseille, he actually tracked down a local artisan to custom-make a whole set of ocean-wave diamond jewelry. A necklace, bracelet, earrings—the works! He even had it sent back on the supply ship. I’m so jealous.” I lowered my voice. “Is that right? I never received it.” I didn’t press the issue, and she tactfully changed the subject. That night, when I got home, I opened the voyage logbook. On the manifest for the Marseille port delivery, under the jewelry section, the shipping address was not my house. The wind and waves at sea are unpredictable. It was time for me to get off this ship. Shipping Address: 1203, Building 17, Bayview Apartments. Note: Must be signed for by recipient personally. Do not hand over to family members. I stared at the last five words for a very long time. Do not hand over to family members. Gavin and I had been married for six years. Every time before he set sail, he would leave his keys in the second drawer of the entryway console. He would say, “Sarah, I’m leaving the house in your hands.” I took care of his parents, ran his vehicle inspections, and sent out notifications to the crew’s family group chats. I had always thought I was his family. It turned out, on his manifest, ‘family’ were the people who were not allowed to touch that diamond set. My phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from Gavin. [Just passed the Suez Canal. Signal is spotty.] I replied with one word. [Okay.] He probably didn’t expect such a short response. Two minutes later, he texted again. [You didn’t ask me if I’ve eaten today.] I closed the voyage logbook. [Have you?] He replied instantly. [Yes.] I looked at the screen and gave a small laugh. For someone with a spotty signal, he sure replied fast to that one. The next morning, I drove to Bayview Apartments. It was the most expensive luxury oceanfront complex in the city, just a ten-minute drive from the port. The security guard asked who I was looking for. I showed him the delivery manifest on my phone. “Building 17, Unit 1203. Cargo verification.” Seeing the official note, the guard’s attitude immediately became respectful. “Please wait a moment, ma’am. Ms. Quinn in 1203 happens to be home.” Ms. Quinn. I memorized the name. As the elevator went up, I received a FaceTime request from Gavin. I didn’t answer. He called three more times. The fourth time, it was a text. [Where are you?] I replied: [Grocery shopping.] He sent back: [Don’t run around too much. I’m not home, and there are a lot of things you don’t know how to handle.] The elevator doors opened. The door to 1203 opened as well. The woman was wearing a silk loungewear set. Around her neck was the ocean-wave diamond necklace. Seeing me, her fingers instinctively brushed against the necklace. “Who are you?” I said, “Sarah Davis.” The smile on her face faltered for a second, but she quickly recovered. “Ah, Mrs. Sterling.” The way she said ‘Mrs. Sterling’ was neither polite nor guilty. Chloe Quinn invited me in. Several opened delivery boxes were sitting on the floor in the living room. Local French artisanal wrapping paper was scattered on the coffee table. I saw the earrings, the bracelet, and a small card. The handwriting on the card belonged to Gavin. [Ocean waves should be worn by someone who understands the ocean.] The year Gavin and I got married, he gave me a nautical watch. The strap was stiff, and wearing it for a long time chafed my wrist. He had said, “The captain’s wife should have something from the ship.” I wore it for six years. And later, he gave ocean waves to someone else, claiming she understood the ocean. Chloe poured me a glass of water. “Did Mrs. Sterling come here to take these things back?” I didn’t touch the glass. “The things Gavin bought for me were delivered to you.” She laughed. “Mrs. Sterling, you should ask him about that. To see who something belongs to, shouldn’t you check the shipping address?” I said, “I did.” I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the card on the coffee table. Chloe reached out to block the camera. “You’re not being very dignified.” I looked up at her. “Is accepting diamond jewelry from a married man dignified?” Her expression turned cold. “Gavin must have told you, right? We knew each other long before you did.” I nodded. “So you’ve been waiting in line for six years. That must be exhausting.” Chloe hadn’t expected me to say that. She unclasped the necklace and placed it on the coffee table, her movements slow and deliberate. “If you want to take it, take it.” I didn’t move. She added, “But what’s the point of taking it? The person he wants to see when he’s out at sea is still me.” Her words didn’t sting. It was just a pathetic display of self-delusion. I stood up. “I’ll leave it with you for now. Don’t lose it.” Chloe frowned. “What do you mean?” I said, “Someone is going to be investigating it later.” As I walked to the door, my phone rang again. Gavin. I answered. He snapped immediately: “Sarah, what are you doing at Bayview?!” I glanced back at Chloe. She had her head down, her fingers already tapping away on another phone. She was fast. I asked Gavin, “How did you know?” He paused for two seconds. “Chloe said some strange woman was harassing her. I figured it was you.” I said, “She’s not a stranger. If you gave her diamond jewelry, I should probably know who she is.” The line went dead silent. Then, suppressing his anger, he said, “That was a client gift. Stop overthinking it.” “A client?” “She helps the shipping conglomerate with port promotions. She’s a business partner.” I let out a laugh. “A business partner who lives in an apartment where your delivery note specifically says ‘Do not hand over to family members’?” Gavin’s voice turned icy. “Sarah, don’t make me deal with your emotional tantrums while I’m at sea.” I hung up the phone. That evening, my mother-in-law showed up. She arrived in a rush, not even bothering to take off her shoes at the door. “You went to see Chloe?!” I was in the kitchen, cooking oatmeal. “Did Gavin tell you that?” My mother-in-law threw her purse onto the sofa. “He was frantic! Does it matter who told me? Sarah, why are you becoming so unreasonable?” “My husband gave diamond jewelry to another woman, and I’m the unreasonable one?” Her face hardened. “Gavin is a captain. He has to network. When a man is out in the world, certain social obligations are unavoidable. You sit at home all day, you don’t understand the pressures he faces.” I pulled out a photocopy of the delivery manifest and placed it on the dining table. “Obligations that require this level of secrecy?” She glanced at it, not bothering to read the details. “It’s just a set of jewelry. Are you lacking jewelry? If you like it so much, just wait for Gavin to come back and ask him to buy you one.” I said, “What I’m lacking is a husband who doesn’t lie to me.” She slammed her hand on the table. “What did he lie to you about? Doesn’t he bring his paycheck home? The house you live in, didn’t he buy it by sailing the seas?” I stared at her. The down payment for this house came from the money my dad left me when he passed away. I was the one who oversaw the renovations. Gavin was at sea so often he didn’t even remember the color of our bedroom curtains. Seeing me stay silent, she assumed I was backing down. “Go apologize to Chloe tomorrow. Let’s put an end to this. Don’t you dare ruin Gavin’s chances of being promoted to Chief Captain.” I poured the oatmeal into a bowl. “I am not apologizing.” She was shaking with rage. “Do you really think you’re that important? You get to live the glamorous life of a captain’s wife. What are you without him?” I set the bowl down. “I’ll be myself again.” Gavin’s ship docked five days later. I didn’t go to the port to pick him up. In the past, whenever he docked, I would start preparing three days in advance. Fresh bedsheets, a fridge stocked with his favorite foods, hangover pills in the car. This time, I stayed home, organizing the logbooks. When the lock clicked, I was just scanning the Marseille port page into my computer. Gavin dragged his luggage in, still wearing his uniform. The first thing he saw was the logbook on the desk, and his face instantly darkened. “Sarah, you’re investigating me?” “Are you afraid of what I’ll find?” He tossed his captain’s hat onto the sofa. “I just got off the ship. Do we really have to fight right now?” “I’m not fighting.” He walked over and snatched the logbook away. “Where did you get this?” “It’s the family copy of the ledger. It’s always been kept with me.” He glared at me, heavily displeased. “Don’t touch the ship’s documents ever again.” I laughed. “When you used the ship’s supply channel to smuggle diamond jewelry to Chloe, did you think about not touching the ship’s resources?” My words choked him. A few minutes later, he changed his tune. “That jewelry set isn’t what you think it is.” I asked, “Then what is it?” “Chloe helped me out in the past. She’s had a hard time these last few years. I was just giving her a gift.” I said, “You gave her diamonds. What did you get me?” A flash of irritation crossed his face. “Do you have to compare yourself to her?” I didn’t say anything. He dug into his luggage, pulled out a small bag, and placed it on the table. “I brought you something.” Inside the bag was a fridge magnet. From a port souvenir shop. The price tag on the back hadn’t even been peeled off. Two euros. I put the magnet back into the bag. Gavin’s face grew even uglier. “You’re not happy with this either?” I asked, “Do you honestly think I should be?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sarah, I am exhausted from being at sea. Chloe understands the maritime industry, and she understands the pressure I’m under. You sit at home obsessing over these tiny, insignificant details. Is this really necessary?” In his eyes, a complete set of custom diamond jewelry was just a “tiny, insignificant detail,” and our six-year marriage was equally trivial. I pulled out my phone and pulled up the visitor logs for Bayview Apartments. “You said she was a client. Does a client live in an apartment where you are registered as a resident with temporary access?” “Who told you that?” “The security guard.” He lunged and snatched my phone away. He scrolled through the gallery, realized I had backed it up, and stopped. “What exactly are you trying to do?” I said, “Get a divorce.” He froze. The next second, he laughed. “Sarah, stop using the word ‘divorce’ to scare me. How are you going to survive without me?” “You’ve been out of the workforce for so long, you have absolutely zero marketable skills. Without me, you are nothing.” I looked at him. “You’ve never once asked what kind of leverage I hold.” He tossed my phone back onto the desk. “You’ve been sitting at home for too long. You’ve seen too little of the real world. Your thinking is incredibly naive.” That night, he voluntarily moved into the guest room. At 1:00 AM, I heard muffled talking through the wall. The door wasn’t shut tightly. He was keeping his voice low. “Don’t worry, she can’t do any real damage. She’ll throw a fit for a few days and then get over it.” “Just wear the jewelry, you don’t need to return it. I bought it for you anyway.” “My mom will step in and put her in her place. She wouldn’t actually dare to divorce me.” I stood in the hallway, completely silent. So that was it. To him, all my pain and grievance were just temporary tantrums that would blow over in a few days. The next day, the shipping conglomerate hosted a small docking banquet for Gavin. My mother-in-law called me first thing in the morning, ordering me to go. “If you don’t show up, what will people think of Gavin?” I asked, “Is he bringing Chloe?” She sounded impatient. “Chloe is a business partner. Of course she’s going. Stop being so petty.” I went. I wore a long black dress and left my wedding ring at home. The banquet was held at a portside hotel. When I walked into the private dining room, Chloe was sitting to Gavin’s immediate left. She was wearing a white dress, the ocean-wave diamond necklace sparkling around her neck. The earrings were there, too. The complete set. My mother-in-law saw me and immediately waved me over. “Sarah, come here. Sit over there, near the door. It’s easier for the servers to bring out the food.” Gavin didn’t object. Chloe looked up, offering a faint smile. “Mrs. Sterling, please don’t misunderstand. I needed this jewelry for a photoshoot today, and Gavin said I could hold onto it for a bit.” People at the table started teasing them. “Captain Sterling has great taste! That ocean-wave design looks incredible on Ms. Quinn.” “He’s a captain, after all. Only someone who understands the ocean truly understands him.” “Mrs. Sterling shouldn’t be jealous. Ms. Quinn is practically family.” Gavin picked up his glass. “Alright, enough joking around.” He said “enough,” but the smirk on his face betrayed him. I sat near the door. A server placed a cold seafood platter in front of me. I had a bad stomach and couldn’t eat cold seafood. Gavin used to know that. Now, he was busy placing hot food onto Chloe’s plate. Chloe walked over to me, holding her wine glass. “Mrs. Sterling, I want to toast you. In the past, Gavin always talked about how hard you worked taking care of the elderly at home. I really admire you.” I stared at her necklace. “What else did he say?” A triumphant glint flashed in Chloe’s eyes. “He always said you were perfect in every way… except you could never understand the ocean in his heart.” The room went dead silent. Someone immediately tried to laugh it off to break the tension. “Well, you know how it is with crew families. You’re apart more than you’re together. It’s all about mutual understanding.” My mother-in-law hissed at me from the side. “Drink the wine. Don’t embarrass us.” Gavin looked at me. “Sarah, if you have a problem, we can talk about it privately. Let’s not lose our dignity in public.” I picked up the glass. I didn’t drink it. I poured the wine into the potted plant next to me. Chloe’s face changed. My mother-in-law shot up from her chair. “Sarah Davis!” Gavin also stood up, reaching out to grab me. Right at that moment, the First Officer’s wife, Emily, pushed open the door and rushed in. Her face was flushed from drinking, and she was clutching a folded piece of paper. “Sarah, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She shoved the paper into my hand, unable to keep her voice down. “That Marseille delivery wasn’t just jewelry. There was a signed authorization form. It has your name on it, but I know for a fact you never signed anything like that.” Gavin’s face went deathly pale. He reached out to snatch it from me. I stepped back and unfolded the paper. At the very bottom, on the signature line, were three distinct words. Sarah Davis. It was not my handwriting.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “533240”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Chapter 1 On my wedding day, my fiancé Julian’s childhood best friend, Chloe, demanded a Sudoku match against me. “Julian will set the puzzle. Whoever solves it first gets to wear the wedding dress.” “You’ve been a professional Sudoku coach for years… don’t tell me you’re scared?” I wasn’t scared. But Julian cheated. He had barely finished writing down the puzzle before Chloe scribbled the final numbers. She lifted her chin, looking at me triumphantly. “A bet is a bet. This wedding dress is mine.” Julian’s doting gaze shifted from Chloe to me, and he frowned slightly. “This is what you owe her from five years ago. It’s just a dress. Let her have it.” “Sure,” I replied calmly. Not only would I give her the dress, but I’d give her the wedding, too. Julian had no idea that last night, his best friend had called to warn me exactly what would happen today. I hadn’t believed him. So, he made a bet with me. “If you lose, come to this address tomorrow and marry me instead.” I lost twice in one day. I walked out of Julian’s wedding and went straight to another one. My role was still the bride, but this time, I wore a custom gown made exclusively for me. An hour before the ceremony was supposed to start, I still believed the scenario Liam had described wouldn’t actually happen. Until Chloe pushed open the door to my bridal suite. She wasn’t alone. Julian and a large group of their mutual friends trailed in behind her. “How about a quick Sudoku match?” Chloe asked, taking the lead. My heart dropped. I instinctively looked at Julian. He sat casually on the sofa, looking mildly exasperated but entirely unbothered. “Chloe never managed to beat you back in school. She’s been begging for a rematch.” Chloe pouted playfully. “I’m definitely going to win this time. Right?” Julian didn’t answer. “The ceremony starts in an hour. Are you sure you want to do this right now?” I couldn’t help but ask. My makeup was done. All I had to do was slip into the dress and pin my veil. “Don’t be a poor sport. If my Sudoku skills hadn’t been worse than yours back then, Julian and I might have ended up together,” Chloe suddenly remarked. Julian’s head snapped up. He looked at me, then quickly shifted his gaze back to Chloe. Chloe finally clarified, “Serena and I have a bet. If I lose, I’ll go back abroad and stop bothering you two.” “Wait, I never—” Before I could finish, Julian cut me off. “Then let’s play.” His tone was final. The look he gave me was chillingly cold. The words died in my throat. “Julian will set the puzzle. Whoever wins wears the wedding dress. You’ve been a professional Sudoku coach for years… don’t tell me you’re scared?” Chloe’s voice was teasing, dripping with absolute certainty. The friends behind her couldn’t resist chiming in: “Classic Chloe! Always so bold. But if you wear the dress, how are they going to explain that to the guests?” Chloe laughed lightly. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just wearing the dress. It’s not like I’m the one marrying Julian.” “But losing your own wedding dress to someone else? That’s so humiliating for the bride.” “And she’s about to join the national coaching team. If word gets out she lost to an amateur, her career is toast.” From their whispers, it was obvious they all knew the outcome was rigged against me. But I kept my eyes fixed solely on Julian. “What do you think?” More than Chloe and her entourage, his opinion was the only one that mattered to me. Julian just spread his hands, his voice indifferent. “Just play one round. Didn’t you use a bet like this to force her out of the country five years ago?” “Fine.” I smiled, adding quietly, “If I lose, how about I give her the wedding, too?” Julian frowned. Chloe immediately scoffed. “You’d actually give him up? Or are you just trying to manipulate Julian into helping you cheat?” Just like I did with Liam last night, I was giving Julian one final chance. But hearing Chloe’s words, he simply said, “Stop being dramatic, Serena. You know I don’t respond well to ultimatums.” “Julian, you can write the puzzle now.” He shot me a brief, apologetic glance before taking the pen and paper Chloe handed him. It was a diagonal Sudoku puzzle, competition-level difficulty. He had barely finished writing the grid before Chloe was furiously scribbling numbers into the boxes. In under a minute, she finished the puzzle and handed it to Julian. “Did I get it right?” Before he could speak, I capped my pen, pushing down the bitter ache in my chest. “You got it right.” I looked at Julian, completely baffled. To cheat this blatantly… he could have just told me he wanted Chloe to wear the dress today. “Wow, Julian isn’t even trying to hide his favoritism.” “Chloe should have at least pretended to struggle. She hasn’t touched Sudoku in years.” “But did you see the look in her eyes? She’s out for blood. She had to leave the country because of a bet back then. Now it’s Serena’s turn.” “But she’s marrying Julian today! What is she supposed to wear if not the wedding dress? People will laugh her out of the venue.” “It’s probably just a joke. Julian would never actually humiliate Serena like that.” “The guests won’t know the real story. If word gets out that a gold-medal coach lost to an amateur…” The gossiping stopped abruptly as Chloe shot a sharp look over her shoulder. When she turned back to me, her eyes were filled with triumph. “A bet is a bet. This wedding dress is mine.” “Honestly, I’m not a huge fan of this style. It’s too busy. Why so many diamonds? I’ll probably have the alterations team rip them all off before I wear it. I prefer a simpler look.” I followed her gaze to the wedding gown hanging behind me. It cost $400,000. Julian had it flown in from Paris. It was the exact style I loved, and yes, I was superficial enough to love the diamonds. I clenched my fists and looked at Julian. “Why?” Why did you help her cheat? He understood the real question hidden in my words and explained quietly: “You owe her this. It’s not a big deal to lose once. Besides, I’m still the one marrying you.” “No one helped me cheat five years ago. And we never even made a bet…” “Are you backing out?” Chloe interrupted, stepping toward me aggressively. Julian frowned deeply. “The Sterling family does not tolerate women who go back on their word.” The moment the words left his mouth, the atmosphere in the room turned heavy. No one expected this to be serious. Julian actually meant it. I stared at his face, swallowed every ounce of grievance and resentment, and slowly nodded. “Fine. A bet is a bet.” I had lost twice in one day. I lost my wedding dress, and I lost my marriage. A bet is a bet! I could no longer marry Julian. I was going to marry Liam instead. Thinking of this, I pulled out my phone and texted Liam. [I lost. I’ll be there in half an hour to marry you.] Liam replied almost instantly. [Okay. Waiting for you.] Attached to the message was a photo of a wedding dress. One glance, and I recognized it. It was the centerpiece gown from the exact same designer collection Julian had bought from. But this one was infinitely more complex, with master-level craftsmanship. Naturally, it was far more expensive, easily costing seven figures. At the time, I thought it was too much, so I never asked for it. “You can all leave now. I need to change into my dress.” Chloe’s voice snapped me back to reality. I locked my phone screen, stood up, and offered her my seat. “Wait. Aren’t you going to take your makeup off?” “With a face like that, won’t you look too overdressed in whatever normal clothes you end up wearing?” “You could wear a bridesmaid dress, I guess. Pink used to be the color for mistresses in the old days, but I suppose people don’t care about that anymore.” Chloe spoke with casual cruelty. She turned to Julian. “Since I won the dress, shouldn’t she give up the makeup look, too?” Only then did I realize her makeup was identical to mine. It was further proof that this entire “bet” had been premeditated. Everything Liam told me last night was true. The reason Julian allowed all of this to happen was because he blamed me for Chloe leaving five years ago. He thought I had schemed to get rid of her. “Take off her makeup!” Julian ordered coldly, leaving no room for argument. I reacted instinctively. “And if I refuse?” “Then you don’t attend the wedding!” I gasped, staring at him in utter disbelief. The tears I had been holding back finally broke. I pointed at Chloe, my voice trembling: “So she gets to attend instead? I’m giving you exactly what you want, aren’t I?” Chloe froze, a flash of pure joy crossing her eyes. But Julian closed the distance between us in two strides. He grabbed my shoulders and whispered fiercely: “Serena, stop this! When you used your Sudoku skills to bully Chloe back then, you should have known this day would come.” “Chloe suffered a lot abroad these past five years. Just let her vent a little.” “Besides, you’re still the one I’m marrying. You’re just not wearing the dress.” I tried to explain one last time: “Five years ago, she challenged me. I didn’t seek her out.” “And there was never any bet! I had absolutely no idea she was leaving the country!” Julian stared hard at me. Just as his expression began to soften, Chloe suddenly spoke up. “Forget it. There’s no point talking about this now.” “I don’t even want the dress anymore. Serena, you are incredibly manipulative.” “You saw how close Julian and I were growing up, and you did everything you could to trick me into leaving.” “I was young and naive, and I fell for it. But I never imagined anyone could be this shameless.” With that, she turned to leave, dramatically pushing up her sleeve to reveal an ugly, jagged scar on her wrist. Julian’s pupils contracted violently. Without another word, he grabbed a bottle of makeup remover and dumped it directly over my head. I couldn’t dodge in time. I could only hold my breath as the liquid cascaded down my face. He scrubbed his hand roughly across my cheeks. When he stepped back, my face looked like a smeared, horrifying clown painting. A wave of suffocating humiliation washed over me. He wrapped an arm around me, his voice suddenly sickeningly soft. “I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything to you later.” “Just have them redo it. Pick a look that fits your new outfit better.” The bridal suite fell completely silent. Chloe, claiming the room was too cramped, took her entourage and left. Naturally, they took the wedding dress with them. But the room felt massive to me now. So big that my breathing seemed to echo off the walls. I tried. I really tried to hold myself together. But when I looked in the mirror and saw the pathetic clown staring back at me, I finally broke down and sobbed. I realized that for the last five years, I had been nothing but a clown. When Liam called me last night, I thought it was a sick joke. I was even angry at him. “Impossible!” “Julian would never do that to me.” My confidence wasn’t baseless. It was built on everything he had done for me over the past five years. When I first started coaching and was being relentlessly harassed by a student’s obsessed parent, Julian spent half a month systematically ruining the man’s business until he went bankrupt. Back then, he said, “I will never let anyone hurt you.” When massive flooding trapped me in my hometown and the water rose to the roof, Julian appeared out of nowhere like a godsend in a rescue boat. Back then, he said, “I don’t even want to imagine how terrifying life would be if I lost you.” But now, he was actively helping someone else hurt me. He was no longer afraid of losing me. “Oh my god! What happened?!” A gasp broke through my thoughts. The makeup artist had returned. She looked incredibly awkward. “Mr. Sterling said you needed your makeup redone, so he sent us back…” I wiped away my tears and let out a bitter laugh. “Could you just help me clean this off first?” The makeup artist frantically started removing the smeared mess, her voice surprisingly gentle: “If a marriage starts off this miserable, I really think you should reconsider going through with it.” I murmured an agreement and looked down at my phone. I sent a text to my parents, who were currently waiting in the banquet hall downstairs. [The wedding venue has changed. Don’t tell anyone. Just bring our relatives and go to this address.] They replied with a string of question marks, followed quickly by an “Okay.” I didn’t have the energy to explain anything right now. When my face was finally clean, I checked the time. Twenty minutes left. I grabbed the makeup artist’s hand. “Will you come with me? I’ll pay double your rate.” She blinked, utterly confused. Right then, Liam called. “I’m here to pick you up.” I froze. He continued, “I thought about it and decided I couldn’t just wait. I came to get you myself.” His voice grew excited: “You haven’t changed your mind, have you? I’ve got everything set up on my end!” “You won’t be happy marrying a guy like Julian. Chloe came back specifically to steal him.” Before Liam could fully panic, I told him: “I’ll be down in two minutes. Did you bring enough cars? My parents and all my relatives need rides, too.” “Plenty! I brought the whole fleet. Dozens of cars.” Liam’s voice was practically bubbling with laughter. He sounded a little goofy. I hung up the phone and looked at the makeup artist, who was frantically packing her kit. “Say less, sis. I support you 100%.” “Let’s go get you married somewhere else. Sounds like this new guy actually values you.” But as we walked out the door, we ran straight into Chloe, struggling down the stairs in that massive, heavy wedding gown. Julian was right by her side, holding her arm, looking at her with total adoration. Our eyes met. Julian’s pupils shrank in surprise. “Why isn’t your makeup done?! The ceremony is starting in five minutes!” “Serena, are you trying to ruin this wedding?! I’m warning you, don’t push me.” Before he could finish his threat, he noticed Liam walking toward me. “Liam? Didn’t you say you had something extremely important to do today?” Liam stood by my side, a radiant smile on his face. “Yep. I’m here to pick up the bride. I’m getting married today.” “Married?” Julian repeated, entirely in shock. He looked around the empty hallway. “Where’s the bride? Who are you marrying?” Liam couldn’t suppress his grin. He looked at me, his eyes shining. Before today, Liam and I had barely spoken. He was part of Julian’s inner circle, but he spent most of his time abroad. I could count the number of times we had met on one hand. That’s why when he called me last night, my first thought was that it was a prank. But looking at him closely now, I realized he was strikingly handsome. When his deep, expressive eyes curved into a smile, it was almost impossible to look away. My heart gave an inexplicable, nervous flutter. “Don’t tell me it’s Serena.” Julian suddenly laughed, pointing a finger at me. His tone dripped with the absolute absurdity of the idea. I froze, looking back at Julian. Chloe chimed in: “Liam, don’t let her trick you. Today is her wedding with Julian.” “Trying to marry two different men on the exact same day? How desperate can you be?” Julian frowned at her words, but he merely glanced at Chloe and didn’t stop her. “Oh? If it’s her wedding, why are you wearing the wedding dress?” “What, couldn’t find a husband of your own?” Liam’s voice was sharp. Chloe’s face instantly went white. “Don’t talk to her like that,” Julian instinctively defended her. Chloe’s eyes welled with tears as she glared at me furiously: “Serena, aren’t you going to explain yourself?!” “You lost the dress in a fair bet! Whose fault is that?!” “Julian and Liam are best friends, and you’re trying to drive a wedge between them?! Do you have any idea how much damage you’re causing?” “Oh, right. You’re just a Sudoku coach. You don’t understand how business and networking work.” “If you ruin Julian’s relationship with Liam today, your life in the Sterling family will be a living hell!” She couldn’t lash out at Liam, so she directed all her venom and threats at me. “The ceremony is starting! The bride and groom need to enter the hall!” The wedding coordinator ran over, rushing them. Chloe lifted her chin and looked at me. “Aren’t you coming? Or do you expect me to walk down the aisle for you too?” Julian stormed over, his face thunderous, and grabbed my wrist. “Enough with the tantrums.” “Don’t forget, you were the one who wanted to get married!” I struggled against his grip, but he held on tighter. I stopped fighting and let him hold my wrist. “It sounds like you never wanted to.” Julian hesitated for a fraction of a second. “That’s not what I meant. Why do you always have to be so difficult?” “Your bride is right there. You’ve got the wrong girl, Julian.” I gestured toward Chloe with my chin. Julian’s face turned terrifyingly cold. “Serena Davis! Do not push my limits!” I met his fury head-on. “Who wears the dress is the bride. Do you really not understand something that simple?” A flash of pain crossed Julian’s eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by dark anger. “You lost the dress to her yourself!” “No. I simply stepped aside for you two. The cheating was so incredibly obvious you didn’t even try to hide it.” “Julian, if you wanted to marry Chloe, you could have just told me. It’s not like nobody else wants me.” With that, I took a deep breath and looked at Liam. One look was all it took. He immediately stepped forward and grabbed Julian’s wrist. While Julian was still processing the shock, Liam forced Julian’s hand open and pulled me behind him. “Did you not understand her, Julian?” “My wife is graciously stepping aside so you can be with Chloe. Now hurry up and walk down the aisle with your real bride.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “533239”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Chapter 1 In the middle of the night, I received an emergency dispatch to unlock a door. As a firefighter, I arrived at the scene as quickly as possible. It was a couple playing games, and the woman’s handcuffs were stuck. I went through the standard procedure, asking the man if there were any other hazards in the room. The man laughed and shook his head, a playful look on his face. I felt a bit weirded out. That was until I looked down and saw the woman on the bed. She had used her hair to completely cover her face. But exposed on her thigh was a butterfly tattoo—identical to the one on my celebrity wife, who was supposedly out of town on business. I froze. The man raised an eyebrow and continued, “Is something wrong? I’m really sorry for the trouble so late at night.” “It’s her fault, she rarely gets out. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, you know? We just went a little overboard.” I tightened my grip on the hydraulic cutters and snapped the handcuffs. So, her coldness was only reserved for me. I guess I just gave her her freedom back. … The handcuffs snapped with a loud clack. I tried my best to keep my voice steady: “Alright, ma’am, try moving around a bit. Let me know if anything hurts.” The person on the bed mumbled indistinctly: “No.” My heart sank completely. Just from that single syllable, I recognized the voice. It was undeniably Chloe, my wife. Liam suddenly stepped between me and the bed. “Sorry about that. My wife is a minor celebrity, so it’s not really convenient for her to show her face. I hope you understand.” I turned to leave. “Then I’ll conclude the call.” Liam stopped me and shoved a paper cup into my hand. “You worked hard coming all the way out here so late. Have a glass of water before you go.” “No need.” I looked down to decline, but my eyes landed on the diamond ring on his ring finger. My brain exploded. I recognized that ring. It was the wedding ring I had saved up two years of my salary to custom order. It was a one-of-a-kind design. A year ago, the designer who made it passed away. The value of the ring skyrocketed a thousand times over, and it became known as the “Ring of True Love.” Around that same time, my matching ring went missing. I thought I had lost it during a rescue mission. I was frantic, wanting to go back to the fire scene or call the police. Chloe was uncharacteristically gentle that day, telling me it was okay. She said she would always wear hers, and that was proof enough. It made me firmly believe that no matter how cold she acted normally, she still had me in her heart. Now I realize she took it to give to another man. I stood there stunned, and Liam shoved the water cup directly to my lips. “Don’t be polite, drink up.” I couldn’t dodge it in time and swallowed a mouthful. But almost immediately, I realized something was wrong. My vision blurred, and I collapsed onto the sofa. When I regained consciousness, I heard the bizarre sound of splashing water. Liam was laughing. “He’s right outside. Isn’t this incredibly thrilling?” Then, it was Chloe. A hint of annoyance, but mostly the breathy sounds of arousal. “Why did you feed him that drug?” “Don’t like it?” Liam’s voice dropped lower. “Then why are you so wet?” My chest tightened. Forcing my eyes open, I looked through the crack in the door and saw Chloe straddling Liam! Her profile was flushed, her eyes half-closed. It was a look I had never seen before. “I like it. You’re the only one who can give me what I really want.” “If Ethan hadn’t been commended for that rescue back then—right when I was getting canceled online—do you really think I would have married him just to clean up my image?” My whole body trembled. I forced myself to snap fully awake. “But he really is a good man,” Chloe said, smiling without realizing it. “As long as I say no, he absolutely won’t touch me.” Liam’s movements got rougher, and Chloe paused. “Are you jealous? I can count the number of times we’ve actually been intimate on one hand.” “Every time, I just tell him I’m too traumatized and heartbroken over the miscarriage, and he doesn’t dare make a move.” It felt like a knife had been plunged into my chest. The baby! Our baby! How could she? A lump formed in my throat, and I finally let out a cough. A muffled groan came from the other room. “Don’t worry. It’s a strong drug. He definitely just woke up.” Liam wrapped a bedsheet around himself and walked out. “You passed out as soon as you hit the couch yesterday. I couldn’t wake you up. You must be exhausted from work.” I stumbled to my feet, unable to suppress my rage any longer. But just as my fist was about to fly out, my emergency phone rang. Without having the chance to say a single word, I pushed open the door and bolted out, only then realizing it was already morning. They had been doing it right in front of me all night! Enduring the agonizing pain in my chest, I rushed to the scene of the emergency. After putting out the final fire, a message from Chloe suddenly popped up. The content was as short and cold as always:[I’m coming home tonight. Have a bath ready.] I took a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm:[We need to talk.] Sitting in the firetruck, I kept staring at my phone. My body temperature hadn’t dropped from the fire, but my heart felt ice-cold. Our chat background was the only photo we had together. Scrolling up through the chat history, her messages were always brief, while my replies were always long paragraphs. But they were usually ignored. A teammate playfully slapped my shoulder. “Writing another essay to your icy wife?” In the past, I would have just said that was just her personality. But right now, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Because it wasn’t true. She had endless passion; she just gave it all to someone else. My teammate paused. “Just kidding, we all know she’s cold on the outside but warm on the inside.” “I even saw her post yesterday. She bought a whole bunch of stuff for you while she was on her business trip. So thoughtful.” “You guys have been married for years and keep things so interesting. I’m jealous.” He handed me his phone. It was a video she posted. A high-end men’s massager, an expensive leather belt, and a bunch of “aphrodisiac” supplements. My heart felt like it had been stabbed again. Last night, at that apartment, those exact items were scattered on the floor, their packaging tossed in the corner. The firetruck stopped. I took a deep breath and jumped out. Whatever my teammate yelled behind me, I couldn’t hear it anymore. When I first walked through the door of my home, I stood in the entryway in a daze for a long time. Hanging on the wall straight ahead was our massive wedding portrait. That was the only decision I ever made for this house. Everything else, the entire renovation, was chosen by Chloe. The gray walls and minimalist furniture made the place feel as cold as a hotel. I used to think she just liked that style. Now I think, maybe she just never saw this place as a home. I sat there in a haze for a long time, until the lock clicked. Chloe walked in, ignored me as usual, headed straight for the bathroom, and then poked her head out: “Didn’t I tell you to run a bath?” In the past, even if I had been on missions for three days straight, I would have had everything ready for her. The fridge would be stocked with her favorite food, her clothes laid out, and the toothpaste already squeezed onto her toothbrush. But right now, I just pinched the bridge of my nose. “I forgot.” Chloe paused, glancing at my uniform that I still hadn’t taken off. “Whatever. I won’t hold it against you this time.” A moment later, she walked over and handed me a small keychain. “Brought you a gift.” I suddenly let out a laugh. “Is this the only thing you got?” Chloe froze, a flash of secret smugness crossing her face. “Did you peek at my videos again?” “I gave the rest to the staff. My new movie is coming out, it’s normal to build good relationships.” She sat down as she spoke, and as if remembering something, leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I stiffened instantly. In public, Chloe would actively link arms with me. But as long as there were no outsiders, she wouldn’t even hold my hand. I couldn’t even remember the last time she kissed me—it had been months. “There’s a new reality show. They invited us to be on it together.” She spoke calmly, while my heart sank. “The producers want to film our daily life. Especially yours.” So that was it. She just needed something from me. I wanted to push her away, but she kept pressing closer, her breasts brushing against my arm. As a young, healthy man who hadn’t touched his wife in six months, my body’s physical reaction was completely out of my control. But I took a deep breath, steadied her, and turned my face away. “I can’t do it. We’re getting a divo—” Before I could finish, Chloe had already stood up. “Another mission? I really don’t get it. Saving cats, dogs, fires… everything is more important than me?” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, shooting a sarcastic glance at my shorts. “Don’t even think about touching me ever again.” The door slammed shut with a deafening bang, leaving the house dead quiet. In the past, I would have chased after her immediately and coaxed her until she wasn’t mad anymore. But today, I just sat there for a long time. Then, I unlocked my phone, selected her manager’s contact, and sent:[This is the divorce agreement. Have her sign it.] Chloe had put me on “Do Not Disturb” a long time ago. Her manager was the only one who could reliably reach her. Turning off my phone, I looked around the house and realized there was nothing I wanted to take with me. Finally, I walked into the nursery. It was the only place that had any warmth, the only place I felt any attachment to. I had set it up during Chloe’s first—and only—pregnancy. After sitting there for a while, I left. I threw the wedding portrait in the trash on my way out and moved into the firehouse dorms. Two days later, my captain pushed a file across the desk to me. “Think carefully about what we talked about last time.” Not long after, her manager called me, sounding anxious and panicked. “Ethan, you know how Chloe is. She acts tough, but she really cares about you.” “I secretly saw it once. She has an alt account dedicated entirely to documenting your relationship. If you saw it, you’d understand.” After hanging up, I hesitated, but eventually clicked on it anyway. When the page loaded, I froze completely. The very first photo was of our bed in our master bedroom. A man was lying there, wearing my uniform. But it wasn’t me. I had lost a uniform a while back. I looked everywhere for it but couldn’t find it. I ended up getting disciplined by my superiors and stationed in a remote area for six months as punishment. With trembling hands, I kept scrolling. Different scenic locations, sweet captions. In seven years of marriage, we had never taken a vacation together. I kept looking at the photos, one by one, feeling a sharp pain as if someone were violently squeezing my heart. For our second anniversary, she and Liam were at the beach. But she told me she was on set filming and didn’t even have time to answer my calls. On my last birthday, she and Liam were at a bonfire party. But that night she said she was in the mountains with no cell service, so she didn’t even send me a simple “Happy Birthday.” Then came New Year’s Eve, which was also the day after her miscarriage. I had stayed by her bed in the hospital all night, but she insisted I go home and rest. It wasn’t until I got home that I finally broke down and sobbed. Before that, I had to stay strong because I thought she was hurting more than I was. But in the photos, she and Liam were at a hotel that night. I leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down until I sat on the floor, unable to stop shaking. Every single photo was like a needle plunging into my heart. I dialed her manager’s number again. “Changed your mind about the divorce, right? Good thing I haven’t shown her the papers yet,” he said. “Give the phone to her,” my voice was so hoarse it didn’t even sound like me. He hesitated for a second, then handed it over. “I knew you’d agree,” she chuckled softly. “That show is going to be good for you too…” “Sign the divorce agreement,” I cut her off, enunciating every word. “I’m done dragging this out.” “You—” I hung up immediately, terrified that if I heard one more syllable, I would turn into some bitter, desperate ex and start demanding answers from her. The next second, a teammate burst into the room. “Fire emergency! Move out!” I shot up. The firetruck sirens blared the entire way. When we arrived, I realized it was Liam’s apartment building. I took a deep breath, tightened my grip on my gear, and rasped, “Let’s go.” The smoke was thick. My team and I felt our way through and found Liam collapsed in a corner. I hauled him onto my back and dragged him out of the building. While the fire was still burning, I coordinated the team while listening to one of the guys analyzing the situation: “The cause of the fire was a room full of those electronic adult toys! Left them plugged in too long and they caught fire. What an absolute degenerate.” I closed my eyes. Suddenly, Liam’s screams echoed from behind me: “My baby is still in there!” Everyone froze. The next second, a car crashed through the police barricade and slammed on the brakes. Chloe sprinted out. She threw herself beside Liam, wailing hysterically. It was more genuine than any acting performance she had ever given. I withdrew my gaze and pulled my fire mask back down. A teammate asked, “There’s a kid? But the fire’s even bigger now.” I cut him off. “As long as there’s a chance, we don’t give up.” We charged back into the burning building. The heat waves were even more brutal than before, roasting our skin, but we still scoured every single corner. Finally, the commander’s voice crackled over the earpiece from outside: “We got it out of him. The trapped victim is under the coffee table.” The coffee table? Confused, I felt my way to the coffee table, reached under, and grabbed—a doll! It felt like someone had punched me hard in the chest. “It’s just a doll,” I said into the comms. Liam’s screams erupted through the earpiece: “That’s our baby!” A teammate couldn’t help but curse: “That bastard—” Before he could finish, a massive explosion tore through the room. With a deafening BOOM, a colossal shockwave blasted us straight out of the third-floor window. Laying on the ground, looking through my soot-covered mask, I saw Chloe running toward us. The next second, she yanked the doll from my charred hands and yelled to the people behind her: “It’s okay! Our baby is safe!” I closed my eyes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “533238”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel