Author: Momo Chan

When a psychopath broke into our daughter’s kindergarten, my husband offered up our little girl to exchange for a hostage, leading to her brutal death. At a later dinner party, his best friend and his wife were doting on each other, their plump, healthy son full of life. Seeing how skeletal and hollowed-out I had become, the wife leaned in and whispered, “Thank God it wasn’t my precious boy who died.” I flipped the dining table in a rage. A shard of broken porcelain cut her, but the person who panicked and rushed to her side first was my own husband. In court, the killer escaped the death penalty. Outside the courthouse, my husband wept on his knees, begging for my forgiveness. Yet the moment he turned his back, he was whispering sweet nothings to his best friend’s wife in the corner of the stairwell. I launched a secret investigation. I discovered she was his college sweetheart, the white moon he could never forget. Even worse, I found records of her secret communication with the killer. From that day on, I pretended to be completely broken and depressed. But beneath my hollow exterior, every time she looked down on me with smug pity, I was silently counting down the remaining days of her life. 1 Hearing the sound of the front door opening, I forced a small smile onto my face and walked over to greet him. I knelt down to help my husband slide into his slippers, then took his briefcase. “William, we haven’t had dinner together in so long. I made your favorites.” My voice was still raspy from the endless crying. He stared down at me, a flicker of disbelief passing through his eyes. My submissive behavior was a complete departure from how I had been acting lately. But he quickly masked it with a gentle smile. “That sounds wonderful.” He had to keep playing the role of the grieving, supportive husband, after all. If this were the old me, if the stench of expensive, unfamiliar perfume wasn’t clinging so heavily to his suit, I might have actually believed him. But now, I knew he was worse than a beast. Even a wild animal protects its offspring, yet he, under the guise of being the school board director, had sacrificed our child for his own interests. He had physically pushed our trembling, five-year-old daughter into the hands of a madman, turning a deaf ear as Lily screamed “Daddy” with everything she had. The first time I saw the security footage, I fainted from the sheer grief. His excuse was always the same: “The situation was too critical. I was only trying to buy us time to de-escalate him.” He hadn’t even waited for the negotiator to arrive. By the time I reached the school, all that was left of my daughter was a tiny, blood-soaked body. Only later did I discover the real reason he was so eager to exchange the hostage. The other little boy trapped inside, the one he saved, was his biological son. A son he had fathered with his best friend’s wife. I forced the memories back down. Even though my hatred for him burned like acid, I had to play my part. I scooped some food onto his plate and told him I wanted to go for a walk after dinner. He quietly pushed the food I served to the side of his plate, barely touching it. He was probably terrified I would poison him. Deep down, his conscience was eating him alive. Every night, he would wake up drenched in sweat, gasping out Lily’s name. I used to think it was grief. Now I knew it was sheer, unadulterated terror. The evening breeze outside was cool and refreshing. I hadn’t felt the open air in months. Nearby, several children were running around, laughing and playing. Lily used to be one of them. A sharp pang of sorrow pierced my chest. One of the neighbor’s children spotted me and ran over, her eyes bright. “Auntie Lisa, why didn’t Lily come down to play today?” Her mother rushed over, instantly covering the girl’s mouth. “I’m so sorry, Lisa. She’s young, she doesn’t know any better.” No matter how broken my heart was, I would never take my anger out on a child. I whispered that it was alright. But my husband’s face had already hardened into a mask of irritation. “Let’s go back.” Does the mere mention of our daughter disgust you that much, William? As we turned back toward our building, a little girl with straight bangs and two neat braids ran past us, giggling as she shouted, “Daddy! Daddy!” Her hair was styled exactly like Lily’s. I remembered Lily had a red dress just like the one she was wearing. William gasped, taking several hurried steps backward in sheer panic. He tripped over the edge of the flower bed, tumbling backward into the dirt. His face was pale, beads of cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. I felt a cold wave of amusement wash over me. Suppressing my disgust, I reached down to help him up. “I’m fine,” he choked out, completely losing his composure. That night, I initiated intimacy, suggesting we try for another baby. Perhaps rattled by his panic in the courtyard, or perhaps fueled by my sudden warmth, he was exceptionally passionate. It was repulsive. Afterward, I stood under the shower, scrubbing my skin until it was red and raw, trying to wash away his touch. I stood over the toilet, retching violently until my stomach was empty. Then, with trembling fingers, I swallowed a morning-after pill. I looked at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror. William, Scarlett, the game has just begun. I will make you both pay for Lily’s life in blood. 2 “Lisa, honey!” I was in the grocery store aisle when a dripping, sweet voice called out from behind me, drawing the gazes of several nearby men. I didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. It was the woman who had orchestrated my daughter’s death, my husband’s college sweetheart and his best friend’s wife: Scarlett. I quickly reached up, messing up my hair to make myself look even more disheveled and hollowed-out, before turning around. Scarlett was holding her son Toby’s hand, her high heels clicking loudly against the linoleum as she glided toward me. She had striking, cat-like eyes, the kind of bold, classical beauty that commanded attention. She wasn’t just a quiet muse, she was a thorny red rose. “It really is you,” she purred, looking me up and down. “I’m surprised you’re actually out of the house.” She raised a manicured hand to cover her nose, her disdain entirely undisguised. I didn’t say a word, simply turning my shopping cart to leave. Miffed by my silence and unable to tolerate being ignored, her expression hardened. “Lisa! You know as well as I do that what happened had nothing to do with Richard or me. There’s no reason to treat me like an enemy. You flipped the table at the dinner party last time, and I still haven’t even…” “Then whose fault was it?” I interrupted, my voice flat. “The killer, obviously!” she scoffed. “But he took his own life in prison, so who else is there to blame? Do you really have to keep making things so awkward for William and his best friend?” So, according to her, it was my fault. My fault for seeing the secret messages she sent to the killer, instructing him on how to play insane so he could dodge the death penalty. She smiled, clearly believing she had won this little exchange. “Lisa, instead of throwing tantrums, you should keep a closer eye on William. Keep acting like this, and you might find yourself with no husband at all.” I sneered internally, but on the outside, my eyes welled with tears. I let them spill over, looking at her with a look of frantic desperation. “What do you mean?” She leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “I saw William with another woman the other day. She was acting very familiar, even wiping his mouth for him.” “No… that can’t be,” I whimpered, letting my voice rise to a hysterical pitch. “You’re lying!” She looked at me with pure amusement, utterly satisfied by my unraveling. Ignoring my questions, she turned on her heel, pulling Toby along as she walked away with her head held high. I rushed after her, grabbing her sleeve. She violently shook me off. “Scarlett, please!” I begged, clutching at her coat. “Tell me what to do. Richard loves you so much. Please, teach me how to keep my husband.” I had to hold back the urge to vomit. I couldn’t believe such pathetic words were coming out of my mouth. “Well,” she said, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips, “you have to play on a man’s pity, honey. Cry and make a scene whenever he’s around. If you act fragile and broken, he’ll feel too guilty to leave you.” She was deliberately advising me to do the exact things that would push William further away, all while pretending to be on my side. “Really?” I whispered, staring at her wide-eyed. “Of course,” she smirked, patting my cheek. The moment she turned the corner, I pulled out a tissue and wiped the tears from my face. It was exhausting having to cry on cue. I hoped she would savor her little victory. It would be the last one she ever had. 3 “William, Lily’s life insurance payout finally cleared.” I quietly pushed open the door to William’s study, placing a warm cup of milk on his desk. A brief flash of excitement crossed his face before he quickly forced his features into a somber frown. “What good is money? No amount of cash can bring our sweet girl back.” “Don’t say that, honey,” I said, my voice dripping with devotion. “I know how stressed you’ve been with the business. This money can help you. Think of it as Lily’s way of looking out for her father.” “Lisa, you are too good to me,” he said, taking my hand and looking into my eyes with what looked like profound affection. “As long as you don’t leave me, I’ll do whatever it takes,” I whispered, kneeling beside his chair and pressing his hand against my cheek, playing the submissive, broken wife perfectly. Back in Lily’s room, I shut the door, slipped on my headphones, and turned on the receiver. The wiretap I had hidden in his study was working beautifully. His phone call went through almost immediately. “The payout is substantial,” William’s voice came through the static. “See? Even in death, your daughter is finally useful,” Scarlett’s cold, mocking laugh echoed in my ears. A red-hot wave of fury surged through me, and I squeezed my fists until my nails drew blood. I wanted to tear her limb from limb. “She wasn’t my daughter,” William replied smoothly. “My only child is our boy, Toby.” “Then you better make sure every cent of that money is spent on Toby and me. Richard’s debts are piling up, and I can’t live like this much longer.” A woman like Scarlett knew exactly how to wield her charm like a weapon. “Be patient, darling,” William cooed. “Once the money is secured in the new investment account, I’ll file for divorce. We’ll take Toby and move abroad.” He paused, chuckling softly. “Lisa was just in here, crying on her knees. She said she’d do anything as long as I don’t leave her.” “Pathetic woman,” Scarlett sneered. I pulled off the headphones, took a deep breath to steady my racing heart, and dialed a number. “Uncle Thomas,” I said when the call connected. Thomas was a private investigator and a close friend of my father. He had been helping me gather evidence ever since he found the recordings of Scarlett colluding with the killer. “Lisa, how is your father doing?” Thomas asked gently. “His hair has gone completely white over the past year,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “I haven’t had the courage to face him.” “Don’t carry this burden alone, child,” Thomas said softly. “Your father loves you. Let’s finish this, and then you can go home.” A few days later, William casual brought up a topic at the dinner table. “Richard mentioned a new high-yield investment project. The returns are incredible. I was thinking we could use Lily’s insurance money…” “Is it safe, William?” I asked, putting on a show of deep anxiety. “I’m just so worried about losing everything.” He slammed his chopsticks onto the table, making me flinch. “Are you questioning my judgment?” “No! No, honey, I’m sorry,” I stammered quickly, shrinking back. “I just meant… maybe we should ask my father for advice first? He has so much experience with these things.” My father had been William’s mentor, teaching him everything he knew about investment. But after Lily died, William’s ego got the better of him. He thought he was a financial genius, rejecting my father’s advice and losing a fortune in his own bad deals. He sneered, pulling out his phone and dialing my father’s number. “Father, it’s William. I wanted to ask your opinion on a project…” Before he could finish, my father hung up on him. William’s face turned purple, his embarrassment morphing into rage when he realized I was watching him. “Look at your father’s attitude! Get back to your room!” He immediately retreated to his study to call Scarlett. Through the wiretap, I listened as Scarlett urged him to use me to get to my father. Over the past year, without my father’s backing, William’s business had dried up completely. “I don’t know, Scarlett,” William murmured. “Lisa has been acting strange lately.” My heart skipped a beat. Had he figured it out? “She’s much more submissive than before,” William continued. “Now that our daughter is gone, she realizes I’m the only thing she has left.” I let out a silent breath. His arrogance was truly his own worst enemy. “Why? Are you starting to fall for her?” Scarlett’s voice was sharp with jealousy. She couldn’t tolerate him showing even a fraction of affection to anyone else. “You know you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved,” William reassured her. “What about your daughter? You seemed to care about her…” “That’s in the past, Scarlett. Don’t bring her up again.” His voice was instantly clipped and annoyed. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. The killer had once asked Scarlett why she wanted a child dead. Her response had been simple: “Because she was stealing my son’s father.” She had helped murder my daughter out of petty, psychotic jealousy. The weight of the truth hit me so hard my knees buckled, and I sank to the floor of Lily’s room. I clutched her framed photograph to my chest, my body shaking with a silent, agonizing sob. I bit my lip until the taste of copper filled my mouth, forcing myself to make no sound. The next day, William paced around the living room, looking hesitant. I approached him with a warm smile. “William, I called my father. He said you can send over the project proposal. He’ll look it over for you.” “Really?” His face lit up with greedy excitement. He rushed into his study, and a moment later, I heard him on the phone. “Father! Yes, thank you so much!” When he came out, he wrapped his arms around me. “Your father said the project is solid. He’s even planning to invest two million of his own money!” “That’s wonderful, honey,” I murmured, resting my head against his shoulder. My eyes were as cold as ice. William, Scarlett, enjoy the trap. It was designed specifically for you. A month later, my father called William to report that the initial returns were incredibly high. William immediately transferred all his remaining capital, including Lily’s insurance money, into the account. He even convinced Scarlett’s family to pool their savings and join in. William was ecstatic, constantly planning his future life abroad with Scarlett over the phone. Two months in, the returns peaked, and William was practically walking on air. By the third month, the project manager vanished into thin air. The website went dark, and the office was found abandoned. I watched William frantically dial the dead number over and over, his face pale with dread. I picked up my phone and sent a quiet message to Thomas: “The fish is caught. Pull the net.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “507001”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For seven years, I was nothing but a disposable NPC wife in a horror game, dragged along by the monstrous Boss who kept me caged. Then, out of nowhere, a player killed him. The player, who bore a striking seventy-percent resemblance to my late husband, sheathed his sword and held out a hand to me. “Your husband is dead,” he said. “Come with me.” Right then, glowing lines of text flashed across my vision like a live stream chat. [The BOSS knew she was unfaithful all along. He faked his death just to test her.] [But the BOSS is still gravely wounded. Don’t worry, our brave female lead is about to rescue and heal him!] [This cowardly side-character NPC is running off with a player, thinking he actually cares about her. She has no idea he’s just using her unique NPC biology. Every time players get hurt, they’re going to carve pieces of flesh off her to heal. It’s going to be brutal!] [Oh, I remember this part! At the very end, she crawls to the BOSS, begging him to save her, but she ends up getting dirt on the female lead’s dress. The BOSS disintegrates her soul without even blinking.] [Wait… is that player supposed to look like that? Why does he look different from what I remember?] 01 I was a throwaway NPC wife in a horror game. My daily routine consisted of following the BOSS around to trigger the plot. By day, we had to play the part of a deeply loving couple in front of the players. “This is my thirteenth wife,” the Count would say, wrapping an arm around me while viciously pinching my waist from behind. “I adore her.” Biting my lip, I would nod meekly. By night, I had to “accidentally” cross paths with the players and weep to them about how terribly the Count treated me. “Yes, he beats me constantly. These bruises on my arms are proof of his cruelty.” I would sob, displaying carefully painted-on marks. “Every night, he locks me in the very last room on the second floor to torture me. Please, I beg of you, save me.” “But the BOSS told us to stay away from the last room on the second floor,” the players would mutter, thrown off by the conflicting rules. “He’s lying to you! If I’m not out by midnight, please come in and rescue me. I will reward you handsomely!” Naturally, driven by the promise of a rich reward, there were always players foolish enough to take the risk. None of them ever made it out alive. To be fair, I wasn’t entirely lying. While they were being torn apart and consumed by monsters in that room, the BOSS was tormenting me on the other side of the wall. The walls were thin. He loved pinning me against them. The louder the screams from next door, the more violent his touch became. “You stared at the second man from the left a second too long today,” he whispered, biting my earlobe. “Do you like him?” “No,” I gasped. The cold, slithering tentacles rising from his shadow wrapped around my thighs, freezing my skin. “Traitors end up just like the first twelve.” I turned around, plastering on a compliant smile to appease him. “Never. I would never betray you.” As if. Where else am I going to find someone who looks so much like my long-lost first love? 02 But then, a player arrived who completely threw me off my game. Oh my god. A man showed up looking exactly like my lost love. I ran through my usual routine, weeping in front of him under the cover of night. He listened, then let out a soft laugh. “He treats you badly? How about I kill him for you, and you come with me?” I froze. Usually, at the start of a run, players didn’t immediately go after the BOSS. Some overly sympathetic players had tried in the past, of course, and their deaths were spectacular. My Count husband was ridiculously overpowered. That was why the survival rate of this dungeon was a flat zero. I kept up the act, sobbing, “My husband is incredibly powerful. You shouldn’t…” Thirty minutes later, the entire second floor was engulfed in raging flames. The player walked out of the fire, dragging several twitching tentacles and tossing them at my feet. “Your husband is dead. That’s fantastic… I mean, I’m so sorry for your loss.” I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “Don’t believe me? Look at the system log.” He swiped his hand, bringing up a glowing interface only players could see. There it was, in bold text: [Warning: Count Alistair of the Dread Castle has been slain. Congratulations on clearing the dungeon!] I stood there, a sudden, strange hollow feeling blooming in my chest. The man sheathed his sword and offered his hand. “Come with me.” I hesitated. Sure, the Count looked seventy percent like my first love. But this guy looked a hundred percent like him. Sure, the Count had great stamina and a wild imagination in bed. But this new guy looked like he wouldn’t disappoint either. Sure, the Count was strong. But this guy was strong enough to turn the Count into calamari. Actually, I couldn’t think of anything else in the Count’s favor. Rest in peace, dear ex-husband. Your death brings me great sorrow, but a girl has to look to the future. Just as I reached out to take his hand, the strange, glowing chat logs flashed before my eyes again. [The BOSS knew she was unfaithful all along. He faked his death just to test her.] [But the BOSS is still gravely wounded. Don’t worry, our brave female lead is about to rescue and heal him!] [This cowardly side-character NPC is running off with a player, thinking he actually cares about her. She has no idea he’s just using her unique NPC biology. Every time players get hurt, they’re going to carve pieces of flesh off her to heal. It’s going to be brutal!] [Oh, I remember this part! At the very end, she crawls to the BOSS, begging him to save her, but she ends up getting dirt on the female lead’s dress. The BOSS disintegrates her soul without even blinking.] [Wait… is that player supposed to look like that? Why does he look different from what I remember?] Wait, I was just a tragic side character? I suppose that made sense. I was just the BOSS’s possession. There had been twelve others before me. But… carve my flesh? It was true that an NPC’s flesh could rapidly heal players. Suddenly, the way this handsome player was looking at me felt entirely different. Shuddering, I yanked my hand back and squeezed out a few pathetic tears. “You have to understand… my husband just died. His soul hasn’t even crossed over yet. I cannot betray his memory so soon.” “So you can after the mourning period is over?” “…” Was that seriously his takeaway? The player actually seemed to ponder this. He picked up the charred tentacles, stuffed them into a small jar, and pressed it into my hands. “Think of this as your husband for now. Keep him close so you feel he’s still with you. I hate seeing you cry.” As he spoke, his gaze was incredibly intense, dripping with affection. Can you blame me? Imagine a man who looks exactly like your first love staring at you with eyes full of absolute devotion. Suddenly, holding my dead husband in a jar felt a bit inconvenient. It was keeping me from wrapping my arms around this new guy. I wiped my tears and nodded. Whatever. Let him carve my flesh. To die in the arms of beauty is a worthy death. “Ah, the system says the next instance is opening. This place is about to collapse. Let’s go.” He wiped the blood from his hands and took mine, leading me forward. Honestly, the jar was just in the way. As we navigated the crumbling ruins, I “accidentally” dropped it into a fissure. A burst of flames swallowed it instantly. Finally, I had both hands free to cling to his arm. But why did the back of my neck suddenly feel so cold? 03 It was my first time in the players’ safe zone, a cozy, tavern-like lobby. We sat across from each other at a wooden table. “This next dungeon is notoriously lethal. Word is, no one has ever cleared it. We need to recruit more members.” The players at the neighboring table whispered, their eyes drifting toward us. Specifically, they were looking at the man across from me. My current appearance was a mess: a simple white dress, eyes swollen like bruised plums, and hair looking like a bird’s nest. I looked exactly like the kind of dead weight that gets everyone killed. Sure enough, a burly player walked over. “Hey there. We’re all ranked in the top thirty. Want to party up with us?” Addison didn’t even look up. He kept his chin resting on his hand, a lazy smile playing on his lips as he looked at me. “Esme, what do you think?” “How do you know my name?” “Heard your husband yell it.” A female player nearby couldn’t help but chime in. “Wait, you two aren’t a couple?” “Nope,” Addison replied, his tone entirely casual. “Her husband just passed away, and I’m just looking after her.” “…” The tavern went dead silent. After a long, awkward pause, the woman managed a weak, “My condolences.” “So, what’s your name?” I asked, looking up. “You don’t even know his name?” the female player blurted out. “Is this really just ‘looking after’ her?” “Addison,” he said. “Addison?” The burly man frowned. “That sounds incredibly familiar. I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere…” Realizing Addison took his cues from me, they eagerly invited us to join. I couldn’t find a way to refuse, so I agreed. As soon as we joined, the female player, Julia, crept over to gossip. “Was your husband good-looking?” I pointed at Addison. “He was alright. Looked pretty much like him.” Julia: “…” “He must have treated you well, right?” I pointed at Addison again. “He was okay. A bit worse than him, though.” Julia: “…” “How did he die? You must be devastated.” I pointed at Addison a third time. “He was alright. This guy killed him.” Julia’s jaw practically hit the floor. Just then, the glowing chat log popped up again. [Is this side-character really using him as a rebound?] [Oh my god, the female lead already found the BOSS! He’s acting like a tame little puppy around her, it’s so cute!] [If the BOSS finds out the songbird he caged for seven years ran off with another man, he’s going to lose his mind, haha.] [Not necessarily. The BOSS wanted her dead anyway. She was just too good at playing innocent, and now her true colors are showing.] [When is this player going to start carving her up? I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes she’s been played!] [Soon, definitely soon. Look at the way he’s staring at her like a predator. I bet a pack of spicy strips he starts carving tonight!] As that last line vanished, Addison stepped between me and Julia. He caught my wrist, his grip firm but gentle. “You must be exhausted. Let me take you to a room to rest before the next dungeon starts.” He cast a brief glance over his shoulder at Julia. I couldn’t see his expression, but Julia took several trembling steps back, looking terrified. Oh god. Is he taking me to the chopping block? I remained silent as he led me down a dimly lit corridor, away from the bustling lobby. 04 To be honest, my memory of my first love was incredibly blurry. Perhaps spending so much time in the horror game had eroded my past. The earliest memory I possessed was of a man holding me tightly, weeping, promising he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Seeing him cry had torn my heart apart. Even with only that fragment, I knew he was the most important person in my life. But when I next opened my eyes, I was staring at a throne made of blood and bones. A man draped in shadows sat upon it, eyes closed, resting. He looked seventy percent like the face in my memories, but his aura was entirely different. When his eyes snapped open, they were a deep, crimson red. Sensing I was awake, a long black tentacle slithered from his shadow, gently tilting my chin up. “You’re quite beautiful,” he murmured. “How would you like to be my thirteenth wife?” And so, I became his thirteenth wife. He claimed he couldn’t stand a marriage that wasn’t real, routinely ignoring the game’s boundaries just to tease and torment me. And now, a man who looked identical to my memory had appeared, bearing the exact same temperament. I couldn’t help but ask, “Addison… have we met before?” Addison pushed open the door to a bedroom. As I stepped inside, he turned, his arm brushing past my cheek to click the door shut. “Why do you ask?” The room was dark, but his eyes caught the faint light from the hallway, gleaming with a dangerous intensity. “Nothing. You just feel very familiar.” He leaned in, his breath smelling of cold cedar enveloping me. “Because I look like him?” “What?” Which “him” did he mean? Before I could process it, his hand slid down to my waist, slowly tracing upward. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver straight down my spine. “Did he touch you like this too?” As our breath mingled, he let out a low, husky laugh. His lips brushed against the shell of my ear before he pulled back. “Get some rest,” he murmured, leaving me flushed, breathless, and utterly confused as he slipped out the door. Well. He was a professional tease. I took a cold shower to calm down, then crawled under the covers and drifted into a heavy sleep. The bed felt strangely similar to the one back in my castle. In the middle of the night, I vaguely heard the door click open. A dark shadow swiftly moved toward me. He stood by the bedside, watching me for a long time, before leaning down to press a fierce, almost punishing kiss against my lips. “Mmh…” I whimpered, struggling against the intensity of it, but my eyelids felt like lead. A pair of dark, possessive eyes stared down at me through the gloom. Surprisingly, the familiar gaze put me at ease. I reached up, wrapping my arms around his neck and hooking my legs around his waist. “Stop playing… go to sleep.” “Esme, who exactly are you calling?” His hand slid beneath my nightgown, his fingers digging into my waist with bruising force. Exhausted, I patted his wrist weakly. “My husband just died. Not yet…” “…” I could hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “You little witch. So you do remember your husband just died.” “You swore you’d never betray me. Yet the moment I close my eyes, you throw yourself into the arms of a lover? Hmm?” He seemed genuinely furious. Pulling my gown up, his lips trailed fire from my waist upward. “Where did he touch you? Here? Or here?” He bit down hard enough to sting. I kicked out in irritation. “Leave me alone!” But my foot hit nothing but empty air. I snapped awake. The room was pitch black, and I was entirely alone. I shrank back against the headboard, my hand trembling as I touched my waist. The faint, red marks left on my skin were painfully real. Oh my god. My dead husband had come back from the grave to claim my soul.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “506998”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When my mother suffered a massive stroke, my boyfriend was busy playing tour guide at the airport for his childhood sweetheart’s parents. I was gripping the ICU surgical consent form. My hand was shaking so violently I couldn’t even hold the pen. My desperate texts pleading for help had been sitting on delivered for three hours. I asked him to transfer some money and bring a change of clothes. He didn’t reply to a single word. Yet three minutes ago, I refreshed my social media feed. He had just posted a photo carousel. There he was, strolling through the airport terminal with Stella’s parents. Stella was clinging to his arm. Resting against her collarbone was the diamond starburst pendant I had saved up half a year’s salary for, but ultimately couldn’t bring myself to buy. The caption read: “Mr. and Mrs. Smith’s first time in the city. I’ve got the whole itinerary covered.” For seven years, I had shared every mundane detail of my life with this man. Over time, his instant replies had faded into complete indifference. When the nurse called my name to sign another stack of medical release forms, I looked up at the sunset bleeding through the hospital window. And suddenly, my mind was perfectly clear. The disappointment I had been hoarding for seven years was finally enough to buy a one-way ticket out of your life. … I sat on the hard plastic chair in the ICU hallway for an entire night. My eyes were burning and heavily bloodshot. When he finally showed up and saw me, a flicker of annoyance flashed across his face. He quickly walked over. “Why didn’t you call me earlier? I was up until two in the morning getting Stella’s parents settled. I barely slept for two hours before your texts woke me up.” Hearing those words, a suffocating wave of grievance clawed at my throat. I stared at the crumpled gift bag in his hand and said absolutely nothing. He shoved the bag into my lap. His tone was entirely casual. “Stella’s parents brought some local snacks. We couldn’t finish it all, so I brought the leftovers for you.” “Oh right, how is your mom? It’s nothing too serious, right?” “She is stable for now. Still in the ICU.” My voice was so terrifyingly calm it felt like I was talking about a stranger. Connor just let out a quiet “oh” and nodded. Then, the complaining started. “You have no idea how picky Stella’s parents are. They insisted on a five-star hotel and only wanted to eat at the most expensive steakhouses. We walked around the shopping district all afternoon yesterday. I literally have blisters on my heels. If it wasn’t for Stella, I wouldn’t have bothered entertaining them.” He lifted his foot to show me the bandage on his heel. He looked like the victim of a great injustice. Looking at him, a memory from last month suddenly surfaced. I had suffered a severe acute appendicitis attack. I was rolling on the bathroom floor in agony. When I called Connor, he told me he was at a stadium concert with Stella. The tickets were VIP, and he absolutely couldn’t leave. He told me to call an ambulance myself. He actually said, “It’s just an appendix, Tara. It’s a minor procedure. Stop being so dramatic.” In the end, it was my best friend Brooke who rushed over, got me to the ER, held my hand before surgery, and stayed by my bed all night. Connor didn’t show up until noon the next day. He brought a bag of cheap apples that someone else had gifted him, sat in the chair for ten minutes, and started looking at his watch. He said Stella was scared to be alone in her apartment and he needed to go keep her company. Back then, I was still lying to myself. I told myself he was just clueless. I told myself he just viewed Stella as a little sister. But yesterday, while my mother was lying in the ICU fighting for her life, he was out treating another woman’s parents to a luxury vacation. 1 “Connor.” I cut off his endless complaining. “The eighty thousand dollars I asked you to transfer yesterday for the surgery. When are you sending it? That is the down payment for our house. The money we saved for three years that I kept in your account.” Connor’s eyes darted away. He scratched the back of his neck and spoke as if it meant nothing at all. “About that money. I used it yesterday to book the penthouse suites for Stella’s parents. Upgraded their flights to first class. And I bought Stella that necklace she was looking at. It’s pretty much gone.” “It’s their first time visiting. I couldn’t exactly let them pay for everything themselves, right? That would be embarrassing.” “It’s just a little bit of money. Do you really need to interrogate me over it?” “What did you just say?” My head snapped up. I could feel the blood roaring in my ears. “That was my mother’s life-saving money! The doctor said a one-minute delay could have killed her. And you took her life savings to buy face with another family? To buy jewelry for another woman?” “It’s their first time in the city! I couldn’t let them rough it out. How would that make me look?” Connor sounded completely justified. He even had the nerve to point a finger at me. “Why are you being so difficult? I just borrowed it temporarily. I’ll pay you back when my year-end bonus comes in. What is the big deal?” “Pay me back? While my mother was lying in the ICU waiting for the cash to clear for her surgery, did it cross your mind to pay me back then?” 2 “When I was hospitalized for my appendix, you took Stella to a concert. When I worked overtime until midnight and had to walk home in the pouring rain, you were at a bar taking shots with Stella. Now my mother’s life is hanging by a thread, and you are playing tour guide for her parents with my mother’s medical funds!” Connor’s face flushed with defensive anger. “Stop acting crazy, Tara! Stella and I grew up together. Her parents are practically my family. Is it a crime to take care of them? Your mom is stable now, isn’t she? Do you really have to be this aggressive?” “Your family?” A hollow, broken laugh escaped my throat. My eyes were entirely devoid of warmth. “Her parents are your family. But my mother is worth less than a stranger on the street to you. Is that it?” His face darkened. He clearly didn’t want to argue anymore. “I am too tired to fight with you. We will talk about the money later. I need to go buy breakfast for Stella and her folks.” Right on cue, his phone vibrated. He glanced at the caller ID, and his entire demeanor instantly melted into sickening sweetness. He turned his back to me. “Hey, Stella. What’s up?” “You guys are awake? You want breakfast? Okay, I’m heading out right now. What are you craving? Lattes and croissants? Or that fancy brunch spot?” “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll get it all. I’m on my way.” He hung up, grabbed his jacket, and started walking toward the elevators. “They’re awake and hungry. I have to hurry over. Whatever your problem is, we can talk about it tonight.” “Connor.” I called his name. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. The impatience was practically carved into his forehead. “What now? I’m seriously in a rush.” I looked dead into his eyes and spoke very slowly. “When you’re done playing pretend, we need to talk.” He obviously didn’t take me seriously. He just thought I was throwing a tantrum and waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll find you tonight.” I stood frozen in the sterile hallway. I looked down at the crumpled box of half-eaten pastries in my hands. It felt like the cruelest joke in the world. I dropped the box into the nearest trash can and walked back to the ICU doors. I pulled out my phone and dialed my older brother’s number. When he answered, my voice finally began to tremble. “Liam. Mom had a stroke. Can you get here as soon as possible?” By the afternoon, my mother’s vitals had finally stabilized. They moved her from the ICU to a regular private room. Liam booked the earliest express train. He would be here by sunset. I was resting my head on the edge of my mother’s bed, drifting into a shallow sleep. Through the haze, I heard footsteps echoing down the hall. I thought it was the nurse doing rounds. But when I lifted my head, I saw Connor walking through the door. Right behind him, hiding behind his shoulder like a delicate little bird, was Stella. In that split second, my brain short-circuited. I stared at them in utter disbelief. My mother had just been pulled from the brink of death. She was supposed to be resting in total quiet. And he actually had the audacity to parade Stella right into her hospital room? Stella practically skipped over to the bed. Her voice was dripping with manufactured sweetness. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Davis. Connor and I just found out you were sick, so we rushed right over.” She intentionally put heavy emphasis on “Connor and I.” She even turned back to flash him a dazzling smile. The diamonds on her starburst necklace caught the fluorescent lights. The glare physically hurt my eyes. Connor didn’t even glance at me. He certainly didn’t look at my frail mother on the bed. Instead, he reached out to gently guide Stella by the waist. His tone was incredibly gentle. “Watch your step, don’t bump into the IV pole.” I sat glued to the chair. My fists were clenched so tight my fingernails were biting into my palms. Stella immediately linked her arm through Connor’s and turned to me with a perfectly crafted look of pity. “Tara, please don’t be mad. It’s all my fault. If I knew your mom was in the hospital, I never would have let Connor run around the city with my parents. You must be so exhausted being here all by yourself.” She paused, lifting a perfectly manicured hand to lightly touch her collarbone. “Look. Connor was so worried about me being stressed out that he bought me this necklace. He said entertaining the elders is hard work, and he wanted to see me smile.” “I remember you staring at this exact one online for months. Right? It’s a shame it was too expensive. You just couldn’t bring yourself to swipe the card.” A look of smug satisfaction crossed Connor’s face. He patted her hand. “As long as you like it. The money doesn’t matter.” 3 As if that wasn’t enough, Stella leaned closer to him and pouted her lips. “Connor, I’m feeling a little parched. I really don’t like the tap water here. Could you go downstairs and grab me a sparkling water? Ice cold, please.” “Of course. I’ll be right back.” He didn’t even hesitate. He turned on his heel to leave. “Connor.” My voice cracked like dry ice. “My mother just woke up. She needs someone here. Can you stay for five minutes?” He froze mid-step. He slowly turned around, his eyebrows pulled into a tight, frustrated knot. “Stella is thirsty. I’m just running down to the cafeteria. Aren’t you sitting right here watching her? Stop being so suffocating.” “Suffocating?” “My mother is lying in a hospital bed hooked up to monitors. You brought another woman in here to disturb her rest. You haven’t asked a single question about her condition. But you are rushing out the door to buy sparkling water. What exactly am I to you, Connor? What is my mother to you?” Stella’s eyes immediately flooded with tears. She tugged frantically at his sleeve. “Connor, it’s my fault. I never should have come. I just made Tara angry. I should just go. I’m just causing trouble.” She took a step back, but her body angled perfectly to fall right into his chest. Connor immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her like I was holding a weapon. His face turned ice cold. “That is enough, Tara! Stella was nice enough to come check on your mom. Why are you screaming at her? She just came to pay her respects. Why do you have to be so incredibly toxic?” “Pay her respects?” “She is standing over my mother’s sickbed, showing off a necklace bought with the money meant to save my mother’s life. You call that paying respects?” Before he could answer, the elderly woman occupying the other bed in the room slammed her plastic cup onto her tray table. She had heard enough. “Listen here, little girl,” the old woman barked. “Her mother is fighting for her life. And you are prancing around here wearing jewelry bought with their emergency funds. Do you have any shame at all? If you actually cared, you’d sit quietly. Don’t come in here acting like a homewrecker and bringing bad energy into a place of healing.” Stella bit her lip. Real tears were welling up in her eyes now. Connor’s face flushed with utter embarrassment. He wanted to defend Stella, but he couldn’t exactly scream at a sick old lady. He just stood there, looking utterly pathetic. I didn’t want to cause a scene next to my sleeping mother. I took a deep, shaky breath. “Connor. Step out into the hallway. We need to talk.” But Stella gripped his arm like a vice. She looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “Connor, I’m scared to stay in here alone. Please don’t leave me.” He hesitated for one single second. His eyes flickered toward me, filled with absolute conflict. And in that one second, whatever was left of my heart turned to ash. I didn’t wait for him. I turned around and walked out of the room by myself. A moment later, Connor pushed the heavy wooden door open. He looked thoroughly pissed off. “Hurry up and say it. Stella is still in there. She’s terrified of you right now, and I need to go back and comfort her.” Watching him obsess over her every micro-emotion while remaining completely blind to the devastation in my life. It made my chest physically ache. I took a step forward and blocked his path. “Connor. That eighty thousand dollars. My mother’s surgery money. Does it feel good spending it?” He stood his ground, chin raised. “I already told you! I used it to book the hotel and the flights! And I bought Stella a gift. Stop acting like a crazy person!” He actually scowled at me, unleashing a barrage of accusations. “Your mom is already out of the ICU, isn’t she? She’s fine. Why do you have to hold on to this like a dog with a bone?” “Like a dog with a bone?” A tear finally escaped, hitting the cold linoleum floor. I let out a broken laugh. “Connor, do you even have a heart beating in your chest?” His face turned an ugly shade of red. Driven by sheer embarrassment, he shoved me hard in the shoulder. “Stop being so hysterical, Tara! Stella and I are childhood friends. It is my duty to take care of her family! Why are you so narrow-minded and immature?” The force of his push sent me stumbling backward. My spine slammed hard against the corridor wall. A sharp pain radiated through my back. But the physical pain was absolutely nothing compared to the gaping hole in my chest. “Childhood friends?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “506995”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“Rebecca, I want to move into the boys’ dorm with Jaxon. Do you support me?” As soon as I opened my eyes, my best friend Sophie was looking at me with red, teary eyes. In my past life, I spent two hours trying to talk sense into her. I talked about her reputation, her safety, her self-respect, and her future. After listening to all of it, she glared at me with pure venom. “Rebecca, you are just jealous that someone actually loves me!” Later on, she lured me into that very boys’ dorm. Right before I was brutally attacked and left to die, I saw her twisted face looking down at me. “Weren’t you supposed to be so pure and full of self-respect? Look at you now, getting ruined like trash.” I take a deep breath and grab her hand tightly. “Support you? Of course I support me.” “You and Jaxon are a match made in heaven. I hope you have eighteen kids together. Go start your own soccer team!” 1 Sophie froze. Her pale cheeks suddenly flushed bright red. “Rebecca, what are you talking about?” “We are still so young. Why would you bring up kids?” I sneered in my head. If you hadn’t used the excuse of going into labor in the boys’ dorm in our last life, I never would have been tricked into going inside. On the outside, I put on a gossipy, excited expression. “Come on, I’m just looking forward to your beautiful future.” She probably didn’t expect me to actually support her. She looked a bit flustered. “You really agree with me moving in there?” “Of course I do.” I picked up my iced latte from the table and winked at her. “You two are so perfect for each other. What is wrong with living together?” “But don’t you think it might be a little unsafe?” She bit her lip, looking at me with wide, pitiful eyes. My grip on my plastic cup tightened. I pushed down the surging thrill in my chest and quickly replied. “How could it be? Jaxon loves you so much. He would never let anyone disrespect you. You should just move in and enjoy your life with him.” Hearing Jaxon’s name brought another blush to Sophie’s fair face. “Oh stop, don’t tease me. I am being serious with you. There are four guys in that dorm room. I feel like…” Before she could finish her sentence, I checked the time on my watch. I looked up. Jaxon was storming toward our table in his sweatpants, looking incredibly aggressive. I let out a cold laugh in my mind. In my previous life, he had arrived just in time to hear me say, “You really shouldn’t live with him in a boys’ dorm. It is way too dangerous.” He assumed I was trying to sabotage their pure, undying love. He slapped me so hard I ended up in the hospital. This time, I looked at his furious face and waved eagerly. “Sophie is right here!” He stopped in front of our table, casually bouncing his leg. “What are you two talking about? Rebecca, you better not be talking trash about me.” Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but I immediately jumped in and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Jaxon, this is your fault. Sophie doesn’t feel secure enough to live in your dorm.” “You are being a terrible boyfriend.” Hearing this, Jaxon narrowed his eyes. “Sophie, just move in. I run that floor. My word is law.” “Once you move in, I’ll have all the guys calling you the queen of the house.” Sophie’s face instantly turned crimson. All her previous worries vanished. She threw herself into his arms, gripping the edge of his shirt and whining softly. I watched the two of them practically glued together and remembered their legendary, earth-shattering love story. Back at the start of freshman year, Jaxon was jogging on the campus track in the pouring rain trying to look like a tough athlete. He accidentally bowled over Sophie, who was holding an umbrella and playing the role of a melancholic indie girl. That one collision sparked the flames of their epic romance. While I was lost in thought, a few soft, suggestive whimpers reached my ears. Disgust flashed through my eyes. I couldn’t stand looking at this perfect couple for another second. I stood up to leave, but Jaxon’s arrogant voice called out from behind me. “Rebecca, Sophie and I are going to hold our wedding in the dorm soon. You are her best friend, so you better show up.” 2 I looked back. Sophie’s face was completely flushed now. She lightly punched Jaxon in the chest with her small fists. “Jaxon, what are you saying? Who holds a wedding in a dorm room?” “What is wrong with the dorm?” Jaxon hugged her tighter, lifting her slightly off the ground. “All my brothers are there. It will be a party. Way better than those flashy, overpriced hotels.” Sophie let out a soft gasp, but her eyes were sparkling. She was clearly tempted. She looked at me with a subtle shift in her gaze. “Rebecca, you will come, right?” Before I could answer, she added another sentence in her soft, sweet voice. “You will come, won’t you, Rebecca?” “We grew up together. Our parents are friends. You wouldn’t disrespect me like that, right?” She was threatening me. If I didn’t attend her trashy dorm wedding, she was going to run crying to my parents. I lowered my eyes. My fingernails dug deeply into my palms. But when I looked up, there was a bright smile on my face. “Why wouldn’t I come?” “You are my absolute best friend,” I said, emphasizing every word with genuine warmth. “I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world.” Sophie nodded in satisfaction and leaned back into Jaxon’s embrace. I walked out of the coffee shop, forcing down the nausea rising in my throat. There was no rush. In this life, I had all the time in the world to watch them destroy themselves. I stayed in the campus library until closing time before taking a slow walk back to my building. The moment I pushed open my dorm room door, I froze. Sophie was squatting on the floor, shoving clothes into her suitcase. And my bed was completely covered in dirty, random trash. “Why did you put all your junk on my bed?” Before I could finish, I noticed a figure standing out on our balcony. Surrounded by a cloud of smoke, Jaxon was leaning against the railing with a cigarette in his mouth. He jutted his chin at me in greeting. The boys’ dorm and the girls’ dorm were separated by a massive courtyard. But we were juniors now. The resident advisors had stopped doing strict room checks a long time ago. “Oh hey, Rebecca. You’re back?” He blew out a puff of smoke. He acted like my dorm room was his own living room. Sophie didn’t even look up. She just kept folding her clothes. “Jaxon came over to help me pack. You know I have too much stuff. I can’t carry it all by myself.” I stood in the narrow walkway, trembling with rage. “Move out of the way. You are blocking the door.” Jaxon crushed his cigarette out on our balcony railing and casually flicked the butt outside. He sat down heavily on Sophie’s mattress and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Rebecca, please don’t be mad,” she said, looking up at me with a subtle hint of bragging in her voice. “Jaxon just cares about me so much. He insisted on coming over to help.” My eyes swept past her face and landed on my desk. It was completely empty. More than half of my skincare products were missing. The expensive highlighter I just bought was gone. I looked down at Sophie’s bulging suitcase. Through the zipper gap, I could see the familiar packaging of my own cosmetics. “Sophie, did you take my things?” She looked up at me, blinking her big, innocent eyes. She spoke as if she was doing me a favor. “Rebecca, your skin is already so rough. Using such expensive makeup is a total waste.” “You should just let me use it. I have naturally great skin. It won’t go to waste on me.” I was so angry I almost laughed out loud. “So by your logic, everything nice in the world belongs to you?” “Oh come on, look how close we are,” she waved her hand dismissively and went back to shoving things into her bag. “You are so generous. You wouldn’t hold a grudge over something this small, right?” I turned my gaze to Jaxon. “Jaxon, I thought your family was rich. Aren’t you a big stock market investor?” “Why don’t you just buy Sophie her own makeup?” He squeezed Sophie’s waist and let out a scoff. “Money is meant for the big leagues.” 3 “Besides, makeup is full of toxic chemicals. Highlighter especially brings bad luck. I am just looking out for Sophie.” Sophie immediately agreed. “Exactly! Jaxon needs to save his money for our future business ventures.” “Plus, I barely even wear makeup. I am naturally pretty. I am only taking this stuff to prep for our dorm wedding.” “Honestly, Rebecca. When did you get so stingy?” I stared at her, the corners of my mouth curling up. “Your skin is incredibly thick. I definitely can’t compete with that.” Sophie took that as a victory and let out a smug little hum. I pulled out my phone and pointed the camera straight at her and Jaxon. The flash went off. Sophie’s head snapped up. “What are you doing?” “Just keeping some memories.” I waved my phone with a bright smile. “Documenting your beautiful life together.” Jaxon’s face darkened. He closed the distance between us in two strides and reached out to snatch my phone. I flipped my hand, caught his wrist, and twisted it hard. Jaxon panicked and tried to pull away, but I just applied more pressure. He gritted his teeth. His face turned beet red, and the veins on his forehead popped out. Sophie screamed from the background. “Rebecca, let him go!” I ignored her, staring dead into Jaxon’s eyes. He tried to break free twice, but his wrist didn’t budge an inch. Finally, he looked away in defeat and squeezed a sentence out through gritted teeth. “Sophie, give her stuff back.” Sophie’s eyes went wide. “Jaxon!” “I said give it back!” She reluctantly squatted down and began tossing my things back onto my desk one by one. My highlighter rolled across the wood and almost fell off the edge. I caught it smoothly and smiled at her. “Sophie, you are not taking a single thing that belongs to me.” Jaxon stopped at the doorway. He stiffened his neck, trying to regain some dignity. “Rebecca, don’t you understand basic biology? Men have absolute physical dominance.” “I was just caught off guard. You got a lucky sneak attack. In a real fight, you wouldn’t stand a chance.” I didn’t even bother looking at him. I was completely exhausted by his existence. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” Their faces turned a mixture of green and white before they scurried out the door like rats. Once Sophie moved into the boys’ dorm, the two of them completely lost their minds. During our Investment Theory class, Jaxon interrupted the professor and plugged in his own USB drive. The projector displayed a chaotic green candlestick chart covered in arrows and circles. “These are my trading records from last month.” Jaxon pointed at the screen, his voice booming across the lecture hall. “I bought the dip seven times. A thousand percent profit.” The professor pushed his glasses up his nose, thoroughly confused. “What technical indicators are you using?” “I don’t use that garbage. I trade on pure alpha instinct.” The entire class, including the professor, was stunned into absolute silence. Late at night in the dorm, four shirtless guys would crowd around a laptop playing Minesweeper. Sophie posted on her social media: “Jaxon is holding a shareholder meeting for our future. He works so hard for me.” Things escalated day by day. Every new event broke my understanding of human stupidity. Until today, when I came across an anonymous post on the campus forum. The original poster was furious. “Can the guys in the boys’ dorm stop smoking inside! Do you have any respect for pregnant women???” “I am about to give birth. If anything happens to my baby, you won’t be able to pay for the damages!” Attached was a photo of a smoke-filled dorm room. In the corner, you could faintly see a bottom bunk draped in pink bedsheets. I stared at the photo. I analyzed it. I zoomed all the way in. Sitting on the floor were a pair of ugly bunny slippers. The purse hanging on the bedpost belonged to Sophie. 4 The comment section was a total warzone. “Dear god, did the frat house get haunted by a female ghost?” “I’m dying laughing. All the guys on that floor are in training to be step-dads.” “That is no ghost. She is Mother Teresa. Volunteering her services for the whole floor.” “Are you guys missing the point? The issue is the smoke! Secondhand smoke can cause miscarriages!” “No, you are missing the point! Why is there a pregnant woman living in the boys’ dorm!” “You just don’t get it. This is a fully integrated campus experience. From enrollment to the grave, all in one building.” “Am I the only one who cares about those bunny slippers? Drop the link.” I scrolled through the comments one by one. I could not stop smiling. She was about to give birth. That meant Sophie was already pregnant before she ever moved into the boys’ dorm. Good thing she moved out when she did. If she had stayed with me, I would have been dragged into this absolute circus. I closed the app, leaned back in my chair, and let out a long breath. The forum post buzzed around the campus for a few days before the hype slowly died down. Sophie continued to update her social media as if she hadn’t seen a single comment. “Jaxon bought me a whole case of milk. He says pregnant women need calcium. He loves me so much.” “Jaxon said we need to start prenatal education. He is teaching the baby how to trade crypto.” “The guys in the dorm bought a gift for the baby.” The attached photo was a pack of cigarettes. Every post drained my sanity, but I took a screenshot of every single one. Time flew by. Sophie and Jaxon posted digital invitations on the campus message board, inviting everyone to their wedding. “Brothers, come witness true love!” The comment section exploded immediately. “The Dean of Students is probably weeping from the heavens right now.” “Absolute legends. I am stressing over finals, and these two are completing major life milestones in a twin XL bed.” “College is way too lenient. Is nobody going to step in and stop these lunatics?” They called it a wedding, but it was really just a few cheap balloons taped to the hallway walls. The table was covered in cheap beer cans and a massive bag of sunflower seeds. Sophie wore a cheap white tulle dress. Her belly was so large she couldn’t zip up the back. She had to use one of Jaxon’s hoodies to cover it up. She posted a massive photo dump. “Today, I am the happiest woman in the world.” In the photos, she stood in the middle of the grimy hallway. Jaxon had his arm around her waist. Behind them, several shirtless guys were throwing up peace signs. I would never forget those faces for the rest of my life. I quietly saved all the photos to my camera roll. Sophie’s mother was not a merciful woman. These would come in handy. At six o’clock in the evening, my phone blew up. First came audio calls from Sophie. I ignored them. Then calls from Jaxon. I ignored those too. Finally, Sophie’s mother called. When I didn’t pick up, she sent a flood of text messages. “Rebecca, my Sophie is going into labor! She is in the dorm! Hurry up and go help her!” About an hour later, someone posted a new thread on the campus forum. The photo was a blurry shot of the boys’ dorm hallway. Several university administrators were running frantically toward a room. The title read: “SHOCKING: Pregnant woman gives birth on the floor of the boys’ dorm!” I scrolled to the very bottom and found a brand new comment. “I am boots on the ground right now. It looks like the situation is stable. The girl should be fine.” “But the baby daddy is standing outside the delivery room asking the nurses if he can pay the hospital bill in installments.” The frontline reporter even uploaded a video. Sophie’s mother stormed into the hospital. Her hair was a mess. As soon as she hit the hallway, she sprinted straight for the billing counter. “Where is Jaxon? Where is my daughter?” A kind nurse pointed toward the end of the hall. Jaxon was squatting in the corner, a cigarette hanging from his lips. A nurse barked at him that there was no smoking in the hospital, and he reluctantly tucked the cigarette behind his ear. Sophie’s mother lunged at him. Before her slap could land, Jaxon threw his arm up and blocked it. “Lady, who are you?” “I am Sophie’s mother!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “506993”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On the day of the Spring Charity Fair, my son called me in tears. “Dad, they’re saying I stole money. I didn’t!” By the time I rushed onto the school grounds, Toby was standing on the edge of the athletic field. A piece of stiff cardboard hung around his neck. Written on it in thick black marker was a single word. Thief. Brenda, the PTA President, was projecting her voice for all the surrounding parents to hear. “The charity fund is short three thousand dollars. He was the only one who touched the cash box.” “Kids will be kids. But if they have sticky fingers, you have to nip it in the bud and teach them a hard lesson.” Her own son was standing proudly near the podium. Pinned to his chest was a glossy ribbon that read: Charity Ambassador. Toby’s homeroom teacher, Ms. Collins, stepped up and tried to pacigate me. “Toby’s dad, just have the boy apologize for now. Let’s not blow this out of proportion. You reimburse the missing cash, and we can move on without ruining the charity event.” My son was trembling, crying so hard he was gasping for air. He just kept repeating the same words. “Dad, I didn’t take it. I promise.” I glanced at the inventory list taped to the craft booth, then looked toward the massive donor appreciation board at the far end of the field. Every single item sold at this charity fair had been donated by my company. The master ledger and the complete inventory lists were sitting right in my email inbox. I pulled out my phone and shot a text to my finance director. “Send me the live cash registry and inventory counts for today’s school charity fair immediately.” If they wanted to settle the accounts, we were going to do it right here, in front of everyone. When I walked up to Toby, he instinctively shrank back. Usually, he loved nothing more than to launch himself into my arms. But in that moment, he kept his head bowed, as if he genuinely believed the cardboard sign around his neck would dirty my clothes. I reached out and lifted the sign over his head. The red string had bitten into the tender skin of his neck, leaving a raw, shallow welt. Brenda immediately raised her voice. “Carter, what do you think you’re doing? A kid needs to remember his mistakes. If you coddle him now, he’s going to end up in a jail cell later.” I ignored her completely and locked eyes with Ms. Collins. “Who hung this on him?” The teacher’s face paled, her expression turning unnatural. “It wasn’t a formal punishment or anything. We just wanted him to stand to the side and reflect. The money really is missing today. The other parents are watching, and the school has to give everyone an explanation.” “Reflect?” I held up the piece of cardboard. “Hanging a ‘Thief’ sign on an eight-year-old boy and parading him on the edge of the field for people to photograph. Is this what you call reflecting?” Several parents who had their phones out awkwardly lowered their hands. Brenda let out a cold scoff. “Stop using emotional manipulation. He was the only one who moved the cash box. If he didn’t take it, who did?” Toby grabbed the hem of my shirt, sobbing uncontrollably. “Dad, I didn’t take it.” I crouched down and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Dad believes you.” Brenda immediately chimed back in. “What good does your belief do? The charity fund is short three thousand bucks, and he is the one who carried the box away. There are dozens of us here as witnesses. Are you saying we’re all framing a child?” Whispers rippled through the crowd of onlookers. “It’s normal for a kid to get greedy for a second.” “Three thousand dollars isn’t pocket change, though.” “If they don’t discipline him now, he’ll turn into a habitual offender.” Hearing those words, Toby’s small shoulders shook even harder. I grabbed his hands and held them tight. “Did you touch the cash box?” He nodded, then shook his head frantically. “I touched it. But Mrs. Brenda was the one who told me to carry it.” Brenda’s face shifted ever so slightly. I asked him to clarify. “Where did she tell you to carry it?” Toby sniffled, trying to catch his breath. “Tyler’s booth said they needed to make change for a big bill. Mrs. Brenda told me to bring our booth’s cash box over to them. Tyler told me to leave it on the back table because his mom was coming right over.” “And then?” “And then I walked back to get some packaging bags for my classmate. A little while later, Mrs. Brenda told me to carry the box back to our craft booth. After that, the volunteers said the box was missing three thousand dollars.” Brenda’s pitch skyrocketed. “There! You all heard him, right? He just admitted to carrying the box away!” I stood up to my full height. “Who was the first person to discover the shortage?” Ms. Collins opened her mouth to speak, but Brenda aggressively stepped in front of her. “What’s the point of interrogating people? The money is gone. Your son had his hands on the box. Those are the facts.” She pointed a manicured finger toward the main stage. “The awards ceremony is about to start. Carter, I strongly advise you not to blow this up. Make your kid apologize, reimburse the stolen cash, and we can sweep this under the rug.” A nearby dad chimed in to play peacemaker. “Yeah, man. The kid is still young. If he admits his mistake now, people will just gossip for a day or two. If you make a huge scene out of this, how is your boy supposed to show his face in class ever again?” I glared at the man. “So even though he didn’t do it, he’s supposed to plead guilty?” The man choked on his words and backed off. Brenda crossed her arms over her chest. “Whether your son is a thief or not, everyone has eyes. The facts are the facts. Being in denial won’t save you.” Her son, Tyler, was standing near the edge of the stage, proudly puffing out his chest to show off his Charity Ambassador ribbon. Toby had been prepping for that exact same ribbon. Just last night, he had stood in our living room, eagerly reciting his charity pitch to me. He told me he wanted to sell as many kits as possible so the kids in the mountains could get brand new backpacks. And today, he was wearing a sign branding him a thief. I turned my attention back to Brenda. “You’re in a terrible rush to force a confession out of him. Are you worried about delaying the ceremony?” She lifted her chin arrogantly. “Obviously.” “Or are you terrified that someone might actually audit the books before the awards are handed out?” The smug smile on her face froze completely. 2 Ms. Collins led us to a makeshift registration tent near the edge of the field. Two school desks had been pushed together. Sitting on top were the cash boxes, registration clipboards, and inventory sheets collected from the various booths. A volunteer wearing a neon vest was busy counting stacks of bills. As soon as we stepped under the tent, Toby hid behind my legs. Brenda snatched a registration sheet and slammed it down in front of me. “Look for yourself.” Third Grade, Room B. Craft Booth. Premium Stationery Kits. Quantity: 15. Price: $200 each. Expected Revenue: $3,000. Actual Cash Received: $0. Written at the very bottom in glaring red ink were the words: Shortage: $3,000. Responsible Party: Toby. I tapped the red ink with my index finger. “Who wrote this?” Ms. Collins lowered her voice nervously. “When the volunteer checked the box, the kits were completely sold out, but the cash didn’t match. Brenda mentioned that Toby had carried the box away, so we just recorded it for now.” “Recorded it for now?” I stared her down. “My son was forced to stand by the field wearing a thief sign. Was that also just for now?” All the color drained from the teacher’s face. Brenda tapped the desk impatiently. “The main issue here is the missing money. Nitpicking over wording is just pathetic, Carter.” I picked up the inventory sheet. This specific batch of premium stationery kits was funded by my company’s annual education grant. Every kit contained a high-end backpack, pencil cases, art supplies, and picture books, valued at exactly two hundred dollars. To ensure strict auditing, every package had a serialized tracking code. When a kit was sold, the volunteer had to cross out the corresponding code on the sheet. All fifteen codes had been cleanly crossed out. That meant the inventory was entirely sold out. Yet the cash box was short three thousand dollars, and Toby had indeed admitted to carrying it. On a surface level, this was enough circumstantial evidence to convince a crowd of angry parents that Toby was the culprit. And that was exactly why Brenda had forced the sign onto him so ruthlessly. Staring at the red ink that branded Toby as the responsible party, a very clear theory clicked into place in my mind. Maybe Brenda hadn’t originally planned to make a massive public spectacle. If no one had audited the box early, she could have easily let Tyler stroll onto the stage to accept his award, then fudged the master ledger after the event wrapped up. But the volunteer caught the discrepancy too quickly. The moment a cash box comes up short, everyone asks the same question. Who touched it? She had to plant a scapegoat in everyone’s minds before anyone could investigate properly. Toby touched the box. Toby was quiet and easily intimidated. Toby’s dad rarely showed up to PTA meetings or school events. As long as this terrified little boy cried and accepted the blame, and as long as I blindly wrote a check to cover the missing three grand, the whole scandal would be buried before the principal even handed out the first trophy. This wasn’t discipline. This was a gag order. I turned to the volunteer. “Who brought the cash box here for auditing?” The volunteer glanced nervously at Brenda, then at Ms. Collins. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Two kids from the craft booth dropped it off. Toby was standing right next to them.” Brenda immediately pounced. “Did you hear that? He was right there.” “My question was, who discovered the shortage?” The volunteer bit her lip. “I did. When I checked the inventory list, I saw all fifteen kits were sold, but there wasn’t any cash in the box to match the sales.” “And what did you do after you found out?” She opened her mouth to answer, but Brenda cut her off loudly. “She notified me and the teacher, obviously! I’m the PTA President. The logistics of this event fall under my jurisdiction.” I stared right through Brenda. “And your first act of jurisdiction was to hang a sign on my son?” “That was to teach him a lesson.” “Did you review the security footage?” Brenda’s expression cracked. “It’s a school charity fair. Where would we get security cameras? Carter, stop pulling ridiculous excuses out of thin air just to whitewash your kid.” I looked across the athletic field toward the main supply tent. Standing right next to the event banner were two tripod-mounted cameras. My company, Apex Outreach, had set them up for corporate promotional materials and financial auditing records. The school had sent out a notification to the parent group chat before the event began. But Brenda had clearly forgotten. Those fixed cameras weren’t there to invade anyone’s privacy or film close-ups of the kids. One was pointed at the main stage to record the speeches. The second was pointed directly at the charity booths and the supply tent to verify that the donated goods were distributed according to the manifest. But when the cash box was carried behind Tyler’s booth, it fell perfectly into the peripheral edge of the second camera’s frame. If Brenda had only told Toby to get change, the footage wouldn’t prove a thing. But if someone had tampered with the box during that window, everything would be captured in high definition. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Rachel, my finance director. [Mr. Carter, initial audit complete. Third Grade craft booth inventory is sold out. Cash box is confirmed short $3,000. The fixed camera captured the box being taken behind Tyler’s booth. Pulling the video file now.] I locked my phone screen. Brenda was already turning her back to me. “We can’t delay the awards any longer. Toby shouldn’t go on stage today. It sets a terrible example.” Hearing those words, Toby’s tears started falling all over again. I grabbed his small hand. “Fine.” Brenda stopped in her tracks. I looked at her, my voice turning ice-cold. “Then we’ll clear up the missing money right now. In front of the entire school.” [Paywall: Unlock the next chapter to continue reading] 3 Brenda’s face darkened into a furious scowl. “Carter, don’t push your luck.” Ms. Collins quickly stepped between us. “Brenda, please. The children are watching.” I didn’t bother arguing with her. I held Toby’s hand and walked him straight toward the craft booth. Room B’s booth was set up on the east side of the field. As we walked, parents and children turned to stare. A boy pointed a finger at Toby and whispered loudly. “Is that the kid who stole the money?” A little girl standing next to him tugged on his sleeve. “Stop it. His dad is right there.” Toby’s footsteps slowed to a crawl. I could feel his small palm sweating profusely against mine. He wasn’t ignorant of the humiliation. He was just too young to know how to defend himself when adults pinned a filthy label on his chest. When we reached the craft booth, there was nothing left on the table except a few handmade bookmarks and empty display crates. Toby pointed at the empty surface. “Dad, the stationery kits were stacked right here.” I looked down. Stuck to the corner of the folding table were the inventory barcode stickers my company required. Apex Outreach A-01 through A-15. Fifteen units. Completely sold out. A little girl from Toby’s class was standing nearby. She hesitated for a long time before she finally spoke up in a tiny voice. “Mister, Toby didn’t take the money.” Her mother immediately yanked her backward by the arm. “Don’t speak out of turn.” The little girl looked frantic. “I saw Toby carry the box to Tyler’s booth. Mrs. Brenda told him to do it. But when he came back, he was helping me pack the bookmarks into bags. He never opened the box.” Brenda had followed us over. When she heard the girl’s testimony, her expression turned venomous. “Little girl, you can’t just make things up. Were you staring at him the entire time? How do you know he didn’t open it when you weren’t looking?” Terrified by the aggressive tone, the little girl hid behind her mother’s legs. Brenda turned her venom on me. “Do you see this? This is the consequence of you making a scene. Now you’ve got other children lying to cover for your son.” Toby let out a choked sob of pure frustration. “She wasn’t lying.” Brenda sneered. “You can’t even get your own story straight, and you’re defending someone else?” Over by the main stage, the PA system crackled to life. “Will all nominees for the Charity Ambassador Award please report to the main stage.” Tyler ran over, his face flushed with excitement. “Mom, it’s my turn!” Brenda immediately grabbed his hand. She lowered her voice, but kept it just loud enough for me to hear. “Some kids get famous by stealing money. Other kids get on stage by showing pure kindness. Tyler, stand up straight.” Toby’s head dropped so low his chin touched his chest. I watched as he desperately tried to shove the ripped cardboard ‘Thief’ sign into his backpack. I crouched down and looked him in the eye. “Why are you hiding it?” His voice was a broken whisper. “I don’t want my friends to see it.” My heart felt like it was being pierced by a needle. I pulled the cardboard sign out of his bag and snapped it in half. “Toby. You are not the one who should be embarrassed.” He looked up at me with wide, teary eyes. I gripped the broken pieces of cardboard. “The only person who should be ashamed is the one who hung this on you.” Brenda was already leading Tyler toward the steps of the main stage. The emcee spoke cheerfully into the microphone. “From Third Grade Room B, Tyler has shown outstanding dedication to today’s cause. He is hereby awarded the title of Charity Ambassador!” Polite applause rippled through the crowd. Tyler was just about to step up to the podium. I projected my voice across the field. “Hold the award.” The entire athletic field fell dead silent. The school principal, who was standing on the side of the stage, frowned deeply at me. “Sir, if you have a dispute, we can discuss it after the event. We are in the middle of a ceremony. Please do not disrupt the children.” Brenda’s eyes instantly welled up with crocodile tears. “Principal, this is Toby’s father. His son stole from the charity fund, and not only is he refusing to take accountability, but now he’s actively trying to sabotage the awards.” The crowd erupted into furious whispers. “Is that the dad of the kid who had the sign?” “How does he have the nerve to cause a scene at the stage?” “Talk about delusional parenting.” Toby’s hand felt like ice. I pulled him behind me, shielding him from the stares. “My son did not steal a single cent.” Brenda let out a sharp laugh. “Then where did the three thousand dollars go? He was the one holding the box. If he didn’t take it, did the money just sprout wings and fly away?” She pulled Tyler tightly against her side, playing the fiercely protective mother. “My son prepared for this charity fair for a whole week. He stayed up late cutting ribbons and making price tags. He earned this award with his own sweat and blood. Why should his special moment be ruined by a thief and his arrogant father?” Tyler looked a bit uncomfortable being squished against her, but he stood quietly. Brenda wiped a fake tear from her cheek. “We’re just ordinary parents. We just want our kids to have a nice, decent Charity Fair. Their son commits a crime, and they turn around and bully us. How is that fair?” It was a brilliantly manipulative speech. She positioned herself and her son as helpless victims being crushed by a bully. The crowd predictably began to sway in her favor. “The kid worked hard for his award.” “Adults shouldn’t ruin things for the kids just because they’re arguing.” I ignored the whispers and looked directly at the principal. “I am officially requesting the school pull the footage from the fixed cameras by the supply tent.” The principal blinked in surprise. Brenda’s pitch hit the stratosphere. “Are you insane? You want to delay a school-wide event and force everyone to watch security footage just because your kid got caught red-handed?” I walked up to the edge of the stage and slammed the broken cardboard sign onto the official’s table. The word ‘Thief’ was perfectly visible to the entire crowd. “When you publicly humiliated a child and hung a target around his neck, nobody seemed to care about delaying the event.” Brenda’s face flushed with ugly, defensive rage. “Who knows if your precious cameras are even real? Or if you edited the footage! It’s probably AI-generated trash to save your reputation!” I didn’t give her another second of my time. I turned toward the supply tent. Rachel was already walking over, holding a sleek tablet. Dangling from a lanyard around her neck was her official Apex Outreach corporate badge. “Mr. Carter.” The moment she said my name, the principal froze. Brenda blinked, a sudden flicker of uncertainty crossing her eyes. A parent in the front row muttered in confusion. “Mr. Carter? Like, the CEO?” I spoke loudly enough for the microphone to pick it up. “I came here today simply to be Toby’s father.” “But since someone decided to use the inventory my company donated as an excuse to hang a ‘Thief’ sign on my son’s neck, I am going to audit this event down to the last penny.” Rachel plugged her tablet into the display monitor positioned next to the podium. I locked eyes with Brenda. “It’s true that my son touched the cash box.” “But he isn’t the one who reached inside.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “506990”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“You’re nothing but a feral little stray dragged out of the borderlands. You don’t possess a fraction of Jessica’s grace. Get off my ranch!” That was the last thing I heard in my previous life, right before my own parents locked the gates of the Holloway Estate and left me to freeze to death in the howling teeth of a northern winter blizzard. I died with a chest full of ice and a heart black with rot. But then I woke up. I was standing right back at the wrought-iron gates of the ranch, on the very day I first arrived. Only this time, I didn’t come back alone. I brought back the Inquisitor’s toll—a quiet, terrifying curse of absolute honesty that forced anyone in my presence to speak their raw, unfiltered truth. Jessica, the girl who had spent her life living in my stolen bedroom, ran down the grand staircase. She wore that sweet, doll-like smile I remembered so well. She opened her mouth to say, “Sister, I’ve been praying for the day we’d finally meet.” But her tongue betrayed her. The words twisted in her throat, spilling out the ugly reality of her mind: “Damn it, they actually found this useless little piece of trash. I have to find a way to make Mom and Dad throw her out to the wolves before she ruins everything.” Jessica’s eyes went wide. She slammed her hand over her mouth, her face turning a violent shade of crimson. The cavernous foyer fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Every ranch hand, maid, and butler stood frozen, their eyes pinned to the golden daughter of the Holloway family. Well, well, Jessica. I swallowed the cold laugh rising in my throat. Let’s see how you perform when the script is stripped away. 1 My parents, Richard and Martha Holloway, stared at her as if she had suddenly grown a second head. “Jessica! What on earth is wrong with you? You don’t speak like that!” Martha gasped, her hand fluttering to her collar. “We raised you to be a lady,” Richard boomed, his face darkening. “How dare you use such foul language? You sound like one of those filthy drifters from the borderlands!” My chest tightened, a familiar, dull ache settling behind my ribs. They weren’t angry at her malice. They didn’t care that she had just openly wished for my death. They only cared that their carefully sculpted, high-society daughter had cracked her porcelain veneer. The ugly truth of her words meant nothing to them; the vulgarity of her delivery was the real crime. In my past life, I had spent years begging for their love, believing that if I just tried harder, they would see me. Now, the veil was gone. They didn’t care if I lived or died. I was simply an inconvenient stain on their immaculate reputation. Jessica quickly recovered, squeezing a tear from her wide eyes. She trembled, throwing herself at Martha’s knees. “I… I don’t know what happened,” she sobbed. “I couldn’t control my mouth. Those weren’t my thoughts, I swear it…” She looked up, casting a terrified glance in my direction. “Father, Mother… I don’t want to sound crazy, but the moment Hazel stepped through that door, a horrible, freezing weight settled over me. It felt… unnatural. Like she brought some dark, wicked curse from the borderlands.” My parents snapped their heads toward me, their eyes instantly hardening into chips of ice. “Hazel,” Richard snarled, stepping between me and Jessica. “What kind of backwater witchcraft did you learn out there in the dirt? Are you hexing your sister?” “If you are going to carry the Holloway name,” Martha spat, “you will leave those vulgar, heathen ways in the gutter where you found them. We brought you back out of duty, not to have you make a laughingstock of us in front of the whole town!” My older brother, Tyler, leaned against the mantlepiece, idly spinning his pocket watch. He looked at me with deep disgust. “The moment the stray walks in, Jessica starts talking like a possessed barmaid. It’s obvious. She brought some nasty borderland rot into this house. We need to cleanse the place, or I won’t sleep a wink.” “I didn’t do anything!” I cried out, trying to play the part of the confused, frightened girl they expected. “She’s just telling you who she really is!” But they didn’t hear me. They never did. Richard immediately sent a stable boy to fetch Reverend Thomas, the local “spiritual advisor” who spent his days grifting wealthy landowners and drinking himself to sleep at the town saloon. Thomas arrived within the hour, smelling faintly of cheap whiskey and peppermint. He was a fraud, and he knew exactly which side of his bread was buttered. He caught Jessica’s eye, a silent, transactional look passing between them, before he assumed a heavy, mournful expression. “The girl is indeed clinging to a dark spirit,” Thomas declared, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Simple prayer will not suffice. The flesh must be chastised to drive the rot out. And since the spirit is targeting young Jessica, she must be the one to administer the penance. Forty lashes with the braided leather crop. Only then will the demon flee.” Without a single second of hesitation, my father nodded to the ranch hands. “Tie her to the post in the yard.” They dragged me out. The rough hemp rope bit into my wrists as they bound me to the hitching post. Jessica stepped forward, holding the heavy leather whip. Her eyes gleamed with a rabid, intoxicating joy. “I’m so sorry, Hazel,” she whispered loudly enough for our parents to hear, her voice dripping with fake pity. “I’m only doing this to save your soul.” She raised her arm, but as the leather whistled through the air, the Inquisitor’s curse snatched her tongue once more: “Watch closely, you filthy little stray. Our parents will always choose me. I can tell them you’re a witch, and they will watch me flay the skin off your back. In this house, you are nothing but a dog beneath my feet!” At the back of the yard, Richard and Martha merely frowned. “Keep striking, Jessica!” Richard called out, his voice cold and impatient. “Drive the devil out of her!” Jessica swung with all her might. The leather bit through my thin homespun shirt, tearing into the flesh of my back. One. Ten. Twenty. Forty. By the time they untied me, my knees buckled, and I collapsed into the dirt and straw, gasping through the white-hot agony radiating across my shoulders. As a couple of maids moved to help me up, Reverend Thomas held up a hand. “Wait,” the priest murmured. “The demon thrives in comfort. She must not sleep in a soft bed, or the evil will return. A damp, dark place is best to keep her spirit humble.” My mother didn’t even look at me. “The old root cellar under the barn is empty. It’s small, and there’s no bed, but…” “Perfect,” Thomas said. “Let her suffer a little. It builds character, and it starves the devil.” 2 They threw me into the root cellar. It was a suffocating, windowless stone box that smelled of damp earth and rotting potatoes. I curled into a ball on the dirt floor, shivering as the fever of my wounds set in. In my past life, I had wept until my throat was raw. Tonight, I lay in the dark, listening to the drip of condensation, and let the pain harden into stone. The heavy wooden door creaked open. Jessica stepped down the stone stairs, a lantern in one hand and a cruel smirk on her face. “You did something, didn’t you?” she whispered, leaning over me like a vulture. “You made me say those things. But you’re so incredibly naive, Hazel. What did you think would happen? Even when I tell them the truth, they don’t care. They will always choose me.” She sneered, kicking a bit of loose dirt onto my bloody shirt. “You’re just a broken little thing from the borderlands. You honestly thought you could take my place? Pack your bags and crawl back to the gutter…” The crunch of gravel sounded outside. Jessica’s face instantly shifted from cruel triumph to sheer, unadulterated terror. “No! Hazel, please don’t! Don’t hurt me!” she shrieked. She grabbed a rusty skinning knife from the tool shelf and sliced it deep across her own forearm. The cellar door burst open. My parents and Tyler rushed down, shoving me violently against the damp stone wall as Martha caught a weeping Jessica in her arms. “Hazel! What did you do to her?!” Richard roared. I wiped the dirt from my cheek, my voice flat and dead. “I didn’t touch her. She did it to herself. It’s a very touching performance, don’t you think?” “You expect us to believe she cut herself?!” Tyler snarled. “You’re out of your mind!” Jessica sobbed against Martha’s chest, her body shaking. “I… I just wanted to bring her some water… I was worried she’d be cold… but she grabbed the knife… she hates me so much…” Richard raised his hand to strike me, his face twisted in fury. “You cold-blooded monster—” But before his palm could land, Jessica’s voice rang out, clear and loud, overriding her own tears: “I came down here to rub it in her face that she’s nothing in this family, and then I cut myself so they would finally throw this bitch out of the house!” She clapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes bulging in horror. My father’s hand froze mid-air. The silence in the cellar was so thick you could hear the oil sizzling in the lantern. I looked at my mother, then at my father. “You heard her. That’s the truth.” Tyler let out a harsh, nervous laugh, trying to break the suffocating tension. “The priest was right. The exorcism didn’t take. The demon is still in her, manipulating Jessica’s voice to make us turn on each other.” Richard and Martha didn’t say a word. They didn’t look at Jessica’s arm. They just signaled Tyler to carry her upstairs. As they turned to leave, leaving me in the dark, I spoke up. “Why?” My voice was quiet, but it stopped them at the foot of the stairs. “You heard her. You know she’s lying. You know she cut her own arm just to frame me. Why do you still protect her?” Martha paused, turning her head just enough for the lantern light to catch the sharp, aristocratic line of her jaw. There was no warmth in her eyes—only a cold, transactional calculation. “Love isn’t a matter of blood, Hazel,” she said, her voice dripping with quiet disdain. “It’s built over years. For eighteen years, Jessica has been our daughter. We poured our lives, our money, and our pride into making her the perfect lady.” She looked me up and down, her nose wrinkling at my dirt-caked clothes. “Look at her. She is elegant, highly educated, and poised. She represents the Holloway name. And you? You are a wild, unpolished creature from the mud. You are an embarrassment.” “Then why did you bother bringing me back?” I whispered. Richard sneered. “You think we wanted to? The sheriff made a massive spectacle of finding the ‘lost Holloway heir.’ It was in every local paper. If we had left our biological daughter in the borderlands, the high-society circles in Boston and Chicago would have torn us to pieces.” He turned back to the stairs. “We will keep you fed. But do not ever think you will replace Jessica.” They climbed the stairs, shutting the heavy oak door and leaving me in pitch blackness. I sat in the dark, and for the first time since my rebirth, I smiled. The last shred of foolish hope had died. I didn’t want their love anymore. I wanted their ruin. 3 The next morning, I slipped out of the estate and rode into town to find Bryan Powell. The Powell and Holloway families had been locked in a marriage contract for years—a business transaction designed to secure the Holloway Ranch exclusive freight rights on the Powell rail lines. Bryan, the sole heir to the rail empire, loathed the arrangement, but he was trapped under the thumb of his tyrannical father. When I walked into his private study at the railway office, he looked up from his ledger. He looked exhausted, his handsome face masked in cold indifference. “Well,” Bryan said, leaning back. “Has the Holloway family decided to swap brides?” “I’m not here to marry you,” I said, sitting opposite him. “I’m here to offer you a deal.” He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of deal?” “I know you don’t want this marriage. You’re only doing it because your father wants the Holloway land for his northern expansion. If Holloway Ranch went bankrupt tomorrow and lost every acre of its land, your father wouldn’t have a reason to force the wedding, would he?” I leaned closer. “I can give you the leverage to tear their empire down.” Bryan sat up, a sharp, cynical laugh escaping his lips. “So the lost daughter returns, only to realize blood isn’t thicker than water. What do you want in exchange?” “One hundred thousand dollars in gold bullion. Paid upfront into a secure account at the town bank. And when the bank inevitably forecloses on the Holloway Estate, I want you to buy the deed and transfer the title to my name.” Bryan stared at me, searching my face. “That’s it? Just the house?” “Just the house.” In my last life, they had kicked me out of that house to freeze. In this life, I would watch them pack their bags from the porch. “Tearing down Richard Holloway won’t be easy,” Bryan murmured, reaching into his desk. He pulled out a leather-bound bank slip and handed it to his secretary. “The gold will be in your account within ten minutes. But how do you plan to do this?” “Next week is the Founder’s Day Gala,” I said, a cold smile touching my lips. “Make sure there’s a new segment on the program. An inheritance showcase. Every heir must stand on stage and share a story of their upbringing.” Bryan looked confused. “That’s it? A speech?” “Just trust me,” I replied. “Get her on that stage, and watch the house of cards fall.” A week later, the gold-embossed invitation arrived at the estate. When Jessica saw the new program, she practically squealed with delight. “It must be Bryan’s doing!” she gushed to Martha. “He’s too shy to ask me about my childhood, so he set up this beautiful stage just to hear me speak! Oh, I must write the most perfect speech!” She turned her eyes to me, her lips curling into a smug pout. “Mother… surely Hazel isn’t expected to speak? What would she even say? A touching monologue about shoveling manure in the borderlands?” 4 My parents looked at me with immediate disgust. “This is a high-society event,” Richard warned, his voice sharp. “The Governor will be there. Hazel, you will keep your mouth shut. We are bringing you because we have to, but you will not speak to anyone.” “Smile, nod, and stay in the shadows,” Martha added. “Don’t let anyone see the feral, uncultured thing you are. And I heard you went to see Bryan last week? Do you honestly think that just because you have our blood, a man like Bryan Powell would ever look at you?” She laughed, a dry, grating sound. “Look in a mirror, child. From now on, you do not leave this ranch without my permission.” Jessica smirked, thoroughly enjoying my public humiliation. “Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll make sure the Holloway name shines brighter than ever.” I watched her walk away to write her little speech. Write it well, Jessica. Choose every word with care. Because when you stand under those gaslights, the script won’t save you. The night of the gala arrived. The Town Hall was a sea of glittering crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes, and wealthy patrons in fine silks and wool coats. Jessica walked in on Tyler’s arm, radiant in a French lace gown, with Richard and Martha beaming behind them like proud royalty. I followed behind, a shadow in a plain, cheap wool dress. As guests whispered and stared at me, Martha grabbed my elbow, her fingers digging painfully into my skin as she forced me forward. “Yes, this is our lost daughter, Hazel,” she told a group of wealthy ladies, her smile tight and strained. “The poor thing spent her formative years in the rough borderlands. She’s terribly awkward, but we are doing our best to civilize her.” The ladies offered polite, pitying nods. “At least you have Jessica to keep the family standard high.” Across the room, Jessica was batting her eyelashes at Bryan. “Bryan, you must promise to sit in the front row for my speech.” The gala proceeded, and soon, it was Jessica’s turn to take the stage. She glided up to the brass microphone, smoothing her skirts, and smiled warmly at the crowd. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. As many of you know, I was adopted by the Holloways as an orphan. They gave me everything a girl could ever dream of…” Suddenly, her jaw locked. Her eyes went wide with terror as her tongue twisted, and the raw, unfiltered truth poured out of her mouth: “—And by everything, I mean my biological father planned the entire thing from the very beginning.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “506988”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At our Thanksgiving dinner, I happily announced that Chloe was pregnant. My dad, Arthur, immediately proposed: “Chloe, let me hire an eight-pack male housekeeper for you.” “You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be doing any chores. Having a handsome male housekeeper will not only keep the house clean but also satisfy your physical needs. We wouldn’t want you to feel frustrated during pregnancy!” Chloe almost choked to death on her turkey. I slammed my fork down in displeasure: “Dad, what kind of sick joke is that!” Arthur glared at me with a sinister look: “I’m not joking. What woman doesn’t cheat?” “When your mother was pregnant with you, she hooked up with our male housekeeper. Every woman in this world cheats, so why would your wife be any exception?” A sudden surge of anger rushed to my head. Just because his wife cheated on him, why the hell did my wife have to cheat on me too! Chloe looked like she was sitting on pins and needles. She nervously wiped her sweat, then tightly held my hand. “Arthur, please don’t test me. I promise I will never do anything to betray Ethan!” My dad’s smile froze on his face. Jealousy quickly crept into his eyes. “Oh, my silly daughter-in-law, Ethan has already betrayed you a long time ago. Why are you being so loyal to him?” My eyes widened in disbelief. “Dad, what nonsense are you talking about now? I have never done anything behind Chloe’s back!” Arthur smirked triumphantly. As if he had been prepared for this, he pulled a crumpled piece of loose-leaf paper from his pocket. He slid the paper into Chloe’s hands and lowered his voice: “This is the creepy letter Ethan wrote to a girl back in high school. I intercepted it. I even made a hundred copies of it and plastered them all over his school.” “Harassing a girl at eighteen—I would never do something so shameless. What does this prove? It proves Ethan is a degenerate creep. He’s definitely messing around behind your back.” “Even a good man like me got cheated on. You don’t need to treat a trash guy like him like a king. If you want to cheat, just do it.” My dad let out a cold snort. His expression was filled with utter contempt. I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug deep into my palms. The sharp pain was burning, but I couldn’t feel it over the numbness in my chest. Those suffocating memories instantly flooded back to me… Growing up, my dad’s favorite phrase was: “If I didn’t have it, why should you?” “I didn’t even have clean underwear when I was a kid, why should you? Just wrap yourself in any old rag!” “I’m not buying you a razor. No one bought me one when I was young, so why should you use my money? Figure it out yourself!” I grew up with no new clothes, no decent underwear, and not even a proper razor. When I was eighteen, a kind girl in my class noticed my struggle. She hesitantly handed me a bag one day. Inside were clean underwear, shaving cream, and a brand-new razor. She quietly told me to ask her for help if I ever struggled again. I was so moved that I wrote her a heartfelt thank-you letter. But my dad insisted it was a “harassment letter.” He called me shameless and claimed the girl only bought me those things because I had threatened her. My dad dragged me to a clinic for a reproductive exam. He yelled in the hallway for everyone to hear: “Check if he’s even functional, or if he’s just a sexually frustrated freak!” When the results came back completely normal, he looked dazed, almost utterly disappointed. But quickly, he changed his narrative. “So what if you’re physically normal? You wrote creepy letters to a girl at eighteen. Your mind is already filthy. You’re just a lowlife. No decent girl will ever want you.” “I was clean and decent, yet I ended up with a woman like your mother. A piece of trash like you is only fit to marry a worthless whore.” My dad heavily edited my thank-you letter, turning it into a truly disgusting, explicit note. He posted a hundred copies of it around the school. From then on, that girl avoided me like the plague. My classmates looked at me with disgust and mocked me daily. I didn’t have a single friend. Even the teacher who used to like me the most started looking at me with pure loathing. Later, I worked hard and escaped that small, run-down town. My career took off, and I started earning more and more. My dad actually apologized to me back then. He said he was only trying to prevent me from dating in high school so I wouldn’t ruin my future. I thought he had finally changed. But now, he was bringing up the past again just to trash me in front of my wife! After reading the “letter” with a look of utter confusion, Chloe looked at my dad as if he were a lunatic: “Arthur, whether this thing is real or fake, it’s ancient history.” “I don’t care about the past. I only care about our future.” “I am very happy with Ethan. Don’t worry, I will never betray him.” 2 Chloe squeezed my hand. Her warmth slowly melted the icy chill in my bones. Most of my anger faded away. Ever since the letter incident, my dad kept drumming it into my head that I didn’t deserve a good girl. After I started working, he kept setting me up on horrible blind dates. A girl under house arrest, a convicted scammer, a woman who had been divorced three times… My dad always said that since he couldn’t get a good woman, I certainly didn’t deserve one either. But Chloe had never let go of my hand from the very beginning. Chloe’s loyalty only made my dad furious. No matter what lies he spewed, Chloe stayed by my side. So, he turned his target back onto me. “Ethan, how many months along is she?” I answered warily, “Almost four months.” My dad smiled, looking relieved. “Four months… Heh, then you’re about to become impotent soon.” “Ethan, you’re finally going to taste this misery. When your mother was pregnant, I worked myself to the bone to support the family. My body broke down, and your mother called me a useless excuse of a man. That’s why she slept with the male housekeeper.” “Once you ruin your own body from stress, Chloe will definitely find someone else.” Looking at the satisfaction in my dad’s smile, I couldn’t help but shiver. A cold, desolate sadness washed over me. We were father and son, not enemies. Why was my dad so eager to see me fail? Why did he desperately want my wife to cheat on me? Shouldn’t a father want his son to be happy? At the thought of me being betrayed, the excitement on my dad’s face was completely unmasked. He gestured wildly as he rambled on: “Being impotent is nothing. That’s the least of your worries.” “With Chloe pregnant, you’ll have to work like a dog to support the family. You’ll go bald, get wrinkles, grow a beer belly, and look so ugly that Chloe will want to throw up just looking at you! Once you turn into that monster, Chloe will naturally jump into another man’s bed.” “I had to go through all that pain. Why shouldn’t you experience it too?” Even Chloe, with her gentle temper, was thoroughly enraged now. She glared at my dad coldly: “Arthur, that’s not going to happen.” “My family has money. Ethan doesn’t need to destroy his health to work. He only needs to do what he loves. I am going to use my entire trust fund to support his startup.” “Besides, even if Ethan does end up looking like that, I would only feel heartbroken and blame myself. Why would I ever cheat on him?” My dad opened his mouth, his eyes turning blank. I thought he was going to throw another tantrum. Tantrum about how hard he worked in his youth to the point of ruining his body, and why I got to have it easy. But he didn’t. My dad silently kept putting food onto Chloe’s plate, muttering, “Eat more.” In his eyes, there was jealousy, but even more, there was deep loss and misery. My heart suddenly gave a sharp, painful throb. No matter what, my dad had raised me all by himself. His jealousy was real, but his twisted love didn’t seem entirely fake either. He was old. Chloe and I should try to tolerate him as much as we could. The Thanksgiving dinner ended in a bizarre, tense silence. Soon, Chloe reached her second trimester. Chloe took me to see the office space she had rented for my startup, but we were stopped by the property manager. “Mr. Miller, the lease was canceled by your father.” “If you have any questions, you should talk to him.” With a loud *thud*, my heart sank to the bottom of my chest. I rushed back home immediately to confront him. The moment I stepped through the door, my eyes were blinded by the brand-new Rolex on my dad’s wrist. I didn’t even have to guess where the money came from. Furious, I grabbed his wrist and demanded: “When I got married, you said you didn’t have a new watch when you married, so why should I. I felt bad for you, so I gave you the watch Chloe bought for me without a second thought.” “Dad, if you wanted a new watch, you could have just told me! I would have bought it for you! Why did you cancel my office lease?!” Hearing the words “office lease,” my dad’s eyes instantly turned bloodshot. 3 He gnashed his teeth and glared at me, a terrifying hatred emanating from his eyes. He slapped me hard across the face: “You have the nerve to ask?!” “When I wanted to start a business back then, nobody helped me! I had to be a slave to corporate America my entire life! Why? Why is Chloe willing to give you her trust fund to support your startup? You don’t deserve it!” I held my burning cheek, completely dazed. That phrase again. I felt incredibly wronged and helpless. Why did my dad lose his mind every time my life got slightly better? Could a father really envy his own son to this extent? While I was lost in thought, my dad suddenly lunged at me and violently yanked at my pants. His eyes shone with a manic, excited light, filled with twisted anticipation: “Chloe is over five months pregnant now. You must be exhausted. Let me see how pathetic and shriveled you’ve become!” The moment he saw that I was perfectly healthy and functional, the wild grin froze on his face. He rubbed his eyes, staring in absolute disbelief. Finally, he had to accept the bitter truth that my body was perfectly fine. My dad burst into tears, ripping open his own shirt to point at his worn-down, frail chest, glaring at me with pure hatred: “To raise you, I ruined my own health! Your mother called me a useless piece of trash and cheated on me!” “I became a broken man, so why the hell do you get to be perfectly fine?!” My dad roared. Amidst my anger, a wave of pity washed over me. His life had indeed been bitter. Perhaps it was the decades of misery that had twisted him into this monster. Trembling, I opened my arms, wanting to hug my dad, wanting to repair this broken father-son relationship. “Dad, everyone’s body is different.” “I’ll take you to a specialist. We can slowly get you treated, okay?” My dad opened his arms too. I thought he was going to hug me, to accept my peace offering. But I was dead wrong. In the next second, my dad raised his foot and violently kicked me straight in the groin. He used all his strength, stomping on me repeatedly. “To hell with your ‘different bodies’! You just had it easy, enjoying all the luxury!” “I became a useless wreck just to raise you. If the father is a wreck, the son must be one too!” My dad stood over me, panting heavily, the tip of his shoe stained with my blood. That kick had landed directly on my most sensitive part with maximum force. My vision went black from the agonizing pain, and I collapsed onto the floor, curling into a ball. I looked down; my inner thigh was already swollen, bruised a horrific shade of purple and red. To make me just like him, my dad was actually trying to castrate me. Enough. This was enough. As if the pain and despair weren’t enough, my dad raised his foot again, preparing to stomp down once more. In absolute terror and despair, I screamed for help: “Chloe!” Chloe burst through the door, horrified by the bloody scene. She flew to my side. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Clutching my bleeding groin, I blacked out. In the hospital, Chloe held my hand, her voice trembling with lingering fear: “Don’t worry, Ethan, you’re going to be okay.” “Your dad is insane. I’m already looking into some reputable psychiatric facilities. We are cutting him off after this.” I nodded in agreement. When we returned home from the hospital, we found my dad sitting in our living room. I instantly regretted ever giving him a spare key to our apartment. Seeing my hospital gown, my dad rolled his eyes in annoyance: “I didn’t even go to the hospital when I chopped off my finger at work, and you ran to the ER over a little scratch? Why do you get to go to the hospital?” “Chloe, you need to control him. Going to the hospital is a waste of money. He has absolutely no backbone!” My already shattered heart stabbed with pain once more. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. My dad happily got up to answer it. He respectfully welcomed a young man inside. The guy was young and handsome, dressed in flashy clubwear, with his eight-pack abs faintly visible through his semi-sheer shirt. Chloe and I exchanged a confused look. 4 Like presenting a prize, my dad pushed the young man toward Chloe with a sly grin: “Chloe, this is Justin. The personal assistant I hired for you guys.” “Look at him, he’s fit and capable. Isn’t he a million times better than that pale, sickly husband of yours?” Justin licked his lips and gave a suggestive, charming smirk. I stared at them coldly, my heart dropping into a bottomless ice cave. My dad was doing it again. Just because my mother cheated during her pregnancy, he was hell-bent on making my wife cheat too. Before I could even lose my temper, Chloe’s face darkened, and she began pushing them out: “Dressed like that? Does he look like he’s here to do housework?” “Arthur, I will hire a professional service myself. As for this ‘gentleman,’ please take him and leave immediately.” With that, Chloe shoved them toward the door. But my dad was stubborn. He grabbed the doorframe, refusing to budge. He gave Chloe a highly suggestive look: “Oh, Justin is very ‘capable’ in more ways than one!” “You have to give him a one-day trial. If he really is useless, I’ll take him away. But you can’t judge a book by its cover and rob this poor young man of a job opportunity!” Justin also blinked his large, puppy-dog eyes and pleaded in a deep, sultry voice: “If I don’t find a job soon, my family is going to sell me to offshore illegal casinos to pay off their debts.” “Chloe, Ethan, please, just give me a chance!” My head was throbbing from their badgering. Fine. It was just one day. What could they possibly do in twenty-four hours? If they refused to leave tomorrow, I would just call the police. Seeing my silent compliance, my dad and Justin exchanged a knowing smile. Though they smiled brightly, a chill ran down my spine. The next morning, I woke up to find the bed beside me empty. I called out Chloe’s name, but there was no response… until I checked the guest bedroom. Chloe and Justin were lying in bed together, completely naked. Their faces were flushed, their bodies tangled in an extremely intimate position. Even with my eyes closed, I could guess what had happened. An overwhelming wave of agony crashed over me. I roared in fury, grabbing a glass mug from the nightstand and smashing it onto the floor. My dad walked in, looking at me with absolute triumph, as if he had just won the lottery. “Your mother cheated when she was pregnant, so why shouldn’t your wife?” “Hmph, I had to live with a cheating whore my whole life, why do you get to have a perfect woman like Chloe? Now look at you, your wife is a cheater too.” My dad grabbed my arm: “Come on, don’t embarrass yourself here. Stop ruining their post-sex bliss.” “Divorce Chloe. I’ll introduce you to a woman who is actually a perfect match for you. I think Scarlett would be great.” I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat feeling like a razor blade. I knew Scarlett. She had been married five times, divorcing each husband immediately after taking their money. She had had countless abortions, and she even had a severe, incurable STI! I thought my dad was just jealous of me. This wasn’t jealousy. This was pure, unadulterated hatred! He hated seeing me happy, and he only felt joy when I was dragged down into the mud. My eyes fell upon a bottle of heavy-duty liquid aphrodisiac sitting on the corner of the table. My heart seized. To force my wife to cheat, my dad had actually resorted to drugging her. I violently shook off my dad’s hand, casting away the very last shred of familial affection I had left. Unlocking my phone, I dialed 911: “Yes, I’d like to report a crime. Someone has been poisoned and physically assaulted. The address is…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “438126”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On Christmas Eve, my sister, Chloe, had a mild allergic reaction to mangoes. My parents frantically rushed her to the emergency room. Yet, I had been severely allergic to fish since childhood, but fish was served on our dinner table every single day. My parents always told me: “Allergy? That’s just a weak immune system. Eat more of it, and once your body gets used to it, you won’t be allergic anymore.” Staring at the Christmas dinner slowly turning cold on the table, I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. I didn’t even realize my face was already drenched in tears. Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone. It was a Snapchat message from Mom: [Summer, Chloe refuses to get a blood test. She says she’s terrified of needles and is crying for you. Get over here now.] I pulled at the corner of my mouth. Terrified? No, she wasn’t. She just didn’t want them to find out she was pregnant. Mom, Dad, your precious little golden child isn’t just pregnant. I walked back into the hospital. At the ER entrance, Nurse Lily looked up in surprise. “Dr. Miller? I thought your shift ended. Why are you back?” I gave her a weary smile. “My sister was admitted. Allergic reaction.” I headed toward the trauma bay. Behind me, I heard Lily muttering to herself, “Weird. Isn’t Dr. Summer a doctor here? Why do her parents need to bring her sister to the ER for a mild allergy?” To my parents, Chloe’s allergy was a life-or-death crisis. How could they ever risk their “golden child” when they had me—their “trial run”—to experiment on? Outside the treatment room, Mom was buried in Dad’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Richard, we are such terrible parents. How did we not know Chloe was allergic to mangoes?” They had actually been perfect parents to Chloe. There had never been a single allergen in our house since the day she was born. But Chloe was pregnant. The pregnancy had triggered a new, sudden allergy, and they simply didn’t know yet. The moment Mom saw me, she grabbed my arm roughly, her voice dripping with blame. “What took you so long? Don’t you know a severe allergy can kill someone?” “She refuses to do the blood test, so they can’t start the IV. She kicked us both out of the room. Go in there and do something!” I looked into her tear-filled eyes. For the first time in my life, I talked back. “I know exactly how deadly allergies are, Mom.” “So tell me—why is it that when I was allergic to fish, you mashed a whole bowl of cod into my rice and forced me to eat it?” Not only that, but when my throat began to swell, they told me to “tough it out” so I could eat fish normally in the future. It was only when a neighbor visited, gasped in horror, and screamed at my parents for being criminally negligent that I was finally rushed to the ICU. The doctor said if I had arrived five minutes later, I would have been brain-dead. Mom froze for a second. Then, her face flushed with deep annoyance. “What nonsense are you talking about? I never did that!” “Even if I did, why bring up the past now? Look at your sister! She’s breaking out in hives!” With that, she pushed me into the hospital room, shutting the door behind me. Chloe was sitting on the gurney, scratching her neck frantically. “Summer! Thank God you’re here. You have to save me. Only you can help me now.” I pulled back her collar to inspect the rash. “You need an IV antihistamine. It’ll clear up faster.” She glanced nervously at the closed door and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Summer, cut the crap. I know you found the folic acid pills in my vitamin bottle.” “I know I can’t hide it from you. Please, Summer, help me. I can’t take any medication that might hurt the baby.” I stared at her, my expression completely flat. “So? You’re going to keep it? You’re only a sophomore in college…” “Summer!” she interrupted, her voice snapping with irritation. “Just because Mom and Dad ruined your relationship when you were in college doesn’t mean you get to rain on my parade.” “Mom and Dad actually allowed me to date. I just haven’t figured out how to tell them about the pregnancy yet.” Right. She had to remind me. When I fell in love in college, my parents threw a massive scene at the Dean’s office. They used the most vicious language to humiliate me and that boy at school. They even threatened to report him to the police for sexual assault, despite me screaming that we hadn’t even kissed. They wouldn’t let it go. In the end, unable to bear the public humiliation and pressure, the boy withdrew from college. His entire future, which he had worked so hard for, was destroyed by my parents. After that, no one at school dared to be my friend. And I never dated again. But when Chloe went to college, my parents saw that I had become an “old maid.” Fearing they had been too strict, they suddenly became open-minded and encouraged Chloe to date.

To ensure she had a “healthy social life,” they raised her allowance to $1,000 a month. They claimed they didn’t want her “begging boys for money.” Meanwhile, when I was in college, they gave me exactly $150 a month. I had to work three part-time jobs just to afford groceries and textbooks. Later, Mom actually bragged on Facebook about how she “fostered independence” in her eldest daughter. The post was flooded with mockery from local moms. [If you don’t want to cherish your daughter, someone else will.] [Treating your kid like that is how you end up in a cheap nursing home.] Panic-stricken by the online backlash, they immediately added another $500 to Chloe’s monthly allowance. Every wrong decision they made with me, they corrected by doubling the love on Chloe. “Summer!” Seeing me space out, Chloe gave me a hard shove, her tone reverting to her usual bossy self. “I looked it up on Google. There are allergy meds safe for pregnant women. Prescribe me that. I’m itching to death!” “I’m not lying for you, Chloe. Tell Mom and Dad yourself.” I turned to leave. “Summer! Don’t you want to know what Grandma Sarah said right before she died?” I stopped dead in my tracks. Grandma Sarah was the only person in this world who had ever truly loved me. When I was little, I proudly brought my report cards and academic awards home, taping them to the living room wall to surprise my parents. They only gave them a cold, passing glance. “Take them down. It looks messy. You think this deserves a trophy? Summer, you’re still far from good enough.” But Grandma Sarah would bake blueberry muffins to celebrate my B-plus. She would hug me and say, “My Summer is the smartest girl in the world.” She carefully taped together the certificates my mother had ripped down. “Bring them all to Grandma’s house, sweetie. Seeing them makes me happy.” Eventually, my awards covered an entire wall in Grandma’s living room. She boasted about me to every neighbor who walked by. But when Grandma was terminally ill, my parents hid it from me. They claimed they didn’t want to “distract” me from my medical school entrance exams. Because of their lie, I never got to say goodbye. Yet, when Chloe was stressed during her junior year of high school, they let her take a gap year to travel across Europe. How was I ever supposed to forgive them for that? Suppressing the sharp ache in my chest, I turned back to Chloe. “Fine. I’ll write the prescription.” The moment I stepped out of the room, my parents swarmed me. “How is she? Is Chloe okay?” “I’m getting her meds.” I averted my eyes and walked past them quickly. They immediately pressed their faces against the glass window of Chloe’s room. “Chloe? Sweetie, are you okay?” “Okay, okay, Daddy and Mommy won’t come in. Just don’t scratch your face, okay? It’ll scar, and we can’t have our beautiful girl scarred!” I forced myself to block out their voices. But my chest felt like a hollow cave, with cold wind howling through the empty space. From childhood to adulthood, they had nothing but criticism for me. Even when neighbors complimented my looks, Mom would scoff: “Beautiful? Her eyes are as small as a mouse’s. And she has such a gloomy personality. I don’t know who she got those genes from.” Only Grandma Sarah ever told me I was beautiful. I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there at the end. Back in the room, I handed the pills to Chloe. “Take three. We need to keep you overnight for observation.” The moment she swallowed them, I asked, “What did Grandma say before she passed?” “Do you really want to know?” Chloe arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “No wonder Mom and Dad say you’re an ungrateful leech who only cared about that old lady.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “Tell me.” She slid back down onto the pillows. “Tell Mom and Dad to go home first. You stay here and nurse me tonight.” “Chloe.” “Don’t think your pregnancy is the only secret I know.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “438125”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Bennett and I were each other’s first loves. We were together from the age of eighteen to twenty-three. Later, I personally drugged his drink and sent him into my sister’s bedroom. He desperately escaped and came looking for me, only to overhear the conversation between my friend and me. “All these years of history, and you’re just throwing him away?” I swirled the wine in my glass, a careless smirk on my face. “Friends are like limbs; men are just clothes. She’s my sister. What’s wrong with letting her have some fun with him?” Since then, Bennett cut all ties with me. We hadn’t seen each other in three years. Three years later, some were newlywed, while some slept eternally in a quiet southern town. My name is Norah Vance. I am the eldest daughter of the wealthy Vance family. For as long as I can remember, I lived in the family’s old estate in the historic district, raised by my grandmother. My parents, Arthur and Evelyn, lived with my younger sister, Pearl, in a luxury penthouse downtown. The old estate was only a thirty-minute drive from their place, but to me, we were separated by mountains, living in two completely different worlds. My parents rarely came to see me. I only saw them during major holidays. Grandma always told me that they loved me, but they were just too busy with the family business to have the energy to care for me. I believed her. Yet, the resentment in my heart grew like wild grass, suffocating me. I couldn’t help but wonder—if they were so busy, why wasn’t Pearl sent to the old estate too? Why did they have time to raise Pearl, but not me? The historic district was an exclusive neighborhood where old money retirees lived. There weren’t many left-behind kids in this area, but Bennett and I were the exceptions. The Vance and Cole families had been close for generations. Bennett’s parents worked abroad year-round, so they left him in the care of his grandparents. You would think two kids in the same boat would look out for each other. But I hated Bennett from the bottom of my heart. I had hated him since we were toddlers. He was the textbook “perfect child.” He always ranked first in school, excelled in AP math, piano, and golf, and was always polite and well-mannered. Meanwhile, I was the neighborhood rebel, spoiled by my grandmother. I skipped classes, scaled school fences, and got into fights. To make matters worse, our names—Norah and Bennett—sounded like opposite poles. Every time I got into trouble, the elders and teachers would compare me to him. “One goes north, the other goes south,” they would say. Over time, I declared a one-sided war on Bennett. I did everything to ruin his day. Seeing him miserable was the only thing that made me happy. But Bennett was no pushover. Throughout middle school, our petty wars never stopped. I tore his worksheets, he pulled my hair. I put earthworms in his desk, he drew stupid caricatures on my test papers. In a flash, we turned fifteen and ended up in the same high school. Bennett got into the honors class with the highest score and became the Student Council President. I barely scraped into the regular class, remaining the troublemaker who gave teachers headaches. Whenever he hosted a school assembly, I would catcall and shout his name from the crowd, trying to embarrass him in front of the entire school. After one assembly, he cornered me in the stairwell. Frowning, his voice deep, he asked, “Norah, we’re not in elementary school anymore. Can we please make peace?” I rejected him outright, pushed past him, and walked away without looking back. At fifteen, all I wanted was for my parents to look at me, even if it was just a glance. And messing with Bennett, the golden boy, was the perfect way to get attention. I hoped Bennett would lose his patience and complain to my parents. I hoped my parents would finally come to discipline me. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Bennett never told on me, and my parents’ eyes remained fixed solely on Pearl. Pearl was five years younger than me, the absolute princess of the family. She actually liked me. Whenever we met during holidays, she would sweetly call me “Sis” and stuff candy into my hands. But I hated her. I was jealous of her—jealous of the unconditional love she received. I took my anger out on her. Every time we met, I gave her the cold shoulder, snatched her gifts, and threw away her candies. I thought I would keep being a rebel until I grew up.

I never expected that in the winter of my fifteenth year, fate would deal me a crushing blow. Grandma suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage and was rushed to the ER. A few days later, she woke up. The doctor told us it was just a final rally before the end, and we should prepare for the worst. I rushed into the ICU and threw myself beside her bed. Grandma looked at me, her eyes overflowing with tears. She gently stroked my hair and began to tell me the secrets she had hidden for fifteen years. She told me I was not Evelyn’s biological daughter. She said my parents had been married for seven years without any luck of having a child. Desperate for an heir, Grandma took advantage of a time when Evelyn was visiting family out of state. She got my father heavily drunk and arranged for another woman to be in his bed. That single night resulted in a pregnancy. And then, I was born. When Evelyn found out, she cried, screamed, and almost filed for divorce, but eventually compromised. She had only one condition: she would never raise me. “Norah, don’t blame your parents. Blame me. It was your old grandma who lost her mind,” she whispered. “I thought, since your mother couldn’t conceive, she would eventually accept you over time.” “But when you were five, Pearl came. It was fate. Your mother is innocent; she has suffered so much.” “I’m sorry, my sweet Norah. I will make it up to you in the next life…” Grandma’s voice faded into nothingness, and her hand fell limp. At that moment, all my anger and resentment collapsed like a house of cards. Yes, how pitiful my mother was. Every time she looked at me, she saw the living proof of her husband’s betrayal. And Pearl was even more innocent. She did nothing wrong, yet she had been the target of my bitter jealousy. Could I blame Grandma? She was the only one who truly loved me. I couldn’t hate her. Could I blame my father? Manipulated by his mother and resented by his wife, his life was its own kind of hell. In the end, the only person left to blame was myself. Why was I even born? Grandma’s funeral was grand. Bennett came too. He stood in the crowd, dressed in a black suit, his eyes cast down. I didn’t talk to him, nor did I talk to anyone else. I was like a puppet without a soul. After the funeral, I moved into my parents’ penthouse—the place I had dreamed of living in since childhood. The apartment was massive, with plenty of rooms, yet I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. The moment I learned the truth about my birth, all my past rebellion felt like a joke. Overnight, I went from a loud, arrogant brat to a silent shadow. But just as I was shutting myself away in the dark, two people forced their way into my locked heart. One was Bennett, whom I had hated for a decade. The other was Pearl, whom I had envied for just as long. After learning the truth, I started avoiding Bennett on purpose. But he quickly noticed my change. He started clinging to me, being so incredibly sweet that it threw me off. In the cafeteria, he would always sit across from me, moving all the best food from his plate to mine. When I hid on the school rooftop to cry, he would always find me and silently sit by my side. After school, when I didn’t want to go home, he would walk with me through the streets, buying me ice cream. His warmth acted like a gentle current, melting the icy walls around my heart. And Pearl, sensitive as she was, noticed the tense atmosphere at home. She began tirelessly trying to mend the cracks in our family. She would constantly sweet-talk our mother: “Mom, thank you for giving me a sister. I love Norah so much.” “Mom, look, the backpack Norah packed for me is so neat, much better than yours!” “Mom, I’m so happy I get to go to school with Norah every day.” Gradually, the coldness in Evelyn’s eyes when she looked at me began to fade, replaced by a gentle warmth. Eventually, she even started warming up a glass of milk for me whenever she made one for Pearl. Under the warmth of Bennett and Pearl, I slowly came back to life. I finally realized that Pearl was never my enemy. She was my sister. And as for Bennett, we naturally became a couple. Our families were old friends, and our social status matched perfectly. Both sets of parents were happy to see us together. After we started dating, our dates almost always included a little tagalong—Pearl. Bennett would playfully complain to me, “Norah, when do we get some alone time?” Pearl would jump out from behind, hands on her hips, glaring at him. “Are you trying to get rid of me so you can take advantage of my sister?” Watching them bicker, my heart swelled with pure happiness. I thought this beautiful life would last forever.

But the year Pearl turned eighteen, everything shattered. First, Bennett’s parents suddenly returned to the country. They were fiercely against our relationship and even locked him in his room. Then, I received my medical report from the hospital: late-stage stomach cancer. I had three years left to live, at most. When I walked through the door that day, it wasn’t a cheerful Pearl who greeted me, but my mother. Without saying a word, she handed me a diary. With trembling hands, I opened it and turned the pages. “Went to the Cole estate with Norah again today. Finally saw him. His smile is so beautiful.” “Norah has been so busy lately and hasn’t visited the Coles. Ugh, I miss him so much.” “Saw him again today! Following Norah around is definitely the best decision ever.” Every word felt like a dagger piercing my chest. Pearl was in love with Bennett. My mother remained silent for a long time before she finally spoke. “Do you know why Bennett’s parents suddenly opposed you two?” “I called them. I told them you are just an adopted daughter, and that everything in the Vance estate will belong to Pearl in the future.” With one simple phone call, she destroyed any future Bennett and I could have had. That night, Bennett escaped through his window and found me. “Norah, let’s run away. Anywhere, as long as I’m with you.” Looking at his desperate face, my heart bled. Run away? If he did, he would lose his inheritance. His five cousins would tear him apart and take everything he owned. He would have nothing. And what could I give him in return? If we ran away, I could only give him three years of my life. Was I supposed to ruin the rest of his life for just three years of togetherness? I couldn’t. I absolutely couldn’t. Pearl loved him. They grew up together, and they were perfect for each other. More importantly, I couldn’t let Bennett waste his youth on a dying girl. It was better to make him hate me. Looking at the passionate young man in front of me, I forced a bright smile. “Okay, let’s run away.” I tricked him into drinking a glass of red wine laced with sleeping pills, then carried him into Pearl’s bedroom. I didn’t drug him with anything else like Grandma did. I just wanted him to hate me. As for his relationship with Pearl, I decided to let nature take its course. Then, I went to a noisy VIP club, hired a couple of handsome escorts to sit with me, and called my best friend over. I wanted to say my goodbyes to her while waiting for Bennett to find me. At the same time, my mother burst into Pearl’s room with the housekeepers. Bennett and Pearl woke up to the commotion, completely bewildered. My mother demanded angrily, “Bennett, what did you do to my daughter?” Confused and panicking, Bennett blurted out, “How is this possible? I was with Norah last night!” The moment the words left his mouth, he remembered the glass of red wine and my unusually bright smile. A terrible realization washed over him. He quickly corrected himself, “I’m sorry. I drank too much last night and stumbled into the wrong room.” Pearl quickly chimed in, “Bennett and I are fully clothed! Nothing happened, Mom. He must have been looking for Norah and got into the wrong room because he was drunk.” After calming my mother down, Bennett ran out of the house. He had to find me. We had each other’s locations shared on Snapchat. I watched the little icon on my screen get closer and closer to the club. The icon stopped just a few feet away from my VIP table. My friend asked, “All these years of history, and you’re just throwing him away?” I swirled my drink, laughing carelessly. “Friends are like limbs; men are just clothes. She’s my sister. What’s wrong with letting her have some fun with him?” After that night, Bennett vanished from my world. He blocked me on Snapchat, and our families stopped speaking to each other. Pearl became the most anxious one. Every day, she would hover around me, her eyes filled with worry. “Norah, what happened between you and Bennett? Did you guys have a fight?” I just shook my head and smiled, saying everything was fine. Refusing to give up, she tugged at my sleeve and explained for the hundredth time. “That night, I was fully clothed, and so was he.” “He smelled so strongly of alcohol. He really just got drunk and walked into the wrong room.” “Norah, I swear!” I pinched her nose gently. “You’ve said that so many times. I know.” Pearl’s voice softened, filled with a young girl’s hope. “Then can we go visit the Coles? I haven’t seen Bennett in so long. Just go with me, please?” Looking at her bright, hopeful eyes, a dull ache spread through my chest. She really did love him that much. What I did was right. I turned my face away and said quietly, “Go by yourself. I’ve been feeling a bit tired lately.” Pearl looked at my pale face, wanting to say something, but stopped herself. The side effects of chemotherapy were getting worse. I started vomiting constantly, unable to keep any food down. My weight dropped rapidly, and my hair began to fall out in clumps. I became terrified of brushing my hair because every brush brought away a handful of strands. I couldn’t stay here anymore. I was terrified Pearl would discover my secret. Even more, I was terrified Bennett would suddenly show up and see me in this pathetic state. I packed a small suitcase, left a letter, and left the city. I moved to a quiet, sleepy town in Georgia. There were peaceful, flowing creeks and endless fields of wild yellow flowers. I rented a tiny cottage and spent my days watching the sun rise and fall. I kept taking my chemo pills, and the dosage only got stronger. Whenever the pain became unbearable, I would curl up by the window, clutching my knees, picturing Pearl’s bright smile and remembering the warmth of Bennett’s hand in mine. In the blink of an eye, three years passed. One day, I was casually watching the news on TV. “The eldest son of the Cole family is engaged to the daughter of the Vance family. The wedding will take place in three months.” Pearl and Bennett were getting married. So, they really did end up together. My departure had indeed paved the way for them. I should be happy, shouldn’t I? I had achieved my goal. But why were my tears pouring down like rain? I sat in my rented cottage, staring into the dark all night. I wanted to see them one last time. Just once. Before I died, I wanted to lay eyes on the two most important people in my life. I booked a flight back and began my journey home.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “438124”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

At the Thanksgiving dinner table, my mom slid the best piece of garlic butter lobster onto my plate—Audrey’s favorite. She smiled, but her eyes were heavy with expectation. “Coco, Julian has been mourning your sister for three years now. And now that you’re finally back home…” She hesitated, looking at my dad before continuing. “We think it’s time. You two should get married.” My dad nodded in solemn agreement. I froze. Across the table, Julian—my first love, my sister’s husband, my brother-in-law—kept his head down. He was silently, meticulously cracking open another lobster claw. He didn’t say no. My fork hovered in mid-air. I stared at Julian sitting right across from me. My first love. My sister’s widower. He kept cracking the shell, acting as if he hadn’t heard a single word. When the sweet, pink meat came free in one perfect piece, he placed it gently on my plate. Then he reached for another claw and started again. From beginning to end, he never looked up. He never said a word. He didn’t say no. My dad raised his glass, his face already flushed from the wine. “You’re both not getting any younger. You know each other’s families inside out. Back when Audrey…” He paused, swallowing the painful memory. “Now that you two are here, this is the best way to move forward. It’s what Audrey would have wanted.” Hearing those words, I dropped my fork. It hit the porcelain plate with a sharp, echoing clink. “I’m full.” “Coco—” my mom called out, her voice pleading. I didn’t look back. I walked straight into my room and slammed the door. The walls in this old house were paper-thin. Thin enough for me to hear my mom’s heavy sigh from the hallway. “That girl… the older she gets, the more stubborn she becomes.” My dad’s low voice followed. “Don’t rush her. We’ll take it slow. At least Julian agreed.” But there was no sound from Julian. Not a single word. I leaned my back against the door, slowly sliding down until I was sitting on the cold hardwood floor. Audrey had only been gone for three years. On this night meant for family reunion, my parents couldn’t wait to hand me Audrey’s husband, Audrey’s estate, and Audrey’s life. They wanted to “transfer” her existence to me, all to construct some sick, fake version of a happy ending. Even this bedroom was exactly the same as it was seven years ago. On the bookshelf sat three framed photos: a picture of Audrey and me laughing, a candid shot of Julian and me by the high school basketball courts, and their wedding portrait. She was wearing a stunning white gown, her veil catching the wind. Julian was looking down at her, his eyes filled with endless warmth. But… that was supposed to be my wedding. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Emily, my assistant back in New York: “Hey Chloe, a huge opportunity just popped up. The London branch is desperately looking for a Project Director. The headhunter wants to hop on a call with you.” Below the text was a PDF link and a contact number. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass. Outside, I heard quiet footsteps stop right before my door. Three gentle knocks. “Coco,” Julian’s voice came through the wood, soft and hesitant. “I warmed up some milk for you.” I stayed silent. He waited for a moment. “I’m leaving it by the door. Get some rest.” His footsteps faded away. I waited a long time before finally opening the door. Sure enough, a mug was sitting on the floor. The milk was still warm, a thin film forming on the surface. I picked it up, walked straight to the kitchen, and poured the white liquid down the drain. As I turned around, I almost collided with Julian. He had been standing in the doorway the whole time. Wearing a gray sweatshirt, his tall frame looked incredibly thin under the dim kitchen light. His gaze fell on the empty mug in my hand, then slowly drifted up to meet my eyes. “Why didn’t you drink it?” “I don’t like milk anymore,” I said, setting the mug on the counter. “I got used to black coffee in New York.” His lips pressed into a tight line, a nervous habit that made him look suddenly defenseless. “We need to talk,” he said. “About what? About how you and my parents planned to ‘give’ me to you?” I spat the words out, letting the sarcasm cut deep. Julian’s face went pale. He stepped inside and shut the kitchen door, shutting us off from the living room. “Your parents are just… they’re getting old, Chloe—” “So I have to sacrifice my life to keep them happy? To give them a show?” “That’s not what I meant.” He reached his hand out, wanting to touch my shoulder, but froze halfway and let it drop. “Coco, I know you’re angry. But can you just…” “Julian,” I interrupted, my voice cold. “We ended years ago. There is nothing left between us.” His eyes snapped up, wide and searching. “But Audrey—” “Don’t bring up my sister,” my voice began to tremble. “This is between us. Don’t use her as your shield.” Julian fell silent for a long time. He stared down at his hands—hands that had once clumsily braided my hair, hands that had later worn a wedding band and held my sister’s hand. “I just… I don’t want to lose any more family,” he finally whispered. Looking at him, a wave of exhaustion hit me. “Julian, the day you chose Audrey was the day you and I became impossible.” His eyes brimmed with red, but he didn’t say another word. I brushed past him and opened the kitchen door. In the living room, my parents had already cleared the table. The TV was still on, playing reruns of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The cheerful music and canned applause felt incredibly mocking. I walked straight back to my room, shut the door, and this time, I locked it. I pulled out my phone, tapped the headhunter’s number, and typed two words: “I’m interested.” Sent.

The next morning, I stood in the middle of my room. Looking at this space that hadn’t changed in a decade, I felt a sudden urge to reclaim my life. I unzipped my suitcase and began hanging my clothes in the closet—strictly on my side. My sharp-cut blazers, silk blouses, and cashmere coats hung right next to Audrey’s soft, pastel cardigans. Then, I turned to the bookshelf. I grabbed a stack of my old college textbooks and walked to the living room. My mom looked up from the kitchen. “You throwing those out?” “Yeah.” “Oh, what a waste…” She walked over, flipping through a textbook on advanced accounting. “These cost a fortune.” “They’re taking up space,” I replied. My mom didn’t push. Her eyes just went a little dim. Back in my room, the shelf was half-empty. I knelt down and looked at the bottom shelf. Those were Audrey’s books. A few medical journals, some classic novels, and several thick, leather-bound notebooks. I pulled one out. It had a dark blue cover, the edges worn thin. Embossed on the front were the words: Hospital Residency Journal. I hesitated, then opened it. The first entry was from eight years ago. “March 12. Sunny. Today was my first solo night shift. A patient with severe cardiac arrest came in at 2:00 AM. We tried resuscitating him for an hour, but we lost him. His family was screaming and crying outside. I hid in the breakroom and cried, too. My supervisor said I’m too emotional to be a doctor. But if I can’t even cry, how can I truly feel my patients’ pain?” I flipped forward. “May 20. Overcast. My little sister called today. She got accepted for an exchange program in New York. I’m so incredibly happy for her, but I feel a little left behind. She’s flying so high and so far, while I’ll probably be stuck in this small town forever. Julian tells me I’m silly. He says everyone has their own path. But…” The entry ended abruptly after “But.” There was a small, faded watermark on the paper, where a tear had once smeared the ink. I kept reading. The entries became sporadic, sometimes with months in between. Then, the date jumped to five years ago. “February 14. Snowing. I got the diagnosis today. Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. ALS. Lou Gehrig’s disease. The doctor said there is no cure. I asked him how long I have left. He said three to five years. When I left the clinic, I sat on the hallway bench for a whole hour. Snow drifted in through the open window, melting cold against my hand.” The handwriting here was shaky, the pen pressing so hard in some places that it tore the paper. My fingers began to go numb. “February 28. Cloudy. I finally told Mom and Dad. Mom cried all night, and Dad smoked one cigarette after another. I didn’t tell Chloe. She’s writing her graduation thesis. I can’t let her lose her focus. Julian came to see me. He swore that no matter what happens, he will stand by me. I held him and sobbed, but all I could think was: What about Chloe? When she finds out, will she hate me?” “March 15. Sunny. I made a very selfish decision today. Julian came to the hospital. I had a sudden panic attack and couldn’t breathe. He was terrified, his eyes completely bloodshot. I grabbed his hand and begged him: ‘Julian, I’m scared. Please… don’t leave me.’ He said okay. He promised he’d never leave. I knew it was a promise born of pity, but I chose to believe it. Because I am so, so terrified of dying alone.” There was a gap of almost ten months after that. The next entry was in the fall. “September 3. Windy. Chloe emailed me today. She got a job offer at Columbia University. She is amazing. I lay in my hospital bed, crying tears of pride and grief. Julian asked me why I was crying. I told him I didn’t know. But I did. I was mourning the dream of standing on the streets of New York with her—a dream that will never come true.” “September 20. Overcast. I had a nightmare. I dreamed Chloe came back, stood over my hospital bed, and screamed at me for stealing Julian. I woke up shaking. Julian was asleep beside my bed, holding my hand with the IV drip. Looking at his face, I realized that the two people I’ve hurt the most in this lifetime are the ones right beside me.” “October 5. Light rain. The disease is progressing fast. My fingers are stopping to work. This might be my last entry. Chloe, if you ever find this notebook, please don’t forgive me. I was a terrible sister, a terrible daughter, and a terrible lover. But I was just… so afraid of going into the dark alone.” The very last page had no date. There was only one sentence, written in a jagged, barely legible scrawl: “I hope my little sister flies high and flies far. Never look back.”

I closed the journal. Outside, the afternoon sun was bright and warm, but I felt freezing cold. A soft knock came from the door. “Coco,” my mom’s voice was gentle. “I cut up some fruit. Come have some?” I took a deep breath, slid the journal back onto the bottom shelf, and opened the door. My mom was standing there with a plate of neatly sliced apples and oranges. Her eyes wandered past me to the bookshelf. “Clearing things out?” “Yeah.” “Your sister’s books…” She hesitated. “Do you want to pack them up?” I stared into her eyes. “Mom, you and Dad knew about Audrey’s diagnosis from the very beginning, didn’t you?” The warm smile on her face froze. The plate in her hands trembled, an apple slice sliding to the edge. She walked into my room, set the plate on my desk, and stood with her back to me for a long time. “We knew.” “Audrey begged us not to tell you. She didn’t want to ruin your future in New York.” “And Julian?” I asked, my voice cracking. “When did he find out?” My mom turned around, her eyes instantly red. “Right after she was diagnosed. That boy… he sat in the hospital hallway all night. The next morning, his eyes were so swollen he could barely open them. He told us he would take responsibility.” “Responsibility?” “Coco, don’t blame him,” my mom begged, grabbing my hands. “Your sister… she was in a dark place. If Julian hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have survived those years. He gave her peace.” I pulled my hands back slowly. “I don’t blame him.” I just finally understood what Julian meant when he said, “I just don’t want to lose any more family.” To him, Audrey’s illness, her death, and my parents’ aging grief were chains wrapping tightly around him. And my return was just another chain. That evening at dinner, my mom suddenly put down her fork and went into her bedroom. When she came out, she was holding a faded cream-colored envelope. The edges were completely frayed. “Audrey left this for you,” she said, her voice immediately thick with tears. “I never found the right time to give it to you.” I took the envelope. Julian stopped eating. He stared at the paper, his throat muscles tightening, but he remained silent. “You guys keep eating. I’ll read it in my room.” “Just read it here,” my mom pleaded. “We’re all family anyway—” “Mom,” I cut her off, my tone leaving no room for argument. Back in my room, I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time before carefully tearing open the envelope. Inside was a stack of letter paper, about ten pages long, covered in Audrey’s handwriting. It started neat and organized, but toward the end, the letters became jagged and distorted. “Chloe, If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. I’m sorry for writing this. I never had the courage to tell you to your face—but Julian’s choice back then wasn’t his. I forced him into it.” My hands began to shake. “The day I got my diagnosis, my mind went completely blank. The doctor said three to five years, and the only thought in my head was: I’m going to die. I was only twenty-six. I had so much left to do. And then, I thought of Julian. I know it was pathetic. But when you’re facing death, you become a monster of selfishness.” I took a deep, shaky breath and kept reading. “Those three years of marriage were the most painful, yet happiest years of my life. Painful because of the ALS, happy because of him. Julian was a perfect husband. He took care of my every need, did physical therapy with me, read me poetry, and held my hand through the night when the pain was too much to bear. But I knew he wasn’t happy. So many nights, I’d wake up to find his side of the bed cold. I’d crawl to the window and see him standing on the balcony, smoking in the moonlight, looking so incredibly lonely. Once, I overheard him on the phone with your university advisor, asking how you were doing in America, making sure you had everything you needed. After he hung up, he stood on that balcony until dawn. That’s when I realized what a horrible thing I had done. Chloe, if you hate me, I understand. You should. I stole your first love. I stole the years that belonged to you. But please… don’t hate Julian. He’s just a fool trapped by his own sense of duty, a coward who was too afraid to admit where his heart truly belonged. He didn’t marry me because of love. He married me because of a wicked, desperate trap I laid that night.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “438123”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster