Author: Momo Chan

I put Carter’s girlfriend in the hospital. Again. This time, though, he didn’t do what he always did. He didn’t fly back overnight to soothe my temper, to broker a fragile peace. Instead, he called. “Her birthday is next month. I promised her I’d marry her before she turns thirty.” A pause hung in the air, thick and heavy with unspoken history. “It’s been years, Sienna. Haven’t you had your pound of flesh?” The implication was clear. He wanted me to stop torturing them. He wanted a divorce. I looked around our apartment—the one his decorator had called a “masterpiece of minimalist harmony”—now a landscape of shattered glass and overturned furniture. A cold laugh escaped my lips. “I’d rather burn.” He wanted it all, didn’t he? The respectable divorce and the devoted mistress. The clean break and the clear conscience. The world doesn’t work that way. I hung up. Then I drove to the West Village and personally put a brick through the front window of the new restaurant he’d just bought for her. 1 Six years of marriage to Carter Prescott. Five years of him keeping another woman. It’s almost funny, in a tragic sort of way. We were the golden couple, the kind of childhood sweethearts that people write stories about. Everyone assumed we were destined for a perfect life. But just one year after we stood at the altar, Carter cheated. And the woman was three years older than him. When I first heard the rumors, I took two of my more intimidating friends and stormed the little bistro where she worked. We didn’t just make a scene; we orchestrated a symphony of destruction. Carter arrived to find me standing amidst the wreckage. He was immaculate in a Tom Ford suit, a stark contrast to the chaos. His first glance wasn’t for Ava, who was sobbing in a corner. It was for me. His eyes held a familiar mix of exhaustion and resignation. “Sienna,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t do this.” I couldn’t understand it. Where had I gone wrong? How could I have lost him to a line cook? “I had one of my stomach episodes that night,” he explained later, his voice soft, almost pleading. “The pain was… it was tearing me apart. But it was late, you were already asleep. I didn’t want to wake you… She noticed. She just… quietly made me some broth and sat with me for hours until it passed.” A light flickered in Carter’s eyes then, a warmth I hadn’t seen directed at me in a long, long time. “In all these years, she was the first person to make me soup when I was sick.” Carter hadn’t had an easy climb. The endless networking dinners and high-pressure deals had chewed through his stomach lining. But still. It was absurd. He was captivated by a bowl of soup? What about the foul-smelling herbal remedies our housekeeper brewed for him every morning, from a recipe I’d spent years tracking down from a specialist in Traditional Chinese Medicine? The regimen he’d been on, without fail, for six years, thanks to me. Did all of that mean less than a single bowl of chicken broth? 2 By the time Carter got to the restaurant, there was nothing left to break. Shards of porcelain and glass littered the floor like fallen stars. He froze at the door, his face a mask of disbelief. Then, with a sharp gesture, he ordered his security detail to handle the guys I’d hired. He scooped the trembling Ava from a corner, his voice devoid of any emotion as he looked at me. “Sienna, didn’t I tell you there wouldn’t be a next time?” Of course, he had. He said it every time I found a new way to torment Ava, every time I created a five-alarm fire that he had to exhaust himself putting out. I watched them, a cold smile playing on my lips. “You’d better make it stick this time, Carter. Go all out.” I lifted my chin, gesturing at the ruined restaurant. “Because otherwise, every time you build her a new dollhouse, I’m going to burn it to the ground. And I won’t just stop at the property. I’ll hire a PR firm to plaster her face all over the city. ‘Meet the chef whose specialty isn’t coq au vin, it’s stealing husbands.’” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a vicious whisper. “Let’s see who makes a reservation at the homewrecker’s table.” In his arms, Ava’s small sobs turned into ragged, suppressed whimpers. “Sienna, that’s enough! Keep your voice down,” Carter snapped, his voice sharp. “I was the one who pursued her. It has nothing to do with her. If you have a problem, you take it up with me.” I froze. I let his words sink in, turning them over and over in my mind. A laugh bubbled up, raw and painful, and soon, tears were streaming down my face along with it. “Fine,” I choked out. “You and me.” In the next instant, over Ava’s startled cry, I moved. My hand swung through the air. The sharp crack of my palm connecting with his cheek echoed in the ruined space. His head snapped to the side. He didn’t move, didn’t turn back, as if the force of the blow had short-circuited his brain. It was true. Since taking the reins of Prescott Holdings, no one had dared to lay a finger on him. After a long, charged silence, he slowly turned his head back to face me. His face was a thundercloud of fury, the words practically ripped from between his teeth. “I think a night in a holding cell is exactly what you need to cool off.” I watched, stunned, as he pulled out his phone and made the call, telling his contact on the other end to process it by the book. No special treatment. My voice trembled, but my gaze was defiant. “You’d better hope they can keep me for more than one night.” “Don’t worry,” he said, pocketing his phone, his eyes flat and cold as they met mine. “I’ll make sure of it.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384545”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The news broke on a Tuesday, splashed across every screen like a chemical spill. Oscar Winner Liam Carter: Secret Wife and Child Revealed. My first call was to my daughter. “Did you two have a baby without telling me?” The voice on the other end was a shattered wreck. “Mom,” she sobbed, each word a painful gasp. “I want a divorce.” 1 By the time I arrived at Claire’s penthouse, the place looked like it had been ransacked by a storm. The housekeeper had wisely locked herself in her room, a silent refusal to be caught in the crossfire. No one was cleaning this up. Liam was sitting on the sofa, his handsome face a blank mask, watching my daughter destroy their life together. Claire was hysterical. “Nine years, Liam! We’ve been together for nine years! Since you were a nobody waiting tables, I was there. I told you to chase your dream, and I paid the bills while you did.” She gestured wildly around the opulent room. “My own mother refused to even meet you for three years. I fought with her, I starved myself, I tried to kill myself twice just to make her accept you. And when she finally did? She bankrolled your career. She opened every door.” Her voice cracked, raw with betrayal. “The TV shows, the movies, that awful pop album you wanted to make… what have you ever wanted that my family didn’t hand you on a silver platter? How do you think you got that Oscar, Liam? Do you have any idea?” The dam of her rage finally broke. She sagged against the wall, the fight draining out of her, leaving only ragged sobs. Liam finally moved, rubbing a hand over his face. “Claire, just let me explain. I swear, it was just that one time. I was drunk, I was stupid… it was a mistake.” He glanced at me, then back at her. “She wouldn’t… she refused to get rid of the baby. What was I supposed to do?” I let the sound of my heels clicking on the marble floor announce my presence. I dropped my Birkin on the table with a thud and fixed him with a cold stare. “Talk. Now.” Claire collapsed into my arms, weeping. I held her for a moment, stroking her hair, then guided her toward her bedroom. “Go lie down, darling. I’ll handle this.” Once she was gone, Liam’s composure crumbled. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a pathetic sort of guilt. “Eleanor… I’m so sorry.” The story tumbled out of him, as predictable as it was sordid. It happened a little over a year ago, the night he won the Oscar. The entire studio celebrated until dawn. Claire was in London at the time, finishing her doctoral thesis, and they hadn’t seen each other in months. The combination of champagne, adrenaline, and loneliness, he claimed, led him into a “moment of madness” with his agent, Anya Reed. He said he’d been terrified of it coming out. He gave Anya a substantial sum to leave the agency and disappear. He thought that was the end of it. But she was already pregnant. She had the child in secret and then, a few months ago, reappeared, baby in tow, spinning a tale of a helpless single mother. Out of some misplaced sense of obligation to the child, Liam had been supporting them in secret ever since. The whole thing blew up a few nights ago when the baby developed a fever so high it triggered a seizure. He was rushed to the hospital. Liam, worried, snuck in for a visit. That’s when the paparazzi caught him. The photographer, a man named Vince Ray who ran a sleazy gossip site, had a personal vendetta against Liam after being publicly humiliated by him years ago. Ray didn’t even bother trying to negotiate a payout; he just ran the story. I listened to the entire pathetic saga without interruption. When he finished, I simply nodded. “Fine. My assistant will draw up the divorce papers. You and Claire are done.” To my surprise, Liam’s face crumpled. “No, Eleanor, please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I never wanted to divorce Claire. I love her. I truly love her.” 2 A celebrated actor, Hollywood’s golden boy, adored by millions. And this is what he amounted to. I’ve always known the entertainment industry is a sewer. That’s why, when Claire first brought Liam home, I vetted him for five years before I allowed them to get married. Even then, my instincts screamed caution. I insisted they keep the marriage quiet, terrified of a day just like this, a day my daughter would be turned into a public spectacle, a laughingstock. Claire was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. For thirty years, she’s been coddled and cherished, her path through life paved with gold. But a flower raised in a greenhouse is fragile, and hers had grown a hopelessly romantic heart. You could say Liam Carter was the only storm she had ever known. And now, the secret marriage was out. Only the wife in the picture wasn’t my daughter. Claire, who had apparently been listening from her room, burst out, her face swollen with tears. “Mom…” “I told you from the beginning he wasn’t right for you,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “You complained that the heirs I introduced you to were shallow. You said my world, the world of business, was soulless. Well, now you see. The entertainment industry is just a playground for capital. Did you really think their morals ran any deeper?” She bit her lip, her eyes flashing with a familiar, stubborn resentment. Liam seized the opening. “That’s not true, Eleanor. This was an accident. My feelings for Claire have never changed.” He wrung his hands. “It’s just… the child is innocent in all of this. That’s why I didn’t know what to do…” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t care about your process. I only care about results.” Just then, the doorbell chimed through the apartment. This was a high-security building in a gated community. Unannounced visitors were impossible. My eyes snapped to Liam. His jaw tightened. He clearly intended to ignore it. But my daughter, never one to let a confrontation pass her by, stalked to the door and flung it open. Standing in the hallway was a young woman with a deceptively innocent face. In her arms, she held a baby boy, perhaps six months old. The moment her eyes met mine, her own filled with tears. I didn’t have to say a word. “Mrs. Croft,” she began, her voice trembling. “Please, don’t blame Liam. This is all my fault. It was my idea, I seduced him that night. I’m the one who decided to have the baby, and I’m the one who used the child to pressure him. It has nothing to do with him!” She was a performer, I had to give her that. The tears streamed down her cheeks, a perfect picture of tragic beauty. I could almost see how Liam had fallen for it. Almost. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. “Child, don’t you worry,” I said, my voice dangerously sweet. “You just give me a few days. I promise I’ll have the baby’s father right back where he belongs.” Liam’s face went pale. He started to speak, but Anya cut him off with her next move. She gently placed the baby on the expensive Persian rug in the entryway, stood up, and looked at us with a heart-wrenching sob. “Whatever I did, it was my mistake alone. The baby is innocent. Please… I beg you, raise him. I’ll disappear. I promise you will never, ever see me again.” And with that, she turned and fled down the hall, her silhouette vanishing around the corner before anyone could react. 3 The baby couldn’t even sit up on his own, yet she had abandoned him on a stranger’s doorstep. The audacity was breathtaking. I raised an eyebrow and looked back at my own daughter. Claire, who had never faced a crisis more complicated than a canceled flight in her thirty years, was frozen in shock. The infant lay on the rug, waving his tiny fists and wailing. He was, I had to admit, a pitiful sight. I knew my daughter. Her impeccable upbringing, her soft heart—it wouldn’t allow her to simply cast the child out. Liam knew it, too. He quickly recovered, rushing past Claire to fetch the housekeeper from her room, instructing her to take the baby inside and quiet him down. And my daughter just stood there, watching it happen. “Are you just going to stand there?” I asked, my voice sharp. “Mom, I… what…” She stomped her foot in frustration. Liam, sensing an opportunity to smooth things over, opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “The woman brought her illegitimate child into your home. Are you not going to pack a bag and leave with me?” The words finally pierced through her shock. A spark of anger ignited in her eyes. “He’s right,” she said, her voice laced with venom. “How do I know what else in this house has been… used by someone else? I have a thing about germs. I can’t stand it.” She turned on her heel. “I don’t need to pack. There’s nothing here I want. Let’s go, Mom.” I nodded. A glimmer of her old fire. Good. Of course, once we were home, she dissolved into tears again. But by the next morning, her sorrow had sharpened into a towering rage. I was having breakfast downstairs when Claire came storming down, looking haggard but energized by fury. She slammed her iPad down on the table in front of me. “Mom! Look at this!” I glanced at the screen. It was Vince Ray’s gossip site, Spill, with a new headline. They claimed to have identified Liam Carter’s secret wife: Claire Croft, heiress to the Croft Holdings fortune, a highly educated beauty just returned from her studies abroad. If I hadn’t pulled her out of that apartment yesterday, she would now be trapped, besieged by a wall of cameras and reporters. By then, it wouldn’t matter if the child was hers or not. The world believes the first story it hears. Once the public decided the baby belonged to Claire and Liam, any attempt she made to deny it would just make her look like a liar. The illegitimate child would be laundered into their legitimate son. I took a slow sip of my coffee. “Liam’s former agent,” I said with a thin smile, “is a very clever woman.” I met Claire’s confused gaze. “They’re not just trying to drag your name through the mud, darling. They’re trying to make you wallow in it.” 4 That same day, Croft Holdings’ official social media account posted a three-word statement: There is no child. Within thirty minutes, it had over a hundred thousand comments. “The shorter the statement, the bigger the scandal!” “Give me a break, you really believe the tabloids? Liam probably doesn’t even know who this Claire person is. This is obviously the woman’s family trying to create buzz for their company.” “Are you in middle school? Do you have any idea what Croft Holdings is? They’re a top 3 company on the NYSE. In front of Claire Croft, your precious Liam is barely qualified to polish her shoes.” I paid no attention to the pointless online squabbles. Liam himself was standing in my office, along with the head of his talent agency, who was practically bowing. “Eleanor,” the man said, forcing a smile, “look, this has all gotten out of hand. It’s really not necessary. No matter what, Liam and Claire have been together for so many years…” “Get to the point,” I said, glancing at my watch. I had a meeting with our European distribution head in ten minutes. Their presence in my office was undignified. Liam knew my temper. He knew that if I was sufficiently annoyed, I would have security physically remove them. He stepped forward, his expression one of profound remorse. “Eleanor, I know I was wrong. I’ve already spoken to Anya. I’m going to send them both abroad, and they will never be allowed to come back. As for the child, we’ll just say Vince Ray was lying, that it was a child from my extended family…” “That story might work for your fangirls,” I cut in, my voice dripping with ice. “But what about my family’s reputation? Do you truly believe everyone in our circle is a gullible teenager?” In the end, I had them escorted out. When I got home, Claire told me Liam had called her, too, promising her the world. “What do you want to do?” I asked her. “Mom.” She covered her face with her hands, her voice muffled. “I honestly don’t know what to do anymore.” Nine years. Her first love. It was never going to be an easy break, especially not for a hopeless romantic. Finally, I gave Liam two options. One: He retires from acting, moves into our home, and lives under our family’s complete control. His life and career would be dictated by us. Two: Divorce. He would leave with nothing but the clothes on his back. Claire thought I was being too harsh, but I made her re-watch the security footage of Anya abandoning the baby on her doorstep three times. After that, she fell silent and acquiesced to my decision. But the next day, Liam made his own move. He posted their marriage certificate online, accompanied by a long, saccharine caption full of ambiguous, romantic drivel. It was a calculated strike, designed to cut off any path of retreat for Claire. By confirming the marriage himself, he was cementing the lie that the child was theirs, painting a false portrait of a happy, unified family. A bold, preemptive strike. I hadn’t thought he had it in him. Claire was stunned. The shock seemed to jolt her out of her melancholy. She rushed into my office, her face a mask of disbelief. “How could he do this?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384544”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I woke up in a trashy romance novel on the day of my divorce. Just as I was about to sign the papers, a series of glowing text boxes floated in front of my eyes: 【HIGH-STAKES DRAMA AHEAD! GET READY FOR THE GROVELING ARC!】 【LMAO, I can’t wait to see this scumbag refuse to sign, then break down and beg the female lead for forgiveness! Make him suffer!】 【He won’t sign. This is the moment he’s supposed to wake up and realize his one true love was framed by the other woman, right?】 I glanced at the comments, smirked, and signed the divorce papers without a moment’s hesitation. I’m not the actual main character. Why the hell would I want to grovel my way through a redemption arc? 1 I’d been transmigrated. Dropped right into the body of Damien Blackwood, the male lead of a cliché-ridden, melodramatic novel called The CEO’s Captive Heart. You know the type: cold, cruel, pathologically blind to the truth, and destined for a long, painful journey of groveling to win back the woman he’d wronged. A classic scumbag CEO. And right now, I was at City Hall, finalizing my divorce. The woman sitting next to me was beautiful, but her face was as pale as parchment. That was Evelyn, my wife—for the next five minutes, anyway. According to the novel, we’d been married for three years, during which I, as Damien, had been a textbook monster. I’d neglected her, humiliated her, accused her of cheating, and even caused her to have a miscarriage. Pure, unadulterated trash. But of course, underneath it all, I was supposedly madly in love with her. My cruelty was just a product of being manipulated by a two-faced schemer—my supposed “one true love” from the past—and provoked by Evelyn’s own suspiciously close male best friend. The plot was simple: the hero acts like a villain, the heroine suffers, the hero has a sudden epiphany, and then the groveling begins. A long, drawn-out redemption arc. The original Damien ends up with a broken leg, bankrupt, and nearly dead. And the best part? Evelyn still doesn’t forgive him. He goes through hell for nothing. It’s a tragedy. As I was mulling this over, those colorful, translucent text boxes started popping up again, obscuring my view. 【HERE IT COMES! THE GROVELING IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!】 【Wake up, Damien, you idiot! Look at everything Evelyn has sacrificed for you! If you sign those papers, it’s all over!】 【I’ll bet you fifty bucks he’s about to rip up the agreement and yell ‘I DON’T AGREE!’ It’s a classic!】 Live-chat comments? I got it. They were the audience, watching from another dimension. They were here for the show, waiting to see me suffer, to watch me crawl back on my hands and knees. I almost laughed out loud. A groveling redemption arc? What’s that got to do with me? I wasn’t the real Damien. Why should I suffer for some fictional idiot’s mistakes? A broken leg? Bankruptcy? Begging for forgiveness? You’ve got to be kidding me. Isn’t freedom better? A powerful, primal survival instinct kicked in. I had to get out of this story. Now. The clerk slid the divorce agreement in front of me and pointed to the signature line. Evelyn didn’t look at me. Her gaze was fixed on the tabletop, her eyes empty. She was already signing her copy, her pen moving quickly, forcefully, as if she were escaping a prison. The pen was right there. I picked it up. The comments were scrolling by in a frenzy. 【His expression is so cold. Is he really going to sign? No way!】 【He’s faking! He has to be! The explosion is coming any second now!】 【Getting my screen recorder ready for the iconic scene!】 I ignored the noise and brought the pen to the paper. The tip glided across the smooth surface. Damien Blackwood. My signature was clean and decisive. Not a single tremor in my hand. I put the pen down and pushed the document back to the clerk. “Done,” I said, my voice surprisingly light. The hall was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning. The clerk looked stunned, glancing from the papers to me, then to Evelyn. He probably hadn’t seen many divorces go this smoothly, especially from a CEO with a reputation for being obsessively in love with his wife. Evelyn had finished signing too. She finally looked up, her vacant eyes meeting mine. The emptiness was gone, replaced by something else. Shock. Utter disbelief. 2 The comments section imploded. 【!!!!!!!!!!】 【WTF???? HE SIGNED???? HE ACTUALLY SIGNED???】 【This isn’t in the script, director! Where’s the part where he rips up the papers?! Where’s the dramatic epiphany?!】 【AAAAAHHHH WHERE’S MY GROVELING ARC?! THIS ISN’T WHAT I PAID FOR! REFUND!】 The clerk, recovering quickly, processed the paperwork. A few minutes later, two crimson booklets were handed to us. The divorce certificates. It was done. I was emotionally, and now legally, a free man. I stood up and stretched. Evelyn was still sitting, staring at the certificate in her hand as if it were a branding iron. I didn’t spare her another glance. I turned and walked away. My steps were long and quick, eager to leave this place behind. The comments went berserk. 【He just left??? He really just left??? Didn’t even look back!】 【My redemption arc! My groveling! Did the writer just give up?!】 【DAMIEN! YOU GET BACK HERE! GET ON YOUR KNEES!】 【Wait a second… does he seem a little too… relieved?】 Stepping out of City Hall, I was hit by the bright sun. The air felt cleaner out here. The driver pulled the black luxury sedan to the curb. I got in, sinking into the plush leather seat. It was comfortable. “Back to the office, Mr. Blackwood?” the driver asked. “Yes.” I leaned back and closed my eyes. A dull ache was still throbbing in my head, but the weight in my chest was gone. I felt light. Lighter than I had in a long time. The car pulled into traffic, leaving City Hall behind. My phone vibrated. I pulled it out. The screen lit up with a name: “Vivian.” The other woman. The manipulative schemer who framed Evelyn and caused the miscarriage. The catalyst for the entire groveling arc. The comments instantly perked up. 【Here we go! It’s the other woman!】 【She’s definitely calling to ‘comfort’ him! Damien’s gonna go cry on her shoulder now!】 【Let the trashy couple rot together! Leave our Evelyn alone!】 Just seeing the name made me feel sick. I declined the call, then dragged the contact into my block list. The world instantly felt 50% cleaner. Another explosion in the comments. 【??? He hung up???】 【AND BLOCKED HER?? HOLY CRAP???】 【What the hell is this plot twist?!】 【This isn’t how the story goes! Damien, snap out of it!】 【Wait… does he know? Does he know Vivian framed Evelyn?】 【So what if he knows! It’s too late! Scumbag!】 The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Sir, that was Miss Sterling.” “Don’t mention her name again,” I said. My voice was quiet, but cold. The driver immediately shut up. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood.” The phone rang again. My assistant this time. I answered. “Mr. Blackwood, is everything finalized?” he asked, his voice hesitant. “Yes. It’s done.” “Should I arrange a settlement for… Miss Lin?” “Not a single penny. Stick to the prenup,” I cut him off. I remembered the prenup. Evelyn had signed it. She left with nothing. The original Damien had forced her to have the abortion and then kicked her out penniless because Vivian convinced him the child wasn’t his. “Have her things packed and thrown out of the house. Don’t send them anywhere. And get the keys back.” My assistant audibly choked. “Understood, sir. And… what should I tell your father? He’s always been very fond of her.” My father. The one person in the book who was decent to Evelyn. He’s also the one who eventually disowned Damien. “I’ll handle him.” “Now, head back to the office. I want a meeting with all department heads in one hour. I need to see the latest financial reports and project statuses. All of them. Anyone not in that conference room in thirty minutes can submit their resignation.” “Yes, Mr. Blackwood! Right away!” My assistant’s voice was suddenly sharp and efficient. He hung up. The comments were flying so fast they were a blur. 【Is this a divorce or a scorched-earth campaign?!】 【Cold-blooded! So damn cold-blooded! Evelyn wasted three years of her life on this monster!】 【Blocked Vivian, kicked out Evelyn, and now he’s going back to work? What the hell possessed this guy?】 【Did his business brain just activate? He’s all about the money now?】 【The groveling arc has officially been shredded and set on fire! LMAO (crying)】 3 I strode into my office at Blackwood Corp. A figure lunged at me, enveloped in a cloud of perfume. It was Vivian. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her voice cloying. “Damien! Why did you block me? What did I do wrong?” I sidestepped her. She stumbled, catching herself just before she fell. “Damien?” she whimpered, her face a mask of wounded confusion. I walked past her and sat down behind my desk. I looked up, my gaze like ice. “Who let you in?” “My assistant told me about the divorce. I was worried about you.” She started to move closer. “Get out.” “What?” Vivian froze. “Right now. Get out of my office.” I pointed to the door. “And don’t ever come near this building again.” Her face flushed, then drained of color. “Damien, how could you…” “Security!” I buzzed the front desk. The comments were losing their minds: 【Damn, that’s harsh! He’s treating the ‘love of his life’ like this?!】 【Vivian’s face is priceless! HAHAHA!】 【That was a slap in the face! So satisfying!】 【Did Damien take the wrong pills this morning?!】 【It’s like he hates everyone now?】 Two security guards appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Blackwood?” “Escort Miss Sterling out. And from now on, she is not permitted in this building without my express approval.” I looked down at a file, dismissing her completely. “Yes, sir.” The guards turned to Vivian. “Miss Sterling, please.” “Damien! You’re a bastard! I hate you!” she shrieked as the guards firmly led her away. The office was finally quiet. The comments kept rolling: 【He really kicked her out! Savage!】 【The main love interest just got demoted to a random extra? The plot is in shambles!】 【I don’t understand this development, but I am thoroughly shaken!】 【Is the scumbag turning over a new leaf? No, wait, this isn’t redemption, this is a complete personality transplant!】 I ignored them. My phone rang again. It was the butler from the family estate, informing me that my father demanded my immediate presence. I drove to the old Blackwood mansion. The old man was on the sofa, his face livid. To my surprise, Evelyn was there too. She was standing in the middle of the living room next to an open suitcase, methodically packing a few items of clothing. She paused when she heard me enter but didn’t turn around. The old man saw me and slammed his hand on the armrest. “You insolent whelp! You’d better explain yourself!” “Father, you see for yourself. It’s done,” I said calmly. “She’ll be gone as soon as she’s finished packing.” “Gone?” He shot to his feet. “Who said she’s leaving?!” He strode over to Evelyn and slammed the suitcase shut. “Evelyn, you stop that right now! You’re not the one who’s leaving!” Evelyn’s hands hovered in mid-air. The old man whipped around, his finger practically in my face. “You’re the one who’s getting out! Damien! I have no son who is so heartless, so blind!” Another explosion in the comments: 【Whoa! Go, Dad! Put him in his place!】 【Damien must be terrified now! Time to beg for forgiveness!】 【Here it comes! The breakdown! The pleading!】 4 The old man turned back to Evelyn, his voice softening. “Evelyn, don’t go. Damien has changed, really. I just got word he blocked that Vivian woman and had her banned from the company. He still loves you!” Seeing that I wasn’t reacting, my father’s chest heaved with rage. “Damien! I’m telling you right now! If you dare to go through with this divorce, you can get the hell out of this family! The Blackwood fortune will have no heir named Damien Blackwood! Evelyn is a wonderful woman, and you’ve done nothing but torture her! Without her, you are nothing!” He glared at me, waiting. Waiting for me to break, to beg, to have the great epiphany the novel had promised. I looked at him. Then I looked at Evelyn. She was watching me too, her lips pressed into a thin line. The air was electric. I nodded. My voice was perfectly calm. “Alright.” The old man froze. Evelyn’s eyes widened, just a fraction. A flicker of some unreadable emotion crossed her face. It looked like pure, unadulterated shock. Maybe even a hint of curiosity. The comments stuttered, then erupted. 【????????????】 【What did he say?】 【‘Alright’? That’s all he said?】 【Wait… hold on… did he get the wrong script?】 【His father just disowned him and he said ‘alright’?】 【He’s lost it! Damien has completely lost his mind!】 【Look at Evelyn’s face! Even she didn’t see that coming!】 【HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP! WHAT IS THIS PLOT TWIST?!】 【He didn’t just shred the groveling script, he set it on fire and pissed on the ashes! He’s giving up his family for this?】 My father stood there, speechless, his face turning purple. Evelyn’s gaze was fixed on me. I ignored them both and turned, heading upstairs to my room to pack. The taste of freedom was intoxicating. The comments were still going wild: 【He’s giving up his inheritance? Just to get a divorce?】 【This guy has achieved a new level of scumbag? An iron-willed scumbag?】 【Evelyn: I spent three years preparing for a tragic romance, and you give me this?】 【My world is crumbling! I can’t watch this show anymore!】 Just then, Evelyn stepped in front of me, blocking my path. Her expression was flat. “Damien, I’m the one who should leave. But I need you to know, the baby I lost was yours. It wasn’t Idris’s. I never cheated on you. You can stop playing these push-and-pull games. I’m not coming back.” I squinted at her, a lazy grin on my face. “I’ll personally drive you to the airport. Your words are music to my ears. By the way, there’s a corporate gala tonight. Please, whatever you do, don’t show up. I really don’t want to see you there.” Her brow furrowed, a flash of anger in her eyes. I examined my fingernails. “If you don’t go, then Idris won’t go. I’m not inviting Vivian. Everything will be perfect. I’m begging you, stay away.” She just stared at me, confused. I’d read the book. I knew the cliché scene that was supposed to happen tonight. At the gala, Damien sees Evelyn arrive with her “best friend” Idris Vance. Consumed by jealous rage, Damien grabs Vivian and kisses her, escalating the drama. He then gets into a fistfight with Idris, pushing Evelyn away for good. Finally, his father publicly disowns him, and the groveling arc officially begins. By telling her not to come, I was trying to avoid all of that. A clean break. Everyone wins. But if they did show up, I wouldn’t be playing by the book’s rules anymore. I already had evidence the original Damien never found. Freedom felt too good. Who had time for their pathetic love-hate games? I didn’t need to chase anyone, bow to anyone, or be a puppet for some trashy plot. I wanted my own time, my own space, my own future. Screw the groveling. Screw the melodrama. I was here to make money, build an empire, and live my own goddamn life. But Evelyn, in a complete break from her usual character, lifted her chin, a stubborn glint in her eye. “I’m going. Who are you to tell me what to do?” As expected, the comments went wild. 【Evelyn: You want me to listen? Sorry, my rebellious phase just started!】 【The story of how my ex-husband told me not to go to a party, so I obviously had to go.】 【Damien vs. Idris! Place your bets!】 【Tonight is gonna be a war zone! Can’t wait to see Damien break down and beg!】 【I’ve read the book, a massive showdown is coming! If the male lead doesn’t suffer, I’ll eat my own shoes!】

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384543”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My coworker found out my boyfriend was a trust fund kid and crawled into his bed. Two months later, she sauntered over to my desk, nose in the air. “I’m pregnant with your boyfriend’s baby. You should back off now, before things get ugly.” Whose baby? I froze. The “rich boyfriend” she was talking about… is a woman. So whose baby was it? 1 The moment I walked into the office, my coworker, Amber, slid up to me with a sly grin. “Mia,” she purred, “who was that dropping you off downstairs?” I played along. “My boyfriend, of course.” Her voice dripped with a sour mix of envy and teasing. “Well, well, keeping a secret boyfriend from us, are we? I saw the car. It was gorgeous.” She nudged me. “So, when do we all get to go out for dinner and meet this mystery man?” My best friend, Alex, is tall, has an androgynous look, and recently chopped her hair short. So, half-jokingly, I call her my boyfriend. She’d let me crash at her place last night and gave me a lift to work this morning. I never thought anyone would see. But Amber had taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker. Now she wanted a double date. I couldn’t help but smile, brushing it off. “Maybe some other time.” Her face instantly soured. She rolled her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think just because your boyfriend has money, you can hide him away? So much for being ‘besties’.” The passive-aggressive tone was grating. She wasn’t done. “Are you afraid we’ll steal him away? Worried you don’t quite measure up to his status?” she sneered. “Don’t get too comfortable. Rich guys like him stick to their own kind. You’ll probably be dumped before you know it.” That was it. “My relationship is none of your business.” I was about to swing my Chanel bag right at her smug face. Jessica, who shared our office space, saw the storm brewing and quickly stepped between us. “Mia, calm down. Amber’s just having a bad day.” Our other colleague, Gita, moved to hold Amber back, who looked ready to lunge. “Alright, Amber, that’s enough.” I lowered my bag, a cold smile on my face. “Apologize. Right now. Or I swear I’ll rip that gossiping mouth right off your face.” Amber knew she’d crossed a line, and with both coworkers telling her to back down, her eyes welled up with tears. “I wasn’t wrong! Why are you all taking her side?” With that, she shoved Gita aside and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her. Jessica gave me an awkward smile. “Mia, don’t mind her. Amber’s fresh out of college, she doesn’t have a filter. Just… maybe be careful she doesn’t get too close to your boyfriend.” I didn’t say anything, just sat down and buried myself in my work. My best friend is a woman, and she’s very, very straight. Amber would need to sprout some new anatomy to have a chance. 2 After that day, Amber started watching me. Secretly. Sometimes, I’d feel her presence and find her standing right behind my desk, trying to read my phone over my shoulder. Just then, a message from Mr. Evans, one of the general managers, popped up. Mr. Evans: Ms. Kim, The Grand Astoria is doing a new buffet brunch. Would you care to join me? Mr. Evans must have figured out who I am. Ever since I started this internship at one of my family’s subsidiary companies, he’d been engineering “chance encounters” and asking me out. I was typing out a polite refusal when I felt that prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I whipped my head around. Amber. Peeking at my screen again. I instantly locked my phone and stared her down. She just picked up her water bottle and walked away as if nothing had happened. Once she was gone, I texted Mr. Evans back, telling him to focus on his work. Then I replied to a message from Alex. As luck would have it, a friend from college was having a birthday party at an event space right next to The Grand Astoria. She’d invited both me and Alex. Alex was texting to coordinate a time to pick me up. Before leaving work, I touched up my makeup. Gita winked at me. “Getting all dolled up for a hot date?” she teased. “Guess we won’t be seeing you tomorrow morning, huh?” As I applied my lipstick, I realized we might be out late, maybe even hit an after-party. I nodded. “I might be late tomorrow. Could you do me a huge favor and clock in for me?” “You got it.” The second the clock hit five, I was downstairs, sliding into the passenger seat of Alex’s Aston Martin. From her electric scooter, Gita watched us go, sighing wistfully. “A rich, handsome boyfriend. Some girls have all the luck.” A few feet away, Amber watched us pull away, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she hopped on her own scooter and pulled up a map on her phone. We partied until almost 11 PM before a few of us decided to hit up a karaoke bar. As Alex went to get the car, I glanced across the street and saw a familiar figure emerging from The Grand Astoria. It was Amber. Was she having dinner there? Alex pulled up to the curb, and the thought vanished. I got in the car, and we drove off. 3 The next day, Amber was back to her old self. The constant staring stopped. Without her eyes boring into the back of my head, I could finally breathe—and use my phone—in peace. But something else had changed. Amber’s makeup and outfits grew more elaborate by the day. Rumors started flying around the office that she must have snagged a boyfriend. One morning, she walked in swinging a Louis Vuitton tote, casually flashing a new Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet on her wrist. Jessica gasped. “Amber! You look amazing! And that bag… spill! Your new boyfriend bought it for you, didn’t he?” Gita leaned in, her eyes wide. “That bracelet looks super expensive, too. Is it real?” Amber lifted her chin, basking in the attention. “You like it? It’s Van Cleef. Cost over three thousand,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “My boyfriend knows I love nice things. He saw it and just bought it for me, no questions asked.” Jessica and Gita fawned over her, admiring her new trinkets. I glanced over once and lost interest. You could spot the cheap knockoffs from a mile away. Suddenly, Amber was standing in front of my desk, reaching into her bag. Just then, Mr. Evans appeared at the office door. His eyes darted to me for a second, then settled on Amber. He scanned her new bag and bracelet, his expression darkening. “Amber,” he said, his voice flat. “My office. Now.” Amber’s voice went sugary sweet. “Okay, Mark!” She shot me a triumphant smirk before sashaying out. I watched the bizarre little performance, shrugged, and went back to my work. I never could have predicted what would happen when she returned. She slapped a piece of paper down on my desk—a lab report. Then she stood over me, looking down her nose with an air of absolute victory. My eyes snagged on the bold letters at the top. 【PREGNANCY: CONFIRMED】. “I’m pregnant,” she announced. I blinked, stunned. “Uh…” was all I could manage, before blurting out, “It’s not mine.” The whole office went silent. Everyone was staring. My response threw her off for a second, but she quickly recovered, her smugness returning. “Sorry to break it to you, but your boyfriend fell for me the moment he saw me.” Her voice turned sharp. “I’m pregnant with his child. You need to back off now, before things get really ugly.” Jessica and Gita were frozen, their mouths hanging open in shock. “I told you you’d get dumped, didn’t I?” Amber continued, her hand drifting possessively to her bracelet. “And look at you now. I’m carrying his baby. It won’t be long before I quit this dead-end job and become a trophy wife.” 4 A trophy wife? Unwed, pregnant by another woman’s man, and scheming to marry into wealth? No family with real money would ever let a woman like that through the front door. And she kept saying it. My boyfriend. Good Lord, I was single! What boyfriend? I frowned, mentally rewinding through my entire life. No “boyfriend” to be found. “Just to be clear,” I asked carefully, “which one of my boyfriends are we talking about?” Gita let out an audible snort. Amber’s brow furrowed, taking me completely seriously. She actually started defending my non-existent man. “Wow. So you’re a cheater, too. A woman like you has no right to compete with me.” She was on a roll now, lost in her own fantasy. “Once I have his son, his family’s entire fortune will belong to us.” Her voice was a giddy, nonstop stream of delusion. “Remember The Grand Astoria, two months ago? I knew I was destined to marry rich. It only took one time.” The Grand Astoria? My mind flashed back to my college friend’s birthday party. But my “boyfriend” is a woman. And we never even set foot in the hotel. So whose baby was it? She’d been watching me, spying on my phone for weeks. Could she have… gone to the wrong room? Mistaken someone else for my “boyfriend”? This was a disaster, but a pregnancy was no small thing. I couldn’t let my stupid joke ruin her life. “Look, that baby definitely isn’t—” She cut me off. “Don’t you dare try to talk me out of this! I am not getting rid of this baby. You need to break up with Mark, now. If you don’t, I’ll tell him what a cheater you are!” I almost laughed out loud. Then I saw the bracelet and bag again. If this “Mark” had bought her things, they were obviously still in contact. He had to know about the baby. Why was I trying to be the hero here? She’d made her bed. So I played along. “If he wants to be heartless, then so can I. I’m blocking him right now.” I put on a show of furious tapping on my phone. “And I hope you have a whole litter of boys for him!” She smirked. “Glad you know when you’re beaten.” With the swagger of a conquering hero, she strutted back to her desk. Across the room, Jessica and Gita exchanged a look and quietly went back to their work. 5 Once the pregnancy was out in the open, Amber began acting like the office princess. She was constantly ordering people around, even pawning off her work on others. “Gita, sweetie, could you get me some water? The break room is so crowded, I’m afraid someone will bump into my tummy.” “Jessica, could you print this for me? The printer is so far, and my legs are aching.” She started wearing oversized maternity clothes, even though she wasn’t showing. She’d wander the office, one hand protectively on her flat stomach, sighing dramatically. “Oh, everyone was right, pregnancy is so hard. Being a mother is the toughest job in the world. I’m barely a few weeks along, and I just feel so… delicate.” Then, she turned her attention to me. “Mia, I’m not an unreasonable person. I know you and my boyfriend had a past, but that’s over now.” She paused, then snapped her fingers. “I’m craving one of those gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches from that place downtown. Go get one for me.” She patted her stomach. “And make sure it has extra bacon. For the baby.” I was already swamped with work, and now this? The incessant chatter was one thing, but treating me like her personal assistant was another. I ignored her, pretending I couldn’t hear over the clatter of my own keyboard. She marched right up to my desk and shoved my keyboard aside. It slammed into my water glass, sending a wave of water across my desk, soaking a stack of documents. “Are you deaf?! I’m talking to you! I want a grilled cheese!” Pregnancy had turned her into a monster. Ordering Jessica and Gita around was their business, but did she really think she could push me around? Frantically, I righted the glass, my face darkening with fury. “You want one? Go get it yourself! Are you looking for a fight, you idiot?” Her face contorted. “How dare you talk to me like that?” I picked up the half-empty glass, ready to douse her with the rest of the water. Gita rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Mia, stop! Think about it! If something happens to her, it’ll be a nightmare for you. It’s not worth it.” Fuming, I slammed the glass down, shot Amber a death glare, and went to reprint my ruined files. 6 When I got back, Amber was waiting, her eyes fixed on my empty hands. “Where’s my sandwich?” she demanded. I ignored her. And so, the drama continued. “I’m so hungry,” she whined to the room at large. “I just asked for one little sandwich, and she couldn’t even do that. How did I end up with such a useless, uncaring coworker during my pregnancy?” I slapped the fresh stack of papers onto my desk. “If I’m so ‘uncaring,’ then quit. Find a new job with a new set of maids—I mean, coworkers—who will wait on you hand and foot.” I smiled sweetly. “All I’ve got for you here is a slap. You hungry for that?” Humiliated and sandwich-less, Amber shrieked, “You can’t talk to me like that! I’ll have Mark fire you right now, you see if I don’t!” I raised an eyebrow. My name is Mia Kim. My father is the founder of this corporation. The office I was “interning” in was just one of our many branches. Who the hell was this “Mark” that he thought he could fire me? The King of England? “Please do,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Go find your Mark. Tell him to fire me immediately. I’d love nothing more.” “You just wait! Don’t come crying to me when you’re out on the street!” She stormed out, slamming the door again. A little while later, she came back, looking as if nothing had happened, though she couldn’t quite meet my eye. I crossed my arms. “So? When am I getting fired? Did your Mark give you a date?” Her confidence was gone, but she tried to bluff. “Mark is a very busy man! He doesn’t have time for petty things like you! You should be grateful! The second he has a free moment, you’re done!” I watched her performance with amusement. “Good. I’ll be waiting.” It was becoming clear her boyfriend was probably some middle-manager in this branch. All it would take was a quick search for Amber to find out who I really was, but she hadn’t bothered to do her homework. She was so blinded by her fantasy of marrying rich that she thought her “Mark” was more powerful than me. It was pathetic, really. Unwed and pregnant, trying to leverage a baby to climb a social ladder that didn’t even exist. But still, I was curious. Who exactly was this “Mark”? Then I remembered her snooping on my phone, and a name flashed in my mind. Oh. I think I knew. 7 My birthday was approaching, but Alex had been dragged out of town by her father for a business deal. Worried she wouldn’t make it back in time, and knowing I was stuck at the office all day, she had my birthday present delivered directly to me, cash on delivery. I carried the box back to my desk. The sender’s name read: “To Mia, from your loving husband.” Alex, you goof. I smiled and tore open the package. Gita, who had been peering over my shoulder, let out a low whistle. “Wow, Mia, what is that? It’s beautiful! I want one!” Inside the exquisite box lay a watch with a white face and an 18k rose gold case. A Patek Philippe. The receipt was still inside. Gita glanced at the price and gave a weak laugh. “Never mind. A good knockoff will have to do.” Hearing Gita’s comment, Amber hurried over. “A corporate drone like you could never afford a watch like that,” she muttered under her breath. Then her eyes fell on the shipping label. Her face changed in an instant. She snatched the box from the desk and ripped the watch from my hands. Gita instinctively tried to shield it. “Amber, what are you doing? That’s Mia’s! It’s incredibly expensive, be careful!” My face hardened. “I don’t remember telling you to touch my things. Give it back.” Amber inspected the watch, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. Then she glared at me, her voice rising to a shout. “Your things? Mia Kim, you have no shame! Did you even read who sent this?!” “You swore to me you’d break up with Mark, and now you’re seducing him into buying you gifts? What is wrong with you?!” Jessica and Gita were stunned. They scrambled to pick up the discarded shipping label. Jessica looked at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Mia,” she whispered, “it says it’s from your ‘loving husband’… You didn’t actually…” I sighed. “Seriously? It’s from my loving best friend husband.” I put heavy emphasis on the words “best friend.” Jessica nodded in understanding. She had a friend like that, too; they were so close they joked about being a couple all the time. I reached for the watch. Having this idiot’s hands all over my gift from Alex was making my skin crawl. I was not being gentle. When she realized she couldn’t win the tug-of-war, Amber let go and burst into loud, theatrical sobs. Someone walking past the office heard the commotion and poked their head in to see what was happening. Seeing an audience, Amber seemed to have an idea. She ran out into the main office area, her wails attracting a crowd of coworkers. “Mia Kim is sleeping with my husband!” she shrieked. “She gets him to buy her designer bags! I’m pregnant with his child, and I begged her, I begged her to leave our family alone!” She pointed a trembling finger back at me. “And today, he sent her a watch worth tens of thousands of dollars! I confronted her, and she denied everything!” She held up the shipping label like a trophy. “But the proof is right here! It says it’s from my husband!” Tears streamed down her face. “I’m pregnant! What am I supposed to do?” Most of the people out here were junior employees who had no idea who I was. Seeing Amber’s pathetic, tear-streaked performance, they immediately took her side. A few of the older women, trapped in their own unhappy marriages, looked at me with daggers in their eyes. “So that’s the kind of person Mia is. A homewrecker! She deserves to die alone!” “Shameless. Stealing a coworker’s husband.” “I always thought she came from a good family. Turns out all her nice things came from being a mistress.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384542”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I awakened to my family’s Serpentine Bloodline. Upon reaching adulthood, we are granted a choice: to choose our gender once more. In my last life, to be with the man I loved, I chose to remain a woman. I became a devoted wife and mother. I helped him grow from a small business owner into one of the wealthiest men in the city. I raised our son and daughter and saw them into Ivy League schools. But on my fiftieth birthday, I ate a slice of cake my husband had baked for me with his own hands. And I began to spit out mouthfuls of black blood. My children stood by and watched. They made no move to call for an ambulance. “Just let go, Mom,” my son said calmly. “Auntie Sylvia will take good care of us and Dad.” “Yeah,” my daughter added, her voice flat. “Honestly, being your kid is a total embarrassment.” Everything they had, they owed to me. Yet they cast me into the abyss without a second thought. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the family sanctum. The clan elder held out the ceremonial parchment, the one that would seal my choice. “Elara,” he said gently. “It’s time to decide.” 1 I took the parchment from the elder’s hands and, stroke by stroke, wrote down my new name. When the final stroke was complete, the decision would be irreversible. The elder looked at me, his eyes wide with surprise. “Are you truly certain? You wish to live the rest of your life as a man?” “And what of your young man, Joey? Can he accept you after… the change?” As he spoke, Joey himself was standing just outside the sanctum’s doors, watching me with an eager, hopeful expression. As an outsider, he could neither enter nor hear our words. I reverently lit the parchment, letting the smoke carry my choice to our ancestors. I offered the elder a small smile. “Grandfather, my mind is made up. But until the transformation is complete, I ask that you keep this a secret for me.” “As you wish. It is your life to command,” he sighed. “The ritual will be complete in one week. Your new identification will be delivered then.” One week. I mouthed the words. In one week, I would have a new life, a future so bright it felt like a dream. But first, I had to deal with Joey. As I stepped out of the sanctum, he rushed to my side, grabbing my hand. “Elara, I know what you’ve sacrificed for me. I swear, I will never let you regret it.” He looked deep into my eyes. “Will you forge a pact with me?” I froze. He never mentioned a pact in our last life. Could he have been reborn, too? I decided to test him. “A pact isn’t like a marriage, Joey. Once it’s forged, we can never be parted. Can you truly promise to love me for a lifetime, and never fall for another?” “Of course,” he vowed, his gaze intense. But I could see it, hiding behind the performance—the same cold, ruthless ambition I saw in his eyes as he watched me die. “Elara, the very thought of losing you is agony,” he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. “Please, say you’ll do it. Say yes.” A phantom pain twisted in my gut, as if the poison from my last life was still coursing through me, tearing me apart from the inside. I suppressed the bitterness and smiled brightly at him. “Alright, Joey. I accept.” “I don’t want to be apart from you either. Let’s forge the pact right now.” I snipped a lock of his hair and bound it together with one of my own. We took it back to the elder, who burned the offering in the sanctum’s sacred brazier. “I, Elara, and Joey, bind our hair and our hearts as one, our love true and eternal.” The elder opened his mouth as if to protest, “But Elara, aren’t you…?” He caught himself, remembering my request. He gave us both a long, complicated look before letting out a heavy sigh. As I watched our hair turn to ash in the flames, a genuine smile finally touched my lips. That night, Joey sat down with my parents to discuss the wedding. The gentle, adoring man from the sanctum was gone. He sat at the head of the table and, without even looking up, addressed my mother. “So, when are you transferring the deeds for the houses and cars to my name?” My mother’s face darkened. “What did you just say?” “Let’s be blunt,” Joey said, finally meeting her gaze. “I don’t have any money. You’ll have to cover all the wedding expenses. Or we can skip the wedding, I don’t really care.” “But once we’re married, Elara is my wife. Her property will be my property. What’s the difference if you transfer it now or later?” He casually placed a drumstick on my plate, a smug look on his face. “Isn’t that right, Elara?” My parents turned to me, their expressions grim. They knew the final decision was mine. “You hear that, Elara?” my mother said, her voice tight. “You’re not even married, and he’s already trying to seize our family’s assets. What kind of life will you have with him? Even if you remain a woman, we can find you a good man. Just say the word, and we’ll throw him out this instant.” My father silently picked up a heavy wooden cane. Joey yelped. “You can’t! We’ve already forged the pact! If she doesn’t marry me, she will die!” My parents looked as if they’d been struck by lightning. Seeing my silence, they began to scold me, calling me a fool, their anger so great I feared my mother would have a heart attack. I placed a calming hand on her shoulder. They had yet to witness the true depths of Joey’s depravity. Fate had given me this second chance to show me what a true abyss looked like. I turned to Joey. “All of our family’s assets, except for the house my parents currently live in, are in my name. That’s sixteen villas, two historic townhouses, seventy commercial properties, thirty-four cars, and about six hundred million in savings.” “If you want it, I’ll transfer it all to you. We’ll just leave this one house for my parents. Do you agree?” A fire ignited in Joey’s eyes. In his last life, he had become a tycoon with only a fraction of my support. He knew I was wealthy, but he never dreamed I was this wealthy. “Deal,” he said instantly. “But your parents have to write their wills now. When they die, this house must be in my name only.” His greed didn’t surprise me. I agreed to his terms. As the final transfer of funds went through, a single, iridescent serpent’s scale materialized on his left forearm. “What is this?” he asked, startled. “A mark of our pact,” I explained calmly. “When all three scales have appeared, the pact will be complete and unbreakable.” “Why didn’t I have this before?” he muttered to himself, then quickly fell silent. He looked at me, stripped of my entire fortune, yet still watching him with a serene, untroubled gaze. He looked away, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Don’t be upset,” he said, trying to sound magnanimous. “My money is your money, right? I’ll take care of you. It’s better for the man to hold the assets. It keeps the family stable.” In my last life, I was the one who initiated the pact. When he swore to be good to me then, his performance was far more convincing. And what did that get me? A cup of poison and an early grave. With my money, Joey first bought himself his dream motorcycle. Then he went on a shopping spree, buying mountains of jewelry, designer clothes, and luxury skincare—all things for a woman. The transaction notifications flooded my phone. His gift to me? A nine-ninety-nine, gold-plated bracelet from a cheap online store. I accepted it with a smile, without a single word of complaint. Four days before the ritual was to be completed, Joey dragged me from my bed in the middle of the night. Clad only in my pajamas, I was pulled into his car and driven to the hospital. “My sister was in a car accident,” he said, his voice tense. “You have the same blood type. You have to donate.” When we entered the emergency room, I knew. His “sister” was Sylvia. The “Auntie Sylvia” my son had spoken of. The woman Joey and my children had truly loved. He grabbed a nurse who was heading into surgery. “Take her blood,” he commanded. “You have to save Sylvia, no matter what it takes.” The nurse drew 400cc of my blood. Joey’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you need 1000cc? Why are you stopping?” The nurse looked at him, flustered. “Sir, drawing more than 400cc at once is dangerous. If we take 1000cc, this woman could go into shock. Besides, the patient’s injuries aren’t life-threatening, and we have a blood supply on the way.” “I don’t care. Her blood is better. Use hers.” He gestured at me. “She’s my wife. You think I don’t know what her body can handle? A measly 1000cc of blood is nothing to her.” Onlookers began to murmur. “What a monster. Is he using his wife as a walking blood bag?” “Seriously, all blood is the same. I think he’s just trying to kill her.” “Honey, don’t do it,” a woman whispered to me. “It’s not worth hurting yourself for someone else.” I just smiled and extended my arm to the nurse. “It’s fine. Draw the blood. This is what Joey wants from me. I have to give it to him.” The nurse stared at me as if I were insane. The people who had just defended me now muttered that I was an idiot, that you can’t save someone who’s determined to die. I didn’t flinch. I watched as the life drained out of me, tube by tube. How did Joey know my blood was “better”? In our last life, he had been in the ICU with a severe case of pneumonia. The doctors had given up on him. It was my blood, brewed into a special medicinal draught, that brought him back from the brink. So this time, even though the hospital had plenty of blood, even though Sylvia’s life wasn’t in danger, he was still determined to drain me dry for his one true love. I faded into unconsciousness. When I awoke, Joey was by my bedside. I lifted the sleeve of his shirt. There, on his left arm, was a second serpent scale. He saw the scale, a complex emotion in his eyes. He spoke softly. “Elara… I never realized how much you loved me. I was wrong. I’m so sorry.” “The doctor said you lost too much blood. You had a miscarriage. They couldn’t save your uterus. You won’t be able to have children again.” I smiled faintly. “Is that so? Well, what’s gone is gone. I don’t mind.” “You’re not angry?!” Joey stared at me, his expression shifting from remorse to rage. “That was our child! Why aren’t you sad that it’s gone? Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?!” As if it would have made a difference. Besides, why would I want Joey’s child? I had raised two of them already. I gave them the best life, the best education money could buy. My son was brilliant but rebellious. My daughter was obedient but dull. Did he think they got into the Ivy League on their own merit? It was all due to my family’s influence and my own tireless efforts. And did those two vipers ever show me an ounce of gratitude? They watched me writhe on the floor, my fingers digging bloody grooves into the hardwood from the pain. And they calmly discussed where they should take Sylvia on vacation. At that thought, I reached out and took Joey’s hand. “Joey, what’s done is done. What can we do now? The important thing is that your sister is safe. If you want children in the future, we can just adopt hers.” “You’d… you’d do that?” Joey was stunned by my apparent generosity. He couldn’t seem to comprehend how I could be so utterly devoted. But my proposal offered him nothing but benefits. He pulled me into an embrace. “Elara, I’m the luckiest man in the world to have a wife like you. We’ll raise Sylvia’s children as our own. You’ll teach them, and they’ll grow up to be amazing. They’ll be good to you. If they ever disobey you, I’ll set them straight.” He said all the right things. But I knew, in the future he was imagining, I was the one who would be “set straight.” Joey brought Sylvia home for me to care for. As I was washing fruit for her, she tossed her underwear into the bowl. “My doctor said I can’t get my hands wet while I’m recovering, darling,” she said with a smirk. “Be a dear and take care of this for me.” My hand paused for a fraction of a second. Then I took the lacy underwear and began to wash it under the tap. Sylvia raised an eyebrow, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “Joey was right. You’re completely bound to him. Pathetically so. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for him?” “Not quite,” I said without looking up, concentrating on my task. “The ritual will be complete in two days.” “This is the last favor I’ll ever do for Joey.” “What ‘last favor’?” Joey asked, walking into the kitchen. He saw what I was washing and shot Sylvia a mildly disapproving look. In a few days, he wouldn’t even have that flicker of guilt. He’d just see me as the help. Sylvia smiled at me. “Well then, I’d better make the most of it.” The night before the ritual was to be completed, Joey and Sylvia tied my hands and feet and shoved me into a large birdcage. “Joey, what are you doing?” I cried out. “Where are you taking me?” The car ride was long and bumpy. Finally, they stopped, and the cloth covering the cage was ripped away. Blinding light flooded in. I found myself staring into a pair of lecherous, greedy eyes. The man was at least seventy, drool gathering at the corner of his mouth as he stared at my chest. “Fresh,” he rasped. “So fresh. You’re sure I can do whatever I want with her tonight?” A fire ignited in the pit of my stomach. I locked my eyes on Joey. “What is the meaning of this?” He wouldn’t meet my gaze. Sylvia draped herself over his shoulder. “We had a little accident on the motorcycle the other day. We hit Don Marco’s dog, and it died.” “Don Marco said if we couldn’t bring his dog back to life, he’d take one of Joey’s arms as payment. So, I suggested that you could spend the night with him, to apologize on our behalf. You love Joey so much, I’m sure you don’t mind, right?” I almost laughed. I kept my eyes fixed on Joey. “I want to hear it from you, Joey. Are you really giving me to another man? To pay for a dead dog?” “Elara, don’t be scared,” he said, finally looking at me. “It’s just one night. It’ll be over before you know it. Besides, I’m your husband. If I don’t mind you being ‘soiled,’ what do you have to worry about?” His depravity knew no bounds. My chest heaved with fury. I dug my nails into my palms, telling myself to endure. Just a little longer. The old man grew impatient. “What do you mean, ‘just a dog’? I could have taken your lives for killing my dog. It seems to me the lady isn’t willing. Get over here and tie your wife to my bed yourself before I change my mind. You don’t want to find out what happens when you get on my bad side.” The color drained from Joey’s face. He opened the cage and, without untying me, hoisted me over his shoulder and threw me onto the bed. I spit in his face. “You are pathetic, Joey. I gave you a fortune, and you can’t even handle something this small.” “Say whatever you want,” he muttered, grabbing my wrists and tying them to the bedposts. “Remember this, Elara. After tonight, I’m the only one who will ever want you. Don’t you even think about leaving me. You’ll behave, you’ll live with me and Sylvia, and I’ll be good to you.” I bit down on his hand, hard. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. He yelped, trying to pull his hand free, and then slapped me hard across the face. “Crazy bitch,” he hissed. “Just wait until tomorrow.” He gave the old man an obsequious smile and backed out of the room with Sylvia. She gave me one last look, a mixture of pity and triumph in her eyes. The old man lunged, tearing at my clothes. The stale, musty smell of him was suffocating. Just as his hand reached for me, the clock began to chime. Twelve o’clock. A searing pain shot through my body. My limbs contorted, pulling the ropes taut. The old man frowned. “What are you doing? What kind of trick is this?” He shouted towards the door. “Joey, get in here! What’s wrong with this broad?!” At the same moment, Joey looked down at his left arm. A third serpent scale had appeared. How? He had always believed the scales represented Elara’s love. The more scales, the deeper her love, the stronger their bond. But right now, she clearly hated him more than anything in the world. So why had the third scale appeared? A primal, overwhelming panic seized him. It was an animal instinct, a terror in the face of an apex predator. He threw open the door. “Don Marco, what’s wrong?!” As he stepped into the room, he heard a voice. It was young, male, and both strange and terrifyingly familiar. “Kneel.” With a sickening thud, Joey’s knees slammed into the floorboards, completely against his will.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384541”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The world snapped back into focus with Caleb Vaughn walking toward me. And in that instant, I knew I hadn’t made it home. The ninth failure. The tenth beginning. He stopped a few feet away, a lazy, cruel smirk plastered on his handsome face. “You just don’t give up, do you? I’ve never met anyone so pathetic. Now, be a good girl and go…” His words blurred into a meaningless drone. I was done listening. I looked up, my gaze locking onto his, and for the first time in a long time, it was perfectly clear. My hand moved, a fluid motion, pulling the pin from the knot of my hair. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the sharpened metal point was buried in his throat. He gasped, his hand flying to his neck, his eyes wide with a question I had no intention of answering. A spray of warmth misted my face. “You’re the pathetic one,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You don’t even deserve to live.” I had been reborn nine times to win Caleb Vaughn’s heart. Success was my only ticket back to my own world. But it didn’t matter what I did—the outcome was always the same. Failure. This was the tenth time. I was done trying. I just wanted Caleb Vaughn dead. 1 My eyes opened again. Caleb was walking toward me, a storm cloud of irritation on his face. A familiar, sterile tone chimed in my head. Ding! New objective issued: Successfully win the affection of Caleb Vaughn and ensure his happiness. Upon completion, the Host will be returned to their original world. The tenth time. The first seven loops were a masterclass in dying. Car accidents. Cliff falls. Drowning. Some were the result of his cruel pranks, some happened while I was trying to save him, and once, he killed me with his own two hands. On the eighth loop, I considered a new strategy: maybe he just hated me. For his “happiness,” I tried to disappear. I left the country. But he hunted me down, dragged me back, and locked me in a basement to starve. All so I would stay by his side. On the ninth loop, I endured. I swallowed his insults, bandaged the bruises from his rage, and stayed. I became his perfect, docile wife. I held his hand as he died of old age, having devoted my entire existence to him. I had suppressed every urge to run, to fight back, to end my own life or his. I thought, finally, that had to be it. As I closed my eyes for the last time in that life, I let myself dream of my real parents, of the joy on their faces when I reappeared. God, I was so tired. I missed them so much. I would have killed for a plate of my mom’s cooking. But the universe had other plans. And now, seeing Caleb’s face again, I felt nothing. A complete and total void. He stormed toward me, his voice a low growl. “Ava, you are so fucking pathetic. Can’t stay away, can you? One call and you come running.” I remembered this night. He’d made a bet with his pack of jackal friends. He bet that I’d drink three bottles of champagne for him, even though he knew—everyone knew—I had a deadly allergy to alcohol. Behind him, his buddies were laughing. “Damn, Caleb, you’ve got her trained. Didn’t even change out of her pajamas.” “Guess she was in a hurry to get into your bed.” “The girl’s desperate. No way she doesn’t drink it. Shit, looks like I owe you a G-Wagon.” I have a severe alcohol allergy. In my real life, a bad stomach ulcer from my college days meant my mom had spent six months consulting with nutritionists and cooking special meals just to heal me. In my last life, my ninth life, I drank the champagne. I wept while I did it, apologizing to my mom in my head, but I had to. I wanted to go home so badly. They ended up removing half of my stomach. Caleb’s face was a mask of impatience, his handsome features twisted with a familiar, simmering violence. “Are you deaf? Go drink the champagne. And don’t give me any of that allergy bullshit. The bet’s for my car. I’m not losing.” Last time, when I tried to explain, he’d slapped me so hard my ears rang. He’d grabbed my hair and dragged me to the table. He’d shattered a bottle and held the jagged neck to my throat. “Don’t be a bitch, Ava. You came here, so you’re going to drink. Don’t embarrass me, or I swear to God I’ll kill you.” I drank it all. His only comment was, “Pathetic.” After that night, in that ninth life, he married me. Our life together was a special kind of hell. My skin was a constant patchwork of bruises. He was a monster. He hit me when he was drunk, he hit me when he was angry, and sometimes, he hit me for no reason at all. My fists clenched at my sides. I ground my teeth. This time, I wasn’t going to endure it. This time, he was going to die. Seeing my silence, his brow furrowed. He took a step closer, raising his hand. It was moving toward my face, an all-too-familiar trajectory. My eyes narrowed, my focus absolute. My hand shot up to my hair, pulling the metal pin free. With all the force I could muster, I lunged forward and plunged the sharpened end deep into his throat. Blood erupted, hot and wet against my skin. His eyes bulged, his hand clawing at his neck, a look of pure disbelief on his face. “Ghk! Ghk! You… you…” He tried to speak, but only a torrent of red spilled from his lips. 2 Gritting my teeth, I pushed the pin in deeper. “You’re the pathetic one,” I whispered, the words like acid. “You don’t deserve to live.” That sterile, digital voice only ever spoke once per lifetime. I wished I could ask it, just once, why a monster like Caleb Vaughn deserved happiness. He didn’t. He deserved to die. His body slid to the floor, his eyes wide open, frozen in a mask of indignation. Screams finally erupted around me. People scrambled, knocking over chairs and tables in a chaotic rush for the exits. The world dissolved. When it reformed, I was standing in an airport terminal, the air thick with the murmur of a thousand conversations. In the distance, I saw him. Caleb, his face a thundercloud, flanked by two imposing bodyguards, stalking toward me. I had been reborn. This was the eighth life. This was the life I had finally accepted he would never love me, that he was a monster. I’d decided to leave the country to escape his torment. But he was a demon you couldn’t outrun. He found me, dragged me back to a cellar, and pulled my hair until my scalp screamed. “You can never leave me, Ava. You’ll die by my side, and nowhere else.” And I did. I starved to death in that darkness. Now, he was getting closer. I calmly reached up, my fingers closing around the hairpin in my hair. I watched him approach, my expression a perfect blank. He spread his arms wide, a mocking, triumphant smile on his face. “Ava, Ava. Did you really think you could leave without my permission? Be a good girl and come home with me. If you do, I promise I’ll go easy on you.” A faint smile touched my own lips. I said nothing. I just took a step forward, grabbed the front of his expensive silk tie, and with a motion that was becoming second nature, drove the pin into his throat. Blood sprayed across my face. Again. “Aahh!” Panic exploded around us. He clutched his neck, his eyes filled with genuine terror this time. I looked down at him as he collapsed, my voice flat. “You will never have the chance to hurt me again. Just die.” Caleb Vaughn choked on his own blood and lay still. 3 The world twisted, and I blinked. I was standing beside a shimmering pool, soaked to the bone and shivering violently. Caleb stood before me, looking impossibly handsome and utterly contemptuous. “Well? Get back in there and find my ring.” The woman clinging to his arm, a girl with a deceptively sweet face, pouted. “Oh, Caleb, be nice. I mean, Ava’s your girlfriend now, isn’t she? And I don’t think she can swim. This seems a little mean.” A cruel smirk played on Caleb’s lips. “Girlfriend? Please. She’s a pathetic stray who follows me around. She’s my girlfriend when I say she is, and she’s trash when I say she is.” I remembered. This was the seventh life. The woman was his childhood friend, a snake named Maddy. A few days earlier, Caleb had cornered me and told me he loved me. Desperate for a new angle, a new path to success, I had agreed to be his girlfriend. It had all been a bet, of course. In this life, he killed me. I couldn’t swim, so I refused to jump back into the pool. He kicked me in. As I thrashed in the water, screaming for help, he forbade anyone from moving a muscle. He let me drown in front of a dozen people. He found me, he pursued me, I did nothing, and he still murdered me. Now, seeing me just stand there, shivering and silent, his patience snapped. He strode toward me. “What the hell, did my words stop working? I told you to get back in the goddamn pool and find it. You’re not leaving here until you do.” My eyes, red-rimmed and burning, stared up at him. As he reached out to grab me, my hand darted to a nearby cocktail table. I snatched a small paring knife left on a fruit platter and lunged, burying it in his stomach. Once wasn’t enough. I ripped it out, the sound slick and wet, and plunged it in again. And again. And again, with all the strength I had, driving it to the hilt. Blood splattered across my face, obscuring my vision, but the more I saw, the more satisfying it felt. Caleb clutched at the wound, his face a mask of agony and rage. He staggered back, crashing into a lounge chair, a river of red pouring from his designer shirt. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you…” The party guests were screaming, running in every direction. A cold, harsh laugh escaped my lips. I didn’t want to hear his pathetic last words. “You’re the pathetic one, Caleb. You’re the one who told me you loved me, then you told everyone I was a slut who chased you. You lied.” “I did nothing to you,” I screamed, my voice cracking, “and you were still going to kill me! Just die! Die!” My strength gave out, and I collapsed onto the blood-soaked pavement. Caleb’s body slid from the chair, his blood turning the crystal-clear pool a sickening shade of crimson. 4 My eyes stayed open for this transition. The world warped, colors bleeding together, until I found myself standing in the center of a grand ballroom. A string quartet played an elegant waltz as couples glided across the polished floor. The sixth life. Tonight was the annual Vaughn family gala. Caleb had personally invited me. He’d even sent a dress to my apartment. He would force me to dance in the center of the room. The moment I raised my arms, the entire dress, held together by a single, dissolving thread, would fall to the floor. Wearing nothing but pasties, I would try to run, but Caleb and his friends would block my path, their phones held high. They would film everything. The pictures and videos would be online before I even made it home. I would become the laughingstock, the slut of the city. I remember Caleb holding his phone up to my face, a vicious grin splitting his face. “Well, well, Ava. Who were you trying to seduce with this little number? Damn, nice tits. So white.” Overnight, the entire world had seen my body. I barricaded myself in my apartment, and a week later, I swallowed a bottle of pills. Now, across the crowded room, I saw him. He was leaning against a marble pillar, the picture of bored arrogance, watching me. He looked like a predator, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce and tear me to shreds. Our eyes met. I mouthed the words silently. Long time no see, Caleb. He saw me standing frozen in the middle of the dance floor and muttered a curse under his breath, pushing himself off the pillar to stalk toward me. I lifted the hem of my gown slightly and moved toward a passing waiter, deftly plucking a heavy dinner fork from his tray. Caleb reached me, his face tight with anger. “What the hell are you waiting for, you bitch? Start dancing. How long do I have to…” My gaze was locked on his, unwavering, as if he were the only person in the universe. “Go to hell.” “What?” Before he could process it, I lunged. I drove the tines of the fork deep into his eye. I ripped it out and, in the same motion, plunged it into the soft flesh of his throat. Once again, that familiar hot spray. He stared at me, his face a canvas of horror, trying to pull my hand away, but I only pushed the fork deeper. “Aaargh!” A choked, agonizing scream tore from his throat. The guests scattered, their own screams echoing in the vast ballroom. He clutched his neck, his one good eye bulging. “Why… why would you…” I looked at him, my expression cold as ice. “Because you’re a monster. And you deserve to die. This dress? The one you were going to humiliate me with? You gave it to me. You thought this was all a fun game. Well, I decided to play, too.” I twisted the fork. Up on the mezzanine, Caleb’s parents were rushing toward the staircase, their faces panicked. They were monsters, too. In that life, after the video went viral, I had gone to them. I had knelt on the floor and begged them to make him take it down. I told them he had given me the dress, that it was a setup. His mother had looked down at me with pure disgust. “That sounds like your problem. Maybe you should have thought about that before acting like a whore.” “For all we know, you wore that dress on purpose, hoping to trap a rich man,” his father had added. “Don’t come here playing the victim.” Everyone looked at me with that same contempt. They all saw a gold-digging slut. That was the moment my last hope had died. Of course. Only monsters could raise a monster. This wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. They all deserved to die. 5 In a blink, I was in a dark, grimy room. A heavy shovel was in my hands. On the floor lay a man with a bloody head. Across from me, Caleb stood, his face pale with fear. The fifth life. A business rival of the Vaughn family had kidnapped Caleb for revenge. I’d been with him, so they took me, too. The man on the floor had been about to cut off Caleb’s arm. I’d snuck up behind him and knocked him out with the shovel. As we were escaping, Caleb used me as a diversion. I’ll never forget it. We were almost at the door, my hand in his, when he suddenly shoved me to the ground, scrambled outside, and slammed the heavy door shut. I heard his muffled voice from the other side. “Ava, they’re coming back! You have to stall them! I’ll get help, I promise!” Then his footsteps faded, and he was gone. Of course, they caught me. They weren’t just kidnappers; they were animals. They took me back to their hideout and… I will never forget that pain. Never. I don’t know if Caleb ever came back with help. They killed me on that filthy mattress before I could find out. Now, in this dark room, I took a deep breath. I glanced at the unconscious man on the floor, then raised my eyes to meet Caleb’s. He crept forward and checked the man’s pulse. “He’s alive. Come on, let’s go!” He ran to the door and peeked out. “Damn it. I swear, nothing but bad luck ever happens when you’re around, Ava. When we get out of here, I’m going to kill you.” I almost laughed. A bitter, broken sound. I’d just saved his life, and the animal thought I was the problem. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t getting out of here. He was going to die right here. Suddenly, the synthesized voice screeched in my head, frantic. “Warning! Warning! Host must complete the objective. The death of the target will result in a loop reset and mission failure. The Host will never return home.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384540”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband kept a beautiful, brilliant woman as a director at his side. From the company’s first breath to the ringing of the opening bell at the New York Stock Exchange, she was there for every one of his triumphs. Not like me. I was at home, raising our daughter, wrestling with homework, scrubbing pots and pans. I learned of my husband’s crowning achievements the same way the rest of the world did: on TV. My best friend, Chloe, couldn’t stand it. Her frustration boiled over during our weekly wine night. “I don’t know how you stomach it, Audrey,” she said, her voice laced with the fury I couldn’t seem to muster. “That woman practically introduced herself as Mrs. Crawford to the press.” She swirled the cabernet in her glass. “It’s been ten years. Ten years is long enough for even the most lovesick fool to wake up.” Hearing her words, I just traced the rim of my own glass, a calm settling over me. Ten years. It really had been that long. But the outcome was perfect. That bastard and his bitch finally took my company public. And with the upcoming shareholders’ meeting, it was time to fire my husband from his position as CEO. And her, from the Executive VP role she was about to step into. 1 Ethan finally came home the night before the shareholders’ meeting. The moment the front door clicked open, our daughter, Sophie, shot off the couch like a little rabbit, her pigtails flying. She wrapped her arms around Ethan’s leg, a chorus of “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” erupting from her. He scooped her up, planting a loud, whiskery kiss on her cheek. “I missed you so much, my little bug.” He nuzzled his stubble into her neck, coaxing squeals of laughter from her before setting her back down. Only then did he turn to me, his smile softening into something gentler, more practiced. “You’re a saint, Audrey. Holding down the fort.” He always spoke to me like that at home—polite, warm, the very picture of a devoted family man. It would have been convincing, too, if I didn’t know how he’d spent the month since the NYSE ceremony. The celebratory trip to Vegas that ended in a million-dollar loss. The five-million-dollar penthouse he’d bought for his director in the heart of Tribeca. The luxury cars and suburban McMansion he’d gifted her parents and brother. If he hadn’t been so reckless with my money, I might have let him keep his job. He and his director, Ava, were a ruthlessly effective pair, after all. Driven, hungry, with a work ethic that bordered on pathological. They were everything I wasn’t. I was born soft, allergic to hardship. The greatest struggle I’d ever endured was the pain of Ethan’s affair, which laid me out for exactly three days. On the fourth day, I woke up and started seeing him for what he was: my prized workhorse. After all, I secretly owned 48% of the company through an anonymous holding firm, on top of the 3% he’d signed over to me as a wedding gift. It was a staggering amount of money. The love was gone, but the assets remained. I supposed it could have been worse. A flicker of irritation in Ethan’s eyes pulled me from my thoughts. He was watching me, his brow furrowed. “Are you still stewing about Ava? Audrey, you can’t have everything. I’ve given you a life of luxury, of ease. You can’t also expect my absolute fidelity.” He had always been this brazenly honest. It was the same five years ago, when I’d found them. I’d brought him homemade mooncakes for the Mid-Autumn Festival, a nod to our shared time in Shanghai. I’d walked into his office to the sight of him pressing Ava against his desk, their mouths locked together. He’d calmly dismissed her, then poured me a cup of tea as if nothing had happened. “Audrey, we were college sweethearts,” he’d begun, his voice maddeningly reasonable. “Four years of dating, five years of marriage. I truly loved you. A part of me still does.” He took a sip of his own tea. “But you have to understand, I’m a man. I have needs. I’m on the road six months out of the year. You can’t expect me to live like a monk.” He leaned forward, his tone shifting to that of a patient professor. “I have money, and I have urges. Ava is brilliant, she’s attracted to me, and she’s right there. I’m utilizing her talent, so why not her body? It’s efficient. You’re just too greedy, Audrey. You want the lifestyle I provide, but you also want my body to be exclusively yours. You even want me to love you with that same desperate, youthful passion we used to have. We’re adults now. It’s time to let go of perfection.” That was the first time I’d heard him dissect human nature—a man’s nature—with such cold precision. The shock was so profound that I fainted shortly after getting home. At the hospital, I found out I was pregnant. This baby, our Sophie, was a miracle I’d fought for through three grueling years of IVF. Abortion was unthinkable. But over the next ten months, as Ethan played the part of the perfect, doting husband at home while flying Ava to the Maldives and Hong Kong for lavish vacations, my perspective crystallized. If everything was a transaction, then I would maximize my return on Ethan Crawford. I pushed down the familiar, phantom ache in my chest and smiled sweetly. I stepped toward him and began to loosen his tie. “Don’t be silly. She’s your right hand. Why would I be jealous of Ms. Vance?” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “She’s a powerhouse—a Wharton MBA who can close a deal and run an empire. Honestly, I’m grateful she takes such good care of you.” A relieved, almost tender smile spread across Ethan’s face. He reached out and gently squeezed my earlobe, a gesture that had once been our intimate little signal. But I’d seen him do the exact same thing to Ava in a candid photo from a business gala. Now, his touch made my skin crawl. Perhaps even Ethan himself had forgotten that I hadn’t let him touch me—not really—in five years. Not since the day I found them. I didn’t let him start now. I took a half-step back, a blush rising on my cheeks for effect. “Stop it, the baby’s right here,” I murmured. “Go on, get in the shower.” I turned to our daughter. “Sophie, honey, Daddy’s being lazy. He doesn’t want to take a bath. Can you go push him into the bathroom for Mommy?” Instantly, Sophie latched back onto his leg, a tiny, giggling barnacle. As Ethan disappeared into the master bath, I walked straight to the kitchen, a wave of revulsion washing over me. I scrubbed my hands, my face, and especially my earlobe, which I washed three separate times. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed his secretary. “Something’s come up,” I said, my voice low and sharp. “I need you to create a crisis. I want Ethan Crawford out of my house. Now.” 2 The call came less than a minute later. I watched as Ethan’s face, still damp from the shower, darkened with every word from his secretary. He ended the call and turned to me, his towel knotted precariously at his waist. “Audrey, find me a suit. I have to go back to the office.” I went to the closet and pulled out a classic navy suit. He glanced at it and scowled. “What is this, a relic from 2015? My God, your taste is atrocious. Am I going back to the office to work or to be publicly humiliated?” This was his way. When things went wrong, his words became weapons, and I was always the nearest target. I knew his moods, so I didn’t fight back. My only goal was to get him out. “I’m… I’m sorry,” I stammered, letting my voice tremble. “I’ll get another one.” But my compliance did nothing to soothe him. He shoved past me with a grunt of disgust, snatching his phone and hitting the speed dial for ‘1’. A moment later, Ava’s smooth, professional voice was on the line. “Ethan? What’s wrong?” He shot a venomous look in my direction before speaking into the phone. “The Aethel project is blowing up. Bring a suit to my place. Now.” He hung up without waiting for a reply and rounded on me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Could you please try to keep up with the modern world? What do you even do all day? I’m not asking you to build an empire, but could you at least learn something from Ava? Develop an ounce of taste?” Without another glance, he cinched his towel and stalked into his study to wait. I stood there, my fingers twisting the fabric of the suit. Of course it was an old style. It was the last one he’d left here, five years ago. For half a decade, every single item of his—from his tailored suits and Swiss watches down to his socks and underwear—had been curated and managed by her. I had nothing to do with it. On the rare occasion I tried to play the part, buying him a gift for our anniversary, it would remain unopened, gathering dust in his study drawer with all the others. Which was, perhaps, for the best. My anniversary and birthday gifts for him over the past five years had been… unconventional. A miniature anatomical model of a man, neatly gelded. A framed, calligraphed curse for impotence. A small effigy of him, riddled with pins. And my personal favorite, a prayer card wishing him and his lover a lifetime of debilitating, untreatable STDs. Every year, I waited for the explosion, the moment he’d finally discover my little gallery of hate. But, to my disappointment, he never had. A sudden, angry little voice from the hallway snapped me back to the present. “Who are you? You can’t just walk in here! You didn’t even ring the doorbell!” 3 My jaw tightened. I dropped the suit and walked out of the bedroom. There she was. Ava Vance, crouched down to Sophie’s level, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. “Well hello, Sophie,” she was saying. “Guess what? I have a secret. You’re going to be a big sister.” My blood ran cold. “How did you get in here?” Ava looked up, her expression shifting from feigned warmth to cool indifference. “Oh, hello, Audrey. Sorry to intrude so late. Ethan gave me the code.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384539”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day I left my ex-husband, he made me choose: the money or his daughter. I took the money. She was seven. She didn’t cry or throw a tantrum. She just watched me go, her expression unreadable. I moved on. I remarried, had a son, and my life settled into the quiet rhythm of ordinary. Twenty-five years later, my son told me he was bringing his new girlfriend home to meet me. 1 My son, Leo, had been single for all twenty-five years of his life, but he’d inherited my romantic heart. He’d just graduated, and to celebrate landing his first real job, he’d had a little too much to drink. He’d also, apparently, ended up in someone’s bed. “Mom, what do I do?” he’d groaned over the phone a few days later. “I just found out she’s my boss.” I was speechless. Honestly, some things are better kept between you and your own crippling sense of embarrassment, not shared with your mother. “I don’t care,” he declared before I could respond, a new fire in his voice. “I don’t care who she is. I’m going to ask her out.” I didn’t offer a single word of encouragement, but his hope ignited all on its own. Two days later, he shuffled home, the picture of defeat. “She told me to leave her alone, Mom.” “Well,” I said, trying to be gentle, “you can be… a lot.” He made a frustrated sound. “She asked what it would take for me to stop bothering her.” “And what did you say?” “I told her if she’d just come home and meet you once, I’d never bother her again.” I blinked. And blinked again. Wow. Just… wow. Was this some new form of emotional blackmail? The “my-mom-wants-to-meet-you” gambit? “I know it’s a lost cause,” he mumbled, his voice small and pathetic. “But… I just wanted you to meet the person I’ve fallen for.” His sincerity was a little heartbreaking. My resolve softened. And so, here I was, having spent the entire day cooking and cleaning, bracing myself for the arrival of this VIP. When the doorbell rang, I took a deep breath, pasted on my most welcoming smile, and opened the door. A woman stood behind Leo, dressed in a sharply tailored black coat. She carried an aura so potent it seemed to chill the air around her. My mind went blank. A buzzing static filled my ears. My first instinct was primal: hide. Find a crack in the floor and disappear into it. But the woman—Claire Sterling—merely glanced at me, her face a placid mask. There wasn’t a flicker of recognition. I didn’t know if I should feel relief or a fresh wave of grief. Of course, I told myself. She was only seven when I left. It’s been twenty-five years. She’s forgotten you. I forced the storm of emotion down and managed a smile, ushering her inside. “Claire, please, come in. It’s cold out there, isn’t it?” Leo, meanwhile, was a machine gun of nervous chatter, trying to unload his entire life story over the course of one dinner. “Look, Claire, this is a picture of me when I was a kid. Awkward, right?” “You have to try this, Claire. It’s my mom’s specialty. She…” Through it all, Claire remained poised and elegant, eating her food with a quiet focus, offering only the occasional, polite nod in response to Leo’s monologue. Then, she reached for one of the garlic butter prawns, glistening under the dining room light. My blood ran cold. “Don’t!” The word tore out of me. I shot up from my chair, my body moving on pure instinct. Just as the shrimp was about to reach her lips, I lunged across the table and knocked it from her chopsticks. The motion was so violent that a spray of buttery sauce splattered across the back of her hand. She has a severe shellfish allergy. When she was little, a single, thumb-sized shrimp had sent her into anaphylactic shock. Leo stared at me, dumbfounded. “Mom? What the hell was that?” My mind raced, my voice trembling as I scrambled for an excuse. “This… this batch. I think this batch went bad. Don’t eat it.” I turned to Leo. “There’s soup simmering in the kitchen. Could you get a bowl for Claire?” Though his face was a mask of confusion, he nodded and headed for the kitchen. The two of us were left alone in the suddenly cavernous silence of the living room. Claire slowly, deliberately, wiped the sauce from her hand with a napkin. Then she lifted her eyes to mine, and a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. It didn’t reach her eyes. “For a second there,” she said, her voice dangerously soft, “I was beginning to think you didn’t recognize me, Lena.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384538”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The ninth time Ethan Hayes rejected me, I was finally ready to give up. That’s when the Comments appeared, scrolling across my vision like a ghostly news ticker only I could see. 【Just one more time. The last one. He says yes on the tenth try.】 【He’s just aloof and bad with words. He’s crazy about her, you can tell.】 【Oh my god, his eyes are practically glued to her.】 I remembered my past life. The tenth time worked. We dated, got married, had a son. He built an empire. And then, one day, he’d said to me: “Ava, do you have any idea what it’s like for people who weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth? “I’m just helping her out. Stop being so dramatic.” So, no. Not this time. There would be no tenth time. 1 I wasn’t surprised to see the Comments flicker to life. But I didn’t turn around. I had no interest in confirming whether or not Ethan Hayes’s eyes held any trace of me. 【Why isn’t she turning around? Please! Just look at him!】 【His eyes are getting red. He’s about to cry.】 I remained unmoved. In fact, a wave of relief washed over me. Thank god he hadn’t said yes yet. Thank god it was only the ninth time. What I hadn’t expected, though, was for someone as proud as Ethan to come looking for me. He was standing at the edge of my family’s driveway, a silhouette against the manicured lawn. His lean, cool frame seemed to shimmer under the oppressive summer sun, making it hard to look away. When he saw me, he held out a cardboard box. “These are yours,” he said. “The things you gave me. I thought… you should have them back.” The June air was thick and hot, clinging to my skin even in a thin tank top. I wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. I gave the box a cursory glance and took it. His lips parted, as if he had more to say. The Comments erupted again. 【She totally did that on purpose. The tank top. Smart move.】 Seriously? It was ninety degrees out. Nobody sits around their house in a turtleneck. 【He worked up so much courage just to come here. She should be grateful.】 【So what if there’s a wealth gap now? In a few years, he’s going to be the new star of the Boston tech scene.】 【Her family will be the ones trying to get on his good side then.】 Right. All true. The Comments were absolutely right. Except for one tiny detail they always left out: his startup capital, in that other life, came from me. The investment strategy was a tip from my father. 2 Of course, I wasn’t stupid enough to argue with a ghost-commentary feed. I just looked at Ethan, my expression a blank question. “Was there something else?” He frowned, a sheen of sweat dotting his pale forehead. His gaze darkened with a hint of displeasure. There was no denying Ethan was beautiful. Devastatingly so. It was the only reason I’d chased him so relentlessly in the first place. Nine times. The last one was right after graduation. “It won’t interfere with our studies now,” I’d said, my smile wide with hope. “You can at least give me a chance, right?” He’d just shaken his head, his voice firm. “We’re not a good fit.” The first eight rejections were all variations of “we can’t get distracted from school.” For the ninth, he’d finally changed his excuse. In my past life, I had been ready to give up then, too. But that’s when the Comments had appeared. I listened to them. I turned around. And just as they’d said, I saw his cool eyes brimming with unspoken emotion. They told me his pride was the only thing in the way, that he felt he wasn’t good enough for me. So I followed him to his college town, lived a sparse life just like his to prove I didn’t care about the money. On my tenth attempt, he finally said yes. “I’m planning on going to school in Boston,” Ethan’s voice pulled me from the memory. When I looked up, all I saw was his back as he walked away. 3 【Oh my god, he’s making a move!】 【He wants her to go to Boston with him! That’s totally what that was.】 【She must be so happy. He’s finally giving her an opening.】 【Dropping hints like that instead of just saying it… He’s impossible, but I love it.】 I pressed my lips together and handed the box to the security guard at our gatehouse. “Can you take care of this for me?” I walked away without a second glance. “Tsk, what a shame.” The voice belonged to Leo, my next-door neighbor. He was leaning casually against a pillar of their garden gazebo. He caught my eye and grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re actually heartbroken over that guy.” A strange thought surfaced, a phantom memory from my past life. Leo died young. At thirty. Which meant… he only had nine years left. A pang of sympathy hit me. “You should take care of yourself,” I said earnestly. He just stared at me, completely bewildered. 4 The next time I saw Ethan was at our class graduation party. The air was thick with the bittersweet feeling of goodbyes. My long and very public pursuit of Ethan provided some of the night’s comic relief. “So, Ava,” someone called out from across the table. “You gonna ask our class genius out one more time for the road?” A chorus of laughter followed. “She got shot down again last week, right?” “What number is that now? Nine?” “Come on, Ethan, just give her a break. She’s rich, she’s hot. What’s the problem?” “Yeah, man. You could skip the next decade of grinding if you play your cards right.” The casual cruelty of high school kids. As if that wasn’t enough, the Comments chimed in. 【Shut up, all of you! He was just starting to open up. You’re ruining it.】 【Seriously. Look at his face, he’s furious.】 【He’s working so hard to catch up to her, to feel like he deserves her.】 【God, his love is so humble and intense. I’m obsessed!】 Right. Because having my unrequited crush serve as the entire grade’s running joke for years was something to be proud of. “Seriously, Ava, you should consider me instead,” Matt, the student council VP, said with a joking tone that didn’t quite mask the sincerity in his eyes. “What do you think, Ethan? You cool with me taking a shot?” “Whatever,” Ethan bit out, not even bothering to look at me. The gazes that fell on me shifted from amusement to a mix of pity and scorn. I could hear their whispers. “Guess money can’t buy you everything.” “It’s kind of pathetic, honestly. Chasing him when he’s so obviously not interested.” “I saw her dad on the cover of Forbes last month. Wonder what he’d think if he knew his daughter was acting this desperate at school.” 【That’s so harsh! Why isn’t he defending her?】 one of the Comments wondered. But I knew the answer. Ethan wouldn’t. 5 Sensing the awkwardness, Matt quickly produced a bouquet of roses he’d had stashed away. “Hey, no pressure or anything, Ava,” he said, his cheeks flushing a little. “Just… congratulations on graduating. I just wanted to say something, you know? Before we all scattered.” The mood in the restaurant lifted, turning into a wave of whoops and cheers. 【Ethan’s face is completely white. He had no idea Matt was going to do this.】 【He cares so much more than he lets on.】 【He’s terrified she’s actually going to say yes to him.】 Amidst everyone’s expectant stares, I politely turned Matt down. But when he insisted, I accepted the flowers. “Thank you,” I said, meeting his eyes. In my past life, I wouldn’t have dared. I would have been too worried about Ethan’s feelings. But being liked by someone isn’t something you should have to hide, is it? “So Ethan’s still the one, huh?” Someone just couldn’t let it go. “Are you still going to chase him?” It was time to put an end to it. I smiled, a real smile this time. “No, I’m done,” I said, my voice clear and light. “I’m tired.” The words fell into the sudden silence. Both the restaurant and the Comments went completely still. Across the table, Ethan’s head snapped up. 6 “Why? I thought you were in love with him,” whispered Sarah, the girl sitting next to me. A flicker of something—glee?—danced in her eyes. She was one of the wallflowers of our class. Average grades, barely got into a state school. In my past life, five years into my marriage with Ethan, she became his executive assistant. Back then, her admiration for him was painfully obvious. “I have feelings for you,” she had told him once, “but that has nothing to do with you. Don’t worry, I won’t ever get between you and Ava. I just want to be near you. It’s enough to just look up to you.” Ethan was working from his home office that day, and Sarah had come to deliver a report. I was standing outside the door with a tray of coffee, frozen in place. I listened as she confessed her feelings, and all Ethan did was look up at her, his expression unreadable. Then, in that same cold voice, he started talking about quarterly projections. He never fired her. In fact, he gave her chance after chance, championing her career. When I questioned him about it, his patience wore thin. “I see a part of myself in her,” he’d said, an edge to his voice. “I want to help her. She didn’t have your advantages, Ava. Stop being so dramatic!” By then, the Comments were long gone. They had vanished the day we got married, assuming it was a happily-ever-after. They didn’t know that a wedding ring can sometimes be the beginning of the end. 7 “That’s ridiculous. How can she not like him anymore?” someone at the party scoffed. “Just last week she was asking around about where Ethan was applying to college.” Sarah’s face fell slightly. 【He’s terrified.】 【The glass in his hand is about to shatter.】 【But now he knows she was asking about him… Look, he’s smiling! The corner of his mouth just turned up!】 I instinctively glanced over. For a rare moment, a genuine smile graced his face. It was clean and bright, like a cool evening breeze in summer. But this time, it couldn’t find its way into my heart. 8 After the party, my driver was waiting to pick me up. As I got into the car, Ethan suddenly appeared at the window. “I sent you a list,” he said, his voice low. “The universities your GPA can get you into. You can take a look. They’re all in the same college town, anyway.” My eyes drifted past him, to where Sarah was waiting for him a little ways down the street, her head bowed. Ethan followed my gaze and frowned. “I saw some guys harassing her on the street the other day,” he explained quickly. “We live in the same direction, so she’s been walking home with me lately. Don’t get the wrong idea.” As we both looked at her, Sarah seemed to shrink, burying her face even deeper. She was a world away from the woman she would become ten years later. The woman who would get drunk, throw up all over herself, and end up wearing one of Ethan’s dress shirts in my bedroom. “You can’t help him with anything, Ava,” she’d sneered at me then. “But I can.” The woman who would play the victim in front of him, crying, even falling to her knees. “I’m not like you! I fought for everything I have! Please, don’t ruin me.” And Ethan, his face a mask of fury, would pull her up and shield her behind him, glaring at me as if I were a stranger. “You disappoint me,” he’d said. So. It had started even back then. My focus returned to the present. “I’ve already decided where I’m going,” I said calmly. I rejected his offer, thinking he would understand. Clearly, he didn’t. 9 “I leave for campus tomorrow.” A month later, Ethan called me. The Comments insisted he’d been holding back for weeks. 【He’s been checking his phone every five minutes, waiting for a text from her.】 【The ice prince is finally coming down from his tower. Who doesn’t love that!】 【But why does she look so… bored?】 “Mm-hmm,” I said. My gaze was fixed on the gardenias blooming over the wall of Leo’s yard. They were beautiful this year. He was sitting in his gazebo, lost in a book. “Once I’m settled in, give me a call when you get there,” Ethan continued. “And Ava, you’ll be an adult in college. Your parents work hard for their money. Try not to make a big scene, letting everyone know how rich you are.” I blinked. He was starting to sound like a nagging parent. Was I supposed to pretend to be poor just to soothe his ego? I wasn’t an idiot. “Actually, my parents make their money pretty easily,” I replied. For them, making another billion might be a challenge. But funding my entire college experience without blinking an eye? That was nothing. The line went silent for a long time. “Then don’t bother coming to find me,” he finally snapped, and hung up. I stared at my phone, a little stunned. It was only by glancing at the Comments that I realized he was angry. 10 【Seriously, Ava? You know how proud he is. Why would you say that?】 【But she’s not lying.】 【And asking her to pretend to be poor is pretty hypocritical, isn’t it? Like he’s ashamed of the difference between them.】 Finally, a dissenting voice in the feed. “Seen enough?” Leo’s voice startled me. He thought I’d been staring at him. He let out a short, mocking laugh. I shook my head to clear it. “Have you been to the doctor for a check-up recently?” His face clouded over. “Are you sick in the head?” “I’m just trying to help you,” I said, my tone more meaningful than he could possibly understand. In his previous life, he hadn’t had much family. He’d left his entire estate to me. Still, I had something of a conscience. I just wasn’t sure if he’d written his will yet. 11 I left for college two weeks early, turning the drive into a leisurely road trip. My Instagram feed was a blur of roadside diners and scenic overlooks, racking up likes with every post. Then, one day, a message from Ethan popped up. 【Tomorrow’s the last day for registration. Why are you still in New York City?】 【I’ve already registered.】 His call came a second later. “Where are you? Let me buy you dinner.” I smiled, the NYC breeze whipping through my hair. “I’m in New York,” I said casually. “So that might be a little difficult.” “What?” He was silent for a long moment, the confusion palpable even over the phone. He wasn’t the only one. The Comments were in disbelief. 【Are you kidding me? He worked a crappy summer job for a month to save up enough money to take her to a nice dinner, and she’s pulling this stunt?】 【What, is she supposed to hop on a flight to Boston for a meal?】 【I don’t know, guys… I don’t think she loves him anymore.】 After a brief pause, a new consensus began to form in the feed. 【I agree. The desperate, love-struck girl is gone.】 【Which might be a good thing, honestly. He never says anything. I’d go crazy if I were her.】 【If you love someone, you should shout it from the rooftops. Keeping it bottled up doesn’t help anyone.】 I pulled my attention back from the ghostly text and spoke into the phone. “Ethan, I’m not going to chase you anymore. I meant what I said.” “Ava—” I hung up before he could finish. 12 I never thought he would come all the way to New York for me. Less than a week into the semester, he was standing outside my dorm. White button-down shirt, a bouquet of red roses in his arms. My roommates watched with curious eyes as I walked out to meet him. He held the roses out to me, his expression a mixture of nervousness and sincerity. “I’m sorry about before,” he began, his voice tight. “I’ve had time to think, and… I do like you. The reason I kept saying no was because I didn’t feel like I was good enough for you. I wanted to wait until I’d made something of myself before I accepted your feelings. But I realize now that if I don’t do something, I might lose you for good.” He took a breath. “Ava, will you be my girlfriend? The distance doesn’t matter. I can apply to grad school here. I—” He trailed off, his words faltering as he met my calm, detached gaze. It was clearly getting harder for him to speak. In contrast to my composure, the Comments were in a frenzy. 【He came all this way for her. That has to be enough now, right?】 【So predictable. Girls love playing hard to get.】 【If you keep this up, you’re really going to lose him, you know.】 But was I supposed to say yes? 13 Of course not. I gently pushed the roses back toward him, ignoring the way the color instantly drained from his face. My smile was polite, my tone firm. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.” I was only now starting to truly appreciate the freedom my family’s wealth afforded me. If I wanted to travel, I could book a business class ticket on a whim, or a flight if I was in a hurry. I didn’t have to spend hours searching for the cheapest train seat or endure a sixteen-hour bus ride just to protect someone else’s fragile ego. Late-night pizza from a street vendor is delicious, but not if you have to eat it every day. And if I saw a dress in a boutique that cost a thousand dollars, I could just buy it. The freedom was intoxicating. “Why?” Ethan’s voice was strained, laced with disbelief. “We’re not a good fit,” I told him, using his own words. His pupils contracted, his face a mask of pain. But he was proud, and this grand gesture was clearly the extent of what he was capable of. The Comments were quick to defend him. 【What a bitch. She chases him for years, and now that he finally comes around, she shuts him down? Poor Ethan.】 【Just wait until he’s a tech CEO. She’ll be crying then, trying to get back with him.】 【It’s a cliché for a reason: never look down on a guy when he’s young and broke. Especially not this guy.】 But for the first time, there were just as many voices on my side. 【How is she the bitch? He’s the one with the issues.】 【He ignored her and treated her like dirt when she was chasing him. Now that she’s moved on, he suddenly shows up?】 【Classic. Men always want what they can’t have.】 【Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to be with someone that emotionally stunted?】 That last one hit home. I couldn’t agree more. 14 His issues weren’t my responsibility to fix. They weren’t an excuse to hurt me. I couldn’t save him, and I no longer wanted to. In my past life, Ethan’s excuse for promoting Sarah was always that she reminded him of himself. They’d spend entire nights alone in the office together. If she got drunk and called him, he’d drop everything to pick her up. His explanation was always the same. “I don’t have feelings for her. She’s my employee. It’s strictly professional.” It continued until the affair rumors hit the media. He demanded that I be the one to issue a public denial. “It wasn’t easy for Sarah to get where she is. You need to help her,” he’d pleaded. “There’s nothing going on between us. Ava, she’s not like you. She doesn’t have everything handed to her.” I finally broke. “What exactly do I have, Ethan? A husband who spends all his time with another woman for the sake of ‘work’? A bank account full of money I can’t spend on anything I actually want? A driver who has to report my every move back to you? Love? Freedom? Money? Tell me, which of those do I truly have?” He didn’t force me after that. But then Sarah attempted suicide. Right before she did it, she called him. He rushed to her side, saved her, and then arranged for a new, high-powered job for her overseas. “I sent her away,” he told me, his voice cold and accusatory. “Are you happy now?” By then, I was too tired to fight. He never knew that before she left, Sarah sent me one last text. 【You may have won, but he’ll spend the rest of his life feeling like he owes me.】 15 “Hey, why are you crying?” Leo’s voice cut through the memory. A moment later, his warm, dry fingers brushed against my cheek. I looked up, startled, and he quickly pulled his hand back. His gaze shifted to the figure behind me. Ethan was still standing in front of the women’s dorm, a stoic, miserable statue drawing curious glances from passersby. “Did he do this to you?” Leo’s voice turned cold, and he started walking toward Ethan. I grabbed his arm, stopping him. “No.” It was just the weight of the past, the sting of old wounds. These damn Comments had no idea how painful it was to be with someone like Ethan. “Then what…” Leo’s voice was laced with a rare note of panic. I wiped at my tears haphazardly. “Whoa, Professor, you made your girlfriend cry? For shame!” “We’ve got a whole durian in our room if you need something to kneel on, man.” A couple of Leo’s grad students walked by, their teasing loud and cheerful. He immediately looked like he wanted to punch them. But instead of backing off, they just grinned and lined up in front of me. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Professor!” they chorused.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384537”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

We were playing a fake couple on Coupled, the biggest reality dating show in the country. When the finale wrapped, Liam, the A-list movie star I’d been paired with, had a million dollars quietly transferred to my account. That night, his manager sent me a warning. “Take the money and be smart. Don’t get any ideas about this being real. A million bucks is a king’s ransom for a D-lister like you.” The next day, he and my best friend, Ava—the show’s other female lead—went public with their real relationship. The shippers went wild. Amid the nationwide celebration, I sat down for a live interview. I held up my phone, letting the camera catch the glint of the audio recorder app. “Toast number one: To me,” I said, my voice steady. “For falling for the act and ending up the punchline.” “Toast number two: To being the smokescreen, the perfect cover for his real love story.” “And toast number three: To the two of them, for not even waiting 24 hours to slap me in the face with their official announcement.” Liam and Ava blew up my phone, their threats frantic. “If you release that, you’ll disappear from this town for good!” I smiled. Who said I was just some D-lister? 1 The camera flashes in the interview room were relentless, searing spots into my vision. Reporters, smelling blood in the water, shoved their microphones toward my face. “Chloe, what did you mean by those ‘three toasts’?” “What’s on that recording? Is it about Liam and Ava?” “Is this just a case of a woman scorned? If you can’t have him, you’ll ruin him?” In my pocket, my phone vibrated violently. The screen lit up with the two names I knew better than my own: Liam. Ava. I didn’t answer. I let the frantic buzzing hang in the air, a jarring counterpoint to the tense silence of the room. I looked straight into the camera lens and curved my lips into a smile—the perfectly calibrated, media-trained smile I’d practiced for three months on the set of Coupled. “You want to know what’s on the recording?” I held up my phone, my thumb hovering over the play button. The entire room held its breath. Suddenly, my agent, Sarah, burst through the door and snatched the phone from my hand. “I’m so sorry, everyone. Chloe’s a bit emotional today. This interview is over!” She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and hauled me toward the exit. “Chloe, are you insane?” she hissed under her breath. “You think you can take on Liam Carter? With what army?” She shoved me into the back of a black SUV and slammed the door, cutting off the cacophony of the press. Sarah tossed my phone back at me, her face a mask of fury. “Liam’s team just called. They want you to post a retraction on social media right now. Say it was all a joke.” I glanced down. A new text from Liam had come through. Chloe, don’t push it. I can make sure that recording of yours never sees the light of day. It was followed by a voice memo from Ava, her voice thick with fake tears. “Chlo, aren’t we best friends? Why are you doing this to me? Liam and I are in love. Can’t you just be happy for us?” In love? An image flashed in my mind: the final night of filming Coupled. Ava, hiding in a corner of the green room, her eyes red-rimmed. “I’m so jealous of you, Chlo,” she’d whispered. “Getting to be with Liam. I just have to watch from the sidelines.” I had actually comforted her, telling her it was all just for the cameras. Looking back now, I realized she wasn’t jealous. She was auditioning. She should have gotten an Oscar for that performance. I turned off my phone, leaned my head back against the leather seat, and closed my eyes. “Sarah, pull over.” “What for?” “I’m terminating my contract.” Sarah slammed on the brakes, and the SUV screeched to a halt in the middle of the street. She stared at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re what?” “I’m leaving you. And the agency. Effective immediately.” The news that I’d unilaterally broken my contract shot up the trending charts even faster than Liam and Ava’s relationship announcement. #ChloeQuits #ChloeBlackmailsLiam The two tags sat side-by-side at the top of the Twitter trending list. The comments were a cesspool. “LOL, this D-lister really thinks she’s somebody. Threatening her way to the top?” “Does she not get how reality TV works? It was a script, honey. He was never into you.” “Poor Ava, being backstabbed by her own best friend. My heart goes out to her.” “Chloe Parker has such a bland face but such a nasty heart. Get her out of Hollywood!” The termination agreement from my agency arrived in my inbox moments later. The penalty clause: thirty million dollars. For a small-time actress like me, it was an impossible sum. They were sure I couldn’t pay. Sarah’s last call came through, her tone dripping with condescending pity. “Chloe, why are you doing this to yourself? Just come back, apologize to Liam and Ava, post a retraction, and the agency will forget this ever happened. You can’t afford thirty million dollars.” I hung up on her. Then, a call I didn’t expect came in. It was Leo Maxwell, the second male lead from Coupled. A quiet, indie musician who was always scribbling lyrics in a notebook or strumming his guitar. We’d barely interacted on the show. “Are you okay?” he asked. His voice was gentle, cautious. “I’m fine.” There was a pause. “I believe you,” he said. Those three simple words sent a flicker of warmth through my chest. “Thank you.” I hung up, only to have a video call request from Ava pop up. I accepted. Her face filled the screen, makeup perfectly applied, eyes artfully reddened. The background was unmistakably Liam’s minimalist L.A. penthouse. “Chloe, why would you break your contract? Don’t you know that just makes everything worse?” she asked, her voice oozing with concern. “Just delete the recording, okay? Liam said… he said he can give you another two million if you do. We can go back to being best friends.” I looked at her face, a beautiful portrait of deceit, and let out a soft laugh. “Ava, what do you think a recording of this conversation would be worth?” The color drained from her face. “Chloe! Don’t be a bitch!” Just then, Liam’s face shoved into the frame. He pushed Ava aside, his eyes dark with rage. “Chloe, this is your last warning. Delete it, or I’ll make sure you can’t get a job as a waitress in this city.” “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “I’m so scared.” Then I ended the call. Within the hour, the “dirt” started appearing online. Stories about me being a diva on set, pulling rank because I was classically trained. Stories about my “messy” private life, implying I’d slept with directors and producers for roles. Conveniently angled paparazzi photos were “leaked.” A picture of me talking to a director at a cast dinner, cropped to look intimately close. A photo of me helping a drunk co-star to his car, framed as me throwing myself at him. Smear campaigns were their specialty. My social media was a war zone. My DMs were flooded with death threats. And just as the hate campaign reached its peak, they announced the kill shot. Liam and Ava would be appearing together on the country’s biggest live-streamed talk show: The Pulse Live. They were going to “set the record straight” in front of the entire world. The Pulse Live was the flagship program of the largest media conglomerate in the country: Starstream Entertainment. A smug text arrived from Sarah. “You’re finished this time, Chloe. Starstream itself is coming for you. Not even God can save you now.” I looked at the text and smiled.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384536”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel