Author: Momo Chan

It took ten years for Margot to finally say yes to my proposal. It took three hours and two extra martinis at our engagement party for her to destroy it. She was usually the picture of icy composure—the kind of CEO who never let a hair fall out of place. But tonight, the alcohol stripped that veneer away. She screamed that I was embarrassing her, that I didn’t know my place, and then, with a cruelty I’d never seen, she kicked me out of the Uber. “Get out, Leo. Just get out.” I walked for three hours. The headache from the champagne thumped behind my eyes like a second heartbeat. When I finally unlocked the door to our Tribeca penthouse—the one we were supposed to share as husband and wife—I found her on the sofa. She wasn’t alone. She was cradling him. “I regret it,” she was whispering, her voice thick with a tenderness she had never shown me. “If you tell me to stop, I will. I’ll call off the wedding right now. Just say the word, Jasper.” Watching her stroke his hair, seeing that raw, unguarded affection, I felt something inside me quietly snap. I decided then and there. I wasn’t going to wait for her to cancel the wedding. I was going to disappear. No one could have predicted that after I vanished, the woman who had always been so aloof, so perfectly detached, would lose her mind trying to find me. 1 I kicked the dress shoes off my feet. They were an engagement gift from Margot. Italian leather, beautiful, and a size too small. I’d worn them all night to please her, and now my heels were blistered and bloody. I left them there in the hallway. I’d rather walk barefoot on broken glass than put them on again. I dialed the number I hadn’t used in years. The ringback tone sounded foreign, connecting to a villa somewhere in the Napa Valley hills. “Dad? It’s me. I’m not getting married. I want to come home.” There was a heavy silence on the line, then a sigh that sounded like relief. “Okay, Leo. I’m getting old. The vineyards, the business… it’s all going to be yours eventually anyway. Come out here. It’s time.” I choked back a sob. “I heard you, Leo,” Dad said softly. “I thought Margot was different… I didn’t think you’d end up walking the same road your mother and I did.” He paused. “Don’t cry, son. You’re young. A man’s world isn’t just marriage and heirs. Build something of your own. Just know I’m waiting for you.” Before tonight, I thought Margot was different, too. She was a self-made powerhouse, dignified, fiercely private. She kept every man at arm’s length. Even after she made the Forbes list, there was never a scandal, never a rumor. Until tonight. Until Jasper walked into the party uninvited. For the first time in her life, I saw Margot shatter a glass. For the first time, she lost her temper over nothing, turning her rage on me and leaving me on a street corner. If it had been anyone else, I might have chalked it up to stress. I might have given her another decade of my life, asking for nothing in return. But the man in our living room was Jasper. Jasper, who had tormented me for twenty years. Jasper, who had taken everything from me. The one person on this earth I could never forgive. Seeing her bring him into our sanctuary was the final blow. I should have walked away then. But my hand, acting on its own masochistic impulse, opened the app for the living room security cameras on my phone. On the screen, Jasper was wearing my silk pajamas. Margot—the woman who never did chores, the woman who called my casual drinking “undisciplined”—was in the kitchen, carefully preparing a hangover cure for him. Jasper looked up at her, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re really going to marry the substitute?” Margot didn’t answer. She knelt before him and began to massage his foot. “You don’t have to say it,” Jasper laughed, cruel and easy. “I know you did all this to piss me off. The big engagement party? Just a flare gun to get my attention. You can’t get over me. Look at this place. Industrial chic, just like I like. The ring you bought him? My style. The cake had our initials, really, didn’t it? Even the shoes on his feet… those are the ones I told you I liked, aren’t they?” Jasper pressed his foot against her chest, right over her heart. “You’ve always loved me, Margot.” She said nothing. She just stared at him for a long beat, and then, she buried her face in his lap, sobbing, before pulling him into a kiss so desperate it looked like she was trying to breathe through him. I stood in the hallway, tears streaming down my face. In ten years, whenever I tried to kiss her with any passion, she would turn her cheek. I thought she was reserved. I thought she was shy. She wasn’t. She was just saving all her fire for Jasper. For a decade, she gave me her body, her time, and her loyalty. But she kept her soul in a jar, waiting for him. I took a deep breath and turned to leave. But before I could reach the elevator, the door opened. Margot stood there. She froze when she saw me, instinctively dropping Jasper’s hand. “Jasper had too much to drink,” she said, her voice rushing. “He’s… he’s practically your brother, Leo. I couldn’t leave him on the street. He’s a good man, he has boundaries. He insisted on leaving so you wouldn’t misunderstand.” Margot, usually a woman of few words, suddenly couldn’t stop talking. Every sentence was a shield for him. I looked at her and felt… nothing. Just a cold sense of unfamiliarity. I was the one who grew up with her. I was the one who stood by her while she built her empire from a garage startup to a conglomerate. How did I end up being the placeholder? “He’s not my brother,” I said, my voice flat. “He’s the bastard son of the mistress who destroyed my family.” Margot’s face hardened. “Leo! How can you be so vicious? Apologize to him. Now.” She stepped between us, pushing me back toward the curb. “No wonder your parents left you behind. No wonder people find you hard to love. You’re bitter, Leo. It’s ugly.” The moonlight hit her face, illuminating the fierce protectiveness in her eyes. It superimposed perfectly over a memory I had buried. Years ago, when we were just kids. My mother had gotten pregnant by another man—Jasper’s father—and forced my dad into a divorce so she could be with her lover. My dad left the country in a rage. I was the debris left behind. Back then, whenever the neighbors whispered or the kids bullied me, Margot would stand in front of me, just like this. “Leo is the best person in the world,” she would scream. “If no one else wants him, I will. I’ll love him forever.” I had built my entire life on that promise. I worked myself into the ground to escape my toxic family, to be worthy of the home I thought we were building. But whenever I brought up that memory, she would frown and dismiss it. “We were children, Leo. It meant nothing.” And now, with Jasper back, she didn’t even bother with the gentle dismissal. No wonder people find you hard to love. I looked away, my eyes burning. Maybe she saw the blood seeping through my socks. Maybe she realized she’d gone too far. Her expression softened, just a fraction. “Look,” she sighed. “I’ll pretend you’re just drunk tonight. Tomorrow—” “There is no tomorrow,” I said. “What?” Before she could demand an explanation, Jasper let out a theatrical sob and ran down the street. Margot didn’t hesitate. She didn’t look at me. She chased after him. She moved so fast that something fell out of her pocket. A silver necklace with a star pendant. I picked it up. I thought of the small tattoo of a star she had over her heart. A tribute to him. Jasper. The pieces clicked into place. The ten years of devotion were just a play I was acting in alone. I turned and went upstairs. My phone buzzed. A text from Dad. Flight booked. Two weeks from now. The day of the wedding. The countdown clock on the living room wall—14 Days Until “I Do”—was now a countdown to my escape. I laughed, a dry, hollow sound. I grabbed a trash bag and started clearing the apartment. Every decoration, every photo, every “couple’s item.” Fate has a twisted sense of humor. I had two weeks. Two weeks to say goodbye to the life I thought was mine. The next morning, I was woken up by Margot’s ringtone. “Leo? You up? I sent over those soup dumplings you like. I’m not coming home today—crisis at the office. We’ll have to reschedule the engagement shoot.” She paused, then added, “And don’t worry about last night. I apologized to Jasper for you.” “Okay,” I said. She was surprised by my lack of fight. “You know… the wedding is just a formality. We know how we feel. We don’t need a circus to prove it. Let’s keep things simple.” “Okay. Simple.” Simple meant no marriage license. No photos. No officiant. And, ultimately, no groom. I hung up and walked to the wall calendar. I took a thick black marker and crossed out Wedding Photos. Margot was always too busy for me. So, I had filled the calendar with things I wanted us to do during the “wedding month.” A bucket list of small happinesses. Now, I watched them disappear under the black ink. I handed in my resignation. I went out for drinks with my few close friends. I told them the wedding was off. “We kind of guessed,” one of them said gently, turning her phone toward me. Margot’s Instagram. She never posted me. Not once in ten years. But her stories were full of him. Jasper’s silhouette at the beach. Jasper at a theme park. Jasper trying on suits. She was showing him off to the world while keeping me in the dark. “Leo, you don’t deserve this,” my friend said. “She’s going to regret this. That guy is trash.” “It doesn’t matter,” I said, looking out the window at the New York skyline. “I’m already gone.” When Margot finally came home days later, thumbing rapidly through emails, she barely looked up. “Place looks empty. Did you send the decorations back?” “You said keep it simple.” She blinked, then looked at the countdown. “Seven days. God, it flies.” I ripped two pages off the calendar. “Five days, actually.” The pages I ripped off said Ferris Wheel at Sunset and Private Dinner. She didn’t notice. “Don’t plan a honeymoon,” she said, distracted. “I can’t leave the city.” “I know.” She wouldn’t leave Jasper. I pulled the star necklace out of my pocket and handed it to her. Her eyes lit up in a way they never did for me. “You found it! I’ve been looking everywhere.” “I saw the reward post you put up.” She had offered ten thousand dollars for a cheap silver necklace. Our entire wedding budget was less than fifty. “Where’s your engagement ring?” I asked. She looked at her bare hand, feigning surprise. “Oh. I must have left it at the gym…” Her phone dinged. A specific, custom tone. Jasper. She kissed my forehead, already moving toward the door. “Sorry, hubby. Work emergency. Handle the wedding stuff for me? Once this deal closes, I promise, I’ll make you the happiest man alive.” She was suddenly full of sweet nothings. Before, I would have melted. Now, I just went to the bathroom and scrubbed the spot where her lips had touched my skin. The day before the wedding. Calendar item: Family Reunion Dinner. My biggest wish. And the most impossible one. My dad wouldn’t forgive my mother. I wouldn’t forgive Margot. I went to the Top of the Rock alone to watch the sunset. The city turned gold and violet, and I felt the memories detaching from me, drifting away on the wind. Check phone. Jasper had posted a new photo. A dinner table. My mother, smiling. Margot, putting food on Jasper’s plate. Caption: Parents meeting. Finalizing the wedding details. I didn’t feel angry. I just found it funny. Whose wedding? I blocked Jasper. I typed a message to Margot, deleted it, and typed it again. I never sent it. Just as I was leaving, Margot called. “Where are you? Send me your location. I miss you.” She picked me up twenty minutes later. There was a basketball-shaped pillow in the passenger seat. And an open box of condoms in the center console. I sat in the back. “Why the sudden urge for sightseeing?” she asked, checking her mirrors. “I know I promised to take you here. We’ll do it properly when I have time. Oh, by the way—my mom wants to see you.” We arrived at the old family estate. The dinner was over; only scraps remained. Margot’s mother grabbed my hand. “Leo, honey. You know I like you. You’re not rich, but you’re safe. Domestic.” She shot a glance at Jasper, who was lounging on the sofa. “Margot could do better, status-wise, but I told her—status isn’t everything. Not every man is willing to be a house-husband. You should quit your job after the wedding. Focus on taking care of her.” I nodded, zoning out. Margot walked over with a garment bag. “You were busy, so I had Jasper pick up the suits. He has better taste anyway.” She pulled out a suit. It was used. Frayed at the cuffs. It smelled like mothballs. Jasper, meanwhile, was wearing a pristine, white bespoke tuxedo. “The shop must have mixed them up,” Margot said, flustered. “It’s late… just wear it for the rehearsal photos. I’ll fix it tomorrow.” “It’s fine,” I said. We lined up for a photo. Jasper shoved me to the edge, planting himself right next to Margot. When the shutter clicked, he “accidentally” elbowed me. The result: A beautiful portrait of Margot and Jasper, with a blurry, half-out-of-frame ghost that was me. “We should retake that,” Margot said. “Maybe another time,” I said. “I’m tired.” Jasper’s eyes welled up with fake tears. “I’m so sorry, Leo. I didn’t mean to ruin it. I’ll drive all over the city tonight to find you a better suit. I promise.” He ran out of the room, weeping. Margot glared at me. “Look what you did.” She ran after him. I picked up the shabby suit and took an Uber home. It was 2:00 AM. I was packing the last of my things when I found an old leather notebook in a drawer. Margot’s diary. It detailed the year she was broke, living in a hostel, where she met Jasper. The crucial pages were ripped out, leaving only one line: The happiest days of my life. I flipped to the entry from the day she proposed to me. I was young and stupid. I mistook mud for gold and let the star go. No matter how hard I try, I can’t turn Leo into Jasper. But the past is dead. For Jasper’s sake, I will be kind to Leo. Her handwriting was elegant, sharp. I can’t turn Leo into Jasper. I looked around the room. The watches, the car, the clothes I wore, the cologne she bought me—it was all Jasper’s taste. I looked in the mirror. The haircut she insisted on. The gray hoodie. I was a walking, breathing cosplay of the man she actually wanted. She saw Jasper destroy me for years, and she sided with him. She knew he was my nightmare, and she turned me into his reflection. Rage, cold and clarifying, washed over me. I smashed the mirror. I grabbed a pair of scissors and shaved my head, destroying the “Jasper cut.” I ripped the final page off the calendar. The Wish: Marry the love of my life. I crumbled the paper and dropped it in the trash. I took nothing but my passport and my phone. I walked out the door, hailed a cab, and told the driver: “JFK. International Terminal.” At noon, just as I buckled my seatbelt in First Class, Margot called.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386448”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Before the first snow even hit the ground, my world ended on a glowing smartphone screen. I was scrolling through “UniConfessions”—one of those anonymous Instagram accounts where students air their dirty laundry—when a post stopped my thumb in mid-swipe. [To the Physics girl at BU: You might want to check on your boyfriend.] The caption was brutal. The poster said she was at Carbone—impossible to get a reservation, naturally—and overheard a couple at the next table. They were making a scene. The girl was whining, complaining that the guy kept bringing up his ex. The guy was soothing her, his voice dropping into that low, liquid register that sounded like safety. “Maya is different. We grew up together. I can’t just cut her out of my life like that.” The voice was clear, distinct, and devastatingly familiar. It was my boyfriend, Liam. And the “Maya” he was talking about—the one he couldn’t cut out—was me. My heart contracted, a physical spasm that felt like my blood had turned to slush. I tapped the video attachment. It was only a few seconds of shaky footage pointing at a white tablecloth, but the audio was crystal clear. It was Liam. 1 I would know that cadence anywhere. It was the voice that had whispered promises into my hair at 3 a.m., the voice that had shouted my name across crowded football fields in the heat of July. Then, the other voice cut in—sharp, vocal fry dialed up to eleven, tearful. “But you promised to spend the First Snow with me! What if Maya finds out?” Liam’s reply came fast, laced with a soothing sort of impatience. “She won’t find out. I told her I had a department mixer. Come on, babe, stop spiraling.” The comments section was a war zone. [User1: Damn, voice is smooth. Too bad he’s trash.] [User2: Physics major at BU… implies long distance. Run, girl, run!] [User3: Wait, Carbone is in NYC. Is this a cheating scandal? Spicy.] I gripped my phone so hard I thought the glass might snap. Liam and I weren’t just a couple; we were an institution. Neighbors in middle school, lab partners in high school, and then survivors of a long-distance relationship through college. Seven years. He was the golden boy of the Finance program at NYU—Student Body President, charming, destined for Wall Street. And I was Maya. Just a Physics major in Boston. Good grades, but otherwise invisible. To the outside world, we were the gold standard. Seven years of stability. Every holiday spent glued to each other’s sides. A future mapped out in detailed spreadsheets. We had a tradition. For the season’s first snowfall, he would take the Amtrak up from New York to Boston to be with me. We’d done it for five years running. My screen lit up. Caller ID: Liam. I took a breath that rattled in my chest and swiped to answer. My voice came out terrifyingly calm. “Hey.” “Maya,” Liam said. He sounded warm, affectionate, with just the right amount of regret. “I am so, so sorry. The department just dropped a bomb on us. Mandatory end-of-year networking gala tomorrow night. I… I can’t make it up there.” I listened to the silence in the background of his line. Somewhere inside me, a structural support beam snapped. I was free-falling into a dark basement. He kept performing. “I hate that I’m missing the snow with you. Seriously. Once this week is over, I’ll come up for the whole weekend. I’ll make it up to you, okay?” “Yeah. Okay,” I whispered. My throat felt like it was full of broken glass. “Get some rest.” “You okay? You sound off.” He was always sharp. “I’m fine.” I forced a smile that distorted my face in the empty room. “Just a head cold coming on. The gala is important. Don’t worry about me.” “Good. Drink some tea, wrap up warm. Love you.” When the line went dead, my legs gave out. I slid down the wall until I hit the cold laminate floor. Outside the window, the first flakes began to drift past the streetlights. Boston’s first snow was finally here. But the boy who promised to watch it with me was in another city, getting ready to watch it with someone else. It was almost funny. I didn’t sleep. Not a wink. When the sun turned the sky a bruised purple, I DM’d the girl who ran the gossip account. I didn’t scream. I didn’t rage. I just asked, politely, if she could describe the girl or knew her handle. Maybe my calm terrified her, or maybe she just pitied me. Thirty minutes later, a reply pinged. [Anon: Hey, I don’t know her handle, but she was striking. Heavy makeup, beach waves. She had a really distinct tattoo on her right wrist—a blue butterfly. And I think the guy called her ‘Bianca’.] Bianca. Blue butterfly. Those two details were keys turning in a rusted lock. A name I thought I’d scrubbed from my life floated to the surface—Bianca Rhodes. My hands shook as I opened my high school alumni network, scrolling until I found the profile I hadn’t looked at in years. Her main feed was locked down. But I didn’t stop there. I went to TikTok. Searching variations of her name. Finally, I found it. An account called @QueenB_NYC. There she was. Her latest Story was posted yesterday. A photo of an Amtrak ticket. Boston to New York Penn Station. Caption: “Running to my happy place!” I scrolled back. A selfie from two weeks ago showed her holding a latte, and there it was on her right wrist: a delicate, electric-blue butterfly. It was her. Bianca Rhodes. My high school tormentor. She came from old money, the kind of girl who had the world handed to her on a silver platter. I was the scholarship kid who studied through lunch. We shouldn’t have had any reason to interact, except for Liam. Back then, Liam was the boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Single mom, poor, defensive. Bianca looked down on him, but she hated me because I had the loyalty of the handsome, brilliant “bad boy” she felt entitled to toy with. She made our lives hell. The worst incident was senior year. She cornered me in the locker room with her friends, mocking me for “dumpster diving” for a boyfriend. When Liam found us, I was already fighting back. It was the only time I’d ever thrown a punch, defending Liam’s fragile pride. Bianca became a forbidden name between us. I thought that after graduation, she would just be a ghost story we told ourselves. I never imagined she would reappear like this. As my boyfriend’s mistress. The irony was so thick I could taste it. I walked to the mirror. The girl staring back was pale, eyes hollowed out. I looked like a marionette with cut strings. Was I sad? Devastatingly. Was I heartbroken? I couldn’t breathe. But beneath the grief, something hotter was waking up. A profound sense of nausea and rage. I wasn’t going to let this slide. Seven years of devotion couldn’t end with a grainy Instagram video. I needed the truth. I needed to see it with my own eyes. And more importantly, I needed the people who broke me to pay the bill. I opened the Amtrak app and booked a ticket to New York for that afternoon. My roommate watched me pack, concerned. “Maya, I thought you were sick? Where are you going?” I zipped up my bag and forced a smile that felt like baring teeth. “New York. I’m going to surprise Liam.” 2 New York was cold. The wind coming off the Hudson cut right through my coat as I stepped out of Penn Station. My phone buzzed. A text from Liam. [Liam: Hey babe, you eating okay? Miss you.] Attached was a photo of a conference room. A projector screen displayed: “Dept. of Finance: Year-End Strategic Review.” He was putting real effort into this lie. I pinched the screen, zooming in. He was sloppy. In the bottom right corner, reflected in the glossy screen of a colleague’s MacBook, was a window. Outside that window was the distinctive red awning of Le Monde, a cafe near Columbia University. The “meeting” was a fake. He was just stalling until his date. I sent back a cute sticker of a cat eating noodles. [Just ate. Focus on your meeting, don’t get distracted! x] Then I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for Le Monde. I haunted the streets of the Upper West Side like a ghost. This neighborhood was full of us. The bagel shop where we had our first real fight, the park bench where we planned our post-grad life. Now, every landmark felt like it was mocking me. Twilight settled over the city. The snow intensified, dusting the brownstones in white. I stood in the recessed doorway of a bookstore, waiting. Finally, I saw them. Liam was wearing a long black Canada Goose parka—my birthday gift to him last year. It had cost me a month’s rent. Next to him, clinging to his arm, was Bianca. She was wearing the exact same coat, but in pristine white. We had bought those coats as a set. He took the black one. I kept the white one. Now, my coat—or its twin—was on another woman. They looked perfect. Like a catalog couple. The most beautiful things on the snowy street. Liam reached out and gently wiped a snowflake—or maybe a smudge of sauce—from the corner of Bianca’s mouth. The look in his eyes was tender, reverent. It was the same look he used to give me. That was the moment my universe fractured. I stayed in the shadows and pulled out my phone. My hands were shaking so badly I had to brace my elbows against my ribs. I hit record. I captured every laugh, every touch, every intimate glance as they walked into the restaurant. My phone buzzed again. Liam. [Liam: God, this meeting is dragging on. Just a bunch of old guys talking about yield curves. Wish you were here.] Bile rose in my throat. I actually gagged. I didn’t reply. Instead, I walked into the cafe directly across the street and took a table by the window. Through the glass, I had a front-row seat to their date. I watched Liam tending to her, pouring her wine, laughing at her jokes like she was the only person in the room. I ordered a black coffee. The bitter liquid burned going down, but it couldn’t touch the acid in my stomach. One hour. Two. I watched them like I was studying a specimen in a lab. Detached. Numb. When they left, they didn’t head toward the dorms. They turned down a side street and disappeared into a boutique hotel. I filmed them walking through the revolving doors. I filmed them checking in at the front desk. When they vanished into the elevator, I stopped recording. I had enough. I finished the cold dregs of my coffee, stood up, and walked out into the freezing night. On the train ride back to Boston, I stared at my reflection in the dark window. My mind was a blank tape. Seven years. Gone. Back in my dorm, I locked myself in the bathroom and splashed freezing water on my face until my skin was numb. I opened my photo gallery. Thousands of images. Prom. The beach trip after graduation. The day we moved him into his dorm. In every photo, he looked clean, kind. He looked like he loved me. I remembered ninth grade. My family had moved next door to his. His mom was volatile, struggling. The neighborhood kids called him “trash.” He was prickly back then, a wounded animal. I was the one who brought him leftovers. I was the one who helped him with his calculus. I was the one who begged my parents to help him with tuition when he almost dropped out. We were supposed to be the success story. When his biological father—a wealthy real estate developer—finally entered the picture sophomore year of college, everything changed. Liam got the credit card, the clothes, the confidence. “I’m never going to let you struggle again, Maya,” he had told me over a $200 dinner. I believed him. But money didn’t just polish him; it exposed him. The insecurity was still there, just masked by designer labels. Bianca wasn’t an accident; she was inevitable. She was the status symbol he finally felt worthy of. And me? I was just the witness to his embarrassing past. The girl who knew him when he was nothing. Realizing that hurt, but it also clarified things. I deleted the photos. One by one. Then I changed my profile picture from us to a black and white portrait of Richard Feynman. It felt like a funeral rite. Goodbye, Liam. Goodbye to my youth. 3 For the next few days, I functioned on autopilot. Classes. Library. GRE prep. Applications for my semester abroad. Liam noticed the profile picture change. He started panicking. [Liam: Maya, why’d you change your pic? Did I do something?] [Liam: Please pick up. I’m getting anxious.] [Liam: Babe, I’m sorry, just talk to me.] I ignored them all. He wasn’t anxious because he loved me. He was anxious because his safety net was fraying. His love exhibited wave-particle duality: it looked like love when he observed it, but collapsed into selfishness the moment he looked away. Friday was our seven-year anniversary. The night before, he sent a wall of text. [Liam: Maya, tomorrow is our day. I bought the first ticket out. I’ll be in Boston by 8 a.m. Meet me at our breakfast spot. I know I’ve been distant. Scream at me if you want, just let me explain.] I stared at the message. Explain? Explain how he managed to be two people at once? I typed one word: [Okay.] The next morning, I slept in. I woke up to sunlight bouncing off the melting snow. I took a long shower, did my skincare routine, put on light makeup, and went to brunch with my roommate. My phone vibrated incessantly in my bag. I put it on Do Not Disturb. We shopped. We saw a movie. At 3 p.m., I finally checked my phone. Forty-seven missed calls. Sixty texts. The last one was pathetic. [Liam: I’ve been standing here since 8 a.m. I’m freezing. People are staring. I’m so worried about you. I’m not leaving until you come.] Once, that would have broken me. Now, I just saw a man manipulating the narrative. I texted back: [Oh my god. I totally forgot. I’m out with friends. Just saw this.] He called immediately. “Maya!” His voice was a mix of fury and relief. “What is wrong with you? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” “I told you, I forgot,” I said, keeping my voice light, airy. “It’s just an anniversary. We’re adults, Liam. We don’t need to make a big deal out of dates. I’ve been so busy with my exchange applications.” Silence. He was processing the shift in power. “Fine,” he said, his voice tight. “I get it. You’re busy. Look, next weekend, the soccer team is having a mixer back in New York. Can you come? I want to properly introduce you to everyone.” I almost laughed. The audacity. He wanted to bring me into her territory. He wanted to parade me in front of Bianca to prove… what? That he was a good guy? Or was this a setup? “Sure,” I said. “I could use a weekend in the city.” I hung up and immediately checked Bianca’s TikTok. She had just posted. A video of her and some guys in NYU soccer jerseys at a bar. Caption: [Some people better stay home next weekend, or it’s going to get ugly. ] It was a trap. They wanted a scene. They wanted me to show up so they could humiliate the “boring” girlfriend. Well. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. But I was going to give them a show.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386447”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The first day of college, and the campus queen wins my fiancé in a ring toss. She was already sliding a dog leash onto his neck, insistent on taking him home with her. To humor me, my fiancé bet that if I could ring him within ten throws, I could do whatever I wanted with him tonight. I’ll be honest, I’d been dying to get my hands on him for months. But before my first ring even left my fingers, the arrival of the impeccably dressed Sabrina Wells—Westbrook University’s queen—changed everything. The polished chrome chain was already clipped to my fiancé’s collar. She smirked at me, a blatant challenge in her eyes. “My apologies. I won the prize first. He’s mine for the night.” Unbelievable audacity. Who in the hell dares put a chain on Rhys Harrington? I was about to erupt. The stall owner quickly tugged my sleeve. “That’s Sabrina Wells, the Westbrook darling. The only daughter of the Wells fortune. And rumor has it, she’s the fiancée of the Harrington heir from Greenwich, Rhys Harrington.” “Cross her, and your time at Westbrook will be miserable.” Wait, what? She’s the Wells heiress? Who the hell does that make me? I shot a questioning look at my fiancé. “Dad has another daughter I don’t know about?” 1 Rhys, wearing a sleek, stylized wolf mask, winced as he tried to subtly slip the chain off. He answered me dutifully. “Baby, I have never heard your father mention any other daughters.” That was genuinely strange. Could my workaholic father possibly have a secret, illegitimate daughter? No, impossible. My parents are notoriously and sickeningly devoted to each other. My father is practically wrapped around my mother’s finger like caramel. An affair was absolutely out of the question. So, who was this Sabrina Wells? I tried to be reasonable. “Look, I think you have the wrong idea, Sabrina. This is my boyfriend, and we were just messing around. As compensation, you can have any other prize on the stall, on me.” Sabrina acted as if I hadn’t spoken. She yanked the chain hard, causing Rhys to stumble forward. “Stay still!” Before Rhys could fully react, she aggressively looped her arms around his neck. Click. She’d snapped a photo. A moment later, a social media post on a local feed flashed across my phone: “Won the cutest, hottest Big Bad Wolf at the carnival ring toss! He’s my exclusive personal escort now! ” The humiliating chain was clearly visible in the accompanying photo. Comments exploded instantly: “OMG, Sabrina, you’re wild! I can tell that body is shredded even through the mask. Is he a model?” “Only a real heiress plays like this!” “Wait… why does his build look familiar? Like the Harrington family heir?” No one, besides me, had ever dared treat Rhys like this. The sheer violence in his eyes was barely contained beneath the mask. This was the harbinger of his full-blown, terrifying rage. I quickly warned Sabrina. “You need to take that chain off and delete that photo right now. The consequences are far beyond anything you can handle!” If Rhys’s father—the notoriously protective patriarch of the Harrington empire back in Manhattan—ever saw his only son humiliated this way, he would go nuclear. Sabrina, and potentially Westbrook itself, would cease to exist. Instead, Sabrina used her $30,000 designer handbag to smack me hard across the face. Smack. A searing, sharp pain flared across my jaw. She glanced at my Westbrook University ID clipped to my jacket and sneered. “Tsk. I wondered what lowlife I was dealing with. Just a freshman, huh?” “No wonder. You reek of desperation and poverty. I can smell it three feet away.” She stepped closer, her voice dripping with scorn. “Listen up, little girl. You’re new to college, and you clearly haven’t learned the rules of the world. Tonight, big sister is going to give you a free lesson.” “When a Wells family member wants something, whether it’s an object or a person…” Her gaze swept deliberately over Rhys. “…no one dares say no. I don’t care if he’s your boyfriend. I want him, so he’s mine!” Rhys’s fists clenched, a storm brewing in his dark eyes. “You’re looking for a death wish,” he ground out. The air went silent. Sabrina was visibly rattled by his intensity. Before he could move, I quickly intercepted his hand, meeting his gaze with an urgent plea for patience. Rhys froze, confused, looking at me. I gave him a subtle, calming look. My focus wasn’t on his imminent breakdown, but on the bag that had just hit me. That specific color, that specific wear-and-tear… it was a gift from my father. And the tiny, distinct scratch on the bottom right corner matched the teeth marks of my mischievous puppy, Winston. I had explicitly told the housekeeper to discard that exact bag months ago. How was it in Sabrina Wells’s hand? Was my father truly hiding a secret daughter? 2 I instantly called my father. “Dad, you need to tell me the truth. Do you have an illegitimate daughter out there?” A distressed yelp came through the phone. Then, my mother’s furious voice: “Jonathan Sutton! You rat! Who is the mistress? Tell me now!” “Eleanor, my darling, I would never!” The head of the multi-billion dollar Sutton Group was practically whimpering. “Avery, don’t slander me! I promise you, you are my one and only precious daughter. What’s going on? You and Rhys’s engagement party is tomorrow night. Why aren’t you two together?” My father sounded genuine. I hung up and texted him, enclosing a photo of Sabrina, asking him to look into her identity immediately. I didn’t know how she got her hands on my Birkin, but a lie is a lie. I was eager to see how this fraud, wearing my identity like a costume, would keep up the act. “Sabrina Wells,” I said, my voice dangerously even. “There are dozens of people here recording this. If a video of the Wells heiress publicly assaulting an average student gets out, the Wells Group stock will tank tomorrow. Can you handle that?” Sabrina’s eyes narrowed, and she shrieked her denial. “You dare threaten me? Ha! Rhys already assigned his personal security detail to me! Do you know what that means? I am his acknowledged fiancée, the woman he truly loves!” “Are you sure?” I countered. I didn’t think so. Rhys’s personal security detail—The Talon operatives—answer only to him, and to me, via emergency clearance. Just then, a squad of imposing men in black arrived. They wore the Harrington family’s distinctive Talon insignia. They immediately dispersed the crowd, forcing everyone to delete their videos. They then turned and bowed in unison to Sabrina. “Miss Wells!” My stomach dropped. I looked sharply at Rhys. He gave me a pathetic shrug beneath the mask. “Baby, I swear this has nothing to do with me.” But what the hell was going on? How could she command The Talon? Sabrina crossed her arms, a triumphant smirk on her face, and yanked hard on the chain around Rhys’s neck. “Now I’ve changed my mind.” “I want you to be my pet. I’ll enjoy playing with you every night.” She ordered The Talon to restrain me and secure Rhys. Then, she walked over to a nearby street vendor and grabbed a bucket of glowing red charcoal from a grill, holding it up to Rhys. She grinned, manic excitement in her eyes. “Pull his pants down. I’m going to brand my exclusive mark right onto his little friend.” Rhys’s face was a study in cold, dark fury. His chilling demeanor caused the Talon operatives to visibly flinch. “You better kill me today,” he hissed. “Otherwise, I will make you regret the day you were born.” Sabrina was momentarily shaken, stumbling backward. Then, she turned, enraged, and ordered The Talon. “What are you afraid of? I’ll take full responsibility! Did you forget the Boss’s orders to obey me?” Watching Rhys face an absolute threat of castration, I struggled violently, screaming. “Are you all insane?! This is the Harrington Crown Prince! You dare do this to him?! The Harrington family will tear every single one of you limb from limb!” Sabrina slapped me across the face again. The blow left my ears ringing. She pointed a finger right at my nose, spitting words. “Still acting? Who would believe that nonsense? He’s the Harrington heir? Then I must be the Queen of England! Say one more word and I’ll have them brand your mouth shut!” My nose was bleeding. My cheek burned. I had been shielded and adored since birth. No one had ever dared lay a hand on me. When I was seven, I fell off a horse and suffered a minor wrist fracture. The next day, the purebred stallion—worth millions—had vanished from the stables. Rhys’s knuckles turned white. His eyes were bloodshot. “The Talon’s first iron rule,” Rhys’s voice was lethal, strained. “Loyalty to the Master, not the Mandate.” “If you touch a single hair on her head today, I will personally carve the mark of the Traitor into the retina of every single one of your eyes.” Every Talon operative recoiled as if struck by lightning, their faces bleached white. “That…” one stammered. “That is the unique private punishment reserved only for Harrington traitors. No outsider could possibly know that… Could he really be the Boss?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386446”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

He didn’t hesitate. Elias simply dropped the pen, picked up his phone, and walked out of the City Clerk’s office, leaving me standing beside the paperwork. He was taking her home to shelter her through the pregnancy. The next post Wrenley uploaded was a close-up, intimate selfie of the two of them, captioned with a heart. The background was unmistakable: our master bedroom. Moments later, a series of texts from Elias: “That night after the Gala was a total mistake, I was drunk, but Wrenley is carrying a life.” “She was going to hide it, raise the child alone, but she’s so young, Audrey, and destined to be a top cardiothoracic surgeon. I can’t ruin her future, and I won’t abandon this innocent life.” “You wanted a child soon, right? She’ll deliver the baby, and then I’ll send her abroad for her residency. The child will be yours to raise. It will only ever know you as its mother.” When I didn’t reply, he followed up with a final, crushing blow: “The license appointment? We’ll have to reschedule until after the baby is born.” I stared at the screen, a soundless, hysterical laugh escaping my throat. My eyes felt hot and dangerously red. Did Dr. Elias Stone—the arrogant darling of the New England medical elite—really believe Audrey Hollis, the only heir to the Hollis Investment Dynasty, was so desperate that I needed him? I scrolled past Elias’s blocked number and dialed the one I kept in my “Emergency/Max Out Credit Card” folder: Rhett Maxwell. “Marriage license,” I said, my voice eerily steady. “Are you still up for it?” 1 Rhett, still in his custom Italian suit, was spitting fire and curses as he sped toward the airport shortly after. He had been queuing for his flight to an important business meeting in Milan, only to be yanked back by my single, non-negotiable phone call to the courthouse. A wave of guilt hit me as I remembered the look of barely contained fury—mixed with absolute adoration—on his face. “Audrey, I swear I owe you my firstborn or something. Eight years, I’ve been asking you out, barely getting a second glance, and now you want to tie the knot on an hour’s notice?” I glanced at my watch, savoring the panic in his eyes. “It’s almost closing time, Rhett. Are you signing, or not?” His fury deflated instantly. “Signing! The papers are here, the flight is rebooked, and my parents already know. I’d be an idiot not to.” … Since I hadn’t replied to his condescending texts, Elias finally called. His voice was laced with urgency, the kind that always sounded more like frustration than concern. “Audrey, you are overreacting. I only have eyes for you. My regard for Wrenley is purely professional, and that night was a genuine accident.” “I get it, Elias,” I said, my voice flat, empty of any emotion. “Men.” The silence on the line stretched for several seconds. I heard him take a deep, labored breath. “Where are you right now? I’ll have my driver pick you up. Wrenley is experiencing some terrible morning sickness, and I really can’t step away from her side…” I cut him off. “Don’t bother.” His tone immediately cooled, switching to that familiar, lecturing arrogance. “Audrey, are you throwing a tantrum? I’ve given you the full explanation. Wrenley will leave after the baby is born. What more do you want from me?” My chest felt hollow and tight. Unconsciously, I clenched the marriage certificate in my hand, focusing on keeping my voice even. “Elias, we’re done.” He paused, then let out a sharp, self-mocking laugh. “After all these years? All I’ve done for you? I made one mistake, Audrey. Which man hasn’t? I’m offering a solution, and you’re going to be this aggressively demanding?” I pressed my lips together, offering no response. My silence finally exhausted his meager patience. “Fine! Have it your way! Break up! You’ll be calling me, crying and begging to come back, in less than thirty minutes.” The line went dead, leaving only the sharp, empty dial tone. I hailed a cab back to the house that, until moments ago, had been ours. I wasn’t going back for him; I just needed to pack my life into boxes and leave. When I pushed open the front door, Elias was wearing a custom apron, and the dining table was set with a variety of carefully prepared, expensive dishes. He and Wrenley were sitting across from each other, chatting easily over their meal. His expression was unbearably tender as he gently picked up a fork and meticulously fed her a piece of fish. That soft look—I’d been naïve enough to believe it was reserved exclusively for me. I remembered the rare times I cooked for him. He would hug me from behind and whisper, “Thank you, baby. You’re spoiling me.” A warm sentiment, maybe, but in the five years we’d been together, he had never once offered to pour me a glass of water. He was the youngest, most brilliant cardiac professor at the city’s top medical school. He always had the same reason: “These hands, Audrey, are for surgery. I have to protect them at all times.” Even when holding my hand, his grip was always gentle, almost tentative. Now, he had made an exception for Wrenley. For a mere god-sister. Elias saw me, gave a triumphant smirk that screamed, I knew you’d come crawling back, and settled back into his seat. Wrenley offered a sickly sweet greeting. “Audrey! You’re back! Would you like to join us for dinner?” I ignored her, walking straight toward the master bedroom. “Stop right there!” Elias was on his feet in an instant, his face dangerously dark. “Wrenley is speaking to you. You have the audacity to ignore her? Where are your basic manners?” I slowly turned around, pulling a cold smile across my face. “How did you want me to respond, Elias? Should I thank her for generously rushing to have your child so I can be a pain-free mother? Or should I scream at her, call her a cheap tramp, and demand she get out of my house?” “You!” Elias was momentarily speechless, his neck veins popping with indignation. “Ugh…” Wrenley suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears that appeared to be on-demand. Elias immediately rushed to her side, panic etched across his features. “Wrenley, what is it? Are you in pain?” “I-I’m fine, Elias…” She trembled, clutching his sleeve, yet her tearful gaze was fixed squarely on me. “Audrey, I know this is all my fault, and I hate staying here in your home. I truly have nowhere else to go. I… I promise I’ll leave the second the baby is born. I will never bother you or Elias again.” Tears streaming, she suddenly touched her flat stomach. “I’m so sorry, baby. Mommy doesn’t want to abandon you, but Mommy did something wrong, and I have to accept the punishment, w-w-w… I’m sorry…” She then collapsed into his arms, dry-heaving violently. Elias’s eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a raw, visceral disgust, as if I were the one who had committed an unforgivable sin. “Are you satisfied now, Audrey?” I let out a single, incredulous scoff and turned to walk away. My lack of a reaction finally broke his control. He snatched the heavy glass of water from the table and hurled it directly at me. A sharp, blinding pain exploded at the back of my head. The sound of shattering glass followed as I tumbled backward, crashing hard against the ornate stair railing. The acute, jagged pain stole my breath, leaving me paralyzed, unable to move. Cold sweat instantly prickled on my skin. “Stop the theatrics! Get up now!” Elias’s voice from behind me was rough and impatient. Wrenley rushed over with a performance of concern. “Audrey, are you… are you alright? I think the glass only grazed your shoulder…” “Shut up,” I bit out, pushing her away. I forced myself to stand, my head swimming. Elias’s eyes narrowed into slits at my treatment of Wrenley. “Wrenley’s lost her appetite. Go into the kitchen and make her that salmon chowder you make so well. The one without chives. She hates chives.” “No.” My refusal was immediate and firm. “That is an order!” Elias’s face turned terrifyingly dark. “Audrey, you don’t think you have a choice here, do you?” I balled my fists, meeting his icy stare. “I’m not making the damn soup. What are you going to do about it?” A dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. He lunged forward, roughly grabbing my arm and shoving me into the kitchen with alarming force. Slam! The door crashed shut. “The soup isn’t made? You’re not leaving!” “Elias! You’ve lost your mind!” I hammered my palms against the door, screaming, “Let me out!” until my throat was raw. The only response was a chilling silence. My hands were swollen, hot, and bruised. Finally, defeated, I slid down the smooth, painted wood, leaning my aching body against the cold door. Their voices, though hushed, drifted clearly through the thin barrier. Wrenley’s soft, concerned whisper: “Elias, isn’t this too cruel for Audrey? If she doesn’t want to make the soup, it’s fine. I don’t need it.” Elias sighed, heavy with self-pity. “Wrenley, she was utterly spoiled by the Hollis family. I have to break her of that attitude. If she’s going to marry into the Stone family—a medical dynasty—she has to learn our ways. How else will she properly raise our child?” He continued, his voice laced with contempt. “The Stone name is all about compassion and virtue. Audrey’s temper… my mother has always disliked her.” Wrenley sounded genuinely confused. “Elias, then why haven’t you just broken up with her?” The apartment fell into a sudden, tense quiet. I pressed myself against the door, holding my breath, utterly still. Yes. Why? If I was such a burden, why endure me? The silence was unbearable, finally broken by Wrenley’s tentative whisper. “Elias?” His cold, clinical voice was like a scalpel slicing into my chest. “The Hollis family’s financial backing in New England is second to none. Her family’s influence has been… extremely useful to my career over the years.” I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle the strangled cry that threatened to escape. Tears, hot and blinding, finally spilled down my cheeks. That was it. All those years, he had been pursuing the Hollis name, the Hollis leverage, the Hollis access. Not me. A sickening flash of memory: Grandfather’s sudden heart attack. Elias, the young, brilliant doctor whose audacious surgical plan saved his life. I fell for the handsome, ambitious man instantly. I only sent a thank-you note and flowers, and he started relentlessly pursuing me. And every career boost, every subtle promotion, every closed-door opportunity—I had arranged those behind his back, terrified he would reject them. How hysterically funny. I had protected his precious pride, and all the while, he was just using me as a valuable asset. The kitchen door flew open. Elias looked down at me, clearly startled, before his face hardened into a scowl. “Crying over a simple chowder? Get out. I’m tired of looking at you.” I fought the dizziness and stood up, stumbling toward the master bedroom. The cold hit me the moment I opened the door. The bed linens had been changed to the nauseating pink lace I always hated. The framed photo of me on the nightstand was gone, replaced by a professional studio shot of a stranger’s baby. I flung open the custom mahogany closet. Every single item of my clothing was gone. Elias’s voice cut through the air behind me. “The guest rooms are too small. Wrenley is heavily pregnant, so she needs the space of the master. She’s living here now.” Wrenley added in a small, shaky voice, “Audrey, you don’t mind, do you? I promise, as soon as the baby is…” “I don’t mind,” I cut her off sharply. “Where are my things?” Elias refused to meet my eyes. “I had the staff move them to the utility closet. The spare bedroom closest to this one is being converted into the nursery. You can choose any of the other guest rooms.” I stood there for a long moment, then nodded stiffly. “Fine.” In the utility closet, my bespoke designer dresses were tossed onto the dusty concrete floor. My fine jewelry was scattered carelessly in a corner, looking like discarded trash. I took a deep, steadying breath, then turned to face Wrenley, who had followed me in. My gaze was pure, cold contempt. “Couldn’t even wait for me to leave? That’s low, even for you.” A fleeting flash of genuine shame crossed her face, immediately replaced by the practiced innocence. “Audrey, I don’t know what you’re talking about! Elias asked the staff to clean out the room. I didn’t touch anything.” I sneered, pointing to the heel print on a silk gown. “The housekeeper did that, too?” “What if I did?” She suddenly dropped her voice to a vicious whisper, a flash of pure malice in her eyes, before quickly recoiling and feigning terror. “Audrey, please! Just leave me alone!” She let out a piercing shriek, throwing herself backward. Elias burst through the doorway just in time to catch her. Wrenley immediately clutched her abdomen, sobbing uncontrollably. “Elias! I didn’t do anything! Why did Audrey push me? Thank God you came, or the baby…” “I didn’t push her!” My throat tightened, and I reflexively tried to explain. Elias’s eyes erupted with pure malevolence. He grabbed my throat with one hand, slamming me against the drywall. “You think I would believe that lie? That Wrenley would use her child against you? When did you become this vicious, Audrey?” His grip was incredibly strong; I was practically choking, struggling to squeeze out the words. “I… didn’t… really…” “Enough! I don’t want to hear your lies!” He was furious, letting out a laugh that was more of a snarl. He shoved me hard onto the cold floor. “Get out! Go back to the Hollis mansion and play the spoiled heiress! Don’t come back until you realize what you’ve done wrong!” I scrambled to my feet, staring at him in disbelief. Eleven o’clock at night. He was actually throwing me out? I remembered a time when, if I merely went out for a late-night walk, he would insist on walking beside me. Now, his chin was raised high, and he wouldn’t spare me a single glance. My nose started to sting. How many times had he erupted in fury at me today, all in defense of Wrenley? Everything I said, everything I did, was deemed a mistake. And this day, this very day, should have been our wedding day. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and walked out without even taking a coat. I needed to escape this suffocating place. … I had just arrived at the Hollis family mansion when my phone buzzed. It was a video message from Wrenley. I knew I shouldn’t, but my finger involuntarily tapped the play button. On the screen, Elias was embracing Wrenley tenderly, his eyes closed as he softly kissed her forehead, his face radiating contentment. His voice was thick with what sounded like genuine regret: “Wrenley, if I had met you earlier, I never would have wasted my time with Audrey. You have such pure ambition, such professional talent. And her? She’s all entitlement, using the Hollis name to get by, spending all her time on useless side projects.” “The Stones are a generational medical dynasty. If I had married her, she would have ultimately ruined our reputation.” Every single word was a poison-laced needle, piercing the deepest, most vulnerable part of my heart. Wrenley, using her family’s connections in the medical world, had easily become his private student and “god-sister.” This was his definition of “talent.” And me? I had stepped away from the family resources, starting from the ground up to eventually climb to the position of Hollis Investment Director. In his eyes, that was nothing but “useless side projects.” I was nothing to him. He had never loved me. I dropped the phone. The tears finally came, soaking the pristine silk pillow. I tossed and turned all night. As the morning light broke, Rhett Maxwell’s call came through. “Wife? Did you sleep well?” His voice was bubbling with barely contained, genuine delight. “I just landed in Milan. Couldn’t sleep a wink on the whole eleven-hour flight. Still can’t believe you actually married me.” His tone suddenly softened. “Wife, I already miss you. Do you miss me?” Wife. The word jolted me, snapping me back to reality. I had completely forgotten that in a fit of pure, impulsive rage yesterday, I had married Rhett. “Wife? Say something. Are… are you having second thoughts?” His voice was edged with ten thousand volts of anxiety. “No,” I replied quietly. I had grown up alongside Rhett. Even if I wasn’t sure if he loved me, I knew who he was. The Maxwell family was a perfect match for the Hollis family. He was the most suitable marriage partner. I heard him breathe a massive sigh of relief on the other end, his usual aggressive energy returning. “I’m flying back tomorrow! We’re going to pick out the engagement ring and wedding bands! I know the ceremony was rushed, but the proposal, the wedding—you’ll get every single moment of it!” “You just focus on being the most beautiful bride. I’ll take care of everything else.” I couldn’t help but smile slightly, agreeing to his plans. That was Rhett. With him, everything was meticulously arranged. All I ever had to do was follow his lead. And Elias… I only remembered his back, always rushing off to surgery or a lecture. Even the marriage license was initiated by me. When I brought it up, he had frowned, “Five years? Isn’t it a little premature to talk about marriage?” The difference between being loved and simply being tolerated was starkly clear. The entire day passed without a single word from Elias. Instead, his mother called, her voice dripping with an air of superior judgment. “I assume you’re caught up on Elias and Wrenley’s situation? She’s carrying the Stone family’s first grandchild, and we will not subject her to shame. Elias will marry her. Thank the heavens he didn’t marry you yesterday. It was destiny!” She paused for dramatic effect. “I’ve always said you two were mismatched. The Hollis family is all business, the Stones are a generational medical dynasty. The cultural pedigree simply isn’t the same, is it?” I let out a cool laugh. “Mrs. Stone, Elias and I are finished. Please don’t contact me again unless it’s absolutely necessary.” She clearly hadn’t expected the usually compliant Audrey to snap back. Just as she opened her mouth to argue, I ended the call. She immediately tried to call back several times. I blocked her number without hesitation, then went through my phone and blocked Elias on every platform. I deleted every single photo of us. Five years of what I thought was love evaporated with a few clicks. The next day, while trying on wedding rings at a high-end jewelry boutique, I ran straight into Elias and Wrenley. He was eagerly ordering an incredibly expensive custom jewelry set for her and a bespoke gold locket for the unborn child. When he saw me trying on a platinum band, Elias’s face instantly darkened. “Audrey! I told you to go home and reflect on your behavior, and you’re here shopping for a ring? You think this attitude is going to make me marry you?” He roughly grabbed my hand, forcefully pulling the ring off my finger and tossing it to the store clerk. “We won’t be buying this. Thank you.” The sharp edge of the diamond sliced into my skin, and a line of crimson immediately welled up. The clerk rushed forward to offer a bandage, but Elias stopped her with a cold hand. “It’s a minor scratch. Don’t bother.” I didn’t acknowledge him. Wiping the blood on my skirt, I turned back to the clerk. “Please bring me the original ring I asked for.” Elias snatched my wrist again, his eyes blazing. “Did I not make myself clear? You are not buying a ring today!” The surrounding customers started whispering. “That pregnant woman must be his wife, right? The mistress is so audacious, trying on rings in front of her.” “Shameless. Trying to claim the title. See? The man is finally telling her off.” Seeing the attention, Wrenley interjected with feigned sympathy. “Audrey, please stop this. You’re embarrassing me, and everyone is staring. I’ll even let you have the bracelet Elias just bought for me. Would you like that?” The clerk, flustered, also pleaded, “Ma’am, maybe you should come back tomorrow? We can’t run a business with this kind of commotion.” Elias’s grip tightened, and I could feel him ready to physically drag me out. I tore my arm away. “Elias, my ring shopping is absolutely none of your business. Stay out of it.” “None of my business? Fine. I officially announce the end of our engagement. You’ll never need a wedding ring!” He shoved me hard. As I stumbled backward, about to fall, a steady, warm pair of hands clamped onto my waist, holding me upright. Rhett Maxwell’s voice, deep and resonant, sounded in my ear. “Wife. Sorry I’m late.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386445”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Preston Rhodes ran out on our wedding five years ago. He didn’t just get cold feet; he vanished. Now, he was back, standing in my office with a diamond ring in one hand and the audacity of a thousand men in the other, asking me to marry him. “Audrey, let’s make this official.” He gestured vaguely to the air, as if swatting away a minor inconvenience. “Bella gave me a son. My grandfather had to accept her into the fold because of the bloodline. The three of us… we can make this work.” He held the ring up, twirling it between his fingers with a bored elegance. “Bella doesn’t have your pedigree, obviously. I didn’t have a choice.” I looked up from the quarterly financial reports spread across my mahogany desk, staring at him as if he were a rare, fascinatingly stupid insect. Did this man miss the last century of social progress? Did he think he was living in a feudal fantasy because he forgot his medication this morning? He caught my stare and offered a smirk that was equal parts condescension and charm. “Why are you playing dress-up in this CEO role, Audrey? You should take a page out of Bella’s book. Give me a son. That’s the only legacy that matters.” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Listening to him pontificate about male heirs and domestic submission was like inhaling toxic fumes. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Legacy is just a bedtime story insecure men tell themselves to feel important, Preston.” I closed the folder with a snap. “Tomorrow, I’m initiating the hostile takeover of Rhodes Enterprises. If you’re going to work delivery to make ends meet, try not to be late. My time is money.” 1 Preston had always been arrogant. He hated nothing more than being ignored. He snatched the report from my hands, his voice dropping to a growl. “You will never be half the woman Bella is, simply because you don’t know how to be soft. What kind of woman treats her future husband like furniture?” When he saw my smile vanish, replaced by a glacial stare, he softened his tone, pivoting to manipulation. “Look, I know you’re hurt. But men of my status… we have needs. We have options. It’s the way the world works.” He sighed, feigning the burden of nobility. “I know you’re still hung up on me leaving the wedding. But Bella was showing. I couldn’t hide it. I had to be there for the birth. You can’t hold a grudge against a mother and child.” When Preston fled five years ago, I threw myself into the wreckage of my family’s company. I didn’t have time for romance or heartbreak. Hearing these archaic justifications now, unearthed like dinosaur bones, I felt absolutely nothing. “You have thick skin, Preston. You think this is the 1950s? You think I’m going to sign up for a sister-wife arrangement?” Preston kicked his feet up onto my desk, crossing his ankles in his signature playboy sprawl. “Audrey, five years and you’re still so naive. In our circle, every powerful man has a side arrangement. The Sinclair family needs to save face, right? We’ll get the marriage license after I introduce Bella to Grandfather. You’ll be the official Mrs. Rhodes. That title belongs to you.” He leaned back, examining his fingernails. “Besides, holding it all together while I was gone… it must have been exhausting. I’ve always said, running a conglomerate isn’t women’s work. Pack it up, Audrey. Go home. Cook me dinner.” He leaned in, trying to turn on the charm, attempting to brush my cheek. I recoiled as if he were radioactive. Feeling my revulsion, Preston’s mask slipped. “Audrey Sinclair. Stop acting like a pristine saint. Take the damn ring. Do you really think you’re some untouched virgin goddess anymore?” The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “It sounds like you know exactly what happened to me, Preston.” For a split second, he looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. Five years ago. The engagement party. Preston vanished. That same night, a catastrophic explosion ripped through the Sinclair main distribution center. Inventory destroyed. Lives lost. Crushed by the humiliation of being left at the altar and the devastation of my family’s business, I spent my nights drowning in bourbon. And then, one rainy night, in a haze of alcohol and grief, I was assaulted by a stranger. After it was over, the man—satisfied and cruel—whispered the truth. It was Preston. To force his family to accept Bella, he needed to devalue me. He paid for the sabotage at the factory. He paid the man to assault me. The goal was simple: drag the Sinclair name through the mud so we couldn’t sue for breach of contract, and drag me down to the gutter so I was no “better” than his mistress. I remembered lying by the window that night, staring at the rain, debating whether to jump. But I didn’t. Instead, I buried the girl I was. I took over the failing company. I fought in the trenches of Wall Street. Not for love. Not for happiness. But so my parents, with their graying hair and bowed heads, could look the world in the eye again. “Audrey, stop fighting it,” Preston said, his voice low. “I’m back. I’ll take care of the money. What else could you possibly want?” He reached out, grabbing my chin, trying to force a kiss. I didn’t think. I reacted. The slap echoed through the office like a gunshot. I slammed my hand on the security button. “If you see this man again,” I told the security team as they dragged him out, “throw him into the street.” Preston didn’t scream. He just smirked. “You’re fiery, Audrey. I’m the only one who can handle that. The ring is yours. I’ll wait for you to come to your senses.” Being thrown out didn’t stop him. For days, my office turned into a florist shop. Jewelry arrived by the crate. Lunch was delivered from his restaurants, a different menu every day. The notes were always the same condescending scrawl: Come back when you’re done playing boss. I didn’t even blink. I told my assistant to trash it all and block his number. We were in the final stages of acquiring Rhodes Enterprises. Negotiations and board meetings consumed my life. Preston Rhodes was a fossil, a relic of a life I had discarded. He meant less to me than the dust on my laptop screen. Just when I thought he’d given up, a text came through from a new number. Fine. You want to end the engagement? Come to the Rhodes Estate. It’s the only way you’re getting the contract back. The engagement contract? I almost laughed. It was a worthless piece of paper. But I was curious. I wanted to see the final act of his circus. The next evening, I walked into the Rhodes family manor. Preston was there, sitting on the velvet sofa. Next to him was the woman—Bella. She looked small, fragile, clutching a baby to her chest like a shield. Preston’s eyes raked over my tailored suit and short skirt. A smug smile tugged at his lips. “Audrey. You made it.” He stood, moving to wrap an arm around me. I sidestepped him effortlessly. He leaned in, whispering, “That skirt… remarkably short. Trying to get a reaction out of me?” I gave him a look that would wilt flowers. He cleared his throat, pivoting to the room at large. “Audrey, I brought you here to settle things. Bella is gentle. She’s sweet. You’re… ambitious. Capable. You two will be like sisters. One big, happy family.” Sisters? Happy family? The absurdity washed over me. He was still hallucinating. He actually believed that after the betrayal, the sabotage, the rape, I would settle for being the matriarch of his twisted harem. “Preston,” I said, cutting off his delusion. “Is your brain still buffering? We aren’t family. Give me the contract so I can leave. The air in here is stale.” Preston’s face darkened. The charming façade crumbled. Before he could speak, Bella tugged on his sleeve. Her voice was a breathy whimper. “Preston, don’t fight for me… She just… she can’t accept her place…” It was a masterclass in manipulation, pouring gasoline on Preston’s fragile ego. He slammed his hand on the table. “Audrey! Don’t be ungrateful! Bella has ten times the grace you do. You walked through that door, so you follow my rules.” He pointed a shaking finger at the floor. “Bella, sit.” Then he turned to me, his eyes manic. “You. Kneel. Pour Bella tea. Apologize for your attitude. Or you don’t leave this house.” Kneel? Serve tea to the mistress? I looked at Preston’s twisted face, then at Bella’s triumphant smirk hidden behind false tears. I didn’t feel anger. I felt a profound, icy contempt. I stood my ground and smiled. “Preston. You really think you have the leverage here?” “You want me to kneel? There isn’t a single brick in this house that the Sinclair Group doesn’t effectively own right now. I haven’t foreclosed yet out of pity.” “And as for the tea…” My eyes slid to Bella. “She doesn’t have the pedigree to accept a cup of water from me, let alone tea. It might shorten her life expectancy.” “You bitch!” Preston roared. Veins bulged in his neck. He raised his hand, stepping forward. I didn’t flinch. I took a step toward him. “Go ahead. Strike me. Let’s see what makes the front page of the Journal tomorrow: Rhodes Stock crash, or the last shred of your reputation obliterated?” Preston floundered, scanning the room for a weapon, desperate to assert dominance. “Fine. Fine! You need to learn a lesson. The old ways are best. You need a stick to learn respect!” “Respect?” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Your version of respect is bankrupting your family to fund your affairs?” “Silence!” he screamed. “You’re drunk! Look at you, loose, drinking with men at business dinners… you need discipline!” “Drunk?” I had one glass of wine at a gala before coming here. Bella shrank into the sofa. “Preston… maybe she had too much… it’s hard for a woman alone with all those businessmen…” She framed me as a slut with surgical precision. Preston was panting now, consumed by sexual jealousy and inadequacy. “Who were you with? Which man? I’m not dead yet, Audrey! You’re cheating on me?” It was pathetic. “Preston,” I said, my voice calm and sharp as a scalpel. “Instead of worrying about who I drink with, maybe worry about your liquidity? Worry about the three subsidiaries bleeding cash? Worry about the bank calling your father?” He looked blank. He knew nothing. He was a prince of nothing, signing papers he didn’t read. “You… you’re lying!” “Ask your grandfather. You’re a parasite, Preston. sucking the life out of your ancestors’ legacy while you play house with your little bird.” “Shut up! Shut up!” Humiliated in front of Bella, stripped of his delusions, Preston snapped. His eyes locked onto an antique ebony walking stick mounted by the fireplace—a heavy, brutal thing used for ‘family discipline’ in the darker chapters of the Rhodes history. He ripped it off the wall. “You disobey your husband! You act like a whore! I will execute the family law myself!” Bella gasped, covering her mouth, but her eyes were glittering with excitement. I watched him advance, swinging the cane like a madman. The fear was gone. Only rage remained. “Preston, if that stick touches me, the Rhodes family ceases to exist by sunrise.” He hesitated, the cane hovering. Then, the madness took over completely. “Family law? You’re insane,” I spat. “You drove me to this!” he shrieked. “Guards! Hold her!” Two burly house staff entered. They hesitated, looking at me—a CEO, a public figure—but Preston’s unhinged screaming terrified them. “She’s my fiancée! It’s a domestic matter! Hold her down or you’re fired!” “Don’t you dare,” I warned. But the men, fearing for their jobs, grabbed my arms. They forced me to my knees on the cold marble. My blazer tore. Buttons popped from my silk blouse, exposing my shoulder and bra strap. “Look at you,” Preston sneered, looming over me. “Disheveled. Reeking of alcohol. Just like those women in the clubs.” “You dress like a slut, you get treated like one.” Bella chimed in, soft and poisonous. “Preston… she lived abroad… maybe she’s used to being… loose…” “Loose? It’s depraved!” Preston raised the heavy ebony cane. “I’m going to beat the defiance out of you. I’ll teach you what a husband is!” He swung. The wood cracked against my back. The pain was blinding. It stole the air from my lungs. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Crack. A second blow. Crack. A third. The pain was a fire spreading through my nerves. The staff looked away, ashamed, but nobody moved. The sound of wood hitting flesh echoed in the silent mansion. My sweat turned cold. Blood began to soak through the silk of my blouse. I lay pinned to the floor, my body seizing with every strike. But I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. I didn’t cry. I lifted my head, shaking, and locked eyes with him. My gaze was a weapon. “Have you had enough? Will you submit?” Preston was panting, sweat dripping down his face, pointing the cane at my nose. “Agree to the marriage. Be a good wife. And I’ll stop.” I spit a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the pristine floor. My voice was a raspy whisper, but it carried. “Preston… go to hell.” His eyes went wide with fury. He raised the cane high for a finishing blow— The heavy oak doors of the parlor groaned open. A voice, old and trembling with horror, shattered the moment. “Ms. Sinclair?! What… what in God’s name is happening here?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386444”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Eight years of marriage, and my husband—a man as precise and unyielding as a Swiss movement—finally malfunctioned. He used his immense leverage to steal another man’s girlfriend, buried his marital status, and claimed he believed in love at first sight. I stood outside the frosted glass of the clean room, watching him lift the “generation’s greatest physics prodigy” onto a stainless steel lab table. His eyes, usually cold as slate, were rimmed with raw red emotion. Their mouths were locked together. The silk tie I had perfectly dimpled for him this morning was now a crumpled ball of fabric discarded in a hazardous waste bin. The buttons on his shirt, which mandated a strict vertical alignment, were chaotic and askew. Preston Shaw was sharp. He caught my reflection in the glass. He frowned—a silent, dangerous warning. My shin throbbed. The phantom ache of a hairline fracture, a souvenir from the last time I tried to stop him from seeing Sienna. I blinked, masking the shock with a practiced, porcelain smile. I turned to the confused board of investors standing behind me. “Apologies, gentlemen,” I said, my voice smooth as aged whiskey. “It seems there was a chemical spill. A student’s experiment went sideways. It’s not safe to enter yet. Let’s move to the Quantum Wing.” 1 Inside the lab, the sounds dampened but didn’t disappear. I could hear the girl’s breathless, weeping laughter. And Preston’s voice, terrifyingly casual. “What are you afraid of? If anyone sees, I’ll just tell them you’re mine. Don’t you want that?” A single door separated two different realities. Out here, I was the face of cutting-edge tech investment. I was the estranged daughter of the wealthy Vanderbilt-adjacent Vance family. Finally, I was Mrs. Shaw. In there, Preston was the heir to the Shaw dynasty. And he was Sienna’s boyfriend. The only thing he wasn’t, was my husband. Our marriage had been a strategic merger announced in the Wall Street Journal, but we were private to the point of paranoia. No tabloids had photos of us together. Sienna, however, was his trophy. He paraded her around like a rare diamond. The rising star of theoretical physics. Preston was her loyal lapdog. But the girl was proud. She was angry he’d scared off her previous boyfriend, and she withheld the title of “official partner” from him. A bitter irony curled in my chest. I had the title, the ring, the name. And what did it matter? As long as Preston wanted to keep a secret, no one would dare tell Sienna that her suitor was a married man. I didn’t listen to another word. I straightened my spine and walked away. In a merger, the line item with the least value—is always sentiment. Preston taught me that. Although the tuition for that lesson had been a broken leg and six months in a wheelchair. The delegation was raving about the equipment, but the conversation inevitably pivoted to Preston. “I hear the Shaw heir is pouring money into quantum computing,” one investor noted. “If he sees a future in it, we’d be fools not to follow.” Another man glanced at me, his eyes lingering on my bare hands. “Mrs. Shaw isn’t wearing her wedding set today? Ah, well… men will be men. They get distracted by wildflowers. I remember when he bought a literal meteorite just to cut you a custom diamond.” I heard the derision loud and clear. These titans of industry were only entertaining my startup because of the Shaw name. How poetic. The heiress marries, and suddenly she loses her birthright. To succeed, she must beg for scraps from her husband’s table. I touched the indent on my ring finger, forcing a light, airy laugh. “Preston said for our eighth anniversary, he’s commissioning something that puts the Star of Eternity to shame. I’ve vaulted the old one. It’s practically an antique now.” The suspicion evaporated. Contracts were signed. After the handshakes, I rubbed my cheeks to massage away the stiffness. I turned the corner and froze. A matte black sedan with the license plate SHAW 1. Preston never used this car for his affairs. It was too recognizable. He was waiting for me. The realization sent a tremor through my hands. I tried to pivot, to feign ignorance, but the car lurched forward, blocking my path. Aggressive. Dominant. Just like him. The window didn’t roll down, yet I could feel the chill radiating from the back seat. Once, I would have rushed to apologize, terrified of his displeasure. I was the perfect curator of his moods. But today? I had walked five miles in heels. I hadn’t eaten. Rage, hot and sudden, flared in my gut. I stared at his silhouette through the tint. “This was just an accident,” I said to the glass. “I’m exhausted. I don’t have time for a lecture.” I had tried so hard to avoid their orbit, yet gravity kept pulling me back to Preston and Sienna. The window slid down. Preston sat there, his long, elegant fingers toying with a diamond ring. “Better than the Star of Eternity?” he asked, his voice dropping fifty degrees. “Audrey, when did you become a liar?” It was the ring I used to guard with my life. The ring I had deliberately “lost.” He tossed it at me. It hit my chest with a dull thud. I looked at it and smiled. “Let’s get a divorce.” The words tasted sweet, but before I could say them, my survival instinct kicked in. “Isn’t lying what you taught me?” 2 The Shaw family operated on a code of conduct that made the military look relaxed. Preston was the embodiment of that code—an obsessive perfectionist bordering on pathological. His coffee had to be single-origin Ethiopian, grind size 14, brewed exactly thirty seconds after grinding. His suit buttons, his cufflinks—everything had to be perpendicular to the floor. Even his treadmill sessions were calculated down to the calorie and heart rate zone. As his wife, I was another metric to be optimized. His requirements were specific: “My wife must come from old money. She must be beautiful, poised, and fluent in the language of high society.” I was eighteen when the Vance family finally acknowledged my existence. I stood in a lineup with my four half-sisters, wearing a dress that had been washed until the fabric thinned, afraid to lift my head. Any sane man would have chosen the polished princesses next to me. But Preston chose me. His eyes didn’t hold the disgust my parents had, nor the mockery of my sisters. They were clear, calm water. “You,” he said. “You are the exception.” It was the first time anyone had chosen me. It is impossible not to fall in love with Preston Shaw when he turns his focus on you. I treated his preferences like gospel. I reinvented myself. In one year, I became the perfect debutante. After the wedding, I became the quintessential Mrs. Shaw. And to my shock, beneath the iron exterior, Preston offered rewards. We chased the Northern Lights in Iceland. We took a private gondola in Venice. We ate gelato on the Ponte Vecchio and felt the Mediterranean breeze in Sicily. Until a week before I caught him. We were in Barcelona, admiring Gaudí. He told me, in a voice that sounded like devotion, that being with me was the happiest he’d ever been. I thought it was real. I thought the cold, robotic Preston Shaw had a heart, and that I held the key. Then came Sienna. Finding her was an accident. She was the wunderkind of the physics department, fast-tracked to a Nobel Prize. And naturally, she was the lead on a project funded by Shaw Capital. I went to surprise Preston at the lab. It was a scene eerily similar to today. Only back then, Sienna hated him. She was throwing his Cartier gifts out into the hallway. Preston, usually so dignified, was chasing her like a desperate teenager. She slapped him. And instead of recoiling, he pinned her against a whiteboard and kissed her. When she pushed him away, he laughed—a raw, rugged sound I had never heard. He was never that relaxed with me. With me, he was polite. A performance. I realized then, tears stinging my eyes, fingernails digging into my palms. Why was our marriage a dance of eggshells? Why was there no heat, no lover’s quarrels? Because to him, I was just a mirror. He was only ever acting. 3 It was a high-security facility. I didn’t have the clearance to barge in. So I watched my husband betray me through a window. I didn’t have the courage to confront him. I chose willful blindness. There was a pathetic hope buried deep inside me: They haven’t slept together yet. Maybe he’ll get bored. I waited three years. Preston couldn’t conquer Sienna. The cracks in his perfect veneer began to show. He started breaking his own rules. When Sienna mentioned a boyfriend, Preston’s jealousy turned nuclear. He used his board influence to reassign the poor boy to a field station in rural Namibia. He pulled strings to make sure Sienna couldn’t graduate without his approval. He held her career hostage because he couldn’t handle rejection. I saw the photos from the private investigator. Sienna’s face, once bright, looked gray and desperate. A dark thought took root: If she won’t take him, maybe I should help her disappear. But I underestimated Preston. My hired muscle betrayed me. I was thrown into the trunk of a car like luggage, blindfolded. The smell of gasoline and exhaust triggered a primal panic. I screamed until my throat bled. When the trunk popped open, Preston was there. He looked disheveled, bruised. He pulled me into a crushing hug. “I forgive you this time,” he whispered into my hair. “But never again.” I froze. To punish me—or perhaps to keep me docile—he became even more attentive. Our families were thrilled. But one night, in the dark, he whispered her name. I snapped. “Get out! If you love her, go to her!” I smashed every vase in the bedroom. I screamed like a banshee. Preston just stood there, lighting a cigarette, looking at me with pity. “Audrey. I thought you were smart.” “Your advantage over the others was always your obedience.” I was pulling at my hair, sobbing. “But you said you loved me. I believed you.” “What did I do wrong? I did everything you asked… please, just look at me. Don’t love her.” He walked through the debris of our room, touched my face, and smiled. “Don’t hurt yourself, darling.” “You are the perfect Mrs. Shaw. I made you. You should know by now: in a merger, feelings are irrelevant.” “If a lie maximizes profit, only a fool tells the truth.” He drove me to the brink of insanity, then demanded I stay sane. I didn’t understand then. I just stubbornly tried to stop him from seeing her after she attempted suicide. I locked myself in the garage with the car running, letting the carbon monoxide choke me, hoping it would scare him. It worked, temporarily. He promised to stay away. Then he went to her. When he found out I was the one who told Sienna he was married, Preston snapped. He didn’t yell. He picked up a vintage 9-iron golf club. “You cost Sienna half her life,” he said, testing the weight of the club. “A leg for a life. You’re getting off cheap.” The sound of the bone snapping haunts my nightmares. While Sienna was being pumped full of charcoal in the ER, and while his grandfather—the patriarch—had a heart attack from the stress, I was dragging my cast through the rain, locked out of the manor. That night, alone in the cold, I lost our baby. And I lost the last shred of hope for Preston Shaw. The next day, from my hospital bed, I asked for a divorce. “Divorce?” Preston ripped the papers in half. “Audrey, where would you go? The Vances don’t want you. You’ve developed a taste for caviar; you won’t survive on bread.” “I can survive,” I whispered. “Sign the papers.” Maybe it was my pallor. His eyes flickered to my flat stomach, and his hand twitched. “Stay in your lane, be Mrs. Shaw, and I won’t make your life difficult.” I smiled, a dry, brittle thing. “Sienna won’t love a married man.” “She has amnesia,” he said.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386443”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

They told me the divorce tore our family apart. That was the first lie. I went with Dad. After the “split,” his temper curdled into something rancid. He was a man composed entirely of whiskey fumes and violence, a black hole that swallowed every cent I earned and every ounce of peace I tried to build. He didn’t care if the lights were cut or if the fridge was empty. So, I grew up fast. I spent my afternoons gutting fish at the wharf, my hands permanently smelling of brine and bleach, just to keep a roof over our heads. It was a Tuesday when everything shattered. Dad—Frank—had just knocked me sideways, rifling through my pockets to steal my tips—forty dollars I’d sweated blood for. As I lay on the linoleum, dazed, my phone buzzed on the floor. The screen glitched, displaying a stream of chat comments overlaying my camera feed. [User778: She still has no clue. Doesn’t realize Mommy and Daddy never actually divorced.] [TruthSeeker: It’s just a reality show, guys. ‘The Nature vs. Nurture Experiment.’ Sadistic, if you ask me.] [RichGirlSummer: Look at her. Freezing and starving while her sister is living it up in the Hills.] I blinked, thinking it was a concussion. But the comments kept scrolling. Following the instructions in the chat, I dragged myself up and tracked the location they mentioned. I found myself standing outside a gated estate in Pacific Palisades. The air here smelled different—like jasmine and money. Then, the front door opened. My sister, Ivy. She wasn’t wearing the hand-me-downs I remembered. She was draped in a silk dress that probably cost more than my life’s earnings. And there were my parents, flanking her, looking vibrant, healthy, and unmistakably together. They laughed as they climbed into a gleaming Rolls Royce, the heavy doors thudding shut like a vault. I stood there, gripping my stomach where the hunger pangs usually lived, but all I felt was a bitter, rising bile. They hadn’t divorced. We weren’t broke. I was just the control group. They chose me to suffer because I was the quiet one. The obedient one. 1 I stood frozen on the manicured lawn, the sprinklers hissing to life around me. If the text on my screen had been a rumor, seeing them with my own eyes was the verdict. My parents were still married. My family was sitting on a goldmine. And I was the punchline of a cruel joke. Because I was good? Because I didn’t fight back? Is that why I was the one thrown to the wolves? I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to force air into my lungs. The pain wasn’t physical; it was an existential hollowing out. The comments scrolling across my phone screen filled in the blanks. It was a game. A deep-web reality stream for the bored and wealthy. They paid to watch the disparity—one daughter groomed for the throne, the other ground into the dirt. Five figures a day in donations. Was that it? Was I sold out for ad revenue? Standing under the California sun, I felt a chill settle into my marrow. My phone buzzed. A text from Ivy. “Hey Maya, heard you’re scrubbing floors to pay rent? Poor thing. But you’ve always been the resilient one. Keep grinding, okay?” I could hear the smirk in her voice. Ivy had always been the charming one, the one who knew how to curate her personality for maximum applause. I was the introverted shadow, the one who kept her head down. In middle school, when I brought home straight A’s and Ivy brought home detention slips, Mom didn’t celebrate me. She scolded me for making Ivy feel bad. I should have known then. The scales were never balanced. “Hey! You on the clock or not? Move it!” The shout snapped me back to reality. I looked around, disoriented. My feet had carried me on autopilot back to the fish market. This was my life. Frank was a violent drunk who treated me like an ATM. I wasn’t eighteen yet, so legal work was hard to find. I took what I could get, paid under the table, cash in hand. “Sorry,” I whispered, the word tasting like ash. I tied on the stiff, stained apron, my face pale under the fluorescent hum of the market lights. I worked until my fingers were numb. It was past midnight when I walked back through the alleyways, clutching my day’s pay. The apartment was dark. The peeling wallpaper, the cracked window taped over with cardboard—it all looked like a stage set now. Frank wasn’t home. He was probably celebrating with his real family. I ate a cup of instant noodles, staring at the water stains on the ceiling. I knew they were watching. Hidden cameras, capturing every slurp of broth, every tired sigh, broadcasting it to strangers who found my misery entertaining. I couldn’t sleep. I pulled out my cracked phone. The chat stream popped up again, dropping a link. [Here’s the main feed. Poor Maya looks broken. She’s working herself to death while they feast.] I held my breath and clicked. It was a sophisticated, private streaming site. The number one channel was live. There I was, on a split screen. And there they were. The Bishop family. My parents and Ivy were seated at a table draped in white linen, servers pouring vintage wine and cracking open lobsters. I smelled the stale flavor packet of my noodles; they smelled melted butter and success. I felt like a scavenging creature watching swans glide across a lake. 2 I got home at nine the next night. It was report card day. I had maintained my rank—Valedictorian. To celebrate, I stopped at a bodega and bought a generic, plastic-wrapped muffin. It cost two dollars. No frosting, just dry sponge cake. I set it on the wobbly kitchen table like it was a delicacy. I broke off a piece. It was stale, but the sugar hit my tongue, and my eyes started to burn. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a birthday cake. The stream chat flickered in my peripheral vision. [Maya’s celebrating being top of her class with a stale muffin. Sad.] [Meanwhile, Ivy failed three classes and look at the spread she’s getting.] I opened the livestream. They were at a high-end sushi bar in Malibu. Mom—Susan—was stroking Ivy’s hair, smiling that warm, maternal smile I hadn’t seen in years. “Grades aren’t everything, sweetheart,” she was saying. “As long as you’re happy.” Frank placed a piece of fatty tuna in Ivy’s bowl. “If you want, we can just send you to Europe for a gap year. Or buy your way into that art program. The world is yours, Ivy.” They talked about her future like it was a boundless, golden horizon. My name wasn’t spoken once. It was as if I didn’t exist. As if they had only one daughter. I closed the laptop, the silence of the apartment deafening. Halfway through my muffin, heavy boots stomped in the hallway. The door slammed open. Frank. For a split second, a childish part of me wanted to show him my grades. To make him proud. I crumbled the report card in my hand before I could offer it. He shoved me into the counter. “You got cash? I need a bottle. Now.” “I… I don’t have much,” I stammered. He had taken everything yesterday. “You’ve been working all day! Don’t lie to me!” His boot connected with my shin. Pain exploded up my leg, turning my vision white. I gasped, shrinking back. I dug the crumpled bills from my pocket—my grocery money for the week—and handed them over. I ran to the liquor store, limping, and ran back. “Here,” I said, setting the bottle down. He cracked it open, the smell of cheap vodka filling the room. “Dad,” I tried, my voice shaking. “Report cards came out. I got first in the…” “First?” He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “What’s the point of a girl reading books? You’re just going to get married anyway. Quit school, get a full-time job, and bring me more money. That’s your purpose.” I stared at him. The image of him offering Ivy a gap year in Europe flashed in my mind. Girls should see the world, they had told her. Reading is useless, he told me. I kept the report card hidden in my fist. He finished half the bottle, then stumbled out, knocking the table over as he went. My muffin—my celebration—rolled onto the dirty floor. He stepped on it, grinding the crumbs into the linoleum, and slammed the door. I looked at the flattened cake. The tears finally came, hot and silent. 3 Frank didn’t come back for a long time. The livestream chat told me why. Ivy was stressed about “life,” so the family rented a villa in Napa to help her “decompose.” I sat in the damp apartment, shaking from a cold that wouldn’t lift. It felt like ice water was circulating through my veins. On the day of the final AP exams—the culmination of four years of sleepless nights—I walked the six miles to the testing center. Cars whizzed past me. I saw a flash of a familiar Mercedes—Ivy, in the passenger seat, laughing. She didn’t even have school that day. When I walked out hours later, exhausted, I saw my parents’ car idling by the curb. My heart did a stupid, treacherous flip. They came. They finally remembered. I started to walk toward them, a smile forming. But they weren’t looking at me. The back door opened, and Ivy hopped in, holding shopping bags. They had just stopped to adjust the GPS. As I raised my hand to wave, the Mercedes peeled away, merging into traffic without a backward glance. I stood alone on the sidewalk, the exhaust fumes washing over me. The text on my screen blurred. [Ivy is the princess. A spa day while Maya fights for her future.] [Maya’s been eating crackers and water. Is this even legal?] [Are they trying to break her?] I pulled up the stream. My parents were addressing the camera, answering the chat. “We’re building her character,” Frank said, swirling a glass of red wine. “Plenty of kids have it worse. If she can’t handle this, she’ll never survive the real world. We’re doing her a favor.” “Once the acceptance letters come in, we’ll bring her home,” Mom added, checking her manicure. “We’ll make it up to her.” Make it up to me? I laughed, a dry, jagged sound. They thought a new wardrobe and a hug would erase six years of starvation? They thought I should be grateful for the trauma? 4 I threw myself into work the moment exams were over. I didn’t know if they’d pay for college, but I knew one thing: they didn’t love me. Acceptance day arrived. I logged into the portal at the public library. Stanford University. Class of 2026. The librarian, Mrs. Higgins, hugged me. “I knew it, Maya. You’re going to do great things.” I ran home, adrenaline pumping. I had a stash—emergency money I’d hidden inside the hollow leg of the kitchen table. It was enough for my deposit and a bus ticket north. I burst into the apartment. It had been tossed. Drawers pulled out, mattress overturned. The table leg was unscrewed. The money was gone. Frank was passed out on the couch, snoring, clutching a bottle of top-shelf bourbon. I grabbed his collar and shook him. “Where is it? Where’s my money?!” He swatted me away like a fly. “Quit screaming. What’s yours is mine. I raised you. You owe me.” “That was for Stanford! I got in!” He glared, his eyes bloodshot. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re eighteen. Get a real job and pay rent here. Don’t ask me for a dime.” I stood there, trembling with a rage so pure it felt like fire. “I am going,” I said, my voice deadly quiet. “And I’ll earn every cent myself.” I walked out. I wandered aimlessly until I found myself near the upscale shopping district. “Maya?” I looked up. Ivy. She looked immaculate. A sundress that caught the light, a crystal pendant at her throat. I looked down at my frayed sneakers. “I heard you got into Stanford,” she said, smiling. It looked almost genuine. “That’s amazing.” She scanned my outfit. “Are you looking for work? This place is… grim. Listen, Mom’s friend needs a private tutor for her kid. It pays really well. In the Heights. You should take it.” I looked at her concern. It felt like a lifeline. I was so desperate, I wanted to believe her. 5 The tutoring gig was in a secluded, wealthy neighborhood. The pay was incredible. On the night I finally had enough for my tuition deposit, I was walking to the bus stop. A dark sedan pulled up. Three guys hopped out. They reeked of stale smoke and trouble. “Hey, sweetheart,” the one with bleached hair sneered. “You look lost. Need a ride?” I backed up, clutching my backpack. “Stay away from me.” “Feisty.” He lunged. I fought. I scratched and kicked, but they were stronger. They yanked my backpack off, dumping the contents onto the pavement. My acceptance letter fluttered into a puddle. They found the envelope of cash. “Stanford, huh?” The bleach-blonde guy laughed. “Never hooked up with a genius before.” “Let me go!” I screamed. He kicked my legs out from under me. I hit the concrete hard. “You talk too much.” He picked up a rusted pipe from the gutter. He didn’t hesitate. He brought it down on my shin. The crack was the loudest thing I’d ever heard. Then came the scream. [This is too far. Ivy set this up.] [Yeah, the ‘job’ was a setup. She hired these guys.] The chat flashed across my dropped phone screen. The pain in my leg was blinding, but the betrayal was a knife in my heart. Ivy. My own sister. She didn’t just want to win; she wanted to destroy me. “Did… did Ivy send you?” I gasped, spitting blood. My hand found my phone, tapping the record button blindly. The guy scoffed. “You’re smart. She said you needed a lesson. Don’t overshadow her, got it?” He kicked me one last time and they ran. I lay there, curled in a ball. My leg was twisted at a sickening angle. Footsteps. Light, deliberate. I opened one swollen eye. Ivy stood over me. She wasn’t horrified. She was smiling. A cold, satisfied curve of her lips. “Help,” I wheezed. “Call 911.” She watched me for a long moment, like I was a bug she’d successfully squashed. Then she turned on her heel and walked away. 6 A jogger found me an hour later. I woke up in the hospital, my left leg encased in heavy plaster. Tibial fracture. No surgery needed, but I wouldn’t be walking for weeks. I called the police immediately. I gave them the recording. I told them everything. That evening, my parents burst into the room. They were carrying a fruit basket and wearing expressions of rehearsed concern. “Oh, Maya!” Mom cried. “My poor baby! Who did this to you?” Frank looked teary-eyed. “We’re here, honey. We’ll take care of everything.” I watched their performance. It was nauseating. “Cut the act,” I said. They froze. “Maya,” Mom’s voice dropped an octave. “Look, Ivy is your sister. You can’t press charges. She didn’t mean for it to go this far. It was just a prank that got out of hand.” “A prank?” I pointed to my cast. “She hired thugs to break my leg and steal my tuition.” “Think of her future,” Frank hissed. “If she gets a record, she’s ruined. If you sign this settlement—an NDA and a waiver of liability—we’ll bring you to the mansion. We’ll pay for Stanford. Everything.” “Or,” Mom added, her eyes narrowing, “You have no insurance. No money. You’ll be discharged onto the street with a broken leg. And who knows? Those boys might come back.” I stared at them. They were monsters. “Fine,” I said softly. They brightened. “But I have a condition. I want a legal document. A complete emancipation and severance of ties. You disown me, I disown you. No legal claims, no financial ties. We are strangers.” They exchanged a look of relief. They didn’t want a daughter; they wanted a liability removed. “Done,” Frank said. The next morning, they brought the papers. They signed the severance agreement with eager scribbles. I handed over the signed settlement letter. They walked out, beaming, thinking they had won. The second the door closed, I emailed the audio recording to the detective. I opened the livestream. They were celebrating in the Rolls Royce, Ivy showing off a new bracelet, bragging about how “family sticks together.” The siren wail cut through their audio feed. I watched on the screen as the police cruiser blocked them in. “Ivy Bishop, step out of the vehicle.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386442”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Four years. That was the tally of our long-distance marathon. I never once worried that Holden would betray me. Why would I? My best friend, Sienna, attended the same university as him. She was my eyes and ears, my proxy on the ground. She kept me synced to his life, beat for beat. Over those four years, Holden came to see me more than two hundred times. Between the flights and the hotels, he must have burned through thirty thousand dollars. I remember how he used to smile, his hand warm and heavy as he ruffled my hair. “You get air-sick, and cars make you nauseous,” he’d say, his voice a soft rumble. “So let me come to you. I never want you to look at other girls and envy their boyfriends. Not for a second.” “I can make money tutoring,” he’d insist. “If I’m not spending it coming to see my high-maintenance girl, what’s the point?” On the day of his graduation, I told him a lie. I said my advisor was chaining me to the lab for three days. In reality, I endured a twenty-hour trip from hell—three layovers and a Greyhound bus—just to make it to his ceremony. I had a ring in my pocket. I was going to propose to him. When I arrived at the university, the air was electric. A crowd had gathered on the main quad, the cheering deafening. It was the sound of a spectacle. I tilted my head, curious. Through the gaps in the crowd, I saw a man down on one knee. It was my boyfriend. It was Holden. And the girl standing before him, hands over her mouth? That was my best friend. Sienna. 1 I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My vision blurred, static filling the edges of my sight. Rub your eyes, Avery, I told myself. It’s the travel fatigue. The stale air. You’re hallucinating. But when I focused again, the image sharpened, and the tears came before I could even process the pain. I saw Holden’s hand trembling as he held the velvet box. “Sienna,” he said, his voice projecting clearly over the hush of the crowd, “I have never imagined spending the rest of my life with anyone else.” “To me, there is only you, and then there is everyone else. Will you marry me?” My head turned mechanically, locking onto Sienna. She was weeping, that beautiful, delicate cry she had perfected. She looked stunning today. She was wearing a white, tiered chiffon dress paired with little leather loafers. In the sunlight, it looked almost like a wedding gown. Sienna, who hated makeup, was flawless today. The kind of beauty that makes your heart ache. A memory, sharp as glass, sliced through my mind. Two weeks ago. Her voice on the phone. “Babe, which dress should I get?” I had told her to pick the white tiered one. “But it’s three hundred dollars over my budget,” she had hesitated. “Is it worth it?” “It’s gorgeous,” I had insisted. “It’s perfect for you. If you love yourself, buy it. I’ll Venmo you the difference.” At the time, I thought she was wearing it to a dinner with her roommates. Now I realized: She was wearing the dress I paid for, to accept a proposal from my boyfriend. The shock was physical. It froze my blood, locking my limbs in place. Part of me wanted to scream, to sprint into the center of that circle, snatch the ring, and crush it under my heel. Instead, I watched Sienna smile through her tears. “I couldn’t imagine loving anyone but you,” she sobbed. “I’d rather die.” “Holden… yes! I will! I will marry you!” I watched, paralyzed, as Holden slid the ring onto her finger. They embraced, their lips meeting in a kiss that looked like it belonged on a movie poster. The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of applause and cheers. Beside me, two girls sighed in admiration, their words twisting the knife deeper. “Holden and Sienna are literally perfect. From freshman year sweethearts to marriage… I’ve been shipping them since they got together first semester!” “Right? He’s the Student Body President, she’s the brilliant Lit major. You couldn’t write a better romance novel. Three years together and straight to a proposal? I’m dying. It’s too romantic.” The bouquet of flowers in my hand slipped. The ring box I had been clutching tumbled onto the pavement. Three years. Only now, amidst the confetti of my shattered reality, did I learn the truth. My best friend and my boyfriend had been the campus power couple for three years. Everyone knew. Except me. A metallic taste—blood—surged in my throat. My body began to convulse, a violent rejection of what I was seeing. The world tilted, and I hit the ground. Strangers, kind students, rushed to help me, carrying me toward the campus health center. In the distance, Holden and Sienna were still lost in their kiss, oblivious to the universe outside of their deceit. When I woke up in the clinic, the nurse looked relieved. “Honey, your blood sugar bottomed out,” she said gently. “You need to take better care of yourself.” I sat up, hands shaking, and dialed Holden. No answer. I messaged Sienna on every platform. Called her. Nothing. Tears dripped onto my phone screen, blurring the keypad. The nurse handed me a candy wrapped in gold foil. “Why the tears? Here, have a chocolate. Some students dropped these off. Party favors from the big proposal.” “That Sienna girl and Holden… they’re a sweet couple. Big scene on the quad today. Very exciting.” I walked out of the clinic like a ghost haunting the campus. The nurse’s words echoed in my ears, a loop of torture. “Freshman year, Sienna fainted during physical fitness tests. Holden carried her all the way here. You should have seen how panicked he was.” “After that, they were inseparable. Wanted to be together twenty-five hours a day. People even wrote stories about them on the campus forum. Totally codependent. And now, look at them. Happily ever after.” Every sentence was a razor blade, carving fresh wounds into my heart. Freshman year. I had fainted during my fitness test, too. My roommates had helped me. I never imagined Holden and Sienna were lying to me. They were building a romance in the very clinic where I imagined him worrying about me. My phone buzzed. A voice message from Holden. I played it. His voice was thick, slightly slurred. “Baby… graduation was crazy. Went out drinking with the guys, sorry I missed your call.” “Don’t be mad, okay? Can we FaceTime? Actually… no, I smell like a brewery. I’ll FaceTime you tomorrow.” “I ordered breakfast for you, it’ll be at your door in the morning. Remember to eat. Love you.” My heart plummeted into the abyss. A message from Sienna followed seconds later. “Avery! Is the thesis stressing you out? I was so busy taking grad photos with my roommates I totally missed your texts. My bad!” “Your boy Holden is behaving, by the way. Some girls tried to get photos with him, but he shut them down. He only wants to take photos with you.” They were so coordinated. They had built a fortress of lies, timing their messages to cover the cracks. If I hadn’t seen the proposal with my own eyes, I would have believed them. I would have been the fool who thanked them for their loyalty. I sank into a crouch right there on the sidewalk, burying my face in my knees, and wept until I couldn’t breathe. Then, I heard them. I looked up. Under the streetlights by the campus lake, Holden had his arm around Sienna. They were laughing, that intimate, secret laughter of lovers. They were feeding a stray orange tabby cat. Sienna’s voice was wistful. “Mittens… we’ve been feeding you for three years. You’re like the witness to our happiness.” Holden looked at her, and the love in his eyes was so potent it was terrifying. “I love you, Sienna.” The words shook my very soul. Sienna bit her lip, looking tragic and beautiful as she buried her face in his chest. “You’ve done enough for me. After today… we can’t love each other out loud anymore.” “You have to go live with Avery. Build your little home. And I’m going to France for grad school. We might never see each other again.” Holden held her tighter. “Sienna, no matter how far you go, you are the one in my heart. I proposed to you.” She nodded, a sad, accepting smile on her face. “I have enough memories. At least you asked me first. Even if you marry Avery later, I won’t be jealous.” “Don’t feel guilty. Even if we don’t get the marriage license… maybe you’ll remember me longer because of it.” My fingernails dug into my palms until the skin broke. I watched them kiss again, desperate and passionate. Holden’s voice was ragged. “I’m sorry, Sienna. I’ll find ways to come to France. I’ll see you.” The wet, intimate sounds of their kissing drifted through the night air. Holden was a master at partitioning his heart. He would secretly propose to Sienna, the love of his life, and then settle for marrying me. Sienna was his ‘one that got away.’ His golden ghost. My face felt like it was burning. Tears plastered my hair to my cheeks. I looked at the chocolate in my hand—the “party favor”—crushed it into a shapeless lump, and threw it into the nearest trash can. Then, I turned around. I went straight to the airport and boarded the first flight back. I had arrived full of hope. I left with a heart that had turned to ash. Exhaustion pulled me into a feverish sleep on the plane. Dreams flickered like a horror movie reel. Holden and Sienna holding hands on the quad. Feeding the kitten until it grew into a fat cat. Eating in the cafeteria, picking out the vegetables the other didn’t like. Walking through the first snow, sharing a scarf. I woke up gasping, sweat chilling my forehead, tears soaking my pillow. I was back in my dorm. My roommates were hovering, looking worried. “Avery? You’re back? We thought you were proposing! Why do you look like a wreck?” “Yeah, did Sienna get a video? Show us! It must have been so brave. Seriously, you’re a legend for doing that.” I had kept the trip a secret to surprise Holden. Surprise. The word tasted like bile. I looked at their curious, kind faces and couldn’t even force a smile. “Holden… he had to go collect data with his advisor suddenly. I missed him. So I came back.” They glanced at each other, sensing the lie but kind enough not to press. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say that the “World’s Best Boyfriend” I had bragged about for four years had been sleeping with my best friend the entire time. My head was splitting. I went to the balcony to brush my teeth, needing air. That’s when I saw him. Downstairs. Holden. Standing there, looking windblown and desperate. He was holding a bouquet of Cappuccino roses—my favorite. And a box of that expensive pistachio cake from the bakery I loved. He looked up, his eyes full of that familiar, deceptive warmth. Last night he was making love to Sienna. Today, he was playing the perfect boyfriend for me. “Avery!” he shouted. “Let’s take graduation photos!” My roommate poked my shoulder, swooning. “God, he’s romantic. Go down there!” I moved like a robot. I didn’t even put on shoes. I walked out of the dorm barefoot. When Holden saw me, he frowned, running over to scoop me up and deposit me on a nearby bench. “Are you happy-shocked? Why no shoes?” “We’re going to live together soon,” he scolded gently. “I have to break you of this bad habit.” Soon? The word made me want to laugh hysterically. He paused, noticing my expression. “Avery, do you feel sick?” “Are you still mad? I know, I know. Not texting back last night was terrible. That’s why I caught the first flight out. Flowers and cake as a peace offering.” The rage hit me all at once, a physical blow. I grabbed the cake box and smashed it into his face. Before he could react, I took the roses—thorns and all—and hurled them at his chest. “Holden! Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think you can just play me like a fiddle?” My voice was a scream, raw and terrifying. I didn’t recognize myself. The ring was still on his finger. The one he gave Sienna. How much did he love her that he couldn’t even take it off to see me? Holden’s temper was terrifyingly good. It made my skin crawl. He wiped frosting from his eye, forcing a smile. “Babe, is the lab work going badly?” “It’s okay. I handled everything at my school. I’m here to help you prep for graduation. I’m here. Don’t stress.” “We have our trip coming up. Smile for me.” “And hey, didn’t you want to buy a going-away gift for Sienna? I’ll pick up some extra shifts. You can buy her something expensive.” He started cleaning up the mess, cautioning me, “Watch out for the thorns.” I didn’t feel the thorns. I walked up to him and slapped him across the face. Hard. “Holden. You are absolutely disgusting.” But the grief was a vacuum, sucking the energy out of my cells. The world went black, and I collapsed. The last thing I saw was Holden’s face crumbling into panic as he lunged to catch me. When Holden heard the doctor say I had fainted from acute gastroenteritis and stress, guilt washed over his features. He gripped my hand. “Avery, this is my fault. I made you feel like you couldn’t even tell me you were sick.” “Don’t be scared. I’m staying right here. I already emailed your professor.” He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A perfect mask over a rotting soul. I couldn’t even muster the energy to be angry anymore. I watched him bustle around—wiping my face, buying food, dealing with the insurance forms. Since high school, he had taken care of me. Peeling fruit, remembering anniversaries, the grand gestures. After finals senior year of high school, he had confessed to me with a bouquet he arranged himself. I fell into that sweet, first-love dream. Sienna, interestingly, hadn’t liked him. “Babe, I don’t think Holden is good enough for you,” she’d said. They were like oil and water. I was always the mediator. When we got into different colleges, I cried for days. Sienna stayed by my side, volunteering to keep an eye on him. “Babe, I’ll watch him. If Holden so much as talks to another girl, I’ll report back instantly.” I remembered leaning on her shoulder, looking at Holden with arrogant pride. “See? Don’t think about cheating. Sienna is my CCTV.” He had promised, hand over his heart. “Don’t worry. She won’t have anything to report.” I thought I had the world’s most thoughtful boyfriend and the world’s most loyal best friend. I didn’t know they were using my trust—and my lack of social media stalking—to build a life together. They were the campus sweethearts, living a romance everyone else envied. Holden’s phone rang on the bedside table while he was getting water. It was his mom. Mrs. Warner. I remembered how she always held my hand, bringing me homemade dishes. I picked up. Her voice froze me solid. “Son! When are you bringing Sienna home for dinner? Your dad and I miss her.” “Don’t bring Avery this time. Every time she comes, I have to fake a smile and cater to her. She’s such a princess. High maintenance. I like Sienna so much better.” “Tell Sienna I miss her. I have that vintage pearl necklace for her—grandmother’s pearls. I couldn’t bear to give them to Avery.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. The woman who smiled at me… behind my back, she had already chosen her daughter-in-law. My voice rasped. “Mrs. Warner. If you hate me that much, why do you call my parents ‘family’ every time you see them?” She recognized my voice. The line went dead instantly. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. Driven by instinct, I reached into Holden’s jacket pocket. There it was. The second phone. I typed in Sienna’s birthday. It unlocked. The photo gallery. Thousands of them. Intimate, domestic, happy. Every wallpaper was Sienna. Every app was organized by her. No wonder Holden always let me check his phone with such confidence. He had a burner life. A message popped up from the pinned contact: My Sienna. “Honey, I’m coming to see Avery now. She won’t suspect anything, right?” “I need to see you. Plus, with her princess temper, if I don’t show up, she’ll blame me for not caring.” The words were poison. I typed back: “Come over.” “On my way! Wait for me, my love!” I put the phone back. I sat in the silence, waiting for the curtain to rise on their little play.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386441”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

One week ago, the real Sterling heiress showed up at our doorstep. That was the moment I found out I was a fraud. But since my biological parents were long dead, the Sterlings decided to keep me around. The real daughter, the one who just came back, seemed to have a lot of beef with me—the imposter. She not only monopolized Mom, Dad, and my brother’s attention, but she was also determined to reclaim the fiancé who was originally supposed to be hers. I honestly didn’t care. I just wanted to survive and keep a roof over my head. But when I tried to return my fiancé to her, the man who had always been gentle with me showed a dark, gloomy expression I’d never seen before. He gripped my waist tight, looking down at me with an oppressive, natural-born dominance. “Harper,” he whispered, “since we were kids, I’ve known… you can only be mine.” Right at that moment, the real heiress pushed the door open. She blinked, flashing a smile that revealed two cute canine teeth. “Julian! Didn’t you promise Mrs. Vanderbilt you’d have dinner with me?” Weirdly, at that exact second, I heard the roar of her inner thoughts. — “You batsh*t crazy male lead! Get the hell away from the heroine! She belongs to the second male lead!” 1. I’ve become weird. Normal people can’t read minds, but I can. Specifically, I can only read Hailey’s mind. Hailey is my sister in name, but she’s the real blood of the Sterling family. I’m the fake. The day she was brought back, Mom, Dad, and my brother Austin held her and cried their eyes out. I stood to the side, clearly the outsider. After that day, I knew the drill. No more acting spoiled, no more being willful. I just needed to be a good piece of furniture in this house. The whole world started revolving around Hailey. Hailey hated me, the imposter. I understood. I’d been the cuckoo in the nest for nineteen years, living a life of luxury while she suffered out there. I was content with the status quo. Mom, Dad, and Austin were hers. My childhood fiancé, Julian Vanderbilt, should be hers too. Hailey had been visiting the Vanderbilt estate a lot lately. She’d come back and brag in front of me about how nice Julian’s mother was to her, how polite and gentlemanly Julian was, and how lively the house became with her around. My brother, usually close to me, looked like he wanted to say something but held back. Finally, Mom came to me. “Harper, Hailey really poured her heart into Julian. Knitting scarves, baking pastries… If Hailey hadn’t been lost all those years ago, she would have been the one engaged to him…” Before she could finish, I cut in immediately. “Mom, as long as my sister is happy, I’m happy.” Mom breathed a sigh of relief, then seemed to feel a delayed pang of guilt. “Good child. I’ll keep an eye out for other eligible bachelors for you. We won’t treat you unfairly.” I nodded obediently. But everyone knew how awkward my position in the Sterling family was now. Any decent guy would avoid me like the plague. Whatever. I wasn’t planning on relying on a man anyway. 2. But Julian must have heard the rumors. He walked into my room casually, just like when we were kids. He used to love hanging out in my room while I played house, forcing him to eat “fried rice” made of Play-Doh. But this was the first time since we grew up that he barged in without knocking. “Julian…” I barely got a word out before he yanked me up from the sofa by my wrist. His grip was rough. Standing in front of him, I realized I only reached his chest. Through his thin white dress shirt, I could see the definition of his muscles, radiating a dangerous kind of wildness. He was mischievous as a kid but grew up gentle and quiet. I’d never seen this side of him. My wrist throbbed. I wanted to yell at him like old times, but then I remembered—this guy was about to be my brother-in-law. Let it slide. But when I stayed silent, he got worse. His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me tight against him. Even though we were engaged early on, we’d never been this intimate. “Julian, are you crazy?” I couldn’t help but snap, trying to break free. “Shh,” his voice was hoarse, whispering right in my ear. “Be good. Just let me hold you for a minute.” I struggled harder, but against his absolute strength, it was useless. He held me for a while, then suddenly looked down. His eyes were dark enough to swallow a person whole. “Harper, since we were kids, I’ve known… you can only be mine.” His predatory stare made my skin crawl. It felt like my childhood friend had morphed into a wolf that had been lying in ambush for years. 3. When Hailey walked in, Julian didn’t let go. I was caught in a literal nightmare scenario, my scalp tingling with awkwardness. But Hailey was clearly a girl with deep thoughts. Faced with this scene, she didn’t flinch. She just smiled. “Julian! Didn’t you promise Mrs. Vanderbilt you’d have dinner with me?” At the same time, her lips didn’t move, but I heard a roar full of energy echoing in my room like thunder. — “You batsh*t crazy male lead! Get the hell away from the heroine! She belongs to the second male lead!” Julian’s expression didn’t change. I thought I was hallucinating. But then came another line. — “You toxic trash man, get your ass downstairs and eat dinner! Stop harassing the heroine!” — “Or I swear to God, I’ll send you to prison myself!” Me: ? I looked at Hailey, who was smiling innocently, and felt my worldview shattering. She had no idea I could hear her screaming internally. — “Big Sis is here. I won’t let you hurt the heroine.” — “Got it?” 4. From then on, I kept hearing these weird, bizarre thoughts coming from Hailey. For example, the day she came back from dinner with Julian, she bragged to me as usual. “Julian is so sweet. He heard I hate deboning fish, so he picked out all the bones for me. He said he knows a place with amazing fish and he’ll take me there next time. I’m going to fall in love with seafood~” In reality, her mind was spewing profanity. — “Bullsh*t!” — “That bastard Julian, giving me that resting b*tch face the whole meal. Who was he showing attitude to? It’s not like I kidnapped him!” — “He wants the heroine but also wants the Sterling family’s support to solidify his status. Greedy pig.” — “Trash. Absolute societal garbage.” — “Useless except for his face.” — “I sincerely hope he’s compensating for something. Tiny. Three-second man.” Me: … Me: “Pfft.” Hailey looked at me instantly, her fake bragging expression cracking. Her inner voice rang out again. — “? Why is she laughing?” Then she realized. — “Sigh, look at her mental state. I must have driven her crazy with jealousy.” — “Hope she’s okay.” — “But short-term pain is better than long-term suffering. Stay away from that perverted scumbag and you’ll be happy for eight hundred lifetimes.” Hailey walked past me, up the stairs, then turned back to give me a provocative smirk. “Sister,” she said, “Julian… I’m going to win him over, you know.” She strutted away like a peacock spreading its tail. Accompanied by her excited inner thoughts. — “Yessss!” — “I am a genius.” — “I should win an Oscar for this.” 5. My brother Austin came back from a business trip to Chile. He brought gifts. Hailey and I each got a crystal bracelet. She got an extra pair of pearl earrings. I got a jar of chocolates—I specifically asked Austin to bring them. He knew I didn’t care much for jewelry but loved sweets. Hailey eyed my chocolates. She wanted the whole jar. Austin couldn’t handle her pestering. He turned to me, “Harper, Hailey never had these things growing up. Her foster family couldn’t afford them… How about you give the chocolates to her this time? I’ll have someone buy you more later.” I never realized my family was so good at “future faking”—selling me empty promises. The moment I handed the chocolates to Hailey, a hurricane raged in her mind. — “Speechless. I am literally speechless.” — “If he’s this good at selling dreams, why isn’t he working at a bakery? He’s spinning so much dough he could open a pizzeria.” — “Spineless coward. His brain flew away with the pizza dough.” — “Heroine, please give up on this useless man.” — “In the future, when this guy gets a wife, it’ll be even worse. He’ll just let his wife bully you.” — “Right now he asks you to ‘endure’ over chocolate. Later, when his wife slaps you, he’ll tell you to ‘endure’ that too.” — “Harper! Wake up!” — “There aren’t that many things in this world worth enduring!” I looked up at her, stunned. There aren’t that many things in this world worth enduring. I don’t know why, but that sentence hit me hard. Plip, plop. My tears started falling. 6. Since childhood, my education was all about endurance. Etiquette meant if you want to laugh, hold it in. Be strong. If you want to cry, hold it in. Keep your figure. If you want to eat, hold it in. Bullied at school? Endure it. Afraid of the dark, ghosts, thunder? Endure it. They needed a perfect Sterling heiress, Harper Sterling. The phrase I heard most was: “Harper, just endure it, it’ll be fine.” This was the first time someone said to me: “There aren’t that many things in this world worth enduring.” So I didn’t hold it in. Tears fell one after another, an inexplicable grievance washing over me. Hailey was visibly panicked. Austin was stunned too. “Harper, it’s just a jar of chocolates…” “Shut up!” Hailey barked at him viciously. Austin flinched. Her inner voice became incredibly frantic. — “Ahhhhhhh! Does she love chocolate that much?! If I knew I wouldn’t have snatched it!” — “I’m so mad! Why do I have to follow the Villainess script?!” — “Can someone tell me…” — “If the villainess gives back half the stolen chocolate, does she still look evil?” — “Stop crying, Sis. You’re my sister, okay?” She was dancing on my funny bone again. I was about to laugh through my tears. Suddenly, a man’s low, magnetic voice came from the side. “Tsk. Why the tears?” I looked up. A man in a sharp suit was sitting on the sofa. I hadn’t noticed him. His features resembled Julian’s, but sharper, colder, more aggressive. I stopped crying and greeted him politely. “Uncle Silas.” Of course, he wasn’t my uncle. I just followed Julian’s lead. He was Julian’s youngest uncle, the youngest son of the Vanderbilt patriarch. He was also the new king of the business world, having doubled the Vanderbilt fortune in recent years. At the same time, I heard Hailey scream internally. — “Holy mother of god!!! Why is the Second Male Lead here?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386440”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Years after graduation, my high school crush became an A-list superstar. When we reunited at a class party, his expression was ice cold. “Do I know you?” Everyone thought Parker had forgotten me. Until the news of my accidental death broke. While packing up my apartment, my best friend found an old love letter Parker had written to me years ago. June, loving you is too bitter. I don’t want to like you anymore. But further down, in tiny handwriting: Never mind. I’m lying. That same night, the news of Parker’s suicide trended #1 on X (Twitter). When I opened my eyes again, I was back at that reunion dinner. Looking at Parker’s cold, indifferent face, I tentatively pulled out my phone and sent him a text. The very next second, his phone blasted a unique notification sound—the one reserved for “Special Contacts.” Parker: “…” 1. I died in a blizzard. I went out looking for inspiration for my novel, got lost in the mountains, and froze to death. It was not a dignified way to go. My best friend, Zoe, rushed over the moment she got the call. She was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe while identifying my body. “June! How could you be so cruel? How could you just leave me?” “Even if Parker doesn’t remember you, you still have me!” My soul was floating in mid-air, and hearing this made my spectral toes curl from second-hand embarrassment. If I wasn’t already stone-cold dead, I would have rushed over to cover her mouth. Girl! The coroner clearly said it was an accident. Why are you making it sound like I died of a broken heart? Can’t a girl leave a clean reputation behind? But clearly, Zoe didn’t think so. For some reason, she was convinced my death was Parker’s fault. She whipped out her phone and dialed his number. It rang for a long time before he picked up. “Hello?” A raspy male voice answered, sounding like he’d just been woken up. “Zoe? What is it? I just wrapped an overnight shoot…” “Parker,” Zoe cut him off, her voice trembling with grief. “June is dead.” Silence stretched on the other end of the line. Even as a ghost, I couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope. How would Parker react? Would he be sad? Or would he think it was just the passing of someone insignificant? After all, at the reunion a few days ago, he had been so cold. When our classmates tried to tease us, he just asked in a frosty voice, “Do I know you?” That one sentence froze the entire room. Meeting his indifferent gaze, the courage I had spent hours building up instantly evaporated. I just stammered, “N-nothing,” and lowered my head, terrified to look up again. Actually… I understood. He was a top-tier celebrity now, and it had been six years since graduation. It was a good thing he didn’t remember me. Otherwise, I’d always feel like I owed him something. “Parker, did you hear me?” Zoe screamed into the phone, crying. “I said June is dead! She’s gone!” Thud. There was the sound of something heavy hitting the floor on the other end. Parker seemed to be gritting his teeth, his voice shaking. “…I don’t believe you.” The next second, he hung up. Zoe, furious and weeping, took a photo of my death certificate and texted it to him, only to find she’d been blocked. I wanted to comfort her, but my hand passed right through her shoulder. I ended up just hugging the air around her. Don’t cry, you dummy. 2. Five days after my death, Zoe brought my ashes back to the city. I didn’t have much family in the country. My only brother was on a business trip overseas and was currently on a flight back. When Zoe carried my urn into my apartment, my Ragdoll cat, Nugget, hadn’t eaten in two days. I had left three days’ worth of food, thinking I’d be back. I never thought I wouldn’t make it. Zoe used to come over all the time. Seeing her, Nugget immediately pounced, meowing for food. Seeing my cat triggered Zoe, and she almost started crying again. After filling the bowl, Nugget rushed to eat. Zoe walked into my study to start packing my belongings. I was a full-time author, so I spent more time in my study than my bedroom. The desk was exactly how I left it. Next to the computer sat a framed photo of our high school friend group. In the photo, Zoe was linking arms with me in the center, and Parker stood on the far right. Through the crowd, I was smiling at the camera, but Parker’s eyes were looking sideways—at me. Zoe was currently furious at Parker. She packed everything else and reached for the photo frame last. Just then, Nugget, full from dinner, zoomed into the room. Seeing Zoe reach for the frame, the cat launched a surprise attack. Crash! The frame hit the floor, glass shattering everywhere. Zoe jumped. She picked up the cat and noticed something tucked inside the backing of the broken frame. “Meow.” Nugget realized he messed up and let out an apologetic squeak. Zoe bent down and pulled out a letter hidden behind the photo. It was a love letter. We were both confused. The paper was yellowed with age, but the handwriting was sharp and clear. Every word was filled with a hidden, grand, unrequited love. June, loving you is too bitter. I don’t want to like you anymore. But further down, in tiny print: Never mind. I’m lying. When our eyes drifted to the signature, both Zoe and I froze. Signed: Parker. The current king of the entertainment industry. And my high school desk mate whom I had secretly loved for years. Suddenly, I remembered. Parker had given me this frame during our senior year. I had moved many times over the years, but I always kept this frame by my computer. I never knew it held such a secret. I thought back to the phone call—the way Parker gritted his teeth and said “I don’t believe you” with a trembling voice. My heart ached unbearably. So ghosts can feel heartbreak, too? I watched Zoe whip out her phone and unblock Parker. But before she could dial, a breaking news notification popped up on her screen. #ParkerSuicide Zoe’s hands shook as she clicked the trending topic. A video from a gossip account with millions of followers had been posted ten minutes ago. An ambulance was parked outside a luxury villa, surrounded by security. The camera zoomed in. A hand hung limp from the stretcher—slender, pale, undeniably his. Dark red liquid dripped from his fingertips, splashing onto the ground like blooming flowers. The headline screamed: Parker found dead by wrist-slashing at home. Suicide note suggests he died for love. I stared at the words “Died for Love.” My brain short-circuited. No, no, it shouldn’t be like this… Why would he die? How could he die? In an instant, memories flashed through my mind like a reel of film. They stopped at that snowy winter day when we were seventeen. Parker stood at the bottom of the school steps, reaching his hand out to me. “It’s a deal then, June.” His eyes curved into crescents, his smile impossibly gentle. “When I become a superstar, you’re going to be my manager.” A gust of wind blew, covering the world in white snow. It felt like a long dream. 3. “June? June!” I snapped back to reality. “Why are you zoning out? Parker is here!” I looked at Zoe’s concerned face and felt my eyes sting. Thank god. I was back. Back to the night of the reunion. I looked up and locked eyes with Parker. In that split second, I knew exactly what he was going to say— Do I know you? “Why are you crying?” The voice from my memory overlapped with the voice in my ear. I looked at him blankly. “What?” Unlike the last life, Parker didn’t ask who I was. He frowned slightly, repeating in a cold voice, “Why are you crying?” He started to reach out instinctively, then seemed to remember where we were and froze. He turned his face away, his frown deepening. I touched my cheek. I hadn’t realized I was crying. “June?” Zoe noticed too. “What’s wrong? Do you feel sick?” “N-no…” I took a deep breath, wiped my face, and pretended to rub my eyes. “I think an eyelash fell in my eye.” So awkward. Crying right in front of him. Parker must think I’m insane. I peeked at him. He was talking to Zoe. Zoe was an editor at a fashion magazine now, the only one of us who crossed paths with Parker professionally. That’s why she had his number in my past life. The reunion had been planned for a month. Knowing Parker was coming, almost everyone showed up. Even as the food arrived, everyone’s eyes were glued to Parker. Some people are born protagonists. He just had to sit there to be the center of the universe. Separated by Zoe, I kept my head down and ate quietly. Seeing him alive was enough. If I don’t die this time, he won’t die either. After a few rounds of drinks, the Class President walked over to toast Parker. “Superstar! We thought you wouldn’t make it. You really honored us by coming!” Parker smiled, politely taking a sip of his wine. The Class President’s gaze drifted to Zoe, then to me. He frowned. “Are you… June?” Suddenly, everyone looked at me. “It really is you!” The President got excited when I nodded. “You transferred so suddenly in senior year and cut off all contact. I thought you wouldn’t come!” “Come to think of it, weren’t you and the Superstar desk mates back then?” I felt Parker’s gaze land on me heavily. “Is that so?” I heard Parker’s voice, cool and indifferent, as if I meant nothing. “I forgot long ago.” The food in my bowl had gone cold. I swallowed it. It tasted bitter. 4. The winter of our senior year, I transferred schools suddenly due to family issues. One day we were planning our future; the next, I vanished. For years, Zoe was the only one I kept in touch with. She knew my situation but never brought it up. The following summer, Parker exploded onto the scene via a talent show, taking the championship. That summer, his name was everywhere. The face I knew so well was on every TV screen. His songs played in every mall. Overnight, I went from the girl sharing his desk to just one of his millions of followers on Weibo. And finally, I could openly say: The person I like is named Parker. College out of state was lonely. Several times, I opened my chat with Parker, only to stare at the history and stay silent. June, where are you? June, you’re late. June, what happened? June, it’s snowing. Bring an umbrella. Further down were dozens of missed calls and worried messages. The last message was sent at midnight, nine hours later. June, I’m not waiting anymore. That was New Year’s Eve. We had planned to meet, and I stood him up. I typed and deleted, typed and deleted. Suddenly, my phone rang. I jumped. Seeing the caller ID, I instinctively answered. I heard his familiar breathing. My throat went tight. I didn’t know what to say. “June…” He sounded like he was grinding his teeth. “Speak.” “What does ‘typing’ for ten minutes mean?” I took a breath and whispered, “Are… are you okay?” His breath hitched. I had imagined our reunion a thousand times. But in the end, separated by a screen, I only heard his cold voice. “Thanks to you, I’m doing great.” After a long silence, I managed a dry reply. “That… that’s good. I hope you get even better. Become a huge star. Have a smooth path…” Beep— He hung up. I stared at the screen, laughing and crying at the same time. Later, he did exactly as I said. He became huge. His path was smooth. And my grand, secret, youthful crush quietly came to an end.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386439”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel