Author: Momo Chan

I think I was born with a target on my back. Some people inherit blue eyes or a soft jaw; I inherited a severe, unrelenting paranoia. No historical despot had anything on my suspicions. When I was an infant, I refused to drink from any bottle unless it was warmed and tasted by my mother, terrified that anyone else would scald me. In elementary school, I spent entire semesters staring at the humming ceiling fan, certain the rusty bolt would give way and decapitate me. I ended up sitting on the floor beneath my desk, taking notes in the shadows. By middle school, the front door became my obsession. I was so convinced we’d be robbed that I would walk back from the bus stop six times every morning to check the deadbolt, arriving late to homeroom every single day. When the college application season finally ended, my parents sat me down in our sun-drenched living room. “The scores are in, the submissions are finalized,” my father said, letting out a sigh that sounded more like a plea. “Can you finally breathe now, Nicole?” But my chest was still tight. “The housekeeper’s daughter is the same age as me,” I told them, my voice flat. “Her scores are three hundred points lower. She’s going to hack my portal and change my choices.” For eighteen years, my parents had been patient. But that afternoon, the masks of gentle tolerance slipped. Martha, our housekeeper of a decade, burst into thick, ragged tears. “If Miss Nicole doesn’t trust us, we’ll pack our things and go,” she sobbed, clutching her apron. “I thought ten years of devotion meant we were family. I guess a servant is always just a servant. We might be poor, Robert, but we aren’t criminals!” My parents spent an hour soothing Martha, begging her to stay. I watched them, utterly cold. I was not moved. … Exactly sixty seconds before the application portal closed, I logged in. And there it was. My first-choice application to Princeton had been changed to Pinecrest Online—a non-accredited digital degree mill. With my heart hammering a steady, familiar rhythm, I spent the final thirty seconds changing it back to Princeton, saving the confirmation, and shutting the screen. For eighteen years, I had rehearsed my own demise. Walking down the street, I calculated the falling velocity of billboards and mapped out exits in every restaurant. When someone handed me a drink, my mind automatically cataloged the tasteless toxins that could fit in a dropper. Before bed, I checked the deadbolts, the window latches, and the stove’s gas valves. Under my nightstand sat a heavy emergency hammer and a roll of heavy-duty medical tape. They called it a sickness. I called it emergency preparedness. And today, the protocol had saved me. In the living room, my parents were laughing with Martha. They were watching a sitcom, the blue light of the television washing over them. Martha’s daughter, Charlotte, sat on the edge of the sofa, staring down at her phone. There was a faint, smug curve to her lips that she couldn’t quite hide. “Mom. Dad,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a cold draft. The laughter died. My father turned, his face still holding the remnants of a smile. “What is it, Nicole? Still anxious about the acceptance letters?” I walked over and stood directly in front of the television, blocking their view. My eyes locked onto Charlotte. “My application was altered.” The air in the room instantly curdled. My father’s smile froze. “What… what do you mean?” “I mean exactly what I said. And the person responsible knows exactly who they are.” I let the words hang, my gaze scraping across Charlotte’s face. Charlotte’s head snapped up. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and performative shock. “Nicole, what is your problem?” she cried, her voice cracking. “Your application got messed up and you’re looking at me? Are you seriously accusing me?” “Who else would it be?” I snapped back. “You!” Charlotte stood up, her eyes immediately welling with tears. “I know you’ve hated me since the day I got here. You made me sleep in the basement room because you said my presence was bad luck for your exams. I did it. I didn’t complain because I knew you were stressed. But your college future? How could you think I’d do something so horrible?” She bit her lip, lowering her head. “Just because my scores aren’t as good as yours doesn’t mean I’m a monster. You have no idea how much I’ve admired you, Nicole. You have this beautiful house, parents who adore you, a perfect future…” It was a masterclass in pity. And right on cue, my mother’s face softened. She stepped forward, taking Charlotte’s hands in hers. “Charlotte, sweetie, don’t cry. Nicole… she just gets these ideas in her head. Don’t take it to heart.” My father’s face went from pale to a deep, furious crimson. He slammed his hand down on the coffee table, rattling the porcelain teacups. “Nicole Max! Have you lost your mind? Is this your paranoia talking again?” “I am completely sane.” “Sane?!” His voice shook with rage as he pointed a finger at me. “Martha has been with this family since you were in diapers! She practically raised you—she’s been more of a mother to you than anyone! And Charlotte has been nothing but polite and sweet since she came to stay with us. Why would she hurt you? What is wrong with your head?!” Martha hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with quiet, miserable sobs. “Mr. Max, Mrs. Max, it’s my fault,” she whimpered. “I shouldn’t have brought Charlotte here. I didn’t realize how much Nicole disliked us. We should just go.” She wiped her eyes, pulling Charlotte by the arm. “Come on, Charlotte. We’re leaving. We can’t stay here and cause any more trouble for this family…” My mother sighed, turning to me with a look of profound exhaustion and disappointment. “Nicole, Martha has been a part of this household for ten years. They are not those kinds of people. Please, just stop this.” Ten years. A decade is a heavy weight. Martha had transformed from a quiet maid into an indispensable fixture of our lives. She was diligent, warm, and loyal. So when she asked a month ago if Charlotte could stay with us to study for her finals, my parents hadn’t hesitated. I was the only one who fought it. I didn’t want a stranger under our roof. It violated my security. On the day Charlotte arrived, I blocked the doorway and told her she wasn’t welcome. It wasn’t until Martha called my father in tears, and he roared at me over the phone, that I let her in. I demanded she be moved to the basement guest room on her very first night, claiming her energy would disrupt my exam focus. My mother called me cruel. I simply stayed silent. Now, looking at the three of them acting like a unified family unit while I stood on the outside, I felt a grim amusement. “Why should I apologize?” I asked. “I wouldn’t sabotage myself. My parents wouldn’t sabotage me. That leaves only one variable.” “Enough!” my father erupted. “You are locked in your room starting now. No phone, no computer. You will stay in there until you’ve cleared your head and learned how to apologize!” He grabbed my arm, shoved me into my bedroom, and slammed the door. The sound of the deadbolt clicking shut echoed through the hallway. Behind the wood, I could hear his muffled shouts, my mother’s soft sighs, and the fading whimpers of Martha and Charlotte. I leaned against the door. The room was dim, illuminated only by a single overhead light. Did they really think this would break me? Did they think taking my primary phone and laptop left me defenseless? How naive. A true paranoid never relies on a single line of defense. We don’t trust hearts, and we certainly don’t trust blood. I looked up. The lens of a micro-camera stared down from the top of my bookshelf, aimed perfectly at the door. Inside the hollow base of my desk lamp, a tiny digital recorder was capturing every vibration from the living room. Behind the grill of the air vent, another lens kept watch. Martha and her daughter thought they had played a flawless hand. They had no idea that I had wired this entire house years ago. There was an eye in every corner, watching them sleep, watching them scheme. I walked to my desk, pulled out the bottom drawer, and tapped the hidden panel at the back. It popped open to reveal a backup burner phone and a set of locksmith tools. I powered the phone on. Full signal. I didn’t call the police. Not yet. Right now, everyone thought I was the madwoman. I needed to wait for the perfect moment to rip away their masks. The days of my confinement were quiet. The calm before the storm. My parents truly kept me isolated. At mealtimes, my mother would bring a tray to my door, watching me closely to ensure I ate, likely fearing a hunger strike. I was completely cooperative. I ate everything she brought, as long as I saw her open the packaging or scoop it directly from the pot. But one afternoon, Martha appeared at the door holding a bowl of slow-simmered, expensive imported bird’s nest supplement, a sweet, maternal smile plastered on her face. “Nicole, sweetheart, don’t be angry with your parents,” she cooed. “I made this broth especially for you. Drink some, okay?” The smell of the broth made my stomach churn. “Take it away,” I said. Martha’s smile faltered. “Nicole, what’s wrong? Are you still upset with me?” “Take. It. Away,” I repeated, my voice devoid of warmth. “I don’t know what you put in it.” Martha’s face turned a violent, blotchy red. Her hands trembled so hard the broth spilled over the rim. My mother walked in just in time to see this. Her lips trembled with rage. “Nicole! You are absolutely impossible!” She snatched the bowl from Martha’s hand and slammed it onto the floor. “Fine! We’re all trying to poison you! Are you happy now?” She dragged a weeping Martha away. I watched the puddle of broth seep into the hardwood without a shred of guilt. In my world, there was no such thing as overreacting. There was only survival. To them, my behavior was proof that my illness had worsened. Their pity for Martha and Charlotte grew, and with it, a desperate need to make amends. That guilt found its outlet soon enough. Charlotte received her acceptance letter from a local state college. To make up for the “abuse” she had suffered under our roof, my parents decided to throw her a lavish graduation party on our lawn. On the day of the party, my mother dragged me out of my room and forced me into a brand-new white silk dress. “We have guests coming,” she warned, her grip tight on my wrist. “You will not embarrass this family. Do you understand?” I looked at my blank reflection in the mirror and nodded. Of course I wouldn’t embarrass them. The real show was about to start. The lawn was packed with local socialites, family friends, and distant relatives. Everyone gathered around Charlotte, who was wearing a designer gown my mother had bought her—the exact dress I had asked for on my last birthday. She floated through the crowd like a peacock, drinking in the compliments. “The housekeeper’s girl seems so much more grounded than Nicole,” I heard a neighbor whisper. “I know. I heard Nicole is completely unhinged now. Thinks everyone is out to get her.” “Shh, her parents are right there. Though honestly, they seem to prefer Charlotte anyway.” I sat in the shadow of the veranda, sipping ice water and watching the spectacle. Before long, Charlotte detached herself from a group of guests and walked toward me, holding two glasses of Cabernet. “Nicole,” she said, stopping in front of my chair. Her smile was sharp, victorious. “Thank you for coming to my party. I know this must be hard for you, but sometimes we just have to move on, right?” She offered me one of the glasses, holding herself like a queen showing mercy to a peasant. “A toast? To show there’s no hard feelings.” I didn’t reach for the glass. Her smile tightened as the surrounding guests began to quiet down, sensing the tension. “What’s the matter, Nicole? Can’t even raise a glass for me?” she asked, her voice dropping into a fragile, wounded register.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “514677”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My parents drove three hours to spend Thanksgiving with us. I welcomed them at the door, my heart full of warmth, only for my wife, Beth, to greet them with a polite, distant, “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Shepard.” My parents’ joyful smiles instantly froze. I couldn’t even count how many times we had stood in this exact, suffocating silence. We had been married for five years, and in all that time, she had only called them “Mom” and “Dad” once. That was during our wedding vows, when the cameras were rolling and the pressure was on. After that, she either avoided addressing them altogether or fell back on those stiff, formal titles. Beth offered a weak, apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry, Jackie. It’s just a habit. I keep forgetting to adjust.” My smile faded. She had called her ex-husband’s parents “Mom” and “Dad” for three years. We had been married for five, and she still couldn’t accept my family. For the past three years, she had continued to look after her ex-husband’s parents. She visited them, called them her real family, and treated them with a warmth she never showed my parents. She constantly “forgot” my parents’ dietary restrictions, buying them expensive seafood dinners they couldn’t eat because of their allergies. And whenever she gave my parents gifts, they were always cheap, thoughtless afterthoughts—often duplicates of the high-end presents she carefully curated for her ex’s family. My mother swallowed her disappointment, trying to rescue the heavy atmosphere. She lifted an insulated carrier. “It’s okay, sweetie. Look, I made your favorite homemade pumpkin rolls and kept them warm the whole drive. I made sure to bring the flavors both of you love.” I reached out and gently took my mother’s hand. No. I wasn’t going to let it go this time. … Beth assumed the tension would blow over, just like it always did. She relaxed, turning on her heel to head to the living room to watch TV. I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. I needed an answer. “Is it really that hard for you to call them Mom and Dad?” I asked, my voice flat. Beth’s brows knit together. Perhaps she wanted to avoid a scene in front of my parents, or perhaps she felt a fleeting pang of guilt. With agonizing effort, she looked at my parents and forced out, “Mom… Dad.” It sounded hollow. Empty. When you haven’t actually accepted someone into your heart, calling them your parents feels like a performance. It makes you feel like a fraud. Seeing the look on my face, Beth softened her tone. “Jackie, I honestly just didn’t think. It was a slip of the tongue.” An endless cycle of apologies, with zero change. What was the point of an apology like that? My mind drifted back to our wedding day. During the family reception, when it was time to toast our parents, Beth had suddenly gone rigid. I didn’t know what she was thinking then. I only remembered how eagerly I had knelt before her parents, handing them their glasses and calling them Mom and Dad with a genuine smile. But when Beth held the glass out to my parents, she hesitated for what felt like an eternity. When she finally spoke, the words were a barely audible whisper. Even then, she had to fight herself to say it. She had never truly accepted my parents as her family. To this day, her phone didn’t even have them saved under names—just their bare phone numbers. Whenever my mother called her, Beth never picked up. If I asked, she was always “too busy.” If I pressed further, she claimed she thought it was a spam call. They say a daughter-in-law is supposed to be like a second daughter. But to Beth, my parents ranked lower than the local delivery guy. My family had a massive group chat on iMessage. It was a typical close-knit family thread where we shared daily updates, planned holidays, and kept in touch. I had invited her to join dozens of times. She always found a way to ignore the invite. “Oh, I forgot. Send it again, Jackie,” she would say. But when I sent it again, she would let the invitation expire. Sometimes my aunts and uncles would ask me, “Why isn’t Beth in the family chat?” I never knew what to say. I would swallow my embarrassment and lie, telling them she was buried under work and would join next time. But the truth was simple. She didn’t want to be a part of my family. She had already chosen her family long ago, and she had no intention of severing those ties, even after her divorce. A sudden, sharp sting pricked the corners of my eyes. Some things should have been obvious to me a long time ago. My parents stayed for barely an hour before quietly making their excuses to leave, squeezing my shoulder and telling me to take care of myself. After they left, I sent Beth one more invitation to the family group chat. Twenty-four hours went by. The invitation remained pending. In the middle of the night, unable to sleep, I watched her phone screen light up on the nightstand. I picked it up and bypassed the lock screen. Pinned to the top of her messages were three group chats. One was with her own parents. The other was with her ex-husband, Derek, and his parents. The messages in that chat jumped constantly, filled with inside jokes, photos, and casual updates. They bantered and laughed as if they were still a perfect, unbroken family. I lay awake in the dark for the rest of the night. Two weeks later, we attended a family dinner at her parents’ house. The moment I saw her mother and father, I smiled politely and said, “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Lawson.” I watched the color drain from Beth’s face, inch by inch. The moment we stepped out of her parents’ house and got into the car, she exploded. “Did you really have to do that?” she yelled, her chest heaving with rage. “I made a simple mistake with your parents, and you retaliated by humiliating mine? Did you even consider how they would feel?” I wrenched my hands free from her grip, my skin red where she had grabbed me. “Yes, I had to! If you’re so worried about your parents’ feelings, what about mine? What about my parents? I gave you five years, Beth. Five years. Not five days, not five weeks, not five months.” Those excuses of hers were a joke, and she was the only one buying them. She wasn’t stupid. Nobody “forgets” who their in-laws are for half a decade. In the middle of our shouting match, Beth’s phone rang loudly. Instantly, her expression transformed. The anger vanished, replaced by an urgent, tender concern. She swiped the screen and answered with practiced warmth. “Mom? What’s wrong?” The voice on the other end didn’t belong to her mother. It was Derek’s mother. Beth nodded rapidly, her face pale. “Don’t worry, I’m coming right now. No, it’s no trouble at all. Your emergencies are my emergencies.” Without a single glance at me, completely ignoring the fight we were in the middle of, she turned and walked away to hail a cab. I stood under the streetlights, my fingernails biting deep into my palms. Beth always put them first. Our holidays were constantly interrupted, our plans canceled, our lives put on hold for whatever minor crisis Derek’s family was having. Even during our most intimate moments, she would ruin it. Once, right in the middle of making love, she had abruptly pulled away and sat up. “I have to go. Mom and Dad need me. Something happened.” I had sat there in our dark bedroom, naked and frozen, assuming she meant her own parents. I had told her to go, telling her I understood. Only later did I find out that the “Mom and Dad” she rushed to rescue were Derek’s parents. The bitterness in my chest bloomed into a dull, throbbing ache. Just last month, when my own mother was hospitalized, I had to go out of town on an urgent business trip. I had begged Beth to look after her. Beth had promised she would. But when I called the hospital, my mother sounded incredibly lonely. Later, when I returned and checked the hospital’s security footage, I discovered Beth had stayed for less than ten minutes. During those ten minutes, she had stared at her phone, barely acknowledging my mother. My mother, weak and pale in her hospital bed, had desperately tried to start a conversation. “Beth, would you like some fruit?” “Beth, are you very busy at work?” Beth hadn’t even noticed when my mother’s IV bag ran empty. It was my mother who had to painfully stretch her arm across the bed to press the call button herself. That night, when I visited, my mother had looked at me with silent, tearful eyes. Parents can always sense when they are despised. My mother didn’t understand what she had done to deserve her daughter-in-law’s coldness. She blamed herself, worrying she was a burden to our marriage. No matter how much I asked, she never uttered a single word of complaint to me. It was my fault. I was weak. I had allowed my parents to endure five years of quiet humiliation and neglect. When Derek left the country to chase his artistic dreams in Europe, Beth had stepped in to act as his proxy, taking care of his parents as if she were their dutiful daughter-in-law. It was laughable. What about me? What about my family? I looked down at the organic root extracts and Epsom salts sitting on our kitchen counter. Her father had chronic back pain, and her mother suffered from severe joint inflammation. For five years, whenever they came over, they dumped these raw ingredients on me. “You’re young and strong, Jackie. You can grind these down easily. We’re too old for this.” “We don’t trust store-bought rubs. It’s better when you hand-mix them. We know we can trust you to do it right.” Beth had watched me work, offering a patronizing smirk. “Well, at least you’re getting good at it.” My eyes filled with tears as I looked at the rough calluses on my palms, the dry skin that always snagged on the threads of my clothes. She poured all her energy into taking care of her ex’s parents, while shifting the burden of her own parents’ care onto my shoulders. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a voice message from my mother. The background noise in the audio was deafening—sirens, shouting, horns honking. I had to press the phone tight against my ear to hear her trembling voice. “Jackie… I got into a car accident. A woman backed into me, and now she’s screaming at me, making a huge scene…” Forgetting about Beth, forgetting about the herbs, I grabbed my keys and ran out the door. When I arrived at the scene, I immediately pushed through the crowd and shielded my mother behind my back. The woman standing opposite her had a face I recognized all too well. She had her hands on her hips, her eyes rimmed with red. “She’s the one who hit me!” the woman wailed, pointing a shaking finger at my mother. “You’re only bullying me because my son is in Europe! I was just walking across the parking lot, and she ran right into me!” Seeing that another shouting match was about to start, the police officers stepped in and escorted everyone to the local precinct. Half an hour later, the heavy glass doors of the station flew open. Beth’s frantic voice echoed through the lobby. “Mom!” My mother turned around, thinking her daughter-in-law had come to support her, and instinctively took a step forward. But Beth ran straight past her. She threw her arms around Derek’s mother, checking her frantically from head to toe. “Mom, are you hurt? Tell me where it hurts. I want to see who dared to touch you.” My mother froze, her hand still half-raised in the air. Beth didn’t even notice. When she finally looked up and saw us sitting across the room, a flicker of panic crossed her eyes, but she quickly masked it. We were brought into the mediation room. Looking at Beth, my mother seemed to finally understand why her daughter-in-law had never been able to call her “Mom.” Her fingers began to tremble. For five years, she had swallowed her pride, treating Beth like her own daughter, thinking she just needed time. Now, the brutal truth was laid bare. The officers showed us the security footage. The angle was awkward, and it was hard to tell who was at fault in the crowded parking lot. My mother looked exhausted and deeply shaken. I wanted nothing more than to get her out of that toxic room, so I agreed to a mutual settlement and signed the paperwork. Beth tried to say something to me, but Derek’s mother pulled her away, and Beth chose to go with her. “Mom, let’s get you to a doctor to make sure you’re okay,” Beth whispered tenderly as they walked out. The only thing left for my mother and me was the smell of exhaust fumes in the cold air. I wrapped my arms around my mother, my tears spilling onto her shoulder. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I was so stupid.” I had been so naive. When we got married, I had hidden the depth of Beth’s attachment to her ex-husband from my parents. I knew they would worry, that their old-school values would make them skeptical of a marriage with so much baggage. But I had thrown myself into the fire for love. I had trusted Beth. I believed she was different. I should have listened to my parents. My father, who had arrived late, stood in the corner of the room. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “You foolish boy,” he said quietly. “How could you keep something like this from us?” But when they saw the state I was in, my parents didn’t scold me further. They stood by me, united. “Get a divorce,” my father said, his voice firm. “This isn’t a marriage. You need to end this.” Sometimes, the wrong choices in life simply have to be corrected. I was planning to go find Beth to hand her the papers, but she came to our house first. Before I could even speak, she barged through the door. She looked at my mother, her mouth opening and closing, still unable to utter the word “Mom.” “Did… did either of you pick up an antique gold locket at the police station?” Beth demanded, her voice breathless with anxiety. “It was a family heirloom Derek gave her. Mrs. Howard is losing her mind. She can’t lose that locket.” My mother’s face flushed with anger. “No! If we had found it, we would have handed it to the police. Why didn’t she mention it while we were at the station?” Beth ignored the explanation. “She says it went missing right after the accident. Jackie, you can be mad at me all you want, but you can’t let your parents take out their anger on an innocent old lady.” Take out their anger. Steal. She had already branded my parents as thieves in her mind. I stepped forward and violently shoved Beth back. “Enough! You have zero proof, and you’re coming into my house accusing my mother of theft? Have you completely lost your mind, Beth? My mother didn’t even know who that woman was when the accident happened!” But Beth was blinded by her desperate need to please her ex’s family. “Mrs. Howard saw your mother’s hand brushing against her purse! Jackie… I know your parents come from a small town and aren’t used to nice things, but please, just don’t keep what isn’t yours.” The ugly truth finally slipped out. She had always looked down on us. She thought of herself as a sophisticated city girl, secretly harboring contempt for my working-class, small-town parents. It was pathetic. My mother stood up straight, her spine rigid. She marched over to the entryway, grabbed her purse from the hook, and dumped its contents onto the floor. “I didn’t take a damn thing!” she cried, her voice cracking with humiliation. “If you think I stole it, call the police and have them drag me to jail!” Beth immediately dropped to her knees, frantically searching through the spilled contents. At that moment, her phone rang. It was Derek, calling from Europe. His voice leaked through the speaker, frantic and tearful. “Beth, that locket was the last thing my father bought for my mother before he passed. Please, I beg you, help her find it.” Beth’s expression turned fierce. “I’ll find it, Derek. I promise.” She hung up and glared at my parents. Finally, those words she had withheld for five years came spilling out of her mouth like a weapon. “Dad! Mom! Just give it back! Stop hiding it, or I’m going to start tearing this house apart to find it!” My mother gasped, clutching her chest, nearly fainting from the sheer shock of the accusation. My father’s hands shook with rage. “Beth Lawson,” my father growled. “You’ve looked down on our family from the day you met us, and we stayed quiet for Jackie’s sake. But we will not let you drag our names through the dirt. We don’t want her cheap jewelry!” I grabbed Beth by the arm, pulling her back. “What do you think you’re doing? We told you, we don’t have it!” But Beth ignored me. She pulled out her phone and made a call. Within ten minutes, three of her friends showed up at our door. “Help me search,” Beth commanded them. “Check every room. Don’t leave a single corner untouched.” She had completely lost her mind. This house was my home. Every corner of it was filled with the quiet, happy memories I had tried so hard to build. Beth had no right to do this. She had no right to violate my sanctuary. I tried to block her friends from entering the hallway. “Get out! This is my house, Beth! You have no right to do this!” She grabbed me, pinning my arms to my sides. “Jackie, please. I promise I’ll put everything back exactly how it was. This locket is everything to Derek. Either you tell your parents to hand it over, or I find it myself.” I stared at her, my chest burning with a rage so hot it choked me. “Who do you think we are? Who would steal a cheap locket? We told you, we didn’t take it!” But Beth completely stripped us of our dignity. Her friends began tearing the house apart, dumping drawers, throwing couch cushions, and ransacking our bedrooms. My parents stood in the corner, paralyzed with humiliation. Suddenly, one of Beth’s friends pulled a velvet jewelry box from my mother’s dresser. He opened it and snorted. “Wow. Look at this garbage. Every single piece in here is a cheap knockoff.” My heart stopped. I looked at the box. It contained the jewelry Beth had gifted my mother for birthdays and holidays over the years. They were fakes. Cheap, plastic costume jewelry. Yet every single holiday, I had spent thousands of dollars buying genuine designer pieces for her parents. Her utter contempt for my family was laid bare in that velvet box. With a surge of adrenaline, I ripped myself out of Beth’s grip. I stepped forward and slapped her across the face. “You’re going to pay for this, Beth,” I whispered. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Yes, hello. I’d like to report a home invasion and illegal search.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “514676”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day my dad walked out on us for another woman, my mom bought a pig. The pig was named Joy. I was also named Joy. Whenever she was angry, she would grab a wooden switch, go to the pen, and whip the pig. “Joy, why aren’t you dead yet?” I would squat nearby, listening to the thud of the wood hitting flesh, unable to tell which Joy she was screaming at. When she was tired of beating it, she would scoop out the exact same amount of food for the pig and me. “Good girl, Joy. As long as you eat more and get fat, Mommy will be happy.” To make her happy, I ate uncontrollably until I hit 250 pounds. But then, my mom only looked at me with disgust. “Look at you. What company would ever hire you looking like this? Are you planning to just be a couch potato and leach off me forever?” Later, my mukbang live streams blew up, and I started making ten grand a month. But my mom called just to curse at me. “You don’t care about your reputation, but I care about mine! You’re as fat as a pig, and you’re showing your face to the whole world? Aren’t you embarrassed?” I hid my terminal stomach cancer diagnosis under my pillow. Mom, I’m using my life to buy your approval. Will that finally be enough?

Maria, the office cleaning lady, asked me with concern, “Sweetie, you’re throwing up so much blood. You should go to the hospital.” I waved my hand, using the sink to push myself up. Outside, the voices from the cubicles dropped slightly. “Is she serious? Killing herself just for some internet money.” “Well, she makes more in one stream than we do in half a month.” “Still, it’s terrifying. I heard her throwing up just now. It sounded like a pig being slaughtered.” “She must have been a pig in her past life. She eats literally anything.” Just then, my phone rang. To my surprise, it was my mom. “I’m at the bus station. Where do you live?” I froze. It had been three years. This was the first time she had ever come to see me. “Mom, stay there. I’m coming to get you right now.” At the station exit, my mom was standing there. “Mom, let’s go. I’ll take you home.” I picked up her heavy luggage and walked her back to my place. She stood in the middle of my living room, looking around. Her eyes locked onto the empty takeout containers I hadn’t had time to throw away. “Is this what you eat every day?” “Sometimes I’m just too busy to cook…” “You make so much money, yet you live in a dump like this?” I choked up a bit. “Mom, this apartment is fifteen hundred a month. It’s actually pretty nice…” “Nice? My foot,” she interrupted. “On the bus ride here, I googled you. I saw your live stream.” She didn’t look at me. She just stared out the window. “All those people watching you stuff your face with tons of food. You look ridiculous.” “The folks back home saw it too. If you’re not embarrassed, I am.” I stood by the kitchen door, still holding the fresh groceries I had bought for her. “Mom, I do this to make a living…” “A living?” She whipped her head around. “What happens when you eat yourself to death?” “If you collapse, who’s going to take care of me when I’m old? You’re my only daughter. Who else can I rely on?” “Richard’s eldest son just got into a prep school, and he has another baby now. Both of them are more successful than you’ll ever be!” She sat on the couch and wiped her face. “Fine. I’m hungry. Go make dinner.” Fried fish, garlic shrimp, and chicken soup—I cooked a whole table of food. But she didn’t even look at me. She picked up her fork and started eating. Watching her eat, I let out a soft laugh. She paused, her fork hovering in the air. “What are you laughing at?” “Nothing,” I said. “Eat up, Mom. It won’t taste good once it gets cold.” She gave me a suspicious look. I leaned back in my chair. My hand slipped into my pocket, touching the crumpled diagnosis sheet that said I had late-stage stomach cancer. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

I was about to stand up to clear the dishes, but she stopped me. “Sit down.” She carried the bowls to the kitchen. “I’m staying here from now on to look after you.” I sat there, stunned. “These past years haven’t been easy for me. That bastard Richard just packed up and left, leaving the two of us.” “I raised you all by myself. You saw how much I suffered.” I sat at the dining table, silent. “When you were in college and had to pay those fees, I scraped every penny together for you.” “Back then, I was washing dishes at a diner for eight dollars an hour. I didn’t spend a single cent on myself. I gave it all to you.” In all these years, this was the first time I had ever heard her say this. “Mom…” She rinsed the bowls, put them on the rack, wiped her hands, and walked out. “So, stop doing those stupid eating streams.” I froze. “Mom, this makes good money. I need to support you.” “Support me?” She glared at me. “Is money all you care about now? Do you even care about me as your mother?” “That’s not what I—” “Then did you ever consider my dignity?” Her voice escalated. “Do you know what the neighbors back home are saying?” “They say you’re on the internet acting like a glutton, stuffing food down your throat like a pig. It’s humiliating.” “If this gets to Richard’s new wife, who knows how she’ll mock us.” I looked at her. “Dignity, dignity. That’s all you ever care about.” “Does dignity put food on the table? I have to make money while I still can. When my body gives out, I won’t be able to make a dime!” “What do you mean by that?” She glared at me. I shut my mouth. “What do you mean your body is giving out?” She walked over, standing right in front of me. “Are you hiding something from me?” “No.” I turned my face away. “I’m just saying, this job doesn’t last forever. I have to make as much as I can now.” She didn’t say anything. She sat back down on the couch. “Fine. Do whatever you want,” she said, her eyes dull. “But all the money you make has to go to me. I’ll keep it safe for you, so you don’t blow it.” When I was little, my mom’s eyes used to smile. Now, they never did. After a long silence, she whispered, “If you hadn’t been born a girl, your father would have never cheated with that woman.” “Mom, I was only seven when Dad cheated.” She went rigid. “Do you know what the saddest day of my life was? It wasn’t the day he left. It was the day he came back to visit me.” “He came back once a year to bring me snacks and buy me clothes.” “Whenever he came, you were happy. When he left, you cried. And after you cried, you would grab a switch and beat the pig.” My throat tightened. “Sometimes, when you beat the pig, I would squat right next to you and listen.” “Every time the pig squealed, I would flinch.” “You screamed, ‘Joy, why aren’t you dead yet?’ and I would wonder… should I be dead too?” Her lips trembled, but no sound came out. “Later, I realized you weren’t screaming at the pig. You were screaming at me. You were screaming at him,” I said. “But you couldn’t keep him, so you kept me. You took all your anger out on me.” She fell completely silent. That night, lying in bed, my phone buzzed. I scrolled down and saw a direct message. “Hey Joy, I’m a big fan of yours. Please take care of your health during your streams. Don’t eat too much. It breaks my heart to watch sometimes.”

At eight o’clock the next night, I started my stream on time. The moment the camera turned on, the chat began to flood. I smiled at the camera and picked up a piece of fried chicken. “Good evening, everyone! Thank you so much for the gifts. Today, your favorite curvy mukbanger, Joy, is eating fried chicken and spicy noodles!” The chat scrolled rapidly. “Joy looks a bit pale today…” “Eat up, eat up!” “Don’t eat too spicy, it’s bad for your stomach!” I tore off a piece of a chicken drumstick and took a bite. My stomach churned violently. I forced it down. As I was eating, the screen suddenly exploded with flashy animations. The chat went wild. “Ten thousand dollars! Oh my god!” “Thank you to the big boss!” I was stunned. I put down the chicken leg and stared at the screen. The user ID of the sender was “Richard.” A direct message popped up on my phone. “Joy, it’s Dad. Please stop the stream. Don’t eat anymore. I’m begging you.” I stared at the words. The screen exploded again—he had sent another ten thousand dollars. “Your mom took all the money I sent you in the past. I know that now. From now on, I’ll transfer it directly to you.” “Get off the stream, please. I’m begging you. Brenda is throwing a huge fit at home because of this.” My nose stung. I quickly lowered my head and chewed on the chicken. Then, another account sent fifteen thousand dollars. A DM followed. “Joy, it’s Brenda.” “Listen to me, sweetie, stop the stream. The relatives are all pointing fingers at me, saying I’m a horrible stepmother to you.” “Your dad and I made some good money in business these past two years. If you need money, just ask me.” The chat was still flying by. “Joy finally got some sugar daddies! You made it, girl! *crying emoji*” “Why is Joy crying?” I touched my face. It was wet. Just as I was about to speak, the door to the streaming room was kicked open. I turned around and saw my mom standing at the entrance. She was panting, her face bright red. Two staff members from my agency were behind her, trying to stop her but too afraid to grab her. “Mom, you…” She lunged forward and slapped me across the face. “When did you get back in touch with that cheating bastard?” “Huh? I raised you all these years, and you crawl back to him the second he throws some petty cash at you?” I held my burning cheek and looked at her. “Mom, I didn’t contact him…” Another slap. “Is that homewrecker Brenda there too? Did you call her ‘Mom’ yet?” I tried to speak, but she slapped me again. The live stream chat went completely chaotic. My mom grabbed me by my collar, dragging me in front of the camera, and screamed, “Look at this! This is the wonderful daughter I raised!” “Her dad cheated and abandoned us years ago. Now he comes back, throws a few dollars at her, and she’s wagging her tail like a dog to call him Daddy!” “And the homewrecker is here too! A happy little family reunion! What about me? What am I to her?” “She would rather give all her money to their new family than stay and take care of her own mother!” The chat was going insane. “Is this scripted or real?” “Wait, the big donor is her cheating dad?” “Stop hitting her!” The agency staff finally ran in to pull her away. My mom broke free, pointing at the camera and screaming, “Richard, you absolute piece of trash!” “Why are you acting like a saint now?” “And you, Brenda! You actually have the nerve to show up? You stole another woman’s husband. You’ll burn in hell!” Suddenly, the screen went black. The tech team had cut the stream. I stood there, my face burning, my ears ringing. My mom stood there panting, adjusting her clothes, and gave me a venomous look. I knew that look. That was the exact look she gave the pig when she beat it. The door pushed open, and Sarah, the operations director, walked in. She looked at my mom, then at me. Her expression was incredibly grim. “Joy, come to my office.”

I followed Sarah into her office. She closed the door and pointed to a chair. “Sit.” “I’ve heard some things about your family.” She poured a glass of water and set it in front of me. “It must be hard.” I didn’t say anything. “But business is business. What happened today is terrible for the company’s image.” “Joy,” her voice softened, “take a week off.” “Go home and sort out your family issues.” “The company employs a lot of people. We can’t let one person’s personal life ruin the entire business. You understand, right?” I raised my head to speak, but she waved her hand. “I know it’s not your fault.” She paused. “The cleaning lady told me she saw you throwing up blood in the restroom. More than once. I know about your health.” She pulled a card out of her drawer and slid it across the desk. “This is for the medical center our company partners with. Go get checked out.” “Health comes first. You can always make money later.” I looked at the card, my eyes welling up with tears. “Thank you…” Suddenly, the door burst open. My mom was standing there. “Director, I am so sorry, so sorry. I was just too emotional.” She bowed slightly, rubbing her hands together nervously. “I have a bad temper, and when I get anxious, I lose control. I’m so sorry for causing trouble.” Sarah didn’t say a word. My mom rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Joy, quick, get down on your knees and apologize to the director.” I didn’t move. She yanked me, but I remained still. The fake smile on her face stiffened. “This child, she is so stubborn.” She smiled apologetically at Sarah. “Director, please don’t mind her. She’s never known how to behave. I’ll teach her a lesson when we get home.” I used the desk to pull myself up. My stomach suddenly cramped violently. The pain was so intense that my vision blurred. I gripped the edge of the desk, my palms dripping with cold sweat. “Mom…” “What are you whining for?” She glared at me. “Apologize right now!” “Do you want to lose your job? If you lose this job, how are you going to support me?” Sarah ignored my mom, rushed over to me, and held my shoulders. “Joy? Joy, are you okay?” My mom sneered, “Director, don’t worry about her. She’s just acting. She always pulls this ‘I don’t feel well’ card.” “She’s been like this since she was a kid. Whenever I asked her to do chores, she’d suddenly have a headache or a stomachache…” “Actually, Director, if we put this family drama online, it would generate a ton of traffic, wouldn’t it?” I stared at her. Her mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear the words. Everything in front of me began to fade into a dark haze. I reached out, desperately grabbing my mom’s wrist. She looked down at me. “Mom… I just want to ask you one thing…” “What now?” “Are you proud of me?” “Can you… just once… tell me I did good?” She looked at me, blinking. “Of course I am!” I stared at her, thinking I had finally gotten what I wanted. The next second, she shook off my hand and muttered, “Look, our pig back home is named Joy. We fatten it up to sell it for cash. You eat to make money. In my eyes, you’re both the same. You’re both my pride and joy.” I let out a hollow laugh. She frowned. “What are you laughing at?” The taste of copper rushed up my throat. Before I could even lower my head, I opened my mouth and sprayed a fountain of blood right onto her face. My mom froze. The dark red blood dripped down her chin. Her face turned deathly pale.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442019”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

At the school’s End-of-Year Family Carnival, my husband, Ethan, finally gave in to our son’s begging. It was the first time he had ever come with me to pick up our son from school. The teacher walked out, holding our son’s hand. She gave Ethan a strange look and muttered casually, “Lily’s dad, when you used to pick up your daughter, you’d always show up thirty minutes early.” “How come you’re so careless when it comes to your son? A father shouldn’t play favorites.” The umbrella in Ethan’s hand slipped, clattering to the wet ground. Muddy water splashed all over my legs. I held my trembling son, who was wrapped in a faded school hoodie, and stared at the man in front of me. He felt like a total stranger. We only had one son. Where on earth did a daughter come from? Ethan shuddered violently, his voice shaking. “What rubbish are you talking about! I don’t have a daughter!” The teacher got frustrated and pointed toward the preschool classroom next door. “How could I mistake you? Just this morning, you brought a huge box of premium organic Rainier cherries for Lily to share with the other kids!” Ethan’s face went dead white. He grabbed my shoulder and tried to push me toward the car. “The teacher got the wrong guy. Babe, let’s go. Now.” I reached up, gently straightened his wet collar, and said softly, “What’s the rush?” Turning around, I smiled at the bewildered teacher. “Could you show me the way, please?” “I’d love to see what an amazing, world-class father my husband is to someone else’s child.”

The teacher walked ahead. Her heels clicked sharply against the polished concrete floor. Ethan stood frozen in place. I held Leo tightly in my arms, keeping my eyes locked on Ethan. The cuffs of Leo’s school hoodie were completely frayed, exposing his thin, pale little wrist. He buried his face in my neck. His body was shivering slightly from the rain. “Ethan, let’s go,” I called out. Ethan wiped the rain from his face. His skin looked sickly pale. “Claire, there’s really no need. The teacher must have gotten the wrong person. Preschool teachers these days are so unreliable.” He reached out to grab my arm. I stepped aside, dodging his hand. “Let’s just go look. Who knows? Maybe one of your clients has a kid named Lily too.” The teacher looked back at us, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Lily’s dad, it’s right ahead. Lily should still be having her snack.” Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He didn’t say another word and followed silently behind me. The hallway was long, the walls covered in colorful children’s drawings. The teacher stopped outside a classroom door and pointed inside. “There she is. That’s Lily.” I followed her finger. The classroom was warm and brightly lit. A group of children in beautiful, expensive clothes sat around a circular table. Right in the middle sat a little girl. She was wearing a pink tutu dress and a sparkling crystal headband. She was holding a massive, deep-purple cherry, stuffing it into her mouth. The cherries were huge. They looked incredibly expensive. Leo shifted in my arms. He whispered in my ear, “Mommy, I want some too.” I gently patted his back. “Ethan, you told me you bought that box of cherries for a client.” Ethan stood by the back door of the classroom, not daring to step inside. He kept his head down, his voice barely a whisper. “I did give them to a client… Maybe their kid goes to school here. It’s probably just a coincidence. Same name.” Right then, the little girl named Lily looked up. She spotted Ethan standing at the door. Her eyes lit up. She tossed the cherry aside and jumped down from her chair. She ran toward us as fast as her little legs could carry her. “Daddy!” Her voice was high and loud, echoing through the hallway. Ethan stiffened completely. The young teacher inside the classroom looked over and smiled. “Lily, your dad is here to pick you up!” Lily threw her arms around Ethan’s leg, clinging to him. “Daddy, why are you so late today? Chloe said you were going to take me out for pizza!” Ethan instinctively pushed the little girl away, his panicked eyes darting to me. “No… Claire, let me explain.” He tried to shake his leg free from Lily’s grip. His movement was too rough. Lily lost her balance and landed hard on her butt. “Waaah!” The little girl burst into tears. Ethan bent down to help her, but froze halfway and pulled his hands back. A hurried set of footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. A woman in a chic cream-colored trench coat rushed over. She scooped Lily up into her arms, frantically dusting off the girl’s dress. “What happened? How did you fall, sweetie?” The woman looked up, revealing a face with flawless, heavy makeup. It was Chloe. Ethan’s so-called “distant cousin.” She had moved to our city three years ago, claiming she needed help finding a job. When Chloe saw Ethan, her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Ethan, how could you let her fall and cry like this?” Before she could finish her sentence, she finally noticed me standing there. The expression on Chloe’s face froze. Holding the child, she took a half-step back. “Claire… you’re here too.” Leo coughed twice in my arms. I adjusted my grip on him, looking at the three of them. The man in a tailored suit, the woman in a designer trench coat, the child in a fancy tutu. Meanwhile, my son and I were soaking wet, looking completely miserable. Ethan opened his mouth to speak. I turned around and walked away. “We’re discussing this at home.”

The car heater was blasting. Ethan sat in the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. The windshield wipers moved with a rhythmic, irritating screech. Leo sat in his car seat in the back, wrapped in my damp jacket. He was still shivering. Ethan glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned. “Can you tell him to stop putting his feet on the seat? This is genuine leather. It’s expensive to maintain.” I pulled out some tissues and wiped the water from Leo’s hair. “Leo has a fever.” I touched my son’s forehead. It was burning hot. Ethan sighed, clearly annoyed. “It’s just a little rain. Kids aren’t that fragile. Once we get home, give him some warm water and let him sweat it out.” “Lily is a kid too. Why did you buy her such an expensive dress?” I asked quietly. Ethan slammed on the brakes. The sudden jerk threw me forward, my forehead slamming into the passenger seatback. Behind us, a chorus of angry car horns erupted. Ethan stepped on the gas again, his words pouring out in a defensive rush. “I told you, Chloe was stupid. She got pregnant by some guy who ran off. I only helped her out because I felt bad for a single mother!” “The kid grows up without a father, so she insists on calling me ‘Daddy.’ What am I supposed to do? Argue with a toddler?” “And the cherries?” “I bought them for a client! The client rejected them, so I just handed them to Chloe.” “You know how tight our budget is with the mortgage. Spending money on luxury fruit like that is just too extravagant for us.” I stared out the window at the passing streetlights. The faded hoodie on Leo was washed out, the sleeves a couple of inches too short. Last month, I told Ethan that Leo was growing and needed new clothes. Ethan had said: “Kids grow fast. Buying new clothes is a waste of money.” “My cousin has a son who just outgrew his old clothes. We can just take those hand-me-downs.” So, Leo kept wearing these oversized, worn-out rags. Meanwhile, Lily got to wear custom-made tutu dresses and crystal headbands. We drove into the underground garage. Ethan parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt first. “Look, stop acting like this. Chloe has a hard life. We need to be more generous.” “I’ll cook dinner tonight to make it up to you, okay?” He reached into the back to pick up Leo. Leo shrank back, avoiding his touch. Ethan’s hand hung awkwardly in the air before he pulled it back, miffed. “This kid… he’s never close to his own father.” Once we got home, Ethan went straight into the kitchen. I measured Leo’s temperature in the living room. 101.3°F. We were completely out of kids’ fever medicine. I walked into the study to see if there was an extra first-aid kit. The desk in the study was cluttered with a messy pile of receipts and documents. Ethan usually forbade me from entering the study, claiming it contained “confidential company files.” But today, the door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see the messy desk. With Leo in my mind, I pushed the door open. I rummaged through the drawers. No medicine. But my fingers brushed against a hard plastic card. I pulled it out. It was a Disney VIP Annual Pass. The photo on the card showed Chloe, Lily, and Ethan, all smiling brightly. Their heads were pressed together, with the Disney castle and fireworks in the background. Underneath the card lay a store receipt. The date was last Saturday. It was Leo’s birthday. Ethan had told me he had to work overtime and couldn’t make it home. Leo had waited up until midnight, eventually falling asleep at the dinner table. The receipt showed a long list of items: Princess Dress: $500. Crystal Shoes: $300. Luxury Seafood Buffet: $200. Total: $1,000. My hand holding the receipt shook violently. That night, Ethan hadn’t returned until after 1:00 AM. He had brought back a tiny, cheap cupcake from a gas station. It was barely the size of my palm, and the frosting had completely melted. He had hugged me and said: “Babe, the company is struggling lately. They cut our bonuses.” “We need to save. When we have more money, we’ll throw our boy a proper party.” And I had believed him. I had deposited all the money I made from my freelance design work into his account, not even buying myself a single new shirt. The study door flew open. Ethan stood there, wearing an apron, a spatula in his hand. When he saw what I was holding, his face twisted in rage. “Who gave you permission to go through my things?” He lunged forward, ripping the annual pass and the receipt out of my hands. His movement was so violent that the spatula almost scraped my face.

Ethan crumpled the receipt into a ball and shoved it into his pocket along with the card. “This was for networking! A client’s daughter wanted to go to Disney. What’s wrong with me tagging along? It’s for work!” I stared at him. “Ethan, did you really need to ‘network’ on Leo’s birthday? You know exactly what you did!” “So what? If I don’t work, where does the money for this house come from? Who pays the mortgage?” He yelled back defensively, his voice booming. “You think I want to work overtime? I’m doing all of this for you and our son!” From the living room, Leo began to cough violently. I ignored Ethan, pushed past him, and ran out of the study. Leo’s face was flushed red with fever. He was curled up on the couch, gasping for air. “Mommy… it hurts…” He clutched the edge of my shirt, his knuckles turning white. I scooped him up. “Let’s go. We’re going to the hospital.” Ethan followed us out. “The hospital? At this hour? Do you know how expensive emergency room copays are?” “We have ginger in the kitchen. I’ll make him some tea to sweat it out.” “Hospitals are just scams anyway. They charge hundreds of dollars for a minor cold.” As I slipped Leo’s shoes on, I pressed my cheek against his burning forehead. “He has a high fever. We are going.” Ethan blocked the front door. “Claire, stop wasting money! A fever won’t kill him.” “When I was a kid, I had a 104-degree fever. My mom just wrapped me in blankets, and I woke up fine the next morning.” “Get out of my way.” My voice was ice-cold as I glared at him. Ethan flinched at my expression. He reluctantly stepped aside, muttering under his breath: “Fine, go. Waste your money. You’re spoiling him. Can’t even handle a tiny cold.” He didn’t put on his shoes, nor did he grab the car keys. Obviously, he had no intention of coming with us. I hadn’t expected him to anyway. Carrying my fifty-pound son, I ran down the stairs and tried to hail a cab. It was pouring, and there were no Ubers nearby. I stood by the curb for twenty minutes, getting completely soaked. Leo kept crying out for his dad in his feverish delirium. My tears mixed with the rain, tasting salty on my lips. At the hospital, we went through emergency registration and blood tests. The doctor diagnosed him with acute pneumonia. He needed an IV drip immediately. I ran up and down the hospital corridors alone, paying fees and collecting medicine. When the nurse inserted the IV needle, Leo cried out, begging for his dad. The nurse looked at me, standing there alone, and asked, “Where is his father?” I shook my head. “He’s dead.” By the time the IV finished, it was 3:00 AM. Leo’s fever had finally gone down, and he fell asleep on the observation bed. As I sat beside him, my phone buzzed. It was a bank notification. [Your account ending in 4012 completed a transaction of $800.00 at 03:15 AM at Ivy Private Pediatric Clinic.] That card was under my name, but Ethan had it linked to his Apple Pay. That was the money I had been saving for Leo’s college fund. I immediately called Ethan. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. Ethan’s voice was hushed, and the background was dead quiet, like he was in a private hallway. “Hello? What do you want in the middle of the night?” “Where are you?” “In bed, sleeping.” “Then explain to me why $800 was just charged to my card.” Silence stretched on the other end for a few seconds. “Oh, that… I bought health insurance for Leo online.” “You know how expensive pediatric visits are. Better safe than sorry.” “You bought insurance from a luxury private pediatric clinic at three in the morning?” Ethan snapped. “Ugh, you are so annoying! Chloe’s kid got sick and she’s at this clinic. She didn’t have enough cash, so she borrowed it from me!” “She’ll pay me back tomorrow. Why do you have to be so incredibly petty?” *Click.* He hung up. I watched the screen of my phone fade to black. *Borrow?* Chloe didn’t even have a job. How was she going to pay it back? For the last three years, any money “borrowed” by her had never been seen again. Using my burner account, I opened Ethan’s Instagram. Just five minutes ago, he had posted a story set to “Close Friends” only. The photo showed a tiny hand with an IV drip, set against the backdrop of a luxurious private hospital room. The caption read: *[My heart breaks for my baby girl. Daddy will always protect you.]* In the comment section, Chloe had replied: *[Thank you, Daddy. We love you.]* Ethan replied: *[Always.]* I tapped the picture and zoomed in. On the bedside table sat a limited-edition Lego set—the exact one I couldn’t afford to buy for Leo. Meanwhile, my actual son was lying in a noisy, crowded public emergency room, covered in a thin, yellowed hospital blanket. My fingers gripped my phone so tightly they went numb. I turned to look at the sleeping Leo. He was so well-behaved, barely even crying out loud when he was sick. All because Ethan had once told him that “crying boys are annoying.” I stood up, walked over to the nurse’s station, and borrowed a pair of scissors. I snipped a piece of the medical tape. Then, I dialed our home landline. No one answered. He was at the private hospital, playing daddy to his mistress’s child. Perfect. I sat back down, opened my banking app, and transferred every single cent left in that account to my best friend, Sarah. There was only $2,000 left. Over the past three years, Ethan had drained all my savings using every excuse imaginable. He said he was investing, managing our wealth, and planning for our future. It turned out his “future” never included me or Leo.

The next morning, Leo’s fever had mostly subsided. The doctor prescribed some antibiotics and discharged us. When we got back, Ethan still wasn’t home. The kitchen was cold and empty. I made some oatmeal for Leo and helped him eat. He was such a good boy. Right after taking his medicine, he quietly went to his room to do his homework. I walked into our bedroom and opened the closet. Ethan’s side was lined with pristine, expensive designer clothes. He always said that as a manager, his appearance was his brand, so he couldn’t look cheap. On my side, there were only a few stretched-out t-shirts and old jeans. I pulled out a massive suitcase. And I began to pack. First went Leo’s clothes, books, and toys. Then my documents, my laptop, and my drawing tablet. My movements were swift, without a shred of hesitation. When I got to the nightstand, I pulled open the drawer. Deep inside was a small, locked box. This was Ethan’s prized possession. He kept the key on his keychain at all times. But last night, in his rush to leave for the private hospital, he had changed pants and left his keys on the shoe rack by the entryway. I walked over, grabbed the key, and unlocked the box. Inside was a stack of papers. Right on top was a DNA paternity test. Petitioner: Ethan Vance. Test Subject: Lily Lin. Result: 99.9% probability of paternity. Ethan Vance is the biological father of Lily Lin. The date on the report was from three years ago. Right around the time Chloe first came to “seek help.” It had been a scam from the very beginning. Underneath the report was a property deed. A brand-new condo downtown. The sole owner listed was Chloe Lin. Paid in full. The payment record was from two years ago. That was exactly when I had received a $20,000 design bonus. Ethan had come to me crying, claiming his mother was critically ill and needed immediate surgery. Without a second thought, I had handed him the money. I had even taken out a high-interest personal loan to cover the rest of the medical costs. To this day, I was still paying off the interest on that loan, working late nights to sketch designs. It turned out that the “dying mother” I had starved myself to save was actually a luxury condo for his mistress. A wave of intense nausea hit me. I rushed to the bathroom and dry-heaved over the toilet, but nothing came up. Looking in the mirror, my face was pale and haggard, with fine lines creeping around my eyes. This was the reward for seven years of loving that man. I took clear photos of every single document, put them back exactly as they were, and locked the box. I placed the keys back on the shoe rack. Suddenly, the front door clicked open. Ethan was back. He carried a bag of takeout, a look of exhaustion on his face, but with an undeniable air of smug satisfaction. He had probably felt like a real hero playing family at Chloe’s bedside last night. “Babe, how is Leo? I bought some fresh bagels. They’re still warm.” He kicked off his shoes, walked in, and tossed the bag onto the table. When he saw the suitcase in the living room, he froze. “Are you going on a business trip?” I stepped out of the bedroom, holding my phone. “Yeah. The agency has an emergency project,” I said, keeping my voice completely flat. Ethan let out a sigh of relief and stepped closer to hug me. “For how many days? Can you skip it? There’s so much to do around the house, and you know I’m terrible with kids.” I stepped back, dodging his arms. “I have to go. Someone has to pay the mortgage.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Just make it quick. Oh, by the way, about that money…” “I transferred all of it to my best friend, Sarah,” I said. Ethan’s eyes widened. “What? Why the hell would you do that? I need that money right now!” “Chloe’s kid is getting discharged, and they’re short on cash. Transfer it back immediately!” “Sarah is sick. She’s in the hospital and needed a loan,” I lied smoothly. Ethan lost his mind. “Her parents can pay for her! Our money is for emergencies! How can you be so incredibly selfish?” “Chloe is a single mother. It’s hard enough for her. What if they stop her kid’s medication?” He lunged forward to grab my phone. “Give me the phone. I’ll transfer it back myself!” I took a step back, clutching my phone tightly. Hearing the shouting, Leo peeked his head out from his room. “Daddy…” Ethan didn’t even look at him. His face was twisted in pure rage. “Go back to your room! Stay out of grown-up business!” Leo flinched and slammed the door shut. I stared at Ethan’s ugly face. To pay for his bastard daughter’s private clinic bill, he was willing to rob his own son of emergency funds. “The transfer went through. I can’t get it back,” I said coldly. Ethan kicked the couch in frustration. “Claire, you are absolutely out of your mind! Fine! You want to play dirty? Don’t expect me to help you with anything ever again!” He snatched his car keys off the counter and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. *Bang.* The apartment fell into a dead silence. I walked over to Leo’s room and pushed the door open. Leo was clutching his backpack, tears welling in his eyes. “Mommy, are we leaving?” He had seen the suitcase. I knelt down and wiped his tears away. “Yes, sweetie. We’re leaving.” “Is Daddy coming with us?” “No.” “So… do I never have to wear old hand-me-downs again?” My throat tightened. I nodded fiercely. “Never. From now on, you only get brand-new clothes.” I grabbed our suitcase, took Leo’s hand, and walked out of the apartment we had lived in for five years.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442018”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

All because Ethan Cross was obsessed with absolute fairness. For the five years of our marriage, every single decision in our household had to be decided by the roll of a die. Until my best friend, Chloe, texted me. She said Ethan was out on the streets, mobilizing a massive search party to find his first love’s lost dog. “That’s impossible!” I replied instinctively. “I just won the roll against him.” “He promised he would personally escort our son’s donor heart from the docks to the hospital. He should be arriving any minute.” But a phone call from our contact at the harbor slapped me right in the face. “Dr. Miller, I still haven’t seen Mr. Cross! We can’t delay young Leo’s surgery!” “There are too many dangerous eyes on this donor heart. It’s only safe if Mr. Cross escorts it himself.” Ethan’s phone went straight to voicemail. Left with no choice, I tracked his GPS location and drove out to find him. When I arrived, I saw him holding a sobbing Scarlett Vance tightly in his arms, while directing a fleet of luxury SUVs to fan out across the streets. “If you don’t find Buster—mine and Scarlett’s baby—you all know the consequences!” Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. This man, whose very life I had saved with my own medical skills, wasn’t worth it anymore. I was done.

As the search fleet sped away, Ethan turned to get into the driver’s seat. I rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Ethan!” He spun around, startled. “Vivian? Why aren’t you at the hospital?” “I should be asking you that!” I grit my teeth, fighting back tears. “You promised me you would go to the docks to get Leo’s heart!” Leo was our four-year-old son. He inherited a congenital heart defect and had been on the transplant waiting list for a year. If his condition hadn’t suddenly taken a turn for the worse last month, we wouldn’t have had to spend millions coordinating a private international organ transfer. Ethan avoided my gaze, looking slightly guilty. “Vivian…” “You know how many competitors are waiting for this heart to fail! Why are you wasting crucial time helping this woman find a dog?” Hearing my words, the girl clutching his coat stopped crying. She shrank back into Ethan’s chest, trembling like a victim. “Watch your mouth, Vivian! Scarlett is a dear friend of mine!” Ethan’s voice turned cold. “Buster isn’t just a dog. He is our baby!” “If anything happens to him, Scarlett will break down!” Our baby? I carried Leo for ten months, nurtured him through four agonizing years of sickness, and he didn’t even rank above a dog in Ethan’s eyes? “No! I don’t care what you say today, you are going to the docks and bringing that heart to the hospital!” I blocked his car door with my body. “Once I’m in the operating room saving Leo, you can go find whatever dog you want—” “Stop being hysterical!” Ethan grabbed my collar and shoved me aside. I stumbled, nearly crashing onto the hard pavement. “Ethan!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “What happened to your absolute fairness? I won the roll this morning!” The winner calls the shots. That was Ethan’s golden rule. When we got married, he wanted me to resign from the hospital to be his private on-call doctor. I lost the roll, so I resigned. The day I went into labor, he got a call saying Scarlett was injured. He wanted to leave. We rolled, and I lost again. When my mother was rushed to the ER with a severe concussion, Scarlett’s car happened to break down on the highway. I rolled, and I still lost. But today, for the first time in three years, I finally won. He had agreed to cancel his plans of fixing Scarlett’s clogged toilet and promised to fetch Leo’s life-saving heart. Yet, he was breaking his word. “Play fair!” I blocked him again. “Are you going to break your own sacred rule?” Ethan paused. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his signature golden die, and handed it to me. “You win, you call the shots. Same as always.” He was so calm, so detached. My hands shook as I took the heavy gold metal. *I have to win,* I prayed in my heart. *Please.* The die rolled across his palms. The seconds felt like hours, sweat slicking my hands. But when it stopped, the single red dot facing upward made my vision go black. Before I could process it, Ethan snatched the die back. “No, that doesn’t count!” I fell to my knees on the gravel, grabbing his coat. “The asphalt is uneven! Let’s roll again, please…” “Vivian, you play, you accept the loss.” He took a step forward. I clung to his leg desperately. “I’m begging you, Ethan. Please!” “In the eight years I’ve known you, I have never begged you for anything. If Leo doesn’t get this surgery today, he will die!” Ethan paused. He didn’t look back, but he pulled out his phone. “Carter, take a car and fetch the boy’s transplant box from the docks.” Then he looked down at me. “Are you satisfied now?” “No!” My eyes were bloodshot. “The docks are dangerous. Only you, Ethan Cross, have the authority to get that heart out safely!” “Even if Carter drives your car, everyone knows you’re here looking for a damn dog! Do you think our enemies are stupid?” “Ethan, is that dog really more important than your own son’s life?” “Yes!” Ethan snapped. “Buster only responds to my scent and Scarlett’s!” He pointed a finger at my forehead. “Vivian, the more time you waste throwing this tantrum, the less of a chance your son has to survive!” With that, he brushed me off and slammed the car door shut. The words “your son” froze me to the core. I chose this man. I gave birth to this child. And I rolled the die myself. Who else could I blame for my rotten luck? The SUV roared to life, leaving me in a cloud of dust. As the dust settled, something caught the streetlights. I leaned down and picked up the golden die he had dropped in his haste. I shook it instinctively, and my heart sank into an abyss.

Carter drove like a maniac, clutching the steering wheel as the cooler box sat secured in the passenger seat. I checked my watch. We could still make it! At sixty miles an hour, we were only thirty minutes away from the hospital. The freezing wind whipped through the cracked window. I shoved my hands into my pockets and felt the cold weight of the golden die. Ethan had carried it for twenty years. Its edges were worn smooth. He always spoke of fairness, and I had almost convinced myself that his obsession was just a harmless quirk of his dangerous lifestyle. But just now, when I shook it in the quiet car, I felt a tiny, faint click from inside. “Carter,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “You’ve been with Ethan for ten years, right?” “Yes, Mrs. Cross.” “Do you know how to rig a die?” Carter answered honestly, suspecting nothing. “It’s simple, ma’am. You just drill a tiny hole and insert a sliding lead pin inside.” “Whichever number you want to roll, you just tap the pin to the opposite side. Gravity does the rest.” I froze. My fingers trembled as I lightly tapped the die against my palm. I felt the subtle shift of weight. I rolled it onto the dashboard. It stopped perfectly on the number 3—the exact number I wanted. The blood in my veins turned to ice. There was never any fairness. The outcome had always been in Ethan’s hands. What he rolled simply depended on what he valued. He didn’t value my career. He didn’t care about my safety during childbirth. He didn’t care if my mother lived or died. To him, I never had any privilege. “Mrs. Cross, the road ahead is blocked.” The sudden screech of brakes pulled me back to reality. I leaned out the window. There was a barricade ahead. Along with the traffic cops, I immediately recognized Ethan’s men. One of them was handing a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills to a driver, who smiled and turned his car around. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Ma’am,” the guard said, recognizing me. “Mr. Cross had the police department shut down this street. No vehicles are allowed through.” Ethan had connections with the local precinct. Shutting down a minor street in this district was easy for him. But this was the fastest route to the hospital. “Move!” My voice shook violently. “My son’s heart is in this car! If anything goes wrong, your life won’t be enough to pay for it!” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cross. Mr. Cross’s orders are absolute. The road stays closed until Buster is found.” Buster. That damn dog again. With shaking hands, I dialed Ethan’s number. He picked up, his tone utterly dismissive. “Just take a detour, Vivian,” he sighed impatiently. “I need to find Buster before it gets dark.” “A detour will add an hour and a half! The donor heart will decay!” But on the other end, he was already distracted, murmuring sweet words to soothe a crying Scarlett. “You have a heart condition too! You know how painful a heart attack is!” I screamed into the receiver. “Ethan, do you not care if Leo dies?” “If he can’t even handle a little pain, he doesn’t deserve to be a Cross!” The man’s harsh roar left me stunned. Right. I had forgotten. He had always been like this—a ruthless, arrogant tyrant. Yet, his very life was something I had dragged back from the gates of hell. I was the one who found him collapsed and suffocating in a casino bathroom years ago. I was the one who risked my medical license, performing an emergency bypass in a locked-down clinic at three in the morning. I was the one who bore the insults of my own family, running through dangerous neighborhoods to source his black-market cardiac meds, even offending local syndicates for him. On the night he proposed, he had pulled out his golden die for the first time. He gave me a playful wink. “If you roll a higher number, I’ll give you a week to think about it. If you lose, you put on this ring and become Mrs. Cross right now.” Until today, I actually believed that night was a beautiful twist of fate. It turned out that for five years, I was just a clown being played in the palm of his hand. “Let’s roll a virtual die on Snapchat,” I said, closing my eyes. “If I win, you open the road. If you win, I’ll turn around.” “No way,” he said coldly. “I only trust real dice.” Suddenly, a sharp scream came through the receiver. “Scarlett!” Ethan’s voice panicked—a tone I rarely heard. “Why did you climb up that dirt slope? Did you hurt your ankle?” I hadn’t heard him speak with such tenderness in years. The call went dead. The dial tone beeped in my ear, cold and mocking. “Take the detour, Carter,” I whispered. *** I didn’t get home until midnight. I walked into the quiet house, turned on the lights, changed my shoes, and began picking up Leo’s scattered toys from the living room floor. The front door clicked open. The moment Ethan saw me, the exhaustion on his face morphed into pure rage. “Why the hell weren’t you answering my calls or texts?” I blinked, pulling out my phone. I had over a hundred missed calls from him. “You found Buster, I assume. That’s good,” I said, my voice completely hoarse. “Make sure to buy him some expensive treats. I’m going to take a shower.” My legs were shaking so badly I had to lean against the wall to stand. “Vivian, I’m talking to you!” Ethan marched over and grabbed my shoulder. “How is Leo? Was the surgery a success?” My throat tightened, a metallic taste of blood rising in my mouth. It physically hurt to breathe as I forced the words out. “He’s dead.” Ethan’s pupils contracted. His grip on my shoulder tightened. “What… what did you say?” “Our Leo is dead,” I said slowly, looking him dead in the eyes. “The donor heart decayed because it took too long. He went into cardiac arrest, and he didn’t make it.” Ethan’s mouth opened, but no sound came out except a strained, choked gasp. I summoned every ounce of my remaining strength and pushed his hand off me. “I want a divorce.”

Ethan stumbled back a step, nearly losing his footing under the double blow. “Our son just died, and you want a divorce?” Looking at the devastation in his eyes, I found it hilarious. “You were the one who had to find a dog. You were the one who ordered the roadblock. And now you’re blaming me?” “I didn’t know it would be this serious!” his eyes welled with tears. “Right. You didn’t know,” I said, my voice dead and flat. “After all, every time Leo had an episode, you managed to win the roll and leave to be with Scarlett.” Ethan choked on his words. “Vivian, you’re grieving. You can blame me all you want,” he said, reaching out to pull me into his arms. “But there’s no need to talk about divorce. We’ve been together for five years.” “We’ve been married for five years, and we dated for seven before that,” I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “In all those years, did you ever once break your ‘rules’ for me?” “I wanted to go back to the hospital, but you forced me to be your private doctor.” “I was in labor, and you left to bandage Scarlett’s sprained ankle.” “My mother got a concussion, and you were busy changing Scarlett’s flat tire.” “Ethan, as your wife, I never received an ounce of your care.” My voice felt incredibly heavy. “Living under your version of ‘fairness’ has exhausted me.” Ethan stared at me for a long time. The guilt in his eyes slowly hardened into cold arrogance. “Are you sure about this?” I nodded. I didn’t even have the energy to say “yes” anymore. “Then we do this the old-fashioned way.” His voice was freezing. “If you win the roll, I’ll sign.” He held out the golden die. The same die I had quietly slipped back into his coat pocket earlier. “To keep it fair, you roll first.” Under his confident gaze, I rolled. For the first time in our marriage, it landed on a perfect 6. “How is that possible?” His eyes went wide. “How did you roll a six?” “Why not? What did you expect me to roll, Mr. Cross? A one?” I casually manipulated the hidden pin inside the metal, rolling it again. It stopped precisely on the single red dot. Ethan stared at me, dumbfounded. “Just tell me what number you want. I can make it land on whatever you desire.” I slammed the die onto the marble coffee table, picked up a heavy metal trophy, and smashed it to pieces. A tiny metal pin rolled out and stopped near his shoe. I picked it up and held it in front of his face. “Five years, Ethan. You used this cheap trick to toy with my life for five years.” He opened his mouth to defend himself, but I raised a hand to cut him off. “Save your breath. You play, you accept the loss. I’ll have the divorce papers sent to your office once I sign them.” “Fine. Great.” Ethan laughed bitterly, his pride wounded. “Then pack your bags and get the hell out of my house. You want a divorce? You leave with absolutely nothing.” I never planned on taking a single dime of his dirty money anyway. But as I dragged my suitcase toward the door, he called out to me. “I just called the hospital,” he said coldly. “Leo’s body belongs to me. You have no right to touch him.” “What did you say?” “He carries the Cross name. And you’re just an unemployed housewife,” Ethan sneered. “You don’t even have the money to buy him a proper casket. What makes you think you’re qualified to handle his funeral?” I marched back and slapped him across the face. “Are you even human? You’re using our son’s body to force me back?” “So what if I am?” Ethan wiped a smear of blood from his lip. “If you take back the divorce, I’ll let you attend his funeral.” “Go to hell!” My chest heaved. “You are the monster who killed Leo. You don’t deserve to touch him!” “Fine,” Ethan shrugged. “Let’s make a bet. Winner calls the shots.” “Three days from now, on the VIP cruise ship in the harbor. I’ll be waiting.” He stepped closer, whispering in my ear, “But the buy-in is five hundred thousand dollars. Can an unemployed doctor like you even afford the seat?” That night, I dialed the international line for St. Mary’s Hospital in Germany. “Five hundred thousand dollars for a three-year contract, plus my exclusive patent for the cardiac formula. You get me and the formula. It’s a win-win.”

Three days later, I walked into the VIP lounge of the luxury cruise ship, carrying a briefcase. Ethan was lounging on the center leather sofa, surrounded by a thick cloud of cigar smoke. When I dumped the five hundred thousand dollars in cash onto the green felt table, the surrounding crowd erupted into laughter. “Mr. Cross, your ex-wife is hilarious. Does she not know we don’t play for petty cash here?” *Smack!* A loud slap echoed through the room. The man who had spoken was sent stumbling, a bright red handprint burning on his cheek. Ethan sat back down, casually rubbing his palm. “Remind me, what did you just call her?” “She’s… she’s your wife, sir…” the man stammered, clutching his face in terror. Scarlett Vance walked in, wearing a low-cut red silk dress and towering stiletto heels. “Just take the cash,” she purred, brushing her hand against Ethan’s jaw. She blew a puff of cigarette smoke into his face. “Consider it a little gift from Vivian to buy Buster some treats. Right, Ethan?” Ethan smiled, silently giving his consent. I turned away from them, checking the leather cup and the dice. “Everything looks fine. Let’s begin.” First round. Liar’s Dice. Ethan called three 3s. I raised it to four. He leaned forward, staring at me intensity. “When Leo passed away… did it hurt?” The cup in my hand wobbled slightly. “You should know,” I said, looking up. “You have the same condition.” “Did it hurt as bad as my attacks?” he pressed on, his voice dropping. “Like someone reaching into your chest and crushing your heart into pieces?” I closed my eyes, my palms slick with sweat. “Five 3s,” I called. “Show them,” Ethan said instantly, revealing his dice. I lost the first round. “You’re distracted,” Ethan leaned back on the sofa. “Focus on the next round.” The second round began. I played defensively. But Ethan kept raising the stakes, pushing from three 4s all the way to six 4s. “The morgue called me, asking when to cremate him,” he said casually. “I told them to wait until I finish this game.” “Seven 4s,” I said, keeping my voice dead steady. He revealed his dice. He didn’t expect me to actually have them. I won the second round. “One to one,” the dealer announced. By the final round, Ethan’s hand was shaking slightly as he shook the cup. “I actually went to see him after he died,” Ethan murmured softly. “He looked so much like you. Especially with his eyes closed.” The cold sea breeze swept through the open deck doors, making my spine shudder. “Three 6s,” I called. “Four,” he followed. “If I hadn’t closed that street that day, what would we be doing right now?” Ethan choked slightly. “Would you still be my wife? Would the three of us still be a happy family?” “Five 6s,” I raised my voice. “Six.” Suddenly, the sound of rolling wheels echoed from the corridor outside. Through the glass partition, I saw a small, brown wooden coffin being rolled by. It was only four feet long, covered in a white sheet. My hand slipped. The cup tipped over. Reveal. I had two 6s. He had three. But I had called six. “I win,” Ethan said, lifting his cup with a complicated look. “Vivian, you still can’t beat me.” “Make your choice,” he stared at me. “Tear up the divorce papers, and we’ll bury Leo together.” “Or get off my ship. You won’t be allowed near his funeral.” Right then, the heavy double doors of the VIP room were kicked open by heavily armed SWAT officers. “Nobody move! Hands in the air! We have a warrant for illegal high-stakes gambling!” “What a joke!” Ethan slammed his hand on the table. “My ship is in international waters. And this is a private game with no money exchanged. You have no jurisdiction here!” “International waters?” the captain took off his mask, smirking. “Mr. Cross, I suggest you take a look outside.” Ethan rushed to the deck. The glowing neon skyline of the harbor was right in front of him. “Actually, I had five hundred and twenty thousand dollars,” I whispered, walking up behind him. “The extra twenty thousand was more than enough to convince your captain to turn the ship back.” “And one more thing.” I patted his shoulder. “The five hundred thousand dollars Scarlett took from me? That counts as a monetary transaction. It’s officially a crime.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442017”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My parents always taught me that a girl had to be independent. They were getting old, and it was time for me to shoulder the family’s burdens. I remember pointing at my brother, Austin, and saying naively, “But we have Austin. He should learn to be independent too.” Not long after that, Austin had a terrible fall. He became completely bedridden. I worked part-time jobs while taking care of my paralyzed brother, yet our family still survived on discarded vegetables and wore second-hand clothes rescued from the trash. To make more money, I signed up for sketchy, under-the-table medical drug trials. But because of that, I developed severe skin cancer. My body began to rot. Without hesitation, I left every single dollar of that blood money to Austin. I didn’t even keep enough cash to buy a bottle of sleeping pills for myself. In the end, I pulled a plastic trash bag over my head and ended my own life. Yet, after my death, I saw Austin playing in a high-stakes championship basketball game. When it ended, my parents rushed to hug him and gifted him the most expensive mansion in the city. It turned out they had staged this entire tragedy of poverty. I was the only actor who took the script seriously. But now that I’m actually dead, why do they look so full of regret?

I was preparing for my second drug trial. The nurse, about to insert the needle, froze when she saw the massive rotting sores on my arm. She gasped, her hand shaking so hard that the syringe dropped to the floor. They rushed me in for a full medical examination. Before I could even ask about the rotting skin, they dragged me out and threw me onto the street. The nurse threw my cash and the medical report right at my face. “You have skin cancer and you still dared to come for drug trials? How desperate for money are you? You signed the waiver, so even if you died on our table, it’s on you. Take the money and get the hell out. Don’t you dare try to sue us!” Those words hit me like a lightning bolt. I froze on the pavement. Ever since the trials started, my skin had been incredibly itchy and flaky. Every time Sarah struggled to sweep up the dry skin from my bedsheets, I felt so incredibly guilty. I never imagined it was the prelude to my death. Dejected, I picked up the report and stared at the bold letters, desperately wishing my eyes were playing tricks on me. Just then, my phone buzzed. Sarah’s gentle voice echoed in my ear. “Chloe, we’re working extra hours for some cash today and won’t make it back for lunch. Remember to cook for Austin.” I swallowed my tears and choked out a quiet, “Okay.” My feet felt like lead as I walked back home. Seeing Austin lying on the bed, I immediately shoved the medical report under my wooden cot. But looking at him, my eyes welled up with tears. Austin looked at me and whispered, “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m holding you back. Honestly, it’s fine if I skip lunch.” I walked over and sat by his bed for a long time before I could find my voice. “Austin, what will you do if I’m not here one day?” Austin gently patted my head, his eyes full of affection. “What are you talking about? I’d die for you before I let anything happen to you. You’re going to be fine. We just have to stay strong. Things will get better soon.” But I wasn’t going to get better. I stood up, wiped my tears, and did something I never did—I bought some fresh eggs to boil for Austin. As soon as the food was on the table, David and Sarah dragged their exhausted bodies through the door. They pulled a bunch of bruised, discarded lettuce leaves from their tattered canvas bags. David took a big gulp of cold tap water, looking excited. “Sarah was so fast today. She grabbed these from the supermarket dumpster before anyone else. They’re fresher than usual!” I looked at them, but my mind was completely blank. Sarah pulled a gourmet cupcake from her bag and placed it in my hand. “It’s your birthday today. We can’t afford a cake, but you should still have something sweet.” I held the heavy, beautifully frosted cupcake, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile. The words from the medical report kept spinning in my head. The sweet aroma of the frosting snapped me back to reality. I placed the cupcake in front of Austin. “Give it to Austin. I don’t really like sweets.” Austin pushed my hand back. “It’s your birthday, Chloe. You eat it. I’ll just take a tiny taste of the frosting to celebrate.” Saying that, he dipped his finger in the frosting and licked it. A gourmet cupcake like this cost as much as our grocery budget for a week. No matter what, I couldn’t swallow it. David and Sarah sat down at the table, gnawing on stale, yellowed bread. They refused to touch the boiled eggs I made. Looking at their mismatched, oversized clothes rescued from thrift store dumpsters, my heart ached with agonizing pain. The terror of knowing I was going to die was slowly washed away by sheer pity for my family. I wanted to beg my parents for comfort, but I chose to keep my mouth shut about the cancer. If my death meant one less mouth to feed, and if it could make their lives easier, then I was willing to die.

I just didn’t understand. We all worked so hard, so why were we always so poor? To save money when we were kids, David and Sarah moved us to a run-down trailer park on the edge of town. Almost every kid here came from extreme poverty. Their families put all their hopes on them. So, the kids here were incredibly tough and studied hard. Sarah never complained about the harsh life. Instead, she grabbed my hand excitedly. “In an environment like this, Chloe, you will definitely grow up to be strong and successful.” I turned to look at Austin, my innocent eyes wide. “I hope Austin will be as independent and strong as me.” But not long after, Austin fell and became paralyzed. I was consumed by guilt. I used to sit by Austin’s bed and slap myself hard across the face. I believed my stupid mouth had cursed him to be bedridden forever. To make up for it, I started working part-time while going to high school. But a student could only get the most brutal, lowest-paying gigs. In the scorching ninety-degree summer heat, I stood on the asphalt handing out flyers. When I was dying of thirst, I couldn’t even bear to spend a dollar on a bottle of water. I would pick up half-empty bottles discarded by strangers, saving the plastic bottles to sell later. To fight the homeless people for those plastic bottles, I was cornered in an alley. They stuffed trash into my mouth, kicking and punching me to warn me off. With a mouth full of blood and bruises all over my body, there were times I wanted to buy cheap painkillers. But I forced myself to save every single cent for Austin’s treatment. To numb the pain, I resorted to rubbing soot from trash fires into my cuts. When David and Sarah found out, they gave me a huge thumbs-up. “Our daughter has incredible resilience. You already have the mindset of a successful leader.” But they had no idea how excruciating it was to rub trash ash into open wounds. I didn’t dare make a sound. Even asking Sarah for a simple hug felt like a selfish luxury. Because every minute I wasted meant less money earned. I looked at the sweet cupcake on the table, a dark resolution forming in my mind. Just then, Sarah walked in, sat on the edge of my cot, and gently stroked my hair. She looked apologetic. “Someone recommended a great specialist. We’ve saved up a bit of money recently, and we want to take Austin out of town to see him. Maybe… just maybe, he can stand up again.” It was such a normal farewell, but it felt like a knife twisting in my chest. They had traveled to see doctors with Austin before, but this time, it would be my final goodbye. I pushed my grief aside, scrambled up, and pulled all the cash from my bag, forcing it into Sarah’s hands. Seeing Sarah’s shocked expression, I lied with red eyes. “It was just Valentine’s Day. A lot of rich couples got into fights and threw away expensive gifts. I got lucky, found some, and sold them.” Sarah hugged me, her face full of pride. “Take care of yourself at home. We’ll be back soon.” I leaned against the window frame, watching their figures slowly disappear down the dusty road. Only then did I realize that in my desperation to save Austin, I hadn’t left a single dollar for myself. Tears streamed down my face. Through the blur, I saw the plastic bag that had wrapped the cupcake on the table. I took a tiny bite of the remaining cupcake. The sweetness exploded in my mouth. To have Sarah’s final gesture of love was enough for me. I pulled the plastic bag over my head and slowly pulled it tight around my neck. The sweet smell of vanilla made me feel like I was drifting into a dream. My hands hesitated. But I quickly forced myself to focus. This family couldn’t afford another sick person. Without me as a burden, they could focus entirely on curing Austin. I clenched my teeth and pulled the plastic tight. Soon, the dim light in the room was swallowed by an endless, silent darkness.

When I woke up again, I felt weightless. When I saw a stiff, pale version of myself lying on the cot, I finally realized I was dead. I floated closer. My face was a sickly blue. Already malnourished, I looked even uglier in death. But my only thought was: *How is Austin doing?* As that thought consumed me, I suddenly vanished and reappeared at a basketball court. Before I could process why my ghost was teleporting, I saw David and Sarah sitting in the VIP stands, beaming with joy. They were wearing expensive, designer clothes. Even if our family had saved for a lifetime, we couldn’t have afforded a single sleeve of those outfits. I floated in front of them, but they looked like total strangers. Sarah’s bright red lipstick was striking, and her perfectly styled blonde waves made her look exactly like a wealthy socialite. Confused, I followed their gaze down to the court. There, I saw my paralyzed brother, Austin, running and dribbling the ball with incredible agility. I recognized the jersey he was wearing. It was a limited-edition designer brand that money could barely buy. My mind spun. Suddenly, the buzzer sounded. David and Sarah rushed onto the court, throwing their arms around Austin with pure adoration. “Austin! We didn’t spend all those years taking you around the world for nothing!” But Austin was paralyzed… how did he travel the world? Even in my confusion, seeing him healthy made me ecstatic. “Austin! You’re okay? How did you get better?” But no matter how loud I screamed, they didn’t react. Austin hugged Sarah. “Mom, I was going crazy pretending to be paralyzed for so long. Thank God I could use those ‘doctor visits’ as an excuse to travel and actually stretch my legs.” David and Sarah cupped his face, overflowing with affection. “You’ve worked so hard, son. Today, we have a gift for you.” David pulled out a deed. It was for a luxury mansion in the city’s most exclusive gated community. I remembered that place. I had stood outside its gates once, staring in awe. Back then, Sarah had told me, “We won’t be poor forever, Chloe. If you work hard, you’ll live in a house like this one day.” But it turned out they didn’t need to work hard. They already owned it. Austin seemed to remember something and looked at them. “By the way, Chloe was crying when she got home yesterday. Did something happen to her?” Sarah instantly looked tense and grabbed his arm. “You didn’t blow your cover, did you? Our plan is almost complete. We can’t let it ruin now.” Austin shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ve played the part this long, I won’t disappoint you. But I still feel like Chloe is hiding something.” Sarah nodded, telling him not to overthink it. She said they would check on me when they got back. Full of questions, I followed them back to the mansion. The villa was blindingly bright, filled with maids rushing around. Someone even held out slippers for them, and the dining table was piled high with expensive delicacies. It turned out today was Austin’s engagement party. They had invited high society’s finest. Sarah stood next to David, whispering, “Chloe has been acting strange lately. She used to be so full of positive energy. And she handed me so much cash before we left… You don’t think she got it illegally, do you?” David wrapped an arm around her, speaking patiently. “No way. We raised her to be independent, and her morals are solid.” “Besides, Austin’s career is stable now, and Chloe is graduating in a few days. On Austin’s wedding day, we’ll tell her the truth. She’s inheriting a multi-million dollar company right out of college. She’ll probably think she’s dreaming.” Standing beside them, my tears fell silently onto the marble floor. *David, Sarah… I won’t be smiling. And I’m never waking up.*

The engagement party was a massive success, and they set the wedding date for a week later. After waving goodbye to the guests, David and Sarah pulled out their phones, looking slightly anxious. “We’ll be busy planning the wedding this week, so we can’t go back to the old place. We should call Chloe and let her know.” Sarah dialed my number eagerly, but it just kept ringing. I floated next to her, wanting to tell her I was right there. But my hand passed right through her shoulder. I could never hug her again. I recalled smelling expensive perfume on them back in the trailer park. They had always lied, saying they just ran into some rich ladies. I recalled the photos Sarah sent me—they were far too high-quality to have been taken on her cheap, cracked phone. And Austin… his legs had remained muscular and toned despite supposedly being paralyzed for years. It was all just a sick game of “poverty,” and I was the only actor who didn’t know it was a script. My grief suffocated me. But looking at their happy faces, a part of me felt relieved. If they were living well, I didn’t have to worry anymore. After a long time, I floated upstairs. At the end of the hallway was a bedroom. I walked in. The layout was incredibly familiar. It was decorated exactly like the dream room I had sketched in my notebook years ago. On the nightstand was a framed photo of the four of us. My school trophies and certificates from childhood were neatly arranged on the desk. Just then, a cat wandered into the room. Even the cat was the exact breed I had drawn. They remembered every single dream I had. They had built it all for me. This room was a beautiful fairytale, but I could only watch. I could never touch it. Loud footsteps echoed in the hallway. I turned around. Several personal stylists in sharp suits walked in, holding a row of gorgeous designer gowns. David, Sarah, and Austin stood before the outfits. “Our suits are ready. Now, let’s choose Chloe’s dress. This will be our big surprise for her.” Looking at the price tags, each dress cost more than I used to earn in a year of grueling labor. Now, a whole rack of them was mine. Austin picked up a stunning blue gown with a long train. “This blue one is perfect for Chloe. She’s so fair, she’ll look like royalty in this.” David shook his head. He pulled out a white tulle gown. “No, Chloe should wear this one. When she was little, she would stare at the dolls in the boutique window for hours. She’ll love the tulle.” Austin stared at the rack for a moment, then grabbed a pastel pink gown. “You guys still don’t get Chloe. Pink is her absolute favorite. She’s wanted pink things since she was a toddler.” “But light colors get dirty too easily. To save money, she always forced herself to choose dark, ugly clothes. Her classmates used to call her a cheap, dirty peasant because of it.” David and Sarah looked pained, exchanging a sad look before agreeing with Austin. In the blink of an eye, it was Austin’s wedding day. They had been too busy to check on me all week. On the morning of the wedding, Sarah happily sent the family chauffeur to fetch me. She whispered to the driver, “When you get there, don’t tell her who sent you. We want to give her the surprise of her life.” The driver nodded and sped off to the trailer park to pick up the “secret heiress.” But after hours of waiting, I never arrived. Instead, the chauffeur burst through the mansion doors, his face pale with horror. “Ma’am… Sir… something terrible has happened. The trailer is surrounded by police. Chloe… Chloe is dead.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442016”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

One year into my marriage, I was cornered, stripped of my clothes, and pinned against a wall. The woman turned on her phone to start a livestream, then slapped me hard across the face. “You filthy homewrecker! How dare you seduce my husband!” She had the strength of an ox. I couldn’t fight back. All I could do was cover my chest and scream in denial: “You have the wrong person! I’m married! I don’t even know your husband!” The woman sneered and threw a marriage certificate at my face. It was a certified copy of a marriage license, complete with a photo of her and my husband, Liam! “Liam and I got married three years ago. Maya, you are the mistress here. Get it?” My mind went completely blank. Overnight, my life was ruined. I lost my promotion at the TV network, and I was blacklisted from the entire industry. Depressed and broken, I walked out onto the balcony of our penthouse. Just as I was about to jump, I heard voices outside the door. A woman laughed. “Liam, you are truly ruthless.” “We’ve only known each other for three months, yet you let me use a fake marriage license to destroy her just to make me happy.” Liam’s voice was filled with adoration. “As long as you’re happy, babe. You can play with her however you want.” I stared at the closed door, my heart shattering into pieces. The living hell I had been through was nothing more than a game he played to make his new girl laugh.

The wind on the balcony was howling, but their voices cut through it, hitting my ears with brutal clarity. I closed my eyes tightly, remembering the nightmare of the past month. After being labeled a “homewrecker,” I had posted screenshots of my chat history to prove I had been deceived. But every explanation only brought viler abuse. My colleagues avoided me like the plague. Strangers spat on the street when I walked by. “Look at her dressing like that. She’s definitely a homewrecker.” “I bet she slept her way to getting all those designer bags.” I tried my best to block out the rumors and focus on my work. But during a live broadcast, even the guest on my show asked me on air why I chose to destroy someone’s family. I finally broke down, crying and screaming, “I’m not! I didn’t even know he was married!” Nobody believed me. The clip of my breakdown was edited, went viral on TikTok, and triggered a new wave of cyberbullying. I lost my job completely and was blacklisted. Fear and nightmares haunted me every night. I swallowed more and more sleeping pills, and my hair fell out in clumps. It wasn’t until Liam returned from overseas with Vivian that I finally confronted him. He just looked at me with annoyance. “You only asked me if I had a girlfriend when I was studying abroad. You never asked if I had a wife. How did I lie to you?” The last string in my brain snapped. Death seemed like the only way out. But now, finding out the truth, I stood frozen. Since all of this was fake… What was the point of all the agony I had suffered over the past month? Anger, mixed with overwhelming grief, rushed to my head. I threw the door open. Liam’s laugh froze on his face. My words cut through the room like a blade: “Why would you do this to me?!” Frowning, he signaled Vivian to leave. Then he sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette. I was severely allergic to cigarette smoke and started coughing immediately. In the past, he would never smoke in front of me. But this time, he was completely indifferent to my discomfort. Liam said coldly, “Since you heard everything, I’ll be straight with you.” “Maya, I know you love me, but I’m bored.” “I’m bored of your unchanging hairstyle, bored of always having to baby you, and most of all… bored of your single position in bed.” “I need excitement. Vivian can give me what you can’t.” I took a few deep breaths to suppress my nausea and said, “Liam, how can you do this to me? Have you forgotten my mother, Helen?” At the mention of my mother, his expression stiffened. “It’s been so many years. You always use Helen’s death to guilt-trip me.” “I know she saved my life. Wasn’t marrying you enough to pay that debt?” Liam and I were neighbors growing up. Years ago, when the Sterling estate caught fire, his parents weren’t home, and even their nanny abandoned him. Only my mother rushed into the flames to save him. But in the end, she died from severe smoke inhalation. My mother’s death had always been a taboo topic between us. Bringing it up now, combined with the humiliation of the past weeks, broke me. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. “My mother died for nothing! She saved an ungrateful monster!” The slap left both of us stunned. Then, Liam actually let out a low chuckle. “This is the first time I’ve seen you this angry.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This expression on your face is actually quite hot.” “It’s literally turning me on.” “Since Vivian isn’t here, why don’t we try the bathroom?” His words made my mind go completely blank. I looked at him in utter disbelief. He felt like a complete stranger. Was this really the man I had loved since childhood? I grabbed the nearest vase and threw it at him, screaming at him to get the hell out. After he left, I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. I wanted to go to the bedroom to sleep off the exhaustion. But the moment I opened the door, I froze. Our wedding photo had been ripped off the wall and thrown onto the floor. My face was defaced with black marker, with “Homewrecker” written next to it in bold letters. Worse, there were two distinct, dusty boot prints right on the photo. I took a step back, and my foot stepped on something slick. I looked down. It was a used condom. I gagged, but nothing came out. The pain consumed me. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t shed a single tear. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Liam had posted a new Snapchat story: *Finally returning to my real family. Excited to spend the rest of my life with my beautiful wife.* The attached photo showed him and Vivian standing side by side, watching the sunset. In an instant, my brain exploded. The tears finally broke through. Humiliation and fury rolled down my cheeks. A fierce desire for revenge ignited deep within my heart.

Over the next few days, I spent every waking hour gathering evidence of his infidelity, determined to ruin him. But the more I uncovered, the colder my heart became. Three months ago, on my birthday, I sat alone in the dark waiting for him until dawn. He spent the entire night setting off fireworks with Vivian. Two months ago, I went to the hospital and found out I was pregnant. I tried to call him to share the joy, but he was unreachable. He was busy taking care of Vivian because she had menstrual cramps. One month ago, when my reputation was ruined and I miscarried in the hospital due to stress, he was in Iceland with Vivian, watching the Northern Lights. I let out a bitter laugh. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up again. I threw up until there was nothing left but bile, and only then did the numb pain in my chest ease a little. The next day, I sent all the evidence to a prominent media contact, waiting for them to break the story. When I got home, I forced myself to sit down and draft the divorce papers. As I wrote, my eyes welled with tears. We were childhood sweethearts. We had crushes on each other for years. When we graduated high school, we promised that once he finished his degree abroad and came back, we would be together. In the beginning, no matter how late I worked, he would always pick me up. When I was sick, he would cancel multi-million-dollar meetings just to cook soup and take care of me in the hospital for six hours. On the day I got promoted, he spent over a million dollars at an auction to buy a diamond ring and propose to me. I didn’t want people to say I was using him to climb the social ladder, so we kept our marriage a secret. But I never expected that this secrecy would become the perfect cover for his affair. Tears blurred my vision. Before I could understand when exactly he had changed, I fell asleep from pure exhaustion. When I woke up, the trending topics on Twitter were exploding. But the moment I opened my phone, I almost fainted. The evidence of his affair had been twisted. It was released as my “confession” of being a homewrecker! They had used AI to clone my voice for a fake audio apology and even generated my handwriting! The internet went into a frenzy again. My photos were maliciously photoshopped with “Homewrecker” labels and circulated everywhere. Not only that, but all my social media accounts were banned, and my phone number was leaked. Harassment calls and disgusting text messages flooded in. Some called me a whore and told me to die. Others asked how much I charged for a night to be their side chick. I laughed out loud, a sound full of misery. In that instant, I realized this was Liam’s retaliation. Whenever I faced negative comments at work in the past, he was always the first to shut them down, protecting me from any hurt. But now, for the sake of Vivian, he had personally dragged me into this hell. The door opened, and Liam walked in. My rage burned away all remaining sanity. I grabbed a glass cup and hurled it at him. “Liam! I am not the mistress! She is! I want a divorce!” He dodged the glass, stepped forward, and grabbed my throat, pinning me against the wall. Even as my eyes bloodshot and physiological tears spilled over from the pain, his grip didn’t loosen. Only when I was on the verge of suffocating did he finally let go. “Are you calm now? Do that again, and I’ll make sure it hurts more.” “Maya, a little jealousy is fine, but if you keep making scenes, I’ll get annoyed. Stop using these cheap tricks to get my attention.” “You love me to death, and I need a wife who knows her place. We both get what we want, don’t we?” He glanced at the divorce papers on the laptop and sneered. “You want a divorce? Do you even have the guts? Now that you have no job, who else can you rely on besides me?” “Be good. Once I’m done having fun, I’ll clear your name.” I coughed violently, but he ignored me. “Vivian cried until her eyes were red. She wants me to throw a massive wedding to make it up to her. And she wants you to personally apologize to her at the wedding before she forgives me.” Before leaving, he turned back. “Whether you show up is up to you. But if Vivian is unhappy, I don’t mind giving you another little punishment.” After he left, my vision was still swimming in darkness. I started laughing hysterically. And then, I cried. That night, Liam paid to push a new topic to the top of the trending list: *The Reformed Playboy! The Sterling Group Heir Spends $100 Million on a Century Wedding to Make His Wife Happy!* The comments section was flooded, and people even started shipping them. [Real couples are the best! It must have been that other woman who seduced him! A famous TV host acting as a homewrecker, how disgusting!] [Does Maya have a shortage of men? She’s so desperate! I hate homewreckers! Go die already!] [Her mother died early, so she was raised without any manners. No wonder she has no morals.] After reading these, I leaned over the trash can, feeling like I was going to throw up my entire stomach. In my fading consciousness… I remembered him kneeling on one knee, his ears bright red, carefully sliding the ring onto my finger and swearing to love me forever. When I raised my head again… Except for the nausea and the burning sensation in my stomach, the sadness suddenly vanished. Everything about Liam seemed completely meaningless to me now. My phone vibrated, and a text message lit up the screen: *I saw what you sent me. When can we meet and talk?*

The trending topics stayed active for several days. The number one topic was Liam and Vivian’s wedding of the century. The second was my fake confession. A small group of netizens attacked Liam, accusing him of cheating. He responded directly with a video on Instagram. “Yes, I admit I made a mistake, but please do not attack Vivian.” “She is innocent, kind, and fragile. She can’t handle this. I will take all the responsibility.” “I only hope that when we get married, everyone can give her their most sincere blessings.” As soon as the video was released, the doubts vanished, and people started praising him for being “responsible.” Then, they turned around and launched an even more vicious attack on me, calling me a shameless husband-stealer. I locked my phone, finding the whole thing incredibly ironic. That night, Liam came back. He sat across from me and cleared his throat. “The date for my wedding with Vivian is set. It’s the day after tomorrow. Remember to show up.” The day after tomorrow… Was the anniversary of my mother’s death. I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. “I don’t have time. I’m going to visit my mother’s grave.” “And when are you going to sign the divorce papers?” He completely ignored the divorce and sneered, “Your mother has been dead for years. What is there to visit? Vivian’s parents are coming too. You can just pay respects to her mother.” I thought I was completely numb, but my heart still took a sharp hit. Seeing my reluctance, he pulled out my mother’s necklace. “This is Helen’s necklace, right? If you don’t go and you make Vivian unhappy, this necklace might…” I clenched my teeth so hard they ached. Just as my anger was about to boil over, a vibration from my phone pulled me back. I pinched myself hard, forcing myself to calm down. After glancing at the message, I said flatly: “Liam, do you really want me to congratulate Vivian in front of all those reporters?” He laughed. “Of course.” Before leaving, he looked back at me. “It seems dead people’s things are still useful.” “And about the day after tomorrow, you know what to say and what not to say.” On the day of the wedding, Liam indeed invited a crowd of reporters. In the dressing room, Vivian was standing in front of me in a custom haute couture wedding gown. Her corsage read “Bride.” Liam’s read “Groom.” And mine, which Liam tried to pin on my chest, read “The Homewrecker.” Vivian shed a few tears, and Liam immediately tried to force the corsage onto me. I blocked his hand, but he didn’t care. The sharp pin scratched my hand, drawing blood, but he successfully pinned it to my dress anyway. I clenched my fists. “Are you sure you want to do this to me?” He frowned. “Vivian just asked you to wear a flower. What’s the big deal?” Seeing me wearing it, Vivian said triumphantly: “Later, you will read every single word of the apology slides I prepared.” “Then, you will get down on your knees, beg for my forgiveness, and say ‘I am a homewrecker, I shouldn’t have ruined your family, please forgive me.’” “You have to stay on your knees until I tell you to get up. Do you understand?” I didn’t say a word, just stared at her. Seeing Vivian get annoyed, Liam grabbed my jaw tightly. “Don’t be ungrateful.” I slapped his hand away and glared at him. Before I could speak, the door opened. Reporters with cameras and guests flooded in. They surrounded Vivian and Liam, praising her dress and saying they were a match made in heaven. But when they saw the “Homewrecker” corsage on my chest, their expressions turned into pure disgust. “I really don’t understand how some women can be so cheap, always trying to steal other women’s husbands.” “Exactly. Showing up on such a happy day… Vivian is too kind. If it were me, I would have slapped her already.” Their stares felt like knives cutting into my skin. I ripped the corsage off. “I am not the mistress! Vivian is!” Nobody believed me. Their looks grew even more contemptuous. “I’ve never seen someone so shameless. Acting like she’s innocent when she’s a home wrecker. Where does she get the nerve?” Liam stood aside, not saying a single word to defend me. He only asked Vivian if she was tired or hungry. Seeing this, the onlookers grew even more envious of Vivian and aggressive toward me. Just as I was about to defend myself, Liam grabbed my arm tightly where no one could see, pinching me hard to shut me up. Cold sweat poured down my forehead from the pain, but he ignored it. Vivian played the victim perfectly. “Please don’t talk about Maya like that. She just loved Liam too much. He is so amazing, I can understand her.” “Maya is here to apologize today. I hope everyone can forgive her later.” Shortly after, the ceremony began. They went up to the stage under the cheers of the crowd, exchanging emotional vows. Finally, after they exchanged rings, I was called up to the stage. But the moment the giant screen behind us lit up, Liam’s face turned deathly pale

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442015”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

When I received yet another luxury gift from Ethan, I handed him the divorce papers. His expression didn’t even flicker. He calmly told me to think it over. I didn’t waste my breath. I turned around, hired a lawyer to draft the final agreement, and posted a divorce countdown on Instagram. When our mutual friends and family saw it, they called me dramatic and accused me of picking a fight over nothing. My parents even went to his place to apologize to him on my behalf. Only my best friend, Chloe, stood firmly by my side. She ignored the breach-of-contract fees, canceled all her upcoming modeling gigs, and spent her own money to take me on a road trip to clear my head. That was until the very last day before our divorce was officially finalized. On our drive back, Chloe was fast asleep in the passenger seat. Her phone kept buzzing on the dashboard. Fearing the noise would wake her, I reached over to grab it. In my haste, my finger accidentally swiped the screen and answered the call. In the quiet car, Ethan’s deep, impatient voice echoed through the speakers: “The Birkin you wanted is finally here. This time, you don’t have to settle for the cheap filler items I had to buy to qualify for it. I picked out a designer necklace to go with it instead. I’ll give the leftover junk to Claire.”

Chloe got carsick easily. She had rolled down the window for some fresh air before falling asleep with her head resting on my lap. Right now, the cold wind cut through the gap in the window, chilling me straight to the bone. My body shook uncontrollably. I could barely hold the phone. Whatever Ethan was saying after that, I couldn’t hear. My mind had gone completely blank. After what felt like an eternity, Ethan finally realized something was wrong on the other end. He asked cautiously, “…Claire?” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s me. She’s asleep.” The line went dead silent for a few seconds. Then, Ethan lowered his voice. “I can explain.” I asked, “Is there any point?” Ethan instantly panicked. “Don’t you dare take this out on her!” After a pause, he quickly added, “Tell me what you want. As long as it’s within my power, I’ll give it to you!” I dazed out for a second. The Ethan in my memory was always calm, detached, and utterly stoic. Even when I got hit by a car a few years ago, he calmly negotiated the compensation with the driver on the spot. He didn’t back down an inch, leaving me sitting on the curb, dizzy and bleeding. It was only when I fainted from blood loss that his face showed a hint of worry. I had always thought he was just wired that way—emotionally stunted, but not unloving. Yet here he was, losing his absolute mind over Chloe. The difference between love and indifference was so glaringly obvious. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I looked down at Chloe, who was sleeping peacefully on my lap, completely oblivious. “I want the Whispering Pines Estate,” I said. Ethan’s voice hardened. “Are you intentionally trying to make things difficult for me?” “I already gave that house to Chloe. Choose something else. Or I can wire you the equivalent in cash.” I fell silent. No wonder when I FaceTimed Chloe last time, her new place looked so familiar. The Whispering Pines Estate was supposed to be our marital home. I personally supervised the design of that house, but I never got to live in it after the renovation. The location was too secluded, and the mansion was too massive and empty. Ethan was always flying across the country, staying at his various properties, never tying himself down to one place. As for me, I had bought a cozy apartment near my office before our marriage. I didn’t see the point of living in a giant, empty house alone. I never imagined my compromise would end up accommodating him and Chloe. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. The sharp pain brought me back to reality. “I’ll give you three days,” I said coldly. “Take back everything you gave her, and we will redraw the asset division.” Ethan’s breathing turned heavy. “Is this really necessary, Claire?” “When she accepted those gifts, she was constantly worried I was treating you poorly. She literally begged me to buy things for you too. Why can’t you be as big-hearted and generous as she is?” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Recently, Ethan had given me ten luxury gifts. It started with a pair of designer socks, then a notebook, a desk globe, and finally, a keychain. They were all cheap, hard-to-sell filler items that high-end boutiques force customers to buy so they can get their hands on the popular bags. He gave the stunning, highly-coveted bags to Chloe, and tossed the leftover junk to me. And yet, he praised Chloe for being “generous.” “If you don’t want to do it,” I said, “I can wake her up right now and have her return everything to me directly.” Ethan backed down. “Give me a little time,” he muttered. He hung up, and the car fell silent again. I leaned down and slipped the phone back into Chloe’s pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her eyelashes trembling. She had been awake the whole time. She just didn’t dare to open her eyes.

I patted Chloe’s shoulder and said casually, “Since you’re awake, let’s talk about you and Ethan.” Chloe flinched. She sat up slowly, her face pale. “Claire, I am so sorry. I swear I never wanted to hurt you. I just…” Before she could finish, the car suddenly pulled over, and someone began banging violently on the door. I turned my head and saw Ethan standing outside, his face pale with anxiety as he shouted my name. It was pouring rain. His usually immaculate hair was soaked and plastered to his forehead. His light-colored designer suit was ruined, clinging to his skin. He looked incredibly disheveled, completely ignoring his public image. And he did all of this just because he was terrified I would hurt Chloe. The driver unlocked the door. Ethan immediately pulled Chloe out of the car, frantically checking her over to make sure she wasn’t hurt. He gently patted her head. “Go home first. I’ll handle this and come find you.” Chloe tugged at his sleeve and shot me a guilty look. “Talk to her nicely. Don’t make her feel bad.” We moved our conversation to a quiet, private cafe nearby. Ethan sat across from me with his lawyer. The lawyer was droning on about legal jargon that sounded like white noise to my ears. Ethan was chain-smoking, one cigarette after another. Through the thick haze of smoke, he looked exhausted and incredibly annoyed. Ethan and I grew up together. When he skipped grades in school, I was playing house with kids my age. When he was winning national academic awards, I was sneaking into clubs with upperclassmen. When his parents died in a car crash on their way to file for divorce, leaving him orphaned, it was my family who took him in. From that day on, we became family. Later, when he was diagnosed with an emotional detachment disorder, I dedicated my entire life to him. Even after we got married, I constantly tolerated his coldness. Knowing him for so many years, I could tell he was incredibly irritated that this divorce was wasting his precious time. I suddenly asked, “Why Chloe?” The lawyer stopped talking. Ethan raised his head. He frowned, stubbing out his cigarette. “Does that even matter?” I nodded. He stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a cold laugh. “You always hyper-focus on the wrong things, Claire. The divorce is happening anyway. Who cares who it is? It doesn’t change how much money you’ll get.” “I’m only offering you a fifty-fifty split because of our history. If it were anyone else, I would make sure they walked away with absolutely nothing.” I stayed silent, staring at him stubbornly. “If I hadn’t hyper-focused on things, would you and Chloe even know each other?” Chloe transferred to our high school in her sophomore year. Her father was a notorious con artist whose multi-million-dollar fraud case made national headlines. After he was arrested, Chloe and her mother fled to our small town to escape the shame. Her mother couldn’t take the trauma and lost her mind. Her family literally kept her chained inside the house. Chloe was severely bullied and isolated at school. In sheer despair, she stood on the edge of the school rooftop one afternoon. I was the one who pulled her back. I was the one who chose to be her friend. Once a pampered princess, Chloe became incredibly fragile and insecure after her fall from grace. She clung to me like a lifeline. When Ethan came back from an academic competition and found out what I did, he pulled me aside. “Can’t you see she’s just using you?” he had said coldly. “She knows being near her makes people bully you too, yet she won’t keep her distance. She doesn’t view you as a friend. Wake up, Claire!” Back then, I thought he was heartless. He thought I was stupid, and he never gave Chloe a kind look. Chloe was terrified of him too. She even told me Ethan had privately threatened her to stay away from me. For years, from high school to our careers, they were like oil and water. Even when Ethan and I got married, Chloe refused to attend. She said she couldn’t stand seeing Ethan’s face. Ethan had grabbed my phone and texted her back: The feeling is entirely mutual! But now, they were a team, and I was the outsider. Ethan suddenly slammed his hand on the table and stood up. “Every time we argue, you bring up what your family did for me!” “Let me ask you, who paid for your parents’ medical bills when they got sick? When you made that massive mistake at work, who pulled strings to save you?” “If we’re keeping score, Claire, you owe me things you can never repay in this lifetime!” He turned to his lawyer. “Forget the asset split. I want her to walk away empty-handed!”

I dragged my exhausted body back to my apartment, only to receive a phone call from my parents. “Your father and I have lost all our dignity because of you!” my mom sobbed through the screen. “If you go through with this ridiculous divorce, don’t even think about calling us your parents again!” My mom was crying hysterically on FaceTime, while my dad sat beside her, silently smoking. “You were the one who begged us to let you marry him! It hasn’t even been that long, and now you’re throwing a tantrum and demanding a divorce!” They were right. When Ethan proposed to me, they finally found out we had been dating secretly for eight years. They were furious and strongly opposed the marriage. My parents had asked Ethan to leave so they could have a heart-to-heart with me. They said that after eight years of dating, Ethan had never once introduced me to his professional circle or public life. He was hiding me. “He doesn’t value this relationship,” my mom had warned. “If you marry him, it will not end well.” But I didn’t listen. I insisted on marrying Ethan. Without my parents’ blessing, we had a rushed, quiet wedding. It was only when my parents fell ill and Ethan paid for top specialists to treat them that they finally accepted him. The final grudge disappeared when I was framed for a massive financial error at my firm. Ethan spent a fortune and used all his connections to clear my name and keep me out of prison. I lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Mom. Dad.” My mother’s voice softened, her tone thick with tears. “We only say these things because we’re worried about you, sweetie.” “We’re just terrified that you’re acting on pure emotion. You say you want a divorce now, but what if you regret it later?” I shook my head. “I won’t.” Right after the call ended, I received a text from Chloe. [Claire, I’ve already talked to Ethan. He’ll sign the agreement and give you every penny you deserve.] [But please, don’t fight me for the Whispering Pines Estate. It’s filled with so many precious gifts Ethan bought for me. I can’t let it go.] [If you agree, we can still be friends. When Ethan and I have our baby, we can even make you the godmother, okay?] Every single word was a slap in the face. The room was pitch black. I stared at my phone, the screen illuminating the tears running down my face. I instinctively tried to call Ethan, but the call was blocked instantly. I had been blocked long ago. Before he started giving me those filler gifts, I had taken a vacation to visit him at his clinic. Several times, I smelled expensive women’s perfume in his private lounge. I asked his assistant, but she ignored me. I tried to check his phone when he was in surgery, but it was locked. I ended up screaming and throwing a tantrum in his office like a crazy person. He didn’t explain. He simply called security and had me escorted out. We spent the next few months in a cold war. Then, he suddenly came back to my apartment and started showering me with luxury gifts. I thought it was his way of apologizing. After all, in our years together, he rarely bought me anything. He didn’t care about holidays or anniversaries. If a problem could be solved with a wire transfer, he wouldn’t waste his energy on it. Until one day, I wore those designer socks and used that designer keychain to work. A colleague of mine, who was a luxury enthusiast, asked me what major purchase I had made to get so many filler items. I only knew luxury brands by their logos. It was only after she explained that I learned what “quota spending” meant. To buy the highly coveted, rare bags, customers had to spend thousands on useless companion items first. I had never received a single popular bag. But when Chloe FaceTimed me, she often showed off her walk-in closet. The entire wall was lined with limited-edition bags and stunning dresses. I felt all the strength drain from my body. With trembling fingers, I texted her back: “When did you two start sleeping together behind my back?”

[Honestly, we have you to thank for it. Remember when I was rejected at that movie audition and wanted to get plastic surgery? You took me to Ethan’s clinic for a consultation.] [You two were on the verge of breaking up back then. I felt so bad for him. He was this brilliant, handsome man being taken for granted by someone as ordinary as you. I comforted him, and after a while, he agreed to see me privately.] I stared at the screen, my mind racing back to that time. Ethan was always so busy. So busy he forgot my birthday, forgot our anniversary, and blew off the vacation we had planned for months. I had cried and screamed at him, “I understand you’re busy! But couldn’t you have told me earlier that you couldn’t make it?” “Why did you let me get so excited, only to cancel on me at the very last second?” “Am I not even worth a two-minute phone call to explain?” Ethan’s response was always silence. That time was no different. In a fit of rage, I threw the flowers he brought in his face and demanded a break up. I blocked his number. Then, Chloe came to me crying, saying she was deeply insecure about her face and wanted to get some work done. She asked if I knew any reliable plastic surgeons. The only person I could think of was Ethan, who was already making a name for himself in the industry. Stupidly, I brought Chloe to his clinic. Ethan was completely professional during the consultation, outlining a few procedures for her. But I distinctly remembered Chloe complaining about his “terrible, rigid aesthetic” the entire ride home. That night, Ethan came to my apartment to beg for my forgiveness. He also warned me to stay away from Chloe. He didn’t give me a reason. Furious, I threw his flowers at him again, accusing him of trying to ruin my only friendship. Because of my defense, he began interacting with Chloe out of spite. In the end, I was the only clown in their game. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I packed every single thing belonging to Ethan into boxes and stacked them outside my door. When I heard a loud knock on the door the next morning, I thought it was the junk removal service. But when I opened it, I was met with Ethan’s furious, pale face. “When did you find out about the baby?” He grabbed my collar tightly, his cold voice trembling with a hint of panic. I was stunned. “What baby?” “Where did you hide Chloe and my child? Claire, how can you be so vicious? If you want something, just say it to my face! Why do you have to play these disgusting, underhanded games?!” A loud ringing echoed in my ears, and my vision went blurry. The man who had promised me we would live a child-free life had a baby with someone else.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441582”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

A gorgeous transfer student joined our class today, and she had the exact same name as me. Our dance teacher sighed. “We have two Chloes now. How should we tell you apart?” Zach, my childhood friend, was the first to raise his hand. He smirked, his voice dripping with malice. “Easy, Ms. Gable. The new one is ‘Skinny Chloe.’ The old one can be ‘Fat Chloe.’” “By the way, Ms. Gable, I can’t even lift ‘Fat Chloe’ anymore. Can I get a new partner?” The whole room burst into laughter. My face burned as I clutched the fabric of my leotard. But back then, I was stupid. I thought Zach was just being his usual teasing self. After all, dance partners need years to build chemistry, and Zach and I had been dancing together for six years. Until the selection for the upcoming Annual Showcase group dance. Without a second thought, Zach grabbed Chloe Brown’s hand. “This showcase is a big deal,” he said dismissively. “Representatives from Juilliard are coming. It’s not like our usual high school recitals.” “Letting a pig like you on stage would just embarrass our school.” And just like that, I was kicked off the performance list. But I refused to give up. I started starving myself like crazy, until I fainted in the dance studio. A guy I didn’t know opened the door to the nurse’s office. He looked at me and said, “If a dancer can’t appreciate her own body, she will never be able to dance from the heart.” “Let me teach you how to show off your body.” The next second, he spun and leaped in front of me. His form was more professional than any dance teacher I had ever seen.

During dance class, Ms. Gable suddenly announced some exciting news. “For this year’s Annual Showcase, the admissions directors from the Juilliard School will be here. They’re going to select one outstanding student for a full-scholarship, one-month summer intensive in New York.” The studio erupted. “Oh my god, Juilliard!” “Are you serious? That’s basically a golden ticket to getting admitted early!” My heart hammered against my ribs. Juilliard had been my dream for as long as I could remember. And now, the opportunity was right in front of me. “Our group piece, ‘Chasing Light,’ will be the highlight of the showcase,” Ms. Gable continued. “The Juilliard directors will watch the entire thing. Whoever performs the best will have the highest chance of being chosen.” The new girl, Chloe Brown, suddenly raised her hand, looking at Ms. Gable with big, puppy-dog eyes. “Ms. Gable, since I just transferred here, I don’t have a partner yet. Does that mean I can’t participate in the showcase?” Ms. Gable looked troubled. “Well, Chloe, your situation is a bit tricky.” Since we shared the exact same first name, the teacher had started calling us by our last names. She was Brown. I was Miller. “The other students have been paired up for a long time. It wouldn’t be fair to break up established duos. Plus, you’ve just arrived, and you aren’t familiar with the choreography for ‘Chasing Light’ yet.” “How about you watch and learn this time? I promise to prioritize you for the next showcase.” Chloe Brown’s eyes immediately welled with tears. A few guys in the back looked completely heartbroken and rushed to comfort her. Right then, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Ms. Gable, I’ll partner with her.” My head snapped up. It was Zach. Without even looking at me, he repeated, “I’ll partner with Brown for the showcase.” The studio went dead silent. Every single eye turned to me. I stood up abruptly, staring at Zach in utter disbelief. “What about me?” Ms. Gable frowned, looking back and forth between Zach and me with clear hesitation. “Zach, you’ve been partners with Miller for six years. Your chemistry is unmatched. The showcase is too important to swap partners at the last minute. Are you sure about this?” “Perfectly sure,” Zach replied coldly. “I want to dance with Chloe Brown. She’s disciplined. I’m sure her technique is way better than Chloe Miller’s.” “Besides—” He finally turned his gaze to me, wearing that familiar, nasty smirk. “With Chloe Miller’s current shape, putting her on stage would be an embarrassment. What if the Juilliard directors think our school only produces eyesores?” Harsh jeers and snickers echoed through the room. I froze, my fingers gripping the hem of my skirt so hard they turned white.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Chloe Brown said softly. “Ms. Gable, how about this? Chloe Miller and I can have a fair competition. Whoever meets the target weight gets to perform.” Ms. Gable brought out a scale and lined everyone up. One by one, the dancers stepped on. “118 lbs… 115 lbs… 123 lbs…” The numbers stayed consistently around the low 110s and 120s. Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the metal scale. The digital screen flickered before locking onto a number: 152 lbs. “Whoa!” Zach’s dramatic gasp echoed loudly across the studio. He covered his mouth in mock horror. “No wonder I couldn’t lift you! Over a hundred and fifty pounds? Seriously, Miller, are you trying to crush me to death?” The classroom erupted in laughter again. Ms. Gable’s expression soured. She frowned at me. “Chloe Miller, your weight is indeed over the limit for a dancer. You know what the professional standard is. Go home and get a grip on it. Stop being lazy.” I stood there, completely numb, and nodded. “Next,” Ms. Gable called. Chloe Brown stepped onto the scale with grace. A collective gasp filled the room. “Oh my god, only 110 lbs!” “That’s so light! Chloe, how do you keep such a perfect figure?” Chloe Brown blushed. “There’s no secret, really. Just eating less and practicing more. Dance is the art of expressing beauty, after all—” She paused, casting a subtle, mocking glance in my direction. “If you can’t even control your own weight, how can you claim to love dancing?” The studio fell quiet for a second before a wave of agreement washed over the room. “Exactly!” “Chloe Brown is amazing. So beautiful and disciplined.” Even Ms. Gable smiled, looking at Chloe Brown with pure admiration. Then, she turned her cold, disapproving gaze back to me. “Did you hear that? You both study dance, but she not only has a perfect body, she has the right attitude.” “Chloe Miller, your technique is solid, but what good is technique if your lines look like that on stage? The audience judges with their eyes first.” “Chloe Brown will take your spot for the showcase.” I lowered my head, my fingernails digging so deep into my palms that they drew blood. During the rest of the class, everyone paired up to practice “Chasing Light.” I was left standing alone in the corner, looking like a pathetic outsider. Zach’s enthusiastic voice drifted over to me. “Don’t worry, Chloe. With me as your partner, we’re going to own that stage.” After school, I snuck into the old, abandoned dance studio. And I danced. Over and over again. I refused to accept this. I had practiced “Chasing Light” for six years. Every step, every beat, was carved into my bones. I couldn’t just let it go. Deep down, a pathetic sliver of hope lingered. Maybe if Zach and Chloe Brown didn’t click, I’d still have a chance to dance with him. With no partner to lift me, I imagined his hands on my waist, leaping into the air on my own. My practice clothes were soaked in sweat. My calves cramped, and my knees throbbed with pain. But I didn’t stop. Only utter exhaustion could numb the humiliation eating me alive. “Practicing like this will only ruin your body.” A cool, calm voice echoed from the doorway. Startled, I spun around. A tall, handsome guy was leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

He looked strangely familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen him before. “This is a duet. You won’t get the right flow practicing alone,” he said, his expression neutral. I froze. Muttering a quick “sorry,” I grabbed my bag and bolted out of the room. When I got home, I threw my bag down and locked myself in my bedroom. My mom knocked and came in with a bowl of hot soup. When she saw the “Extreme Weight Loss Guide” on my desk, her face fell. “You’re 5’10” and 152 pounds, Chloe. Why on earth are you trying to lose weight?” “I’m too heavy,” I mumbled. “My partner can’t lift me.” My mom opened her mouth to argue, but seeing my stubborn face, she just sighed helplessly. From that day on, my extreme diet began. For days, I survived on nothing but a tiny breakfast. By the fifth afternoon, while practicing in the studio, the room suddenly spun, and everything went black. I reached out blindly and grabbed Zach to steady myself. “I… I don’t feel well,” I gasped. Zach shoved me off instantly. “Stop acting. You’re built like a tank. How could you be sick?” I crashed against the wall, my limbs feeling like jelly. A sneering laugh sounded from above. “Oh, I get it. Are you trying to act fragile and weak like Chloe Brown? She’s naturally delicate, Miller. You just look ridiculous trying to copy her.” The surrounding classmates snickered behind their hands. Before I could even explain, my vision failed completely, and I collapsed. When I woke up, I was lying on a cot in the nurse’s office. Zach was sitting in a chair nearby, scrolling through his phone. Did he carry me here? A rush of complicated emotions flooded my chest. Zach had a nasty mouth, but when things got bad, he was always the one who showed up. Just like when we were kids, and he’d call me stupid while scraping me up off the pavement. “Thank—” I started, but as soon as Zach heard me move, he looked up with a look of pure disgust. “You seriously need to lose weight, Miller. You’re as heavy as a pig. Carrying you over here almost broke my back.” The words died in my throat. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. Every ounce of warmth vanished. I looked down, the shame and hurt clogging my chest. “This is a recovery room. Keep it down.” A cold voice sounded from the doorway. I looked up to see the guy from the abandoned dance studio. “If you’re done talking, please leave. The patient needs rest.” Zach scowled, stood up, and stormed out. The room fell quiet. The guy walked over, his expression softening slightly. “Your blood sugar crashed. Have you been starving yourself?” I hung my head. “I’m trying to lose weight.” I braced myself for him to mock my size too. Instead, he looked at me with intense sincerity. “If a dancer can’t appreciate her own body, she will never be able to dance from the heart.” I stared at him, stunned. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed something. “This is a healthy meal plan. You need to eat three times a day. Protein and carbs for breakfast, a normal lunch, and fewer carbs for dinner—but do not starve yourself.” “You don’t get fit by starving. Dancing requires strength.” My eyes stung with unshed tears. “Thank you.” “Also, I saw you practicing alone the other day.” He paused, his gaze locking onto mine. “If you want, I can be your partner.”

My eyes widened. “You dance?” “I can handle a simple duet,” he said casually. I hesitated for a second before nodding. At this point, I had nothing left to lose. His name was Julian Brooks. The moment he stood beside me and placed his hand on my waist, I went rigid. His posture was flawless. Even more shocking was his incredible sense of rhythm. Without any prior practice, he fell perfectly in step with my movements. When we reached the lift, I instinctively tensed up. Whenever I danced with Zach, he would groan, roll his eyes, and complain about how heavy I was. Over time, I had developed a terrible habit of shrinking myself during lifts, terrified of being a burden. But Julian’s hands were steady and firm against my waist. “Open your body. Let yourself fly,” he commanded. “I… I’m worried I’m too heavy,” I admitted, embarrassed. He let out a soft chuckle. “If a male dancer can’t lift a 152-pound partner, he has no business being on stage.” I froze, looking up into his eyes. There was no judgment, no annoyance—only a calm, reassuring certainty. I took a deep breath, fully arched my back, and leaped. He caught me effortlessly. In that single moment, our coordination felt so natural, it was as if we had been dancing together our whole lives. For the next month, I followed Julian’s healthy nutrition guide while secretly practicing the duet with him in the abandoned studio after hours. Soon, the day of the Annual Showcase arrived. The auditorium was packed. The Juilliard representatives sat front and center in the VIP section. When I walked into the backstage dressing room, everyone was frantically doing their makeup. Seeing me, Zach scoffed. “What are you doing here?” Before I could answer, the Head of the Dance Department, Dean Vance, walked in. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Chloe Miller! Make us proud out there tonight.” Ms. Gable quickly stepped in. “Dean Vance, actually… Chloe isn’t performing tonight.” The Dean’s smile vanished. “Not performing?” she asked, incredulous. “She’s the top dancer in her year. Why isn’t she on stage?” Ms. Gable explained awkwardly, “Her partner requested a change. Since it’s a duet and she doesn’t have a partner, she had to be pulled.” Dean Vance’s face darkened instantly. She glared at Zach, who was standing nearby. “You’re Miller’s partner, right? You two have worked together for six years. How could you pull a stunt like this right before the showcase?” Zach crossed his arms, looking completely arrogant. “Dean Vance, partnership is a choice. There’s no rule saying I have to be tied to her forever.” “I found a better partner, and I have the right to choose who I perform with. No one can force me.” Dean Vance was red with anger. Just then, the announcer’s voice echoed from the stage: “Next up, our final performance of the night—’Chasing Light’.” Zach smirked at me. “Since the program is set, you’re extra weight, Miller. If you want to perform so badly, go find your own guy.” He leaned in, whispering maliciously, “But since you can’t, get out of the way. Don’t ruin our show.” The other dancers backstage whispered and stared. My throat tightened, and I bit my lip to keep from crying under the weight of their judgment. “Thank you, Dean Vance. The show is starting, I should go,” I whispered, my legs trembling as I turned to leave. “Wait.” A calm, commanding voice sliced through the chatter. Julian stepped out from the crowd, walking straight toward me. He looked at me, a soft smile playing on his lips, and extended his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be your partner.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441581”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

For our college graduation trip, my boyfriend, Justin, my best friend, Hailey, and I went to the Swiss Alps. By the lake at the foot of the mountain, an elderly Swiss couple walked over with warm smiles. In broken English, they offered to take our picture. The old lady pulled Justin and Hailey toward the wooden railing, gesturing for them to lean their heads together. Then she waved at me, handing my phone back to me. “You take the shot, sweetie. The light is perfect.” I held up my phone, framed the two of them looking so perfect together, and pressed the shutter. Justin didn’t say a word. Hailey took the phone, glanced at the screen, and smiled. “Great shot. Let’s do another one.” Later, when we checked into our chalet resort, the receptionist glanced at the reservation and handed the key card for the king-size double room to Justin and Hailey. A single room key was pushed toward me. “This lady’s room is at the very end of the third floor.” I said, “I’m actually his girlfriend.” The receptionist froze for two seconds, then looked down to re-check the booking sheet. Back in my room, I soaked in the tub alone, listening to the muffled laughter leaking through the wall from the next room. During our three-day trip, we were mistaken for the wrong couple four times. I was treated like a third wheel seven times, and a personal photographer eleven times. How many times did Justin set them straight? Zero. I sat on the bed wrapped in a bathrobe, opened my United Airlines app, and rebooked my flight back to New York for the day after tomorrow. The end of my graduation trip didn’t have to be the peak of the Alps.

“Chloe, can you take a picture of Justin and me? That backlit angle you found earlier was amazing.” Hailey shoved her phone into my hand. Her freshly done French tips caught the morning sun. I took the phone and said nothing. This was the third time today. During the forty-minute Uber ride from the hotel to the base of the mountain, they sat together in the back while I sat alone in the front seat. The driver asked me in Swiss-German, “Your friends are so sweet together, aren’t they?” I understood him. I just smiled and didn’t translate it for them. “A little to the left. Yes! Justin, don’t move. The light on your face is gorgeous.” Hailey rested her hand on Justin’s shoulder, tilting her head to smile at the lens. Justin glanced at me, his lips twitching, but in the end, he said nothing. Click. I handed the phone back. Hailey swiped through her screen and suddenly frowned. “Chloe, you made my chin look kind of round.” “Let’s do another one. Squat down lower this time so my face looks smaller.” I crouat down. My knees scraped against the rough cobblestone path. It stung. In the viewfinder, Justin finally spoke up. “Hailey, that’s enough.” Hailey playfully slapped his arm, acting cute. “Just one more, please?” She turned to me, her voice bubbly. “You don’t mind, right, Chloe? I’m just used to you taking my photos. You’re seriously the best.” I said, “It’s fine.” I had said those words at least fifty times over the last three days. It’s fine, you guys go ahead, I’ll grab my bag. It’s fine, you guys order, I’m not picky. It’s fine, one room is enough, I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s fine. At lunch in a cozy Alpine chalet, the waiter brought over our food. Naturally, he placed the cheese fondue for two right between Justin and Hailey. My mushroom risotto was placed in front of me. Hailey didn’t even notice. She leaned in, sharing the long fondue fork with Justin, dipping bread into the cheese, taking bite after bite. I cut into a potato and chewed slowly. It tasted like nothing. In the afternoon, we went to a little chapel in the Lauterbrunnen valley. Outside, there was a stand with wooden wish tags for tourists to hang. Hailey finished writing her wish and excitedly held it up for Justin. “Justin, look! I wrote: ‘I hope we can travel together like this every year!’” She stopped herself, letting go of Justin’s arm, and stuck her tongue out at me. “Haha, don’t think too much, Chloe. I just think this place is so romantic.” Justin gently let her hand drop, but his movement was slow. I looked down at my own wooden tag. It had only one sentence: Hope to learn how to let go. I hung it in the darkest, most unnoticeable corner. On the way back to the resort, Hailey walked in the middle, arm in arm with Justin on one side and me on the other. Passing a souvenir shop, she stopped, pointing at a pair of matching cowbell keychains in the window. “Justin, buy those! One for each of us. They’re so cute.” Justin asked, “For whom?” Hailey said, as if it were obvious, “For you and me, duh! And I’ll buy Chloe two snowflake keychains so we can have bestie matches.” I looked at the cowbells. One red, one blue, engraved with Swiss Alps. Justin paused, his eyes drifting toward me. I spoke first. “You guys get them. I’m going to the convenience store next door for some water.” As I turned away, I heard Hailey’s cheerful voice behind me. “Thanks, Chloe! You’re the best!” The AC in the store was freezing. I stood in front of the drinks, looking at my blurry reflection in the glass door. My phone buzzed. It was a Snapchat from Justin. “Are you okay?” One sentence. His first private message to me in three days. I stared at the flashing cursor, typed a response, deleted it, and finally sent the words he always heard. “I’m fine.” Hailey had already clipped the blue cowbell onto Justin’s backpack zipper. The red one was on her own purse, swaying right next to her designer lipstick. Back at the resort that night, Hailey said she was heading to the hotel’s spa. “Chloe, you coming?” “No, I’m a bit tired.” “I’ll go by myself then. Justin, grab me a towel, will you?” Justin agreed, grabbing a towel, and walked down the hallway with her. I stood at my door and swiped my key card. Third floor, end of the hall, single room. The window faced the parking lot. I sat on the bed and opened my camera roll. One hundred and twenty-seven photos. Eighty-nine of Justin and Hailey. Zero of Justin and me. I closed the gallery and opened the airline app. When the confirmation pop-up appeared, I tapped “Confirm.” My phone buzzed again. It was Hailey in our Snapchat group chat. “Tomorrow, Jungfraujoch! Chloe, can you take some snowy mountain photos for us? I need something to post on Instagram!” I put my phone down and turned off the light. In the dark, footsteps and hushed giggles echoed from the hallway. They were back from the spa. A door clicked next door. Then, silence. A long, suffocating silence.

“Chloe, how about this one today?” The next morning, Hailey pushed my door open, holding two jackets. One was her white windbreaker, and the other was Justin’s dark blue North Face jacket. “I think wearing Justin’s jacket would make the photos look more aesthetic. You know, like boyfriend-style. What do you think?” She quickly added, “Oh, I mean, the colors just match better.” I sat under the duvet, my hair messy, looking at her. “You look good in anything.” I meant it. Hailey was five-foot-six, with long, wavy hair, a perfect oval face, and dimples when she smiled. In college, guys lined up from the dorms to the library to ask her out. And me? I was five-foot-three, short hair, round face, the kind of girl they called “plain.” The kind of girl no one noticed at first glance. “You’re always the sweetest!” Hailey sat on the edge of my bed, naturally picking up my hairbrush to brush her hair. Her own hair, of course. “By the way, Chloe, we’re going to Jungfraujoch today. Can you bring your telephoto lens? I read online that it makes the snowy mountains look incredible.” I said, “That lens is really heavy.” “It’s fine, you’re strong!” She checked her reflection in my vanity mirror, satisfied, and zipped up Justin’s jacket. The oversized dark blue jacket swamped her. The sleeves hung past her hands, so she rolled them up, showing her slender wrists. “I’m heading down for breakfast. Justin’s probably already in the dining area.” The door shut. I slowly got dressed, stuffed the heavy lens into my backpack, the straps digging into my shoulders. When I walked downstairs, I saw Justin and Hailey sitting opposite each other by the window. Two coffees and two plates of American breakfast sat on the table. I walked over and sat down. Justin looked up. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I didn’t order for you.” Hailey chimed in, “Chloe, your taste is so hard to guess. Every time we ask, you just say ‘whatever.’” I said, “It’s fine. I’ll get it myself.” Walking to the buffet, I found the hot food was almost gone. Only cold toast and tiny butter packets remained. I brought two slices of toast back. Justin looked at my plate and frowned. “Is that all you’re eating?” “It’s enough.” Hailey reached over and picked up a piece of bacon from her plate. “Here, let me share.” But instead of putting it on my plate, she dropped it onto Justin’s. “Oops, wrong plate! Justin, you give it to Chloe.” Justin paused for a second, then pushed the bacon toward me. I didn’t touch it. On the cogwheel train up to Jungfraujoch, I sat in a single window seat in the back. Two rows ahead, Hailey and Justin sat shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing a pair of AirPods. She giggled occasionally, turning back to me. “Chloe, you have to listen to this song, it’s so good!” But she never offered me the other earbud. At the viewing deck, the wind was howling. I trailed behind them, carrying the heavy camera bag, watching them stand side-by-side. Hailey wore Justin’s jacket, her hair blowing wildly in the wind. Justin reached out, gently tucking her stray hair behind her ear. The gesture was effortless. Like he’d done it a thousand times. I took out my camera. Nobody asked me to take a photo. But I knew Hailey would turn around in a second. Three. Two. One. “Chloe! Quick, take a picture! The Alps look stunning from here!” The shutter clicked four times. As I lowered the camera, a tourist carrying a hiking backpack walked over and asked me in English if I was a professional photographer. I blinked. He pointed to the heavy camera around my neck and the bulky bag. “You look like a professional.” I smiled bitterly and said I was just their friend. He nodded politely, though a flicker of confusion crossed his eyes, and walked away. Justin heard him. He looked at me, his lips parted. I waited three seconds. He said nothing. Hailey laughed. “Haha, Chloe, look how professional you look! Even tourists think you’re our photographer.” “You should seriously do travel photography. I’ll be your first client.” The wind carried her voice away, but every word hit me with crystal clarity. I raised the camera again. In the viewfinder, the snow-capped peaks of the Alps gleamed a blinding silver under the sun, glaciers stretching into the horizon. My fingers, however, were freezing, almost numb from the biting mountain wind.

“Chloe, have you noticed Justin acting kind of weird around me lately?” The night we got back from the mountain, Hailey showed up at my door in her silk pajamas. She held two cups of hot cocoa from the vending machine, her face wearing a look of carefully crafted distress. I let her in. She sat cross-legged on my bed, took a sip of cocoa, and sighed. “Like… he keeps looking at me, but he doesn’t say anything. Sometimes when I joke with him, he just smiles and stays quiet.” She looked up at me, her eyes slightly red. “Do you think he has feelings for me?” I took a sip of my cocoa. It was scalding hot. “He’s my boyfriend.” Hailey blinked, as if suddenly reminded of something, and waved her hands in a panic. “I know, I know! That’s not what I meant! I’m just… confused.” “Should I keep my distance from him? But we’ve always been like this. If I change suddenly, he’ll think it’s weird, right?” Always. The word sounded so casual coming from her, but it felt heavy in my ears. Hailey and Justin grew up together in the same neighborhood, going to the same schools from kindergarten through high school. They parted ways for three years in college, only to end up together again right before graduation—because of me. In our sophomore year, Hailey transferred to my school and became my roommate. She was bubbly, gorgeous, and sweet to everyone. She was the one who told me that a guy named Justin from the other department was always looking at me. She was the one who passed my notes to him. On the day we made it official, she posted on Instagram: “My roomie is finally taken!” And then, she and Justin reunited. Then, everything became natural. Dinners for three, study sessions for three, trips for three. I never thought it was a problem. Until this trip. “Chloe, you’re not mad, are you?” Hailey leaned in, grabbing my hand. Her palm was damp. Her voice was soft, laced with a delicate, pleading tone. But when I looked into her eyes, there was no anxiety. Only calculation. Confirming that I wouldn’t get mad. Confirming that I was still the same Chloe who always said “it’s fine.” “No.” When I said those words, I suddenly remembered what the tourist had asked me. Are you their photographer? Yeah. What was I to them? “That’s a relief!” Hailey let out a sigh of relief, throwing herself backward onto my bed. “Oh, tomorrow is our last day. I want to go to the music box museum by Lake Brienz. Can you look up the route for me?” I said okay. After she left, I didn’t look up any routes. I opened my airline app and checked my flight details for tomorrow. 2:15 PM, Zurich to JFK. I wondered how long it would take them to realize I was gone. My phone buzzed. It was Justin. “Are you asleep?” I stared at the text for a while. What did he want to say? Yesterday it was “Are you okay?” Today it was “Are you asleep?” In four days, he hadn’t spoken more than ten sentences to me on his own. But with Hailey, I had witnessed at least fifty conversations today alone. I didn’t reply. Three minutes later, another message came in. “We’re going to the music box museum tomorrow. Do you want to go?” We. I didn’t know if that “we” included me. But I knew that at the museum tomorrow, it would only be him and Hailey. I typed out: “I want to sleep in tomorrow. You guys go ahead.” Send. He replied instantly: “Okay, get some rest. Do you need me to bring you anything?” Almost on instinct, I typed: “No, thanks.” Then I added: “Have fun.” The chat went silent. I turned off my screen, and the room fell back into darkness. In the distance, the faint sound of fireworks echoed, briefly lighting up a corner of my ceiling. I remembered when Justin and I first started dating in freshman year. He would walk twenty minutes in the rain just to save a seat for me in the library. He would give me his only umbrella and walk back to his dorm soaking wet. He would call me at exactly midnight on my birthday, and his first words were always: “Chloe, you’re a year older now.” What happened to that Justin? Then Hailey came. His attention began to drift, like water flowing around a pebble, naturally carving a new path. It wasn’t a sudden, violent change. Just a gradual shift. A millimeter at a time. So subtle that I almost convinced myself it was normal. He gave me less and less, but he never cut me off completely. Occasionally, he would still hold my hand, say goodnight, and ask “Are you okay?” So I kept telling myself: He still loves me. They’re just friends. Just friends. But friends don’t wear each other’s jackets. They don’t share AirPods. They don’t tuck each other’s hair back in the wind. And they don’t let their partner be treated like an outsider over and over again. My flight was at 2:15 PM tomorrow. I wasn’t going to say goodbye.

“Miss, would you like your breakfast delivered to your room?” When the hotel maid knocked, I had already packed my bags. Not much. Just a carry-on and a backpack. My camera and the heavy lens were packed at the very bottom of the suitcase, pressed flat beneath a dress I hadn’t worn. That dress was one Hailey had forced me to buy before we left. She had said, “Chloe, you need to dress up. These graduation photos are going to last a lifetime.” In the end, she picked out a floral dress that cost $180. I hadn’t hesitated to pay because she said it looked good on me. Four days had passed, and I hadn’t worn it once. Because there were no photos of me. I ate a few bites of toast, then pushed the tray outside my door. I checked the time. 8:30 AM. Justin and Hailey should have checked out and left by now. Sure enough, a string of messages popped up in our group chat from fifteen minutes ago. Hailey: “Chloe~ We’re heading out! Enjoy your sleep-in!” Hailey: “I’ll bring you back a cute music box souvenir tonight!” Justin didn’t say anything in the group chat. But five minutes later, he sent me a private text: “I’ll come find you this afternoon.” I stared at that message for a long time. By the time you come back this afternoon, this room will already be checked out. I didn’t reply. I dragged my suitcase downstairs. The receptionist was the same man who had handed over the wrong key card the first day. Seeing me alone with my bags, he asked in English, “Where are your friends? Do you need a cab?” “Yes, please.” As I settled the bill, he asked if he should notify my friends. I said, “No need.” The cab arrived quickly. The moment I got in, I took one last look at the chalet resort. The wooden entrance swayed in the wind. Over the past three days, I had walked through those doors countless times, always bringing up the rear. Goodbye. Ten minutes into the ride, my phone rang. It wasn’t Justin, and it wasn’t Hailey. It was my mom. “Chloe, are you having fun?” I said, “Yeah, it’s nice.” “Send me some photos! I want to see you and Justin together.” I paused for two seconds. “I’ll send them next time.” I hung up. Outside, the highway was flanked by rolling green fields and scattered cottages, the Alps shrinking in the rearview mirror. I reached Zurich Airport at noon. Security, waiting, boarding. I didn’t receive a single message the entire time. Justin and Hailey were probably still in the music box museum, taking photos that didn’t require me to press the shutter. I took my window seat in economy class and buckled my seatbelt. Next to me, an elderly couple sat. The husband helped his wife adjust her seatbelt, and she patted his hand gently. I turned my face toward the window. At takeoff, the ground fell away, and the buildings and trees shrank into tiny models. I switched my phone to airplane mode, the last message still lingering on the screen. “I’ll come find you this afternoon.” The captain announced the flight time. In a few hours, I would land in a different city. This trip was over. I closed my eyes as the plane pierced through the clouds.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441580”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster