Author: Momo Chan

My husband thought I was a gold digger, a vain woman obsessed with appearances. He was so terrified I’d raise our son to be just as materialistic that he controlled every single cent in our household. Even after our son and I died, he planned to burn spirit money for us in installments. “I’ll burn it for you three times a day,” he’d said, his voice cold and even. “Just to make sure you and the boy don’t go on a spending spree in the afterlife.” My in-laws stared, dumbfounded. My son and I were just as stunned. You control our money when we’re alive, and you want to keep controlling it after we’re dead? It’s enough to make a ghost come back to life just to haunt you! And then I opened my eyes. My son and I were alive. Truly alive. I blinked again, and the world solidified around me. I was back on the day my husband, Andy, and I got divorced. “Lily, you’ll get custody of Jeff after the divorce,” Andy said, his tone clipped and businesslike. “You and he can move into the apartment I own. I’ll transfer child support to you three times a day.” He continued, consulting a small notebook. “I’ve spoken with the nanny. A typical family spends about five dollars on breakfast, ten on lunch, and fifteen on dinner. I’ll round it up and give you thirty dollars a day.” “Any additional expenses will require a written request from you, which I will review and approve at my discretion. This is to prevent you from spending the money frivolously and corrupting Jeff’s values.” Andy droned on, listing his concerns, his arrangements… In a daze, I looked down at my son, Jeff. He was looking right back at me. One look was all it took. I knew. We had both been reborn. In my past life, Andy’s fear of my supposed gold-digging nature led him to force me to quit my job after we got married. For three years, Jeff and I lived under his thumb, dependent on his every whim. When I finally couldn’t take it anymore and asked for a divorce, this was his response. He calculated our basic living expenses down to the penny, terrified of giving me a single extra dollar that I might “waste.” He was religious about it, sending the money in three infuriating installments every single day. If I didn’t send him a detailed report on Jeff’s day, complete with pictures, he would dock the support as punishment. Sometimes for a day, sometimes for three. That suffocating control had pushed me to the edge. I spent my days washing dishes in a restaurant until my fingers were wrinkled prunes and my nights cleaning office buildings until my back screamed in protest. I never dared to stop. Jeff was a growing boy. He needed milk, fruit, things a growing boy needs. But the pittance Andy gave me barely covered our three meals, and that was before his frequent deductions. There was never anything left over. I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp pain barely enough to suppress the wave of hatred rising in my chest. Across from me, Andy watched me with cold, judgmental eyes, as if expecting me to snatch his money and run off to a casino at any second. “Fine,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. “I agree.” Andy was clearly taken aback by my quick compliance. He paused, then pushed a pre-prepared divorce agreement across the table. “Sign it. And remember what you said. If I find out you’re taking my money and squandering it instead of caring for our son, you won’t see another dime.” I picked up the pen and signed my name, each stroke a farewell to the misery of my past life. Once it was done, I took Jeff’s hand and stood up. Without another glance at Andy, I walked straight out the door. The moment we stepped out of that sterile, cold house, the sun hit my face, so warm it made my eyes burn. Jeff squeezed my hand and looked up at me with a bright smile. “Mommy, we’re free.” I shook my head. Not yet. As long as we were living hand-to-mouth, dependent on his charity, we weren’t truly free. The apartment Andy provided was a cramped, 400-square-foot walk-up with peeling paint on the walls. But I didn’t mind. I set up Jeff’s room, turned the living room sofa into my own bed, and felt a sense of peace I hadn’t known in years. At least here, there were no judgmental eyes, no suffocating pressure. The next morning, I woke with a jolt as sunlight streamed through the old, dusty window. Jeff was still fast asleep beside me, his face flushed and peaceful. In my past life, I was always up at the crack of dawn, riddled with anxiety, terrified of making a mistake that would displease Andy. This rare moment of relaxation had made me oversleep. I scrambled to wake Jeff, rushing through dressing and washing up. There was no time to make breakfast; I just grabbed two packs of crackers and hurried him to preschool. I watched him skip through the gates, a wave of relief washing over me. As I turned to leave, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Andy, his tone dripping with accusation: Lily, do you know what time it is? You can’t even get our son to school on time. How lazy can you be? You’re a terrible influence! Today’s child support is docked. A little lesson for you. In my past life, a message like that would have sent me into a panic. I would have sobbed and typed out a long, rambling apology, begging him not to cut off any more money. Now, I just stared at the screen, a cold smile touching my lips. I locked my phone without a word of reply. I knew arguing with Andy was pointless. He only ever believed his own narrative. It was better to find a practical solution. I looked across the street to the grocery store and walked in. I took a few pictures of the vegetable and meat sections, then a final one of my empty shopping basket. I posted them to my Facebook page with a simple caption: “No money for groceries. Any friends willing to help a girl out?” I put my phone away and bought the cheapest bag of flour and a few eggs I could find. Even with no money, I was determined that Jeff would have a hot meal tonight. I had just paid when my phone started ringing off the hook. I opened it to see a comment from my mother-in-law on my post: “Lily, what’s going on? Is that boy of mine giving you trouble again?” A warmth spread through my chest. I quickly replied: “Mom, it’s nothing major. I was just a little late dropping Jeff off today, so Andy said he was docking today’s support. I’m just a little short on cash and thought I’d see if I could borrow some.” A few seconds later, she called. The moment I answered, her angry voice filled my ear. “Has Andy lost his mind? He’s docking your child support? Is he even Jeff’s father anymore?” “Don’t you worry about him. I’m sending you some money right now. That boy… honestly, he’s a regional manager with a six-figure salary, and he’s nickel-and-diming his own wife and son!” After I hung up, I stared at the thousand-dollar transfer notification, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. She was right. Andy worked for a major national corporation. As a regional manager, thirty dollars a day was less than pocket change for him. He wasn’t being frugal; he was being cruel. He was convinced I was weak and easy to manipulate, and he was using this paltry sum to control me, to keep me forever under his thumb. I had just sent her a thank you message when my phone rang again. Andy. I took a deep breath, hit record, and answered, deliberately making my voice sound hoarse, as if I’d been crying. “Hello?” “Lily, what the hell was that Facebook post?” Andy’s voice was a low growl. “Are you trying to air our dirty laundry in public? Make me a laughingstock? Or are you just playing the victim to scam money off people?” I laughed silently, but my voice was panicked and small. “No… I really don’t have any money for groceries. Jeff didn’t even have breakfast today. I was just desperate. I wasn’t trying to make you look bad or scam anyone, I swear.” The line went silent for a few seconds as he tried to gauge if I was telling the truth. Finally, he scoffed. “You’d better not be. And remember, if I find out you’ve taken money from anyone else, or if you’re wasting my money, I have ways of making your life very difficult.” “I know,” I said quickly. “I wouldn’t.” I paused, then added, “Could you… could you maybe send today’s support payment? I bought some flour and eggs, but there’s no meat in the house. Jeff’s a growing boy, he can’t just eat…” He cut me off. “The deduction is to teach you a lesson. Being late is not acceptable. Don’t ask me for money again. When you’ve learned your lesson, we’ll talk.” He hung up with a sharp click. Listening to the dial tone, I couldn’t help but smile. Even now, he still thought he could control me with a few dollars. I opened my contacts and scrolled through the names of his relatives. An idea began to form. In my past life, I was always afraid of causing trouble, of being seen as the difficult ex-wife who was disrupting the family harmony. So, no matter how Andy treated me, I gritted my teeth and endured it. And what did I get for it? I was pushed to the brink of despair, and his entire family thought I was a lazy, ungrateful woman. But this time, I knew better. What did Andy care about most? His professional reputation. He could be cruel to me, he could withhold child support, but he would never want the world to know that he was the kind of man who would let his own son go hungry. My plan was simple. If he didn’t send the money tomorrow, I’d post again. And maybe I’d have a little chat with a few friends in the local media about my “family situation.” When it came to public shame, what did I have to lose? But Andy, the successful regional manager? He had everything to lose. On my way home, I ran into Sarah, the mother of one of Jeff’s classmates. She was carrying two large bags of groceries. When she saw me clutching my small bag of flour and eggs, she paused. “Lily? Is that all you’re getting? Jeff’s a growing boy, he needs proper nutrition.” My face flushed. After a moment’s hesitation, I told her the truth. “Don’t ask, Sarah. I was late dropping Jeff off this morning, so my ex-husband decided to teach me a lesson and docked today’s child support. This is all I could afford.” “He docked the child support?” Sarah’s eyes went wide. “For being a little late? That’s insane! And what kind of man is so stingy with money for his own kid?” I gave her a bitter smile. “That’s not even the half of it. He’s so paranoid I’ll run off with his money that he sends it in three installments a day. Thirty bucks total. And I have to send him daily updates on Jeff. If I’m even a little late, he docks it.” “Oh my God,” she gasped. “That’s not just stingy, that’s crazy. Who treats their ex-wife like that? You’d think he was a millionaire trying to protect his fortune.” I just smiled weakly. But then, a memory hit me. In my past life, around this time, Sarah had seen how much I was struggling and offered to help me find a job. But I was so afraid of what Andy would think that I refused. I ended up taking exhausting, low-paying manual labor jobs instead. This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I took a deep breath. “Sarah, can I ask you something? Do you know of any office admin jobs available? I don’t need a high salary, just something that would let me pick Jeff up from school on time.” She blinked, then her face lit up. “An admin? You’re in luck! My husband’s company is looking for one right now. No overtime, six-hour days. The schedule would be perfect for you.” My heart leaped. “Let me talk to my husband,” she said, pulling out her phone right then and there. She explained my situation to him, her voice fiercely protective. “Listen, Lily is a wonderful person who just got a raw deal. You need an admin, she needs a job. And don’t you dare lowball her on the salary; she’s raising a kid on her own.” A moment later, she hung up, beaming. “It’s done! He said you can start tomorrow. Thirty-five hundred a month. And he specifically said he’ll pay you in cash, to keep your ex from seeing the deposits and giving you trouble.” At the words “thirty-five hundred” and “cash,” tears sprang to my eyes. In my past life, I worked three back-breaking jobs and didn’t even make that much, all while living at Andy’s mercy. Now, all it took was asking for help. Sarah was startled by my sudden tears. “Lily, what’s wrong? Did I say something?” “No, no,” I sobbed, wiping my eyes. “Sarah, thank you. Thank you so much. I can finally stop begging for money. I can finally earn my own money to raise Jeff.” She patted my shoulder. “Silly girl, what are you crying for? You deserve this. We moms have to stick together.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386638”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was Christmas, and my Uncle Rick had graciously invited the whole family for a “friendly” game of poker. But just as everyone was taking their seats, he announced, “We’re not playing for pennies. If we’re gonna play, we play for real.” The relatives chuckled nervously. “How real are we talking, Rick?” He unzipped a duffel bag and slammed ten stacks of cash onto the poker table. “Ten thousand a hand. If you don’t have the bankroll, don’t sit at the table.” An awkward silence fell over the room. One by one, they shook their heads, admitting they couldn’t afford stakes that high. They flattered him instead, saying he was a real big shot, a high roller even during a family game. Rick puffed out his chest, soaking in the praise. He launched into a lecture about how they all needed to be more ambitious, or they’d be poor their whole lives, too broke to even play a real man’s game. That’s when I quietly walked to the table. “Uncle Rick,” I said. “I’ll play with you.” 1 “You?” Everyone stared. Rick looked stunned for a second, then broke into a condescending smirk. “Leo, my boy, don’t you make a few grand a month? What is this, a joke?” I smiled faintly. “I got a decent Christmas bonus this year. Enough to keep you company for a few hands.” We all knew what this was about. Rick wasn’t playing poker; he was playing ‘look how rich I am.’ I’d been putting up with him for days. The day I got back for the holidays, I’d brought my dad a bottle of vintage Macallan. When Rick saw it, he’d scoffed, “Your dad’s a simple farmer. Does a man like him even have the palate to appreciate something like that?” If my dad hadn’t physically held me back, I would have exploded right then and there. But if Rick was going to use a simple game to trample on the dignity of his family, then I saw no reason to treat him like family anymore. “Well, well, look at you, doing alright for yourself,” Rick sneered, his disdain palpable. “A bonus that big is almost what I make in a week. Just don’t come crying to me when it’s all gone.” I looked at him, my stomach turning with disgust. It was the same thing every year. The holidays would start off happy, but then Rick, who owned some small-time logistics company, would start lording his success over everyone, lecturing anyone who would listen. Bragging to outsiders was one thing, but what kind of person needs to feel superior to their own family? Today, I was done indulging him. “Don’t worry, I can afford to lose,” I said, my voice cold as I hit him with a challenge. “I’m more worried you won’t pay up when you lose.” “Heh.” Rick’s laugh was sharp. “A hundred grand is nothing to me. You think I’m like you, scraping by on one bonus a year? Your dad told me you’re saving for a down payment to get married. It’d be a real shame if your fiancée left you when you’re broke. Don’t blame me when it happens.” His words hung in the air, and even the other relatives flinched. What kind of uncle says that to his own nephew? I was done with the verbal sparring. “So,” I said to the room, “is anyone else going to join us?” You need more than two for a game. But seeing the tension between Rick and me, no one wanted to get caught in the crossfire. They all shook their heads, mumbling about the high stakes. Rick rolled his eyes. “Bunch of cowards. Can’t even handle a ten-thousand-dollar hand. How do you expect to ever get anywhere in life?” The relatives bristled, but no one dared to say a word. I took it all in, then narrowed my eyes at Rick. “If poker’s a no-go, how about something a little more… thrilling?” Rick’s eyelids drooped with arrogance. “Name your game. Texas Hold’em, Blackjack, Craps, Dice. I’ll play you in anything.” That was exactly what I wanted to hear. “Let’s do dice, then,” I said smoothly. “Simple high roll. Whoever’s higher, wins. Fast and exciting.” A triumphant grin spread across Rick’s face. “Fine by me. Your funeral, kid. Don’t regret it.” My other relatives shot me looks of pure shock. They all knew Rick had spent years hustling in VIP lounges and high-stakes games. He had a legendary dice roll, a skill honed over countless nights that even the most seasoned croupiers couldn’t beat. Playing dice against him was like a lamb walking into a wolf’s den. Of course, I knew dice was his specialty. Still, I asked for two sets of dice cups, each with five dice inside—his preferred setup. “Hold on,” Rick said, stopping me just as I was about to start. I raised an eyebrow. “What now?” “Where’s your money? Mine’s on the table.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. I told him I didn’t carry cash and showed him my digital wallet on my phone. In this day and age, who carries tens of thousands in cash unless they’re deliberately trying to show off? “Fifty thousand, huh? Not bad for a bonus these days,” Rick said, his eyes glinting with contempt after seeing the balance. “That’ll cover my pocket money for a couple of weeks.” I just smiled coldly, knowing he’d never miss a chance to flaunt. “Roll ‘em, lock ‘em, and show ‘em!” Rick snatched his cup and shook it with a flourish, the dice rattling for a full thirty seconds before he slammed it down on the table. I gave my cup a couple of casual shakes and set it down. All eyes were on us. Rick lifted his cup with a confident flourish. Three sixes, two fives. A powerful hand. I lifted mine at the same time. One, two, three, four, five. A straight. I lost. “Haha! The kid’s out of his depth,” Rick crowed, slapping the table. I said nothing, just silently transferred ten thousand dollars to him. “Rick, come on, the boy was just talking,” my dad pleaded, his face tight with worry. He looked at my uncle with begging eyes. “Let’s just call it one game.” Rick’s face darkened. “Don’t bother me, old man,” he snapped, not even bothering to call my dad his brother. “Your son’s not a dirt farmer like you. He’s seen the world, worked in the city. Ten grand is nothing. He’s still got forty left. Stay out of it.” He always treated my father this way, with zero respect. He’d completely forgotten that he only had what he had because my dad had given up his own chance at an education for him. “It’s okay, Dad,” I said, giving him a reassuring look. “I can afford to lose fifty thousand. I’ll earn it back next year.” My dad sighed. He knew my stubborn streak and didn’t want to embarrass me in front of everyone. “Again,” I said, picking up the dice cup. I lost the second round. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. In a matter of minutes, the fifty thousand dollars in my account was gone. “Haha! What a good nephew, giving your old uncle a fifty-thousand-dollar gift,” Rick chortled, raking in the last of my money. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you out to a real high-class club sometime, show you how the world works.” He was about to get up and leave. “Wait,” I said. He stopped. “What, you want more?” I nodded. Rick raised an eyebrow. “With what? This might be for fun, but we don’t play on credit.” I smiled. “I don’t need credit. I’ve got another three hundred thousand on my card.” “You idiot!” my father suddenly shouted, slapping his thigh in panic before I could even act. “That’s your down payment for the house! You can’t touch that!” “What are you yelling about?” Rick sneered, pointing a finger at my dad. “See, that’s your problem, old man. No vision. Your son wants to play, and I’m gonna play with him!” “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” My dad turned on me, his voice trembling. “Your mother and I worked our whole lives to save that money for you! If you lose it all, what are you going to do?” I ignored him. Right in front of Rick, I opened my banking app and transferred the entire three hundred thousand into my digital wallet. Rick’s eyes narrowed into slits, a greedy smile spreading across his face. “Leo, my boy, ten grand a hand is a little slow. Why don’t we raise the stakes?” I kept my voice flat. “How high?” Rick held up two fingers. “One hundred thousand a roll. Best of three.” I knew what he was thinking. Three quick rolls and my entire future would be in his pocket. But this was exactly what I was waiting for. “Done,” I said. A collective gasp went through the room. “One hundred thousand a roll? You two are crazy! We’re family, you don’t need to do this!” the relatives pleaded. My dad was frantic. He lunged forward and slapped me on the back of the head. “You damn fool! Are you insane? Are you going to gamble away our entire family’s savings? Your uncle does this every day! He’s a goddamn hustler, and you’re just a kid! What are you trying to prove?” I knew he was just trying to give me an out, a chance to back down and apologize. After all, three hundred thousand might be nothing to Rick. But to us, it was everything. I couldn’t afford to lose. “Are you going to be a nuisance all night?” Rick shot my dad an annoyed look. He was praising me on the surface, but I knew he was just afraid I’d back out. “Leo’s not like you! It’s only three hundred grand. He’s young, he can make more!” Just then, my Aunt Carol came over, frowning at my dad. “Honestly, it’s Christmas. Let the boy have some fun. You’re ruining the mood.” “Don’t worry about my dad, Uncle,” I said, a flicker of ice in my eyes. “Let’s just play.” Rick grinned and started shaking his cup. I matched him, then we both set our cups down. “Shame. Almost had five of a kind,” Rick said with a smug sigh, revealing his dice. Four sixes and a five. An incredible roll, but he acted as if it was a disappointment. The room fell silent. All eyes turned to me. This was for a hundred thousand dollars. One more loss, and I’d be in a hole I couldn’t climb out of. I didn’t hesitate. I lifted my cup. The next second, as everyone saw the numbers on my dice, their pupils contracted, their faces a mask of pure disbelief.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386637”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The phone buzzed just as I was about to leap from the bridge. The caller ID read Danny Vance—my ex-fiancé, the newly crowned movie star who had, just thirty minutes ago, publicly announced his relationship with Zoey Bell, the long-lost heiress of the Sterling family. I answered. His voice, dripping with condescending triumph, slid through the speaker. “I’m going to be a father, Aria. And the mother isn’t you.” He thought this was his final judgment, his ultimate victory. He had no idea he was setting me free. I’m a transmigrator. My mission was to save four villains on the brink of their descent into darkness, Danny included. But everything I had, everything I was, had been stolen by a woman named Zoey. Now, with my final mission failed, I could finally escape. The System had been clear: once all missions failed, I could return home through “death.” Home… Even if it meant facing the pain of my sickbed again, it was worth it just to see my parents one more time. “Congratulations,” I whispered, and let the phone slip from my fingers, a dark speck swallowed by the black water below. I climbed onto the railing, spread my arms, and prepared to embrace an embrace I had longed for. “ARIA!” A raw scream tore through the night, followed by the screech of tires. 1 Before I could even turn, a powerful arm yanked me back from the railing. My back slammed into the guardrail, the impact forcing a pained grunt from my lips. The person held me from behind, their grip so tight it felt like they were trying to merge my body with their own, the pressure making my bones ache. A familiar scent of fir, mingled with sweat and the ragged sound of frantic breathing, filled my senses. Kian Archer. The new prodigy of the tech world. What was he doing here? Oh, right. The tracker he’d installed on my phone years ago. When we were in love, he’d said it was because he was afraid of losing me. After we broke up, I forgot to delete it. And now, it had become the first shackle to chain me to this world. He was a wall, trapping me between his body and the cold metal of the guardrail. His tie was askew, his chest heaving. My escape had failed. A surge of white-hot anger flared within me. I glared at him, a cornered cat with its tail stepped on. “Aria,” he ground out, his usually impassive face twisted with fury. “You want to die that badly?” The Patek Philippe on his wrist dug painfully into my skin. For a moment, I was transported back to a leaky, drafty apartment, where I’d spent a month eating instant noodles with him, a broke student. I’d used my very first scholarship payment to buy him that watch on an installment plan. His eyes had been red then. He’d held me and promised, “Aria, from now on, all my time is yours.” Now, he looked at me as if I were a bug in his code, his words sharp as a scalpel. “So Danny dumped you, Zoey has everything, and this is your next move? A pity party on a bridge?” “Who’s this performance for?” “Aria, since when did the woman who took a check from my rival just to backstab Zoey become so pathetically simple-minded?” My heart felt like it had been squeezed by a giant fist. So that’s what he thought. In his mind, even my desire to go home was just another calculated performance. A single lie from Zoey was all it took for him to brand me a vicious, money-grubbing shrew. I looked at the disgust in his eyes and suddenly felt an immense wave of exhaustion. I stopped struggling. My body went limp as I looked up at him, a hollow smile on my face. “Kian,” I said softly. “You’re wrong.” “This isn’t a performance.” “I just… want to go home.” As the words left my lips, the world tilted. A combination of low blood sugar and the complete release of all my tension sent a wave of blackness over me. In the last second before I lost consciousness, I thought I heard a strange, strangled sound escape Kian’s throat. It was a sound of fear, as if the perfectly logical world he had built for himself had just shattered into a million pieces. 2 The sharp smell of antiseptic forced my eyes open. Another white ceiling. Still not dead. I laughed, but tears slid from the corners of my smile, tasting of salt and bitterness. I was so close. I almost made it home for my mom’s birthday dinner. The thought made me laugh harder, my shoulders shaking. I sat up abruptly, still laughing, and pulled the IV needle from the back of my hand. A single, perfect bead of blood welled up, shockingly red. Barefoot, I padded over to the window. The twenty-eighth floor. Surely, I wouldn’t fail this time. But the handle had been removed, and the glass was covered with a thick, shatterproof film. Kian had turned this room into my cage. The smile froze on my face. The door opened and Kian walked in, flanked by two bodyguards. He had changed his clothes, but the oppressive aura was the same. His eyes fell on the blood on my hand, then to my position by the window, and his expression turned to ice. “Aria. Are you done?” He tossed a file onto the table. “The doctor says you’re suffering from long-term malnutrition and severe depression.” “Is this your new strategy for gaining sympathy? Testing my limits with self-harm?” “Mr. Archer,” I used his most formal title, “is a person happily preparing to go home just another line of code for you to debug?” His expression flickered. A cold smirk replaced it. “Your behavior is illogical. Until I figure out what it is you truly want, you’re not going anywhere.” He stepped closer, looming over me. “Today is the most important day for Zoey and Danny after their announcement. I don’t want her seeing any trashy headlines.” “She suffered for twenty years before she was found. She doesn’t need you causing her more pain.” He was afraid I’d die at an inconvenient time and spoil Zoey’s big day. He turned and left. The door clicked shut, locked. I don’t know how much time passed before it opened again. It was my brother—my adoptive brother—Ethan Sterling. He had the same cold, detached look, his eyes sharp behind gold-rimmed glasses. “Kian said you were sick,” he stated, placing a thermal flask on the nightstand. His voice was flat. “Zoey is very worried about you. She couldn’t sleep all night. She asked me to come and check on you.” Zoey again. I didn’t move. I just stared at him. My silent gaze seemed to unnerve him. He opened the flask, and the rich aroma of chicken soup filled the room. “Our cook made it. It used to be your favorite.” My stomach churned. I remembered when Zoey first came to live with us. She was frail and sickly, and the cook made her this soup every day. I’d taken one sip out of curiosity, and Ethan had snatched the bowl away, his face a cold mask. “This is for Zoey. She grew up in hardship, not like you. Can’t you be more considerate?” But two years ago, when our parents died in a plane crash, when the house felt like a tomb, it was him. He was the one who had clumsily tried to make me soup, coaxing me, “Aria, please. Drink this. It will make the bitterness go away.” And now, he was offering me the very soup that once belonged to Zoey, the soup that had branded me “inconsiderate.” I slowly sat up and took the bowl from him. A flicker of relief, almost imperceptible, crossed his face. I smiled at him. And in the next second, with a slight tilt of my wrist, I sent the bowl of scalding soup crashing to the floor. It shattered into a hundred pieces. “Aria, what are you doing?!” For the first time, Ethan’s voice was ragged, his perpetually cool facade finally cracking. I ignored him. While he was stunned, I bent down and picked up the sharpest shard of porcelain. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t threaten anyone. I simply, in front of him, drew the sharp edge across my other wrist. Not too deep, not too light. A red line appeared, then welled up into beads of blood that began to drip, one by one, to the floor. “Brother,” I said, looking up at him, guessing the smile on my face was hideous. “The Sterling family’s charity… I’m just the thief who stole someone’s life for twenty years. I can’t accept it.” “ARIA!” Ethan’s scream was sharper than the sound of the shattering bowl. He lunged at me, grabbing my wrist. The warm blood quickly soaked the cuff of his crisp, white shirt. 3 “Let go of me!” “When you listened to Zoey’s lies, when you thought I was targeting her at every turn, did you feel like a worthy heir to the Sterling name?” I sneered. “And now you bring me her leftover soup, pretending to care.” “Ethan, what are you so afraid of?” “Are you afraid that if I die here, your precious, long-suffering sister will have nightmares?” “That’s not it!” Ethan’s face went deathly pale. “Believe it or not,” I said, pressing the shard a little deeper, “if I bleed out here today, the Sterling Industries’ stock price will get a big ‘surprise’ tomorrow morning.” The door opened. Kian, who must have returned at some point, walked in to this exact scene. Me, a madwoman, with a bleeding wrist and a shard of porcelain, smiling as I faced a horrified Ethan. Kian’s face was grim, his eyes analyzing me like a program on the verge of a fatal error. Ethan clutched my wrist, shouting at the bodyguards in the hall. “Get a doctor! Now!” He turned to Kian as if grabbing a lifeline. “Kian, don’t listen to her! She’s lost her mind! Ever since Zoey came back, she’s been like this, always hurting herself for attention!” Kian’s brow furrowed. He glanced at my still-bleeding wrist, his voice cold. “She… she almost jumped off a bridge earlier.” “It’s just an act!” Ethan insisted. “I know Aria. She’s terrified of death. She would never actually do it.” The flicker of doubt in Kian’s eyes vanished, replaced by a self-mocking certainty. I watched them, the two of them working in concert to define my despair as a pathetic performance, and I started to laugh. Fine. If a physical death was off the table, I would find another way home. My fingers went slack. The porcelain shard clattered to the floor. In the instant Ethan let out a sigh of relief, I moved like lightning, snatching the phone from his pocket. “Aria, what are you doing?!” I backed into a corner, my fingers flying across the screen. His passcode. It was still my birthday. How ironic. I opened a live-streaming app, ignoring their wary stares, and pointed the camera at my own pale, blood-streaked face. I quickly typed in a title: Aria Sterling’s Last Words: A Public Funeral. As I was about to press ‘Go Live,’ a name flashed in my mind. Leo Cruz. A scholarship student my mother had sponsored, now the most fearless investigative journalist in the city. Leo, if you’re watching, help me one last time. I hit the button. “Hello, everyone,” I said softly. “My name is Aria.” “Today, I’d like to perform something for you. It’s called ‘A Solo Funeral.’” Kian’s expression changed completely. He finally understood what I was doing—putting myself on trial in the court of public opinion. He lunged toward me. But I was faster. With my back against the sealed window, I held the phone high above my head. “Don’t come any closer,” I said, smiling, waving my bloody wrist in front of the camera. The smile was probably terrifying. “One more step, and I jump.” “Twenty-eighth floor. A live-streamed suicide. That should make the headlines, don’t you think?” “It would add a nice, festive touch to Zoey and Danny’s new romance, wouldn’t it, Brother?” Kian froze, his face a mask of fury. Ethan was frantic. “Aria, what do you want?!” “I want to prove something.” I turned the camera back to myself, watching the viewer count skyrocket. I spoke each word with chilling clarity. “I, Aria Sterling, adopted daughter of the Sterling family, hereby make my public last will and testament.” “Upon my death, all assets in my name—including the five percent of Sterling Industries’ original shares left to me by my parents, as well as all my jewelry and real estate…” I paused, my gaze sweeping over Ethan’s ashen face. “…will be donated, in their entirety, to the state.” “You all think I did this for money, right? Fine.” A tear escaped, but I was still smiling. “Then I’ll take the things you think I value most, and I’ll destroy them, right here, in front of everyone.” “Aria, you’re insane!” Ethan yelled. “Mom and Dad left that for you, to protect you!” “Why wouldn’t I dare?” My smile was tragic. “I’m dying anyway, aren’t I?” Just then, the door was thrown open with a violent crash. Danny Vance, my newly-a-father-to-be ex-fiancé, rushed in, looking like he’d run all the way here. He was unnervingly calm. He walked toward me, pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and held it up. A hospital diagnosis. “Severe depression with suicidal tendencies.” Danny’s voice was soft. “Aria, you’re sick.” 4 He handed the paper to Ethan and Kian. “Zoey has been worried about your mental state for a while. A doctor prepared this preliminary diagnosis as an emergency measure.” His voice was thick with self-reproach. “The doctor said your live stream, your suicide attempts… it’s all because of your illness.” “Nothing you say can be taken seriously.” A single piece of paper, a single diagnosis, and all my defiance was dismissed as the ravings of a madwoman. I thought of the time he was being trashed by the entire internet. I sold the only piece of jewelry my mother had left me and stayed up for days writing the lyrics and music for his comeback song, “Starlight.” But now, after a few tears from Zoey, who claimed she had been his silent supporter all along, he believed her. He had even accused me of stealing her work. Danny’s eyes began to redden. “Your live stream went viral.” “Zoey… she saw it. And she had a complete breakdown.” “She left a note, saying it was all her fault, and then she disappeared.” “I can’t find her, Aria.” In an instant, the gazes of Ethan and Kian were like daggers, piercing me once again. “A brilliant move,” Kian’s voice was glacial. “Forcing her hand like that.” “Aria, how could you become this person?” Ethan’s eyes were filled with disappointment. I looked at them and finally, truly, laughed. Zoey didn’t even have to be here to turn me into the evil sister who drove the kind, gentle one away. “Find her.” Danny’s eyes locked on mine, a terrifying madness swirling in their depths. “Aria, I don’t care how you do it, but you will find her and bring her back.” “Or else,” he leaned in, his voice a whisper only I could hear, “I will lock you away, break your legs, and make you spend the rest of your life watching me, begging me.” I was done playing their game. I looked up, meeting his obsessive gaze, and said calmly, “Fine.” “I’ll help you find her.” They all stared, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. I stood up, ignoring the wound on my wrist, and walked toward them. “The keys to Ethan’s car. Give them to me.” Ethan frowned. “What do you need the car for?” “To find her,” I said. “Zoey sent me a message. A picture of herself at the edge of a cliff. She said if she doesn’t hear that I’m safe within three hours, she’ll jump.” “Give me three hours.” “If I can’t find her, you can have my life.” Kian scoffed. “And why should we believe you?” “You don’t have to.” I shrugged. “You can stand here and waste time, and wait for the police to scrape Zoey off the rocks. Or, you can take a chance.” My words hit their weak spot. In the end, Ethan tossed me the keys. I turned and walked out. I settled into the driver’s seat of the black Bentley, floored the accelerator, and shot out of the parking garage. I wasn’t looking for Zoey. I knew she was probably relaxing in some five-star hotel, enjoying the show. I drove straight for the winding mountain road that led to the cliffs outside the city. Three hours. Enough time to get to the summit, and then send myself, and the car, into the ocean. This time, no one would be able to save me. I cranked up the stereo, blasting an old rock anthem about freedom. I’m going home. Dad, Mom, I’m coming home. The end of the road was the cliff’s edge. My foot pressed the accelerator to the floor. At the same time, in another car, Kian watched the red dot representing me race towards the cliff on his monitor, his eyes turning bloodshot. He activated his emergency comms, his voice a raw scream. “JAX! SHE’S GOING OVER! I’VE SENT YOU THE LOCATION! YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE CLOSE ENOUGH! WHATEVER IT TAKES, STOP HER!” Just as the car was about to launch over the guardrail— CRUNCH! A black, military-grade SUV materialized out of nowhere, slamming into the front of my car with the suicidal force of a missile.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386636”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I decided to fly across two states to surprise my online boyfriend. Instead, I got the surprise, hiding behind a plastic ficus at a loud sports bar, listening to him talk to his friends. “What good is a hot voice if she won’t even send a real picture?” he said, his voice dripping with scorn. “She’s probably a total dog.” A wave of laughter. “If that campus queen hadn’t curved me, I wouldn’t be wasting my time sliding into some rando’s DMs.” “And get this,” he continued, “on top of being ugly, she’s thirsty as hell. Demanded I send a pic to ‘verify the goods’ before we even met.” One of his friends snickered. “No way. You actually send one?” My boyfriend—Ryan—let out a smug grunt. “Yeah. But it wasn’t mine. It was Liam’s.” A collective “Whoa” went around the table. “Your roommate? The guy you said was packing, like, eight inches? For real?” “Dead serious. Why would I lie about that?” Ryan took a drag from his vape, blowing a cloud of sickly-sweet smoke toward the ceiling. “Liam’s a real one. Knew I didn’t want to send my own, so he volunteered to be my, like… my dating stand-in.” A beat of silence, then the table erupted in howling laughter. I laughed, too, a silent, bitter thing. I’d heard of stunt doubles, body doubles. A “dating stand-in” was a new one. Three minutes. That’s all I needed. Three minutes, and I was going to find out everything about this man. 1 I was a good girl. Sweet, considerate, polite. Optimistic, cheerful, a diligent student. Yeah, right. That was the character I played for my parents and their friends. The real me… I was rebellious and sharp-tongued, with a mind that ran wild. I held a grudge like it was a winning lottery ticket, and you really didn’t want to get on my bad side. And I was hungry. In every sense of the word. The summer after high school graduation was a blur of scrolling through TikTok, my thumb swiping past an endless buffet of beautiful men. Lean athletes, sunny-faced pretty boys, cold, brooding grad students—all of them liked, all of them saved to a private collection. Looking turned into wanting. Wanting turned into doing. So, I got myself a boyfriend online. Ryan. A year older, already in college. According to his profile, he was six-foot-two, with shoulders you could build a house on and abs so defined you could do laundry on them. And most importantly: eight inches. Finding a guy like that felt like winning the jackpot. I was on cloud nine. The craziest part? He went to the same university I’d just been accepted to. It felt like fate, like the universe was writing us a love story. He, of course, had no idea. I kept it a secret, planning a huge surprise for the first week of school. To maintain the mystery, I never sent him a single photo that showed my face. Just artsy shots of my hands, my shadow, the back of my head. This drove him crazy. He’d whine over the phone, his voice all pouty, saying I wasn’t being “real” with him. His hometown was just a short bus ride from mine, less than an hour away. So, after weeks of him complaining, I decided to close the distance myself. 2 To his credit, Ryan was great about giving me a sense of security. He’d check in constantly, even sending me the name of the bar where he was hanging out with his friends. It saved me the trouble of having to trick it out of him. I followed the GPS on my phone, the pulsing blue dot leading me straight to a crowded sports bar called “The Dugout.” Dozens of tables were crammed onto a sticky patio, but I spotted him instantly. He was even better-looking in person. It was the height of summer, and the air was thick and hot. A warm breeze blew across the patio, and I could feel my cheeks flush. I took a deep breath, ready to walk over. That’s when I heard it. Ryan slammed his beer mug on the table, his expression a mask of derision. “What good is a hot voice if she won’t even send a real picture? She’s probably a total dog!” My feet froze to the pavement. The blush on my cheeks evaporated, replaced by an icy chill. Then he kept going. “It’s just for fun, anyway. If the campus queen hadn’t curved me, I wouldn’t be wasting my time.” “And get this,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “on top of being ugly, she’s thirsty as hell. Demanded I send her a pic.” I bit my lip, my fists clenching at my sides. He was the one who bragged about his size, asking me if I wanted to see. Of course I said yes. Who wouldn’t? But now, in his version of the story, I was the desperate one. Amid the jeers, someone asked the question. “No way. You actually send one?” Ryan grunted, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah. But it wasn’t mine. It was Liam’s.” A chorus of “dude, no way” filled the air. “Your roommate? The guy you said was packing, like, eight inches? For real?” Ryan nodded. “Dead serious. Why would I lie?” He took another swig of beer. “Liam’s a real one. Saw I didn’t want to do it and offered to be my, uh… my dating stand-in.” The table was quiet for a second, processing this, before they all burst into roaring laughter. “I can’t even! So, this whole time, she thinks she’s talking to you, but she’s really getting off on you plus… one other thing?” Another round of hoots and hollers. Ryan’s brow furrowed. “It’s not a ‘relationship.’ It’s just messing around. She’s basically a puppy on a leash. The second the semester starts, I’m ghosting her ugly ass.” By then, the words didn’t even sting. My mind was completely consumed by the image that had landed in my DMs a week ago. An image of shocking, breathtaking perfection. What was his name again? Oh, right. Liam. 3 On the bus ride home, I started scrolling through Ryan’s Instagram. It was a monument to his own ego—a hundred photos of himself, and not a single one of anyone else. I sighed. Looks like I’d have to wait until school started to see what this Liam character actually looked like. I mourned this fact for about a second before opening TikTok to scroll through my collection of hot guys. As the bus pulled into the station, I swiped past a campus interview video. The title was “Who’s Your Campus Crush?” I wasn’t really interested and was about to scroll on. But then I heard the name: “Liam.” The automated voice announced my stop. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, turning the volume on my earbuds all the way up. I played it back three times just to be sure. I hadn’t misheard. And the university name was a match. My mind immediately flashed back to that photo… Campus crush Liam. He had a wild side, didn’t he? 4 As the start of the semester got closer, Ryan grew more and more distant. My texts would sit on “read” for days. I gritted my teeth. If I didn’t still need him for something, I would have blocked him weeks ago. That night, staring at our one-sided text history, I decided to send one last, desperate-looking sticker. This time, he replied almost instantly. “Hey, look, I don’t think this is working out. We can be friends, but I don’t think we should be… you know.” I was lying on my bed, legs crossed in the air, a sheet mask clinging to my face. I saw the message and my eyes lit up. It was finally happening! A grin spread across my face as I typed. “Why? Did I do something wrong? ” His reply was textbook. “No, don’t even think that. It’s me.” I rolled my eyes. Could he be any more cliché? After silently roasting him, I put my plan into motion. “You don’t have to spare my feelings. I know I’m not good enough for you. You deserve someone amazing. I wish you all the best.” I could practically feel his ego inflating through the phone. His guilt and vanity were at war. After a moment, he replied. “You’re a great girl, Zoe. Be more confident. Seriously, I’m the one who’s sorry.” Then, the magic words: “If there’s anything you want, just ask. I’ll make it happen.” My heart leaped. I ripped the mask off my face, sat bolt upright, and hit the call button. He picked up. I sniffled for effect, letting a little sob creep into my voice. “You really mean… anything?” “Yeah, of course,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity. “I kind of figured you weren’t super confident about your looks, and that’s okay, I don’t care about that stuff. If you want to meet up, I can drive down right now…” “Then set me up with a new boyfriend.” I cut him off. I didn’t have the patience for his self-serving monologue. He went silent. Three seconds later, he finally managed a single word: “Huh?” 5 I let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Ryan, the second I saw your pictures, I knew we could never be a real thing.” “You’re so handsome. How could a guy like you ever fall for a plain girl like me? Being your friend is more than I could ever ask for.” Whatever anger he might have been feeling instantly dissolved, replaced by a fresh wave of pity and self-satisfaction. “Zoe, don’t say that about yourself,” he said, his voice earnest. “You’re great. I… I’ll set you up with my roommate. How about that?” “He’s a good-looking guy, too. Tons of girls on campus are after him, but he turns them all down.” “I think it means he doesn’t just care about looks,” Ryan added, selling it hard. “You two should talk. Maybe you’ll hit it off.” I paused for a moment, then let out another soft sigh. “Okay… I guess I can try.” Then, as if it were an afterthought, I asked, “So, what’s his name?” “Liam. His name is Liam.” Bingo. I hid a triumphant smile, schooling my voice to sound hesitant and small. “Okay. Well, can you send me his contact? I’ll add him.” “And Ryan? Thank you.” He chuckled, sounding relieved. “Hey, what are friends for?” 6 Ten minutes later, Liam and I were connected. I immediately clicked on his profile, my heart pounding. His feed was completely blank. His profile picture was the generic default icon. It was like a brand-new account. Was Ryan messing with me? Just as the suspicion took root, a series of notifications popped up. “Hi, Zoe. I’m Liam.” “Ryan said he was introducing you to me. As a potential boyfriend.” “I’ve actually been thinking about getting into a relationship recently, so I think we could give it a try.” “But I’m worried I might not be your type. I’ll send you some photos first. You can decide if you want to move forward after you see them.” I bit my lower lip, my finger hovering over the screen. I held my breath and tapped on the first image. My pupils dilated. If a normal handsome guy made my heart flutter, Liam, even in a static photo, was enough to make me dizzy. He was breathtaking. I squealed and kicked my feet against my mattress like a teenager. Just then, a text from Ryan came through. “Hey, so Liam isn’t the easiest guy to get along with. He’s kind of cold to everyone, a total loner. Don’t get discouraged if he’s not super responsive. You gotta be proactive.” Hmm? I looked back at the new set of pictures Liam had just sent. All of them shirtless, showcasing a perfectly sculpted torso. Cold? A loner? Because from where I was sitting, if this guy was a peacock, his tail feathers were spread so wide they were about to snap. 7 I was so busy saving every single one of Liam’s pictures to my phone that I forgot to reply. He couldn’t stand the silence. “You don’t like them?” “Maybe it was a bad angle. Everyone says I look better in person. How about we meet up? I can come to you.” I raised an eyebrow. He was eager, wasn’t he? I’d read online that when you finally meet your online love in person, things can move incredibly fast. Some people even ended up in bed on the first day… I wasn’t quite ready for that. As I was lost in thought, my finger accidentally tapped open my “hidden” album. There was only one photo in it. Ahem. My face felt hot. My mouth was suddenly very dry. I poured myself a glass of ice water before typing a reply. “No, I like them. You’re very handsome.” “We don’t have to rush to meet. We’re actually going to be at the same school. I just got accepted. We’ll see each other on campus in a few days.” After I sent that, the chat went quiet for a moment. Then, my phone started vibrating. I cleared my throat before answering, pitching my voice a little higher than usual. “Hello?” A deep, lazy voice flowed through the speaker and straight into my ear. “Hey. It’s Liam.” My heart skipped a beat. I touched my burning earlobe and whispered, “I know.” “So,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Are we boyfriend and girlfriend now?” I countered with my own question. “But you don’t even know what I look like. What if I’m ugly? Will you be disappointed?” “No,” he said, without a single hesitation. My cheeks puffed out. That’s what Ryan had said, too. And look how that turned out. Sensing my silence, Liam spoke again, his voice softer this time. “Zoe, I don’t want to lie to you. The truth is… I’ve seen you before.” What? Seen me before? Where? A guy who looked like him? I would have remembered. As my mind raced, Liam continued. “The reason I was so eager to lock things down is because I know you went to his city a few days ago. I’m pretty sure you went there to see Ryan.” I was even more confused. “He didn’t even know I was there. How could you know?” There was a brief pause on his end. “Because,” he said quietly, “he’s been searching for you all over the internet.” 8 Liam sent me a link. I frowned and clicked on it. It led to an Instagram post with a slightly blurry photo. In it, I was in the back of a taxi, my forehead pressed against the cool glass, the city’s neon lights painting streaks across my face. It had a kind of lonely beauty. The caption read: “URGENT – HELP ME FIND THIS GIRL. Saw her tonight, July 7th, near The Dugout in downtown. She’s the most amazing girl I’ve ever seen. I tried to run after her taxi but couldn’t catch up. If anyone knows who this is, please help me out. I’ll be your servant for life!” Seeing that last line, I let out a snort of laughter. I glanced at my calendar. One week until move-in day. This was going to be fun.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386635”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day he found out the truth, Ashton—the man who was always cold, quiet, and impossibly composed—went out and had a beauty mark tattooed onto his face. When I went to pick him up, he greeted me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and pressed me for an answer. “Vivian, do I look like him now?” “Viv, isn’t it a perfect match?” “Vivian, have you never read a goddamn romance novel? The ones with the stand-in? Why won’t you just use me as his replacement…?” “Just use me as him… please…?” 1 It was my best friend who sent me the video of Ashton taking a woman to a hotel. I set down my paintbrush, rubbing the ache out of my neck before I finally freed up a hand to check my phone. 【Viv, baby, is this your husband?! He’s… he’s cheating?!】 I scrolled up and tapped on the first video. The man in it was unmistakably Ashton. That aura of cold, aristocratic grace was impossible to miss. He was shielding the woman beside him with an air of intimacy, the two of them moving quickly into the hotel lobby. My friend’s messages kept flooding in, one after another. I stared at the screen, a strange thought bubbling up in my mind— So, the tropes in those trashy romance novels were real after all. Paparazzi really do stalk CEOs for their sordid affairs, then leak the story. But weren’t they afraid of being blacklisted and ruined? I guess the novels don’t get everything right… I was lost in thought when I heard Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, call up from downstairs. “Mr. Thorne, you’re home! Ma’am, the mister is back.” I covered my canvas and walked to the door of my room. Ashton was indeed back. He slipped off his shoes, handed his jacket to Mrs. Gable with a slight nod, and then his eyes lifted to meet mine. I immediately plastered a bright smile on my face, but before I could even say a word, his gaze slid away. He walked past me, up the stairs, and disappeared into the bathroom in his study. Cold, as always. The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, my smile collapsed. My relationship with Ashton was… complicated. I had been the one to pursue him. He didn’t love me; in fact, you could say he despised me. People called him a block of ice that could never be thawed. He only married me because I was obedient. I never caused a scene over the women he was linked with in the tabloids, and I never interfered in his business. Two years of marriage, and aside from our physical compatibility, he knew next to nothing about me. But even so, Ashton always came home, no matter how late his business dinners ran. He never spent the night out. And though he didn’t love me, he never skimped on material things. A supplementary credit card, jewelry, designer bags—I wanted for nothing. I chalked it up to his impeccable upbringing. The sound of the shower began to fade. To avoid the inevitable awkwardness, I decided to head back to my room. Just then, Mrs. Gable brought me a bowl of soup, her face wreathed in a kind smile. “Ma’am, the mister smells strongly of alcohol. When he comes out, could you give this to him? It will help him feel better.” I glanced at the steaming bowl and offered a polite smile in return. “Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Gable.” I carried the soup into the study and had just set it on the desk when the bathroom door opened. Ashton emerged with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still dripping. Droplets of water traced paths down his chiseled chest, disappearing into the towel. His eyes were misty, the corners tinged red from the alcohol. As he looked up at me, he was the very picture of temptation. While I was sizing him up, his gaze was locked intensely on me. I scratched my head, ready to make my exit, but he spoke first, his voice a low rasp. “What’s the soup?” “Oh,” I snapped back to reality. “It’s to help with the hangover.” He began to dry his hair as he walked closer. “You made it?” I shook my head. “No, Mrs. Gable did.” His lips tightened, and he said nothing more. The silence between us stretched, thick and awkward. I swallowed hard. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to bed.” He continued to slowly rub his hair with the towel, still silent. I turned to leave. My fingers were just about to brush the doorknob when a strong arm snaked around my waist. Before I could react, the world spun. I was pinned against the desk, sending a cascade of documents fluttering to the floor. A sharp gasp escaped me, and then I felt the wet heat of Ashton’s lips on my neck. I froze for a second, then instinctively tried to push him away. “I—I haven’t showered yet…” He pressed closer, capturing my lips with his, his words muffled. “Doesn’t matter. You smell incredible.” Trapped beneath him, a tear escaped the corner of my eye, and I squeezed my eyes shut. In my mind, Ashton was almost always calm and self-possessed, his emotions locked away where no one could read them. Most people feared him. But there were times when he lost control. Like now. Dawn was breaking; I had no idea how much time had passed. I couldn’t hold back any longer and began to sob quietly against his shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot. He gripped my waist, turned me over, and whispered against my ear, his breath hot. “One last time…” In a daze, I blindly wiped at the tears on my face and cursed, “You bastard…” And through the haze, I thought I heard him let out a low, soft laugh. 2 After what felt like a long, deep sleep, I slowly became aware of a voice nearby. I forced my heavy eyelids open and saw Ashton, bare-chested, talking on the phone out on the balcony. He was usually a man of few words, his tone clipped and cool. But now, his voice was honeyed with a tenderness I’d never heard. “Okay, I’ll come see you in a little bit. You be a good girl for me, alright? Yes, that’s my good girl…” That gentle tone… I stared at his back, a familiar ache blooming in my chest. My mind felt fuzzy, and his name slipped from my lips before I could stop it. “L… Liam…” Hearing me, the figure on the balcony turned. In the soft light, I saw him clearly. It wasn’t Liam. It was Ashton. Of course, it wasn’t Liam. Liam died a long time ago. How could I forget again? Ashton glanced at me once before turning back to his call. Ignoring the soreness in my body, I slid out of bed and went into the bathroom. Ashton was never one for restraint in these matters, and every time, I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. He was still on the phone. After my shower, I went into the walk-in closet. By the time I was dressed and had put on some makeup, Ashton had finished getting ready too. I quickly tied my hair back and went downstairs to my studio to retrieve the commissioned painting I finished yesterday. Ashton usually left for work early, but today, he was still by the door, on another call. This one was about business. Carrying the large canvas, I tried to tiptoe past him, not wanting to disturb him. But just as I passed, he ended the call. His gaze landed on me with unnerving precision. “Going out?” he asked, his tone flat. I paused, then nodded. “Mhm.” He looked away, adjusting his tie. “Where to?” I gestured with the painting in my hands. “Delivering a commission.” He fiddled with his phone. “Is it far?” “A little, I guess.” Another long silence stretched between us. He spoke again. “How far is ‘a little’?” I blinked, unsure how to explain. I decided to change the subject. “Aren’t you leaving yet? You’ll be late for work.” His lips pressed into a thin line. He fell silent again. I watched the icon for my ride-share creep closer on my phone’s map. I looked up, about to say goodbye. But he spoke at the exact same moment. “How are you getting there? Do you need…” “My ride is here, I’ve got to go…” Our words collided in the air. He froze for a second, his expression instantly souring. I scratched my head. “What were you saying? Do I need what?” He ignored me, turning on his heel and getting into his own car. He slammed the door shut and sped away. He seemed angry. I shook my head, hugged the canvas tighter, and hurried into my waiting car. The client picking up the painting was a student from a nearby university. The young man was thrilled with my work, praising it effusively before ordering a mountain of desserts. “Vivian, you’re so young, I can’t believe you’re this talented! Could you teach me? I’ll pay for lessons!” I took a sip of my coffee and pushed the plate of sweets a little farther away. “I’ve been painting for many years.” The boy propped his chin on his hand, his eyes wide. “How many is ‘many’?” I was about to answer when I felt a tug on my skirt. I looked down to see a little girl with adorable pigtails staring up at me. When she saw I was looking, she stood on her tiptoes, grabbed my hand, and her voice trembled as she said, “Mommy, Mommy, are you leaving me and Daddy?” I froze. My eyes instinctively shot up, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar figure in a suit disappearing around the corner. Across the table, the student sputtered, spraying coffee everywhere. “V-Vivian, you’re married?” I managed a small smile and a nod. “Mhm.” He looked down, crestfallen. “Oh. You’d never know. You look so young…” The little girl was still tugging at my hand. “Mommy, let’s go home. Daddy misses you so much he’s been crying. He cried a lot.” I stood up, said my goodbyes to the student, and led the little girl outside. “Sweetie,” I asked, “who told you to do that?” She looked up at me. “A handsome man. He gave me five hundred dollars and told me to call you Mommy really loud in front of that other guy. He said he’d give me more if I was loud enough.” I knelt and patted her head. “You did a great job. Go on and play now.” She skipped away happily. I pulled out my phone and texted Ashton: 【Was that you?】 He replied instantly: 【I have no idea what you’re talking about.】 3 The online gossip about Ashton and the mystery woman was escalating. At first, people were shaming the woman for being a homewrecker. Now, they were mocking me for being unable to keep my man. Through it all, the internet seemed obsessed with me and her. Ashton, the one who started it all, had somehow managed to become invisible in his own scandal. I sighed, turned off my phone, and focused on my painting. Over the years, when I had commissions, I painted for clients. When I didn’t, I painted Liam. Under my brush, Liam became more and more vivid. The truth was, Ashton didn’t look that much like Liam. But there was something about the way he stood, the way he carried himself, that felt like him. The reason I agreed to marry Ashton was because the first time I looked up at him, for a fleeting moment, I thought Liam had come back for me. I gave a self-deprecating laugh just as my phone rang. I answered, and my friend’s shriek nearly deafened me. “Viv! Check the trending topics, right now! Your husband! Aaaah, he’s so hot!” I hung up, my curiosity piqued. I opened my phone and saw the number one trending topic. #AshtonThorneShattersBreakupRumorsWithLateNightPhotoOfSleepingWife,He’sSoInLove# Below it was a photo Ashton had posted in the middle of the night. A candid shot of me, asleep. It was blurry, showing only half of my face, but anyone who knew me would recognize me instantly. Ashton’s caption was a single red heart emoji. So cheesy. It looked like something an old man who just learned how to use a smartphone would post. The thought made me chuckle. My friend messaged me again: 【Baby, are you totally melting right now?】 Hearing the excitement in her voice, I snapped back to reality and replied calmly: 【The scandal was affecting Thorne Industries’ stock. It’s just a standard PR move. Anyway, I have to go, I’m on a deadline.】 After closing her chat window, I noticed that Ashton had sent me a message five minutes earlier, but he’d retracted it. Probably a mistake. I silenced my phone, tossed it aside, and immersed myself in my work. When I next looked up, the sky outside was dark. I stretched, my back aching, and picked up my phone. I saw a message from Ashton, sent six hours ago. 【Dinner tonight.】 I glanced at the time. It was already 11:30 PM. I’d only just seen it. 4 I had a strong feeling that Ashton was going to be furious. But then again, maybe not. In all the time I’d known him, he’d never really cared about me. Dinner was probably just another PR move to lend credibility to his post from earlier. I carefully typed out a reply: 【Sorry, I was working and didn’t see my phone. Still on for dinner?】 I hit send, and immediately, a red exclamation mark appeared next to my message. Ashton had blocked me. I stared at the red symbol, my mind blank. Was he throwing a tantrum? I couldn’t figure out why. But… the way Ashton acted when he was upset was so much like Liam. I clutched my phone, squeezing my eyes shut. Suddenly, the phone vibrated. Startled, my thumb slipped and tapped the red exclamation mark again. The message swirled for a moment and then, somehow, it sent. Only ten minutes had passed since I’d discovered he’d blocked me. He must have unblocked me in that time. The moment the message went through, he replied. That was one thing about Ashton—he always replied instantly. 【Come to Apex.】 Apex was the bar his friend Leo owned. I hated places like that, so in our entire marriage, I’d only been once. I took a cab. The hostess at the door recognized me and led me to a VIP room. She gave me a polite nod and left. The door was ajar. As I reached out to push it open, a sudden burst of laughter from inside made me jump. It was Leo’s voice. “Ash, man, this scandal of yours is blowing up online. You’re not even gonna explain it to Vivian? Aren’t you afraid she’ll get mad and divorce you? Want me to teach you how to smooth things over? First, you buy her a bag…” Ashton swirled the drink in his hand, a detached smile playing on his lips. “There’s no need. She won’t divorce me. And besides, I don’t care what she thinks.” Leo’s smile faltered for a second. “No way, man. You’re still hung up on Hannah?” Ashton paused, then set his glass down, his expression unreadable. “Maybe.” Leo scratched his head. “Well, I guess. First loves are hard to forget.” … Listening to their conversation, I was frozen, trapped between going in and leaving. If I walked in now, it would be excruciatingly awkward. But if I didn’t, where would I go? As I looked around, a surprised voice came from behind me. “Vivian? You’re here? Why aren’t you going in?” I tensed, gripping my purse strap, and turned to see a familiar face. “I, uh, I just got here,” I stammered. “Was just about to…” At that exact moment, the door behind me was pulled open. I woodenly turned my head and met Ashton’s calm, unruffled gaze. I forced a smile. “Ashton.” His lips moved, as if he wanted to explain something, but no words came out. He just gestured behind him. “Come in.” I took a seat one person away from him. The moment I sat down, the atmosphere in the room turned strange. They all had weird expressions, probably wondering how much I’d overheard. Finally, Leo broke the silence with a laugh. “Vivian’s here! Let’s play a game, huh? We’ll continue the one from before. Sound good, Vivian?” I smiled and nodded. “Sure.” Leo spun an empty bottle on the table. “Okay, whoever it points to has to answer three questions from one of these cards. If you can’t answer, you take three shots.” I was about to nod again when I saw the bottle grind to a halt, pointing directly at me. Leo rubbed his hands together, clearly trying to diffuse the tension between me and Ashton. He picked up a card and chuckled. “Alright, Vivian. Is the man you’re married to now your first love?” The moment he finished speaking, I could hear my own heartbeat, a frantic thumping in my ears. Should I lie? No. I shouldn’t. And I didn’t want to. After a long pause, I answered truthfully. “No.” The words hung in the air, making the room’s atmosphere even more suffocating. Leo swallowed hard and glanced at Ashton. Ashton was slumped low on the sofa, his head down, his expression hidden. He was just fiddling with a bottle opener in his hands, seemingly oblivious to what was happening. Leo scratched his head and looked back at me, pushing on with the next question. “So, uh… have you forgotten your first love?” I blinked. My first love. Liam. The best, kindest person in the entire world. The boy who was my brother, but not by blood. The one who loved me more than anyone. The childhood friend who, after a few drinks, had shyly asked if I would be his girlfriend. The hero who gave his life to save mine. “Hey, little sprout. I’m your big brother.” “Don’t be scared, Viv. I’ll protect you.” “Viv… I’m so sorry. There were still things I wanted to tell you…” Forget him? I would never forget him, not in this lifetime. My eyelashes fluttered. I looked down at the colorful array of drinks on the table. After a long moment, a small smile touched my lips. “I’ll take the three shots.” As my words fell, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Then, a sharp clatter. The bottle opener had fallen from Ashton’s hand. 5 I downed the three shots, one after another. I set the empty glass down, stood up, and said my goodbyes. “Sorry, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head out. You all have fun.” I grabbed my bag and left quickly. By the time I got back to my studio, it was three in the morning. Mrs. Gable had texted me an hour ago, telling me Ashton was home and asking where I was. I replied that I wasn’t coming back, then turned off my phone. I kicked off my shoes and curled up in the wicker chair by the window, my eyelids heavy. As the alcohol began to take hold, I thought I saw Liam push the door open and walk in. He leaned down and draped a coat over me, his voice gentle but chiding. “Viv, didn’t you promise me you wouldn’t fall asleep in chairs anymore? What if you catch a cold? You hate taking medicine…” I clung to that fleeting moment of warmth, grabbing his hand, my voice thick with tears. “What if I do fall asleep in the chair?” Liam bent lower, his cheek brushing against mine. “What can I do?” he said, his voice full of affection. “I could never stay mad at you. I’d just have to come and carry you to bed.” I was laughing and crying at the same time. “Every time?” “Of course,” he said without hesitation. I let go of his hand and closed my eyes, the tears flowing freely now. You liar, Liam. You never came. Not once. You’re never coming back. 6 When I opened my eyes again, the sun was already bright. I moved my stiff neck, my head throbbing. I reached up and felt my forehead. I had a fever. The studio was just a place for me to paint. There was no food, and definitely no medicine. I threw on my coat and, with my head spinning, called a car to take me home. When I pushed open the front door, I saw Mrs. Gable standing anxiously outside my studio. As I bent down to change my shoes, I noticed Ashton’s were still on the rack. Next to it was a toppled-over gift bag, something that looked like a purse inside. Strange. Why wasn’t Ashton at work yet? Seeing me, Mrs. Gable hurried over, gesturing toward the studio and whispering, “The mister seems to be in a very bad mood. He’s been in there all night. He hasn’t eaten or drunk anything, and he won’t say a word.” “He’s been in my studio all night?” Mrs. Gable nodded. A sense of unease crept over me. I left one shoe half on and rushed into the studio. The room was a disaster. Canvases and sketches of Liam were scattered all over the floor. Ashton was sitting in the chair behind my desk, his face a mask of indifference. In his left hand, he held the photo of Liam I kept in my drawer. In his right, he held a lighter, flicking it on and off, on and off. He saw me burst in and swiveled the chair to face me. A cold, mocking smile twisted his lips. “Vivian,” he sneered, “this must be him, right? Your first love. You chased me, you married me… all because I look like him. Is that it?” My throat was dry. I instinctively called his name. “Ashton…” He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Did you get the name right? Is it my name you wanted to say? When you look at me, do you see me, or do you see him? When we’re in bed, are you pretending I’m him?” My lips clamped shut. I watched the lighter’s flame dance, again and again, coming dangerously close to the photograph. My heart felt like it was about to stop. “Ashton, put the photo down.” He lifted his eyelids, his dark, bottomless eyes boring into me. Not only did he not put it down, he brought the flame even closer. “So, Vivian, you can get flustered. But maybe you don’t know the kind of person I am. I, Ashton Thorne, will never be anyone’s substitute. I’d rather die.” I watched in horror as the lighter’s flame licked the corner of the photograph. A sharp pain shot through my chest. I lunged forward, snatching the photo from his hand and smothering the small flame with my bare palm without a second thought. The smell of burning flesh quickly filled the small studio. Ashton’s brow twitched. For the first time, he looked panicked. He shot to his feet, grabbed my wrist, his own brows knitted in a tight knot. “Mrs. Gable, bring the first-aid kit—” Before he could finish, I swung my free hand and slapped him hard across the face. Ashton froze, his head jerked to the side. He looked stunned, almost pathetic. I seized the opportunity to wrench my hand free, clutching the photograph of Liam to my chest as if it were my lifeline. I pointed a trembling finger at the door and shrieked, “Get out! Get the hell out of my house!” 7 It was dark by the time I finally emerged from the studio. I touched my forehead; the fever had broken. I hadn’t eaten all day, but I didn’t feel hungry. The living room was dark, save for the pale light from the streetlamps filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough. I gently closed the studio door behind me. From the darkness, Ashton’s voice, flat and devoid of emotion, cut through the silence. “Vivian, let’s get a divorce.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386634”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A single bottle of hair mask. That’s all it took for one of my student’s parents to lose her mind. “Are you trying to marry into money, Ms. Lister?” I stared at her message, completely baffled. Her tone dripped with contempt. “My husband just posted photos of his new car last night, and what a coincidence, I run into you buying a fancy hair mask at the store today.” “But let me tell you, the gap between us isn’t something you can close with a single bottle of conditioner.” “If you don’t cut all that hair off, I’m reporting you to the Board of Education. I’ll tell them you’re seducing my husband and get you fired.” I read the message, took a screenshot of the entire conversation, and immediately posted it in the parent-teacher group chat, tagging everyone. “Just a PSA for everyone: Be careful buying hair masks. People might accuse you of being a gold digger.” 1 Leo Carr was the wealthiest kid in my kindergarten class. His mother, Sandra, dropped him off and picked him up every day in a different luxury car. His backpack was a new designer model every week. The amusement park that other kids only got to visit for their birthdays was a weekly weekend trip for their family. But perhaps all that money had made his mother incredibly particular. In less than a month since school started, she had summoned me for meetings multiple times. The first time, she complained that the school’s stainless-steel lunch trays weren’t “refined” enough and demanded we switch to ceramic. I explained, “We use stainless steel because the children are still very young, and it prevents injuries from broken plates.” “If you’d prefer, you’re welcome to pack Leo’s lunch in a separate container from home.” Sandra was instantly displeased. “As a school, providing for the children’s daily needs is your responsibility. Why should the parents have to spend extra money?” She made a scene, but in the end, the school didn’t give in. The second time, she complained that the single air conditioning unit in the classroom wasn’t enough and demanded we install more. I politely refused. “The school’s budget is limited. If we only upgrade this classroom, it will cause complaints from other parents. However, if you would be willing to fund the purchase yourself, we can certainly arrange for installation.” Sandra went silent. The third time, she complained that the toilets were old-fashioned and demanded they all be replaced with modern, automatic-flush models. I had grown accustomed to her unreasonable demands. “That can be arranged,” I said calmly, “but you would need to cover the costs yourself.” … Perhaps because she kept hitting a wall, Sandra finally quieted down for a while. But it didn’t last long. That evening, I had just stepped out of the shower. I unlocked my phone to find over a dozen missed calls and messages. They were all from Sandra. I towel-dried my hair with one hand and typed with the other: “Mrs. Carr, is there a problem? I see your messages.” An audio message popped up instantly. 【Ms. Lister, why did it take you so long to reply? The school day is over. What could you possibly be so busy with?】 I frowned, a flicker of annoyance rising in me. My time after work was my own. But I pushed the feeling down, thinking something might have happened to Leo. I typed back patiently: 【I was in the shower, so I couldn’t get to my phone right away.】 Unexpectedly, Sandra sent another long audio message. 【I messaged you at 7:00. It’s 7:40 now. Almost an hour. Does it really take you that long to shower?】 I was completely dumbfounded. Her tone was hostile, and I couldn’t understand why she was so angry. But assuming it was something urgent, I continued to explain. 【A shower doesn’t usually take that long, but I washed my hair tonight. It’s quite long, so it takes a bit more time.】 Sandra went quiet. I waited for a long time, but nothing came. I finally picked up my hair dryer. Just then, my phone chimed again. It was Sandra. This time, she’d sent a picture. I tapped on it. It was a photo of me, in a supermarket aisle, looking at hair masks. Sandra: 【Ms. Lister, don’t you think you owe me an explanation?】 I stared at the photo, trying to figure out what she could possibly want me to explain. Finally, I just wrote back: 【I’m sorry, Mrs. Carr, but I don’t understand what you mean. And I have to ask why you were taking pictures of me without my knowledge.】 Sandra shot back: 【I’m asking you, why were you buying a hair mask?】 This was getting bizarre. What business was it of hers what I bought? But I wanted to clear up this misunderstanding and get some rest, so I answered honestly. 【Because I ran out of the one I had at home.】 Her next audio message was practically a shriek: 【Ms. Lister, do you take me for a fool?!】 Me: ??? I frowned. 【Mrs. Carr, I really don’t understand what you’re implying.】 Sandra: 【Fine, Ms. Lister. Since you want to play dumb, I’ll spell it out for you. Why are you trying to seduce my husband?】 【So young and already scheming to sleep with your student’s father. Have you no shame?】 【Do you even deserve to be a teacher?!】 A hot rush of anger surged through me. I had never even had a proper conversation with Leo’s father. Where did she get off accusing me of seducing him? My fingers trembled as I typed. 【Mrs. Carr, I suggest you watch your words. I have had no contact with Leo’s father. There is no ‘seduction.’】 Her reply was shrill. 【Still playing innocent? Then how do you explain the hair mask?】 I truly could not see the connection. 【What does one have to do with the other?】 I typed. 【Everything.】 Sandra replied. 【Haven’t you seen the shows lately? The scheming woman who uses her beautiful hair to trap a rich man.】 【You always seemed so simple and plain before. I actually thought you were a decent girl.】 【But the moment my husband posts about his new car, I find you in the store, spending ages picking out a hair mask.】 【I have a witness and evidence. What more is there to say?】 I actually laughed out loud. She’d been watching too much TV. I took a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down before replying. 【Mrs. Carr, you’re overthinking this. I bought a hair mask because my old one was empty. If you don’t believe me, I can send you a picture of the empty bottle.】 It was absurd, but I just wanted it to be over. I walked into my bathroom and snapped a picture of the empty plastic bottle in the trash can. In case she still didn’t believe me, I added an explanation. 【Mrs. Carr, for the record, I have all parents’ social media feeds muted. 【I have 46 children in my class, and I teach two groups, so I’m connected with over ninety parents. If I didn’t set restrictions, it would be impossible to separate my personal life from my work.】 【So, I had absolutely no idea that Leo’s father posted about a new car.】 The next second, my phone started ringing. It was Sandra. 2 I answered the call. Sandra’s sharp, furious voice erupted from the other end. “Ms. Lister, what is the meaning of this? How dare you post our conversation in the group chat?!” I put the phone on speaker, set it on the table, and calmly continued drying my hair. “It means nothing,” I replied coolly. “I just thought your imagination was impressive, Mrs. Carr. I figured everyone could learn something from your unique perspective.” “I’ll have you know I’m calling the Board of Education right now to file a complaint against you!” Her voice was distorted with rage, grating on the ear. “Go right ahead,” I said, my tone even. “In fact, I’d love for the board members to weigh in on this.” “Let’s see what law a rule-abiding kindergarten teacher breaks by purchasing a bottle of hair mask.” “Let’s see if from now on, all female teachers will be forbidden from taking care of their hair, lest they be accused of trying to seduce a student’s father.” “You…” Sandra was so choked with anger she couldn’t speak. All I could hear was her heavy, ragged breathing. I was done wasting my breath on her. I hung up. The sudden silence was a relief. But I knew this wasn’t over. I opened the parents’ group chat, which was already flooded with over 99 new messages. As expected, it had exploded. The first to react were some of the more active mothers. 【Lily’s Mom: Oh my god, what is going on? Buying a hair mask = seducing a parent? My brain can’t even process that logic.】 【Ben’s Mom: LMAO, I just bought two giant tubs of hair mask last week. Am I going to get fired too? @Ms. Lister】 【Chloe’s Dad: Those soap operas are a menace to society.】 Of course, there were a few trying to smooth things over. 【Max’s Grandma: Oh dear, this must be some kind of misunderstanding. I’m sure Mrs. Carr was just joking.】 【Sam’s Mom: Yeah, exactly! Ms. Lister, don’t take it to heart. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.】 I read the messages and scoffed. A joke? Was that a joke? Accusing me of being shameless, of trying to steal her husband. I wasn’t that forgiving. I was about to reply when a new message popped up. It was from Leo’s father, Chris Carr. He tagged me in the group. 【@Ms. Lister, I am so sorry. My wife has been binge-watching some ridiculous TV shows lately and isn’t thinking straight. I apologize for the trouble she’s caused you.】 Then, he tagged Sandra. 【@Sandra Carr, apologize to Ms. Lister right now! What is all this nonsense you’re spouting!】 The group chat fell silent. Everyone was waiting for Sandra’s response. After about two minutes, she finally appeared. But it wasn’t an apology. It was an audio message, her voice sharp and piercing. 【Chris Carr, what is your problem? You’re taking her side against me? She’s publicly humiliating me and you’re telling me to apologize? Are you interested in her too?!】 A dead silence fell over the group chat. I could feel the secondhand embarrassment radiating through the screen. This was no longer a simple misunderstanding; this was a public airing of their marital problems. Chris didn’t reply again. He was probably either furious or deeply embarrassed. Sandra, however, seemed to have found a new target. She started spamming the chat, tagging Chris over and over, her messages growing increasingly nasty. I quietly exited the chat. This was a mess I wanted no part of. I finished drying my hair, put on a face mask, and went to bed. The world could be ending, but it would have to wait until I’d had my sleep. The next morning, the moment I arrived at the kindergarten, the principal called me into her office. Her name was Mrs. Davison, a kind woman in her fifties who always looked out for the younger teachers. “Leah, come in, sit down.” She poured me a glass of water. “I heard about what happened last night.” I nodded, waiting for her to continue. “Sandra Carr called me first thing this morning. She’s threatening to file a formal complaint and demanding you give her a ‘satisfactory resolution.’” Mrs. Davison sighed, a look of weary frustration on her face. “She said that if you don’t cut your hair short and post a public apology in the group chat, she’s going to the Board of Education and the local news to drag our school’s name through the mud.” I almost laughed. Cut my hair? Who did she think she was? The Queen? “Mrs. Davison, I will not apologize, and I am certainly not cutting my hair,” I said, my voice firm as I met her gaze. “I have done nothing wrong. If I give in to such a ridiculous demand, what kind of authority will I have left in my classroom?” “What will the other parents think? What will the children think?” “They’ll learn that teachers can be bullied, that any parent’s unreasonable demand must be met.” Mrs. Davison nodded in agreement. “You’re right. That’s exactly my thinking as well.” She patted my hand reassuringly. “Don’t you worry. The school is behind you on this. I will handle Sandra Carr.” “You just focus on your class. Don’t let this affect your mood or your work.” With the principal’s support, a weight lifted from my shoulders. I went back to my classroom as the children began to arrive. Leo was there, dropped off by his nanny. He seemed withdrawn and sad, his eyes red and puffy as if he’d been crying. I sighed internally. When adults fight, it’s always the children who are the most innocent victims. I walked over and gently stroked his hair. “Good morning, Leo.” He looked up at me and mumbled, “Morning, Ms. Lister,” before looking back down at the floor. Throughout the day, Leo was much quieter than usual. He didn’t play with the other children or say much at all. I was worried. During nap time, I called him over to sit with me. “Leo, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sad?” He shook his head, silent. “Is it because Mommy and Daddy had a fight?” I asked gently. His eyes immediately welled up, and big, fat tears started rolling down his cheeks. “Mommy… Mommy smashed Daddy’s computer,” he sobbed. “And she said… she said it was all because of Ms. Lister.” My heart sank. Sandra was taking her anger toward me out on her family. I pulled Leo into a hug, patting his back softly. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s not your fault, and it’s not the teacher’s fault.” “Grown-up problems are complicated, but your mommy and daddy both love you very much.” I didn’t know how else to explain it to a five-year-old. I just did my best to comfort him. When it was time to go home, Sandra arrived. She wore a pair of enormous sunglasses that hid half her face, and her expression was grim. She ignored me completely, walked straight to Leo, and yanked his hand, pulling him toward the door so forcefully he stumbled. “Mrs. Carr, please be gentle with him,” I couldn’t help but say. Sandra whipped her head around, her eyes glaring at me from behind the dark lenses. “Well, aren’t you concerned about my son, Ms. Lister,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “One might almost think you were trying to be his new stepmother.” Other parents were still in the hallway, and her words made all of them turn and stare. I was shaking with rage. “Mrs. Carr, that is completely inappropriate!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386633”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 To pay for my boyfriend’s heart condition, I scrimped and saved, refusing to even buy medicine when I was sick. I worked eight different jobs a day, pushing myself to the point of collapse. To get the money for his treatments, I signed up for a “Gold Rush” event at the local mall. I crawled on my hands and knees like a feral dog, desperate to find the tiny gold-painted rice grains that could be exchanged for cash—cash that could save his life. It wasn’t until I went with a staff member to cash in my findings that everything fell apart. Through a thin partition wall, I heard a reporter interviewing my boyfriend. “Mr. Hatton, you spent three million dollars on this event just to see Miss Vance smile. Your love for her is truly something to be envied.” “That amount of money is nothing,” a familiar voice replied. “If it makes Sierra laugh, then these peasants have served their purpose.” I clutched the three thousand dollars I had just received for my golden rice, the irony a bitter pill in my throat. … My boyfriend, Thomas Hatton, was a broke kid with a congenital heart condition who couldn’t even scrounge up three hundred dollars. So when I heard that voice, my first thought was that it couldn’t be him. He couldn’t afford three hundred, let alone three million for some publicity stunt. Besides, he was in the hospital, recovering from a heart episode. It had to be a coincidence. Someone who sounded like him, who also had the last name Hatton. But the next sound I heard shattered my last sliver of hope—a woman’s flirtatious giggle from the other side of the wall. “Thomas, they look like little dogs crawling on the floor! It’s hysterical! Especially that one who looks like your girlfriend, Kate. She’s really going for it. Is she that desperate for money?” I heard Thomas’s breath catch. He was staring intently at a monitor. Then, his fingers tapped on his phone. A second later, my own phone buzzed. [Baby, where are you? If you’re tired, take a break. Don’t push yourself too hard.] A bitter laugh escaped me. My hand trembled so badly I could barely hold the phone. [Don’t worry, I’m resting now. I found a really generous employer today. Made a full three thousand.] He sent back a kissing emoji. [That’s my girl. Three thousand will cover my hospital room for another few days.] Hilarious. My lips stretched into a grotesque smile as tears streamed down my face like broken pearls. Once he was sure the woman on the monitor wasn’t me, Thomas relaxed. He scoffed. “Crawling on the ground like that… she looks like a dog begging its master for a bone.” The room erupted in laughter. “Look at the way her ass is sticking up! Isn’t it just like a dog wagging its tail?” “People like that would do anything for money. If you told her to lick your shoes, she’d do it without a second thought.” “Mr. Hatton’s shoes are custom-made! They’re worth millions! Letting a peasant like her lick them would be an honor!” On my side of the wall, I stared in shame at my big toe, peeking through a hole in my worn-out shoe. In that moment, my pride shattered into a million pieces. I took the money and turned to leave. But I ran straight into Thomas. He saw me, and for a split second, panic flashed in his eyes. His gaze dropped to my tattered work uniform, and a flicker of disgust crossed his face. Then, he barked at the security guard. “How did a participant get in here? What are you people paid for?!” The staff member with me quickly explained, “This participant needed to cash in her winnings for a medical bill. I’m sorry, Mr. Hatton. We’ll leave immediately.” I stared at Thomas, my mind reeling. He was dressed in a bespoke suit, looking every bit the arrogant, wealthy heir. There was no sign of sickness. The fabric of his suit was exquisite, some parts even threaded with gold. I could probably never pan that much gold in my entire lifetime. My throat was raw. I couldn’t tell if I was trembling or just unable to speak. “Thomas, are you going to pretend you don’t know me?” Before Thomas could answer, the people who had been mocking me just moments before went pale. “Is this the girlfriend? But… her clothes…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but everyone in the room knew what he meant. I was sallow, my skin loose from exhaustion, dressed in rags. I had just been crawling on the ground like an animal. I looked like I was on the brink of starvation. How could I possibly be Thomas Hatton’s girlfriend? Thomas’s face darkened, a vein throbbing in his arm. His eyes were cold as he looked at me, as if my very presence was a source of deep embarrassment. The woman next to him, Sierra, let out a dramatic yawn. “Trying to get Thomas’s attention again? Honestly, I’m so tired of these desperate tactics…” Thomas seemed to finally find his voice, a way out. He stepped around me without a second glance. “That’s a really pathetic way to get a guy’s attention.” The bitterness in my mouth was overwhelming. My mind flashed back to college. My freshman year, I was hazed by the student council and forced to run five miles. I refused and stood up to them. They retaliated by dumping a bucket of toilet water on me. They made me stand in the blazing sun for two hours until I finally collapsed. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Thomas, scooping me up and rushing me to the infirmary. He told me the defiance in my eyes shone like a star. From that day on, he always stood in front of me, protecting me. He didn’t care if he offended the rich kids, if he got punished or bullied for it. He didn’t care if I was covered in filth. His love for me had felt so real, so genuine. It’s why I stayed with him, even after I learned about his heart condition. The man from my memories and the man standing before me now were two different people. I don’t know where the courage came from, but I lunged forward and grabbed his arm. White fingerprints appeared on the expensive fabric of his suit. His brow furrowed with annoyance. “You probably couldn’t afford to replace this even if you sold yourself…” “If you’re not sick, and you’re not poor,” I interrupted, “can you… can you give me my money back?” Because I am sick… With a single look from Thomas, the others in the room discreetly filed out. “I pretended to be poor and sick to test you,” he said, his voice cold. “To see if you were like all the other gold-digging women, only after my money.” “And it looks like you’re all the same.” I didn’t argue. I just looked at him and repeated, “Can you… give me my money back?” Thomas yanked his arm away with such force that I stumbled and fell to the ground. “You stained my suit, and you have the audacity to ask me for money?” He saw the tears welling in my eyes, and his tone softened slightly. “Don’t work for the next few days. Just rest. I’ve scheduled some appointments with a few stylists to give you a makeover.” “Until the makeover is done, let’s just pretend we don’t know each other, okay?” It was as if I hadn’t heard him. I enunciated each word, my voice flat. “Give. Me. My. Money. Back.” His patience wore thin. Thomas’s eyes darkened, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “If you just behave, I’ll give you as much money as you want.” He looked as if he was making a great sacrifice. “Even if you were only with me for my money, fine! I’ll accept it!” I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall. “Thomas, let’s break up.” He smirked, a look of “I knew it” on his face. “Afraid I’ll think you’re a gold digger, so you’re preemptively breaking up with me?” “You found out who I am and deliberately joined this event.” “Even the way you were sticking your ass in the air… you did that for us to see, didn’t you?” I stared at him in disbelief. I had never known he could be so irrational. “Thomas, how did I never realize how disgusting you are?” “If you hadn’t pretended to be sick, would I have had to work myself to death?” “My life would be better without you.” He scoffed. “Still acting?” “Without me, do you think you would have graduated from college?” “Without me, do you think you would have landed a job at a Fortune 500 company right after graduation?” “You’re nothing without me!” I turned away, done with him. His confident voice followed me. “You’ll be back. I give you a week.” The next few days were a nightmare. First, all my part-time jobs suddenly “no longer needed” me. Then, my full-time job at the corporation fired me, offering a generous severance package just to get rid of me. The moment the money hit my account, long-lost relatives appeared out of nowhere, claiming my parents had owed them money. After everything, all I had left was the three thousand dollars from the Gold Rush. My chest ached. It was hard to breathe. Three years of sleeping only five hours a night had taken its toll. My body was shutting down. After buying the medicine I desperately needed, I didn’t even have enough left for rent. Every company I applied to rejected me the moment they heard my name, Kate. Just when I thought all hope was lost, I got a call for a one-day gig. When I arrived, I found that my employer was Sierra Vance. She poured a bucket of water on the floor and ordered me to clean it up on my hands and knees. One of her servants used a thin rod to poke at me while I was bent over. “Ugh, you stink,” Sierra said with a theatrical grimace. Then she kicked me into the swimming pool and watched me struggle to stay afloat. She threw banknotes at me, which stuck to my now see-through clothes. When I didn’t react, she seemed to get bored. “Have you no dignity?” I gathered the money, carefully tucking it away. “Dignity is a luxury for the rich,” I said. “You wouldn’t understand.” She smiled slyly. “And this? Does this mean nothing to you?” I stared in shock at the necklace in her hand. It was the only thing I had left from my mother. I had given it to Thomas on his birthday. Something inside me snapped. I lunged at her, but a strong arm caught me. Thomas held me back easily, looking at me like I was a misbehaving pet. “Sierra has a heart condition. Go easy on her.” “How much is the necklace? I’ll buy it from her for you.” How much was my cheap, pathetic love worth? The thought was so ridiculous, I started to laugh. “Thomas, you promised me forever. That’s why I gave you the necklace.” “To me, it’s not just a memento from my mother. It was her blessing.” “It’s priceless. Do you understand?” Thomas looked at me, confused. “If you don’t want money, that’s fine. I’ll take you to a jewelry store. You can pick out whatever you want.” A wave of helplessness washed over me. How had I never realized he was completely incapable of understanding anything? As he watched in shock, I slowly sank to my knees. “Miss Vance, please. Give me back my necklace.” A cruel smile played on Sierra’s lips. “Thomas gave it to me. I can do whatever I want with it.” She tossed the necklace to her pet dog. The dog’s sharp teeth snapped down on the delicate chain, breaking it in two. Shattered. Just like my heart. I flew into a rage, scrambling on the ground with the dog, fighting for the broken pieces of the necklace. Thomas was startled, but his body instinctively moved to shield Sierra. My hands were bleeding, but I clutched the pieces of the necklace to my chest. I was crying with joy. A flicker of pity crossed Thomas’s eyes, but he didn’t help me up. He just frowned. “I didn’t expect that to happen. I’ll have someone transfer you some money.” In his world, there was nothing money couldn’t fix. I was done being a rich man’s toy. I looked at him, my eyes clear. “Thomas, as long as you use money to measure a person’s worth, you will never find real love.” I turned and walked away. The moment his money transfer came through, I bought the first bus ticket out of the state. I was never coming back to this city. After Kate left, Thomas stood frozen. Her words echoed in his mind, unsettling him. Her hands were still bleeding, her face was deathly pale. Yet, she had walked away with such finality, her back so straight. It reminded him of how she had stood under the blazing sun in college for two hours, refusing to bow her head. He had thought back then, if she wasn’t after his money, he would find a way to be with her forever. How could he be sure if a person was truly a gold digger? He had asked his assistant. Pretend to be poor, pretend to be sick, the assistant had advised. So he pretended to be poor. Kate hadn’t been disgusted at all. In fact, she had spent her scholarship money to buy him fruit. Then he pretended to be sick. Kate had worked eight jobs a day and had never once considered leaving him. But Sierra had told him that women like that were cunning. She probably knew his identity all along and was just putting on a show for him. He decided to continue testing her. His family’s empire was vast; he had to choose its future mistress carefully. But Kate was too stupid. She didn’t understand his intentions. He pretended not to know her to protect her from being looked down upon. All his tests were to build a foundation of trust for their future. Why couldn’t she understand? It didn’t matter. When she ran out of money, she would come back. He refused to believe that someone who would trade her dignity for money could resist the temptation he offered. But for some reason, a heavy feeling settled in his chest, and it annoyed him. Thomas called his assistant. “Notify all the Gold Rush participants. We’re holding a follow-up interview. Everyone who attends gets another fifty thousand.” He didn’t believe Kate could resist that. I used the money Thomas gave me to create a fake death certificate. To make it more believable, I even bought a burial plot. I changed my identity, my phone number, everything. After leaving the city, I returned to my hometown. It was a small, underdeveloped town with poor transportation. But there was no Hatton Industries here, and no one would pretend to be poor to test me. I found a job and rented a small house with a garden. I wasn’t making a lot of money, but life was peaceful. I spent my days gardening and cooking. It was a quiet, contented existence. One day, while scrolling through my phone, I saw Thomas on the news. He was known for his extravagance, and he was offering fifty thousand dollars to each Gold Rush participant who came for an interview. People flocked to the event. But Thomas seemed distracted, his eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for someone. When he couldn’t find who he was looking for, his expression soured. He waved his hand and increased the offer to one hundred thousand. But no matter how long he waited, the person he was looking for never showed up. On the live broadcast, Thomas’s face was cold as he asked, “Where is the participant who collected the most golden rice?” A staff member, avoiding his gaze, stammered, “Her phone has been disconnected. We can’t reach her…” Thomas finally lost his composure. He opened his contacts, his finger hovering over a certain number. After a long moment, he pressed it. The call connected to a cold, automated voice. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service…” The impatience in his eyes intensified. Thomas’s grip on his phone tightened, the veins in his hand bulging. “Disconnected her number? Fine.” “Find her. I don’t care how much it costs. Turn this entire city upside down, but find her!” Thomas’s men searched for seven days before they found a lead at a hospital. Kate had been there two weeks ago. She had been diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer and didn’t have long to live. Two weeks ago. The day I broke up with him. Thomas clutched the report, a cold smile on his face. To make him regret it, Kate would go this far. She worked eight jobs a day without any problems. How could she have stomach cancer? But then, his men found a gravestone with Kate’s name on it in a cemetery. Thomas’s composure finally shattered. He rushed to the hospital, demanding to speak to the doctor. The doctor explained that Kate’s cancer was caused by prolonged malnutrition, an irregular diet, excessive fatigue, and a compromised immune system. He suddenly remembered a day when Kate had told him her stomach hurt. He had dismissed it, telling her to hurry up and get back to work. He had killed her. Thomas finally broke. They say that day, he went to the cemetery and started digging at her grave with his bare hands. He was going to unearth her body and rebury her in the Hatton family plot. Even in death, he said, she would be with him. His men tried to reason with him, to tell him to let her rest in peace.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386632”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Someone was blowing up the Crestwood University group chat with questions in the middle of the night. I sent a quick message reminding him to check the time. A second later, a friend request popped up. The moment I accepted, the bombardment began. [Hey, is that you in your profile pic? Do you always dress that sexy on campus?] [I’m starting at Crestwood soon. If I see you around, how am I supposed to focus on my studies? You’re going to be a major distraction.] I found his string of questions deeply offensive and chose to ignore him. But I never imagined he would take a screenshot and post it on his own social media feed. When I warned him to delete it, he just scoffed. [Everyone in the comments agrees with me. As a future classmate, I’m advising you to focus on your schoolwork instead of trying to sleep your way to the top!] His words made me laugh. Because at that very moment, his application for the student hardship fund was sitting in my email inbox. … My phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. The verbal assault from him showed no signs of letting up. [You girls are always hiding behind ‘freedom of dress.’ You think we can’t see what you’re really after? Take my advice and turn back before you go too far down that slutty path!] [Is that a Chanel bag? Heh, it’s so easy for women like you to make a quick buck. Just spread your legs and you get everything you want.] [Don’t think I don’t know what your type comes to university for—to hook a rich guy, right? This campus is a place of learning. It won’t be tainted by trash like you!] The messages popped up one after another, each one a sledgehammer to my sense of decency. The profile picture was, in fact, me. A candid shot my best friend, Lily, took during our college days. I was wearing a black slip dress, a bright smile on my face. But in his mouth, the photo was twisted into something as sordid as a nude. Fighting the urge to gag, I muted his notifications. The next day, I went to Crestwood University to meet Lily, as planned. Walking down the tree-lined path, I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on my back, but every time I turned around, I saw nothing. That evening, I remembered the creep on my phone and was about to delete him when another message arrived. This time, it was a screenshot from an online forum. The psycho hadn’t just stolen all the photos from my social media; he’d also included a candid shot of me and Lily from our shopping trip the day before. The caption was vile. [Check her out, guys. That chest, that waist, that ass… classic gold-digger material. If you know, you know!] [Playing all high-and-mighty in the group chat at midnight, just trying to get my attention. Stop pretending to be some innocent little virgin!] [Too bad I’m not some bald old rich guy. Guess I’m not good enough for Her Highness!] The comments below the post were even more disgusting. [I’d give up ten years of my life for a body like that!] [Damn, another cheap whore sleeping her way to the top!] [Dude, go conquer her! Show those old geezers what a real man is!] I suppressed my rage and sent a warning. [Listen, what you’re doing—slander, defamation, and stalking—is enough to land you in jail. Delete it all and apologize. Now.] It was as if he’d been waiting for me. He replied instantly. [Aww, did I touch a nerve? Which part of what I said was wrong?] [You dress like that on campus, aren’t you just putting a price tag on yourself, begging for a sugar daddy?] [I’m doing you a favor. Don’t be ungrateful!] I knew there was no point in reasoning with scum like him. I simply screenshotted the entire chat log and the forum post, saving everything. Just as I finished, a new email notification appeared. I opened it. It was the list of this year’s applicants for Crestwood’s hardship fund. As I scrolled through the first few applications, a familiar name caught my eye—Dylan Thorne. It was an exact match for the creep’s user ID. I clicked on his social media profile. It was filled with nine-panel grids of his selfies, the captions cringeworthy. [What’s it like waking up this handsome every day?] [If a rich cougar wanted to throw money at me for my looks, would you guys be jealous?] [Today’s motivation: Don’t underestimate a guy when he’s broke! Just watch, I’ll have the rich girls chasing me tomorrow.] Fighting back my nausea, I carefully compared his social media photos with the ID picture on his application. Even with all the filters, those distinctive narrow eyes and acne scars were unmistakable. It was the same person. 2 I started reading his financial aid application more carefully. [Name: Dylan Thorne.] [Personal Strengths: Enthusiastic, outgoing, my morals are as good as my looks, sociable, polite, knows how to respect others…] I couldn’t help but snort with laughter when I read the “personal strengths” section. The self-proclaimed virtues were a perfect, ironic contrast to the filth he spewed online. I read on. He briefly described his family situation. Both parents were disabled and lived on government assistance. His entire university education was funded by student loans and financial aid. At the end of the document, there was an officially stamped proof of hardship. For a moment, I felt a swirl of conflicting emotions. His family’s situation did give me a moment’s pause. This grant was undoubtedly crucial for him. If I exposed this at Crestwood, he wouldn’t get a cent from any sponsor. He might even get expelled. I gathered all the evidence and compiled it into an email. My eyes fell on the photo attached to his file, the one showing his gray-haired, disabled parents. My finger hovered over the send button. But in the end, I pulled it away. The next day, I met Lily for lunch. Lily and I had been classmates, and after graduation, she’d taken a position at our alma mater, Crestwood. Over our meal, I casually told her about Dylan. Lily was shocked. She pulled up the student directory, then a class photo. “Is it this guy?” I nodded. “A student with such rotten character is a disgrace to Crestwood! I have to report this to the Dean’s office. We need to get him off the financial aid list immediately!” I stopped her. “Wait.” She looked at me, bewildered. “You’re just going to let this go? You’re not even going to teach him a lesson?” I clenched my fist. “I just feel like it wasn’t easy for his parents to raise a university student. Let’s handle it privately. If he apologizes, we can just leave it at that.” Lily shook her head, smiling at my soft-heartedness, and went back to scrolling on her phone. Suddenly, she gasped, her brow furrowing. “What is it?” I asked. She just handed me her phone. On the screen was a photo, framed to look compromising. It was me, walking ahead in a little black dress. A man in his fifties was walking behind me, a Chanel bag in his hand, with his other hand resting on my shoulder. Beneath the picture was Dylan’s comment. [I know this girl! Her social media is full of slutty pics. Total professional, you can tell.] [How can she stand to be with a fat old pig like that? She really has no shame when it comes to money.] Lily’s fists were clenched so tight her nails were digging into her palms. “That little bastard! I’m getting him arrested today! This is way beyond what campus security can handle!” she seethed. “Spreading these disgusting rumors in broad daylight… he’s absolutely shameless!” I knew why Lily was so furious. When she was in university, someone had spread a rumor that she was having an affair with a professor. The scandal had been huge at the time, and it nearly pushed her into a depression. Even though the truth eventually came out, the shadow of it remained. Now, seeing history repeat itself, there was no way she would let it slide. I gently placed a hand on hers, my voice turning to ice. “Even if we call the police now, all he’ll get is a lecture. That’s letting him off way too easily.” She took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. He’s obviously done this before. We can’t just let him get away with it.” Over the next few weeks, we had a friend who was good with tech trace Dylan’s IP address and dig up all his online activity. Just as we suspected, Lily and I were far from his only victims. Dylan, oblivious to our investigation, escalated his online attacks, spreading even more rumors about me. He claimed he saw me on campus all the time, always in different designer clothes, and that the “old man” with me was the one keeping me. The internet was flooded with hate. Dylan even took screenshots and sent them to me, gloating. [I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. How does it feel to be public enemy number one?] [Why hasn’t your old sugar daddy spent some money to get these posts deleted? Guess he doesn’t care about you that much, huh?] [Told you so. Only people like us, who work hard for a living, can stand on solid ground!] I ignored all his provocations. Until the day of the final review for the student hardship fund. There, Dylan and I finally came face to face. 3 When Dylan saw me, a flicker of admiration crossed his eyes before twisting into a sneer. “Well, well, if it isn’t the famous ‘socialite’ who slept her way to the top.” “Isn’t your closet already overflowing with Chanel? Why are you here, trying to steal this little bit of aid money from us poor students?” He raised his voice deliberately, then glanced at the sponsors present before leaning in and lowering his voice to a hiss. “How many of the old geezers in this room have sent you money in the middle of the night?” The room fell silent. Dozens of eyes turned to stare at me. I walked past him without a word, my expression unreadable, and took a seat near the back of the classroom. The review proceeded as scheduled. Applicants from each department came up one by one to present their family situations. A review panel would then score them to determine the recipients and the amount of aid. Just as the last self-introduction ended, Dylan shot to his feet, his voice ringing with righteous indignation. “Professor! Why does someone get to skip their introduction?” The professor leading the panel looked confused. He checked the list and, after a careful review, replied, “All the students on the list have completed their introductions. No one was missed.” Dylan clearly didn’t buy it. He stood there, a paragon of virtue. “Impossible! I distinctly saw that girl come in! But she never went on stage!” He scoffed. “Oh, I get it. It was already a done deal. You couldn’t even be bothered to put on a show for us, right?” The professor’s face darkened. “Young man, please watch your words! Our review process is fair, just, and transparent! There are absolutely no predetermined outcomes!” Instead of backing down, Dylan grew louder, his voice cracking with rage. “Bullshit! I saw her walk in with my own two eyes! What, did her old man buy her special privileges?” He shoved aside a security guard who tried to intervene, his face contorted in a euphoric frenzy. “This is ridiculous! What’s the point of us fighting for a chance? We should just drop our pants and climb into some old man’s bed!” His words sent a buzz through the classroom as everyone started whispering. Countless curious eyes were fixed on me. When a security guard tried to escort Dylan out, he dodged and whipped out his phone, starting a livestream and pointing the camera directly at the review panel. “Everyone in the livestream, take a good look! This is the corruption happening at Crestwood University!” he yelled. “A female student sells her body to get ahead, and the school officials cover it up!” “We study our asses off for over a decade! Why should we be trampled on by some filthy whore?!” He looked magnificent, like a revolutionary hero leading an uprising. As his impassioned cries echoed through the room, the buzz of discussion grew louder. Seeing this, Dylan’s spirits soared. He reached the peak of his performance. “Drag that bitch out here! Let the whole internet see just how dirty this filthy flower really is!” I slowly rose from my seat in the back row, leaning against a desk with a faint smile. “Are you talking about me?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386631”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The first person I ran into after getting out of prison was Ava. I was squatting on the curb, shoveling down a cheap box of takeout. And there she was, the woman who once had to grovel before everyone, now towering over me in a perfectly tailored, expensive dress. Her first words were, “Ethan, you’ve lost weight.” I looked up at her but said nothing. “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?” Ava pressed, a flicker of anxiety she couldn’t quite hide in her voice. I just shook my head slightly. There was a time when I did, right after she’d sent me to prison. But five years is a long time. The unspoken questions had long since faded into nothing, taking my feelings for her right along with them. … My silence made her face stiffen, though she recovered quickly. She handed me a bottle of water she must have just bought, her movement awkward. “Don’t choke.” It was free, so I didn’t refuse. I thanked her in a low voice. I could see she was holding something back, but she didn’t speak, and I didn’t ask. I mechanically finished the last few bites of food, then stood up and swung my leg over my beat-up electric scooter to continue my delivery route. As I put on my helmet, she called out my name. “Ethan!” I turned back out of habit. Her voice was laced with an almost desperate plea. “If you ever need help, you can call me.” I managed a small smile. “I don’t think there will be an occasion for that.” I delivered food until midnight. Back in my cramped, rundown apartment, I rolled up my pant leg and expertly applied ointment to my knee. Unlike most people’s, my kneecaps are deformed. Five years had passed, but the memory of the bones being shattered into splinters was still sharp. The pain always came back—on damp, rainy days, in the humid darkness of my cell, after the numbness of a long day running around on my feet. It would awaken suddenly, tormenting me over and over. Just like the memory from six years ago, the one that felt like my soul being sliced apart, piece by piece, when I learned I was just a pawn in Ava’s meticulously crafted game. But time, thankfully, grinds everything down. My wounds were slowly healing. The next morning, I woke early. It was the anniversary of my grandmother’s death. She was the only person in this world who had ever truly wished me well. I requested the day off, changed into a faded old shirt from seven years ago, and went to the cemetery. I brought her a bouquet of roses, still wet with morning dew. Roses aren’t typical for gravesites, but this was the first time I’d come to see her, and I wanted to bring her something she would have loved. I knelt before her headstone and talked for a long time, only stopping when I heard footsteps behind me. Deep down, I think I knew who it was. But when I turned and saw Ava, my breath still caught in my throat. She had shed the designer clothes for a simple white dress. So simple it made my head spin. For a fleeting moment, she wasn’t the ambitious, power-hungry Ava I knew. She was just the girl from my childhood. Clean and pure. Ava and I were practically childhood sweethearts. Before I could even form proper memories, I was abducted by traffickers. It was my grandmother, who scraped by collecting recyclables, who saved me. After that, she raised me as her own. It’s doubly hard for an old woman to raise two children, but she never let me go without. Whatever Ava had, I had too. Ava was smarter than me, so Grandma would have her tutor me. When Ava went out to play, Grandma made her take me along, telling her to hold my hand tight. When Ava got new clothes, Grandma would have a matching set ready for me. … We were inseparable in those years. The neighbors would always tease, calling me Ava’s “little groom-to-be.” Ava never denied it. She would just ruffle my hair and say softly, “Then you’ll have to marry me when you grow up, okay?” It was around then that I started to notice her feelings for me, the love hidden in her actions. How her things were only for me to touch. How she would appear at my side the moment I needed her. How she would kiss my forehead as if I were a precious treasure while I slept. The year we finally let things fall into place and got together was the year everything started to fall apart. I was found and taken in by my biological family, the Prestons, and Ava started her own business. Her world expanded overnight. I was no longer the only one in it. Now, there was my younger brother, Caleb. Ava once asked me tentatively, “We don’t have as much time alone now. Does that… upset you?” I still remember the answer that has haunted my nights ever since. “Not at all,” I’d said. “I’m happy that you and my brother get along so well.” My words became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Ava and Caleb grew closer at a suffocating pace. They joked, they argued, they sulked, and I, the “older brother,” was always the one who had to play mediator. The first real alarm bell went off when I noticed how, in the middle of some casual banter, Ava would remember Caleb’s preferences with unnerving precision. She knew he was allergic to peanuts, that he hated cilantro, that his favorite vegetable was enoki mushrooms. Once, when the three of us were out for dinner, the first thing she ordered was garlic butter enoki mushrooms baked in foil. But Ava had forgotten. I’m allergic to garlic. In the space of a single month, Caleb had replaced twenty years of my life. The pent-up hurt and panic finally boiled over, and I confronted her. She just looked at me with cold eyes. “Ethan,” she said, her words sharp and deliberate, “you’re being ridiculous. Do you hear yourself?” It was the first time I had ever seen that coldness in her. Before, she would have pulled me into a frantic hug, whispering over and over, “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I made my Ethan sad.” Tears welled up in my eyes, but she remained unmoved. Her expression even soured with annoyance before she turned and left me standing there, walking upstairs alone. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. A moment later, I heard footsteps on the stairs again. I froze when I saw it was Caleb. But my vision was clear enough to see the triumphant glint in his eyes. He walked right up to me and roughly wiped the tears from my face. “Aww, big brother, it breaks my heart to see you cry,” he sneered. “But what can you do? Nobody cares about you anymore.” “Whether you came back or not, Mom and Dad only ever had eyes for me. And now, even Ava is on my side. Tell me, how are you going to compete with me now?” My world tilted. The words wouldn’t come out right. “Caleb, you…” “Don’t call me that!” he snapped, the polite facade shattering. “Every single day I had to pretend with you made me sick.” “If it wasn’t for Ava, do you really think you’d ever have the chance to call me brother? You idiot!” He spun around and went back upstairs. The same stairs, the same confident stride, but two different people. In a single day, I had gone from the cherished center of the universe to a complete and utter outsider. The raw betrayal and malice left me stunned. I couldn’t accept it, and I was terrified that the next words I heard would be Ava telling me it was over. So, I started avoiding them. Frantically. Ava noticed. She cornered me, waiting outside my door, leaving me no room to escape. “Ethan, we need to talk.” I shook my head and backed away. For every step I took, she advanced, until my back hit the wall. I was trapped. The moment she opened her mouth, I wanted to clap my hands over my ears. But her words came out in a rush, too fast for me to react. “If we got married, would you stop all this worrying?” Ava was a woman of her word. The very next day, she took me to the city hall. With the marriage certificate in hand, we moved into the small bungalow my biological family had given me. My so-called parents had no real feelings for me; they barely tolerated my presence. The house was just a formality, a way to keep up appearances. I once suggested we bring Grandma to live with us, but Ava refused. She gave no reason, and I chose to remain silent. I chose to trust her, making time to visit Grandma whenever I could. I thought the marriage certificate was our final safeguard, that Ava would finally draw a line between herself and Caleb. But in reality, they started seeing each other even more often. So often that I began to doubt every word that came out of her mouth. Before I could even recognize the precarious state of my own mental health, my bottled-up emotions erupted. It was my birthday. The same Ava who had once promised to spend every birthday with me chose to leave me behind to attend a gala with Caleb. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I stormed into the ballroom, ignoring the shocked stares, and confronted Caleb. “You know what she is to me! Why do you always have to get between us?” I yelled, my voice shaking with rage and despair. “She’s your sister-in-law! How could you keep trying to seduce her?!” Caleb looked at me with wide, terrified eyes. “Ethan, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re scaring me.” “Stop pretending! You admitted it yourself, didn’t you? That you only got close to me to get to her!” Whispers spread through the room. What brought me back to reality was the sharp sting of Ava’s hand across my face. “I know you’re paranoid, Ethan, which is why I married you! But that doesn’t give you the right to push your luck and slander Caleb!” she hissed. “Security, get this madman out of here!” The guards were fast. They roughly clamped a hand over my mouth and dragged me out. I struggled, but it was useless. As I got closer to the exit, the chatter of the high-society guests grew clearer, drilling into my ears. “Tsk, tsk. What a lunatic.” “More than that, he’s completely unhinged. I feel sorry for whoever married him. He’s completely ruined Ava’s night!” “If it wasn’t for Ava’s competence, this whole project would probably be dead in the water…” I was the one on the marriage certificate. I was the victim. Why didn’t anyone believe me? I closed my eyes, tears streaming from the corners. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. I went home. For the first time, I didn’t touch the glass of milk the housekeeper always prepared for me on Ava’s orders. I showered and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I don’t know how long I lay there before the tears started. I cried until I drifted into a heavy, exhausted sleep. In the hazy space between sleep and waking, I felt a heavy weight press down on me. Even after our fight, my body reacted instinctively, moving to welcome her. Until my hand, fumbling in the dark, touched the thick, fleshy waist of a woman. My heart plummeted. It wasn’t Ava. Ava’s waist was soft and slender. The woman clearly hadn’t expected me to wake up. Her face was a mask of shock and panic. In the faint moonlight filtering through the window, I saw the grotesque body. Overweight, stout, and radiating a cloying, suffocatingly sweet perfume. A single glance sent my stomach churning. The woman scrambled to grab her clothes and run, but she tripped and tumbled down the stairs. It was only then that my mind caught up. I went insane, grabbing a fruit knife from the nightstand and chasing after her. Seeing the knife in my hand, she shook her head, begging. “I’m sorry, please don’t kill me, I’m begging you.” My entire body was trembling, bile rising in my throat, but I started to laugh. “So, you can feel fear?” I whispered, my voice ragged. “Why would you be afraid? You shouldn’t be afraid at all.” I was rambling. By the time I came to my senses, the woman’s face and body were covered in a crisscrossing web of cuts. I dropped the knife in a panic and stumbled into the bathroom. I couldn’t stop washing myself, trying to scrub away the memory of her touch from every inch of my skin with soap and water. I was still standing under the shower when Ava came home. She froze in the doorway as if turned to stone. After what felt like an eternity, she wrapped her arms around my waist, her voice trembling uncontrollably. “It’s okay, Ethan. It’s okay. I’m here now.” It was the first time I had ever been assaulted. I was terrified and disgusted. I wanted to push her away. Her embrace felt suffocating. But besides Grandma, she was the only person I had ever trusted without reservation. For the next few days, Ava didn’t leave the house. She cut off all contact with Caleb. She started taking care of me around the clock. When my fever wouldn’t break, she changed the cool cloth on my forehead countless times. When I woke up screaming from nightmares, she would soothe me back to sleep. When I became afraid of seeing people, she severed all business ties with the outside world. A pathetic fantasy began to bloom in my mind: maybe Ava really did care about me. Until Caleb showed up with a stack of contracts, and a series of photos of strange women. “You probably don’t recognize this face,” he said, holding up a picture, “but your body… it certainly does, doesn’t it?” “Thanks to you, she green-lit Ava’s project.” He laid them out one by one. Each photo corresponded to a contract. By the end, my head was roaring. “What… what do you mean?” Caleb let out a low chuckle, a sly, malicious glee in his eyes. “Still don’t get it, my dear brother?” “Ava… she’s using you as a stepping stone to climb to the top! Your marriage certificate is a fake. Do you have any idea how many people have slept in your bed?” There was a deafening crash, as if something inside me had collapsed. “You’re lying!” I screamed. “Am I? Why don’t you take a look for yourself and find out?” Caleb gave me one last look, a mixture of pity and contempt, then tossed a USB drive on the floor and left. I scrambled to pick it up, plugged it into my laptop, and clicked on the video file… On the screen, a parade of unfamiliar women appeared, one after another. They keyed in the password to my front door like they owned the place and walked straight into my bedroom. My body in the videos was flushed an unnatural red. Then the camera would shake, and the scenes that followed were too vile to watch. No, this can’t be right. I was with Ava… My chaotic gaze swept across the room and landed on the empty milk glass on the nightstand. It froze there. Suddenly, everything made sense. All the kindness Ava had ever shown me twisted into sharp blades and plunged into my heart. Just then, the door opened. Every emotion I had suppressed exploded at once.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386630”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 To save my people, I sought help from my childhood friend Caspian, now a famous scientist. He was still obsessed with me—kept me in his bed for seven days. Then he poured acid over me, coldly saying, “So mermaids feel pain. But it’s nothing compared to what your kind did to my parents.” For two years, he married another woman but kept me chained. He cut out my Coral Core to heal his wife, made me clean their bed, and listen to their nights. When she got pregnant, he fed her my flesh. He hated me, yet nursed me back each time I neared death, whispering, “You’re defiant because you know I love you. Tell me where my parents are.” I stayed silent. But soon, I won’t need to—a mermaid who stays on land for three years dies. I had three days left. … At three in the morning, the wooden door to the storeroom was kicked open. Hands grabbed me, hauling me to my feet before a series of sharp, ringing slaps struck my face. The assault only stopped when my lip split and I could taste blood. Caspian’s personal assistant, Marcus, dragged me out by my legs, cursing under his breath. “The madam is hurt, and you have the nerve to sleep so soundly!” The salty sea air was thick with the scent of blood. A crimson trail snaked all the way to Caspian’s bedroom. He saw the bloody path I left on the floor and his brow furrowed in disgust. “Rosalind is hurt,” he commanded, his voice flat. “Heal her.” I lifted my eyes, first to Rosalind, her cheeks flushed and dewy, then to her swollen belly— CRACK! The back of his hand cracked across my face. He loomed over me. “I told you to heal her. Do you think a creature like you even deserves to look at her?” I immediately lowered my head. “I’m sorry.” Slowly, I crawled toward the bed. I learned then that Rosalind had woken in the night to feed the piranhas and one had nipped her finger. After all these years, I was used to her various “ailments.” I numbly opened my shirt, dug my own sharp nails into the flesh over my heart, and, through gritted teeth and a cold sweat, pulled out the glowing Coral Core to heal her. The room was silent, until Caspian’s voice cut through the air, cold as ice. “Playing the victim won’t work on me, Lira.” In his eyes, this was just an act. After all, a mermaid’s blood could also heal. But my blood no longer held that power. Rosalind stirred, letting out a soft cough, and Caspian was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. “Does it still hurt?” She bit her lip, her gaze flicking to the open wound on my chest. “Darling, I don’t know why, but since I’ve been pregnant, the smell of blood just makes me so sick.” At her words, Caspian’s leg shot out, kicking me hard. “Get out. And stand guard.” I crawled out of the room, my body aching, as I heard his voice soften behind me. “Rosalind, my love, you haven’t been sleeping well. Is the baby keeping you up? Let me listen.” My heart, which I thought had turned to stone, clenched painfully. The wound on my chest, not yet healed, began to bleed anew. A maid appeared, dumping a bucket of foul, fishy water over me. Her face was a mask of disgust. “Filthy monster. Aren’t you supposed to heal? Why are you still bleeding all over the floor? It’s disgusting!” She threw a mop at me, the handle striking my forehead. I flinched, curling into myself. “Clean this up. Now. Or I’m telling Mr. Caspian.” For the rest of the night, I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. I listened to the sounds of their intimacy from within the room, and a single, hot tear fell from my eye. The memory of Caspian’s loathing was a phantom that haunted me, growing larger with every passing moment. Soon, I thought. Soon I’ll be free. The immortal mermaid could die. Three days left. By the time the last drop of blood was gone from the floor, my wound had finally sealed itself. A new day was dawning at the seaside estate. Caspian emerged from the bedroom, his neck dotted with fresh, red marks. He frowned at the blood-soaked mop. “Why was there so much blood?” I didn’t try to explain. I just bowed my head. “I’m sorry. I’ll dispose of this filth immediately.” Nearby, a maid was trimming flowers, her voice deliberately loud. “You won’t believe it, but that thing actually asked me how to make someone happy. Oh my god, is she trying to seduce Mr. Caspian?” “Heh, of course she is. Does a worthless creature like her actually dream of becoming the lady of the house? If it weren’t for her kind, Mr. Caspian’s parents would never have disappeared.” I tried to hurry away, but Caspian was faster. He kicked the cleaning supplies aside and dragged me to his laboratory. I was strapped into the electric chair, capable of delivering a hundred-thousand volts. The world swam before my eyes, and I fought back nausea. Caspian held the remote, his legs crossed, his expression dark. “I almost forgot. It’s been a month since our last session.” “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Where did they take my parents?” He hadn’t even pressed the button, but my hands were already clawing at the armrests, a frantic, reflexive terror taking over. My fingers were bloody before the first jolt hit. “I don’t know.” The words had barely left my lips before the current tore through my body. I screamed, my body convulsing violently as a hot liquid streamed down my legs. The first shock ended, but I couldn’t stop twitching. Caspian stood up, pacing, his jaw tight. He asked again. I spat out a mouthful of blood. Every organ in my body screamed in protest. “I won’t tell you.” I couldn’t. Their safety depended on it. This time, he didn’t press the button. Instead, he had Marcus bring out a small, velvet pouch. From it, he poured several shimmering pearls—Coral Cores I had hidden in a loose floorboard. My eyes widened in horror. My whole body trembled. “What are you doing?” “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m doing.” A cruel smirk played on his lips. He tossed one of the Cores onto the floor and brought his heel down on it with a sickening crunch. He laughed at my blood-choked scream. “Was this your mother’s Coral Core? Or your father’s? I hear the only way to truly kill one of your kind is to crush the Core. Otherwise, you just keep coming back.” He ground the fragments under his shoe. “Such a resilient species… still not talking?” My nails had broken, exposing the white of the bone underneath. Tears of blood streamed from my eyes. “Caspian,” I whispered, my voice raw with hatred. “I hate you.” His response was a kiss that felt like he wanted to bite my tongue off. The kiss sent me spiraling. My body was so weak these days, I could almost forget how deeply we had once loved each other. Merfolk have always been drawn to humans, often taking human form to live and love among them. I was three when I first met Caspian. The first time he saw me, he looked up at his mother and asked, “Mommy, is this the bride you found for me?” His mother had laughed and tapped him gently on the head. Our families became close, spending all our time together. Then, when I was fifteen, a wave of persecution drove my people from the shores. We had to leave. But I would still sneak back onto land sometimes, just to see him. Once, when someone asked who I was, I was about to say I was his sister. But he cut in, his expression deadly serious. “She’s my girlfriend,” he declared. “And my future wife. Lira.” In that moment, my heart truly belonged to him. Years later, a deal was struck between a faction of merfolk and a group of elite human scientists. The liaisons for this exchange were my parents… and Caspian’s. And then, his parents vanished. I was the prime suspect. I knew he hated me for it. But I couldn’t tell him the truth. Years passed. Caspian became a top scientist in his own right. And I, for the sake of my people, had to get close to him again. So many times, I wanted to tell him everything. But I couldn’t. It didn’t matter anymore. Soon, the suffering would be over. Caspian’s fingers were setting fires on my skin. He suddenly stopped, staring at the blood on his hands. Only then did I realize that all the old wounds—from the cuttings, the bloodletting—were beginning to reopen. I let out a hollow, numb laugh. “I’m dying, Caspian.” He reacted as if I’d spoken a forbidden word. He looked like he’d gone mad. He scrambled for a bottle of pills and forced them into my mouth. His voice was like cracking ice. “Without my permission, you don’t get to die.” He unlocked my shackles, dragged me to a pool of medicinal solution, and forced my head under. I choked, water flooding my senses. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged and harsh, as if he were the one suffocating. I held my breath to keep from drowning in the solution. The lack of air made my face swell and turn purple. Only when the powerful healing agents in the pills took effect and my wounds stopped bleeding did he grab my hair and yank me out. I had barely caught my breath. When he shackled me again. He chained me to the bedpost like a dog. Rosalind, her eyes full of sultry invitation, leaned against his chest. Her gaze shifted to me, and it was filled with a strange, venomous glee. Her red lips moved, forming silent words only I could see. “Lira, I want you dead.” In a state of half-sleep, I felt a hand gently stroking my hair. A tear fell from their eye and landed on my lips. It was salty. “Lira,” a voice whispered, full of a pain I hadn’t heard in years. “If none of this had ever happened… how wonderful would that have been?” Was it Caspian? Was he… crying? I struggled to open my eyes, but there was no Caspian. It was Marcus, yanking on the chain, dragging me out into the estate’s courtyard. Merfolk hate the sun. For one on the verge of death, it was agony. Rosalind saw me and smiled sweetly. “Lira, are you hungry?” Caspian had his arm around her. When I didn’t answer, he kicked me. The blow landed squarely on a wound that was already on the verge of splitting open. Blood immediately soaked through the fabric of my dress. Caspian looked away, irritated, not sparing me a single glance. He just tossed a trench coat from a nearby lounge chair over me. “Rosalind gets faint at the sight of blood. Cover yourself!” A flicker of something crossed Rosalind’s eyes before she smiled again, tossing chunks of raw meat and muddy vegetables onto the ground in front of me. Her voice was as soft as silk. “Eat up, Lira.” For some reason, I looked up at Caspian. Why did I ever think he felt sorry for me? Expressionless, I bent down and began to gnaw on a dirty cabbage leaf, my fingers digging into the soil in humiliation. I heard Rosalind’s concerned voice. “Lira, why aren’t you eating the meat? You need meat to be healthy, you know.” Without thinking, I tore off a piece of the raw flesh. My sense of smell had degenerated so much I was almost numb to it. I didn’t know what kind of meat it was. “Is it good? It’s mermaid meat! Very nutritious!” I froze mid-chew and stared at her. Her smile widened, and my stomach heaved. “Ugh—” “Ah! My shoes!” I had vomited on the heel of her shoe. Marcus didn’t even need to be told. He grabbed me by the collar and slapped my tear-stained face. Caspian, who was notoriously germaphobic, knelt down and began to wipe Rosalind’s shoe with his own handkerchief. He was so gentle, so meticulous. He had never once, after using my body to vent his frustrations, even bothered to clean me. He was clearly furious. “Ungrateful bitch. If you don’t want to eat, we’ll feed this to the dogs!” Rosalind gave a weak, delicate smile. “Lira’s just not hungry. Don’t force her.” “Why don’t we let her join me while I paint? It can be her way of making up for this, what do you think?” Caspian sighed, a faint smile touching his lips. “You’re just too kind.” He shot me a cold look and was about to say something else when his phone rang. He murmured something loving to Rosalind, then leaned down and gently kissed her pregnant belly. For some reason, my nose began to sting. After he left, Rosalind’s expression turned to ice. “I don’t like people watching me paint. Go to the basement.” I said nothing and did as I was told. In the basement, a maid tossed several small buckets at my feet. Her voice was a derisive, pinched whine. “Hey. The madam needs more red for her painting, and there’s no red prettier than blood. Fill these three buckets. Now.” A rusty blade clattered on the floor in front of me. “Use this.” I hesitated, mumbling, “It’s rusty.” The maid spat. “Who do you think you are, a princess? Why would an unkillable monster like you deserve anything good?” She crossed her arms and watched me. I picked up the blade without another word and sliced open my wrist. Hot, crimson blood dripped into the bucket. By the time all three were full, I was shivering, my lips blue with cold. I leaned against the wall, my mind adrift. Two maids passed by, carrying laundry, their voices loud with gossip. “The madam’s paintings are so beautiful, aren’t they? It’s just a shame the materials are so hard to find. They had to kill several mermaids just to get a tiny bit of Coral Core powder.” “And some of the blood isn’t even pure. A monster is a monster. They’re not like us.” The hair on my body stood on end. I pushed myself up, using the wall for support. I staggered into the courtyard and was met with the sound of piercing shrieks. The ground at Rosalind’s feet was littered with the mangled bodies of merfolk. She had her foot on one of their tails, carving out a translucent Coral Core before crushing it in her fist. I felt my own heart shatter with it. Rosalind turned to me, silhouetted against the light, a malicious curve to her lips. “Lira, I learned something new today! Did you know every Coral Core is a different color?” “Such a shame I only want white ones. Why don’t you be a dear and help me? Dig out all their Cores for me—” My eyes locked on a small figure in a nearby water tank. My little brother. He was only ten. He hadn’t even learned to take human form yet. “Sister, help me!” he cried, banging on the glass, his tears turning to pearls as they fell. Rosalind pouted, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Oh, so he’s your brother? How cute! Why don’t we start with him?” Two guards seized my brother and dragged him before her, holding him down under her blade. I couldn’t control it anymore. I fell to my knees and slammed my forehead against the ground, over and over. “Madam, I’m begging you! Please, let my brother go!” “Use my Coral Core! Mine is white, I swear it!” Rosalind twirled the knife playfully. “But I’m in the mood for a surprise today. Isn’t this more fun?” “Little boy, today sister is going to open you up first, and then Lira—Ah! What are you doing?!” “Don’t you dare hurt my sister!” My brother, his eyes red with defiance, struggled with all his might and sank his teeth into Rosalind’s wrist. A second later, Caspian, who had just returned, sent him flying with a vicious kick. All his teeth were knocked out. He landed in a heap beside me. Caspian held Rosalind, comforting her, the rage in his eyes practically spilling over. “Lira! Your kind stole my parents, and now you try to harm my wife?” I shook my head, tears streaming down my face, shielding my brother’s broken body with my own. “I was wrong! Kill me, just kill me! Let my brother go, he’s just a child…” “Heh. Let him go? Fine.” Caspian’s burning gaze swept over us. “Tell me where my parents are, and I’ll let him go.” Those same words again. All the strength drained from my body. For the first time, I looked at Caspian with pure, undiluted hatred. “You don’t know anything. You don’t understand anything.” “I told you, when the time is right, you will understand everything. Why do you have to hurt my family?” Caspian, I hate you. God, how I hate you! He averted his gaze, refusing to meet my eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek and sneered. “Fine. If you won’t talk, then your brother can pay for your sins.” It happened so fast. Caspian’s hand moved in a blur, and the dagger was buried in my brother’s chest. I thought I heard something shatter. My brother’s small face, once so soft, was now cold and still. His Coral Core was gone. I just sat there, forgetting how to beg. Rosalind, clutching her belly, came over to “help” me up, only to collapse dramatically a few feet away. She sobbed, a pathetic, kitten-like sound. “Lira, they were just animals! My baby is a person! Are you trying to kill my child?” Caspian had never believed me. This time, I didn’t even bother to explain. “Yes,” I said, my voice dead. “I want to kill you both.” Caspian trembled with rage. He was about to strike me when he realized Rosalind’s water had broken. He shot me one last, venomous glare. “After the baby is born, I’ll deal with you.” I just smiled, a hollow, empty thing. You won’t get the chance. I’m almost dead. I was locked in the storeroom again, in the suffocating, sunless dark. I curled into a ball, feeling the warmth steadily leech from my body. The floorboards above me were alive with activity. They had set up a temporary delivery room for Rosalind. She screamed for a day and a night before the baby was finally born safely. Caspian, relieved, leaned against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette. Just then, Marcus rushed up, out of breath. “Mr. Caspian! Sir, there’s… there are people at the gate for you!” He raised an indifferent eyebrow. “Who?” “Your parents!” Caspian moved like a bolt of lightning. But when his parents saw him, their first reaction wasn’t a tearful embrace. It was frantic, desperate questioning. “Is Lira here? You have to get her to the sea! She’ll die without saltwater!” A cold dread gripped Caspian’s heart, but he feigned nonchalance. “She hurt Rosalind. I locked her in the storeroom. Dad, mermaids can’t die.” “Let’s not talk about her. Tell me, where have you been all these years?” His father looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. He raised his hand and slapped Caspian hard across the face. “Where is the storeroom? Take us there! Now!” Reluctantly, Caspian led the way and opened the decrepit door. “See, Dad? She’s fine.” His parents took one look inside and burst into tears. Caspian turned. He saw that half of my face had dissolved into seafoam. But in the next instant, he did something I never could have predicted.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386629”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel