Author: Momo Chan

My fiancé, Ben, composed a piece for our ten-year love story. He called it Ten Years, a concerto for piano and violin, his specialty. It was to be his most personal gift to me at our wedding. “I’ll play the piano, of course,” he’d said, his fingers gently clasping mine. “As for the violin… Selene, I’ll have to entrust it to you.” Selene, my best friend of twenty years, accepted with a radiant smile. Tears of joy welled in her eyes as she hugged me. “Elara, to play for your and Jules’s wedding… it’s the greatest honor of my life.” During one of our final rehearsals, with me as the vocalist, something shifted. As they reached the cadenza, the most brilliant and difficult part of the piece, I watched them. The way their eyes met, the seamless flow of their music—a deep, unnerving intuition washed over me. The dialogue between the piano and violin was no mere melody; it was an aching, tender conversation, a lover’s lament that transcended friendship. It was filled with the whispered confessions and struggles of two people deeply, hopelessly intertwined. And in that moment, I finally understood. The story this song told, this masterpiece named Ten Years, was never about his decade with me. It was about his decade with her. 1 “Stop! Elara, you came in early.” Selene’s bow lifted from the strings, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Jules and I have worked on this tempo countless times. We have our own way with this part.” Ben, seated at the grand piano, said nothing. His silence was an agreement. We tried again. His long, elegant fingers struck the final chord, and Selene’s bow drew its last, lingering note in perfect sync. “Perfect,” she said, her eyes shining as she looked at him. “Jules, this cadenza… only we can really pull it off.” They exchanged a smile, a silent language forged in a decade of shared studies and practice rooms. A world I, his fiancée of ten years, could never seem to enter. Ben turned to me, his tone gentle. “Elara, you were still a little behind the beat that time.” “Was I?” I stared at the sheet music. “Maybe it’s because the interplay between the piano and violin is so dense here. I can’t find an opening.” Selene walked over, draping a familiar arm over my shoulder, but her words were for Ben. “She doesn’t have the formal training, Jules. Maybe ease up on the perfectionism for a minute, huh?” “Jules.” Her special name for him, a relic from their conservatory days that had never faded. He shook his head with a resigned sigh, but his eyes held no trace of annoyance. Only… a soft spot. An indulgence reserved just for her. She released me and moved to Ben’s side, leaning over to look at his score. A lock of her long, dark hair brushed against his cheek. “Right here, Jules,” she said, pointing. “This transition would be smoother if we tweaked it.” “You’re always right,” he murmured, his voice laced with an unmistakable affection. I stood frozen, watching their shoulders touch as they sat together on the piano bench, my hands crumpling the sheet music I was holding. It was always like this. When we were picking out my wedding dress, Selene had run her hand over the mermaid gown I adored. “This one’s beautiful,” she’d told the designer, “but she won’t be able to move in it. Let’s switch the main gown to the satin one with the train.” Ben had agreed without a second’s thought. At the menu tasting, she’d taken a small bite of the cake sample. “The chocolate is too bitter,” she’d announced to the manager. “Jules doesn’t like it. Change it to vanilla.” She hadn’t even glanced at me, the bride. And now, even with the theme song for our wedding, I was the outsider, the one who needed correcting. The wedding planner’s assistant bustled in, beaming as she walked straight to Selene. “Ms. Selene, here is the final event schedule you confirmed. Also, the bridesmaid dresses have arrived. Would you like to try yours on now?” The assistant’s gaze flickered past me as if I were a piece of the furniture. Selene took the papers, then waved me over with a bright smile. “Elara, come look! You’re going to love the timeline I planned for you!” I watched her and Ben standing side-by-side. And I suddenly felt that this wedding, the day I had dreamed of for so long, was nothing but an elaborate stage play. And I had been cast in the wrong role. 2 I left early, using the excuse of not feeling well. The moment I got home, Ben’s call came. “Elara, the on-site rehearsal has started.” His voice was warm, but in the background, I could faintly hear Selene giving directions. “If you’re not feeling well, don’t worry about coming back. It’s just a run-through. Selene can stand in for you.” I hung up and opened the group chat for the wedding, “Happily Ever After.” Just then, the assistant accidentally posted a video from the rehearsal. She retracted it almost instantly. But a few seconds was all it took. There on the screen, Selene was wearing my wedding gown, standing opposite Ben. They were practicing the part of the ceremony reserved for the bride and groom: the embrace, the kiss, the intertwined arms as they drank champagne. Her fingers were clenched tightly on his sleeve, her knuckles white. She was looking up at him, a soft, intimate smile playing on her lips. And in his eyes, there was only her. The image froze in my mind, a portrait of two people so perfectly matched it burned. 3 My hands trembled as I pulled out the leather-bound book where Ben kept his original compositions. There it was. Ten Years. The song he wrote “for me.” In the blank space at the end of the final, brilliant cadenza, a single line was written in his sharp, slanted handwriting. “My moonlight, why won’t you stay for me?” The words, pressed deep into the page with a desperate, restrained force, hit me like a physical blow. Selene. Her name meant moon goddess. His moon. Our entire relationship had started with her. She had dragged me to a party our sophomore year, pointed to the quiet, handsome boy playing piano in the corner, and whispered in my ear, “See him? That’s the campus heartthrob. Total catch, and a good friend of mine. Want an introduction?” She was the one who sent me his number. I remembered it all so clearly. That summer, I brought Ben home to meet my “best friend” for the first time as my boyfriend. Selene had answered the door in slippers, her eyes widening for a split second when she saw our joined hands. Then she’d thrown an arm around Ben’s shoulder, laughing her carefree laugh. “Well, look at you, Jules! Stole my girl right out from under me!” She’d playfully put him in a headlock. “You better treat her right, you hear me? Elara’s my sister. You hurt her, and you’ll answer to me first.” She planned our anniversary dates. She mediated our fights. She was our self-proclaimed “matchmaker” and “buddy,” a constant, welcome presence in every corner of our relationship, its most steadfast champion. Over the years, I’d watched her cycle through a string of boyfriends. Once, drunk and leaning on my shoulder, she’d slurred, “I envy you, Elara. You still believe in love. Someone like me, from my kind of family… I’m already broken. Watching you two be happy… it’s like I get to be happy, too.” So she was always at my place, sharing my parents, my home, and “incidentally,” every detail of my life with Ben. But now, this single page of music, this desperate, heartfelt plea, ripped her carefully constructed lies to shreds. The “matchmaker.” The “buddy” who didn’t believe in love. She had been in the shadows all along, stealing my happiness in the one way I never thought to guard against. 4 A chilling cold spread through me. I started retracing every “rehearsal” they’d ever had. I drove to the studio they frequented and, claiming I’d lost something, asked the manager to pull up the security footage from one specific afternoon. The video showed them just after they’d finished playing. Ben’s hands were still resting on the keys when Selene put down her violin and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind. “Jules,” her voice was a seductive murmur, “our song… it even made her cry.” Ben turned, capturing her wrists. “And you? Did it move you?” “I don’t dare to be moved.” She pressed closer, their noses almost touching. “You know I don’t believe in any of this.” “But I believe in you,” Ben whispered, cupping her face in his hands. And then he kissed her. It wasn’t impulsive. It was a practiced, hungry kiss. His hand slid expertly under the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on her waist. She answered him, her own fingers tangling in his hair. “Enough…” Selene breathed, pushing him away gently, though her forehead remained pressed against his chest. “I don’t believe in love. I don’t do marriage. You know that.” “I know,” Ben’s voice was hoarse with pain. “That’s why I can only love you by loving her. For ten years, every single day, I’ve been searching for you in her.” Selene laughed softly against his chest. “And did you find me?” “I did,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Every time she smiles, it’s like you. The way she talks, it’s like you. Even when she wears the clothes you recommend, or the perfume you like… it all makes me feel like I’m with you.” I leaned against the wall, my legs threatening to give out. For ten years, I was nothing but a mirror. A pathetic substitute. He was looking through me, at another woman. And she was reveling in a stolen intimacy without ever having to bear an ounce of responsibility. They were the two people I had chosen as my family, bound to me not by blood, but by a love I thought was real. And they had used my body, my life, as a vessel for their own sordid, decade-long affair. 5 The images from the monitor, the cruel, whispered words, were a thousand needles piercing my heart. I stumbled back to my apartment, a space once filled with happy memories of the three of us that now felt suffocating. I started tearing through the place like a madwoman, purging everything that belonged to Ben, as if erasing his presence could erase the searing pain. While clearing out his old, rarely used tablet, a private, double-password-protected photo album popped up. Some dark instinct guided my fingers. I typed in Selene’s birthday. Access granted. If the security footage had exposed their present betrayal, this album ripped open their past, revealing a truth more twisted and vile than my darkest imaginings. The first photo made my blood run cold. It was an ultrasound image. Selene’s name was printed clearly at the top. The date was from six months ago. The same month Ben had supposedly been on a “study trip” abroad. I scrolled down, my hands shaking. A positive pregnancy test. The caption read: “Welcome, my little melody.” Then, an invoice for an abortion procedure. Scrawled across it in Ben’s handwriting were the words: “My little melody, I’m sorry. Daddy couldn’t keep you.” There was even a screenshot of a text exchange between them. Ben: Have the baby. I’ll break up with her tomorrow. We’ll get married. Selene: No. You know my parents… I could never be a good mother. I don’t need marriage, and I certainly don’t want a child. Ben: But it’s my fault. I was careless… Selene: Jules, I don’t blame you. And I don’t need you to take responsibility. Just stay with me like this, forever. That’s enough… Elara is your responsibility. The last few photos were of Selene, sitting by a hotel window in her pajamas, a melancholy silhouette against the city lights. In the reflection, Ben was holding her from behind, his expression etched with guilt and heartache. His month-long “study trip” had been a recovery retreat for her. I collapsed onto the floor, a wave of nausea churning in my stomach. For the past six months, he had been meticulously planning our wedding while secretly grieving the loss of his child with another woman. He had been ready to throw me away in a heartbeat for that baby. It was only Selene’s “no-marriage” stance that had allowed me to keep my position as his fiancée. How utterly laughable. The marriage I treasured, the future I cherished, was nothing more than the leftover scraps she couldn’t be bothered to accept. 6 I don’t know how long I sat on the floor, my limbs stiff, my tears dried up. When I finally looked up, the face staring back from the mirror was pale but unnervingly calm. My phone vibrated on the table. “Ben” flashed on the screen. I stared at the name for a long moment before answering. “Elara,” his voice was so gentle it felt like liquid velvet. “What are you doing? Miss me?” My fingers tightened on the phone, knuckles turning white, but my voice was soft, warm. “Just getting my things ready for tomorrow. My mom says it’s bad luck for us to see each other, so I have no choice but to miss you.” I even managed a light laugh. He chuckled back, his low, magnetic voice the same one that had once captivated me. “I miss you, too. So much I can’t sleep. I can’t wait for tomorrow.” He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. “My bride.” My bride. Such beautiful words. Now they tasted like poison-laced honey. From his end of the line, I heard a tiny, almost imperceptible sound—a suppressed breath, as if someone nearby was holding theirs. It was followed by the faint rustle of fabric. I feigned ignorance, my tone perfectly natural. “What about you? What are you up to? Sounds like you have company.” “Oh, just a few guys from the orchestra,” he answered smoothly. “They insisted on taking me out for one last drink. Celebrating my last night of freedom.” “Don’t worry,” he added quickly. “I’ll only have one. I’ll be in perfect shape for tomorrow.” “Okay,” I murmured. “Don’t drink too much. Get some rest.” We exchanged a few more meaningless sweet nothings. He spoke of his “excitement” for the wedding. I played the part of the blissfully happy, trusting bride-to-be. After we hung up, the silence in the room was absolute. I sat motionless, the phone still in my hand. His tender words echoed in my ears, but all I could see was the image of him and Selene entwined in the dark studio, the reflection of his arms around her in that hotel window. How much of his tenderness tonight was real? And how much was the residual warmth from another woman’s arms, a performance fueled by guilt? I knew he wasn’t with his “friends.” That quiet breath, that rustle of cloth… they were the ghosts in the machine, the silent proof that someone else was with him. Someone he couldn’t name, but someone he was with on the very eve of our wedding. My heart felt hollowed out, beyond pain. All that was left was a cold, sharp resolve. The desire for revenge grew like a toxic vine, consuming my every thought. Slowly, I lowered the phone. In the mirror, a chilling smile touched my lips. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow? Neither could I. 7 By the time I had methodically packed up my life and had a courier service remove every last trace of me from that apartment, the sky was beginning to lighten. In the bridal suite, I calmly slipped into the wedding gown. I sat at the vanity, allowing the makeup artist to paint the face of a perfect, radiant bride. The woman in the mirror was breathtakingly beautiful. And as cold as ice. Selene placed the veil on my head herself. In the reflection, she stood behind me, her eyes slightly red, her sincerity flawless. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her fingers gently adjusting the delicate lace. “Watching you get ready to walk down the aisle to Jules… it suddenly makes me think… maybe marriage isn’t so terrifying after all.” I met her gaze in the mirror, my heart feeling like it had been pierced by an icicle. This moment of feigned affection was more nauseating than all her lies. I curved my lips into a perfect, matching smile. “Really? That’s wonderful.” The ceremony began. The lights dimmed, and the opening notes of Ten Years drifted through the grand ballroom. Ben was at the piano on stage, Selene beside him with her violin. They were lost in their melody, their souls intertwined in the music. It was my turn to sing. I picked up the microphone, but the planned lyrics never left my lips. As the music swelled, my voice, clear and cold, rang out through the speakers. “This piece is beautiful. It’s a gift Ben spent a year composing for our ‘ten years of love’.” The guests smiled, listening intently. “But it was only yesterday that I finally understood the other ten years hidden in its melody.” The piano faltered, a single discordant note hanging in the air. Ben looked up, his face instantly ashen. Selene’s bow skidded across the strings, producing a screech of feedback. I went on, my gaze sweeping calmly over the two of them. “The cadenza was a private piece they wrote together in college. It doesn’t belong at my wedding. It’s far too… intimate.” A nervous murmur rippled through the crowd. “This song, meant to celebrate my love, is filled with evidence of their affair in every single measure I could never quite fit into!” I raised a remote and pointed it at the massive screen behind the stage. And I pressed play. The carefully curated evidence appeared, scanned, edited, and set to the haunting score of their precious Ten Years. The security footage from the studio played, with Ben’s voice on a loop: “I can only love you by loving her…” The more passionate the music, the more damning the images. The ultrasound. The positive pregnancy test. The invoice for the procedure. The text messages. The photo of them in the hotel room. The ballroom fell into a dead silence, followed by a collective gasp of horror. “Stop it! Elara! Please, stop it!” Selene finally broke, dropping her violin and screaming. Ben slammed his hands down on the piano keys, creating a deafening, chaotic crash of sound. Amid the wreckage, I looked past Ben, my eyes locking onto Selene. “This song he wrote for you. This wedding I dreamed of for a thousand nights like a fool…” “I’m giving it all back to you.” I pulled the veil from my head and tossed it onto the stage, a final, discarded piece of a filthy decade. “I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385131”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Dr. Phil Croft, the forensic pathologist in our department who was all ice and precision, recently took on a bright-eyed rookie intern, fresh out of college. As a specially contracted criminal profiler, my job was to help him crack the city’s most brutal serial killer case. The first time the intern saw Phil and me discussing the case outside the autopsy suite, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Dr. Croft,” she said, her voice filled with a conspiratorial whisper, “in all the thrillers I’ve read, the beautiful, brilliant woman who’s always one step ahead? She’s always the secret villain! Have you ever considered that the person who killed your family all those years ago… might have been her?” The pen in my hand, the one I was using to document the suspect’s psychological profile, skidded across my notebook, leaving a long, dark gash. Unbelievable. Here I was, a top-tier profiler brought in from FBI headquarters, my time billed by the hour. And for the first time in my career, my professionalism—and my innocence—was being judged by a third-rate paperback thriller. 1 The intern, Chloe Vance, was still talking, her eyes gleaming with a self-satisfied brilliance. “Don’t you see, Dr. Croft? It’s a perfect logical loop! Why did she come back to the country right now? Why did she just happen to join this specific case? And why is every single one of her analyses so spot-on?” She leaned in closer. “Isn’t that exactly what the master villain does in the books? They play God, manipulating all of us good guys from the shadows!” Phil set down his forceps, not even bothering to look at her. “Chloe.” His voice was utterly devoid of warmth. “First, this is a police department, not a book club.” “Second, every analysis Dr. Reed provides is based on forensic evidence and psychological reports you can’t even begin to comprehend. Her insights are worth more than the hundred novels you’ve read combined.” “And third, if your idea of a ‘logical loop’ is forcing reality to fit your storybook fantasies, I suggest you schedule a neurological exam. Immediately.” Chloe’s face turned a shade of crimson usually reserved for bad sunburns. She was stunned into silence, but the look she shot me was more resolute than ever. It was a look that screamed, See? I told you! He’s under your spell! You’re in this together! I put away my pen. I felt no anger, no frustration. In fact, I almost wanted to laugh. Half an hour later, I was standing in front of a projector at the serial killer task force briefing, my voice steady as I delivered my profile. “Our unsub is male, between thirty-five and forty-five. He’s highly educated, with a profound knowledge of classical music. He suffers from severe OCD and delusions of purity, targeting women he deems ‘imperfect’. He…” A hand shot up, cutting me off. It was Chloe. She stood up, looking as if she were about to reveal the secrets of the universe. “I have something to add! I believe the killer is a Scorpio!” The conference room fell dead silent. Everyone stared at her as if she were a newly discovered prehistoric fossil. The chief, who had been taking a sip of water, choked. Chloe, oblivious, pressed on. “I’ve studied countless thrillers. The smartest, most ruthless serial killers? Eighty percent of them are Scorpios! There has to be a criminological basis for that!” I kept my expression perfectly neutral. “Moving on,” I said. “The sheet music from Bach left at the scene contained a single incorrect note. This wasn’t a mistake. It’s a taunt—his unique signature.” As soon as I finished, Phil’s voice cut in. “To add to that, the autopsy is complete. We found trace amounts of rosin dust under the victim’s fingernails, consistent with a long-time string instrument player. Furthermore, the time of death aligns perfectly with the full performance time of that specific piece of music.” Our professional synergy was seamless. The information flowed between us, painting a crystal-clear picture of the killer. Chloe was left standing alone, her face so red it looked painful. She wanted to interject, but she didn’t even understand the technical terms we were using. When the meeting ended, people filed out, casting sympathetic glances her way. Phil stopped me. From a dusty, long-forgotten archive cabinet, he pulled out a yellowed case file and handed it to me. On the cover, two names were written in stark black ink. One was my father’s. The other was Phil’s sister’s. He lowered his voice, and for the first time, those cold, frosty eyes held something other than clinical detachment. “Evelyn,” he said, “that incorrect note you mentioned… it was found at the scene of this case, too.” 2 Phil’s words were a stone dropped into the still waters of my mind, sending ripples through years of unresolved grief. A cold case, dormant for over a decade, had just been linked to an active serial killer by a single, misplaced note. The next day, the third victim was found. At the crime scene, Chloe was practically vibrating with energy. She’d procured a high-powered UV lamp from God knows where and was sweeping it across the walls like a ghost hunter on a reality TV show. “The books all say it,” she muttered to herself. “The really smart villains love to use invisible ink to leave secret messages. You can only see them under a black light!” The lead detective, Captain Miller, winced but didn’t stop her. Suddenly, Chloe shrieked with excitement. “I found it! I’ve got a reaction! Dr. Croft, come look!” We all crowded around. In the corner of the room, under the beam of the UV light, a large, yellowish-green stain was indeed glowing ominously. Phil crouched down, dabbed a sterile swab on the mark, and lifted it to his nose. He then looked up at Chloe with an expression of profound, weary complexity. “Chloe, this isn’t a secret message.” “It’s urine.” He paused. “The upstairs neighbor’s toilet is leaking.” The room once again plunged into that familiar, suffocating silence. But Chloe’s “novel-based” investigation wasn’t over. Moments later, she discovered a small black cat cowering under the bed. “It’s him!” she gasped, pointing a trembling finger. “The killer’s messenger! In gothic thrillers, the killer always uses a black cat as a harbinger of death! It’s a symbol of evil!” I was examining the victim’s hands, my gloves already on. I didn’t even look up. “Chloe,” I said, my voice flat. “Based on the stage of rigor mortis and the ambient temperature, the victim died between fourteen and sixteen hours ago. Based on this cat’s dehydration and empty stomach, it entered this room no more than two hours ago. It’s a stray, drawn by the scent of blood.” Phil’s preliminary report quickly backed me up. “No trace evidence from the killer or the victim was found on the cat’s fur. Also, it’s a domestic shorthair, not some purebred Persian from a gothic horror story.” Chloe’s theories were, once again, brutally dismantled. But she wasn’t convinced. In her mind, Phil and I were conspiring to “hide the evidence” to protect the “real killer”—me. Her paranoia drove her to do something reckless. She started tailing me. That evening, I drove alone to an old, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was the place where my father and Phil’s sister had been murdered. I needed to be there, to immerse myself in the atmosphere of the past, hoping to catch a flicker of a memory, a detail I had overlooked for years. Hiding in the shadows, Chloe watched me. Her mind instantly concocted a blockbuster thriller: The Villain’s Secret Rendezvous. Trembling with excitement, she pulled out a burner phone and dialed the private number of the head of Internal Affairs. “Hello? Is this Commander Davies? I need to make an anonymous report!” “It’s the new criminal profiler, Dr. Evelyn Reed! She’s dirty!” “I saw her with my own eyes! She’s at the abandoned warehouse on the west side, meeting with an unknown accomplice! She’s the mastermind behind the serial killings!” On the other end of the line, Commander Davies’s brow furrowed. 3 Davies didn’t fully buy Chloe’s anonymous tip, but protocol was protocol. He sent a patrol car to do a quiet sweep of the warehouse perimeter. They found nothing. I was in there alone for two hours before driving home. The incident obliterated Chloe’s credibility with Internal Affairs. But she didn’t give up. She decided I must have “eyes everywhere” and had “erased the evidence” before they arrived. She started spreading rumors around the department. “Doesn’t anyone else think Dr. Reed’s background is a little too mysterious? Says she’s from the FBI, but who can prove it?” “And her salary? Tens of thousands of dollars an hour? Isn’t that suspicious?” “I’m telling you, she’s not a profiler. She’s a front. There’s a huge conspiracy going on, and she’s at the center of it.” She even started setting little “traps” for me, straight out of her novels. During a case discussion, she’d intentionally misstate an evidence tag number, then watch me from the corner of her eye, expecting me to correct her like a villain who knew all the details. I simply ignored her. Phil’s patience, however, finally snapped. During one meeting, he slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the room. “Chloe! If you bring your storybook delusions into this task force and waste one more second of our time, you are out! Get out!” Tears welled in Chloe’s eyes, but as she looked at me, her expression was a toxic mix of resentment and vindication. He’s completely brainwashed by this black widow, she thought. The real conflict erupted a week later. After cross-referencing all the evidence, Phil and I had narrowed our suspect pool to one man: a music professor named Victor Lynch. He fit my profile perfectly: age, educational background, a pathological obsession with Bach. Most importantly, he had been the mentor of one of the victims and had publicly humiliated her for an “imperfect” performance. Just as we were about to request a warrant, Chloe burst in. She brandished a “report” she’d compiled herself, declaring that the real killer was a harmless-looking librarian from the city’s main branch. “You’re all wrong! The final boss is never this easy to find! In the books, the most dangerous person is always the one who seems the most ordinary!” she proclaimed. “I looked into this guy, Mr. Henderson. His daily routine is so boring it’s practically a blank page. That’s the biggest red flag of all! It’s a disguise!” When she said the name “Mr. Henderson,” a tightly wound string inside me snapped. He was the stooped, kind-faced old man who, during the darkest time of my life—after my parents died and my relatives passed me around like an unwanted package—was the only person who would secretly leave a box of hot food on my doorstep every single day. He was my last remaining piece of warmth in a cold, unforgiving city. For the first time, the calm, professional mask I wore cracked. I would not allow anyone to disturb that good, gentle man based on some lunatic fantasy. “Vetoed.” My voice was quiet, but it held an iron authority. “All evidence points to Victor Lynch. We don’t have time to waste on baseless speculation. I will not be signing off on any investigation into Mr. Henderson.” My unwavering refusal was, in Chloe’s twisted mind, the ultimate proof of my guilt. I was covering my tracks. She decided it was time to “expose” me, to prove that she was the true heroine who could see the truth. That night, she snuck into my office. Staying clear of the security cameras, she put on latex gloves and used tweezers to carefully retrieve the disposable coffee cup I’d thrown away. She lifted my faint lipstick print and fingerprints from the rim and transferred them to a clean sheet of paper. Then, she used a burner computer to type up a document containing Mr. Henderson’s home address, his daily schedule, even the park where he played chess. At the bottom of the page, she added a single, taunting line: Next target. He knows too much. —E.R. My initials. She placed the printout and the paper with my prints into a manila envelope. Like a ghost, she anonymously mailed the package to the serial killer we were hunting. She was trying to use the killer as her weapon. She wanted him to murder Mr. Henderson and frame me for it. It was the perfect plan to destroy my career, my reputation, and my life. And I knew nothing about it. I had just finished an eight-hour interrogation with Professor Lynch. From the micro-expressions flickering across his face and the cracks forming in his psychological defenses, I knew a confession was imminent. Just then, my encrypted work phone vibrated. It was a multimedia message from an unknown number. I opened it. The photo was of Mr. Henderson’s living room. The old man was sitting peacefully in his rocking chair, reading the newspaper through his bifocals. Behind him, outside the window, a hand in a white silk glove was silently sliding the unlocked window open. Beneath the photo was a single line of text: “Dr. Reed, I’ve received your ‘instructions.’ Let the games begin.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385130”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was my best friend Lauren’s birthday. She posted a carousel of nine perfect Live Photos on her Instagram story. I smiled, tapping through them one by one, until I reached the last one. The frame was shaky, but the background was crystal clear. I heard my husband’s voice, warm and intimate. “Honey, it’s your turn to wash up—” My thumb, hovering over the heart icon, froze mid-air. A cold dread washed over me. Mark’s “Good morning” text from this morning had a location tag clear as day: Boston, a thousand miles away. But his voice, right now, was echoing from a hotel room in Miami. I stared at Lauren’s beaming face on the screen, a pit opening in my stomach. Without a second’s hesitation, I closed Instagram and booked the next flight to Miami. I had to see it with my own eyes— Why the man who was supposedly on a business trip to Boston was whispering sweet nothings in a hotel room in Miami. 1 The three-and-a-half-hour flight was a slow, cold torture, every minute a new incision into my heart. I sat by the window, watching the glittering lights of Miami spread out below me like a blanket of broken glass. My heart felt nothing, only a numb, steely resolve. The taxi took me straight to their hotel. The Onyx. A high-end place known for its discretion. I stood in the lobby, the cavernous, early-morning silence a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. As expected, the front desk clerk cited guest privacy and refused to give me any information, even barring me from going upstairs. So I called Mark directly. It rang for a while before he picked up. “Hello? Lily? Hey, why are you still up so late?” His voice was thick with sleep, a flawless performance of a man woken from a deep slumber. “Where are you?” My own voice was so calm it scared me. “In my hotel in Boston, of course. Just finished a marathon meeting. I’m exhausted, was about to pass out,” he said, punctuating it with a yawn. “Is that so? Why don’t you walk over to the window, take a picture of the Boston night skyline for me?” I said, my eyes fixed on the lobby clock. The line went silent. I could only hear the faint crackle of static. A few seconds later, his voice returned, laced with irritation. “What’s gotten into you? It’s the middle of the night. The curtains are drawn, I’m already in bed.” I was done playing games. “I’m in Miami. In the lobby of The Onyx Hotel. Are you coming down, or am I coming up?” “…” A long, dead silence, then the abrupt beep of a disconnected call. Ten minutes later, Mark appeared in the lobby, dressed in a hotel robe, his hair a mess. “Lillian! Are you insane? What the hell are you doing in Miami in the middle of the night?!” His face was a mask of fury. He lunged first, grabbing my arm, his grip bruising. I wrenched my arm free, my gaze like a blade. “And you? Weren’t you in Boston?” “I… something came up last minute. I had to fly to Miami to handle it. I didn’t have a chance to tell you yet.” His eyes darted around, avoiding mine. “Handle what? With my best friend? In a hotel room?” I pushed past him, heading straight for the elevators. “What’s the room number? I want to see just how you two were ‘handling’ things.” Panic flashed across Mark’s face. He grabbed me again, his voice a harsh whisper. “Stop making a scene! It’s not what you think!” “Lauren was here on a business trip too, and she got her wallet and ID stolen! She couldn’t get a room! I was just helping her out, for your sake! I let her crash in the living room of my suite for one night! Nothing happened between us!” “‘Nothing happened?’” I nearly laughed out loud. “So that ‘honey’ I heard was just part of your purely platonic friendship?” His face went pale. He was speechless. Just then, Lauren herself came down, also in a hotel robe, her hair still damp. Her expression was a perfect picture of panic and hurt. “Lily, what are you doing here? Please don’t misunderstand! I just lost all my things, Mark was kind enough to help me… I swear, nothing happened!” She reached for my hand, but I recoiled as if from a snake. Ignoring their frantic explanations, I forced my way into an elevator. I knew Mark’s habits. I pressed the button for the top floor, the penthouse level. They scrambled in after me, trying to block my way, but the doors slid shut before they could stop me. The suite door was ajar. As soon as I stepped inside, the lingering scent of Lauren’s signature perfume hit me. The living room looked tidy at a glance, but a single one of Lauren’s earrings glinted from the deep cushions of the sofa. The bedroom door was closed, but my eyes caught a tiny sliver of lace—a woman’s underwear—pinched beneath it. On the floor, Mark’s suit jacket and her silk scarf were tangled together in a heap. Just as I took it all in, Mark and Lauren finally caught up, breathless. “Lillian! What the hell do you want?!” Mark was cornered, his voice bordering on hysterical. I pointed at the bedroom door, my voice ice. “Open it.” “Lillian, that’s enough! Don’t you dare push your luck!” Mark’s mask of civility finally shattered. He shouted, trying to intimidate me. “I work my ass off to provide for us, and this is how you repay me? With insane jealousy and paranoia? Coming here to humiliate me? Look at you! You’re acting like a damn shrew!” Lauren, on cue, began to sob as if she were the one who had been wronged. “Lily, after all our years of friendship, how could you not trust me… If I had known this would happen, I would have rather slept on the street than ask Mark for help…” I looked at this pair of master actors, my heart as cold as an Antarctic glacier. “Fine. You won’t open the door. Then I’ll have security pull the surveillance footage.” I turned to leave, but Mark lunged, grabbing my wrist so hard I stumbled. “You have no right! The hotel will never let you see it!” As if on cue, the hotel manager arrived, politely refusing my request. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We have a duty to protect the privacy of all our guests. We cannot release security footage.” Lauren lifted her eyes, casting a quick, triumphant glance in my direction. A flicker of mockery danced in her pupils. I clenched my fists, fury boiling inside me. I had been too impulsive, giving them the perfect chance to spin their lies. Just then, Mark pulled me into a sudden, forceful hug, his voice softening. “Lily, honey, please stop this, okay? Trust me, nothing happened. Let’s go home. We’ll go home, and I’ll explain everything, I promise.” His scent, once a comfort, was now mingled with Lauren’s perfume, turning my stomach. I shoved him away with all my strength. He staggered back, his eyes wide with shock and anger. “Trust you?” I let my gaze sweep over the tainted room, then settle on their two deceitful faces. “I only trust what I see and what I hear.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to expose them tonight. They had already constructed the perfect alibi. Back in New York. I didn’t waste any time. “Mark, I want a divorce.” He shot up from the couch as if he’d been electrocuted. “A divorce? Lillian, you want a divorce over some baseless suspicion? You’re being ridiculous! I’m telling you, I didn’t cheat! Not in a million years!” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving me alone in the vast, empty apartment. I looked around the home that once felt so warm, now every particle of air felt thick with betrayal. Once the initial rage subsided, I started to think. When did it start? About six months ago, I’d asked Mark to get Lauren a job at his company after she’d been laid off. After that, his business trips became more and more frequent. He changed his phone password. His touch became rare, always brushed off with a tired, “I’m exhausted.” With a detective’s focus, I began to hunt for clues in their digital lives. I created a burner account and scoured every one of Lauren’s social media profiles. And there it was, hidden in the details I’d missed. Three months ago, she posted a photo from the corner of a coffee shop with the caption, “Stealing a moment of peace.” In the reflection of the glass, I could see the blurry outline of a man’s watch. It was the limited-edition one I’d given Mark for his birthday. Two months ago, she showed off a new perfume, calling it her “secret weapon.” Around that same time, Mark had started carrying a similar faint scent. Even earlier, she’d posted a cryptic message: “Some people are destined to be your ruin.” And right there, underneath, was a ‘like’ from Mark—a notification I’d somehow never seen. Mark’s own feed was a carefully curated image of work and our life together, but it had holes. The location-tagged photos from his “Boston trips” often had background elements—the view from a window, a lamp on a desk—that were eerily similar to details in Lauren’s posts from the same period. They had been carrying on an affair right under everyone’s noses. I hired a private investigator and began systematically gathering evidence. At the same time, I started taking inventory of our assets. This sprawling downtown penthouse was bought and paid for in full by my parents before our wedding. My car was also a pre-nuptial asset. Mark came from a small town in the middle of nowhere, the textbook case of a man who’d married up. Most of the money he’d earned over the years had been sent back home to support his bottomless pit of a family—his lazy, entitled siblings. He had almost no savings to his name. Our joint expenses were mostly paid for with my secondary credit card. The reason he refused to divorce wasn’t love. It was the comfortable life and the social status I provided. A bitter smile touched my lips. Did he think he could use me as a stepping stone, bleed me dry to support his mistress? Not in his wildest dreams. I wanted a divorce. And I would make sure he left with nothing but the clothes on his back and a ruined name. Armed with evidence, I chose the most direct and satisfying path. I took the partially recovered chat logs and the side-by-side travel comparisons from the investigator and went straight to their office. In front of all their colleagues, I slapped the printouts onto Lauren’s desk. “Lauren, does it feel good? Climbing into my husband’s bed using the job I got for you?” The entire office fell silent. Every eye was on us. Lauren’s face turned white, but the tears came instantly, a well-rehearsed performance. She covered her face, her sobs dramatic and heart-wrenching. “Lily… Lillian! How could you say such things! You’re trying to ruin me! Mark and I are just colleagues! Just because you can’t keep his heart, you want to destroy us both? How could you be so cruel!” Mark rushed over, drawn by the commotion. When he saw the papers scattered on the floor, his face went dark. He lunged, grabbing my wrist with a force that felt like it could shatter bone. “Don’t listen to her! She’s a psycho! Completely paranoid! I’ve had enough of this! I work my ass off, and she sits at home inventing these fantasies, and now she has the nerve to cause a scene at my office! Security! Security! Get this crazy woman out of here!” he roared, for the whole office to hear. Whispers erupted around us. I saw pity in some eyes, but mostly, it was the thrill of office gossip. Someone even pointed at me, muttering the word “jealous.” I was “escorted” out by two security guards. Lauren followed me out, still sobbing. But once we were alone in a quiet corner of the hallway, the tears vanished. Her expression morphed into one of triumphant scorn. “Look at you, Lillian. So pathetic. Did you really think throwing a tantrum like this would make Mark come back to you? You’re wrong. All you did was push him further away.” “He stopped loving you a long time ago. He told me you’re like a block of wood in bed, that touching you makes his skin crawl. The person he loves is me!” Her words were needles dipped in poison, piercing me one by one. All the overlooked details suddenly snapped into focus—the increasing late nights at the office, the way he always slept with his back to me, the perfunctory kisses. It wasn’t exhaustion. It was disgust. Lauren turned and walked away, her head held high. I stood there, my body numb with cold, my heart burning. Just then, my phone rang. It was my lawyer. “Ms. Bright, everything is in place. The asset freeze has been executed, and the divorce settlement is drafted as per your instructions. After compensating for joint expenditures, the savings from his salary are negligible.” “Good.” I hung up, a grim satisfaction settling in. I straightened my clothes, which had been rumpled in the scuffle. I had expected to be thrown out today. All I wanted was to plant the seeds of gossip. Now, it was time to watch them grow. When I got home, Mark was already there, which was a surprise. He was slumped on the sofa, looking drained. When he saw me, his tone softened. He tried to take my hand. “Lily, about today… I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said those things. But you shouldn’t have come to the office. It was a huge mess.” “Here’s what we’ll do. You go and apologize to Lauren, and we’ll put this all behind us. I… I forgive you. We can go back to how things were, okay?” I thought I had misheard him. “You two have an affair, and you want me to apologize to her?” Panic flickered in his eyes, but he held his ground. “I told you! There was no affair! It was a misunderstanding!” “A misunderstanding?” I let out a cold laugh and pulled a USB drive from my purse. “Mark, did you really think I couldn’t get my hands on the real evidence? Money can make anything happen. Even hotel security footage.” I plugged the drive into the TV. The screen lit up with a high-definition video from the hotel corridor, timestamped on the night of Lauren’s birthday. It showed him and Lauren, wrapped in each other’s arms, stumbling out of the elevator. They were kissing feverishly before they even reached the door, his hands already sliding under her robe… The color drained from Mark’s face. His mouth hung open, but no words came out. I took out the divorce papers I had prepared and placed them gently on the coffee table in front of him. “Sign it.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385129”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The year I turned twenty-seven, my family started pressuring me to get married. I abruptly ended things with the boyfriend I’d been practically worshipping for three years and started going on blind dates back in my hometown. My friend asked me, “You were so into Nick. Can you really just let him go?” I scoffed. “I’m not an idiot. He’s the kind of guy who’s fun to mess around with, but marrying him? That would be a lifetime of misery.” Just then, an icy, familiar voice drifted from behind me. “Oh? Is that the reason you dumped me?” 1 I was dragging my suitcase home when I nearly collided with a girl walking out of his apartment. She wore an oversized black sweater that slid off one shoulder, revealing a delicate collarbone. It was the “no-pants” look, paired with a pair of sky-high YSL stilettos. I recognized her as the bassist from Nick’s band. Amber, I think her name was. A stunning girl in her early twenties. I instinctively ducked back behind the hallway door, out of sight. A moment later, Nick emerged behind her, clad only in a pair of low-slung jeans. He leaned languidly against the wall and lit a cigarette. His upper body was bare, and water was still dripping down the chiseled lines of his abs. He casually tossed a Chanel handbag in her direction. “Take it.” Amber’s eyes lit up. She spun around and threw herself at him with a squeal. “Oh my god, I’ve wanted this bag forever! Where did you get it?” “Picked it up in Hong Kong a while back.” “I love it so much! Thank you, baby!” She tried to linger, but Nick was already growing impatient, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Alright, that’s enough. Get going.” The girl slid off him, her tone a mix of pouty and playful. “So cruel. One minute you’re calling me ‘baby,’ the next you’re kicking me out.” She wasn’t truly angry, though. She slung the bag over her shoulder with a delighted grin and blew him a kiss. “See you tomorrow!” After she left, I stepped out from behind the door. Nick clearly wasn’t expecting me. He froze for a second before his expression relaxed into its usual nonchalance. “Didn’t know you were coming back. Why didn’t you call?” I just looked at him for a moment. “It was late. I didn’t want to wake you.” The faint, reddish marks on his neck were still fresh, but he showed no trace of guilt. He simply wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me inside. “I’m starving. Make something to eat,” he said, flopping onto the couch and turning on the TV, as if nothing had happened. When I didn’t move, he frowned. “What’s wrong?” Then, as if realizing, a lazy smile spread across his face. “Miss me?” He got up and wrapped his arms around me from behind. His warm breath ghosted across my neck as his hands snaked under the hem of my shirt. “Then I’ll eat you first, and we can eat later—” Years of playing the guitar had left his fingertips calloused and rough. They scraped against my skin, a familiar mix of pleasure and pain. I closed my eyes and, with a weary sigh, gently pushed him away. I did like Nick’s body. In fact, his good looks were the main reason I’d pursued him in the first place. But maybe it was the long flight, or maybe it was the woman from moments ago, but right now, all I felt was a bone-deep weariness. I wasn’t in the mood. Nick wasn’t used to being rejected by me. His expression darkened. “What’s wrong?” My eyes fell to a black heap on the carpet. It was a pair of pantyhose, shredded beyond recognition. Nick followed my gaze. He let out a soft “tsk,” his face hardening. The air in the living room grew thick with unspoken tension. He pulled a cigarette from its pack and lit it. The pop of the mint-flavored capsule was a sharp crack in the silence. “Her lease was up. She had nowhere to go, so I let her crash here for a night,” he said, the excuse sounding lame even to his own ears. “Nothing happened.” I looked at him, our eyes meeting through the veil of white smoke. We couldn’t read each other’s expressions, but we both knew he was lying. This wasn’t the first time Nick had cheated. He was a natural-born player. He’d been that way when I first met him. My best friend had dragged me to see a popular rock band, raving about how insanely hot the lead singer was. I wasn’t interested in rock music and had been bored out of my mind. Until Nick walked on stage. He stood with his head bowed, fingers dancing over his guitar. His dark hair was unstyled, loose strands falling across his forehead, occasionally revealing a hint of his eyelids. He was the most plainly dressed person on stage—just a black t-shirt and jeans—but he was instantly the center of attention. That face was a luxury item all on its own. When he looked up, the stage lights caught in his amber eyes, a faint, teasing smile playing on his lips. It was my first rock show, and while my friend and the other girls screamed themselves hoarse, I was completely silent. His gaze swept over the roaring crowd, and for a fleeting second, our eyes met. Then he looked away. The music was probably great that night, but I didn’t hear a single note. In that moment, the world went quiet, and the only sound was the thunder of my own heart. After the show, a swarm of girls rushed backstage for his number. I was one of them. Single for all twenty-three years of my life, it was probably the bravest thing I’d ever done. Nick didn’t turn anyone down. Every girl who asked for his contact info got to scan his QR code, including me. A year later, all the other girls had given up. I was the only one still trying. I don’t know if it was out of pity, or because he was moved, or something else entirely, but Nick finally accepted our “relationship.” I became his girlfriend, and that’s how it had been until now. But I knew, even after all these years, that he had never really loved me. Or maybe he did—he loved how agreeable I was, how I never made a fuss, how I never held his indiscretions against him. I’d caught him cheating multiple times, but as long as he gave me a half-decent excuse, I would forgive him. He’d told me many times that I wasn’t his type, that he was only with me because I was good to him. He’d even joked that he’d dump me the second he found his “true love.” Our relationship had survived this long only because of my willingness to bend, to compromise, to swallow my pride. “You promised me you wouldn’t cheat again,” I said softly, my eyes fixed on the tattered designer pantyhose on the floor. A flicker of mockery crossed his face. He made no effort to placate me. “You actually believed that crap?” He leaned in, blowing a cloud of mint-scented smoke in my face, his eyes full of a familiar cruelty. “Can’t handle it?” “Can’t handle it? Then leave.” He’d said those words to me countless times before. Each time, it ended with me clinging to him, begging him not to go. Over time, he’d learned exactly how to control me. He knew that when he said those words, I was powerless. I turned away. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” Nick grabbed my wrist. His brow was prominent, giving him an intimidating look when his face was blank. “Natalie, don’t push it.” I pulled my hand free and went into the bedroom. Not long after, the front door slammed shut with a deafening crash. Nick was gone. He was angry. I knew it. In our dynamic, I was always the one placating him, fawning over him. I had never given him the cold shoulder like this before. I rolled over and opened my phone. In the family group chat, my mom had tagged me in a message. “I’ve never rushed you before, but you’re 27 now. It’s time to start thinking about marriage. Your mother’s colleague has a son who’s a great catch, and he’s handsome too. Why don’t you come home for the holidays and meet him?” Then I opened a message from my boss. “Natalie, the new branch is short-staffed right now. With your talent, staying on as an assistant department head is a waste. Are you interested in a manager position at the new branch? It’ll be tough getting things off the ground, but it’s a great opportunity.” My mom wanted me to come home for blind dates. The company had just opened a new branch in my hometown. The timing, the place, the people—it all seemed to align. There was no reason for me to stay here anymore. I sighed. The truth was, I really did like Nick. He was handsome, great in bed, and we were incredibly compatible physically. Most importantly, he was a total player. Being with him was easy because I never had to think about responsibility or a future. When I first started working, I was constantly stressed out. I needed a release, but I was picky—a die-hard sucker for a pretty face, even though I was just average-looking myself. I couldn’t find anyone who met my standards until I found Nick. He spent his prime years with me, and his body was a great stress reliever while I was building my career. And even though he was promiscuous, he was surprisingly careful. I’d heard before we got together that he required a clean health check from any woman he was with. I was always careful, too, so I wasn’t worried. Finding another man that perfect for my needs would be difficult. But it couldn’t be helped. Dating was one thing; settling down and getting married was another. I really liked Nick. But I also knew, with absolute certainty, that he was not the one. Now, it was time to make a choice. 2 Nick didn’t come back that night. He was gone for days. He didn’t answer my texts or calls. Soon, my messages were met with that single, damning red exclamation mark. He had blocked me. The silent treatment, his specialty. It had happened a few times before. Nick was a master of the cold war, and I always had to grovel and plead for days before he’d even look at me again. This time, however, I was too busy with work handovers to have time to coddle him. That evening, as I was booking my flight home, my phone rang. It was one of Nick’s friends. The background was a cacophony of laughter and loud music that blared even through the phone. “Nat, Nick’s wasted. Can you come get him?” Nick loved to party. He came from a wealthy family; the band was just a hobby. He didn’t need the money. I once asked him why he didn’t join the family business. He’d scoffed, saying his father’s illegitimate children were already at each other’s throats for a piece of the pie, and he had no interest in fighting over scraps. His grandfather’s and mother’s fortunes would all go to him eventually. He didn’t need to work. He just wanted to do what he loved. Nick had zero career ambition. It was one area where we had nothing in common. Whenever I told him about a project I’d landed or a promotion I’d gotten, he’d look bored. He once said disdainfully that it was pathetic to work yourself to death for a monthly salary that wasn’t even enough to cover his bar tab for one night. I knew we were fundamentally different people. Outside of physical chemistry, we had nothing to talk about. I didn’t care about his soul; I just loved his body. He ignored my inner world, content with my compliance. It was fine. It would make the breakup easier for both of us. I agreed to go and hung up, looking out the window. The city at night seemed even more brilliant than during the day, a river of light from countless windows and cars, so bright it eclipsed the stars. I glanced at my ticket. 8 a.m., the day after tomorrow. I sighed. To be honest, I wasn’t ready to break up just yet. Nick and I were really good in bed, and the stress of changing jobs was getting to me. I was kind of hoping for one last “breakup fuck.” It was a shame, but since the opportunity had presented itself, I had to take it. … When I got to the bar, Nick was surrounded by a flock of women. They were all different types, but they had one thing in common: they were all gorgeous and young, their faces glowing with collagen beneath their heavy makeup. I couldn’t blame them for flocking to him. Nick was rich, generous, and handsome. On him, even being a player seemed to be a charming trait. I touched my own face, remembering something he’d once said to me. “You’re 27. You should be getting facials, taking care of yourself. Can’t you at least try?” No wonder he thought I was old. He was surrounded by girls in their early twenties. I said nothing, just stood at the edge of the crowd. Our eyes met. He looked right through me and then turned away. Amber was flushed, her body pressed against his, her voice syrupy. “Nick, have another drink.” Nick smiled. Under the colored lights, his eyes were devastatingly beautiful, but completely devoid of warmth. “Just drinking is boring. Why don’t you feed it to me?” “How?” Nick didn’t answer, just lowered his gaze to her lips. A half-second later, understanding dawned in Amber’s eyes. A look of thrilled surprise flashed across her face as she tilted her head back and downed the caramel-colored whiskey in her glass. Then Nick grabbed her chin and kissed her, hard. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was raw and angry, a release of emotion. Amber tilted her head back to meet him, her eyes watering from lack of air. Liquor trickled from the corner of their mouths, catching the light as a long, silvery strand of saliva connected them when they finally pulled apart. The crowd erupted in cheers and catcalls. I knew he was doing it on purpose. He was punishing me for giving him the cold shoulder the other day and for not immediately trying to make up with him. It wasn’t until I walked right up to him that the crowd noticed me and slowly fell silent. Nick looked up, his expression blank. “What are you doing here?” I stared at that face, a ghost of our intimate moments flashing through my mind. In the heat of passion, we had even whispered words of love. Did it hurt? A little. But how much? Not enough to break me. I had always known this was who he was. A flirt, constantly seeking new thrills, incapable of saying no. Selfish, probably because he’d been spoiled his whole life, always putting himself first, never considering anyone else’s feelings. My voice trembled. “Nick, you’ve gone too far.” He looked up at me. He was sitting, and I was standing, but I felt like he was the one looking down on me. His expression was still blank, but a contemptuous smile played on his lips. “Too far? You can always break up with me. No one’s stopping you.” I said nothing, just stared at him. I had lost count of how many times he had threatened me with a breakup. Fifty? A hundred? One of his friends, who probably thought he was going too far, whispered to him, “Nick, man, don’t be like that. Look, Nat’s about to cry.” And I was crying. Acting requires commitment. As a single tear fell, I saw his expression shift. The hand holding his cigarette twitched, but he still said nothing, just watched me with cold eyes. In the next second, I said softly, “Fine, Nick.” “Let’s break up.” His face instantly turned ugly. For a moment, I thought he was going to explode. But instead, he laughed, a cruel, tight sound that seemed to come through gritted teeth. “Wow, Natalie. Bold move. Fine. But just so you know, I never go back for seconds. Don’t come crying back to me like a pathetic dog.” “Okay,” I nodded, wiping the tear from my eye. Then I turned and walked away without a single glance back. Nick didn’t come home that night. I spent the night deleting his contact information and everything related to him from my life. I packed my bags. The next morning, I was on the earliest flight back to my hometown. As the plane climbed above the clouds, I pulled out my SIM card and dropped it into the trash bag. 3 I never contacted Nick again. I posted a few emo, late-night thoughts on my social media to cultivate the image of a heartbroken woman, and then I promptly forgot all about him. Life back home fell into a routine. I quickly adapted to my new role at the company and went on the blind date my parents had arranged. The guy, a programmer who was already showing signs of balding at twenty-eight, droned on and on. “I think a woman’s place is in the home after marriage. What I mean is, you should quit your job. Don’t be so career-oriented. Take care of the family. Behind every successful man is a woman…” He prattled on, and I just smiled at my coffee cup, trying my hardest not to dump it over his piggish head. When he finally finished, he looked at me expectantly. “Did you get all that? Anything you’d like to add?” I maintained my smile. “No, but Mr. Wang, I don’t think we’re a good match. Maybe we should just leave it at that.” I walked away to the sound of him muttering about how “women over 25 are worthless” and “old maids can’t be choosers.” I’d been on several dates since I’d been back, and some of the guys were decent catches. But after being with someone like Nick, an absolute top-tier specimen, I just couldn’t bring myself to settle for an average Joe. That feeling lasted until a company meeting one morning. Everyone was already there, sitting in tense silence around the conference table. I whispered to the VP next to me, “What’s going on? Is the company in trouble?” He leaned in. “The old chairman’s son is being parachuted in. Rumor is he’s starting with our branch as a trial run before he takes over the whole group. This Mr. Grey is supposedly a Harvard grad, worked at Goldman Sachs, then started his own finance firm and made a billion overnight. The old man had to practically drag him back. He’s a real shark, so be careful what you say to him.” A few moments later, a young man in a black suit walked in. A black wool coat was draped over his shoulders, which an assistant respectfully took as he entered the room. His footsteps stopped. I looked up. In that instant, every eye in the room was drawn to him. The first thing that struck you was his presence. It was the aura of someone who was used to being in charge, of holding power. He wasn’t overtly arrogant, but everyone in the room, including me, felt an instinctive urge to lower their gaze. The second thing you noticed were his piercingly clear eyes. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a strong brow. I’d heard the chairman’s wife was French, and you could see the perfect fusion of elegant, blonde-and-blue-eyed European bone structure and Eastern aesthetics in him. He had the sharp planes of a Western face softened by Eastern features. He was incredibly handsome, on par with Nick, but his powerful presence was so overwhelming that you barely noticed his looks at first. “Apologies. My flight was delayed. I’m late.” He acknowledged his tardiness first, then took his seat at the head of the table and got straight to the point. “My name is Julian Grey. I’m the new general manager of this company. I’ve reviewed the company’s financials and basic information. Now, starting with the VP, I want a brief report from each of you on your work over the past year and your current projects.” One by one, the department heads gave their reports, their voices trembling. Julian was just as sharp as the rumors claimed. He called out every attempt to fudge the numbers or gloss over problems. “I don’t like vague language, and I don’t like being played for a fool. I prefer to communicate openly, but if that doesn’t work, I’m not opposed to exploring other methods.” He didn’t raise his voice or curse, but a cold sweat broke out on everyone’s back. Even my palms were damp when I stood up. Thankfully, I was well-prepared, and my performance over the past year had been excellent. The more I spoke, the more confident I became. My career and education were my pride. They were the most important things in my life, and I never slacked off. Julian didn’t interrupt me. I could see a flicker of admiration in his eyes. When I finished, I paused. He nodded. “Natalie, right? Well done. From now on, all reports will be held to this standard.” … Since Julian’s arrival, everyone’s workload had increased. He cut out a lot of redundant processes and bad assets and brought in a slew of high-quality projects. We were all working longer hours, but our salaries had gone up accordingly. My colleagues, especially the younger women, were all fascinated by him. A couple of new hires, who must have gotten their ideas from romance novels, tried the whole “boss falls for the plucky heroine” routine. One publicly argued with him during a meeting. Another “accidentally” spilled coffee on his three-thousand-dollar shirt and then tried to wipe it off with her hands. The first one was fired the next day. The second one was fired on the spot. After that, the women in the office learned their lesson, but they still gathered in the breakroom to gossip about him. “I heard he’s never had a girlfriend. Do you think he’s still a virgin?” “No way. You watch too many dramas. A guy like that has women throwing themselves at him. He’s definitely not a virgin.” “I’d give up my entire year’s bonus to spend one night with him. He’s an absolute god. Did you see him in those trousers the other day? Oh my god, he is packing!” … I listened from the sidelines, a new idea taking root. With Nick gone, Julian seemed like a much better option. This man, I thought. I want to try. 4 I started making a point of appearing in Julian’s orbit. He always came in half an hour early. Three out of five days a week, I’d manage to catch the same elevator as him. At that hour, it was usually just the two of us. I kept it brief—a simple “good morning,” I’d press his floor button, and then stand quietly to the side. Every day at noon, like clockwork, I’d go for a coffee. He usually took his coffee break around the same time. I made sure never to be in the breakroom when he was, but I always timed it so he would see me leaving as he arrived. Occasionally, I’d work late, and he would pass my desk on his way out. In short, I made sure he saw me as much as possible, without ever saying more than a few words to him. Finally, on the seventeenth time he saw me working late, he paused and walked over to my desk. “I’ve noticed you’ve been staying late a lot recently. Are you running into any problems?” I looked up, feigning surprise. After a moment’s hesitation, I handed him the file I was working on. “It’s a new project. I’m just not sure about the risk assessment for some of this company’s assets, so I wanted to do some extra research.” Julian sat down at the empty desk next to mine. “Let me see.” He smelled of a subtle, woody cologne that mingled with my own light rose perfume, creating an intoxicating blend. “I think this project is viable. Look at their ’23 reports. Their financial situation is solid, and…” He spoke with an easy authority, and I listened intently, nodding and interjecting with a series of highly technical questions. After he answered each one, I let my expression shift to one of dawning understanding. “Oh, I see. Thank you, Mr. Grey. I hadn’t thought of it from that angle before.” “You have a strong skill set, just a bit light on experience. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You should head home,” he said, a rare hint of a joke in his voice. “I don’t want people thinking I’m some kind of sweatshop boss.” I nodded, packed up my things, and we walked downstairs together. As we stepped outside, a gust of wind blew rain against me. I hesitated, taking a step back. Julian, who had been about to leave, noticed I wasn’t moving and turned back. “What’s wrong?” I waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing, Mr. Grey. You go ahead. I just… remembered I have something else to do.” He didn’t press, just nodded and left. Five minutes later, his car pulled out of the underground garage. I was still standing by the entrance. Julian rolled down his window. “You didn’t drive?” I looked embarrassed. “No. It’s hard to get a cab in the rain. It’s fine, Mr. Grey. I’m sure one will come by soon.” He didn’t hesitate. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” … I talked a lot with Julian on the way home. He was surprised to find that we had a lot in common. Even one of my favorite niche films, The Holy Mountain, was his favorite as well. Julian, who had been reserved at first, gradually became more talkative. By the time we reached my street, he was so engrossed in our conversation that he drove right past my building without stopping. I bit my lip, about to point it out, but he noticed on his own. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching the GPS.” When the car stopped, I thanked him again for the ride. Julian just nodded. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed the words. “Is something wrong, Mr. Grey?” I asked, looking at him. “What’s that perfume you’re wearing? It’s nice.” The moment the words left his mouth, he seemed to regret them. Saying anything else would only make it more awkward, so he just looked down, silent. I hid a smile. “Penhaligon’s The Coveted Duchess Rose. Well, Mr. Grey, see you tomorrow.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385128”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My girlfriend was just put on blast by a movie star in a tell-all post on Twitter. It came with a video. Her, on my arm, walking into a hotel and not leaving until the early hours of the morning. The post, from A-list heartthrob Aiden Vance, was a public breakup announcement: 【Yasmine, I never thought you were this kind of person.】 The evidence was undeniable. The topic started trending instantly. “Damn, Aiden Vance doesn’t pull punches!” “Wait, when did they even start dating?” “This is a shame, I was actually starting to ship them…” “Is anyone else wondering who the guy in the video is?” I put down my phone, the sheer absurdity of it all washing over me. Yasmine and I were childhood sweethearts. We’d been together for eight years. And now, Aiden Vance was her official boyfriend? So where does that leave me? 1 Less than twelve hours after Aiden’s post branded Yasmine a cheater, my personal information was doxxed and plastered all over the internet. Paparazzi camped outside my office building. My phone was flooded with an endless stream of harassing texts. The lies and vitriol wove a suffocating net around me, threatening to drown me. I hid in the office bathroom, calling Yasmine over and over. She never picked up. Desperate, I tried to set the record straight online. “So you’re saying Aiden Vance is the other man? Are you kidding me?” “Spoken like a true homewrecker. The nerve to come out and play the victim.” As a private citizen, my social media had no reach. The few comments I got were all from his fans, accusing me of trying to flip the script. The attacks intensified. Within a day, I had become the internet’s most hated “other man.” I took a deep breath, about to message HR to request time off, but a notification from them beat me to it: “Leo, your personal conduct has become a significant disruption to the company. Please take some time off to handle your private affairs before returning to work.” Just “take some time off”? I’d been in the corporate world long enough to know what that really meant. My phone buzzed again. “Don’t do anything. Wait for my people to pick you up.” It was Yasmine. My mind involuntarily replayed the details from Aiden’s post—the story of how they met, how they fell in love. A sharp pang of something cold and sharp pierced my heart. I stared at her text for a few seconds. I decided to trust her one last time. At the very least, I needed to hear an explanation from her, face to face. Escorted by a few of her staff, I was bundled into Yasmine’s private car. She wasn’t inside. Her manager, a woman with a perpetually cold expression, glanced at me. “You’ll be staying at a hotel we’ve arranged for a few days. Wait for Yasmine to contact you.” I didn’t answer, just watched the city blur past the window, my thumb unconsciously rubbing the watch on my wrist. “Yasmine has a watch just like that one,” her manager said suddenly. “You two have been together for almost eight years, haven’t you?” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Every Valentine’s Day, she’d custom order a matching pair from overseas. She really did care about you.” I froze, my mind drifting. There was a reason Yasmine and I both wore watches. Growing up, we were the neighborhood outcasts. Her mother had run off with another man, abandoning her. Her father was an alcoholic who beat her, once so badly she ended up in the hospital. As for me, I had no parents. I was raised by my grandfather, who suffered from dementia. Whenever the other kids pointed at me and jeered, “The psycho’s grandson is a psycho too!” Yasmine would be the one to step in front of me, her small fists flying. Driven by a desperate need to escape, we were the two smartest kids in the neighborhood, the ones who studied the hardest. One day, I was sick with a fever. My grandfather, making me porridge, forgot to turn off the gas stove. The kitchen caught fire. Luckily, Yasmine had come over to do homework and saw the smoke. She calmly ran for help, and they put the fire out. But not before both of our wrists were badly burned, leaving scars we’d carry forever. When we first got together, we were broke. But for our first Valentine’s Day, she used money she’d saved for months from a part-time job to buy us a pair of matching watches. That night, she’d rested her head on my shoulder, her warm, humid breath ghosting over my neck. “Leo,” she’d whispered, “I swear I’m going to give us a good life.” And she did. She was discovered by a casting agent, and her first TV show was a massive hit. She became a star overnight. Every Valentine’s Day after that, she’d give me a new watch to match hers. But this year, she didn’t. This year, she didn’t even spend Valentine’s Day with me. I had cooked a huge dinner and waited for her all night. Where was she? According to Aiden Vance’s post, Valentine’s Day was the wrap party for their show. While everyone else was celebrating, the two of them had slipped away. They’d walked the streets like a normal couple, gone to an amusement park. At the very top of the Ferris wheel, Yasmine, her face hidden by a mask, had leaned in and tentatively kissed him. He had pulled both their masks off and, smiling, kissed her back. I stayed in that hotel room for two days. I forced myself not to look at social media, not to contact anyone. On the third day, Yasmine finally showed up. The fever had returned. I was leaning against the doorframe, getting a glass of water, when I looked up and met her dark, intense eyes. She was thinner, which made her look even more fragile. Dressed in all black, she stood there like a statue carved from ice. I slumped against the door, feeling weak. It suddenly occurred to me that today was our eighth anniversary. Last year, on our seventh, Yasmine had a break from filming. We were supposed to go on a trip to the coast. But when we got to the airport, we were swarmed by paparazzi. In the ensuing chaos, it was another actor, who just happened to be there, who “saved” us. “Why is he at the airport with Yasmine?” “Didn’t he publicly confess his crush on her last month? Are they really together?” The reporters surged forward, shoving me out of the way to surround him and Yasmine, their camera flashes blinding. The other actor, a master at fanning the flames of shipping rumors, saw his chance. He smiled and said, “The show’s on hiatus. We’re just celebrating together.” When Yasmine didn’t object, he leaned in closer, a calculated gesture of intimacy. Yasmine looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips, her eyes so tender they looked like they were melting. The airport erupted in cheers. But then, she turned and looked in my direction, her eyes filled with apology. That night, the top trending topics were all about her and the other actor. And me? I wanted to post a gallery of our vacation photos, but I didn’t even dare to tag the location, terrified that someone would trace it back to me and cause problems for her. Later that night, she held me, her voice thick with guilt, her cheek pressed against my chest. “Just a little longer, Leo. I promise. Next year, on our anniversary, I’ll tell everyone that you’re my boyfriend.” My thoughts snapped back to the present. I was about to say something when her manager appeared from behind her and frisked me from head to toe. Only after confirming I wasn’t wearing a wire did she leave. “Were you afraid I was recording this?” Yasmine just smiled, as if nothing was wrong. “Leo, I’ve missed you.” I felt a strange, bitter laugh bubble up inside me. I was so confused. After that anniversary, I saw her less and less. She was always busy filming, doing press tours. I told myself I had to be understanding. One day, I was so lonely I posted a vague complaint on my private social media about wishing I had someone with me. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to see her standing over me. She had seen my post and had taken the red-eye from the set just to be with me. When I opened the door and saw her, I was so happy I just started kissing her, messy and desperate. She laughed, her arms wrapping lightly around my neck. “I missed you too. Every part of me missed you.” By the end, I was clinging to her like a dying fish gasping for water. She had an early call time the next day and left before dawn. I stood in the empty apartment, watching her disappear down the street, feeling hollow. Then I noticed she’d left her suitcase. Inside, it was filled with all my favorite snacks. And at the very bottom was a photograph. An autographed picture of my favorite theater actor. I remembered reading a post from one of her fan accounts that she had turned down several jobs to study theater for three months. It had been for me. Even later, when the rumors about her and Aiden Vance were everywhere, I chose to believe her. I truly didn’t understand how we had ended up here. “That Twitter post. Aiden Vance. Aren’t you going to explain?” “Explain what?” “All those news articles saying you two fell in love on set. I never doubted you. You said it was just for publicity, and I believed you.” “But now?” “If you fell for him, you could have just told me. We could have broken up. Why did you have to lie to me?” My voice was rising. “Cheating on me behind my back with another man—was it a thrill? Did it make you feel powerful?” “Why would you put me in this position?” Yasmine just stared at me, silent. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through these past few days? Do you know what people are saying about me online?” My throat felt raw. The next words were poison on my tongue. “Yasmine, some of that ‘dirt’ on me… you were the one who leaked it, weren’t you?” Her expression hardened, but her voice remained calm. “Leo, it’s not what you think.” I looked at her, at a loss for words. This was the same Yasmine who would have fought anyone who said a single bad word about me. Now, faced with a torrent of vile abuse directed at me, she stood by and did nothing. Worse, she had added fuel to the fire. By throwing me to the wolves, her team had bought themselves enough time to handle the PR crisis. Looking at the woman in front of me, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “Yasmine, let’s break up.” “I don’t agree.” She grabbed my hand, reaching for my face. I jerked away. “About Aiden…” She paused, as if searching for the right words, and bit her lip in frustration. It took her a moment to continue. “After that fire when we were kids, I’ve always been afraid of explosions. There was a scene in the movie with pyrotechnics, and I just couldn’t get into character. He was the one who kept encouraging me.” “Our characters in the film had this incredibly intense, complicated relationship. I’ve never been so deep into a role before. I just… I couldn’t snap out of it.” She ran a hand through her hair, the frustration in her eyes deepening. I let out a hollow laugh. “So you’re saying you had a momentary lapse in judgment? That you never had any real feelings for him?” Yasmine was silent. I pressed on. “Did you sleep with him?” Her face went pale. “Valentine’s Day. I waited for you all night. I called you, and you didn’t answer. You were with him, weren’t you?” She looked at me, her lips moving, but no sound came out. Suddenly, a tickle in my throat exploded into a violent coughing fit. A cool hand touched my forehead. “You have a fever?” Yasmine’s brow furrowed. She pulled out her phone. “I’ll have someone bring you some medicine.” Seeing the faint trace of concern on her face just made me feel sicker. I turned away and dry-heaved. “Don’t pretend to care. It’s disgusting.” A shadow crossed her eyes. She stared at me for a few seconds, then grabbed my arms and pulled me onto the sofa. “Leo.” Her voice came from above me, the usual coolness in it now laced with something strange and chilling. “You promised you would never leave me, no matter what.” Her hands pressed against my chest, and she leaned in to kiss me. I put a hand up to stop her. “If you have any respect for me left, let me go.” Her body went rigid. After a moment, she pulled back. “I’m sorry.” The room fell silent. I looked at her. “I’m willing to have an amicable breakup. I won’t use any of our private information to add to this mess online. But you have to tell the truth. Clear my name.” She was silent for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t.” “Leo, I’ve already released a statement. The public will lose interest in this soon enough. If you can just compromise one more time, once this all blows over—” “Compromise one more time?” I cut her off. “What does that mean?” Then it hit me. My hands felt numb as I opened Twitter, a platform I had been too afraid to look at for days. The top trending topic was Yasmine’s official response. “I apologize for taking up public resources. First, I want to apologize to everyone. Leo and I were previously in a relationship. Due to certain issues, we had to break up. Later, during filming, Aiden and I got together. When I ran into Leo again, I finally learned the real reason he had broken up with me. He suffers from a hereditary mental illness. The night of the video, he came to find me during an episode, mistakenly believing we were still together. It was dark, which led to a misunderstanding. I am deeply sorry I didn’t tell Aiden about this sooner. To Aiden, I am truly sorry. After coming to his senses, Leo also felt terrible about the situation and will be releasing a statement to clarify things.” I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. “So, the reason you came here today—” “Was to get me to confess to the whole world that I’m mentally ill? That I’m the crazy ex-boyfriend who’s harassing you?” Yasmine’s eyes darkened. “Leo, Vanessa will give you a script. Memorize it. She’ll record a video of you.” “After this is over, we can go back to how we were—” SLAP. The sound was sharp and loud. I had put every ounce of my strength into it. Yasmine’s head snapped to the side. The overhead light caught the corner of her mouth, where a bead of blood was starting to form. The silence stretched for a few seconds. Yasmine slowly turned her head back, her expression unreadable. She took my hand, a flicker of guilt in her eyes. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t pull away. I just looked down and asked softly, “Do you know what day it is?” She looked blank. “Last year, on our seventh anniversary, you promised me that on our next anniversary, you would tell the world that I am your boyfriend.” I let out a low, bitter laugh. “Today is our eighth anniversary. And you want me to tell the world that I’m a psycho.” The color drained from her face. A year. It’s not that long, but it’s not that short either. The bond we had built, brick by brick, over a lifetime of shared experiences—it only took one year to tear it all down and twist it into something unrecognizable. She knew. She knew how terrified I was of being called crazy because of my grandfather. She knew. Looking at her, it felt like I was seeing a stranger. “You’re so arrogant, Yasmine. You thought our eight years together, the fact that I loved you so much, meant I would forgive your betrayal. You thought I would sacrifice my dignity for you, admit to being a madman, and then just go back to being with you as if nothing happened.” “But why should I?” “The man I loved was the girl who defended me from bullies, the one who would fly across the country on a red-eye just to bring me snacks because I was feeling down, the one who only had eyes for me.” I looked at her, my voice steady and clear. “Not this person in front of me. This soulless, disgusting stranger.” Her grip on my hand tightened, a storm brewing in her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled my hand from hers. “Not only will I not record any video, but I will also find a reporter and tell them the truth.” “I’d advise you to think carefully about that.” It was her manager, Vanessa. She met my gaze and held up a phone. The screen was shattered. It was my phone. “Sorry about that. We couldn’t risk you not cooperating. We’ll buy you a new one, of course. But this one won’t have any chat logs on it.” Vanessa pulled a brand-new phone out of her bag and placed it in my hand. “If you want to expose her, you’ll need proof that you two never broke up last year.” She smiled. “While you were staying at the hotel, we took the liberty of removing any evidence from your apartment. All the gifts she gave you this past year, your ticket stubs from visiting her on set since January—all gone.” I looked at Yasmine in disbelief. She went pale and avoided my eyes. After a moment of silence, I spoke, my voice low. “I have backups.” Vanessa’s face fell. “Eight years together. I have backups of every chat log, every ticket stub. And they’re not on that phone.” I stared at Yasmine, my voice like ice. “My terms are the same. You go on Twitter, you explain everything, and you publicly apologize to me. It’s the last shred of dignity we can offer each other.” Yasmine suddenly laughed, a flash of mockery in her eyes. “Backups?” I took in her expression, and a wave of suffocating sadness washed over me. I turned to leave, pausing at the door. “You have two days to think about it.” I walked out of the hotel, my head burning, and hailed a cab to the hospital. Lying in a bed with an IV in my arm, I finally opened Twitter. I scrolled through the comments on Yasmine’s post. The top comment was from Aiden Vance: “Really?” Yasmine had replied: “Yes.” The second: “Okay, I admit I was a little harsh before. The way you’re still being so kind to your mentally ill ex proves you’re not a bad person.” The third: “Good thing they broke up. That psycho sounds scary.” The fourth: “So when is this Leo guy going to make his statement?” Yasmine had replied: “Soon.” I closed my phone and shut my eyes. The truth was, I didn’t have any backups. For eight years, I had trusted her completely. I loved her so much that I never even saved a clear photo of her on my phone. I rarely posted on social media, and when I did, it was just a picture of her hand reaching for mine, or her back from a distance. I never even dared to tag our location when we traveled. How could I have made backups? The only joke was, I really had saved our chat logs from this past year. I’d treasured them. This past year, I had felt her growing distant, her replies becoming more perfunctory. But I kept telling myself she was just busy. On Valentine’s Day, I’d created a private Twitter account, visible only to me, and filled it with screenshots of our few conversations from the past year, and the voice messages she’d sent. I would look at it whenever I missed her at night. I never imagined it would end up being my only weapon. I spent two days in the hospital on an IV drip. There was no update from Yasmine, no contact at all. In the bed next to me, an old woman was patiently feeding her sick grandson. I watched them, and my eyes stung. I suddenly missed my own grandfather. After I was discharged, I made two calls. First, to a leader of one of Yasmine’s fan clubs I’d met while visiting her on set. I got the contact information for a well-known journalist from her. Then, I called a cab to the nursing home. Three years ago, my grandfather had a sudden heart attack at home. I was at work, but Yasmine, who had just wrapped filming, happened to come home and got him to the hospital in time. The doctor said that with his age and his dementia, he needed round-the-clock care. I had been a wreck, but Yasmine had held me, gently patting my back. “I’ll find the best nursing home for him. I promise.” The old Yasmine had been so good to me, and to my grandfather. Before I completely cut ties with her, I wanted to see him. I walked down the familiar hallway to his room. The nurse on duty was surprised to see me. “Your girlfriend picked him up this morning. Weren’t you two going to get a family photo taken?” A roar filled my ears, and a chill shot up from my feet to the top of my head. I spun around and ran out of the nursing home, my hands shaking as I dialed Yasmine’s number. She picked up immediately. “Where are you?” I demanded. “Where did you take my grandfather? He’s confused, he doesn’t recognize anyone. Yasmine, what are you trying to do?” The background on her end was noisy, the faint sound of camera shutters clicking. “I’m at a press conference.” Her voice was low, sounding like it was coming from a great distance. I felt a wave of dizziness. “A press conference for what?” “I know you don’t have any backups.” A sigh came through the phone. “Leo, you love me too much. You would never back up our conversations.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I practically spat the words out. “So what? What are you going to do to my grandfather?” “I won’t do anything to him,” she said, her voice trembling. “Leo, I had no other choice. If you won’t come out and clear things up, I have to let him do it for you. I taught him a few lines to say to the cameras. He has a good memory. He remembered them all.” Tears streamed down my face. I bit back a sob. “Yasmine, don’t make me hate you.” There was a pause on the other end. “Leo, I’ll protect him. Don’t worry.” … By the time I got to the hotel, the press conference had already started. I didn’t have a pass and was stopped at the door. On the big screens inside, the room was packed with media, cameras flashing as Aiden and Yasmine posed for photos. I hadn’t realized Aiden would be there too. From what I could overhear from the staff, Yasmine had three goals for this press conference. First, to have the “mentally ill ex-boyfriend” clear her name. Second, to officially announce her relationship with Aiden Vance. And third, to announce their next project together, a romantic comedy. In a daze, I saw a familiar, wrinkled face on the screen. He looked pale and lost. “Leo’s condition has worsened, so he is unfortunately unable to be here today. This is his grandfather,” Yasmine said, holding his arm and guiding a microphone to his lips. My grandfather looked helplessly at Yasmine, his eyes cloudy. He spoke haltingly. “Leo… is… is sick. He can’t come. He… he and Yasmine broke… broke up last year.” After forcing the words out, he shrank back behind Yasmine, as if the microphone were a monster. “He definitely doesn’t seem right in the head. That Leo guy must be…” “It’s so sad. The whole family is crazy.” Hearing the reporters’ whispers, my nails dug into my palms. I wanted to storm in there. “Leo?” A soft voice said my name. I turned to see an elegant woman in a cream-colored dress. I was momentarily taken aback. “I’m Julia, the journalist you spoke with. I can get you inside.” I quickly wiped my tears away with the back of my hand and nodded. The moment I stepped inside, I froze. Yasmine and Aiden were kissing. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. It was dead silent, except for the relentless flashing of cameras. Aiden’s eyes were closed, his hand slowly moving to her waist. Yasmine seemed to smile into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck to deepen it. Suddenly, a shout shattered the silence. “You can’t kiss him!” I whipped my head around, my breath catching in my throat. My grandfather was standing in a corner, his usually stooped figure now ramrod straight, his eyes red and filled with a childlike hurt. “Leo is your boyfriend! You two never broke up…” The room erupted. My grandfather, trying to get to them, rushed forward, tripped over a chair leg, and fell hard. The scene descended into chaos. Someone called the police, someone called an ambulance. The cameras kept flashing. “Grandpa…” I scrambled onto the ambulance, looking at my grandfather’s unconscious form. My head roared, and the blood in my veins turned to ice.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385127”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was a get-together with old college friends, and my girlfriend smiled as she placed a piece of mushroom on my plate. “Gary, you wanted the mushrooms—” She trailed off. I hadn’t ordered mushrooms. And my name isn’t Cole. Gary is the name of her ex-boyfriend. 1 At the reunion dinner, Elara placed a grilled mushroom on my plate, her smile bright. “Gary, you ordered the mushrooms.” She started to say more. “They’re a little charred, just the way—” Her hand froze mid-air, the sentence left hanging. I kept my head down, slowly chewing the food in my mouth. I didn’t speak. I didn’t look up. I hadn’t ordered the mushrooms. And Gary wasn’t my name. Gary was her ex-boyfriend. Across the table, sitting to my left, Gary himself paused, looking up at her. I could feel their gazes lock for a tense moment, sparking with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. Elara was the first to look away. In a room with both her ex and her current boyfriend, she had called her new partner by her old flame’s name. The boisterous chatter around the table hit a sudden pause, the silence deafening. My grip on my fork tightened until my knuckles were white, the metal biting into my palm. But the pain felt distant, a dull throb my mind was too numb to register. After a suffocating moment, Leo broke the tension. “Hey, is no one drinking? Come on, bottoms up! Don’t be party poopers!” A collective sigh of relief rippled through the group. Laughter, a little forced, followed. “Who’s being a party pooper? I’m on my third glass!” “Your glass is still full! You’ve got some nerve calling us out!” Elara quietly moved the mushroom from my plate to her own, her eyes avoiding Gary’s. She then ladled a bowl of soup for me, her voice a careful imitation of casualness. “Have something warm. You’re not dressed for this weather.” I took the bowl without a word. … As we were leaving the restaurant, Elara stopped me. “I’m just going to the restroom. Wait for me outside, okay?” She hurried down the corridor, a sense of urgency in her steps. I watched her go, a knot tightening in my stomach. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed. And there he was. At the end of the hall, Gary stood tall and handsome in a black overcoat. Elara’s face was a mask of frustration. She was saying something, but they were too far away for me to hear. Gary, however, grew more agitated. He closed the distance between them and pulled her into a fierce embrace. From my hiding spot around the corner, I saw Elara’s hands hover stiffly behind his back. Her fingers flexed, then clenched into fists, a silent struggle. She never returned the hug. After a moment, she pushed him away, whispering a few sharp words before turning to leave. Gary called after her, his voice loud enough to echo down the hall, the words slicing through the air and finding me. “But you don’t love him! You just called me to his face!” “Elara, you’re not over me, are you?!” Her steps faltered for a fraction of a second, but she didn’t look back. She just kept walking, swallowed by the silence. On the drive home, an unspoken agreement hung between us. Neither of us mentioned what had happened at dinner. I was afraid to ask if what Gary said was true. Deep down, I think I already knew the answer, and I couldn’t bear to hear it confirmed. She leaned over and gave me a chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth, just like every other night, before snuggling into my arms. “Let’s sleep,” she murmured. But I knew neither of us would. That name, spoken by mistake, was a ghost in the room with us. For someone as meticulous and composed as Elara to make such a slip, that name must have been on the tip of her tongue, a constant presence in her mind, turned over and over until it spilled out on its own. I lay in the darkness, my eyes wide open until they ached, feeling the frantic, unslowing beat of her heart against my back. It was strange. We were so close, yet it felt like an ocean raged between us. 2 The next morning at work, I overheard the receptionists whispering by the coffee machine. “A guy came looking for Ms. Vance this morning,” one said, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Seriously handsome. Asked for Elara Vance by her full name. I wonder…” She leaned in closer, savoring the gossip. “What do you think his deal is with the boss?” The other girl whispered back, “What was his name? What did he look like?” “I think… Gary something? Looked like a movie star, but he had this arrogant air about him. Not my type.” She made a face. “I much prefer our Cole.” “Gary?” the other one gasped softly. “I think that’s her ex-boyfriend’s name! I overheard someone asking her once, back when he was supposed to be coming back from overseas.” “No way! So what did she say? If she gets back with this Gary guy, what happens to Cole?” “I don’t know! I didn’t stick around to listen. I got out of there fast.” I leaned against the cool wall of the break room, the coffee in my hand long since gone cold. Only after they had finished their discussion and left did I emerge. But back at my desk, the words on the documents in front of me blurred and swam, twisting themselves into one name over and over again. Gary. The pen in my hand began to tremble uncontrollably. I knew, then. I was scared. Gary was back. And I was terrified that, just like seven years ago, he would effortlessly steal Elara from me all over again. Elara and I had grown up together. We were childhood sweethearts, practically joined at the hip from kindergarten through college. I spent half my childhood at her house, and her mom adored me. She used to tease me constantly. “Cole, honey, will you be my son-in-law one day? Please?” No matter how many times she asked, I’d blush and look down, unable to answer. The adults would laugh. “Elara, what about you? Would you marry Cole?” And Elara, with a wide grin, would always shout, “Yes! I love Cole the most!” Back then, I truly believed her. I believed we were meant to be together. Until Gary appeared in our sophomore year of college. He was in our class, a campus celebrity, just like Elara. He was the student council president; she was the vice president. He was the debate team captain; she was the star debater. They both had national scholarships. Two brilliant stars, naturally drawn to each other. Elara still spent time with me, but our conversations increasingly revolved around him. “Cole, Gary is just… incredible. I almost lost that last debate; he completely cornered me.” “Cole, what does it mean when a guy says there’s a great restaurant he knows? Is he… asking you out?” “Cole, what do guys even like for birthday presents? Can you give me some ideas?” She would say my name, but her thoughts were filled with another man. … In all the years I’d known Elara, I had never heard her talk about buying a gift for another guy. I forced a smile. “Who’s it for?” I can still see her expression now. A faint blush crept up her porcelain cheeks as she looked down, murmuring, “Who else could it be?” “Gary, of course.” She looked up, her eyes sparkling, reflecting my own ashen face. “Looks like you might be getting a brother-in-law soon. Aren’t you happy for me?” A long moment passed before I managed to find my voice. “I’m happy.” 3 And just like that, Elara and Gary were together. They were a power couple, a perfect match that drew eyes wherever they went. No one who saw them could deny how good they looked together. They owned every room they walked into. They dated for three years. Those were the three years Elara and I were most distant, almost strangers. Part of it was me, deliberately keeping my distance. But a bigger part was Gary. His possessiveness was intense, and any contact between Elara and me would trigger a massive fight. To keep the peace, Elara eventually deleted my number. After being inseparable for our entire lives, we were finally torn apart. I remember flying home for Christmas that year, alone. When I got to her house, her mom rushed to the door. “Cole! You’re back! Why are you by yourself? Where’s Elara?” For some reason, a wave of unbearable sorrow washed over me. I ducked my head to hide my expression. “She’s… on vacation with her boyfriend. They went abroad.” Her mom froze. Her face was a canvas of complex emotions as she patted my shoulder and sighed. They were together for three years. Gary and Elara were cut from the same cloth: brilliant, ambitious, and fiercely independent. When things were good, their shared drive was a source of intense connection. But two proud, unyielding people were bound to clash. Gary’s need to control Elara suffocated her, leading to constant arguments. Whenever they fought, she would come to me. “What is his problem? He’s so damn annoying, worse than my own mother!” I would just listen in silence. Anything I said felt wrong. Besides, she never needed my advice. She’d vent, have a drink, and go right back to him. The final straw was Gary’s plan to study abroad. He wanted Elara to go with him. But Elara had just co-founded a startup with a few classmates. It was the dawn of the internet boom, a blue ocean of opportunity. She was determined to make her mark and urged him to stay, to build their future together. He refused. The arguments escalated, becoming endless cycles of bitterness. Finally, at his breaking point, Gary exploded. “Goddamn it, Elara, can you just stop fighting me on everything for once? Are you coming with me or not?!” He laid down the ultimatum. “If you’re not coming, then let’s just end this now. Stop wasting each other’s time!” Elara, pushed to her own limit, snapped back, her voice tight with fury. “Fine! Let’s break up. And whoever comes crawling back is a coward!” The words hung in the air, stunning even Gary into silence. He stared at her for a long, final moment. “Fine,” he said, his voice cold. “You’ve got guts, Elara. I’ll give you that.” And he walked out. Elara’s pride wouldn’t let her chase him. She never imagined he’d be just as stubborn. The very next day, he was on a plane, flying across the ocean. This time, it was really over. … Elara fell into a dark place. She drank with me, with old friends, trying to numb the pain. She was on the verge of falling apart. It was Leo who finally snapped her out of it, grabbing her by the collar and shaking her. “For God’s sake, have some self-respect! If you can’t live without him, then get on a plane and go get him! Otherwise, get your ass back to work! The company needs you. Stop being so damn irresponsible!” Elara said nothing. She locked herself in her room for a whole night. The next day, she was back to her old self. She went to work, reconnected with me, and even made me a partner in the company. Three years after Gary left, on Elara’s birthday, I drank too much. In a drunken haze, I saw her standing under the party lights, so beautiful she seemed unreal. The feelings I had suppressed for years finally broke free. I leaned in and kissed her. She didn’t speak, just stared at me, the shattered lights of the room reflected in her watery eyes. After a long moment, she closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around my neck, and deepened the kiss. The next morning, I woke up, lit a cigarette, and struggled to find the words. But she came up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist, her voice thick with sleep. “Cole… let’s be together.” My hand paused. I had to ask. “Do you love me?” She didn’t answer. She just held me tighter.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385126”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my college graduation eve, my CEO fiancé Adrian gave me a lavish engagement party and a supplementary card, saying, “Spend whatever you want.” I avoided using it, which angered him. He insisted spending his money proved my love, so I ordered cheap takeouts to humor him. But when treating him to a fancy lunch, the card declined. I later found it had a $500,000 limit. Assuming he’d forgotten his own spending, I waited for next month’s reset. Instead, he confronted me at work, waving statements and calling me a gold digger for “maxing out half a million in three days.” He demanded the engagement broken and his money back. I handed him a hundred-dollar bill. “Keep the change. Buy yourself a nice coffin.” He threatened his attorney, but left green-faced after we settled. 1 “Willow Reed! What is the meaning of this? You run up a bill and now you won’t own up to it? You’re cursing me to die?” Adrian didn’t take the hundred-dollar bill. His face was flushed with rage. I shrugged and pulled out another one. “In total, I used your card for two meals. The grand total was $29.99. You march in here demanding half a million dollars, and I haven’t called the cops on you for extortion. I’d say that’s generous.” “What, is this not enough?” I added, holding out the second bill. “Take this, and please, get out of my sight.” He was too furious to believe I’d spent less than thirty dollars. He slapped the credit card statement onto my desk. “Stop playing dumb! Do you think the bank makes mistakes? Look at what you bought! I have never met a woman so fake and materialistic in my life!” The long receipt fluttered to the floor. I didn’t even bother to glance at it. A particularly nosy coworker picked it up. Her eyes went wide, and she shot me a look of disbelief. “Willow, you spend money like you’re eating it!” The statement was passed around, and I heard the items being read aloud. Luxury boutiques, jewelry stores, five-star hotels… Over a dozen transactions in three days. The $500,000 limit had been wiped clean. I snatched the statement back, my eyes scanning the page until they landed on the last two items. “These two charges for takeout are mine,” I said, pointing. “The rest has nothing to do with me.” Adrian laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Willow, I never took you for this kind of person! The card was in your possession, the signature on the receipts is yours, and you’re telling me it wasn’t you? Who was it then, me?” “I’m a CEO. I sign deals worth more than that every day. Why would I need to scam you out of your pocket money?” That was a question I wanted to ask him, too. So I did. My question pushed him over the edge. He yanked at his tie and raised his voice, addressing the gawking crowd of employees. “I know you shouldn’t air your dirty laundry in public, but some people just don’t know when to quit! So I’ll ask all of you to be the judge!” “As you know, Willow and I have been betrothed since we were kids, a pact made by our grandfathers. When she graduated, I honored that promise. I threw her a grand engagement party, and to show my love, I gave her a supplementary card to use as she pleased. At first, she refused to spend a single penny, manipulating me into begging her to use it. And then—” He waved the statement, his voice dripping with ice. “—as you can see, she blew through $500,000 in three days. All on luxury goods!” “I could own a mountain of gold, and she’d still manage to spend it all!” Adrian was the boss—handsome, wealthy, and universally adored by his staff. In a situation like this, they were naturally on his side. The same colleagues who had been fawning over me minutes before, the CEO’s fiancée, were now looking at me with undisguised contempt. “Mr. Hayes, she’s just putting on a pure and innocent act. Refusing your money was just a tactic to make you beg her. That way, when she got caught, she’d have an excuse to blame you!” “Exactly! That has to be it!” “I couldn’t spend half a million in three years, and she did it in three days! And she’s not even officially Mrs. Hayes yet. Imagine what she’d do after the wedding!” “Poor Mr. Hayes, stuck with a fiancée like that…” “Honestly, just call off the engagement! These old-fashioned pacts are ridiculous anyway!” Adrian’s assistant, Isabelle, shot me a disdainful look and clung to his arm. “Mr. Hayes, some people just can’t handle temptation. Think of it as spending $500,000 to see her true colors. If you’d actually married her, you might have lost the whole company. We’d all be out of a job…” Spoken like a true loyal employee. The backhanded compliments and sharp insults slithered into my ears like venom. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the pen in my hand. Adrian, pleased with the outpouring of support, wrapped an arm around Isabelle’s shoulders. “Willow, if you needed money, you could have just asked. Why sneak around and max out my card? Now, you have two choices. Pay the money back immediately…” He paused, his eyes glinting with scorn. “Or we break off the engagement, and you pack your things and get the hell out of my company.” The office was silent. Everyone was waiting for my response. I met his gaze and smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. The engagement is off. But as for the money… I won’t be paying you a single cent.” 2 A collective gasp went through the room at my audacity. Isabelle’s eyes lit up with excitement as she added fuel to the fire. “Oh my god, how can anyone be so shameless? Thank goodness Mr. Hayes’s little test exposed you for what you really are!” “If you’d actually gotten married, you would have bled him dry, you materialistic leech!” I ignored her and pulled up the order confirmations for the takeout on my phone. “I’ll say it again,” I stated calmly. “I spent $29.99 of your money. If you think you can use this to extort me, you’re dreaming.” “As for this pathetic job, I’m not interested.” “Adrian, you’re fired. By me. And my last two weeks of salary? Keep it. You’ll need it for takeout when your company goes under.” I took a screenshot of the orders, dropped it in the company group chat, promptly left the chat, and grabbed my bag. Adrian’s face darkened as I turned to leave. He grabbed my wrist. “Willow! Don’t think you can just walk away from this! This isn’t over until you pay me back!” I pulled my hand free. “Mr. Hayes, I’ve sent you the proof. Take a good look at it before you come looking for me again.” Then, I walked out without a backward glance. I thought that would be the end of it. But I was wrong. Adrian took the story public. He connected my name to my university, turning it into a full-blown witch hunt. Soon, the scandal was trending online. #HonorStudentExposedAsShamelessGoldDigger #WhoWouldMarryThe500KIn3DaysGoldDigger #HandsomeCEOUsedAsATMByChildhoodFiancée The comments were a deluge of hate. As my personal information was leaked, my phone exploded with vitriolic messages. “How could your parents raise someone like you? You’re a disgrace! Just die already and stop tarnishing your school’s reputation!” “Proof that a degree has nothing to do with character. A woman like you isn’t worth a damn thing!” Someone even dug up my student ID and my thesis advisor’s information, demanding the university expel me to “cleanse its ranks.” The next day, my academic advisor called. “Willow, the university administration is taking this very seriously. Your honorary title of ‘Outstanding Graduate’… they might have to revoke it.” My hand tightened around the phone, my throat suddenly dry. “Professor, I didn’t make those purchases…” He sighed. “I know, but the public outcry is too much. The school’s reputation is on the line, and there’s pressure from… other parties.” I understood immediately. Adrian’s company was about to partner with the university’s research lab, creating a direct pipeline for graduates. This was a crucial time for job seekers. My personal scandal couldn’t be allowed to jeopardize everyone else’s future. I accepted the outcome calmly. The title didn’t matter much to me. At least the university wasn’t crazy enough to revoke my actual degree. But Adrian wasn’t finished. He used his industry connections to blacklist me. Every resume I sent out vanished into a black hole. I couldn’t even get an interview. Meanwhile, Adrian was making public appearances with Isabelle on his arm at every major industry event. On social media, Isabelle posted a photo of a limited-edition Hermès bag with the caption: So grateful for the boss’s generosity~ The location tag was a top-tier private club. Adrian liked it and commented: You deserve the best. That night, I received a text from him: “Willow, if you still want to be a CEO’s wife, here’s the deal. Pay back the $500k, sign a prenup, and promise me three kids in five years after we’re married.” “Be a good girl, and I’ll make sure you’re set for life, dripping in luxury for all to see.” “Otherwise, you’ll never find a job in this city again.” I stared at the screen and started to laugh. Adrian clearly had no idea that marrying me would have been the biggest upgrade of his life. Even if I never worked a day, I could live a life of carefree luxury he could only dream of. I didn’t bother with a lengthy reply. I just sent him a single word: Pathetic. I never imagined he would show up at my apartment that night with four bodyguards in tow. 3 The doorbell was being mashed with frantic energy. I opened the door slowly to find Adrian standing there, his face a thundercloud, flanked by four menacing bodyguards. “Willow Reed, you think you can just hide in here and it’ll all go away?” He sneered, pushing past me and barging into my apartment. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and watched him case the joint like a common burglar. His eyes swept over the jade carvings, the antique porcelain, and the classical calligraphy hanging on the walls. His expression grew uglier by the second. “Hah. Now I see how you had the guts to max out my card. You’ve had plenty of practice with your other sugar daddies!” He gestured at the priceless artifacts. “How many men did you have to swindle to fill this place up?” I raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He walked over to the coffee table, picked up a blue-and-white porcelain cup, and scoffed. “So this is your game. You fill your apartment with fakes to look the part.” “I’ll give you this, the replicas are pretty convincing. But the glaze is too new. A dead giveaway.” I couldn’t help but smile. “You have a keen eye, Mr. Hayes.” It was, in fact, the only replica set in the entire apartment. He took my comment as sarcasm, and his gaze turned colder. “Willow, I don’t have time for your games. Today, you’re either paying back the $500,000 and signing these agreements, or our engagement is officially over.” “When your dream of marrying into wealth is shattered, don’t come crying to me!” “And don’t forget, your parents don’t have pensions. I won’t be taking care of them when they’re old…” Before he could finish, one of his bodyguards spoke up in a low voice. “Sir, does that look like the centerpiece from the Sotheby’s auction last week?” Adrian followed his gaze to the porcelain vase on the mantelpiece. It was a Song dynasty Guan ware vase. My father bought it for me at auction because he knew I’d think it was pretty. Adrian stared at it for a few seconds, his expression shifting, before letting out a dismissive laugh. “Willow, you certainly know how to pick your fakes. You even have the nerve to replicate the hottest item from a recent auction?” Looking at this man, a whole five years my senior, I felt a wave of profound relief that I wasn’t yet of legal age to marry. According to our grandfathers’ pact, I would have been his wife by now. To be tied to such a petty, conniving, and clueless man would have been the stain of a lifetime. I sighed and decided to show him the door. “Adrian, I can forgive your ignorance, but I won’t stand here and let you embarrass yourself in my home. It’s time for you to leave.” His face darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you really think I’m desperate to marry you?” “Let me tell you something. I built my success with my own two hands. I despise women like you who get by on their looks and their bodies instead of honest work!” “Your reputation is in the gutter. Besides me, who else would have you? If it weren’t for the promise between our grandfathers, I wouldn’t be wasting my breath on you!” I was done explaining. I walked over to the vase, picked it up, and turned it over to show him the bottom. “Look closely. This is the Sotheby’s authentication number. It’s one of a kind. The final price was eighteen million dollars.” “Do you really think I need your half a million?” “Out of respect for our grandparents, I could have just given you the money. But as it happens, I have a thing against moochers who expect handouts.” “So here’s the deal. You and your goons get out of my sight right now and never show your faces again, and I’ll consider dropping the matter of you slandering and harassing me online.” Adrian’s face froze. One of the bodyguards sucked in a breath. “Sir, she sounds very confident. Could there be a misunderstanding? And that vase… I think it might be real.” Adrian’s face was ashen. He snatched the vase from me, turning it over and over, his expression growing more panicked the longer he looked. He pulled out his phone and called Isabelle. “Izzy, doesn’t your brother work at Sotheby’s? Have him check who bought that centerpiece from the last auction, the one that caused that huge bidding war!” “And on your way over, bring my lawyer. The best one I have on retainer!” “She’s still denying she spent the money. I’m going to make her admit it today! If I don’t put her in her place now, what’s to stop her from walking all over me after we’re married?” If Adrian was that determined to be humiliated, I was more than happy to wait. Ten minutes later, Isabelle arrived with the lawyer and the information he’d requested. 4 “Mr. Hayes, I asked. That vase was bought by the richest man in the country. He gave it to his daughter to use as a flower vase.” Adrian’s face relaxed into an I-told-you-so smirk. Isabelle picked up the vase, examining it with a critical eye before sneering at me. “Willow, you really spare no expense to keep up appearances, do you? This is a very convincing replica.” The lawyer, however, took one look at the vase and his whole demeanor changed. He rushed forward, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses for a closer look. But before he could, Isabelle raised her hand— CRASH! The sound of shattering porcelain echoed through the living room. The eighteen-million-dollar Song dynasty vase lay in a thousand pieces on the floor. I was stunned. Adrian, after a moment of shock, shot Isabelle a disapproving look. “Izzy, what are you doing? Even as a replica, that was worth a lot of money!” Isabelle’s lip trembled, tears welling in her eyes. “Mr. Hayes, it’s obvious Willow is never going to pay you back. I was just smashing one of her fakes to stand up for you. Why are you blaming me?” In front of me, Adrian’s tone softened as he gently wiped her tears away. “I’m not blaming you. I was just hoping we could get that money back so I could buy you a little condo to call your own.” “My most valuable employee deserves nothing but the best.” He shot a pointed look in my direction. “I hope some people understand the difference between them and you, and just sign the agreements. The line of women waiting to be my wife wraps around the city, you know.” I rolled my eyes, looking at him as if he were an idiot. “Adrian, maybe you should figure out who actually spent that $500,000 before you start making promises. Because the line of people trying to empty your bank account might be just as long.” A flicker of guilt crossed Isabelle’s face, and the tears started flowing freely again, sending Adrian into a fluster. I had no interest in watching their little soap opera. “Mr. Hayes,” I interrupted coldly, “since you’re so concerned with her feelings, I assume you’ll be covering the eighteen-million-dollar cost of that vase?” Adrian scoffed and moved to stomp on the shards. “Pay for a fake? Why would I? What’s the matter, you upset? I thought you said it was real. I thought you said you were rich. Why don’t you just go buy another one?” Isabelle’s tears vanished, replaced by a triumphant smirk. The lawyer suddenly dropped to his knees, just barely managing to block Adrian’s foot. “Mr. Hayes, if I’m not mistaken… I believe this vase… is real.” Adrian and Isabelle froze. I had to admit, the lawyer Adrian had hired actually had a decent eye. But a second later, Adrian shoved him aside and ground the porcelain fragments under his heel. “Mr. Zhang, you’re a high-powered attorney, not an art appraiser. You heard her brother—the real one was bought by the richest man in New York for his daughter. How could it possibly end up here?” Isabelle gasped dramatically. “Unless… Willow was bold enough to steal it from his mansion?” “Or maybe,” she added with a sly look, “she’s sleeping with him, too?” Their ignorance was almost funny. “Alright, fine, I’ll come clean,” I said with a sigh. “The richest man in New York… he’s my dad.” Adrian and Isabelle exchanged a look and then burst out laughing. “Oh, god, Willow, I know exactly what your family is. ‘The richest man is your dad’? You mean your sugar daddy, right?” “But you know what? Since you’ve managed to snag a whale like that, I’ll be generous. We don’t have to call off the engagement. And you can forget about the $500,000.” “All you have to do is sign these agreements, and make sure your ‘dad’ sends some business my family’s way every year. I’ll be more than happy to help you keep up the charade.” I couldn’t believe his audacity. What did he take me for? A bargaining chip? If it hadn’t been for this whole credit card fiasco, I might have actually been fooled by his charming facade. Adrian took out the prenuptial agreement and scribbled his new conditions onto the page. “Willow, sign it.” Isabelle immediately protested. “Mr. Hayes, how can a promiscuous woman like her be your wife?” “Besides, if she really had a connection to someone that wealthy, do you honestly think she’d be eating cheap takeout? No way!” “I’m telling you, she’s just using his name to intimidate you, to trick you into marrying her! Don’t fall for it!” Adrian hesitated. He sighed, a look of profound resignation on his face. “Izzy, whether she’s a gold digger or not, once she signs this, she’ll be under my thumb.” “Besides, you know my father. If I don’t marry her, he’ll never give me control of the company.” So that was it. His willingness to marry me was just another business transaction. And Isabelle’s desperate attempts to stop the marriage… I was starting to suspect that supplementary card had something to do with her. How else could a junior assistant afford to be decked out in the latest designer collections? There was a good chance she was the one who had maxed out the card. I took the agreement from Adrian’s hand. “I’ll sign it,” I said slowly. “But first, let’s get to the bottom of that $500,000 bill.” The lawyer, Mr. Zhang, had used the time to discreetly survey the other treasures in my apartment. The look in his eyes had shifted from contempt to something bordering on fear. He knew. He had figured it out. He probably even believed me now. Good. Then he could be the one to deliver the final blow. I glanced at him, and he immediately cleared his throat. “Mr. Hayes, you hired me today to verify this statement. I will not be involved in any other matters.” A flicker of unease crossed Adrian’s face, but he waved a hand dismissively, giving Zhang the go-ahead. As Zhang began to cross-reference the items on the statement, Adrian’s bodyguards started searching my apartment for the purchased goods. And to their credit, they actually found two of the items from the list. Zhang’s expression shifted again, and Isabelle looked smug. “Adrian,” I said suddenly. “How many supplementary cards do you have?” He answered immediately, without hesitation. “Just the one I gave you.” But I saw the flicker of panic in Isabelle’s eyes. I knew she had one, too. In a flash, I snatched her purse and dumped its contents onto the floor. And there it was. A credit card, identical to the one Adrian had given me. Isabelle panicked and lunged for it. I slapped her across the face, hard, and handed the card to Zhang. “Check this one,” I said, my voice cold and clear. “I have a feeling the truth is about to come out.” “As long as you maintain your professional integrity, Mr. Zhang, I can guarantee your career will go much, much further.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385125”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I left Adrian Schwimmer, everyone thought it was a tragedy. After all, I was the woman who had been by his side the longest, the one with the best chance of marrying him. I had even given him twins, a boy and a girl. The day I told him I was leaving, Adrian was lounging on the sofa, rattling a toy to amuse the babies in their crib. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see these two little ones again,” he said, his voice casual. “You’d better be sure.” I nodded. “I’m getting married. He doesn’t mind that I’m older, that I’m not a beauty, and he doesn’t care about… you and me. I want to marry him.” The rattling stopped. A long moment passed before a slow, careless smile spread across his face. “Fine,” he said. “Be my guest.” He was so utterly unconcerned. That’s why later, when he systematically destroyed my husband’s company, forced me into a divorce, and stood before me with our children in his arms, begging me to just give him a scrap of affection… I couldn’t believe it was the same man. 1 I was the Schwimmers’ ward, raised from childhood for one purpose: to be Adrian’s wife. As a little girl, I was lovely. But as I grew up, my looks settled into a quiet plainness. Among the parade of stunning models and socialites Adrian dated, I was a clumsy, homely shadow. He didn’t love me. But I had been with him for many years. A fixture. So, he allowed me to carry his children. The twins were doted upon by his parents, the most cherished grandchildren of the Schwimmer dynasty. Everyone whispered that it was only a matter of time, that I was destined to marry Adrian. Until the day I chose to leave. 2 It was a late autumn evening. The villa was bathed in a warm, golden glow, a fortress against the encroaching chill. Adrian was on the plush sofa, a silver rattle in his hand, teasing the infants in their cradle. I placed a platter of sliced fruit on the coffee table in front of him. And then I told him I wanted to go. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see these two little ones again,” he said, his tone light. “You’d better be sure.” “I am.” I twisted my fingers together. “I’m getting married. He doesn’t mind my age, or that I’m not beautiful, or… my history with you. I want to build a life with him.” The motion of his hand froze. A beat of silence, then a lazy, almost amused smile touched his lips. “Fine. If you’ve made up your mind, then go. Whatever you want.” He was the picture of nonchalance. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Men of his stature often possess a terrifying possessiveness. The women they mark as their own, loved or not, are rarely allowed to leave. Thankfully, Adrian wasn’t like that. I dried my damp hands on my apron. He had already turned back to the twins, the rattle dancing in his hand again. “Mommy doesn’t want you anymore,” he cooed in a singsong voice, dripping with mock pity. The babies’ startled cries erupted, filling the room with piercing wails. My body went rigid. I turned and fled. 3 When the news got out, a procession of people came to reason with me. Adrian’s mother flew back from Europe. She held my hands, her voice a soft, persuasive melody. “You have his children, Kate. You have a lifetime of history together. Who could possibly compare to that? These women he sees now… they’re just pretty faces. They don’t have a fraction of the connection you share. The title of Mrs. Schwimmer has always been meant for you. You’ve waited a decade, my dear. Why give up now?” I kept my head down, silent. I had heard these words, or variations of them, a thousand times. From the day I turned eighteen, through my pregnancy, and after the twins’ first birthday. Adrian’s girlfriends came and went like seasons, yet the “inevitable” wedding I was waiting for remained a distant, ever-receding horizon. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Schwimmer,” I said, my voice quiet but firm, finally looking up to meet her gaze. “I’m done waiting.” I pulled a vibrant, crimson-colored envelope from my purse. An invitation. “I’m getting married next month. I hope you can be there. As my mother.” Her lips trembled, but she took it, sighing. She had brought me from the orphanage, raising me as her own. She was the only mother I had ever known. “Of course, I’ll be there. But please, think about it one more time. Adrian cares for you, truly. He just… has a terrible way of showing it.” She continued to sing his praises until her throat was dry. She reached for her tea, but the invitation was snatched from her hand. 4 Adrian had just returned, a gust of winter air clinging to his overcoat, his cheeks flushed with cold. He flipped open the invitation with a condescending grace. A low chuckle escaped him as he examined the cardstock—cheap, with rough edges. “Has your taste really fallen this far?” he murmured, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Even if you weren’t with me, you didn’t have to throw yourself away on the first man who’d have you.” “It wasn’t like that,” I whispered, clutching the hem of my dress. “He was my friend at the orphanage. He’s brilliant and he’s so good to me. He just doesn’t have money right now… but I know he’ll do great things.” A dismissive smile played on his lips. With a sharp, deliberate motion, he tore the invitation in two. CRACK. “Adrian!” his mother gasped, a mixture of shock and anger in her voice. “What are you doing?” He ignored her, his gaze fixed on me. “If you’re leaving, you leave with nothing. The jewelry, the clothes, the penthouse my mother gave you last year, the shares… you leave it all behind. If you’re so eager to struggle with another man, you won’t do it carrying a single shadow of the Schwimmer family. Understand?” I had expected this. I nodded. “I know.” “And if I recall correctly,” he drawled, his eyes slowly raking over my body, “the dress you’re wearing… I bought that for you too.” He gestured lazily toward the front door. “Take it off. And get out.” 5 The blood drained from my face. Mrs. Schwimmer shot to her feet, ready to argue, but she withered under the icy glare Adrian shot her. A butler appeared, respectfully but firmly escorting her from the room. Her lips trembled as she looked back at me, her eyes filled with apology. She had no real power over him, not anymore. “Don’t you dare go too far, Adrian,” was all she could manage to say as she was led away. Adrian only smirked. He leaned back against the sofa, spreading his legs in a posture of complete dominance. “Well?” he taunted. “Why aren’t you undressing? Weren’t you so determined to leave? What’s the hesitation? Second thoughts? Missing the money already? Or is it me you can’t bear to leave?” His voice dripped with condescending poison. “If you want to stay, just say the word. No one’s forcing you out—” His words caught in his throat. Because, with tears blurring my vision and my hands trembling uncontrollably, I had risen to my feet and begun to unbutton my dress. Piece by piece, the clothes fell to the floor, pooling around my bare feet. His expression hardened, turning darker with every item I shed. His eyes burned as they scanned my body, and then he let out a harsh, guttural laugh. “You have some nerve!” The mask of indifference was gone. He was furious. With a roar of rage, he swept the tea set from the table, shattering porcelain against the marble floor. He strode toward me, snatched a cashmere throw from the back of the sofa, and roughly wrapped it around my trembling body. He pointed a shaking finger toward the door. “Get out!” he bellowed. 6 Snow was falling outside, thick and silent. The wind howled, a mournful cry that cut through the air. I sat on the top step of the porch, the thin blanket the only thing covering my naked skin. My teeth chattered violently. I was waiting for the man I was going to marry to come and get me. The lights were on in Adrian’s second-floor study. Through the sheer curtains, I could see his tall, imposing silhouette. He was standing at the window, watching me. Unmoving. I could almost imagine the faint glow of a cigarette between his fingers. The cold was seeping into my bones, a deep, numbing ache that made my blood feel like slush. I closed my eyes and curled into a tighter ball, refusing to show any weakness. I knew what he was doing. He was waiting for me to break, to come crawling back and beg for forgiveness. His earlier indifference was a facade. The reality of my departure had finally sunk in, and his pride was stinging from the perceived betrayal—the audacity of his possession wanting to leave. This was his act of mercy. A chance for me to repent. All I had to do was turn around. A low rumble cut through the silence as tires crunched on the gravel driveway. A battered black van pulled up to the gates, its paint peeling, one of its taillights dark. It was as out of place in this neighborhood of pristine luxury as a weed in a rose garden. The driver’s door flew open and a man scrambled out, his face etched with panic. When he saw me, his eyes reddened instantly, shimmering with unshed tears of pure anguish. “Kate!” He rushed forward and swept me into his arms. A hot tear fell from his cheek and landed on my chest, a stark contrast to the freezing air. “I’m here,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to take you home. We’re going home.” 7 His name was Leo. We had known each other as children in the orphanage. Honestly, I had forgotten him completely. Until a few months ago, when he found me. He told me I was the white moonlight of his life, the one pure and beautiful memory he had held onto. He said he would do anything for me. Anything. I let the word echo in my mind, and a bitter smile touched my lips. “Then can you marry me?” His arms, which were supporting me, went stiff. He stared at me, first with stunned confusion, then with an explosion of radiant joy. “Really? I can marry you? Is something this good actually happening to me?” I watched him, my expression unreadable. After so many years with Adrian, I was an expert in deceit and ulterior motives. But looking into Leo’s eyes—so clear, so bright—I could find no trace of falsehood. It was all genuine, heartfelt emotion. But… genuine affection? Was I even worthy of something like that? A woman used and discarded by Adrian Schwimmer, a woman who had debased herself for a life of comfort, who bore his children without ever earning the dignity of his name—I was little more than a high-class prostitute. The thought almost made me laugh out loud. “Are you sure you want to marry me?” I pressed. He nodded without hesitation. “Then go and die.” The words were pure malice, designed to wound and drive him away. I expected him to recoil in anger, to leave me there in the snow. Instead, his eyes widened in disbelief. “Do I… do I have to die to marry you? But then you’d be a widow. Can we not do that? I’m very healthy! I can even help you change lightbulbs!” I was speechless. I learned later that Leo had been adopted by a wonderful couple. He grew up surrounded by love and warmth, a life that was the complete inverse of my own. It had nurtured in him a personality that was a little naive, a little silly, but fundamentally good. When he said he wanted to marry me, he meant it. From the moment I’d said yes, he had been meticulously planning our small wedding. 8 Leo tried to lift me and carry me to his van. He’d barely taken two steps before a wall of men in black suits surrounded us. The Schwimmer family security—all former special forces, built like brick walls, their faces grim and imposing. The head butler, Mr. Henderson, bowed respectfully. “Miss Kate,” he said, his voice polite but firm. “Mr. Schwimmer has instructed me to inform you that if you wish to leave, you must first repay the family for the expenses incurred in your upbringing and care over the years.” He paused. “The total comes to twenty million dollars.” I poked my head out from the blanket. My body was so numb with cold that even a figure that astronomical failed to register as anything more than a distant sound. I glanced back at the second-floor window. Adrian’s silhouette stood there, a dark and powerful presence looking down on the scene below. The aura of oppressive control radiated from him even from that distance. “He really is a heartless bastard,” I murmured. Mr. Henderson’s expression softened with pity. “Miss Kate, if you would just apologize to the master… this would all go away. You know you hold a special place with him.” “Special? What’s so special about being treated with the same ruthless cruelty as everyone else?” I let out a low, humorless laugh. I snuggled deeper into Leo’s embrace, my bare arms wrapping around his neck. “Leo,” I whispered, my voice trembling theatrically, “what do we do? That’s so much money. I’m so scared.” His arms tightened around me, and he gently patted my back. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice a comforting rumble against my ear. “I’m here.” He was nervous; I could feel the tension in his body. His family was comfortable, but a sum like that was beyond his wildest imagination. Yet, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even consider letting me go. He held me closer, took a deep breath, and looked the butler in the eye. “We will pay what is owed,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady. “But you can’t just name a price. We’ll need an itemized list, proof of these expenses.” The butler’s smile never wavered. “Of course. The documentation will be prepared shortly. In the meantime, to prevent Miss Kate from catching a chill, perhaps you would both care to wait inside?” He made a graceful gesture toward the villa. Leo, who had just graduated college and was used to being polite, instinctively started to comply. “Don’t,” I whispered, tapping his arm. I stopped him, then tilted my head back, my eyes finding the shadowy figure in the window. I smiled, a cold, sharp thing. “Mr. Henderson,” I said, my voice carrying clearly in the cold air, “please be so kind as to inform your master that if he does not let me leave today, I will smash my head on these gates until I am dead. And he knows I am a woman of my word.” 9 The butler was gone for a long time. So long that I started to drift off, lulled by the warmth of Leo’s body. He held me without complaint, though I could tell his arms were tiring. He dipped his head, his forehead gently brushing the tip of my nose before he straightened up again, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Kate,” he murmured, “you smell so nice…” A slow, deliberate clapping sound echoed from the villa’s entrance. The sharp click of leather shoes on marble followed. I looked up. Adrian stood there, leaning against the doorframe, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. He watched us with a lazy, mocking expression. “All this drama,” he sneered, “just to marry yourself off to someone so… pathetic?” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at him. “Please, Adrian. Just let it go. You have no shortage of women. I’m begging you…” “I was willing to let it go,” he said, his voice turning dangerously smooth. “But there is the matter of the Schwimmer family code. I’m sure you remember it. For those who break a vow to the family… the punishment is thirty lashes. Do you recall?” He looked at me, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. “The rules are the rules. My hands are tied. Endure the thirty lashes, and I will not stop you again.” For a moment, my mind went blank. I knew the Schwimmers were an old family, bound by archaic traditions and vows. But Adrian was the head of the family now. His word was law. The entire clan depended on his favor. If he chose to ignore a rule, no one would dare question him. He was doing this purely to torture me. The silence that followed his words was absolute, broken only by the howling wind. Mr. Henderson looked at me, then at Adrian, a deep sigh escaping him. “Miss Kate, please, just apologize to him. The master was already making preparations for your wed—” “Silence!” Adrian’s voice was like a whip crack. He cut the butler off, his sharp, fox-like eyes boring into me. Seeing no sign of surrender, he turned his cold gaze back to Henderson. “Open the family hall.” 10 The Schwimmer family’s private hall was a vast, solemn chamber lined with portraits of ancestors, their stern eyes following your every move. It was cold and imposing. I knelt on the freezing marble floor, dressed in clothes borrowed from a maid, a sharp pain already shooting through my knees. The family rules dictated that all members be present to witness a punishment. The room was filled with faces—some I recognized, some I didn’t. Many of them had always resented me, and now their eyes shone with unconcealed glee. “I knew it. I knew Adrian never truly cared for her. So what if she had his children? She’s still just trash.” “It’s a pity, really. Once the mother has been disciplined by the family, her children can never be considered for inheritance.” “Thirty lashes… Will she even survive?” The whispers swirled around me, a cloud of naked, undisguised malice settling on my shoulders. I remembered a time, long ago, when I had witnessed a punishment here. I had clung to Adrian’s sleeve, terrified, and asked if I would ever have to kneel here like that. He had stroked my hair, his smile gentle. “Silly girl. You’re mine. Who would dare touch you? I’ll always protect you. Don’t be afraid.” Now, the man who had promised to protect me was wiping dust from a long, leather whip with a silk handkerchief. He was going to administer the punishment himself. I closed my eyes, my body trembling. The click of his shoes approached. The tip of the whip tapped my shoulder lightly. He didn’t look at me, but at the portraits of his ancestors. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he said, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. A bitter smile formed on my lips. “There’s no turning back for me, Adrian.” “Isn’t there?” He leaned down, his face close to mine. His thumb gently wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “With me by your side, you could set the world on fire and no one would dare question you. Come back. I will marry you. You will be the matriarch of this family. All these people who mock you now will grovel at your feet. Think about it, Kate. Don’t be stubborn.” For a man as proud as Adrian, a man accustomed to being worshiped, these words were the closest he would ever come to pleading. His dark eyes were fixed on me, his intention perfectly clear. He was waiting for me to take his hand. One word, and my future would be paved with gold and glory. I looked up, meeting his intense gaze, my fingertips tingling with a strange, exhilarating thrill. And I heard myself say, “I can’t, Adrian. I’ve fallen in love with him. I’ll marry him or no one.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385124”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years with Ethan Hayes, and our relationship still came with a price list. Dinner: two thousand dollars. A date: ten thousand. One night in his bed: thirty thousand. Then one day, I found out I was pregnant. My brain took a few seconds to reboot. I stared at the man across from me, all aristocratic distance even in a hospital gown, and asked him point-blank: “Ethan, do you have a hundred million dollars?” 1 He was completely baffled. He was wearing an oversized, sterile-white patient gown, but it did nothing to diminish the sharp, handsome lines of his face. His dark eyes, intense and focused, locked onto me. “What’s this about?” “Why are you asking that all of a sudden?” He let a slow, wicked grin spread across his lips, a look that seemed entirely too healthy for a sick man. “What, you want to work your way up to a hundred million?” “Ahem.” I nearly choked on my own spit. “That’s not what I meant, obviously. I mean…” The words what if I had your baby for a hundred million were right on the tip of my tongue, but then his expression shuttered. “If that’s not what you meant, then drop it,” he said, his voice clipped and cold. “There’s nothing for us to talk about.” That familiar, heartless indifference sent a chill through me. Right. How could I forget? Ethan Hayes was a devout member of the no-marriage, no-kids club. We’d agreed from day one: no messy feelings, no talk of love. This was purely a physical arrangement. If he found out about the baby… He’d assume I’d engineered the whole thing, a honey trap to secure a payday. Forget a hundred million; he’d probably demand I pay back every cent he’d ever given me. Better not. I silently tightened my grip on the clinic report tucked in my purse, making sure to keep it hidden behind my back. “Oh. It was nothing, then.” Ethan didn’t press the issue. He never had any real feelings for me anyway. He just needed someone to have dinner with. And to share his bed. But this month had been… inconvenient. His two-hundred-thousand-dollar quota for my time had already been maxed out by the middle of the month. So… As the man pinned me against the stiff hospital bed, his lips tracing a path down from my earlobe, my body went rigid. The moment his fingers grazed the top button of my blouse, a jolt of panic shot through me. I scrambled away from him, putting a good three feet of distance between us. “The monthly limit has been reached!” I announced, my voice a little too loud. “We can’t do… that!” Ethan’s handsome face clouded over with irritation. He stared at me, his voice oozing with the casual arrogance of the ultra-rich. “I’ll pay more.” “No!” Pay more for what? So he could accidentally jeopardize the baby? For the first time in our arrangement, me, the girl who would do anything for money, said no. Ethan’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion in their depths. My heart hammered against my ribs. I blurted out the first lie that came to mind. “I’m… I’m not feeling well this month. And I’m swamped with work. The most I can do is keep you company while you’re sick. Nothing else!” With that, I turned to leave, desperate to get away before he somehow discovered the secret I was hiding on my phone. His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. His voice was as cold and hard as ever. “So, the only way I can see you this month is if I’m sick?” I thought about Ethan’s year-round gym habit. The man was built like a bull. I nodded decisively. “That’s right! Only when you’re sick!” 2 A shadow passed over Ethan’s deep-set eyes. He looked like he was about to say something else, but just then, the doctor walked in, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Hayes, good news. It’s just a common cold, probably from taking a cold shower in this weather. Nothing serious. You’re clear for discharge.” A cold shower? What kind of maniac takes a cold shower in the middle of winter? Was he nuts? I shot Ethan a look you’d give a complete idiot. I sent a silent prayer to the universe: please, let the baby inherit his father’s looks. But for the love of God, not his brains. “Alright, you heard the man. You can go home,” I said, backing toward the door. “So, let’s just not see each other for the rest of the month, okay? See you next month, Mr. Hayes!” See him next month? Not if I could help it. I fled back to my apartment like a fugitive, frantically throwing a few things into a suitcase. I had to find somewhere to go, somewhere Ethan would never find me while I figured out this whole pregnancy thing. My best friend, Sarah, was stunned when I told her. “You’re… you’re just going to keep it? Just like that?” “Of course!” I said without a sliver of hesitation, stuffing another sweater into my already-full luggage. “You know my story. I grew up with no family, a total orphan. My whole plan was to save up enough money to go abroad, do IVF, and make a family for myself.” I beamed. “Well, look at this! My little family just showed up ahead of schedule!” And with Ethan’s genes, the kid was guaranteed to be gorgeous. My mind made up, I pulled out my phone to book a flight—any flight out of here. Sarah still looked hesitant. “But the month isn’t over yet. What if Ethan gets sick again and calls you?” “Not a chance,” I said, waving a dismissive hand. “The guy’s a beast. He works out every single day. There’s no way he gets sick twice in one month…” Before the words were even out of my mouth, my phone rang. It was Ethan’s assistant. “Ms. Miller, good evening. Mr. Hayes has been admitted to the hospital again. He’s asking if you could come by.” As if sensing my hesitation, the assistant added, “This is, of course, within the terms of your monthly retainer. We would appreciate it if you could come promptly.” Same hospital, same private suite. In the span of one week, I made the trip seven times. Yes. Once a day. Monday, it was a fever. Tuesday, another cold. Wednesday, he broke out in a rash. Thursday, he sprained his ankle… After a full week of this, I stood over the hospital bed, looking at the man who was now covered in a patchwork of bandages and minor injuries. For the first time, I began to seriously question the physical fortitude of this titan of industry. “Ethan,” I began, “do you have an inner-ear problem? Maybe an issue with your motor skills?” How else could a man sprain his ankle three separate times just walking out the hospital doors? And dislocate his shoulder? Ethan’s eyes, cold and sharp, flicked up to meet mine. “Are you questioning my abilities?” “No,” I said, speaking the honest truth. It wasn’t his abilities I was questioning. It was his intelligence. Can stupidity be inherited? I wondered, my eyes scanning him from head to toe. My gaze unconsciously paused on a certain area— Suddenly, his hand shot out and yanked me forward. I stumbled, a gasp escaping my lips as his scent—clean, masculine, and overwhelmingly familiar—enveloped me. Before I could react, he cupped my chin, his mouth crashing down on mine in a brutal, possessive kiss. “Mmph—” The force of it was too much. I’d been fighting off waves of morning sickness for days, and the sudden movement sent a violent lurch through my stomach. I struggled, trying to push him away, but his grip only tightened, pinning me against him. He moved against my lips, his voice a low, guttural growl against my mouth. “You won’t even let me touch you…” “Gag—!” And then it happened. I threw up. A splash of indeterminate liquid sprayed across the front of his pristine white hospital gown. He froze, his face a mask of pure fury. “Zoe Miller! Are you that disgusted by me? You actually threw up from a kiss!” 3 I couldn’t explain. There was no way to explain. Looking at his furious expression, the undisguised revulsion in his beautiful eyes, an idea—a desperate, brilliant idea—flashed in my mind. “Yes!” I declared, my voice shaking but firm. “I’m sick of you! I don’t want to play this game anymore! We’re done!” Ethan didn’t try to stop me. He just stared at me, his gaze cold and piercing, for a long, silent moment. Finally, he asked, his voice low and dangerous, “Zoe, are you sure you know what you’re saying?” The deep, powerful timber of his voice was laced with a pressure that was almost physical. And then… Blech. I threw up again. This time, it was more violent, a series of heaves that felt like I was trying to turn myself inside out. Jeez. Ethan’s temper was explosive, and it looked like the baby had inherited it. I was so consumed by my own misery that I didn’t see the flash of raw hurt in Ethan’s eyes. By the time I could breathe again, he was gone. Only his assistant remained, holding out a sleek, black credit card. “Ms. Miller, Mr. Hayes asked me to give you this. He said it’s a severance payment.” A titan to the very end. Even his breakups were generous. But… As I watched his silhouette—limping slightly, impossibly lonely—disappear down the long, sterile corridor, a strange ache bloomed in my chest. “Honey, you’re in love with him.” Sarah’s voice was matter-of-fact from the passenger seat of the taxi speeding toward the airport. “No way,” I retorted, clutching my stomach as another wave of nausea rolled over me. I took a sip of water, forcing it down. “It’s a business transaction, that’s all! How could I possibly be in love with him?” Sarah just shrugged. “No need to get defensive. It’s obvious he’s into you, too.” “Why else would he give you a black card?” “Because he has more money than he knows what to do with!” My heart gave a painful thud. Ethan likes me? Impossible. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, trying to ignore the sour knot of sadness in my gut. “He’s never been anything but cold to me. How could that be love? Besides, everyone knows about his college girlfriend, the great lost love of his life. They say he’s never gotten over her. He couldn’t possibly fall for someone like me.” I bit my lip, a sadness I couldn’t name welling up inside me. Sarah sighed. “I don’t know what kind of soap opera you two are starring in, but I bet you if you called him right now, he’d come running.” Me, call Ethan? You’ve got to be kidding. In three years, I had never once initiated a call. He was always too busy. He wouldn’t pick up. And besides… I rested a hand on my still-flat stomach. “I’m about to leave this city for good,” I murmured. “We’ll never see each other again…” My words were cut short by the deafening screech of tires and a massive, violent impact. My world tilted sideways, then went black. 4 I woke up in a hospital. As my eyes fluttered open, a young nurse holding a chart beamed at me. “You are so incredibly lucky. It was a huge accident, but you just have a small scrape on your forehead and a minor concussion. No other injuries.” She leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes shining. “Your boyfriend was so worried, though. He insisted we run a full battery of tests. Seriously, where did you find a guy who’s that handsome and that devoted?” Boyfriend? Who? Did I have one of those? I was still trying to process her words when Ethan strode into the room. He looked like he’d been through a war. His usually immaculate overcoat was smudged with dirt, and his deep eyes were locked on me with an intensity that felt like it could pull me under. The boyfriend… she couldn’t possibly mean him, could she? The nurse turned to him. “See? The test results are all back. I told you your girlfriend was perfectly fine.” The test results? A jolt of pure ice shot through my veins. I stared at him, my mind racing. Oh God, please don’t let him know. Please. The tests were for the crash, not for… not for inside stuff, right? I prayed, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. But my hope was shattered by the low, cold timber of his voice. “Zoe Miller, you’ve got some nerve.” He took a step closer, his shadow falling over me. “Thinking you could run away with my child?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385123”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my best friend’s birthday, I gave her a wishing system. She had no idea it was from me. Overjoyed, she made a wish of unparalleled cruelty. 【I wish Audrey Prescott becomes a public utility. Something for thousands of people to get in and out of, day and night!】 The good news: As the gift-giver, I could hear her silent wish. The bad news: I’m Audrey Prescott. 1 Today was Jenna’s birthday. I’d invited a few friends over to my place for a small party to celebrate. Jenna and I had been inseparable since middle school, the kind of friends who shared everything. That bond held strong through college, and we were more like sisters than anything else. For her birthday this year, I’d wired her $25,000. But I also had a special surprise just for her. A wishing system. I’d acquired it by chance after my cumulative donations to the Children’s Literacy Fund hit the ten-million-dollar mark. It was a one-time-use item, but it could grant its holder a single wish. The system had its limits, of course. It wouldn’t grant wishes that involved murder, fraud, or anything illegal or morally bankrupt. It was meant for things like winning the lottery or becoming stronger—wishes I didn’t particularly need. So, just a few moments ago, I had discreetly gifted the system to my best friend. 【Congratulations, Host. You have successfully bound to the Wishing System.】 【This system will grant you one wish.】 【Please make your wish.】 The system was now linked to her. Jenna looked completely bewildered, her eyes wide with the kind of panic you see in someone who thinks they’ve just seen a ghost. “What the hell was that!” I turned away, pretending to scroll through my phone, hiding a smile behind my hand. I’d had the exact same reaction when the system first bound to me. But I knew that in a moment, her confusion would turn to absolute ecstasy. Sure enough, a few minutes later, after the system had explained its function, a visible wave of excitement washed over her. Because I was the previous owner, I had the option to listen in on the current holder’s thoughts and the system’s responses. This feature would expire once the wish was granted. 【Can you really grant any wish I make?】Jenna thought, her mind racing. 【Yes!】 【Then I wish…】 【To make a wish, you must clasp your hands, close your eyes, and remain silent. Otherwise, the wish will be invalid.】 The ritual was specific and couldn’t be altered. If she was interrupted or broke the pose, the wish would be voided. But as she looked at me, something in her eyes felt strange. It wasn’t joy. It was closer to gloating. A flicker of discomfort went through me, but I pushed it down. I slid the birthday cake closer to her. “Make a wish, birthday girl!” The lights in the living room dimmed on cue. Jenna closed her eyes, her hands clasped tightly together. I watched the corners of her lips tremble, trying to suppress a smile. I found myself getting excited, wondering what she would choose. She’d talked endlessly about wanting plastic surgery, about becoming a famous actress and making a fortune. I knew she struggled with her appearance and craved wealth. I assumed she’d be torn between wishing for a huge lottery win or a complete physical transformation. But instead, surrounded by her friends, she spoke to the system with a chilling piety. 【I wish for Audrey Prescott to be utterly ruined! I wish her family’s company goes bankrupt! I wish she gets a terminal illness! I wish she would just drop dead right now!】 2 For a second after she made her wish, I thought I was hallucinating. What did she just wish for? Who did she want ruined? Whose company bankrupt? Who terminally ill? Who did she want to drop dead? Me? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It wasn’t until the system responded to Jenna that the reality crashed down on me. 【Host, you have one and only one wish. The current request contains too many wishes. Please make a new wish.】 Jenna was visibly disappointed. 【What? Why only one? It’s so hard to choose! Fine… then just have Audrey Prescott be ruined!】 【I wish for her to be gang-banged!】 What! Did she have any idea what she was saying? Confirming her wish a second time, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I just stood there, frozen. Had she been possessed? This was Jenna—my Jenna. We were sisters. We told each other everything. Why would she do this to me? A slideshow of our life together flashed through my mind, every shared laugh and secret now feeling like a lie. Looking at the slight, triumphant curve of her lips, a deep chill spread from my core. She looked exactly the same as she always did. Had she always been like this? A two-faced monster? All smiles and friendship to my face while secretly wishing for my death? The betrayal from the person I trusted most in the world sent a surge of pure, unthinking rage through me. I was about to raise my hand, to shove her and break the ritual— Then I heard the system’s voice again. 【Wish rejected. Prohibited keywords detected.】 Jenna fumed internally. 【What? You’re a wishing system! What do you care about prohibited words?】 Hearing the system reject her wish, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Thank God for the restrictions. It wasn’t some lawless genie that would grant any twisted desire. But the relief was short-lived. My heart, which had just settled, leaped back into my throat with her next wish. 【Make Audrey Prescott be forced to have sex with multiple men!】 【Detecting 325,478 individuals named Audrey Prescott. Please specify the target.】 【I wish for my best friend, Audrey Prescott, to be forced to have sex with multiple men!】 【Wish rejected. The request displays illegal and criminal intent.】 Jenna! Her eyes were squeezed shut, her brow furrowed, a desperate and distorted smile playing on her lips. I stared at her, my anger boiling. What had I ever done to deserve this level of hatred? I searched my memory, my conscience, and came up with nothing. I had never, ever wronged her. How could she be so vile? And she still had the nerve to call herself my best friend. After being rejected repeatedly, Jenna was getting agitated. And she wasn’t the only one. Our friends were getting restless. “Jenna, it’s been like ten minutes. What kind of wish takes this long?” “Come on, Jenna… it’s just a birthday wish, a tradition. Don’t take it so seriously.” The expressions of our friends shifted from patient amusement to annoyance. Two of the girls who had been standing beside her gave up, rolling their eyes as they walked away from the cake and back toward the media room to sing karaoke. The others waited a little longer, but when Jenna still didn’t move, they exchanged bewildered looks and started to snicker. Jenna heard their laughter. It made her even more anxious and angry. But she couldn’t open her eyes, or the chance would be gone. She kept her face serene, but inside, she was roaring. See! They’re all laughing at me! This is all your fault! You can’t do this, you can’t do that! What kind of useless system are you? The system, however, was indifferent to her tantrum. It replied with its monotonous, mechanical voice. 【Please make a new wish.】 3 Jenna was running out of options. She gave up on the overtly illegal wishes, abandoning her obsession with me being assaulted or violated. But her next attempts weren’t much better. 【I wish for my best friend, Audrey Prescott, to have a promiscuous sex life and contract HIV.】 【Wish rejected. Request violates public order and morality.】 【I wish for my best friend, Audrey Prescott, to fall in love with her own father and have his child!】 【Wish rejected. Request violates ethical and moral principles.】 【I wish for my best friend, Audrey Prescott, to fall from a building and become a quadriplegic!】 【Wish rejected. Request contains uncontrollable variables.】 … I could only laugh. A cold, hollow sound. Each wish was a masterclass in malice, completely rewriting my definition of the word “vicious.” Jenna was truly something else. I never knew she hated me this much. The sheer effort she was putting into crafting my downfall, twisting her own mind into such a dark place—it was almost impressive. Honestly, you’d think I had murdered her entire family. And through it all, she still considered herself my “best friend.” The candles on the cake had burned down completely, leaving waxy, red lumps pooled on the frosting like bloody droppings. It was disgusting. Jenna had been “wishing” for over half an hour now. She just stood there, ignoring everyone. When people tried to talk to her, she’d just shake her head, her brow furrowed, refusing to open her eyes. Her bizarre behavior made everyone uncomfortable, and one by one, they started making their excuses and leaving. As the host, I was the only one left, forced to listen to her dark, venomous fantasies. Now that I knew her true colors, there was no way I was going to let her succeed. The system was a gift and I couldn’t take it back, but I could still disrupt the ritual and make her lose her chance. Just as I moved to do it, the system made a sudden announcement. 【Host’s morality is judged to be corrupt. Wishing eligibility is being revoked.】 Jenna’s strange smile twisted into a mask of pure rage. 【You’re playing me!】 Ha! I never saw that coming. A small laugh escaped me, and I sank back onto the sofa, my hand dropping to my side. 【System unbinding in: 5】 【What? Unbinding? You lying piece of junk! You can’t grant a single wish, and now you want to unbind? You’re useless!】 【System unbinding in: 4】 【I’m sorry! Wait! Wait! I take it back, don’t unbind!】 【System unbinding in: 3】 【Let me try one more time! I won’t wish for that stuff! I’ll phrase it differently!】 【System unbinding in: 2】 【I wish for my best friend, Audrey Prescott, to become a public utility! Something for thousands of people to get in and out of, day and night!】 Heh. She just wouldn’t quit. After all those failed attempts, did she really think a simple change in phrasing would work? Did she take the system for an idiot? 【System unbinding… Wish detected. Request meets criteria. Wish will be granted.】 【Granting wish. Please stand by…】 What! How could it grant a wish that was so obviously corrupt? I had trusted the system, trusted its filters, but somehow Jenna’s wish had slipped through. “No!” I lunged forward, reaching out to push her over, to do anything to stop this. But in the next second, a violent, tearing pain exploded through my body. It was unbearable. I collapsed to the floor, screaming, my entire body convulsing. It felt like something was ripping me apart from the inside, forcing its way into every cell. The pain was too much. I blacked out. And just before I lost consciousness completely, I saw Jenna finally open her eyes. A slow, triumphant smile spread across her face. 【Congratulations, Host. Your wish is being granted…】

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385122”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel