Author: Momo Chan

Isabel looked at me, her eyes flashing with a cheap sort of victory. “If you had any sense, you’d leave Marcus yourself,” she said. “He wants me. Not some barren old wife.” I’d heard the name, of course. Isabel Shaw. The scholarship kid my husband, Marcus, had sponsored. Six months ago, upon her graduation, he’d hired her as his executive assistant. The office gossip had reached me, whispers carried on waves of feigned concern, but I’d dismissed them. I had trusted Marcus. I had trusted the fifteen years we’d built together. But I never expected this girl to show up at my front door, demanding I abdicate my life. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. She was hardly a threat. She was a footnote. I couldn’t be bothered to respond to her pathetic attempt at intimidation. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed Marcus. “Come home.” I hung up and met Isabel’s gaze. “Marcus is on his way. He can make his choice right here. If he chooses you, I’ll walk away. How does that sound?” A cold little smirk played on her lips. “I was trying to give you a graceful exit, but if you insist on humiliating yourself, so be it. Just don’t start crying when he tells you the truth.” I offered a small, knowing smile and said nothing. Thirty minutes later, the front door opened. Marcus was home. 1 “Marcus, darling,” Isabel began, her voice dripping with a cloying sweetness. “Tell her. She said she’ll leave if you choose me. Tell her who you want.” I looked at Marcus, a gentle smile on my face. I believed in him. I knew what his choice would be. In this, I had absolute confidence. The next second, a set of documents landed on the coffee table in front of me. Divorce papers. My smile froze on my face. It must have been the most awkward, pathetic smile of my life. A moment ago, I had been so certain he would choose me without a second thought. I’d seen Isabel as nothing more than a child, a silly distraction not even worthy of my competition. Reality delivered a slap so hard it left my ears ringing. I was a clown in my own home, a caricature of the confident wife I thought I was. The sight of those papers, with Marcus’s name printed next to mine, felt like a stone lodging in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Eight years of dating, five years of marriage. Thirteen years together, gone, like smoke. I didn’t scream. I didn’t plan to. I took a steadying breath, pushed down the chaos churning inside me, and picked up the papers. As my eyes scanned the terms, the fragile calm I’d just found shattered. “You want me to walk away with nothing?” I dropped the agreement and looked straight at Marcus. “You think this is reasonable?” My voice climbed, sharp with disbelief. “You cheat on me, and then you try to steal our entire life’s work? Marcus, do you really think I’m that weak?” The victor, Isabel, scoffed from her position by his side. “What, you think you deserve a cut? For years, you’ve eaten his food, lived in his house, spent his money. Now you want to take half? Have you no shame?” “Was I speaking to you?” I shot back, my glare silencing her. “Marcus, she’s scaring me,” she whimpered, turning to him. “Make her sign the papers and get out.” Marcus stroked her cheek, a soft, soothing gesture. The same gesture he’d used on me a thousand times. Now, watching it, I felt sick. He murmured a few comforting words to her before turning his cold eyes back to me. “Isabel is blunt, but she has a point. I won’t ask you to repay what I’ve spent on you over the years. Just sign the papers, Olivia, and we can be done.” A point? I stared into his eyes, searching for a flicker of guilt, of remorse. There was nothing. His indifference was a blade to the heart. I kept my voice as level as I could. “I want you to look me in the eye and say that again.” He didn’t hesitate. “It’s over, Olivia. Sign the papers.” I grabbed the divorce agreement, crumpled it into a tight ball, and threw it at his face. “Oh, we’re getting a divorce. But you’re the one who’ll be left with nothing. My lawyer will be in touch.” I stood, ready to walk away, unable to stomach the sight of them for another second. I had given him a chance. If he’d offered a fair split, for the sake of our history, I might have walked away quietly. But this was pure greed. This was humiliation. He could have the divorce, but he wouldn’t get a single cent more than he deserved. “Marcus, what is all this?” A woman’s voice cut through the tension as a figure rushed into the room. His mother, Helen. She grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “Don’t you worry, Olivia. I’ll handle this.” She guided me back to the sofa. The divorce was happening, that was certain, but I had to consider Helen’s feelings. Her health had been fragile for years. I sat back down as she poured me a cup of tea. “Sweetheart, you listen to me,” she said softly. “I will not let Marcus divorce you.” She turned a stern gaze on her son and his new pet. “What have I told you both?” She looked back at Marcus. “Have you forgotten the last three years? When I was sick, who was by my side? It was Olivia. She took care of everything, never complaining. Have you forgotten that? The doctors themselves said I wouldn’t have recovered if it weren’t for her meticulous care.” I hadn’t cried when Marcus chose Isabel. But hearing Helen’s words, feeling that validation, tears pricked my eyes and began to fall. “Mom, what about the baby’s birth certificate?” Marcus asked, his voice strained. The baby? My head snapped up. Isabel placed a delicate hand on her flat stomach, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. The baby. It had always been the great sorrow of our marriage. We’d seen countless specialists, endured endless tests, only for the doctors to deliver the final verdict: Marcus was sterile. So… Isabel had agreed to that. If that was the case, then perhaps Marcus was right to choose her. I wasn’t the one who could give him what he wanted. As I sat there in stunned silence, Helen took my hand again. “Olivia, you’ve always been the reasonable one.” She wiped a tear from my cheek with her thumb. “How about this? You sign the divorce papers. But in my heart, you will always be my daughter-in-law. You don’t have to leave this house.” She squeezed my hand. “I promise you, your lifestyle won’t change one bit. When Isabel has the baby, you can help out. You know my health… I can’t raise a child. And I wouldn’t trust a stranger with my grandbaby. The doctors all say you’re the best caregiver they’ve ever seen. I know you’ll do a wonderful job raising the child.” I pulled my hand from hers. A wave of nausea washed over me as I remembered the tears I’d shed just moments ago. It was a performance. A perfectly rehearsed play. Stay in the house after the divorce? They wanted a free nanny. I laughed, a short, bitter sound. I stood up and faced Marcus. “I’m giving you three days to draw up a new agreement. If you insist on leaving me with nothing, I will find my own way to get justice.” “Olivia, I’m trying to help you, and this is how you behave?” Helen’s face hardened, the warmth vanishing completely. “How will you survive without Marcus? Do you think you can maintain this lifestyle on your own? A man of his stature, it’s practically expected for him to… have other options. Besides, Isabel is pregnant. She’s the hero here. She’s not even asking you to leave. Why are you making a scene?” Making a scene? There was nothing left to say. I turned and walked toward the door. “Stop right there,” Isabel called out. “Ever heard of pulling the rug out from under someone?” I paused. She was beaming. “Marcus has already transferred all his assets into my name. And just yesterday, as the CEO of the company, he secured a new hundred-million-dollar loan from the bank. If you want to split the assets, Olivia, the only thing you’ll be splitting is that debt.” She cocked her head. “Are you sure you want to go to court?” Marcus produced another file from his briefcase. “Out of respect for our marriage, I was trying to spare you this. But if you insist on fighting for half the assets, you can sign this agreement instead.” It was a masterstroke of cruelty. I locked my eyes on Marcus. “Scheme all you want. I’m only giving you three days. You’d better find a way to get those assets back. Trust me, if you don’t do what I say, in three days, your world will start to unravel.” “Have you been reading too many romance novels, you pathetic housewife?” Isabel shouted at my back. Housewife? I turned back, my gaze falling on Marcus. “I stayed home for three years to take care of your mother. Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten who I really am?” “Who is she?” Isabel cooed, clinging to Marcus’s arm. “Darling, I hear housewives have vivid imaginations. Tell me, what grand title has she given herself?” Marcus looked at Isabel with sickening affection. “She’s exactly what you said. A housewife.” I took one last, long look at him, then turned and left without another word. Tomorrow is the quarterly board meeting. Tomorrow, I would remind him exactly who I am. The next morning, I arrived at the corporate headquarters early and took my seat in the boardroom. At 9:30 a.m., the other board members began to file in. It had been three years since I’d last attended a meeting, and the looks they gave me were… different. It seemed they had all forgotten who secured the deals that put this company on the map. Soon, Marcus arrived. He was with Isabel. His expression flickered when he saw me, but he quickly composed himself. Isabel, however, shot me a look of pure venom. She walked straight to my chair. “Move.” There’s a hierarchy to a boardroom table. This seat was mine. I glanced up at her. “And who are you to be attending a board meeting? Get out.” “So you lost the war at home, and now you’re bringing the fight to the office?” She placed her hands on the back of my chair. “Gentlemen, perhaps one of you could explain to this woman who I am, and whether or not I have a right to be here.” Marcus stared at me, a hint of mockery deep in his eyes, as if he was savoring my humiliation. “Ms. Price,” he said, using my maiden name with deliberate formality, “Ms. Shaw is the new Vice President of this company. I believe she has every right to be here.” Isabel leaned over me, her voice a triumphant whisper. “Now you know who I am. The real question is, what are you doing here? What gives you the right to sit in this chair and attend this meeting?” I kept my eyes fixed on Marcus. “Since you were so kind as to explain Isabel’s presence, why don’t you explain mine?” He dismissed me with a wave. “This is a place of business, not your stage for throwing a tantrum. Leave now.” “Three years,” I said, my voice quiet but carrying across the silent room as I looked at the other board members. “Has it really been long enough for all of you to forget who I am?” Silence. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call security,” Marcus threatened. “Why?” I countered. “If Isabel can attend as Vice President, why can’t I attend as Vice President?” “Oh, that,” Isabel said with a theatrical laugh. “I suppose Marcus forgot to inform you. Two years ago, due to your continued absence from board meetings, the board voted to remove you from your position as Vice President.” She leaned in close, her breath hot against my ear. “Was that the ace up your sleeve? That you were the VP? So sad. Even if you were, it was a title Marcus gave you. A gift. You never really thought you were somebody, did you?” Her voice dropped to a hiss. “Now, tuck your tail between your legs and get out.” I stared at Marcus, my blood running cold. “You fired me? You fired me, and you never even told me?” “Security,” Marcus said, ignoring me completely. He gestured to the door. Two guards entered and approached my chair. He pointed at me. “Escort her out.” They moved toward me, but I stood on my own. “I can walk myself.” At the doorway, I turned back to Marcus. “You seem to have forgotten how this company was built. How every single one of our major contracts was won.” I saw his eyes flicker, a brief moment of avoidance. He hadn’t forgotten. He had chosen to erase me for her. My voice was ice. “I hear the company is hosting a gala for its partners tomorrow night. I assume it’s to build up Isabel’s profile?” His face hardened. “You’d better not make a scene. You’ll only embarrass yourself.” “We’ll see who’s embarrassed,” I said coldly. Isabel’s challenge followed me out the door. “Olivia, Marcus is being generous, but I won’t be. If you dare show your face tomorrow, I’ll destroy you. But I doubt you have the guts.” No guts? I said nothing more. Yesterday, I called him home to make a choice, and I was made a fool. Today, I came to the board meeting, and I was made a fool again. There won’t be a third time. I was the fool in those situations because Marcus held all the power. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t. Standing on the sidewalk below, I looked up at the gleaming skyscraper. It seemed that ever since this building became his, ever since the company truly became an empire, he had changed. Fine. Let’s see how he fares as a pauper again. I took out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Dad, I want a divorce.” A beat of stunned silence, then an explosion of joy on the other end. “What? What did you say?” “I’m divorcing Marcus.” “Thank God! Oh, thank God! You’ve finally come to your senses.” “I didn’t come to my senses,” I said, my voice tight. “I was pushed.” My parents had always hated my marriage to Marcus. We were from different worlds, and they saw him as an opportunist. When I insisted on being with him, they cut me off. Later, after I used my own connections and skills to build his company from the ground up, they saw they couldn’t control me financially. They offered an olive branch: they would accept Marcus if we gave them a grandchild. I was their only child, and they desperately wanted a new life to dote on. But then came the diagnosis: Marcus was sterile. My parents’ disapproval hardened into outright hostility. They even launched a corporate attack against our company. I fought back, working myself to the bone, pulling all-nighters, drinking with clients until I was sick, just to fend them off. They eventually relented, but they never truly accepted him. “Sweetheart, just tell me what happened,” my father’s voice turned cold, sensing the suppressed rage in mine. “Tomorrow night, at his gala,” I said. “I want you to ruin him.” “Done,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll make the arrangements.” After hanging up, I let out a long, shuddering breath. I had cherished my marriage, fought for it, even at the cost of my relationship with my parents. It had been a shadow over my heart for years. Today, that shadow was gone. “When I loved you, you were the king of my world,” I whispered to the empty air. “Now that I don’t? You’re nothing.” I gave the building one last look and drove away. The next evening at seven, I pulled up to The Grand Regent Hotel. Just as I stepped out of my car, Marcus’s town car arrived. He and Isabel emerged, dressed to the nines. When she saw me, Isabel tightened her grip on Marcus’s arm and looked me up and down with disdain. “I guess you can’t afford designer clothes without Marcus’s money anymore. You really wore that to this event? Are you determined to be a laughingstock?” I glanced at her before my eyes landed on Marcus. “You should really get her out more. If she can’t even recognize couture, she has no business being seen in public.” “Couture?” Isabel’s face darkened. “Marcus, she must have been hiding money from you! You have to get that back, too.” Marcus squeezed her hand gently. “We will. We’ll expose her for what she really is. A crow can wear feathers, but it will never be a swan.” Isabel lifted her chin haughtily. “Did you hear that? You’re a crow.” I ignored them and walked into the hotel. “Olivia! It’s been too long.” “We’ve missed you, Olivia! It hasn’t been the same.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385202”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night my nemesis, Angelica Monroe, made her grand return to New York, Wyatt Hayes—heir to half of Manhattan, it seemed—materialized at JFK. The society pages practically exploded. Before the ink was dry, rumors of their rekindled romance were the headline on every gossip blog. For the next two weeks, my social media feed was a minefield of their shared existence. Paparazzi shots of them slipping into the same exclusive Soho high-rise.“Sources close to the couple” spilling saccharine details of their reunion. Then, a photo I’d tried to forget resurfaced: me, presenting Wyatt with a birthday cake last year. It became the internet’s favorite punchline. “All those years Nina Parker spent chasing after Wyatt, and it took Angelica one day to get him back.” “Honestly, they should just get married already. Then maybe these desperate wannabes would stop buzzing around him like flies.” Angelica posted a picture to her private Instagram, a calculated leak of two hands clasped together, captioned with sickeningly sweet text: “We took the long way, but I’m so glad we found our way back to each other.” To make it easier for the star-crossed lovers, I packed my bags, left a signed divorce agreement on the bed, and walked away. The result? A complete and utter meltdown from the man in question. A voicemail, choked with something that sounded suspiciously like a sob, accused me, “When other guys get dragged through the mud online, their wives have their backs. You just leave. How could you be so cruel?” 1. My flight back from a business trip landed at the same time as Angelica’s triumphant return from Europe. Years apart had done nothing to dim her shine. She was still effortlessly incandescent, the kind of woman who becomes the gravitational center of any room she enters. The news of her split with Wyatt before she left had been the talk of the town. Now that she was back, every reporter with a pulse was scrambling for the scoop. A swarm of them surrounded her, a cacophony of questions and flashing cameras choking the exit. I pulled my mask up higher, sinking into the collar of my coat, and tried to slip past unnoticed. The last thing I needed was for her to recognize me. We’d been rivals since kindergarten, a constant, petty war of attrition waged over grades, friends, and social standing. But all our childhood squabbles paled in comparison to the one truly staggering fact: her first love was now my husband. A year after she left the country, Wyatt and I got married. This is the third year of our secret marriage. I overheard two journalists who hadn’t managed to break through the scrum, whispering excitedly beside me. “I got a shot of Wyatt Hayes’s car. That’s the real story.” “What’s he doing at the airport this late?” “What do you think? He hasn’t seriously dated anyone since Angelica. The queen is back; the king has to show up and kiss the ring, right?” My fingers, wrapped around the handle of my suitcase, went numb with cold. My flight was supposed to be tomorrow morning. Wyatt had changed it. “We have a family thing tomorrow,” he’d said. “Come back tonight.” He told me he was busy, that he’d sent his assistant to pick me up. “Are you sure it was him? It’s dark out.” “A license plate like that? In this city? My eyes might be shot, but my ten-thousand-dollar camera lens isn’t. Just wait. Tomorrow’s headlines are going to be epic.” The assistant, driving a nondescript black sedan, greeted me with a respectful, “Mrs. Hayes.” But his eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine, and I could practically smell the guilt rolling off him. “Is Wyatt still working?” “Yes… but Mr. Hayes said he’ll be home to see you tonight…” It was one in the morning. Wyatt Hayes didn’t work late. Ever. The subtext was loud and clear: He’ll be home eventually. Don’t ask where he’s been. 2. When Wyatt and I got married, we kept it quiet. Outside of our parents and a few close friends, no one knew. My mother complained about it privately. “The Hayes family is wonderful, yes, but to have my daughter marry in secret after I’ve raised her for twenty-something years… It just doesn’t sit right with me.” But this was the man I’d been in love with for more than a decade. No one knew the electric shock of joy that went through me when I heard he and Angelica had broken up. And no one could possibly understand how my heart hammered against my ribs when his father, drunk at a dinner party, started playing armchair matchmaker. For me, all the pomp and circumstance in the world couldn’t compare to the moment Wyatt nodded his assent. The secret marriage was my idea. The night before we went to City Hall, I found him with a friend who was teasing him. “The second news of this wedding gets out, Angelica’s going to be on the first flight back to New York.” Wyatt was lighting a cigarette and didn’t answer. When he saw me walk in, he just smiled, as if nothing had happened, and wrapped an arm around my waist. I met the friend’s shocked gaze as I gently plucked the cigarette from between Wyatt’s lips. “Let’s not announce our marriage to anyone,” I said. “I have no interest in being the catalyst for someone else’s drama.” From the very first day, I was honest with him about everything, except for the small fact that I’d loved him for most of my life. I told him flat-out that I couldn’t stand Angelica. I told him I was in this to build a real life with him. “I can accept that it will take time for you to get to know me, to maybe even grow to love me,” I’d said, my voice steadier than I felt. “But I cannot accept being with you if your heart is still with someone else. If you can’t do that, we should end this now, before it begins.” I remember he laughed, a low, soft sound. Then he dipped his head and his mouth found mine in a deep, possessive kiss. Just like now. He understood exactly what I was saying. He turned to his friend, a lazy grin playing on his lips. “You hear that? Watch what you say next time.” The next day, he made sure every detail was locked down. The city clerk came to our apartment to officiate. So, no, I couldn’t blame the internet for their speculation. But seeing that photo—the one of his car at JFK—still felt like a punch to the gut. The reporter claimed to have been in the car right next to his. I zoomed in on the image, and through the dark, tinted window, I could have sworn I saw the silhouette of his profile. Below it was a clip of Angelica’s airport interview. Someone had asked, feigning innocence, “It’s so late, Miss Monroe. Do you have someone special picking you up?” A blush bloomed across her perfect face. She answered with a coy little smile, “That’s a secret.” There’s nothing more dangerous than a half-answer and a well-timed coincidence. Together, they plant a seed of doubt that grows, twisting your thoughts down paths you can’t control. In that moment, I forgot the fierce, desperate way he’d made love to me when he got home, pressing his forehead to mine and murmuring that I was cruel for leaving him all alone. All I could remember was that he didn’t get home until three in the morning. I remembered the faint, sweet scent of roses clinging to his clothes. And I remembered how the gossip, which had been the top headline when I woke up, was scrubbed from the internet within half an hour, the search terms completely blocked. And his quiet phone call to his assistant, when he thought I was still asleep. “Get every mention of it taken down. If any of this gets out, it’ll be bad for her.” For her. Not for us. 3. Throughout the entire family dinner, Wyatt acted completely normal. I hated myself for it, but I just sat there, quiet. The old me would have thrown down my fork and started a fight right then and there. Back then, I thought I could stick to my principles: no matter how much you love a man, you always put yourself first. Now, I found I couldn’t even bring myself to ask the question. I was terrified he’d say yes. That’s when the humiliation would truly become unbearable. Wyatt was the first to finish. He stood, put on his jacket, said a quick goodbye to his parents, and then turned to me. “I’ve already spoken to the driver. He’ll take you home in a bit. I have something this afternoon.” He used to tell me where he was going. He never would have left me alone at a family event. He’d never said the words “I love you” outright, but for three years, his actions had screamed them. He was attentive, thoughtful to a fault. He remembered every anniversary, never let a word I said fall on deaf ears, and was so attuned to my moods he could preemptively avoid anything that might upset me. He had a wonderful temper, gently absorbing all my rough edges and bad habits. When I made a mistake, he never got angry. He’d just smile, smooth back my hair, and patiently show me the right way. So I believed he loved me. No one could be that patient, that tender, with someone they didn’t love. But I’d forgotten one crucial, fatal detail. Wyatt Hayes was a good person to his core. He was good to everyone. I just happened to have the title of “wife,” which meant he was simply better to me. I didn’t know it then, but that absurd thought, one I would have scoffed at just weeks ago, would soon wrap around me like a venomous snake. From that day on, Wyatt was always out early and back late. The only constant was the good morning kiss he’d demand before he left, a ritual he never skipped. I tried to use these “habits” of his to soothe the growing anxiety in my chest, but every day was a battle, oscillating between the urge to confront him and the need to stay silent. Sleep became a distant memory. One night, I tossed and turned so much I woke him. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips warm against my neck. “Is it that time of the month? Is that why you can’t sleep? Does it help if I hold you?” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Tears immediately pricked my eyes. I had always told myself I would never become one of those women, clinging and emotional, letting unfounded suspicions drive me crazy. But this was different. This was a real sense of crisis, the very feeling I used to look down on with such disdain. My mind was a slideshow of the “relationship details” Angelica had made sure I’d see, of the genuine affection I’d witnessed between them years ago. And the undeniable fact that she was the one who had ended things… “Wyatt…” “When you get back from your trip, let’s talk.” I fought to keep my voice even. I had to talk to him, openly. Whether he went to the airport or not, whatever his reasons were, I just needed an answer that would silence the storm of doubt in my head. He was so tired his eyes could barely stay open. He just nuzzled his head against mine and mumbled, “Mmm.” But we never got the chance to have that calm, rational conversation. 4. Wyatt had a five-day business trip. His flight was early, but he made a point of waking me up just to tie his tie. “You seem a little down lately. Is everything okay? When I get this deal closed, I’ll take you somewhere, just the two of us.” He was always like this—so attuned to my every emotion, always ready to give me the best of everything within his power. It was how he’d slowly dismantled my defenses, making me love him more, making me need him more, with each passing day. I didn’t want to start something right before he left. I shook my head and used work as an excuse, cutting off any further questions. For a split second, I even allowed myself to wonder if I was just imagining it all. That afternoon, an anonymous account posted on a gossip forum. No text, no commentary. Just two pictures, time-stamped, showing Wyatt and Angelica entering the same luxury apartment building in Soho, one after the other, late at night. The comments section exploded. Congratulations and shock in equal measure. “Oh my god, I knew they’d get back together!” “Didn’t she dump him? And he waited all these years? He’s willing to forgive that?” “You don’t get it. True love conquers all, duh.” Of course, there were a few skeptics. “These two pictures don’t really prove anything…” The original poster replied to only that one comment: “I have more. Just wait.” I saw the post late at night. A few minutes later, it was gone. I don’t know how to describe the feeling. I felt like a dying fish on a scorching sidewalk, my body wracked with shivers. For the next several days, the anonymous account posted new photos at the same time every night. Different outfits, same building, same pattern of entering one after the other. Then, as if on cue, a self-proclaimed “friend” of Angelica’s posted a screenshot of a vague, yet pointed, Instagram story: “So glad we found our way back to each other. ” I would recognize that profile picture anywhere. It had been rotting in my block list for years. Angelica and I had fought countless times, but I had never gone so far as to block her completely. That had happened years ago, the day she sent me a picture of Wyatt kissing her on the cheek, with a taunting message: “He’s not so hard to get, is he? To think you’ve been hung up on him for so long.” “If you put half the energy you spend fighting with me into chasing guys, you might not be so alone.” “Then again… even if you gave it your all with Wyatt, he’d still choose me. Hahaha.” “Nina, you’ll always be second best. Always.” For the first time, I didn’t fight back. I just stared at that picture, over and over, a pain like a physical blade twisting in my chest. The person I had cherished for more than a decade was, to someone else, just a game. What hurt even more was her willingness to use her sweet moments with him as a weapon to crush me. So, just as she’d predicted, I retreated like a defeated soldier. I deleted their numbers, blocked their accounts, and avoided any party or event where I might run into them. I never imagined that, years later, the same tactics would be used against me again, this time with a single, fatal blow that felt like a thousand arrows piercing my heart. 5. I hadn’t slept in days. I had no appetite, no energy for work. Every day, I stared at my phone, a self-destructive ritual of waiting for them to drop the next “big story.” I tried to invent a million other possibilities, clinging to any shred of hope, but when Angelica’s interview was released, that hope turned to ash. As the country’s youngest rising star in jewelry design, and with her family name and the gossip swirling around her, it wasn’t hard for her to find a spotlight. “Angelica, we’ve been hearing whispers of some good news lately. We all think you and he are a perfect match. Will you let us in on it when the time is right?” “I really didn’t expect to be photographed,” she’d said, a picture of demure surprise. “He’s always been very private about his personal life. As long as we’re happy behind the scenes, that’s what matters. But of course, if there’s any real news, you’ll be the first to know!” Her friend chimed in on the gossip forum right on schedule: “They’ve been through so much. He’s so devoted. The night she flew back, he waited at the airport for her until two in the morning. And he’s spent the last few weeks running around, helping her get settled in her new place. He’s been so incredibly attentive. True love can’t be broken.” My mind went numb. A dull, throbbing pain started in my chest, a suffocating weight pressing down on me. So all those days he was leaving early and coming home late, all those nights my calls went straight to voicemail… he was with Angelica? I thought back to my birthday last year. Because I’d mentioned wanting to see the ocean, he’d rented out an entire private island. He spent a fortune on a drone light show to celebrate. For three days and two nights, we were tangled together, the sound of the waves a constant backdrop to our lovemaking. He’d told me then, “Nina, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” In all my twenty-something years, I had never felt a moment of happiness so pure. A lifetime, he’d said. How could I reconcile that with this? How could I just let it go? I leaned against the wall and sobbed, a raw, wrenching sound that tore through my body until I was numb. My imagination ran wild, each thought a sharpened blade, flaying me alive, piece by piece. I couldn’t breathe. My hands fumbled through the medicine box on the nightstand, searching for something, anything, to calm the frantic beating of my heart. But before I could find it, the world went black, and I collapsed. I woke up in the hospital. It was five in the morning. The woman who cooks for us had found me and brought me here. The doctor said the extreme emotional distress had triggered a somatic symptom disorder. Our housekeeper, murmuring prayers of thanks, said she was going to call Wyatt to let him know I was okay. I reached out and stopped her. When I opened my phone, I saw a message from a friend: “What the hell is wrong with people online? Why don’t you just ask Wyatt what’s going on? You’ve been married for three years, and they’re still trying to pair him up with a girlfriend on the internet!” She’d sent a screenshot of the thread where my birthday picture had been posted. “I thought this was the real one? Their parents have known each other for decades.” “LMAO, I know her. Go ask her at work tomorrow if you want. That Nina Parker has been drooling over Wyatt for ages. Has he ever once acknowledged her? Look at how long Angelica has been back. He’s tripping over himself for her. He wants this.” “I agree. The handsome guy and the beautiful girl should just get married already. It would save us from all these flies trying to bother them!” I didn’t reply. I just waited quietly for the IV drip to finish. I didn’t want to think anymore. I was disgusted with the person I’d become. It was five in the afternoon when I got home. Wyatt was already back. He didn’t know I’d been in the hospital. He’d sent me a text when he got home: “Why aren’t you picking up your phone? Are you swamped with work?” “I’m heading home to get some rest. I’ll have the driver pick you up this afternoon.” He was fast asleep, clutching my pillow, so exhausted he was snoring lightly. My eyes fell on his briefcase. A file was sticking out. I pulled it out. A purchase agreement for a condo. In the exact same building he’d been photographed at. Everything clicked into place. Holding my breath, I quietly packed my things. I never thought it would end like this. After leaving the divorce papers on his nightstand, I finally broke down in the elevator, my sobs echoing in the small, silent space.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385200”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Eleven years. We’d been together for eleven years when Ethan Hayes promised me the wedding of the century. But three days before I was supposed to walk down the aisle, an anonymous email landed in my inbox. It was a photo: Ethan and another woman, beaming, holding up a marriage certificate from City Hall. Her smile was radiant. The way Ethan looked at her was pure adoration. The caption was a single, chilling line: “I’m coming home.” I took the photo to Ethan. His response was a casual shrug. “It’s real,” he said, as if discussing the weather. “Sienna decided she never wants to get married for real, but she wanted to know what it felt like to get the license. I was just helping her out.” My mind flashed back to the day he proposed. I remembered the giddy way I’d blasted the news to hundreds of friends, the absolute fool I must have looked. “If you have a problem with it,” he added, his voice cool, “we can just cancel the wedding. It’s not like I have to marry you.” “I’ll marry you,” I said. The wedding would go on as planned. But it would be his one-man show. 1 “Good. You get ready, then,” Ethan said, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk. He knew he’d won. He’d always been sure that no matter what, I’d never leave him. “Sienna’s flight gets in today. I’m going to pick her up, and we’re having a welcome home party for her tonight. You can go to the final dress fitting by yourself.” And why wouldn’t he be sure? For eleven years, I was the one doing the chasing. I gave up my first-choice university for him, passed on my dream job to follow his. I even missed my parents’ last moments because I was on another continent with him. He was used to it—to me sacrificing everything for him. So even after he legally married Sienna, he expected me to walk down that aisle without a second thought. “Oh, and you need to be at the party tonight,” he said, adjusting his cuffs in the reflection of the floor-length mirror, glancing at me. “Sienna specifically mentioned she hasn’t seen you in ages and wants to catch up. I’ll text you the address. Just head over right after your fitting.” Ethan and Sienna. They were the golden couple, the prom king and queen everyone assumed would end up together. When we were kids playing house, they were the prince and princess; I was the maid who served them. He was the sun in my universe, brilliant and untouchable. If Sienna hadn’t moved abroad all those years ago, I probably never would have had a chance. And Sienna was so thoughtful, wasn’t she? Sending me that little email before she came back. But this time, for the first time, I didn’t just roll over. “I can’t make it tonight,” I said. “I have plans.” Ethan’s smile vanished. “You have plans?” he scoffed. “What could you possibly have plans for?” “Packing,” I said under my breath. To get the hell out of here. He cut me off before I could finish. “Tessa, for God’s sake, can you not be dramatic?” His voice was sharp. “You can’t even be bothered to come up with a good lie. You have to be there tonight. I already promised Sienna. If she can be mature enough to see you, the least you can do is not be so petty.” 2 She could be mature enough to see me. Wasn’t that only because I was the one being gracious? But there was no point in arguing. Ethan wouldn’t listen. He left, and I didn’t say another word. The silence in the apartment was deafening as I tried to figure out how I was going to tell my grandfather that the wedding was off. I dialed his number. He picked up on the second ring. “Tessa-girl.” “Grandpa,” I started, my voice tight. “That little start-up you said you’d give me… is the offer still on the table?” There was a brief pause. “Tessa? You’re not getting married?” “No.” I braced myself for the questions, the disappointment. But all he said was, “Alright. A promise is a promise. I’ll be waiting for you when you get home.” After hanging up, I called the bridal shop to cancel my fitting, then I started to pack. The apartment belonged to Ethan. I’d moved in a year ago, right after his grand proposal. That period had been the happiest of my life. “Tessa,” he’d said, down on one knee. “I can charge forward without fear because I know you’re always behind me. It’s been ten years. I want to give us a real home. Will you marry me?” Of course, I said yes. I moved in the next day, pouring my heart into every detail, turning this empty space into our home. I watched it fill with warmth and life, and my heart swelled with a satisfaction I’d never known. But looking around now, I realized almost nothing in it was mine. It was all for him. And it was all useless now. I grabbed a handful of large trash bags. Into them went the decorative pieces I’d bought for his study, the matching “his and hers” items he’d never used, the celebratory banners for the wedding in three days, and our engagement photos, which he’d insisted on keeping hidden in the back of the closet. I was halfway through when the doorbell rang. Two people in professional black uniforms stood at the door, clipboards in hand. “Good afternoon, are you Ms. Sienna Laurent?” A bitter smile touched my lips. “I’m not. If you’re looking for her, you might want to try again in a few days.” Once I was gone, this would be their home. Or maybe they’d find it tainted by my presence and move somewhere else. Not my problem anymore. “Is there anyone else home?” one of them asked. “We contacted Ms. Laurent through the homeowner’s group chat. We’re here for the annual fire safety inspection.” “The homeowner’s group chat?” 3 I had lived here for a year and had never heard of any homeowner’s group chat. And why would Sienna be in it? “Yes, ma’am. Our records are based on the property deed. Apartment 1201 is registered to Mr. Ethan Hayes and Ms. Sienna Laurent. Are you a friend of theirs, or…?” Their eyes shifted, their professional smiles tightening. I was standing there in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, looking nothing like a guest. But I couldn’t spare a single thought for what they were thinking. It felt like the top of my skull had been peeled back and my veins filled with cement. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was living in Ethan’s home. I thought I was building our future love nest. But the truth? I was a guest in the home he co-owned with Sienna. The absurdity of it was suffocating. “I’m sorry, this isn’t her home. Please leave,” I snapped, pushing them out and slamming the door. The moment it clicked shut, my strength gave out. I slid down the door, burying my face in my arms, my body trembling. I’d been with him since I was eighteen, following him across the country, across the world, for a decade. A year ago, he proposed, and we finally settled down. And only today did I learn the truth. On the very day he proposed, the day I was ecstatically telling everyone I was getting married, he was at City Hall, signing a marriage certificate with Sienna. The home I’d lived in for a year had both their names on the deed. They were the legally married couple. So what did that make me? The girlfriend of eleven years. What the hell was I? A wave of fury washed over me. I tore through the apartment, ripping open drawers, throwing things aside until I found it in his study: the dark red folder containing the deed. Just then, my phone began to scream, ringing over and over. After what felt like an eternity, my numb fingers finally answered. “Where have you been? I told you to come to the party. Where are you?” Ethan’s voice was impatient. Then another, brighter voice chimed in. “Tessa! I just landed! I’ve missed you so much, you have to come say hi!” The names on the deed, printed in crisp, official lettering, blurred and merged with the voices in my ear. They owned my sight and my hearing. A sharp pain lanced through my eyes, making my vision swim. After the call ended, a dozen more texts from Ethan came through, each one more demanding than the last. Numbly, I put everything back in its place, smoothing over the chaos I’d created. I changed my clothes and walked out the door. If they wanted to see me so badly, then I would go. 4 The private room was roaring with noise when I pushed the door open. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” A crowd of their friends was clapping and cheering. No one even noticed me. Ethan chuckled, a look of fond exasperation on his face, and wrapped an arm around Sienna’s shoulders. He leaned in and gave her a deep, lingering kiss right on the lips. Sienna played the part of the blushing recipient perfectly, and the room erupted. I thought watching this would shatter me. I thought I’d be sick with jealousy, that I’d rush forward and tear them apart. Instead, I found myself raising my phone, coolly framing the shot. I even took a moment to find the best angle, the one that captured the full, cloying intimacy of the moment. Suddenly, Sienna’s head whipped around. Her eyes widened in panic as she saw me, and she shoved Ethan away. “Tessa! You’re here! Don’t get the wrong idea, we were just playing a game. I lost a dare, so…” “Ethan, hurry up and explain it to her!” she urged, tugging at his sleeve. Ethan, a smear of red lipstick on his lips, looked at me, his expression flat. “Sienna lost a game. I was just helping her out.” There it was again. Just helping her out. Helping her get a marriage license, helping her with a kiss. What was next? Helping her into bed? Helping her have a baby? I forced a smile. “I get it. It’s fine.” Ethan frowned, seemingly thrown off by my calm demeanor. Before he could say anything else, Sienna rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Come on, sit! It’s been years, we have so much to catch up on.” Whether it was intentional or not, she steered me into the seat directly between her and Ethan. Every time she asked me a question, she would lean across me to get Ethan’s opinion, and he would answer her patiently every time. The looks on the faces of everyone else in the room were telling. I was an obstacle, a roadblock between the two of them. My very presence was an inconvenience. 5 “Sienna, you didn’t come back all of a sudden because you heard Ethan was getting married, did you? Here to crash the wedding?” someone finally asked, their tone laced with amusement. Sienna’s sweet voice was playfully chiding. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing going on between me and Ethan!” “Oh, come on,” another person chimed in. “Everyone knows you two are legally married. That social media post went viral in our circle!” “Exactly! And we all know Ethan’s been in love with you forever. If you just said the word, no one else would even stand a chance. Right, Ethan?” They were shameless, their words deliberately provocative. These were the people who had grown up rooting for them as a couple, who had never accepted me. I remembered the one and only time I’d attended a gathering with them as Ethan’s girlfriend. They’d asked me to my face what made me think I was good enough for him, how I had the nerve to even pursue him. I’d caused a huge scene that night, and Ethan had never taken me to one of their events again. But this time, I felt nothing. I smiled along with everyone else and looked at Sienna. “He’s just waiting for you to say yes,” I said, my voice even. “Give him the word, and you can be the bride in three days.” Everyone stared at me like I had lost my mind. Even Sienna couldn’t hide the flash of surprise—and excitement—in her eyes. But Ethan’s face darkened. “Tessa!” he snarled. “What the hell are you talking about?” “I’m not talking nonsense,” I said calmly, my expression deadly serious. He shot up from the sofa, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me out of the room. “Tessa, are you insane?” 6 Insane? Maybe I was, once. But I was cured now. Before I could answer, my phone rang. It was my grandfather. I shook Ethan’s hand off and answered. “Tessa-girl, did you book your flight yet? What day are you coming home?” “I got it, Grandpa. The day after tomorrow, in the evening.” We chatted for another minute before I hung up. Ethan’s sharp eyes were fixed on me. “What flight? Are you going somewhere?” “No,” I lied smoothly. “Grandpa’s coming for the wedding. He was just asking if I’d booked his ticket.” He accepted it without question, though his brow remained furrowed. “Just… don’t cause any more trouble tonight, okay? I’ll talk to my parents. I’ll try to get them to come to the wedding.” His tone was that of a king bestowing a great favor. I felt none of the old excitement or gratitude I would have a week ago. All I felt was a hollow, bitter amusement. My good behavior, my silence about him and Sienna, was the price for his parents’ attendance at our wedding. The Hayes family came from a long line of academics. His parents were both professors; Ethan was a prestigious researcher. My family was in business. They’d always looked down on me, on my “new money” background. For years, I had showered them with gifts, spent more time with his parents than I had with my own. None of it mattered. In their eyes, I would never be one of them. Now that I was finally giving up, they wouldn’t have to pretend to appreciate my efforts anymore. “Okay,” I said. “Well, I’m heading home. You guys have fun.” “I’ll drive you.” For some reason, he was suddenly patient with me. In the past, I’d have to beg for a ride days in advance, and even then, he’d likely forget. He pulled up to the front of my building, got out, and opened my door, holding a hand over the frame so I wouldn’t hit my head. I was silent the whole way, but as the car’s headlights cut through the darkness, a flicker of warmth sparked in my chest. Maybe… maybe he did care about me, just a little. Even a tiny bit was something. But then my phone buzzed with a new message. It was a screenshot of a social media post from a year ago. 7 Two profile pictures, side by side. On the exact same day that Ethan proposed to me, he and Sienna had both posted photos of their marriage certificate. Sienna’s caption: “With you, my life is complete!” Ethan’s caption: “Whatever you want, it’s yours.” The comments below were a flood of congratulations. I had never seen this post. In all our years together, Ethan had never once posted a single thing about me. We had the same circle of friends. Did that mean while I was joyfully telling the world about our engagement, they were all seeing this? I had been a clown, performing for an audience that was in on the joke. The warmth in my chest turned to ice water. Sharp, painful, and cold. At that exact moment, a bucket of actual ice water drenched me from head to toe. Someone screamed. “She’s the homewrecker! Get her! Tear her apart!” A storm of pain and confusion engulfed me. I was surrounded. Garbage, smelling sour and rotten, rained down on me from all directions. They were yelling, shouting about “teaching the mistress a lesson.” I couldn’t fight back; I couldn’t even see where it was coming from. The world dissolved into a nightmare of snarling faces and grasping hands, demons dragging me down into hell. “Stop!” After what felt like a century, I finally heard Ethan’s voice. The taut string in my mind snapped. Everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The shame of the attack washed over me again, and I gasped for breath, turning my head to look at Ethan. He was disheveled, his usual pristine appearance gone. His lips moved. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know if he was apologizing because his fiancée had been mistaken for a mistress and beaten in the street, or because he’d let me live in the home he shared with another woman. But the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable, streaming from the corners of my eyes into my hair. Ethan tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming. 8 At first, he was composed, but soon he became flustered, his movements clumsy. “Please don’t cry, Tessa. Okay?” His voice was strained with a helpless frustration. “I know this was unfair to you. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” I covered my eyes with my hand, my voice thick with congestion. “Make it up to me? How?” “We’ll make the wedding even bigger. A grander celebration. Would that be enough?” The flood of tears stopped as if a faucet had been turned off. I almost laughed. When I finally spoke, my voice was flat. “Ethan. Let’s cancel the wedding.” “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he snapped, his tone hardening. In his mind, I was just throwing a tantrum. “I’m being—” Serious. Before I could finish, his phone rang. It was a different ringtone than his usual one. I couldn’t hear what was said, but his expression grew conflicted. He glanced at me. “You guys watch her. I have something here. I can’t leave right now.” He hung up and pressed his lips together. “Stop overthinking things. Just get some rest. I’ll stay here with you.” And he did. He answered three more calls, but he didn’t leave my room. He brought me water, adjusted my pillows, surprisingly attentive. But my mind was a chaotic mess. I couldn’t appreciate this rare display of care. I was just drifting off to sleep when my phone vibrated insistently on the nightstand. A text from an unknown number. “You think he’s staying because he’s worried about you? Because he cares? Take a look at this.” Attached were several screenshots of a group chat. The building’s homeowner chat. Someone had posted a photo of me, beaten and covered in garbage, with the words ‘HOMERWRECKER’ scrawled across it in red. Someone else had tagged Sienna. “Your husband is cheating on you. This is the other woman.” 9 Sienna hadn’t replied with words. Just a single, perfect broken-heart emoji. The chat exploded into a vicious tirade against me. I never knew words could inflict so much pain. Finally, Ethan, apparently pricked by some last shred of conscience, had typed: “She is not the other woman.” But his weak defense only fueled the fire. The insults grew harsher, and they started planning to “teach me another lesson.” Someone asked him directly: If I wasn’t the other woman, then what was Sienna? The argument escalated until they cornered him, demanding to know who his real wife was: Sienna, or me. The final screenshot was his answer. “The one whose name is on the deed, of course.” A deep, shuddering cold seized me. My entire body trembled. No wonder he had been so insistent on driving me home. No wonder he’d stayed with me even after Sienna’s calls. This entire nightmare… it all started with him. Eleven years of devotion, and in return, he personally pointed the finger and branded me the mistress. I thought I was past caring. I thought nothing he did could touch me anymore. But in that moment, a fire ignited in my chest, a wild, consuming rage that wanted to burn everything to the ground. Just then, Ethan walked back into the room. I stared at him, my eyes burning. “Ethan…” “Tessa, Sienna has alcohol poisoning. She’s getting her stomach pumped. I have to go check on her. You be good and get some rest.” “Ethan, don’t you dare leave.” Maybe he didn’t notice the raw fury in my voice. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He scowled, his voice dropping to an icy chill. “What more do you want? I’ve been here with you for hours. Isn’t that enough? Sienna’s condition is serious. I don’t have time for your games.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode out of the room. The door clicked shut, a final, definitive sound. It was the story of my life: always chasing after him, only to have him shut the door in my face, leaving me in the dark. The fire in my chest was instantly extinguished, leaving behind only cold ash. I let out a quiet, mirthless laugh, lay back down, and pulled the covers up to my chin. Soon. It would all be over soon. 10 Ethan was gone. He didn’t come back the next day. But I expected nothing, and the solitude was a relief. A little while later, a message from Sienna popped up on my phone. “Want to make a bet on whether your wedding will actually happen?” I smiled and typed back a quick reply. “No need to bet. The wedding will be a very lively affair.” “Good. I can’t wait to watch the show.” I turned off my phone and ignored her. After getting the official discharge papers from the doctor, I went straight to the police station and filed a report. No matter what Ethan had said, those people had no right to attack me. I didn’t go back to the apartment. I checked into a hotel. By the time I boarded the flight home, I still hadn’t heard from Ethan again. It was evening when the plane landed. The moment I turned my phone on, it rang. It was him. “Tessa, you’re out of the hospital and back home, right?” I wasn’t surprised he knew I’d been discharged. And I knew this wasn’t a call of concern. Based on how obsessed I’d always been with our wedding, he was absolutely certain that as long as I could walk, I would be at that altar on time. He had no doubts about that. I gave him a few vague answers and hung up. Looking up, I saw my grandfather waiting for me. His hair was whiter than I remembered, his frame a little more stooped. A lump formed in my throat. “Grandpa…” “Hey now,” he said, his voice cheerful, but his eyes were misty. “No tears. I’m here to take you home. This is a happy day!” When my parents died in the car crash, I was stuck overseas with Ethan. By the time we got back, they were already buried. I couldn’t forgive myself, but my grandfather never blamed me. He comforted me for months, encouraging me to go and find my own happiness. Looking back now, I saw how unbelievably selfish I had been. October 20th. An auspicious day for a wedding. I had consulted with several experts to pick the perfect date. When I’d asked Ethan for his opinion, he’d just said, “Whatever you want.” At the time, those words filled me with hope. I never would have dreamed that for our relationship, the wedding would be the end. The night before the ceremony, I stayed up all night, cozy in my hotel bed, and binged three movies. As dawn broke, I switched my phone to silent, found the most comfortable position I could, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Today’s wedding was destined to be Ethan’s one-man show. I wondered what his face would look like when he realized I was gone.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385199”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I spent five years in Wyatt Hayes’s orbit. Five years of wildness and wonder, five years of being tangled up in him. In all that time, whatever patience and warmth he possessed, he gave to me. Every year, on New Year’s Eve, as the clock ticked toward midnight, he would ask me the same question. “Lena, will you stay with me next year?” Sometimes, it was over the phone, his voice a low rumble across an ocean. Other times, he’d fly back on his jet, arriving at my apartment door, exhausted and smelling of the cold night air, just to hear me say yes in person. His friends all had a saying: “Before Lena, Wyatt didn’t know how to love. After Lena, he didn’t need to.” I heard the words, but I never let them sink in. It was safer that way. On the last night of the fifth year, he came back just as he always did. He was travel-worn and carried the chill of the December air on his coat. He pulled me into his arms, the embrace familiar and firm, and pressed a tired kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Everything okay?” I nodded, then gently eased myself out of his hold. “Wyatt, this is it.” “For year six,” I said, my voice even, “I wish you a happy marriage.” I had known for a while. That flight he took wasn’t for business. It was to get engaged, just as his family always intended. 1 In the final weeks of the year, Wyatt was overseas on company business. I was working from home, tying up loose ends on a few entertainment news pieces before the holidays. At ten p.m., my phone lit up with his face. “Happy birthday, Lena,” he said, his voice warm despite the distance. “Did the gifts arrive?” I adjusted my glasses, my gaze falling on the small mountain of designer boxes and bags on my sofa. They had been arriving all morning, delivered by a rotating cast of his friends. Five or six of them, each showing up separately with a package, a “Happy Birthday, Lena!” and a bit of charming small talk. They were all masters of conversation, those friends of his, ensuring the apartment was filled with cheerful noise all day. It was Wyatt’s way of doing things. He knew I hated big parties but worried I’d be lonely. So he orchestrated a parade of brief, bright visits, giving me company without the overwhelm. Through the screen, he looked tired. The top two buttons of his black shirt were undone, and he was slouched against a leather sofa somewhere the sun was shining. The light caught the sharp line of his jaw, highlighting that wild, untamable energy he always carried. “There’s one more thing,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “On the desk in the study. I think you’ll like it.” I walked into the study, his workspace, and saw it immediately. A deed, lying on the polished wood of his desk. Next to it, held down by his heavy fountain pen, was a simple card. It just said: “For Lena.” “It’s the condo you liked,” he explained. “The one we saw that Sunday. I bought it for you. A birthday present.” He must have seen the look on my face, because he added quickly, “It’s nothing, really. Not a big place, didn’t cost much. So don’t even think about saying no.” I stared at the papers, a strange ache blooming in my chest. My eyes started to burn. Wyatt always knew how to do this, how to find the cracks in my armor. He remembered every little thing I loved, every casual comment, and he would quietly arrange the world until he could present it to me, gift-wrapped. On the screen, he chuckled, a low, teasing sound. “Hey, don’t you start crying on me, superstar. I’m too busy to fly back and fix it right now.” He took a sip of water. “I’ll make it up to you when I’m back. I promise.” I just nodded. “Get some sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll stay on the line until you do.” That night, a cold rain fell over New York City. I drew back the curtains, a single warm lamp glowing in the room. Wyatt stayed on the video call for over two hours, a silent, watchful presence on my nightstand. Just as I drifted off, I heard his voice, a whisper from the speaker, “Sweet dreams, Lena.” 2 The next morning, my editor, Sarah, dropped a new assignment in my inbox. “Your flight to London is already booked. Lena, I need you to knock this one out of the park.” The subject line read: “EXCLUSIVE ACCESS: The Hayes-Vancourt Engagement.” “I want the inside story,” she said. I scrolled through the attached documents, and there it was, in black and white. Wyatt’s name. The headline from the press brief was like a punch to the gut: “Wyatt Hayes, eldest son of the Hayes Corporation, celebrates his engagement after purchasing a four-million-dollar pink diamond. A source says a wedding is imminent.” My brain stalled for a second. By the time it caught up, a thousand tiny needles were already prickling my heart. Sarah was still talking, oblivious. “It’s weird, though. For a guy who lives his life in the public eye, he’s holding this party in the middle of nowhere, some country estate outside the city. Guess he’s trying to protect the fiancée. You know how it is, two powerful families merging. Paige Vancourt. He’s probably treating her like a porcelain doll.” Clack. My phone hit the floor, bouncing off my toes. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “You okay?” Sarah asked, impatient. “This is a huge get, Lena. The tip came from an inside source. You need to get moving.” After we hung up, I sank to the floor. Mechanically, I started packing a bag. On the plane, I scrolled obsessively through six months of news about him. It was all there, hiding in plain sight. Six months ago: the first paparazzi shot of him with Paige Vancourt, leaving a restaurant in Mayfair. One month ago: a society column mentioning he’d had dinner with her parents. One week ago: the splashy headlines about the auction. A four-million-dollar pink diamond, sold to an anonymous bidder, later confirmed to be him. Two days ago: he’d told me he had to fly out for business, and as he was getting into the car, I’d heard a woman’s clear voice in the background say, “Wyatt, it’s starting to snow in New York…” Every piece clicked into place, perfectly filling the gaps of his recent absences. I found a video of him from an interview after the auction. A reporter asked, “Mr. Hayes, that’s an extraordinary price for a ring. Does it have some special significance to you?” Wyatt shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he glanced down at the velvet box in his hand. “No special meaning. I just thought… she would like it.” He dropped the box into his overcoat pocket. “Her birthday is coming up. It’s a gift for that.” The story was everywhere for a day, then it vanished. Scrubbed from the internet. When I’d asked him about it, he’d simply kissed the corner of my mouth and changed the subject. That was our rule. He set the boundaries. And I never crossed them. So I said nothing, swallowing the sharp, metallic taste of pain. It brought back a memory from a long time ago, a night much like this one. He had come home late, tired and vulnerable, and was kissing my cheek when I suddenly grabbed his sleeve. “Wyatt,” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “If you have to get married someday… what happens to me? What will you do with me? Will your parents just let me be?” The warmth in him vanished instantly. His eyes, which had been soft with desire, became clear and cold. “Lena,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “There are some questions you shouldn’t ask.” He had his obligations. His duties. That night, he got drunk on the living room sofa. I stayed in the bedroom, wrapped tightly in the duvet. We each nursed our own dark moods, separated by a wall. The deal was to never talk about the future, to only live in the now. That time, I was the one who broke the rules. 3 The plane landed in London just after midnight. I checked into the hotel Sarah had booked for me. It was a five-star place, a historic manor house converted into a luxury hotel—apparently, very close to the estate where Wyatt’s engagement party was being held. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, my boots still wet with melted snow, my fingertips numb with cold. The ice crystals on my coat slowly dissolved into dark spots on the fabric before I finally moved my stiff limbs. The party was in six hours. I hadn’t told Wyatt I was coming. I hadn’t even told him I knew. For five years, there had been a clear, invisible line between us. A chasm that no amount of hard work or love on my part could ever bridge. We both knew this day was coming. We knew dragging it out wouldn’t change the ending, but still, we stubbornly delayed it, year after year. We were both terrified to speak of it, terrified of what the final answer would be. Which is why he hid it from me, flying to another continent to get engaged. I sat there all night, thinking. Weighing the costs, the benefits, the impossible choices. I imagined Wyatt had spent countless nights doing the same. But he and I were different. I didn’t have a family empire or a legacy to consider. All I had was this five-year-long feeling in my chest. And I was tired. Just before dawn, I took a shower. I put on a little makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes and changed into the cleanest, most respectable outfit I had packed. Then I went downstairs. The engagement party was being set up in the hotel’s grand ballroom. The doors were propped open, and staff were bustling in and out, arranging flowers and setting tables. Since the event hadn’t started, I could only wait outside, in the main lobby. I waited for a long time, the hot Americano in my hands turning cold. I looked toward the ballroom again. And then I saw him. Wyatt, descending the grand staircase. Beside him was a young woman who moved with an effortless grace. She was wearing a simple, brutally elegant white sheath dress, her long hair falling down her back. She was stunning. Wyatt stood next to her, tall and imposing, his black suit tailored to perfection, yet somehow still looking untamed. They looked perfect together. My eyes stung. The coffee cup trembled in my hand, and hot liquid sloshed over the side, staining the front of my coat. I fumbled for a napkin, trying to wipe it away, only making the dark splotch worse. The smell of coffee and bitter regret filled the air. Suddenly, a crisp, white napkin appeared in front of me. I looked up and froze. “Miss Scott, I presume?” The woman from the stairs was standing before me. Paige Vancourt. “I’m Paige. Wyatt’s fiancée. I’m so glad you could make it to our engagement party.” Her eyes swept over my face, a cool, appraising glance. She was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was the smile of a victor. And in that moment, I understood. It was all her. There was no exclusive interview. There was no inside source. A scoop like this would never have just fallen into my lap. As much as Wyatt wanted to hide this from me, she wanted to rub my face in it. “I’m aware of your… relationship with Wyatt,” she said, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur. “But I imagine a woman like you wouldn’t want to continue so indecently attached to a married man, would she?” She gestured vaguely at the bustling ballroom. “As you can see, this is a large, private event. To avoid any unpleasantness, I think it would be best if you left.” Her smile tightened. “My fiancé and I will be declining all interviews. We have no desire to see our celebration written about in the papers.” My hands were clenched into fists in my pockets, my nails digging into my palms so hard I couldn’t feel the sting. “Does Wyatt know you invited me here?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. She laughed, a light, airy sound that was sharper than a shard of glass. “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? Whether you want him to know or not.” My gaze dropped to her hand, where the pink diamond sat, flashing under the chandelier light. It was magnificent, a perfect, impossible star. Just like their lives. “You seem interested in my ring,” she purred. “Wyatt gave it to me for my birthday. An early present.” She tilted her head. “He’s so very thoughtful, isn’t he? So good at knowing what a girl wants. I suppose I have you to thank for that, Miss Scott.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385198”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’m the male lead in a tragedy, and my beautiful, tyrannical girlfriend has a “little brother” who’s practically lived in a hospital his whole life. It was past midnight when her phone buzzed again. She slid out of bed, pulling on her clothes in the dark. “It’s Sebastian,” she whispered, her voice already distant. “He’s not feeling well. I have to go.” According to the script of my life, this was my cue to break down, to beg her not to leave me alone in our cold, sterile bed. Instead, I just watched her retreating back, a yawn fighting its way up my throat. The moment the front door clicked shut, I picked up my own phone and dialed the number of her fiery arch-nemesis. The next day, I timed it perfectly. I knew she’d be at the hospital, sitting vigil. I sent her a video call request. When her face appeared, etched with concern that wasn’t for me, I let the camera pan slowly around our living room. Her expression soured, the color draining from her cheeks. I gave her a lazy, unconcerned smile. “What’s wrong, Gen?” I asked, my voice deliberately placid. “You went to take care of your brother. The house felt so empty, so I just asked a friend to come keep me company. Is that not normal?” I held the phone up so she could get a better look at Isla Croft, lounging on my—our—sofa, wrapped in nothing but a silk robe, a wine glass dangling from her elegant fingers. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” I continued, a cold satisfaction spreading through me. “It’s a purely platonic friendship. Honestly, I’m exhausted. Can you please not be so unreasonable?” Before she could unleash the storm brewing in her eyes, I ended the call. After all, if you can have a “brother,” why can’t I have a “sister”? 1 The moment the call disconnected, the silence in the living room was absolute. Isla arched an eyebrow, slowly tying the belt of her robe, concealing the captivating lines of her collarbone. A low laugh rumbled in her chest, her voice laced with the thrill of watching a good show. “My guess? Genevieve will be back in ten minutes, ready for war.” I leaned back against the plush cushions of the sofa and took a slow sip of my Bordeaux. “I’ll bet you five.” The words were barely out of my mouth when the front door slammed open with a deafening crash, as if someone had kicked it in. Genevieve Astor was back. Her eyes were bloodshot, her chest heaving with rage. Her gaze sliced across Isla, who looked utterly unbothered, before landing on me. Her voice was a low growl, each word forced through clenched teeth. “Ethan Rhodes, you better have a goddamn explanation.” I swirled the deep red liquid in my glass, pretending not to notice the inferno in her eyes. “Explain what?” I met her gaze, feigning innocence. “I just had a friend over. What’s wrong with that?” “A friend?” Genevieve laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. She stormed forward, her fingers wrapping around my wrist like a vice. “Is it normal for a ‘friend’ to be in your house, in your bathrobe? Ethan, have you lost all sense of shame?” The disappointment and fury in her eyes were meant to annihilate me. If I were the man I used to be, her words would have shattered me. I would have been on my knees, sobbing, trying to explain. But I’m not him anymore. I calmly pulled my hand from her grasp, rubbing the red marks she’d left on my skin. My tone was light, almost bored. “Genevieve, don’t be so dramatic. We just watched a movie. She took a shower, that’s all. Your constant suspicion is exhausting.” Every single word was a weapon she had used against me in the past. Genevieve flinched as if I’d slapped her. Her face cycled through shades of white and red. She seemed incapable of believing those words were coming from my mouth. Isla chose that moment to sigh dramatically. “Gen, please don’t mind me. Ethan and I have always been like this. He honestly doesn’t even see me as a woman.” She gave a helpless shrug. “But since you clearly hate the sight of me, I’ll just go.” Her performance of the wronged party, the graceful exit, was flawless. “Don’t go,” I said immediately, grabbing Isla’s arm. I turned to Genevieve, my voice laced with disapproval. “Why are you being so hostile to her? When did you become so petty?” “Petty?” Genevieve was trembling with rage. “There is another woman in our home in the middle of the night! And you’re defending her!” “And what about Sebastian?” The final card. I played it with a serene smile. “Is he not a man? He calls you in the middle of the night, and you run to his side without a second thought. Are the two of you not a man and a woman, alone in a room together?” I took a step closer, looking directly into her blazing eyes, pinning her in place with my words. “If you can treat Sebastian like a brother, then I can have Isla as my sister. You can’t have it both ways, Gen.” Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Trapped by her own twisted logic, she was left speechless. Finally, with a guttural cry of frustration, she spun around and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. As silence returned to the living room, I let out a long breath. “Thanks, Isla. Sorry you had to be part of the show.” Isla’s playful demeanor vanished. She poured herself a glass of wine, her gaze complex as she looked at me. “Ethan, do you remember that debate tournament in college? You were my opponent, and you argued me into a corner so completely I couldn’t speak.” I blinked, surprised. She gave a self-deprecating smile. “I thought then that you belonged in the spotlight, confident and brilliant. Not… not like this. Trapped here, letting your light be snuffed out for one woman.” She set her glass down, her eyes full of a startling sincerity. “Genevieve doesn’t value you. That’s her loss. I’m helping you, not just for the drama, but because this isn’t who you’re supposed to be.” I looked into her earnest eyes, and for a moment, the ghost of resentment that lived in my chest felt a flicker of peace. She was right. This isn’t who I am meant to be. And that poor, broken man whose life I now inhabited… he never deserved that ending. I touched my hand to my chest, my resolve hardening like steel. Just wait. This is only the beginning. All the pain the male lead in this tragedy endured? It’s your turn to feel every last drop of it. And then some. 2 Genevieve didn’t come home the next day. I enjoyed the peace and quiet. For the first time in months, I slept soundly through the night. It wasn’t until dusk that the front door of the villa opened again. Genevieve walked in, supporting a frail figure I’d only ever seen in photographs: Sebastian Hayes. He was dressed in an all-white lounge set that hung off his thin frame, his face so pale it was almost translucent. He radiated a kind of sickly, artful fragility. Genevieve avoided my gaze as she placed Sebastian’s suitcase on the floor with a thud. “The doctor said Sebastian is still very weak and needs absolute rest. He’ll be staying here from now on, so I can look after him properly.” She paused, then added, as if it were an afterthought, “You can just make an extra portion at meals. It’s not much more effort.” Sebastian offered a weak, triumphant smile. His eyes flickered over to me, a flash of victory in them, before he tightened his grip on Genevieve’s arm. “Gen was so worried about me being alone, she insisted I come here. I’m sure Ethan won’t mind, right?” He drew out my name, slow and soft, the provocation unmistakable. As I was about to respond, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest. It was the shattered soul of the man who used to live here, screaming in outrage. He was urging me on, demanding I ask Genevieve why she would bring this man into his home, demanding I throw him out. The intensity of it almost overwhelmed me. I took a deep breath, pressing a hand to my heart to soothe the ghost within. I forced down the wave of inherited fury and stretched my lips into a bright, welcoming smile. “Mind? Of course not. Why would I mind? Welcome, Sebastian.” My enthusiasm clearly caught both of them off guard. Ignoring their stunned expressions, I continued cheerfully, “Genevieve is right, you need to be taken care of. Besides, it’ll be nice to have more people around. It gets lonely here all by myself.” Then, I shifted my tone, pretending to have a sudden, brilliant idea. “And you know, what a coincidence! I was just about to tell you, the house is about to get even livelier!” Genevieve’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” I gestured toward the front door. “Isla’s company and her apartment are both being renovated right now. It’s a mess of dust and noise, terrible for her health. I couldn’t stand the thought of her staying alone in some hotel, so I’ve already asked her to move in with us for a while.” As if on cue, the doorbell rang. I pressed the button on the remote, and the door swung open to reveal Isla, casually pulling a silver suitcase behind her. She was dressed in chic athleisure, and she feigned a look of surprise as she took in the scene. “Oh, is everyone here?” She winked at me, then turned her gaze to Genevieve, whose face had turned to stone. “Gen, I hope you don’t mind me crashing for a bit. We’re all friends here, right?” The air in the room felt thick enough to choke on. Sebastian’s smile was frozen on his face, and Genevieve looked like she’d just swallowed poison. Oh, yes. This was going to be fun. On the first day of our new living arrangement, the war began in the kitchen at dawn. Sebastian was already up, a blue apron tied neatly around his waist. He was presenting Genevieve with a bowl of meticulously prepared abalone porridge. “Try this, Gen. I simmered it all night,” he said, his voice soft and cloying. “I just hope Ethan likes it. He seems to sleep in rather late.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard the dig, walking straight to the stove and pulling four eggs from the refrigerator. Genevieve frowned, her voice laced with an unspoken command. “Sebastian made you breakfast. Sit down and eat it.” I ignored her. I turned on the burner, heated a pan, and drizzled in a bit of olive oil. With a satisfying sizzle, the rich aroma of frying eggs filled the air, a stark, hearty contrast to the bland, watery smell of his porridge. I expertly cracked the four eggs into the pan, frying them until the whites were set and the yolks were perfectly runny. I slid two onto my plate and two onto another. A vein throbbed in Genevieve’s temple. “Ethan,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed anger, “do you have to be like this?” “Like what?” I pierced one of my yolks with a fork, watching the golden liquid ooze out. I took a deliberate, satisfying bite before looking up at her with an innocent smile. “You have your brother’s breakfast, made with love. I have my high-protein meal. And,” I gestured to the second plate, “these are for Isla. She’s taking me through a heavy lifting session later. We’ll need the energy.” 3 Carrying both plates, I turned my back on them and walked into the villa’s home gym. Isla was already there, finishing her warm-up. Her fitted tank top hugged the sleek muscles of her back, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on her skin. She radiated a potent, healthy energy. “Your fuel,” I said, handing her the plate. She took it without ceremony and began to eat. An hour later, Genevieve appeared at the gym door, her face a thundercloud. She had clearly come for a confrontation, but the sight before her stopped her cold. I was on my last set of weighted squats, my muscles screaming in protest. Isla was standing directly behind me, her own body clad in a sports bra and yoga pants, sweat tracing a path down the elegant curve of her spine. Her hands were planted firmly on my waist, her warm palms pressing against the thin, sweat-soaked fabric of my shirt, spotting me. “I can’t… I can’t get up,” I gasped. “Don’t give up,” Isla’s voice was a low, sultry murmur next to my ear. “Feel it in your glutes. Squeeze. That’s it… I’ve got you. Don’t be afraid.” Her body was flush against my back, rising and falling with my movements, an intimacy so complete there was no space between us. From Genevieve’s angle, it must have looked like a full-body embrace. Bang! Genevieve’s fist connected with the doorframe. Isla and I turned in unison. My face was flushed and beaded with sweat from the workout. Isla slowly straightened up, wiped the sweat from her chest with a towel, and shot Genevieve a provocative look. “Something wrong, Gen? You seem a little tense this morning.” Genevieve’s glare could have killed. Her eyes were fixed on the damp outlines of Isla’s handprints on my shirt. Her lips pressed into a thin, white line, but she couldn’t say a word. What could she say? That we were being improper? Her darling Sebastian was sitting in the dining room right now. That our position was inappropriate? Just last night, she had personally massaged Sebastian’s “sprained” ankle for him. I watched her, the fury twisting her features as she was forced to swallow her rage, and the ghost in my chest finally felt a sliver of relief. Still breathing heavily, I turned to Isla and gave her a deliberately sweet, grateful smile. “Thanks, Isla. With you here, I feel like I can do anything.” I heard the sharp crack of Genevieve’s knuckles as she clenched her fists. … Later that night, I had just stepped out of the shower when my bedroom door was thrown open. Genevieve stood there, reeking of alcohol, her eyes burning red. She stalked toward me, her expensive perfume mingling with the scent of whiskey, enveloping me. Before I could react, she had me pinned against the wall. “Ethan,” she hissed, her voice rough and frayed. “What the hell do you want from me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her lips crashed down on mine. It wasn’t a kiss; it was an invasion, a punishment, the desperate bite of a cornered animal. I grimaced in disgust, turning my head away sharply as she tried to deepen the kiss. She froze, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. After a long moment, she buried her face in my neck, and her voice, when she spoke again, was shockingly vulnerable. “Do we have to be like this? This isn’t who you used to be.” I almost laughed out loud. When the old Ethan gave her his entire heart, she treated it like garbage. Now that I was giving her a taste of her own indifference, she was playing the victim? I placed my hand on her chest, feeling the frantic pounding of her heart through her silk blouse. “Are you jealous?” I asked softly. Her body went rigid. She jerked her head up, her eyes wide and searching in the dim light. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Finally, as if my question had struck a nerve she didn’t know she had, she scrambled away from me and fled the room, slamming the door behind her. The next day, I was in the city’s most exclusive luxury boutique, picking out a silk scarf for Isla as a thank you for her stellar performance. When I went to pay, the cashier handed my black card back to me with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, sir. This card has been declined.” Before I could say anything, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Genevieve, dripping with her usual arrogance: [When you figure out how to be a proper husband, you can come and talk to me. Until then, all of your accounts are frozen.] She thought she had me. She thought I was the same man who would panic, who would crawl back to her, begging for forgiveness, lost without her financial support. I looked at the text and a smirk touched my lips. I pulled out a different phone and made a call. “Mr. Davies? It’s Ethan Rhodes. The trust fund my mother left me. I’m ready to activate it.” … At three o’clock that afternoon, at a major investment press conference, the camera flashes were blinding. I stood on the stage in a sharp, tailored black suit, right beside Isla, positioned as her most crucial new business partner. I smiled brightly for the cameras, knowing Genevieve would be watching. After the successful launch, Isla handed me a glass of champagne. “Congratulations, Ethan. A beautiful counterattack.” As I raised my glass to hers, the phone in my pocket began to vibrate uncontrollably. I pulled it out to see a screen full of missed call notifications—more than twenty of them, all from Genevieve. I ignored them, about to turn the phone off, when the screen lit up again. This time, it was the private line from the Astor family estate. I answered. There was a second of silence, then a stern, aged voice boomed through the speaker. “Ethan Rhodes, have you had enough of this nonsense?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385197”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had been a Prescott for eighteen years when a girl claiming to be the real Prescott daughter threw herself in front of our car. She lay sprawled on the asphalt, her sobs a theatrical performance meant for an audience of our tinted windows. Between gasps, she accused me, the impostor, of stealing the life that should have been hers. After the DNA test, my own brother, who’d never shown me a shred of genuine affection, suddenly became her staunchest ally. Together, they twisted truths into lies, painting me as the villain in a story I hadn’t even known I was in. In my last life, their campaign of whispers and accusations worked. My father, his face a mask of fury, cast me out of the family. When I returned to my supposed birth family, the Moores, their eyes held nothing but contempt for me. It didn’t end there. Ivy, the real daughter, sent men to break what was left of me, over and over again. Unable to bear it, I stepped off the edge of a skyscraper and let the city swallow me whole. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that same day, with Ivy blocking our car. I saw the raw hatred in her eyes, the same hatred that had haunted my final moments. I took a breath, my voice steady. “Then let’s all get a DNA test.” 1 “What are you trying to say?” Ivy shot back, her face flushed with anger. “Are you saying I’m a liar? Or are you just so entitled you can’t accept that I’m the one who was supposed to have your life?” Beside me, Carter was slouched in his seat, scrolling on his phone. “This is such a drag,” he muttered. “Finding out my sister is a fake on a Tuesday.” I shrugged, turning my gaze to the man in the front passenger seat. “Father, I think it’s best for everyone if we all get tested. That way, there’s no room for doubt. The science doesn’t lie.” My father was silent for a long moment, his stony profile reflected in the window. Then, a curt nod. “Audrey is right. You,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Ivy, “will come with us. You’ll both be tested.” With his verdict delivered, I said nothing more. I simply shifted closer to my mother, making room for Ivy to climb into the car. I knew how this family worked. Father was the judge, jury, and executioner. No matter how shocked my mother was, no matter how her heart might bleed for this girl claiming to be her long-lost child, she would always defer to him. Ivy scrambled up from the pavement and slid into the car. She was covered in dust, her frame so thin she looked like a strong wind could snap her in two. The grime of her journey clung to her, and I saw my mother’s brow furrow for a split second before she leaned away, pressing herself against the opposite window. We arrived at the hospital—the Prescott Wing, to be precise. As the phlebotomist prepared the needles, Ivy looked at my mother with wide, pleading eyes, a silent beg for comfort. But she misjudged her audience. My mother was a Prescott, raised on silk and silver spoons. She had never encountered anyone who looked like Ivy. Without the certainty of a blood tie, all she could feel was a vague revulsion, not a flicker of maternal sympathy. “Audrey Prescott!” Ivy hissed at me, her voice low and sharp. Then her expression shifted, morphing into a sneer of arrogant certainty. “Just wait until those results come back. You’ll see what I do to you.” I didn’t answer. My heart was hammering against my ribs. This was a gamble. I was betting that I was also a Prescott. That the child the Moores had swapped into this life of luxury wasn’t me. In my past life, it had always puzzled me. When I returned to the Moores, I’d tried my best. I never complained about their small, rural house. I helped with chores, with the farm work, trying to earn my place. But it never mattered. Their gazes were always cold, tinged with a resentment I couldn’t understand. I assumed it was because I’d been thrown out by the Prescotts, penniless and disgraced. But one night, Mr. Moore got drunk. He stumbled into the living room and pointed a slurring finger at me. “Thank God it was you who came back,” he’d mumbled, before his wife rushed in, her eyes wide with panic, and clamped a hand over his mouth. That’s when I knew something was wrong. But by the time I tried to investigate, Ivy had already blocked every path, ensuring I was trapped, powerless, in that forgotten town. This time, I was back. And I was willing to bet everything, even if I was wrong. Because my father had invested heavily in this hospital, the results that should have taken days were ready in under an hour. When the doctor emerged holding the files, Ivy rushed toward him. “Doctor, what does it say?” The doctor ignored her, addressing my father directly. “Mr. Prescott, the results are in. This report confirms that Ms. Ivy Moore is, indeed, your and Mrs. Prescott’s biological daughter.” Ivy’s eyes shot to mine, gleaming with triumph. A second later, the look vanished, replaced by a mask of tearful vulnerability as she turned to my mother. “Mom, Dad… I finally found you.” My mother’s composure finally cracked. She pulled Ivy into a hug, her voice thick with emotion. “My dear girl. You must have suffered so much.” Carter shoved me aside, rushing to Ivy’s side. “So you’re my real sister! I knew it! The first time I saw you, I felt a connection. Nothing like her.” He jerked his head in my direction. My father’s expression remained unreadable, but I saw a flicker of something—pity, perhaps—in his eyes. I stood my ground, my voice calm as I looked at the doctor. “What about the other report?” Ivy spoke up quickly. “It’s already been proven that I’m their daughter. We don’t need to see yours.” She tried to pull away from my mother’s embrace, but the doctor was faster. He placed both reports directly into my father’s hands. “This report,” the doctor stated clearly, “shows that Ms. Audrey Prescott is also your and Mrs. Prescott’s biological daughter.” “What? That’s impossible! You must have made a mistake!” Ivy’s face twisted into a mask of rage, her shriek echoing down the sterile, empty hallway. My father scanned the papers, his brow furrowed. “Doctor, what does this mean?” “Mr. Prescott, the equipment you funded for this lab is state-of-the-art. There is no possibility of error. The reports show that both young women are your biological daughters. The results are conclusive.” “Audrey Prescott! This was you, wasn’t it!” Ivy looked feral, breaking free from my mother’s arms and lunging for me. “You paid him off! You bribed the doctor!” I flinched back, looking at my father with wide, wounded eyes. “Father, I didn’t… you know I would never have the courage to do something like that.” My father’s face hardened as he looked at Ivy. “That is enough. This behavior is unbecoming.” His sharp tone made Ivy freeze, her hands dropping away from my collar. I nearly stumbled. “Audrey has always been a well-behaved child,” he continued, his voice cold as steel. “Top of her class. She is not capable of such a thing. I know my daughter.” Vindicated, I lowered my head and smoothed the wrinkles Ivy had made in my dress. He despised public displays of disorder. “Mom only had two children,” Ivy muttered, her mind racing. “If I’m her daughter, and Audrey is too… does that mean Carter isn’t?” Her words were a spark in the dark. Of course. That’s why the Moores hated me. Their ambition was bigger than I ever imagined. They hadn’t just swapped a daughter out; they’d swapped their son in. I immediately seized the opening. “Maybe… we should test Carter, too.” “Are you insane, Audrey?” Carter, who had been enjoying the show, finally snapped to attention. “Just because you managed to stay a Prescott, you’re going to drag me into this?” I looked at him, my expression one of pure innocence. “But we’re twins, Carter. Born at practically the same time. If it could happen to one of us, it could have happened to you, too.” Carter laughed, a short, ugly sound. “No one is that stupid. To swap a boy for a girl.” But my father wasn’t listening to him. A businessman never overlooks a potential liability. I heard him give the doctor a quiet, firm order. “Draw his blood.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385196”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

They framed me for a celebrity’s death. My fiancé provided the false evidence, and my beautiful new colleague shed crocodile tears as my life went up in flames. After they destroyed my career, a crazed fan finished the job with a bottle of acid. But then, I woke up—back on the morning of the day it all went wrong. This time, the trap they’re setting for me is one they won’t be walking away from. 1 The first thing I did after I was reborn was trade my shift. When my fiancé found out, he told me I was insane. Kelsey, the beautiful new nurse, burst into tears. In my last life, it had gone so differently. A patient was rushed into the ER with acute pulmonary hypertension. He wasn’t just anyone; he was Liam Croft, Hollywood’s golden boy, fresh off a string of award season victories. A true A-lister. Every available doctor in the emergency department was pulled into the effort to save him. After the marathon surgery, my shift began. I spent the next twenty-four hours glued to his bedside, a constant vigil to ensure his stability. But just as I was about to clock out, he coded. A sudden, catastrophic event, and he was gone. That’s when Kelsey made her move. “Nora has no work ethic,” she’d announced to our superiors, her voice trembling with faux sincerity. “I know she likes to slip into the hallway to play on her phone during her shifts…” Her eyes filled with tears. “But that was a human life. How could you be so negligent?” And Ethan, my fiancé, stood right beside her. He held up his phone and played a recording of me venting after a brutal triple shift, complaining about how exhausted I was. It was his proof. “I know you’re tired of this job, Nora,” he’d said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “But that doesn’t give you the right to be reckless with people’s lives.” After that, it was a landslide. Liam Croft’s family and his legion of rabid fans ignored my desperate explanations, filing lawsuits and official complaints. The hospital fired me. The depression that followed was a suffocating blanket. Then came the “superfan” who showed up at my door with a bottle of industrial-strength drain cleaner. I died in a haze of white-hot, chemical agony. And after I died, I watched. I saw Kelsey get promoted to head nurse. I saw her marry Ethan. I saw them live a long, happy life. Then I opened my eyes. And I was back. Back on the very day Liam Croft was wheeled into our ER, fighting for his life. 1 “We need him in Trauma Room 3! Stat!” “Nora, what are you doing just standing there?” The familiar controlled chaos of the ER snapped me back to reality. The sea of blue scrubs, the rhythmic beep of monitors, the urgent, clipped voices of doctors and nurses. I saw him then, lying on the gurney being rushed past me—Liam Croft. It was real. I was reborn. And I was back on the day it all began. “Nora, if you’re not going to help, at least get out of the way,” Kelsey snapped, bumping my shoulder as she hurried to the side of our department chief, Dr. Albright, eager to make an impression. I watched her, the rage a furnace in my chest. She was the one who had destroyed my reputation, who had set the stage for my horrifying death. This time, I vowed silently, I won’t let either of you win. Dr. Albright’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the vial in Kelsey’s hand. “That’s the wrong medication! Are you trying to kill him, Kelsey? Get out!” She’d only been in the ER for three months, and her incompetence was a liability. A cold smile touched my lips. “Chief, let me,” I said, stepping forward smoothly. I pushed past a stunned Kelsey and took my place at his side. She glared at me, her face a mask of fury, before retreating from the trauma room. Just like last time, Liam’s surgery was a success. And just like last time, I was scheduled for the overnight watch. Unlike last time, the first thing I did was find the head nurse and request a shift swap. Once it was done, I drove home to my condo at Willow Creek. It was the one my parents had bought for me, paid in full. After Ethan and I got engaged, he’d made himself right at home, practically moving in. He claimed it was to take care of me, but he treated the place like it was his own. 2 In my previous life, Ethan and I had gotten together after being set up by Dr. Albright. His family was working-class, but he was ambitious and driven. We’d been dating for nearly a year, and when I told him I wanted to wait to be intimate, he said he respected my decision. Only after my death did I learn the truth: he’d been sleeping with Kelsey all along. I slept soundly and deeply in my own bed. The next morning, on my way out, I changed the code on the keypad lock to my front door. After that small act of liberation, I drove to the hospital. I had just changed into my scrubs when I ran into Kelsey in the hallway near the patient rooms. “Well, well. You’re looking surprisingly fresh for someone who just pulled an all-nighter,” she said, her tone dripping with passive-aggressive sweetness. “What moisturizer do you use? You have to tell me.” I ignored her and kept walking. She scoffed. “Did you see the news this morning? That patient from yesterday—that was Liam Croft. The Liam Croft. The one who just won a Golden Globe.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “His fans are camped outside the hospital. If anything happens to him, they’ll tear this place apart.” She paused for effect. “So, you know, whoever is watching him needs to be extremely careful. One little mistake, and it’s over for them.” Her words were laced with poison, a thinly veiled threat. It was as if she already knew something was going to happen. She’d said something similar to me in my past life, but I’d been too naive to understand. Now, I saw it clearly. Liam Croft’s death was no accident. And Kelsey was involved. As I was processing this, the hospital-wide alert blared through the speakers. A code blue. Liam Croft was crashing. Massive internal bleeding. Just like before, the hospital exploded into action. Staff from every department converged on the ICU. Kelsey, putting on a masterful performance of panic, rushed in to “help” with the resuscitation efforts. A few minutes later, she and Dr. Albright emerged from the room, their faces grim. By then, Liam’s agent, his parents, and the president of his official fan club had arrived, crowding the hallway outside the ICU. “What the hell happened?” his agent demanded. “Yesterday you people guaranteed us he was stable! What is going on?” “You swore he was out of the woods!” his mother cried. “Now he’s dying? You have to give us an answer!” Dr. Albright stood before them, his expression grave. “He was stable. His vitals were normalizing. I don’t understand how he could have declined so rapidly overnight…” His words were cut off by Liam’s father. “My God! If my son dies, this hospital will be held fully responsible!” The chief’s face darkened. As chaos erupted, Kelsey glanced at me, her eyes glinting, and spoke in a soft, concerned voice. “Nora was the one on duty last night, watching him,” she murmured, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “He’s hemorrhaging, and he has a high fever with signs of a severe infection. The anti-inflammatory and fever-reducing meds were supposed to be administered every three hours. If they were given on time, this shouldn’t be happening…” She let the implication hang in the air before continuing. “The only way this could happen is if the attending nurse didn’t give him his medication on schedule.” She took a deep breath, her gaze locking onto mine. “Nora, I know you like to slip into the hall to play on your phone during your shifts… but that was a human life. How could you be so negligent?” She didn’t have to say it outright. With those two sentences, she painted a target on my back. The girl I’d swapped shifts with was already home, and our head nurse was on vacation. No one else knew I hadn’t been there. “What?” Liam’s mother shrieked, her voice cracking. “You were playing on your phone while my son was dying?” His agent saw his opening. “We’re suing this hospital for everything it’s worth. You’ll all pay for this. Especially you,” he snarled, pointing a trembling finger at me. “If Liam doesn’t make it, I will destroy you.” I was about to speak, to defend myself, when the door to the ICU slid open. It was Ethan. He pulled his surgical mask down, his face a mask of professional sorrow. “He’s in shock,” he announced to the room. “We’re losing him.” The family, the agent, the fan club president—they all looked as if the world had just ended. 3 Liam Croft’s parents crumpled to the floor, their bodies wracked with sobs. His agent went pale, stumbling back against the wall. The fan club president fumbled for her phone, her fingers flying across the screen, no doubt updating her network. The scene was pure pandemonium. Just then, the hospital administrator, alerted to the crisis, arrived on the scene. And somehow, the reporters who had been camped outside had breached security. A flood of them poured into the hallway, cameras flashing, microphones extended. Seeing the media, Liam’s mother found a new surge of strength. She scrambled to her feet, pointing a shaking finger at me. “It was her!” she screamed, her voice raw with grief. “She was supposed to be watching my son, but she was playing on her phone! She didn’t give him his medicine! If my son dies, it’s on this hospital and this worthless bitch!” The cameras turned to me, a blinding volley of flashes. The reporters swarmed the administrator. “Sir, is it true your hospital is guilty of fatal negligence?” “Why would you assign such an irresponsible nurse to a high-profile patient? Was this intentional?” The administrator was speechless. Liam’s mother lunged at me, grabbing the collar of my scrubs. I could barely breathe. “You murderer!” she shrieked. “Give me back my son!” “I didn’t…” I choked out. Hearing my denial, Kelsey’s face flushed with righteous indignation. “Don’t lie, Nora. It was your shift. I saw you this morning, right in the hallway, staring at your phone.” “It wasn’t me…” Before I could explain, Ethan stepped forward, holding up his phone just as he had in my last life. “Nora, you’ve gone too far this time. As a doctor, I can’t cover for you.” He pressed play. The recording filled the tense silence—my voice, exhausted after a 72-hour stretch of shifts, complaining to him at home. I’d forgotten about that conversation. I never imagined he could be so vile as to record it. The administrator’s face turned to stone. “Nora,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” I let out a long, slow breath. “Do you all really think it was me?” I asked calmly. “Listen to her attitude!” the fan club president shouted. “Someone like her should be in jail!” The reporters and paparazzi went into another frenzy, their cameras focused on me. Ethan and Kelsey saw their moment. “There’s no use running from this, Nora,” Ethan said, his voice a perfect blend of pity and condemnation. “You brought this on yourself.” “Just confess,” Kelsey added softly. “If you fight this, it will only be worse for you.” “Nora, just tell the truth,” Ethan urged. All eyes were on me, waiting for my confession. A slow smile spread across my face. “You’re all so certain it was my fault?” “Of course it was!” Kelsey snapped. “The patient’s condition is a direct result of the attending nurse’s negligence. You can’t talk your way out of this.” Ethan turned to the administrator. “Sir, I recommend the immediate termination of the nurse on duty last night. This is criminal. Our hospital cannot protect someone like that.” I had waited so long for this. It was finally here. I didn’t get angry. I laughed. Then, in a clear, steady voice that cut through the chaos, I said, “Since you’re all so sure it’s the fault of the nurse on duty, then you should be talking to Amelia Reed. We traded shifts last night.” The words had barely left my lips when Kelsey gasped. “That’s impossible! I saw you in the hallway this morning playing on your phone!” I chuckled. “That’s because I had just gotten here and was clocking in for my shift.” I turned my gaze to Dr. Albright. “Chief, Amelia is your daughter, isn’t she? I swapped with her last night.” The effect was instantaneous. Dr. Albright’s face went rigid. Kelsey and Ethan just stood there, their mouths hanging open, looking like they’d been turned to stone.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385195”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had spent a lifetime with Caroline Price. We made it all the way to our golden anniversary, with two grown children to show for it. As she lay dying, our son asked her if she had any last wishes. “When I’m gone,” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp, “bury me with your uncle. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.” The room fell silent. Every eye turned to me, filled with a pity that burned worse than grief. I just nodded. “Do as she says.” The world called me a joke. A man who’d given everything, only to lose his wife’s heart at the very end. But they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know that if I had the chance to do it all again, I would never, ever marry Caroline Price. When I opened my eyes, I was standing at the altar. It was our wedding day. And just like I knew she would, Caroline had run. She’d left me there, a spectacle for the gossiping crowd. But I didn’t feel humiliated. I felt… relief. A deep, shuddering wave of it. My gaze drifted across the ballroom, landing on a girl in a crimson dress tucked away in a corner. “Sloane Kensington,” I said, my voice carrying in the sudden hush. “I’m short a bride. Are you willing to step in?” 1 The words hung in the air, silencing the whispers. Even the girl herself, who’d been nursing a drink, froze. She looked up, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What… what did you just say?” The corners of her eyes were tinged with red. When she looked at me, something fragile and hopeful flickered in their depths. I smiled and walked toward her, my steps sure and steady in front of all our guests. “I said I want to marry you. Will you have me?” Sloane stared, her lips trembling with an emotion I couldn’t yet name. Before she could answer, Caroline’s parents rushed to my side, her mother grabbing my arm. “Ethan, dear boy, I know you’re hurt,” she pleaded. “That girl has made a fool of you today, but I’ve already sent people to drag her back.” “She’s just being immature, throwing a tantrum.” “Don’t you worry, as long as I’m here, you’re the only man she’s marrying. Don’t do this out of spite, Ethan. Don’t throw your life away on a whim.” I gently pulled my arm free. “Mrs. Price, you can’t force these things. And the truth is, I don’t have to marry Caroline. You should let them be together.” In my last life, I wasn’t blind. I knew the great love of her life, her tragic hero, had always been my younger brother, Noah. But Noah had a reputation. He’d left a trail of broken hearts and terminated pregnancies in his wake, and a doctor had confirmed he could never have children of his own. Caroline’s mother turned cold at the mention of his name. She would never consent to their union. But the merger of our two family companies had been arranged for years. And since Caroline and I had grown up together, and I’d harbored a pathetic childhood crush on her, the duty fell to me. Everyone said our fifty years of marriage was a testament to enduring love. But only we knew the bitter truth of it. We had spent fifty-five of our sixty years together sleeping in separate rooms. Caroline hated me. The night our daughter’s fever spiked so high we almost lost her, she never even showed up at the hospital. Every year, on our son’s birthday, she would spend the entire day at the cemetery. She drank herself into oblivion most nights, crying out Noah’s name in her sleep. In the beginning, I thought we could build something. That love could grow, that old wounds could fade. But year after year, we curdled into a bitter, resentful pair, and I realized some things can never be fixed. Now, I have a second chance. And I’m choosing to let her go. To let myself go. Seeing me take Sloane’s hand, Mrs. Price grew frantic. “Ethan, I’ve always seen you as my son-in-law! You can’t just marry someone else!” “I’ve never approved of Noah’s… manipulative act,” she spat. “Whatever stunt he pulled to get Caroline to run off today, I will not allow a man like that to marry my daughter.” In my first life, it was on this very day—our wedding day—that Noah, upon hearing the news, had tried to kill himself by jumping into the ocean. He left behind a note and a short video. “Caroline, I’m supposed to call you my sister-in-law, but the words ‘I love you’ are caught in my throat. I envy my brother. He gets you without even trying, while I always seem to be a step behind. If there’s a next life, Caroline… let me be the one to marry you.” Because her mother dismissed it as melodrama, forbidding her from leaving, the wedding went on. Noah really did jump. By the time they pulled his body from the water, he was cold and gone. This time, Caroline couldn’t bear to watch him die. The moment she received his video, her eyes went red with panic, and she bolted without a second thought. In my past life, that would have crushed me. But after living two lifetimes, I just felt a profound sense of peace. This time, I would choose the girl I wanted to marry. “Sloane Kensington,” I said, my voice ringing with clarity. “If you want to marry me, then come up here. This wedding is for us now.” Sloane’s lips curved into a smile, and her hand tightened around mine. “Okay,” she said. The room erupted. Caroline’s bridesmaids huddled together, furiously texting. “Caro, you might’ve actually overplayed your hand this time. Ethan is marrying someone else.” “I thought he was obsessed with her? That he’d do anything to marry her. How could he just swap out the bride?” “And of all people… he picked Sloane Kensington. The wild child.” “Maybe he’s just trying to get back at Caroline for leaving him at the altar? Just grabbing the first woman he saw to save face?” As Sloane and I walked toward the officiant, our fingers laced together, I could feel the heat of their stares. Her hand trembled in mine, and she ducked her head slightly. I knew what they were whispering. Sloane’s reputation was notorious. She was a fixture in the city’s most exclusive clubs, her name constantly linked in tabloid scandals with various actors and musicians. Her name was mud in our circle. No respectable family would have her. There were even vicious rumors that her chaotic lifestyle had led to her contracting HIV. But I knew that wasn’t the real her. “Ethan, is this an impulse?” she asked, her voice low as she pulled her hand away. Her beautiful eyes were shadowed with vulnerability. “If you need me to help you save face, I will. But… don’t ruin your life just to prove a point.” A pang of tenderness went through me. Before I could respond, the grand doors to the hall were thrown open with a crash. “Ethan, stop this nonsense!” My father stormed in, his face a mask of fury. “A wedding isn’t a game! You don’t just change the bride! Get over here, now!” The remaining guests shot to their feet, some rushing to greet him, to placate him. But his eyes, cold and hard, were locked on me. “What are you waiting for? Didn’t you hear me?” Sloane nudged me gently. “You should go,” she whispered. “Don’t make a scene.” But I didn’t move. For my entire life, that look on his face had been enough to make me fold. He’d tell me to give my favorite toy to Noah, and I would. He’d tell me to give Noah the bedroom with the best light, and I’d pack my things without a word. When he told me to marry Caroline, I agreed without protest. But not today. Today, for once, I wanted to be the rebel. “Dad,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. “I’m marrying Sloane.” “I will always listen to you. But this one time, I need to choose the person I spend my life with.” Crack. The sound of his hand striking my face echoed through the silent hall. “You ungrateful child,” he seethed. “If you dare to marry this girl today, then you are no longer my son!” I looked up at him, a slow, tired smile spreading across my face. “Fine. Then let’s cut ties.” No one could believe it. Ethan Rhodes, the family’s famously obedient son, was talking back. My father’s face went white with rage, his chest heaving. “For this… this degenerate? You’d disown your own father in front of everyone for her? I see I’ve been far too lenient with you!” After my mother died and he married my stepmother, who gave him Noah, his fists became a regular part of my life. He raised his hand again. But this time, it never landed. A slender hand, all sharp angles and delicate bones, shot out and clamped around his wrist. Sloane stepped in front of me, her face cold and resolute. “You touch him again,” she said, her voice a low, dangerous growl. “I dare you.” My eyes burned. No one, in my entire life, had ever stood up for me like that. They all wondered why I would choose Sloane Kensington, the disgraced heiress. Only I knew the truth. In my last life, on the day I fell gravely ill, it was also the anniversary of Noah’s death. My wife and my father were both at the cemetery, tending to the memory of the person who mattered most to them. No one cared if I lived or died. The doctors issued a critical condition notice. My dozens of calls to them were met with impatient dismissals. It was Sloane who, like a madwoman, pulled strings to get me medical resources from the next state over. It was Sloane who literally dragged me back from the brink of death. Later, when Caroline’s business dealings made her an enemy, someone set fire to our family home. I was trapped, my leg pinned by a burning cabinet, clutching my two crying children, screaming for Caroline to help us. But she ignored me. She ran straight to the study to save a photograph of Noah. And once again, it was Sloane who came. She charged into the inferno without a second’s hesitation, carrying my children out one by one. As the main beam of the house groaned, ready to collapse, I screamed at her. “Sloane, get out of there!” She was too late. As the flames swallowed her, the last thing I saw was her smile—a smile that told me not to worry. From that day on, I had my own ghost, my own lost cause. The one who had died for me. Only after she was gone did I learn the true depth of her hidden love. So this time, I would protect her. I would choose her, and only her, without a moment’s hesitation. My father’s eyes were practically shooting sparks. “Ethan, I’m asking you one last time. You’re choosing this woman?” “Yes,” I said, my voice firm. He let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Fine. You have guts. I hope you don’t live to regret it.” He turned and left. Many of the guests who were there to curry his favor followed him out. Mrs. Price sneered. “This marriage is clearly not meant to be, Ethan. But if you change your mind and still want my Caroline, my offer stands.” I ignored them all. I took Sloane’s hand and led her up to the stage. “We can begin,” I told the officiant. Most of the guests allied with the Rhodes and Price families were gone. Only a handful of friends remained scattered in the vast hall. But I was smiling, truly smiling, as Sloane and I completed the ceremony. “From this day forward, I’m your husband.” “Sloane,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “For better or for worse, in sickness and in health. We’re a team.” She smiled and pulled me into an embrace, her gaze deep and serious. With a weight that felt like a lifetime of waiting, she whispered one word. “Okay.” After the wedding, Sloane had me move into one of her properties, a beautiful house on the waterfront. To make it official, though, I had to go back to my father’s house to get my ID. I was just outside the gate when a red sports car came screeching around the corner, heading straight for me. Before I could react, Caroline lunged, grabbing my arm and shoving me hard to the pavement. “Are you blind?” she snapped, a contemptuous smirk on her face. “I thought you were done with the Rhodes family. What are you doing back here?” “I’m getting my ID so I can get my marriage license,” I said flatly. Her smirk vanished. Her face froze in disbelief. “What did you say? So the rumors are true? You’re actually marrying that train wreck?” Before I could answer, Noah, clad in a flashy red suit, hopped out of the driver’s seat. “Whoa, dude, my bad! Didn’t see you there, Ethan. Almost hit you,” he said, his tone oozing fake sincerity. “It’s my fault. Dad just got me this new car, and I got a little carried away. You’re not mad, are you?” The pride in his voice was sickening. I glanced at the gleaming new Porsche, then looked down and chuckled. “Not at all.” After all, I’d spent years living in that house like a guest. I was used to my father and stepmother doting on Noah. When I needed a simple, practical car for my internship, my father refused. But whenever Noah so much as hinted at wanting something, new sports cars appeared in the driveway like magic. It was then I truly understood the old saying: when a stepmother moves in, your real dad becomes a stepfather, too. “I’m just here to grab something,” I said, turning to leave. I’d only taken a few steps when a bucket of cold water cascaded down over my head. Caroline burst out laughing. Noah covered his mouth, feigning innocence. “Oops, sorry, bro. Everyone’s saying you’re marrying that wild child, Sloane. You know she’s got that… reputation. Probably carrying all sorts of viruses. Can’t have you bringing that into our house. Just helping you disinfect.” I saw the challenge in his eyes and stared back at him, my own gaze turning to ice. He seemed to enjoy it, stepping closer. “Seriously, man, I don’t get what you’re thinking. Caroline chose me, loud and clear. Even if she ditched you at the altar, you didn’t have to pick some random girl just to save face. You have no idea how messed up Sloane’s life is.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “When you’re in bed with her, won’t it make you sick thinking about all the other guys who’ve been there before you?” A cold smile touched my lips. “You should worry about your own woman.” Sloane had intentionally cultivated her wild reputation to keep men at a distance. She had a bad name, but she’d never been with anyone else. Caroline, on the other hand… In our last life, we were married for sixty years. But after our children were born, we lived separate lives. She could never get over Noah, her perfect, lost love. She would constantly bring home young men who bore a passing resemblance to him, parading their affairs in front of me. In my eyes, no one was dirtier than Caroline. A wicked idea sparked in my mind. I leaned closer to Noah. “Little brother,” I whispered, “the women you’re with are just my leftovers. Don’t believe me? She has a small, red birthmark on the inside of her right thigh. I’ve seen it countless times. You’re treasuring something I got tired of. Doesn’t that make you sick?” With that, I turned and walked away. Behind me, Noah’s face went pale. He and Caroline immediately started fighting. “Caroline, were you lying to me? How does my brother know about the birthmark on your thigh?” “Did you sleep with him behind my back?” Caroline, flustered and defensive, tried to explain. “No! That was—that was in our last life… I know that sounds crazy. Noah, believe me, I never touched him…” As their argument escalated, I couldn’t help but laugh. That’s what you get for talking trash about Sloane. Serves you right. Luckily, my father wasn’t home. I grabbed my ID and hurried out. On my way, I couldn’t resist grabbing a bucket of water from the garden hose and dousing Noah with it. Seeing him soaked and sputtering, I grinned. “There, little brother. Now we’re even.” “Get back here!” Caroline yelled, her face livid. For the first time, she left Noah’s side to chase after me. “Ethan, have you really thought this through?” she demanded. “Don’t think this little game of playing hard-to-get is going to make me want you again. I’ve made my choice. The only man I want in this life is Noah. No one can replace him.” I just smiled and turned back to her. “Then I wish you two a happy marriage. Now go back to your fiancé and leave me alone.” Her expression soured. “Ethan, I told you to stop with the games. Noah is pure and kind. He’s not manipulative like you. I’m warning you, don’t you dare hurt him. We may have been married for decades in another life, but you know I never loved you, so I suggest—” “I get it,” I cut her off, waving a dismissive hand. “If it makes you feel better, Sloane and I are planning to leave Boston. You’ll never have to see us again.” A heavy silence fell behind me. I didn’t care to engage any longer. My mind was already filled with the image of getting my marriage license with Sloane, and my steps felt lighter. As I reached the street, a car horn beeped twice. The window rolled down. It was Sloane. “Get in, husband.” I slid into the passenger seat with a smile. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still tied up at the office.” Sloane was taking a two-month leave of absence for our honeymoon. It was her company, but she still insisted on following procedure. “Had to make sure we get to the courthouse. Can’t risk someone else snatching my husband away if I wait too long,” she said, her eyes glancing lazily out the window. I followed her gaze. Caroline was standing at the gate, her fists clenched, her expression a mixture of anger and confusion. I leaned over, right in her line of sight, and pressed a firm kiss to Sloane’s lips. “Let’s go, wife.” A blush crept up Sloane’s neck. She nodded, smiling, so flustered she forgot to release the parking brake as she hit the gas. We left Caroline’s shrinking figure far behind. I was scrolling idly through my phone when a news alert popped up. “Rhodes Corporation CEO Formally Disowns Eldest Son, Ethan Rhodes.” I glanced at it and set the phone down without a word. “Sloane,” I said, turning to her. “I’m not a Rhodes anymore. Do you still want me? Do you feel like I’m not good enough for you now?” She blinked, then reached over and ruffled my hair. “Don’t be stupid.” She said we could build a different kind of life. We could work odd jobs, travel the world. She said she would never let me suffer. I watched her face, a quiet warmth spreading through my chest. She had ruined her own reputation just to shield herself from unwanted advances. People whispered that she was diseased. But I knew the truth. She’d never been in a real relationship, had never been with another man. It was always her who saved me. I used to think I was just lucky. But after Sloane died in my past life, her mother told me through her tears, “Ethan, my daughter has loved you since you were kids. She decided she would never marry because of you. Have you ever stopped to think… there’s no such thing as that much luck in the world? When your path feels easy, it’s because someone else is carrying the weight for you.” Sloane, I promised myself silently, this time, I will love you right. Married life was quiet and happy. Every day, Sloane came home from work with a small strawberry tart, my favorite. Worried I’d get bored at home, she would whisk me away on weekend road trips. But one night, about two weeks later, I was getting ready for bed when I realized it was nearly 11 PM and she wasn’t home. Then, a video popped up on my social media feed. “Sloane Kensington, Notorious Heiress, Caught in Hotel Raid? Police on Scene for Suspected Prostitution Ring.” A cold dread washed over me. I scrolled through the comments. They were a torrent of judgment and hate. “Guess we’ll never understand the rich. Didn’t she just marry the Rhodes heir? Their wedding was all over the news, and she’s already back to her old ways.” “A leopard can’t change its spots. Guess having a handsome husband at home isn’t enough when you can have a stranger in a hotel.” One username looked familiar. Someone with the screen name “Caro” had tagged me directly. “@EthanRhodes Take a good look at the woman you chose. Bet you don’t even have a shoulder to cry on now.” I didn’t hesitate. I threw on my clothes and called a car to the hotel address. Everyone was saying my wife was cheating. The hotel was surrounded by police cars, the flashing lights painting the scene in grim strokes of red and blue. I pushed my way through the gawking crowd and found her. Sloane was in the hotel room, dressed in a silk pajama set. And there was a man-shaped lump under the covers of the bed. Caroline was there, too. “What are you doing here?” I asked her. “Just passing by,” she said, crossing her arms, a smug look on her face. “Regretting your choice not to marry me now, Ethan?” “Your taste in women is truly awful.” “You’ve been married what, two weeks? And she’s already cheating on you. You’re going to be wearing those horns for the rest of your life.” “I’m actually dying to know,” she continued, her eyes glinting with malice as she stared at the lump in the bed, “what kind of man is worth Sloane Kensington risking it all for in the middle of the night?” A muffled groan came from under the blankets. It was definitely a man. My face went pale. I ignored Caroline and went straight to Sloane. “Tell me what’s going on,” I said, taking her hand. Sloane’s fingers laced with mine. “Ethan, do you trust me?” I nodded without a single flicker of doubt. A wave of relief washed over her face. Then, she pulled back the covers.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385194”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the third year of my marriage to Audrey, my uncle came home. He was, and perhaps always had been, the one that got away. I saw the current that still flowed between them, saw the way Audrey’s eyes clung to him when she thought no one was looking. This time, I decided to let go. The marriage between the Prescotts and her family was only ever on the table because my uncle, Grayson, didn’t want it. It fell to me. I packed my bags, erased my presence from our home, and chose a bright, clear day to leave. Audrey called. “Ethan, once I’m done showing your uncle around, I’ll be home to celebrate your birthday.” I watched the white contrail of a jet score the blue sky and said softly, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not really celebrating this year.” 1. The Prescott family has a standing dinner every month. My wife, Audrey, is a busy woman, and she rarely attended with me. When I showed up alone at the family estate, I was an easy target for their casual disdain. After years of the same remarks, you build a kind of immunity. So when my Aunt Carol started in again about my lack of ambition, about my inability to hold Audrey’s interest, I simply let my mind drift, outlining the next chapter of my novel. “Well, it’s one thing for you to be useless,” she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts, “but thank God Grayson is back today. He and Audrey were always so close. From now on, we should just let him spend more time with her.” Let Grayson do what with Audrey? My focus snapped back to the dining room. I felt a surge of disbelief. “Aunt Carol, Audrey is my wife. What are you trying to say?” She set down her fork with an impatient clatter. “What do you think I mean? They were good together. If Grayson hadn’t been so stubborn about going abroad for his doctorate, you never would have had the chance to pick up the scraps.” “Audrey is my wife,” I repeated, my voice tight. “We’ve been married for three years.” I pushed myself up, gripping the edge of the heavy mahogany table. The sudden emotion brought on a wracking cough, a familiar betrayal by my own body. Every eye at the table turned to me, their expressions dripping with contempt. I clenched my fists at my sides. I’ve always been the invisible Prescott son. Frail and prone to illness since childhood, I spent more time in bed than out of it, easily overlooked. When my mother was alive, she watched over me, even from her own sickbed. But after she died, I became a ghost in my own home, trailing behind my cousins, taking whatever they didn’t want. It wasn’t until I started earning my own money as a writer that I found any semblance of peace. Their scorn, their dismissal of me—I could live with that. But Audrey, my wife… that was the one thing I couldn’t concede. I couldn’t just play deaf and dumb while they plotted to push the woman I loved into another man’s arms. Why in God’s name should my uncle be the one to “spend time” with my wife? “I’ve lost my appetite. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. Excuse me.” I turned to leave. “You stop right there! Who taught you to speak to your elders that way? Have you no manners?” My father’s voice boomed, his palm slamming the table. “It would make sense if I didn’t,” I said, turning back to face him, my gaze unflinching. “After all, you never taught me any.” The standoff was broken by a voice I hadn’t heard in three years. “Ethan, what’s all the fuss? Don’t ruin a perfectly good family dinner.” It was my uncle, Grayson. He sounded the same as ever—his words feigning concern while every syllable dripped with condescension, painting me as the petulant child. He hadn’t been in the house for five minutes, knew nothing of the situation, and had already laid the blame at my feet. I turned, an irritable retort on my lips, but it died when I saw who was standing beside him. A person who was supposed to be working late at her firm. “Audrey? What are you doing here?” 2. I hurried over to Audrey, my feet carrying me before my mind caught up. By the time I reached her, the reason for her presence was painfully obvious. Grayson explained with a wide, charming smile. “Today’s the family dinner, isn’t it? I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time from the airport, so I mentioned it to Audrey. Next thing I know, she’s insisting on picking me up herself.” I heard a quiet snicker from the dinner table. Before the meal, my father had asked why Audrey was absent again. I’d told them she was swamped with work. Yet one word from Grayson had her racing across the city to the airport and then all the way out to the family estate. The hierarchy was crystal clear. I forced a smile, looking at Grayson. “Uncle, if you needed a ride, you could have called a car service. You didn’t have to bother Audrey.” “We’re old friends from school,” Grayson said, draping an arm around Audrey’s shoulders in a theatrically familiar gesture. “What’s the big deal if she comes to get me? Right, Audrey?” Audrey slipped off her scarf and coat with practiced ease and handed them to me. “Ethan, don’t overthink it. Let’s just sit down and eat. Your uncle is finally back. It’s a reunion for everyone.” A sudden sting filled my eyes. She had already turned away from me, finding a seat next to Grayson. They sat shoulder to shoulder, their heads bent toward each other in conversation, looking for all the world like the high school sweethearts they once were. Anyone would say they were a perfect match. After all these years, it was like no time had passed for them. And me? After three years of marriage, was I just her convenient valet? A bitter smile touched my lips. Leaving now would only cause a bigger scene. I retreated to my original seat, directly across from them. Grayson’s presence lit up the room. He handled the relatives’ questions with the effortless grace he’d always possessed. For as long as I could remember, he was the center of attention, the golden child. I had once admired him, even tried to emulate him. Then, I grew to despise him. And Audrey… she still watched him with that same unwavering focus. My heart seized. I knew that look. It was the exact same way she used to watch him in high school. She was forever the salutatorian to his valedictorian. While Grayson worked on problem sets, Audrey would rest her chin on her desk and just stare at him, completely captivated. It never surprised me that she fell for him. Grayson was perfection on the surface. Before we were married, I had even wished them well. But now we were married. If she still held a flame for him, what did that make me, her husband? I picked at my food, the taste of it lost on me. On the drive home, Audrey said she was tired and asked me to drive. She sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed. I decided to test the waters. “Audrey, you do know that we’re married, right?” She frowned, her eyes still shut. “If you’re ever unsure, you can always look at the certificate in the filing cabinet.” I let out a breath, laughing at my own paranoia. But her next sentence plunged me right back into the ice. “By the way, Grayson’s just getting resettled. There’s a lot he’s not up to speed on here. I’m going to spend the next few days showing him the ropes.” 3. Audrey took Grayson to a corporate gala. When I said I wanted to go, she waved me off while selecting a gown. “I don’t need you there. One escort is enough. You should stay home and work on your novel.” Before I could ask why she was taking him instead of me, her husband, she offered a placating smile. “You can come pick me up when it’s over.” So I swallowed the words that might have started a fight and simply said, “Okay.” I didn’t want to fight with Audrey. Around eight o’clock, guessing the event was winding down, I packed a thermos of the ginger tea I’d brewed for her—it always helped settle her stomach after drinking—and grabbed a cashmere wrap in case she got cold. I parked near the hotel entrance, rolling down my window so I wouldn’t miss her, and waited, a sense of hopeful anticipation fluttering in my chest. At nine, she and Grayson emerged, arm in arm, and were immediately swarmed by a throng of reporters and photographers. I got out of the car and started pushing through the crowd, wanting to get her out of there quickly. She always hated the noise and flashing lights after a few glasses of champagne. But before I could reach her, I heard a reporter’s question cut through the din. “Ms. Hale, you’ve never made a public appearance with a date since your marriage. Is the gentleman with you tonight your husband?” I froze, looking up at Audrey from the edge of the crowd. She leaned into Grayson’s embrace, giggling at the question. “This is… this is the man I’ve loved for years.” In that moment, Grayson, perfectly sober, met my eyes over the heads of the press. After the reporters dispersed, Grayson and I helped a stumbling Audrey into the back seat of my car. “She’s had a bit too much to drink,” he began, a lecture forming on his lips. “Remember to get some of that tea into her when you get home. Take good care of her, Ethan, her tolerance isn’t what it used to be, you’ll have to be patient…” “Are you finished?” I cut him off. He looked at me, surprised, then clapped me on the shoulder with a reassuring, patronizing smile. “Ethan, I know they say ‘in vino veritas,’ but don’t take it to heart. Don’t fight with Audrey over this.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “She said she loved me for years. Past tense. She didn’t say she still does.” “Is that right? You really think so? That’s great. I was worried you might get the wrong idea.” The night air was cool, but a hot, frustrated anger burned in my chest. From the back seat, Audrey mumbled. “Ethan… I think I’m gonna be sick…” I shot Grayson a glare and drove home.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385193”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For four years, I threw myself at Grayson Vance with absolutely no shame. He was less than thrilled. With a single word of pressure from him, my family packed me up and shipped me overseas. “I don’t care what it takes,” he’d said. “Just make her stop.” “Or you’ll all regret it.” The drugs, the hypnosis, the electroshock treatments… It worked. It really worked. I forgot what it felt like to love him. My memory of his face even blurred around the edges, like a photograph left out in the sun. Finally, he gave the word, and I was allowed to come home. Now, I make a point to disappear whenever he’s around. My mother taught me that much: the man with the face of a fallen angel was not someone I could afford to cross. So when I saw him kissing my sister, my first instinct was to hide, to pull out my phone and secretly take a picture. His eyes, when they found me, were frigid and sharp with fury. I shrank into the corner, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a terrified mess. “I’m sorry, I just… you two look so perfect together. Like something out of a story…” I don’t know why it happened. But for a man who never showed a flicker of emotion, his gaze trembled violently. 1 Ever since I got back from Europe, I’ve felt like my brain is moving through sludge. Most days, I just sleep. I think there might be something wrong with me. Mom tells me not to worry. “You’ve always been my sleepy little girl, Nina,” she’d say, smoothing my hair. “Not driven like your sister. It’s fine. Everyone’s different. If you’re tired, go sleep.” I poured myself a large mug of black coffee, hoping to jolt my system awake, but it had no effect. I was tapping at my temples in frustration when the front doorbell chimed. Our housekeeper, Maria, announced, “Miss Olivia is home. Mr. Vance is with her.” A wave of pure joy washed over my parents’ faces. Dad practically ran to the door to greet them. Mom started to follow, then paused, remembering me. Her expression soured with conflict. “Nina, you should…” I nodded, already getting it. “I know. Grayson doesn’t like me.” I forced a small smile. “Olivia’s engagement is what’s important. I’ll just go upstairs. I could use a nap anyway.” She looked at me, her relief palpable as I faked a yawn. I was halfway up the grand staircase when I remembered I’d left my coffee mug behind. I wanted to give it one more try. As I turned, my eyes met a glacial stare from the doorway. It was pure instinct. I forgot the coffee. I forgot everything. I just ran. It felt like if I didn’t move, I would die. I didn’t stop until I was in my room with the door locked, a heavy desk shoved against it for good measure. Only then did the heart that had leaped into my throat finally drop back into my chest. I could never explain it, but the sight of Grayson Vance triggered a single, overwhelming emotion in me: terror. Mom said it was because Grayson was a natural-born leader, that anyone would feel crushed by his presence. “Especially a little mouse like you,” she’d added. She told me to stay out of his sight. “Grayson… he doesn’t have time for girls who look sweet but have nothing going on upstairs. His attention is for exceptional women, like your sister.” “Do you have any idea what the Vance family represents?” she’d continued, her voice urgent. “Marrying into that family would save us generations of struggle. Nina, you need to be smart about this.” And I was smart. I was dutiful. So every time Grayson came over, I made myself scarce. Mom was always pleased, sometimes rewarding me with a gentle pat on the head. I treasured those small moments of approval. That’s why I never told her the real reason I hid. I would have avoided him even without her warnings. His presence was suffocating. It felt like a physical weight on my chest, like a fist squeezing my heart. It left an aching hollowness behind, a strange sorrow I couldn’t name. Downstairs, the house filled with laughter. And wrapped in the sound of their joy, I drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep. 2 When I woke again, the sky outside was a deep, bruised purple. It was already evening. The house was quiet. Grayson must have left. My stomach growled. I pushed open my door and, wearing a white cotton nightgown, padded barefoot down the stairs to find something to eat. The cool marble floor against my feet seemed to clear a tiny bit of the fog in my head. I was standing at the kitchen island, waiting for a slice of bread to toast, when the study door swung open. Grayson Vance emerged, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. The warm, yellow light of the hallway carved his silhouette into something even more imposing, sharpening the breathtaking lines of his face. He looked like a god of judgment, descended to earth. But he was so cold. An arctic chill radiated from him, from his eyes, from the way he held himself. Even the gunmetal gray of his cufflinks seemed to gleam with frost. His gaze drifted across the long living room and landed on me. His thin lips pressed into a hard, straight line. The sheer force of his presence was a physical blow. In a split second, I snapped back to reality. Clapping my hands over my head, I dropped to the floor and scrambled under the dining room table, a pathetic attempt to hide. My sister, Olivia, came skipping down the stairs, her steps light and joyful. She ran straight into Grayson’s arms, grabbing his elbow and leaning against him. “Are you leaving already? You haven’t even seen my new headshots. Stay for dinner, please?” Olivia usually carried herself with a cool, untouchable grace. But now, her voice was sweet and pleading, the charming lilt of a pampered daughter. She was like a beautiful, exotic bird—bright plumage and a captivating song. Grayson didn’t speak. His cold eyes remained fixed on me, trembling beneath the table. Olivia’s smile faltered. She bit her lip. “If you’re busy, it’s okay. We can look another time. Come on, I’ll walk you out.” Grayson didn’t move. The oppressive weight of his attention was so focused on me, it was as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Olivia opened her mouth to speak again but seemed to think better of it. After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. “Fine. I’ll stay for dinner.” I saw identical expressions of stunned disbelief flash across the faces of my father and sister. A faint, humorless smile touched Grayson’s lips. “What are you afraid of? Didn’t she forget everything?” He crossed the room in a few long strides and crouched down beside the table. The fabric of his trousers pulled taut against the powerful muscles in his legs. “Nina,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Do you remember me?” I timidly lifted my eyes to his, then immediately looked away, unable to meet his gaze. I gave a slow, hesitant nod. But at that moment, a sharp, needle-like pain shot through my fingertips and toes. It was an automatic, agonizing response. A cry escaped my lips. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head frantically. “I don’t know you! Don’t hit me! I don’t know you!” 3 The atmosphere at the dinner table was bizarre. My parents worked desperately to keep a conversation going, but Grayson ate in silence, his posture radiating an aristocratic coldness. He had no intention of participating, which made my parents’ forced enthusiasm painfully awkward. Olivia just stared at her plate, her face a dark mask of anger. I didn’t dare reach for any of the serving dishes, just picked at the small portion of rice in my bowl. When the meal finally ended, I could feel my parents exhale in relief. As Grayson stood to leave, something clicked in my mind. I shot up from my seat. “Mr. Vance, wait.” Everyone, including Grayson, turned to stare at me in shock. His brow furrowed in clear annoyance. “Just one second. Please?” I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. Without waiting for an answer, I bolted upstairs and returned a moment later, clutching a small tin box. All eyes were on me. I lifted the lid. “Mr. Vance, I think this is yours.” Resting on top was a collection of over a dozen wallet-sized photos. Some were one-by-one inch squares, others slightly larger. They clearly hadn’t been obtained through official channels. Some had the embossed stamp of an ID card, others had dried glue on the back. They’d been peeled off of various documents. The Grayson in the photos was younger, a hint of boyishness still softening the sharp edges of his features. But even then, his looks were extraordinary. Beneath the photos was a random assortment of junk: candy wrappers, an empty cigarette pack, used-up pen cartridges, a crumpled test paper. Grayson’s gaze burned into me. I had to swallow hard before I could continue. “I found it in the back of my closet. I don’t know who put it there. But I recognized you from the pictures, so I figured it must be yours.” His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of something analytical, probing. It made me feel small, and I felt my shoulders slump. He finally spoke. “It’s not mine. Throw it out.” “Oh. Okay.” I immediately dumped the contents of the box into a nearby trash can and started to head back upstairs. Suddenly, a dangerous glint appeared in Grayson’s eyes. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you, Nina?” he called after me. I turned, confused. “Doing what?” He let out a short, mocking laugh, his eyes filled with a cynical certainty, as if he could see right through me. “Never mind. It was a good performance. Don’t do it again. I’m not interested.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385192”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel