Author: Momo Chan

My boyfriend was picking me up after work. When I pulled open the passenger door, a young woman was already sitting inside. She gave me a sweet, practiced smile. “Hey, I get terribly carsick,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial innocence. “You don’t mind if I take the front seat, do you?” I didn’t answer. I shut the door quietly, walked around the hood, and stopped right beside the driver’s window. Dean looked up at me, his eyes full of sheepish apology. “It was on the way,” he began. “I was just giving her a—” I reached through the open window and slapped him across the face. “If she’s that delicate,” I snapped, “don’t put her in your car. I’d hate for her to bleed all over your leather.” 1 When Dean came to pick me up, I had rushed down the elevator, clutching my tote bag, terrified of keeping him waiting. It was our seventh anniversary. We had planned this night for months—a quiet dinner at an impossible-to-book restaurant downtown, followed by drinks at the lounge where we had our first real date. Seven years. Four in college, three in the real world. A lifetime of shared jokes, late-night dinners, and quiet promises. I hurried toward his sedan, opened the front passenger door, and nearly tossed my bag right into the lap of the girl sitting there. She didn’t even flinch. She looked at my bag, then up at me, blinking her wide, painted eyes. “Hi!” she chimed sweetly. I stood frozen in the muggy evening air. I tilted my head, looking past her to Dean in the driver’s seat. His posture was stiff, his mouth open, searching for the right words. Before he could speak, the girl leaned forward. “Hey, I get terribly carsick,” she said smoothly. “You don’t mind if I take the front seat, do you?” I looked at Dean again. I saw the guilt flickering in his eyes, but underneath it, something worse: permission. He had allowed her to sit here. He had chosen to give away the space that belonged to us. I didn’t dignify her question with an answer. I stepped back and closed the door with a dull thud. Noticing my reaction, Dean quickly hit the unlock button for the back doors. But I didn’t head for the back. I walked around the front of the car and stopped by the driver’s side window. We had been together for seven years. He knew me better than anyone in the world, just as I knew the subtle shifts in his posture when he was hiding something. He knew I was furious. He rolled down the window, his voice cautious. “It was on the way, Lola. I was just giving her a—” I didn’t let him finish. I leaned in and slapped him across the cheek. The crack echoed in the quiet drop-off zone. The air turned instantly brittle. The sweet smile froze on the girl’s face, crumbling into sheer disbelief. Dean stared at me, his hand flying to his reddening cheek, utterly stunned. “Lola, stop,” he stammered, his voice dropping an octave. “She’s not just a rider. She’s my new intern, Kayla Davis. The restaurant we’re going to is right near her apartment complex. I just thought it made sense to drop her off.” I followed his words and turned a cold, deliberate gaze back onto Kayla. The slap had come out of nowhere, and Kayla’s face was pale now, her eyes darting frantically between Dean and me. I didn’t know what she was so afraid of. If I were going to slap her, I’d need hand sanitizer afterward. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I said, my tone smooth and venomous. “I’m not going to hit you. I wouldn’t waste the effort.” When she spoke again, all her polished composure had vanished. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling. “I really do get nauseous in the back…” Her eyes darted to Dean, looking for protection. But her protector was already unbuckling his seatbelt, preparing to step out of the car to placate me. I reached through the window and planted a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder, pressing him firmly back against his seat. “Stay put,” I said. The tension inside the cabin was unbearable. Kayla quickly unbuckled her belt, opening her door with a frantic movement. She looked at Dean, her eyes welling with tears. “Dean… Mr. Prescott, please don’t fight with your girlfriend because of me. I… I can sit in the back. It’s fine.” She stepped out, her movements exaggerated, playing the martyr for Dean’s benefit. “Lola,” she said softly, “you take the front.” I looked at her with faux concern. “Are you sure, Kayla? What if you get sick back there and vomit all over his seats?” Her foot halted mid-step. She stood stranded on the pavement, unable to get back in the front, unwilling to take the back seat, pinned under the spotlight of her own lie. I leaned back down toward Dean. “What do you think?” He caught the hard edge in my voice. The awkwardness hit him all at once. He cleared his throat, unable to meet Kayla’s eyes. “Kayla… maybe you should just call a ride. There isn’t really room in here tonight.” Four seats in the car, and not enough space for a couple and a girl trying to play the delicate victim. Kayla looked around the desolate corporate park. Her face twisted in genuine dismay. Our office complex sat on the edge of the industrial district, miles from the nearest subway station, where rideshare drivers rarely lingered. It was the exact reason Dean picked me up every evening. A single, dramatic tear slipped down her cheek, though she forced a brave, forgiving smile. “It’s fine, Mr. Prescott. You two go ahead. I could use a walk anyway—I’ve been sitting at my desk all day.” I didn’t say a word. I walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, got in, and pulled it shut. Dean was still staring into his side mirror, watching her figure shrink in the dusk, his expression lingering on pity. “Drive,” I said, my voice ice. “Take me home. I’m not hungry anymore.” The entire mood of our anniversary was ruined, tarnished by a cheap, transparent game. Dean pulled out of the parking lot, taking a deep breath before speaking. His tone turned soft, condescendingly affectionate. “She’s just a kid fresh out of college, Lola. She doesn’t know any better. Was it really necessary to make such a scene over a ride?” I didn’t care about the seat. I wasn’t twenty-two anymore; I didn’t measure love by who sat in the front of a vehicle. What bothered me was her calculated testing of my boundaries—and Dean’s quiet permission. He hadn’t pushed back. He hadn’t drawn the line. That was the real issue. 2 When I remained silent, Dean reached into the center console and produced a small, velvet-wrapped box. He held it out toward me. “Your anniversary present,” he whispered. “Part one.” I didn’t reach for it. At the next red light, he brought the car to a complete stop. He held the box in both hands, leaning over to rest his forehead gently against my upper arm, swaying slightly like he used to do in college when he knew he was in the doghouse. “You already slapped me,” he murmured softly. “I know I screwed up. But the gift didn’t do anything wrong. Please… don’t take your anger out on the velvet.” Dean wasn’t conventionally striking in a harsh, angular way. He had a clean, classic boyishness—bright eyes, soft hair, and a warm smile. When he dropped his eyelids and put on that puppy-dog expression, it was almost impossible to stay mad at him. Especially when the right side of his jaw was already swelling red from where my palm had landed. I took the box and snapped it open. Inside lay a simple, unadorned silver bangle. It wasn’t designer. It looked remarkably like the silver bracelets young girls received from their families when they were growing up—plain, timeless, polished to a mirror shine, only sized for an adult wrist. My throat tightened. My eyes burned. He remembered. Growing up, my parents had made it abundantly clear that my brother came first. Every milestone he hit was celebrated; every need I had was an inconvenience. No matter how successful I became as an adult, no matter how much money I saved in my bank account, I always carried a quiet, ache-filled regret: I had never been given the simple, cheap silver bracelet that every other little girl in our neighborhood wore. Dean looked sideways at me, noticing the soften in my features. He seized the moment instantly. “Lola, I booked that corner table a month ago. Just give the chef a chance, okay? Do it for the ribeye, if not for me.” A small, involuntary laugh escaped my lips. It was a minor incident, I told myself. A misstep. I could let it go. Except those minor incidents didn’t stop. They multiplied. Three weeks later, Dean mentioned a department dinner. Spouses and partners were invited. He promised to swing by my office to pick me up, but half an hour before we were supposed to leave, he called to say something came up and he couldn’t make the drive. Through the receiver, I could hear loud laughter, clinking glasses, and the ambient roar of a crowded restaurant. A subtle, cold knot tightened in my stomach. I took a rideshare to the steakhouse downtown. When I pushed open the doors to the private dining room, I immediately understood where that cold knot had come from. Dean was surrounded by his junior team, laughing as they cheered him on to take another shot. Sitting directly to his right was Kayla. She was leaning in, her eyes wide with starry-eyed admiration, watching him with an expression that went far beyond professional respect. As Dean drained his glass, Kayla naturally reached over and handed him her tumbler of fruit juice. Without skipping a beat, Dean took it from her hand and drank it all down. The interaction was smooth, practiced, completely instinctual. “Come on, Boss!” one of the guys chimed in, laughing. “You can’t keep taking drinks for the intern!” Dean waved a hand defensively, like a mother hen guarding a chick. “Kayla can’t drink heavy liquor, you guys know that. Stop pressing her. Anything you want to pour for her, pour for me instead. One of hers equals three of mine!” Watching them from the doorway, my stomach churned. My instinct was to turn around, walk out, and spare myself the headache. But as my hand rested on the brass door handle, a cold, sharp anger took over. Why should I retreat? I smoothed my skirt and walked straight into the room. Dean caught sight of me and immediately stood up, clearing his throat to introduce me to the table. “Everyone, this is Lola. My girlfriend. We’re getting engaged next month.” A chorus of polite “Nice to meet you” and “Welcome, Lola” filled the room. I smiled, my voice calm and clear. “Hi, everyone. I’m Lola Cross. Dean’s girlfriend.” I shifted my gaze toward Kayla, letting my eyes linger on her pale yellow dress before looking back at the group. “Though, to be precise, I’m the girlfriend who might actually become a wife—not a ‘female friend’ like Kayla, who’s setting herself up to never get married at all.” The room plunged into absolute silence. Colleagues glanced awkwardly at one another, suddenly deeply interested in their cloth napkins. I had been brutal. Usually, women preserved decorum in professional settings, saving the confrontation for the car ride home. But I was tired of playing nice. If I swallowed this rage, I wouldn’t sleep tonight. And if I couldn’t sleep, why should anyone else enjoy their evening? Kayla’s face flushed crimson, then drained to an ash-white. Dean blinked, visibly flustered by my lack of tact. He tried to laugh it off, waving his hands. “Lola has a very dry sense of humor, everyone! Please, sit down, babe, sit down.” I took a chair directly across from Kayla. I leaned forward, looking her dead in the eye. “I heard you don’t drink,” I said quietly. Kayla kept her head down, her hands tightly clutching her napkin. “Lola… I’m just fresh out of school. Strong alcohol doesn’t really agree with me…” I reached for the decanter in the center of the table and poured two full glasses of cabernet, filling them nearly to the brim. “How about I teach you?” I said, sliding one glass across the wood toward her. The air in the room was suffocating. Under the weight of everyone’s eyes, Kayla didn’t dare refuse. “Okay…” she whispered weakly. She reached out a trembling hand, lifted the glass, and braced herself to swallow it down. Before the rim reached her lips, I reached across the table, plucked the glass right out of her hand, and set it down in front of Dean. I smiled sweetly at her. “On second thought, sweetheart, if you end up in the ER tonight, I’d have to deal with the paperwork. Your life might be cheap, but my time isn’t.” The insult hung in the air like smoke. Kayla’s pathetic facade wobbled. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of pure, dark malice flashed in her eyes. Her fingers curled into tight fists against her lap, knuckles turning white. I waited for her to snap. I wanted her to. Instead, Dean snapped first. He grabbed my wrist, yanked me out of my chair, and pulled me toward the hallway.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “554435”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The booking window for the Thanksgiving holiday express trains was set to open in sixty seconds. Duke and I had agreed weeks ago that we would head back to my hometown together. With one minute left on the countdown, his phone rang. It was his executive assistant, weeping into the receiver. “Duke, what do I do? My mom sprained her ankle, but my cell signal here is so spotty, I can’t get the app to load…” I kept my eyes glued to my screen, double-checking our passenger details in the final thirty seconds. Suddenly, Duke snatched the phone right out of my hand. His thumbs flew across the glass, wiping out my passenger information and pasting in his assistant’s driver’s license number instead. By the time he tossed the phone back onto my lap, the confirmation screen flashed green. He and his assistant had secured two tickets to her hometown. Every other seat on the train was sold out. “Are you insane?” My voice trembled. “You promised my grandmother—” “Her family lives out in the countryside, Leila. She can’t afford to wait,” he cut in, not looking at me. “I’ll explain things to your grandmother later.” I sat there, completely paralyzed. My grandmother was in critical condition in the ICU. Her final wish was to meet the man I was going to marry. I had to beg Duke three separate times before he reluctantly agreed to come. And now, he wasn’t going with me. He had taken the ticket meant for me and handed it to another woman. I took a slow, deep breath, opened my messages, and pulled up a contact I hadn’t texted in months: “Come pick me up. Grandma wants to see you.” 1 I kept refreshing the app, refusal after refusal, until every single route flashed red with the word “Sold Out”. The cushion beside me sank as Duke sat down, setting a freshly poured glass of tea on the coffee table. “What’s the rush? Just try booking again tomorrow.” “Duke, Thanksgiving travel is peak season,” I said, keeping my voice level despite the tightness in my chest. “Once the tickets are gone today, that’s it.” His fingers stiffened around his mug. It seemed to finally hit him, and he leaned over to pull my phone from my hand, tapping mindlessly against the glass. No matter how many times he refreshed, every train heading toward my hometown for the entire five-day holiday was completely booked. The living room fell into a heavy silence. After a few excruciating seconds, he set the phone back on the table without looking me in the eye. “I panicked. I thought you’d be able to grab another one right after.” “I told you half an hour ago that the transit authority was releasing all holiday tickets at once today, not in batches.” Duke let out a heavy sigh, stood up, and walked out onto the balcony to make a call. “Fine. I’ll call a few contacts and see if anyone has spare passes.” I watched his silhouette through the glass door as he made several calls. When he finally came back inside, he tossed his phone onto the table and deliberately avoided my gaze. Whatever tiny sliver of hope I had left vanished instantly. Both of our phones buzzed at the exact same moment. On my screen was a text from my parents, asking if we’d managed to get our tickets. On his screen was a booking confirmation for him and Brianna. Duke cleared his throat softly. “Brianna’s mother sprained her ankle. She really needs to get home. As for your grandmother… I’ll go visit her with you after the holiday rush and explain everything in person.” My hands curled into tight fists. “Grandma is on life support in the ICU. How is she supposed to wait for your ‘next time’?” Duke’s brows pulled together in a deep frown. “Leila, does your grandmother even know you’re using her like this?” I froze. “What is that supposed to mean?” He leaned back against the sofa, his tone souring with impatience. “You tell me she’s dying, you nag me three separate times, and the second I say yes, you force me to book travel. Honestly, it feels like you’re exaggerating her health just to guilt-trip me into going back home to rush a wedding.” A cold numbness crept from my chest all the way down to my fingertips. “You think I’m lying about my grandmother dying just to trap you into marrying me?” He didn’t answer, but the hard angle of his jaw said enough. “Duke, she has acute heart failure,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “She’s in intensive care, staying alive on intravenous medication. I showed you the video my dad sent from the hospital.” Duke turned his head toward the window. “Anyone can fake a video. Brianna told me she heard from someone at work that your cousin pulled the exact same stunt to trap some wealthy guy.” My arms dropped limply to my sides, and a bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. He didn’t believe the video my father had shot inside the ICU. But he believed office gossip passed along by Brianna. The doorbell rang. Duke immediately got up to answer it. The moment the door opened a crack, Brianna threw herself into his arms. “Duke! You actually got me a ticket!” I stood up slowly and watched as Duke casually wrapped a hand around her waist to steady her. “Yeah. I’m taking the drive back with you in three days.” A spark of victory lit up Brianna’s eyes, though she quickly replaced it with a look of hesitant concern. “You’re coming with me? But… weren’t you supposed to go home with Leila?” Duke answered carelessly, giving me the briefest side-glance. “She didn’t get a ticket.” The hesitation on Brianna’s face disappeared instantly. She forced down a smile, put on a flustered expression, and stepped back from Duke. “I’m so sorry, Leila… I had no idea that ticket was meant for you…” She pulled out her phone, her fingers flying over the screen. “Let me Venmo you for it right now! It was six hundred dollars, right? I’m sending it over!” I didn’t say a word. Duke reached out and caught her wrist, stopping her. “Why are you paying her back?” He turned a sharp look toward me. “You’re not hurting for cash, Leila. There’s no need to nickle-and-dime a girl who just graduated.” I hadn’t said a single word. Meeting my eyes, Brianna shrank back slightly, letting her hand drop to grasp the hem of Duke’s sleeve in a pathetic display of meekness. I didn’t care about the six hundred dollars. Money wasn’t what I was looking for. I looked straight into Duke’s eyes, forcing myself to remain unnervingly calm. “Duke, if I tell you right now that my grandmother really is dying… what are you going to do?” He paused for a fraction of a second. “Leila, for your grandmother’s sake, watch your tongue. I already told you—once the holiday weekend passes, I’ll take time off to go see her with you.” He still didn’t believe me. Without another word, I turned and walked into the bedroom. When the door clicked shut behind me, the large, framed engagement portrait hanging on the wall vibrated softly. We had held our engagement party a year ago, and taken those photos six months back. But Duke had found reason after reason to delay setting an actual wedding date. I pulled out my phone and tapped open the chat window. “Come pick me up. Grandma wants to see you.” A reply came back within seconds, just four words: “Leaving right now. Wait.” I took a long, shaky breath and closed my eyes. This wedding—the one I had spent months holding my breath for—was over. 2 When I stepped out of the bedroom, Duke and Brianna were gone. I packed my essential clothes into a cardboard box and scheduled an express courier service to ship everything straight to my parents’ house. At eight that evening, while I was pouring a glass of water in the kitchen, I heard Brianna’s high-pitched voice coming from the foyer. “Duke, isn’t this way too much? My parents are just simple working-class people. They’ve never even seen designer brands like this before.” Duke pushed the front door open, his voice carrying clearly into the kitchen as he caught sight of me. “People who live honest lives without constantly playing mind games aren’t simple, Brianna. They’re genuine.” I could hear the bitter bite in his words. He was taking a shot at me. But since I had already decided to leave, I didn’t care to explain myself anymore. I glanced casually at the dozen luxury shopping bags stacked near the entrance, then turned back toward my room. Brianna suddenly jogged over, a sweet, eager smile pasted across her face. “Leila! I picked this out specifically for you! You can wear it when you head back home!” She held out a cheap, bright red dress. The fabric felt synthetic and scratchy, the pattern looked thirty years out of date, and the hem was embroidered with sloppy, crooked floral patterns. The clearance tag was still attached, glaringly obvious: “$15.00”. My fingers tightened around my glass, my tone turning cold. “I don’t want it.” Brianna’s eyes instantly flooded with tears, her voice trembling. “Leila, I just wanted to buy you a present with my own hard-earned money… I didn’t mean to pick something so cheap. Please don’t be mad at me…” Duke stepped in instantly, pulling her behind his back like a shield. “Don’t push it, Leila. Brianna’s an entry-level assistant. This is the best thing she can afford right now.” “The best she can afford?” Earlier today, she had offered to casually transfer six hundred dollars without blinking an eye. Now, a fifteen-dollar bargain-bin dress was the best she could do. I met Duke’s defensive glare head-on. “My grandmother is lying in an ICU bed. You think it’s appropriate for me to wear a bright red dress back home?” His gaze flicked across my face before turning away, looking utterly exhausted by me. “You don’t need to bring her up every single minute.” “If you were truly in such a desperate rush,” he added, “you would have driven back days ago instead of waiting around for my approval just to book a train.” I stared at him, incredulous. “Duke… do you honestly not know why I didn’t drive back earlier?” His back went rigid. He stared blankly at the wall beside us. When my father first called me from the hospital, I had panicked and sprinted toward my car. But my dad stopped me on the phone. He told me that during Grandma’s brief moments of consciousness, she kept whispering for her future grandson-in-law. She was the woman who had raised me. I couldn’t bear the thought of denying her last wish. So I humbled myself. I begged Duke three times over two torturous days before he finally gave me a nod. And the moment he agreed, he immediately claimed he was too busy with work and couldn’t leave a day earlier than the first afternoon of the holiday weekend. I knew interstate traffic during the holiday rush would be a nightmare, which was why I spent days stressing over train schedules. I was terrified Grandma wouldn’t hold on, yet I spent every hour trying to be understanding of his busy work schedule. Only today did I realize he was never busy at all. He had simply fed into Brianna’s poisonous little rumors, decided I was a liar, and deliberately dragged his feet to teach me a lesson. The phone in my pocket vibrated against my thigh. I set my water glass down on the counter. Before turning around to leave, a sudden memory crossed my mind. “Duke, at our engagement party last year, Grandma handed you an antique pocket watch.” I looked at him. “It belonged to my grandfather. Give it back to me. I’m taking it home.” Duke didn’t answer right away. He walked over to the counter, picked up my water glass, took a slow sip, and tossed out a careless reply. “Brianna liked it. I gave it to her.” My brain went completely blank. Before I could even process his words, Brianna let out a soft, horrified gasp from behind him. “I… I had no idea that watch was so important, Leila! I think… I think I lost it.” 3 I snapped a step forward, my voice dropping an octave. “Lost it? Where did you lose it?” Duke caught my shoulder, his brows knit tightly. “What are you screaming for? It’s just an old watch.” The air in the living room plunged to sub-zero. Brianna lowered her head, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob in earnest. I whipped my head around to stare Duke down. “That isn’t just a watch! It’s the only heirloom my grandfather left behind!” “I know,” he snapped back, his voice rising. “But when your grandmother handed it over, she said it was for her grandson-in-law. Once she gave it to me, it became my property. I can give my things to whoever I want.” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. I braced my stance, my hands curling into tight, white-knuckled fists. “We haven’t signed a marriage license yet, Duke. That means it isn’t yours. Give it back to me.” “And if you can’t,” I added quietly, “then the engagement is off.” Duke’s face drained of color, turning a mottled, furious grey. “Leila, you’re actually going to throw a massive fit over a damn watch?” “Brianna didn’t lose it on purpose! There’s a limit to how unreasonable you’re allowed to be!” Brianna’s tears streamed down her cheeks in heavy streams. “Duke, please don’t fight with Leila because of me… It’s all my fault. I was careless…” Duke turned to give her a reassuring glance. “This has nothing to do with you. Once a gift is given to me, it’s mine. If I pass it along to you, it becomes yours. If it’s lost, it’s lost.” I stared at his cold, dismissive expression. “Duke, my grandfather’s final keepsake is gone. And your response is ‘if it’s lost, it’s lost’?” “What else do you expect?” he barked. “She’s a young girl, what do you want her to do about it now? Don’t cross the line, Leila.” “Cross the line.” My grandfather’s legacy was gone, and he was accusing “me” of crossing the line. In that quiet second, I realized just how much he had changed. He hadn’t always been like this. During our first year together, when my grandmother heard I was dating someone, she hand-knitted a pair of thick wool gloves and mailed them to him. When he picked up the package, he was so thrilled he posted photos online, claiming he couldn’t bear to wear them out because they were too precious. When my aunt sent jars of pickled vegetables from her garden, he ate them with every meal and even proudly brought them to his corporate office. If a colleague tried to take a bite, he’d guard the jar, declaring it was proof that my family truly approved of him. Back then, he cherished every single detail that came from my home. But ever since he hired Brianna as his personal assistant, he stopped letting my family send anything. He claimed regional food was unrefined and made the apartment smell. Whenever good wine or gourmet snacks arrived at the house, he reserved them all for her. If I uttered a single word of protest, he’d accuse me of being petty and jealous. And now, without my knowledge, he had given away my grandfather’s antique watch. And when Brianna lost it, he turned around and blasted me for being difficult. Or maybe he hadn’t changed at all. Maybe it was just that I had stopped mattering to him a long time ago. “Duke, I’m not joking around with you,” I said softly. “The watch is gone. So are we.” He stared down at me, a thick vein bulging along his temple. “Leila, are you genuinely telling me you want to break off our engagement over a watch?” “I told you. It was never just a watch.” “Have you had enough yet?!” He slammed his hand down onto the entry console with a deafening crack. Brianna flinched, stumbling back a step in terror. She clutched the cheap fifteen-dollar dress against her chest, crying pitifully. “Duke, please stop fighting… Leila, how much was the watch worth? I’ll repay you, okay? I’ll figure out a way to borrow the money right now…” I stood frozen in place. “I am not throwing a tantrum.” Duke’s entire face stretched tight, his teeth grinding so hard I could hear the enamel scrape. He gave me a single, slow nod. “Fine. You want to break off the engagement? Then pack your shit and get the hell out of my apartment.” 4 My heart gave a violent, painful thrash against my ribs. “His apartment.” We bought this place together, splitting the down payment fifty-fifty. I spent months overseeing the contractors, picking out every tile, every light fixture, every piece of furniture. On the day we moved in, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, refusing to let go. We stayed up late talking about where we’d plant hydrangeas on the balcony, where we’d set the dining table, which room would belong to our future child, and which small room we’d turn into a shared study. Back then, he pressed his lips to my temple and whispered, “This is our home.” Now, he called it “his” apartment. And he was telling me to get out. I swallowed down the burning lump in my throat, turned away, and walked over the scattered glass shards on the floor to get to the bedroom. The main boxes were already with the courier. Only a small leather shoulder bag remained on the bed. As I packed my phone charger and wallet inside, Brianna’s tearful voice echoed through the crack in the door. “Duke, Leila definitely doesn’t want to leave… You should go stop her. She’s just speaking out of anger…” Duke’s tone was dripping with dark irritation. “She won’t leave. She’s obsessed with me. She’s just taking advantage of my soft heart, using her grandmother as an excuse to force me into giving her a wedding date.” “If I don’t break this pathetic habit of hers today,” he added, “she’ll think she can manipulate me into anything.” Brianna sniffled softly. “But… what if she actually walks out…” Duke let out a cold, confident scoff. “She doesn’t have the guts. She’ll sleep in some cheap hotel for a couple of days to make a point. Once she cools off, she’ll be on her knees begging me to take her back.” I knelt beside the bed, slipped the diamond engagement ring off my finger, and set it softly on the nightstand. I remembered the day he proposed. It was snowing heavily outside, but he was so nervous his neck was flushed bright red. Our friends were cheering around us while he dropped to one knee, his hands shaking so violently he could barely hold the velvet box. “Leila, I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. Will you marry me?” I had cried so hard my makeup ran down my face. And today, he claimed I was manipulating him into marriage. Eight years of loving him. This was the first time he had ever told me to get out. And it would be the last. I picked up my leather bag, opened the door, and walked straight out. Brianna was still sitting on the sofa dabbling at her eyes while Duke handed her tissues, rubbing her shoulder with gentle, rhythmic strokes. He raised his eyes, caught sight of my small shoulder bag, and a smirk spread across his face—an unmistakable “‘I knew it’” look. I didn’t stop for a fraction of a second. Inside the elevator as it descended, my phone buzzed in my hand. “I’m downstairs. Waiting at the curb.” I walked out of the lobby and opened the passenger door of Glenn’s SUV. He immediately leaned over to take my bag and click my seatbelt into place. “If we bypass the main interstate and stick to the state routes, traffic shouldn’t be too bad,” Glenn said softly, his voice a steady anchor in the dark. “We should reach the hospital before dawn.” I gave a low murmur of assent, pulled out my phone, opened the transit app, and canceled both of the holiday express tickets. A few seconds later, the app flashed green—cancellation successful. Six hundred dollars was refunded straight back to my bank account. I refreshed the screen a second later. The two seats were snatched up instantly by other travelers. Glenn pulled a warm fleece blanket from the back seat, draped it gently over my shoulders, and turned the heater up a notch. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you when we pull into the hospital lot.” “Okay.” The car glided smoothly out of the residential complex. Looking through the side mirror, I watched the warm yellow lights of the balcony grow smaller and smaller. Until the car rounded the corner, and everything dissolved into the pitch-black night. On the official morning of Thanksgiving weekend, Duke loaded up his SUV. The trunk was crammed full of high-end wine, imported tea sets, and luxury gift baskets meant for Brianna’s family. He hadn’t slept well over the last two days. When Leila walked out that night, she had actually left. He was so infuriated that he couldn’t bring himself to step foot inside the primary bedroom, choosing instead to crash on the hard mattress in the guest room. Brianna was worried about driver fatigue, repeatedly reminding him to take it easy on the road. But Duke didn’t want to slow down. He wanted to drop Brianna off at her home, spend a day there, and hurry back. He figured after giving Leila another forty-eight hours to stew alone in a hotel room, she’d finally come back with her head bowed, ready to apologize. When they pulled up to the local station to drop off some paperwork before taking the highway, Duke tried to print a confirmation receipt at the kiosk. The machine beeped red. A station attendant walking past took one glance at the red error screen. “Sir, that prompt means your tickets were canceled and refunded.”

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My ex-husband was on the phone, begging me to save his son. His opening line was a thirty-million-dollar offer. Even after fifteen years, I recognized David’s voice instantly. “You’re just a academic,” he said, his tone as insufferably arrogant as ever. “Could you make thirty million in a lifetime?” Fifteen years ago, David decided I wasn’t pretty enough or rich enough. Worse, he couldn’t stand our chronically ill daughter, viewing her medical bills as an anchor dragging him down. So he walked out and married into old money. Then, when his new wife’s child needed a heart, David took our daughter’s. I spent the next decade and a half buried in research, driven by a quiet, burning obsession. I finally conquered the hereditary degenerative gene disease that had rendered me helpless as a young mother. I published my findings, offering full technical protocols to any patient in need, free of charge. Until the boy who stole my daughter’s heart was diagnosed with the exact same condition. When David submitted a request for my treatment protocols, I tore the paperwork to shreds and rejected him on the spot. On the phone, his voice bristled with entitlement. “Name your price. We don’t need your charity. As long as my son recovers, no amount is too much.” I let out a cold laugh, staring at the framed photograph of my late daughter resting on my desk. “Anyone else,” I whispered. “Never him.” … The second I hung up, I submitted my resignation. And I demanded to take the proprietary gene-recombination protocols with me. Mark, the head of the research facility, sat behind his mahogany desk, his mouth slightly agape. “Dr. Sullivan, that boy meets every single criteria for your free technical support program,” Mark said, his voice laced with disbelief. “Why are you refusing him? And why walk away with the technology now?” I kept my face entirely impassive. “Mark, my only condition when I partnered with this institute was that I retained one hundred percent authority over the gene-recombination technology. I know my refusal puts the institute in a difficult position with high-profile donors. That’s why I’m leaving.” I laid my formal resignation letter on the blotter and turned to walk out. Behind me, Mark’s voice rose in frustration. “You’ve approved every single patient without hesitation. Why is this boy any different?” I didn’t turn around. “Because it’s him,” I answered silently. “Only him.” My mind drifted back to the formal medical request David had submitted—the desperate, blood-soaked entreaties typed onto heavy cardstock. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I rushed into the executive restroom and dry-heaved over a porcelain sink. David Vaughn calling himself a father who would give everything for his child? It was laughable. It was sickening. Years ago, when he abandoned me for lack of money, I didn’t hold a grudge. When he resented our sick daughter, I told myself that prolonged illness wears down even the strongest bonds. I didn’t curse him then. But he sacrificed my little girl to save another woman’s child. Back then, he had looked me in the eye and said, “Joy was going to die anyway. Giving up her heart means saving a life.” I splashed ice-cold water over my face. Turning off the faucet, I looked into the mirror, but the cold water did nothing to extinguish the rage burning inside my chest. In this world, I would save anyone. Except them. Holding a box of my personal belongings, I walked out through the main gates of the institute. Engine roaring, a crimson sports car suddenly slammed its accelerator, barreling straight toward me. I couldn’t dodge in time. My foot caught on the curb, and I tumbled hard onto the asphalt. The car screeched to a halt less than two feet from my legs. The driver’s side window slid down, revealing a face etched with cruel amusement. “I told you on the phone, Dr. Sullivan. Refusing to save my son won’t end well for you.” I would know that voice anywhere. David. Seeing him again after fifteen years made my fingers clench into tight, trembling fists. He didn’t even bother getting out of the car. He sat behind the leather wheel, dripping with arrogance. “The board just ousted you,” he sneered. “I wrote the institute a check for thirty million. My son will be receiving the gene-recombination therapy tomorrow.” He leaned closer to the window, his eyes narrowing. “As for a heartless doctor like you who lets a child suffer—I’ve made sure no medical institution in Seattle will ever employ you again. You’ll be driven out of this city like a stray dog.” I let out a low, dry laugh as I pulled myself up off the pavement. “Is that so? Then I wish your son a speedy recovery.” Hearing my voice, David paused. He stared at me intently, his eyes tracing the contours of my face. But in the end, he didn’t recognize me. A severe chemical exposure in the lab years ago had severely burned my face, leaving it swollen for nearly a year. By the time the skin healed, my features had completely altered. And my name had changed, too. David stroked his chin, confused by the unfamiliar face, before trying a different angle. “Dr. Sullivan, I hear you’ve been looking to buy a specific burial plot overlooking the ocean, but the current owners refuse to sell.” He paused, a smug smile touching his lips. “I also hear your late daughter wished to rest near the water. We bought that plot for you. Save my son, and you can finally fulfill your daughter’s dying wish.” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. He had actually dug into my past. If it hadn’t been for him, I would have taken Joy to see the ocean while she was still breathing. What use was an empty piece of land now? “Mr. Vaughn,” I said, my voice dripping with disdain. “You certainly go to great lengths for an adopted son.” “I have always considered him my flesh and blood,” David snapped, his voice tight. “Try to understand a father’s heart, Dr. Sullivan. I would tear the world apart for him.” “Tear the world apart?” It was sickening. Watching David’s eyes turn slightly bloodshot with dramatic emotion, I felt the thin thread of my sanity fraying. If I stayed here a second longer, I would strangle him with my bare hands. “Never,” I spat out, turning on my heel and walking away. That evening, my phone buzzed again. It was David. He was breathing heavily, his voice trembling with unbridled rage. “Hannah Sullivan! You’re a medical researcher—how can your heart be this cold? You’d rather ruin your career than save a boy? You took the technology and walked away—are you trying to let my son die?” I let out a cold smirk. “Mr. Vaughn, instead of wasting your breath yelling at me, you ought to look for another way to save him. He wasn’t diagnosed until fifteen. At that age, the genetic mutation spreads dozens of times faster than in toddlers. By now, he can’t even swallow solid food on his own, can he?” David gritted his teeth, his tone lethal. “Just you wait.” I hung up and brushed the call aside. Yet early the next morning, I received a call from Professor Reynolds. He had been my mentor during my doctorate studies, a legendary figure in genetic research who had long since retired and rarely meddled in institutional affairs. For him to reach out directly meant David had pulled massive strings. I walked into Professor Reynolds’ home study. Sitting opposite him was a woman draped in an immaculate designer suit. She turned around, her sharp eyes sweeping over me with cold evaluation. “Dr. Sullivan, let me introduce you,” Professor Reynolds said gently. “This is Victoria Prescott, CEO of Prescott Capital.” David’s wealthy wife. I had seen her face in financial journals over the years. Professor Reynolds started to say more, but Victoria cut him off with a swift wave of her manicured hand. “Dr. Sullivan, let’s skip the pleasantries. Fifty million, wired directly to your personal account. Save my son.” Money really was power in her world. Just like years ago, when she wanted a matching heart for her boy, she simply reached out and took another child’s life. Unfortunately for her, I didn’t care about money. “Mrs. Prescott, save your breath. I can’t help your son.” “Eighty million,” she countered immediately, her eyes locking onto mine. “Plus a hundred million in direct funding for your next private research project. I hear you’ve been looking for backers.” The offer was so absurdly generous that even Professor Reynolds looked visibly shaken. He stepped forward and tapped my arm gently. “Hannah, that boy is Victoria’s whole world. He was born with severe congenital heart disease and barely survived infancy. They finally found a matching donor for a transplant, and now this genetic nightmare hits him.” He searched my eyes. “Have a heart for a grieving parent. You used to be the most empathetic researcher I knew.” I pulled my arm back from Professor Reynolds’ touch, keeping my voice as level as possible. “I can’t save him. I’ve left the institute, and I am stepping away from medicine permanently.” Professor Reynolds frowned deeply. Victoria stood up from her leather chair, the cutthroat instinct honed by decades in corporate boardrooms radiating from her. “You “can’t” save him, or you “won’t”?” she demanded, her voice dropping an octave. “You offer this technology to complete strangers for free, yet when it comes to my son, you make endless excuses. You are doing this on purpose!” Her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fists. I let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Mrs. Prescott, money can’t buy everything. Fate has a way of balancing the scales.” I stepped closer, meeting her gaze. “Years ago, you bought a heart with money. Today, no amount of cash will buy my technology.” Victoria went completely still. Her eyes narrowed into deadly slits, probing my face. “Dr. Sullivan,” she said softly, a dangerous edge to her words. “You’re just a bookworm who spends her life in a lab. Do you have any idea what happens to people who cross me?” I tugged at the corner of my mouth. “I don’t. But instead of wasting your time threatening me, you should probably spend it buying him another miracle.” Victoria swept out of the office, her heels clicking angrily against the hardwood floor. Silence settled over the study. Professor Reynolds looked at me, his expression torn. “Hannah, what is going on with you? Saving lives was the whole reason you developed this therapy.” He paused, searching my face. “Do you have a personal vendetta against Mrs. Prescott? Or against that boy?” I took a quiet breath. “Both.” I knew David wouldn’t let it go. The next afternoon, he cornered me outside my apartment building. “Dr. Sullivan!” He bowed his head low the moment he saw me. “I was out of line last time. I apologize. Please, I beg you, save my son.” I walked past him without a word. “I made myself clear to Mrs. Prescott.” As I reached the street, David let out a desperate shout: “Dr. Sullivan! I’m begging you!” He rushed forward and threw himself onto his knees right beside my feet. The tears came on cue. Instantly, a crowd of reporters and photographers—clearly tipped off in advance—swarmed from behind the parked vans, lenses trained directly on us. “Dr. Sullivan, please, save my boy!” David sobbed, his voice carrying down the street. “He’s only fifteen. I can’t sit here and watch him die!” He looked up at the cameras, his face twisted in agonized grief. “Everyone calls you a saint! You never turn down a patient who asks for help. Why are you letting my son die?” He slammed his hands onto the pavement. “I’ll kneel, I’ll beg, I’ll be your servant—just save him!” He made a grand gesture of bowing his head toward the concrete. I took three quick steps back, watching his performance with cold disgust. I caught the subtle glance he threw toward the camera crew behind him. A second later, the media pack descended on me like vultures. “Dr. Sullivan, why won’t you treat this child? Is it because they didn’t offer enough money?” “Is your ‘charity work’ just a publicity stunt to build your brand? If you’re so compassionate, why leave this father to suffer?” “Refusing care when you hold the cure is morally monstrous! You’re essentially committing murder!” Facing the barrage of hostility, I dropped a single sentence before pushing through the crowd: “I have resigned. What happens to patients is no longer my responsibility.” By the next morning, photos of David kneeling on the pavement had exploded across news outlets and social media. My quote was plastered across major headlines, framed as the cold-hearted demand of a greedy scientist trying to extort the Prescott family. The internet tore me apart, labeling me a fraud, a hypocrite, and a monster trading on human life. Mark pounded furiously on my front door later that afternoon. “Hannah, what do you actually want? Just tell me!” he pleaded, his voice ragged with anxiety. “Do you have any idea what people are saying about you? About our institute?” He paced my small living room. “No PR firm will touch this. Public opinion is entirely against you! You spent fifteen years building a flawless reputation—do you really want to end up an outcast?” I looked out the window at the paparazzi parked down the street, my answer unchanged. “I won’t do it.” Mark left in a fury. Professor Reynolds came by later, offered a long, heavy sigh, and left as well. Alone in the quiet apartment, I brushed my fingers over the framed photograph of my daughter. I swore to her in the silence of the room: No matter what they did, I would never save that boy. David needed to taste the exact, unadulterated hell he had put me through. I just didn’t realize how filthy his tactics would get. Late that evening, David sent me a text, instructing me to open an attached video link. As the video loaded, a cold dread crept up my spine. “Dr. Sullivan,” David’s voice echoed from the speaker. “I heard your daughter died of the exact same disease. I thought I’d pay her a visit today.” In the frame, David and Victoria stood inside the wrought-iron gates of Blue Ridge Cemetery, right in front of Joy’s small marble headstone. Behind them stood several men holding shovels and power drills. David stood under an umbrella, a sneer twisting his face. “I just wanted to save my son, Dr. Sullivan. But you refused to play nice. So don’t blame me for what happens next.” He tilted the camera toward the headstone. “You might not know this, but Blue Ridge Cemetery is owned by a subsidiary of Prescott Capital. If you’re heartless enough to let my son die, I have no problem digging up your daughter.” Panic seized my chest. I ran to my car, my hands shaking so violently I could barely fit the key into the ignition. I dialed David’s number as I sped toward the highway. He didn’t pick up until the third call. “David!” I screamed into the receiver. “If you touch my daughter’s grave, so help me God—” There was a brief pause on the line. He sounded startled by the way I addressed him. “Dr. Sullivan, if you won’t save my son, I don’t have many options left.” Victoria took the phone from him. Her voice was icy and controlled. “Agree to perform the procedure, and I’ll order them to stop immediately. I’ll even deed that oceanfront plot to your little girl.” “We are both mothers, Hannah,” she added smoothly. “I save my son, and you fulfill your daughter’s memory. Isn’t that a win-win?” “A win-win?” When my daughter was cremated, her tiny body didn’t even have a heart inside it. With proper care, Joy could have survived long enough for me to complete the gene-recombination research. She could have lived to be fifteen, twenty-five, thirty-five… And these monsters stole her life so their boy could thrive. How could I ever say yes? Why should I? I slammed the phone down, pulled over, and hastily pulled up a contact in my phone—a former investigative journalist turned independent media broadcaster. “Dr. Sullivan? You’re the biggest story in the country right now—” “Do you want to know why I refused to save that child?” I cut in, my voice dead serious. “Are you offering an exclusive? When? Where?” “Blue Ridge Cemetery,” I said. “Go live right now.” My contact moved fast. By the time my car screeched to a halt at the cemetery gates, his crew had already deployed their mobile streaming gear. The notification had gone viral instantly. Dozens of local reporters and independent streamers had scrambled to the location, their cameras pointed at the scene. I sprinted down the paved path toward Joy’s burial site. Ahead, David was holding his phone, recording as a worker pushed Joy’s headstone, topping it into the grass. My friend’s livestream room hit hundreds of thousands of viewers in seconds. “What the hell? They’re desecrating a grave? Who does that headstone belong to?” “Is that the doctor’s kid? I heard her daughter was buried here.” “Serves her right for letting a child die for money. Her kid probably can’t rest in peace anyway…” I walked slowly toward the couple, the crowd of cameras following my every step. I pointed directly at the faded picture of the little girl on the fallen stone, my voice echoing cold across the cemetery. “David Vaughn. It’s been fifteen years—do you really not recognize your own daughter?” “Have you forgotten how you stole her heart and handed it to Victoria Prescott’s son?”

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My best friend and I didn’t just transmigrate—we dropped straight into a trashy billionaire romance novel. She landed the jackpot as the pampered, treasured wife of a ruthless CEO. I got stuck as a bottom-tier, D-list starlet who almost ended up as the late-night snack for a lecherous old Hollywood executive. Fortunately, my best friend barged in just in time to pull me out of the fire. To make up for my narrow escape—and to ensure I finally experienced some physical bliss after being single for two whole lifetimes—she arranged a shotgun marriage between me and her husband’s childhood friend: a broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted crime boss with a body carved out of granite. At the time, drool practically spilled from the corner of my mouth. Waking up every night buried in those rock-hard abs and sculpted hips seemed like a dream come true. Except we’ve been married for a full year now, and every single night I throw myself at him, I don’t get so much as a single crumb of action. I finally broke down and cried to my best friend. “He has a physical issue! It doesn’t matter how starving I am, the man is broken!” She pulled me into an embrace and burst into tears too. “Well, my idiot husband can’t produce an heir! I’m losing my mind over here!” We both thought about the original plot of the book—specifically, the saintly main heroine who was due to return from abroad any day now to kick off the story’s main drama. We looked at each other, our necks suddenly feeling very cold. “So… run away overseas?” “Hell yes. Foreign male models sound a lot better anyway!” A few days later, a tragic accident off a mountain cliff took the lives of the CEO’s wife and the mob boss’s bride. Meanwhile, far across the ocean, two newly minted wealthy divorcées were sitting poolside, surrounded by sun-kissed, broad-chested eye candy. … When my best friend found me, my sleazy talent manager was in the middle of delivering me like a wrapped present onto an old man’s bed. I was staring up at a seventy-year-old studio executive, watching his fake teeth glint in the dim lighting as he leaned in for a kiss. The book, the plot, my meta-knowledge—everything vanished from my brain. I was utterly terrified. Was the innocence I’d guarded across two lifetimes really going to be ruined right here? Suddenly, the door was kicked off its hinges. My best friend burst in like a storm, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Get your hands off her!” She marched over and kicked the old creep so hard he tumbled off the mattress, knocked out cold on the carpet. Before I could process what was happening, she grabbed my trembling, barely dressed self and shoved me straight into the arms of the towering, sharp-jawed man standing beside her. He immediately stripped off his tailored wool coat—still holding his body heat—and wrapped it tightly around me, pulling me flush against his chest. In that fleeting second, my heart genuinely skipped a beat. Fast forward to tonight, though? All I want is a divorce. Another failed attempt. This was the three hundred and sixty-fifth night of our marriage, and my three hundred and sixty-fifth consecutive rejection. “What exactly are you trying to do?” Damian stood by the edge of the bed, looking down at my slumping, defeated form. His expression was icy, tinged with a sharp edge of impatience. I swallowed hard, the words “I’m trying to sleep with you” dying right on my tongue. Based on my deductions over the past year, he was almost certainly suffering from severe erectile dysfunction. I mean, what kind of alpha mob boss with an eight-pack and a lethal waistline can resist a woman throwing herself at him night after night? Any normal man would have snapped. Yet Damian remained utterly untouched. Every night, no matter how late his business ran—whether he was handling dark-alley negotiations or corporate takeovers—he flew back home just to sleep in the same bed with me. Even if he only had fifteen minutes to spare before dawn, he came back. At first, that quiet dedication made my heart flutter. But his subsequent coldness slowly turned that warmth into ice. It didn’t matter how sheer my lingerie was, or that I had secretly laced his dinner with an extra-strength male enhancement supplement tonight. He remained an impenetrable fortress. Without a single word, he simply pushed me aside and retreated to the master bathroom for another freezing shower. Tonight, my frustration finally boiled over. I ripped off my sheer lace nightgown and silk stockings, marched over, and planted myself angrily on his lap. I balled up my fists and feebly beat against his solid chest muscle. “Do you just find me repulsive?” Damian’s dark eyes turned dangerously stormy, like a caged predator fighting against the iron chains of its own restraint. A surge of hope spiked in my chest. I grabbed his hand, guiding it toward my inner thigh— The moment his skin brushed mine, he flinched as if struck by lightning, turned on his heel, and fled the room. The triumph on my face withered before it even fully bloomed. My mouth trembled, and the tears came spilling out. It had been a whole year. You could thaw a block of ice in a year. Yet this stubborn man had never shown me a shred of genuine affection beyond showing up to share a mattress. When I had an emergency appendectomy a few months ago, he wasn’t there. I had to call an Uber to the hospital by myself in the middle of the night. His underlings knew I was just a trophy wife with zero standing; none of them ever showed me an ounce of respect, never even calling me “ma’am.” Thinking about the flashier, glamorous socialites who constantly hovered around him, I made up my mind. Why stay tied to a man who didn’t even view me as his real wife? I picked up my phone and called my best friend. “Macy… I want a divorce.” Macy didn’t even ask why. She immediately launched into a thirty-minute profanity-laced tirade against Damian, berating him until my sniffling turned into quiet giggles. Once she was sure I wasn’t weeping anymore, she ordered her driver to pull up to my estate in her Bugatti. The moment she stepped into my dressing room, she wrapped me in a fierce hug. “Maeve, look at you. You look exhausted. Has Damian been neglecting you this whole time?” She immediately pulled out her phone, intending to demand her husband haul Damian back home by his collar. I panicked and grabbed her wrist. Compared to the multi-million-dollar deals Damian and her husband threw around every hour, I was a nobody. I didn’t dare test my weight against his empire. Neglect didn’t even cover it. Aside from those few silent hours in bed each night, Damian was a ghost. Half his time was spent overseas or dealing with turf wars in dangerous corners of the world. Sometimes he’d slip into bed at three in the morning, and if I didn’t catch the familiar scent of his cologne, my half-asleep brain would assume an intruder had broken in. When I first transmigrated into this world, I was constantly on edge. The trauma of being drugged and nearly sold off by my former manager had left me jumpy, terrified of the dark. It took months before I stopped flinching every time a man stepped into my personal space. Thank God Macy had shown up that night. After our tearful reunion back then, Macy explained the terrifying reality: we were trapped inside a dramatic billionaire romance novel. She was currently playing the role of the male lead’s adored wife, but her reign was temporary. The moment the author’s official “golden girl”—the sweet, innocent Kinsley—returned from her studies abroad in a year’s time, Macy would be cast aside. Desperate to build a safety net, Macy had begged her husband to introduce me to his wealthy, feared childhood friend. We had been so naive. We thought with my hourglass figure, killer curves, and striking looks, wrapping him around my finger would be a breeze. In my past life, I was notoriously difficult to win over; a line of suitors had pursued me endlessly, only to be turned down flat. I was picky. Across two lifetimes, I had only ever let my guard down once. Damian had agreed to marry me, but he treated our marriage like a chore he was legally obligated to check off a list. I let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. “My husband has a bit of a… functional issue. I was too embarrassed to tell you before.” I gathered every ounce of my courage and rushed through the rest: “It’s been a year, Macy. I’m practically starving to death in a desert here. Would you hate me if I divorced him?” Macy’s usually bright, expressive face went completely blank. “Wait… what do you mean starving? Are you short on money?” I winced, glaring at her through flushed cheeks. Understanding slowly dawned on her. Her face cycled from pink to pale, until finally, tears welled up in her large eyes, and she burst into heavy sobs. My head throbbed. I leaned in, gently patting her back to soothe her. “Hey, I’m the one divorcing my husband! Why are you crying harder than I am?” She choked back a sob, hesitation written all over her face before she finally confessed. “You don’t understand… Calvin has an issue too. He can’t have children. I’ve been wanting to tell you for months.” She wiped her cheeks, her voice dropping into an angry whisper. “I want a divorce too. Honestly, I’d rather go hire a dozen European male models.” She blinked her tear-stained eyes, her anger flaring up. “You know how much I wanted a family, Maeve. Ever since we landed in this world two years ago, I’ve been trying everything. Hormones, painful IVF injections, acupuncture—I went through hell! And I just found out last week that the medical issue was “his” all along! He let me suffer through all those procedures without saying a word!” Macy and I had grown up together in the same underfunded orphanage, leaning on each other to survive. Though she looked like a glamorous, head-strong diva on the outside, she was deeply gentle at heart, craving the warmth of a real family more than anything. In our past life, she had been naive enough to trust the wrong men—once even losing a pregnancy late in the term because of an abusive ex. Having a child of her own was her deepest, most tender wish. And I, having witnessed the dark side of humanity far too often, had spent my youth avoiding romantic entanglements entirely. Who could have guessed that after two years in a romance novel, she still couldn’t have her family, and I was still a total virgin? “Look,” I nudged her shoulder gently, trying to offer a silver lining. “Calvin is going to cast you aside once Kinsley gets back anyway. When that happens, you can find whoever you want to build a family with. The main priority right now is getting me out of this marriage smoothly.” Macy’s weeping grew louder. “Even if he sets me free, he’s too possessive! He’d never let me have a child with another man!” She wiped her face, looking utterly bewildered. “I don’t get it. He has no problem fulfilling his ‘marital duties’ every single night like clockwork, so why is he infertile? And how is your massive, six-foot-two mob boss husband unable to even get off the ground?” I sank into a deep funk. Calvin—a guy who spent eighteen hours a day sitting behind an executive desk—could perform daily, but Damian, built like a brick wall with peak physical conditioning, couldn’t manage a single move? Macy dried her tears, her expression turning surprisingly solemn. “I know you actually fell for him, Maeve. Are you really sure about the divorce?” I nodded without a second thought. “Then I’m leaving too!” She threw her arms around my waist, clinging to me like a koala. I gave her a deadpan look. “Since when do people do joint divorces?” “Calvin’s control issues are insane,” I added, trying to be realistic. “He’ll never just sign a paper and let you walk.” A dark, beautiful smile spread across her face. “Who said anything about signing papers? Let’s just run away.” Running away was a territory we were both intimately familiar with. In our past life, whenever a stalker or an abusive ex became too dangerous to handle, we used the exact same tactic. We quickly hammered out the details. We would meet three days from now at the St. Jude Cliffside Sanctuary—a secluded mountain retreat tucked far away from the city center. I would secure international plane tickets, untraceable offshore accounts, and most importantly, brand-new legal identities that would allow us to settle quietly in a picturesque European town for the rest of our lives. I also reminded Macy repeatedly to keep an eye on Kinsley’s arrival schedule. Stirring up buzz about Kinsley’s return would keep Calvin distracted, drawing his obsessive focus away from Macy’s day-to-day movements. My end was simpler. Damian didn’t care enough about my daily routine to monitor me anyway. Macy’s eyes brimmed with tears again as she nodded dutifully. Looking at her soft, vulnerable expression, my own throat felt tight. We had never hurt a soul across two lifetimes. Why was it so hard for us to get the simple happiness we wanted? When Calvin’s head housekeeper arrived at the front gate to remind Macy it was time to return home, she pulled herself together, adjusted her oversized designer sunglasses, and slipped into the back of her town car. I turned back into the silent house and sank into the middle of our cold, three-meter-wide king bed. Somewhere in the haze between sleep and waking, I felt a familiar warmth against my side—the firm contour of broad chest muscles—and heard a faint, barely audible sigh near my ear. I forced my eyelids open. Damian was actually back, lying right beside me. Sensing my movement, he opened his eyes, his dark gaze instantly locking onto mine with its usual sharp intensity. But a fraction of a second later, as he realized I was awake, a flicker of profound tenderness softened his features before vanishing just as quickly behind a mask of indifference. A heavy ache settled in my chest. “I must be hallucinated,” I thought. “How could a man like him ever look at me with tenderness?” Still, I couldn’t stop staring at him, desperately searching his face for any sign that I hadn’t imagined it. Damian’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening slightly. I jerked my head away, suddenly self-conscious. My eyes were probably swollen into tiny slits, my nose bright red from crying earlier. I must have looked terrible. “I… I was watching a sad movie with Macy earlier,” I muttered, scrambling for an excuse as I tried to sit up. “It was a real tearjerker. I’m going to get some ice for my eyes.” “Don’t bother.” Damian’s hand shot out, catching my wrist. With a gentle pull of his long arm, I nearly tumbled right back against his chest. My body went rigid. I scrambled backward, putting a clear three feet of distance between us on the mattress. A flash of genuine surprise crossed his dark eyes at my sudden retreat. Usually, the moment he stepped into this room, I was hanging off him, running my hands over his abs, his chest, his shoulders—taking whatever physical contact I could get. He stared at me, his voice low and unreadable. “What were you and Macy talking about for so long?” “She was asking me if your physical dysfunction means you’re soft, small, or just fast,” I thought bitterly. But there was no way I was brave enough to voice those lethal words out loud. I let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, nothing much. She was just asking how I was feeling.” “Was she criticizing me for letting you go to the hospital alone that night?” Damian’s gaze drifted down to the distinct line of empty space I had deliberately maintained between us. Before I could come up with a polite response, his tone turned clipped and cold. “The estate has a full staff and a resident physician on call twenty-four hours a day. You chose to cause a scene and take a cab to an emergency room yourself.” They treated me like an invisible ghost! Who was I supposed to command? Remembering how completely he had ignored my existence during those terrifying hours, anger flared in my chest. “Why do you even care? It’s not like my health matters to you anyway!” His dark eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t care?” He let out a cold, sharp breath. “What kind of wife spends every waking hour avoiding her own home, constantly running off to stay with Macy?” I mumbled under my breath, “If I don’t hang out with my best friend, who else am I supposed to talk to? You’d probably lose your mind if I started hanging out with other men instead.” He didn’t catch the full sentence, assuming I was simply submitting to his lecture. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. Knowing that in forty-eight hours I would be on a flight to Europe surrounded by handsome strangers, I decided to let the anger go and just play along. I offered him a sweet, entirely fake smile. “Right. Understood, my dangerous boss. I won’t go over there anymore.” Damian looked visibly caught off guard by my sudden compliance. A faint, telltale flush crept up the back of his neck, though his voice remained stern. “Good. As long as you understand.” I rolled over, turning my back to him and letting out a quiet sigh. Deep down, I understood why he was so paranoid about my connection to Macy. But understanding a man’s paranoia and living under it were two entirely different things. I still vividly remembered our wedding night. I had expected sparks, passion, maybe even a little danger. Instead, he had stood at the foot of our flower-covered bed, wrapped in a cold aura, and dropped a single instruction: “Now that you’re my wife, minimize your contact with anyone associated with Calvin’s company. That includes Macy.” Then he turned and walked out, leaving me sitting alone on the massive red duvet in utter disbelief. He didn’t return until well past midnight, slipping under the covers without touching me. I had held a grudge over that night for months. It was only later that I pieced together the brutal reality of his world. His relationship with Calvin was nowhere near as friendly as it appeared on the surface, and Macy’s family carried massive corporate ambitions of their own. The three powerful factions were locked in a constant, high-stakes battle over the same lucrative markets. Accidents happened all the time. Damian’s right-hand man had mysteriously vanished during a maritime operation two years ago, and no one had ever found out who ordered the hit. I had tried to tell him that Macy would never be involved in something so sinister, but he refused to take the risk. In the dark room, he let out a quiet cough, reaching out to gently encase my small hand in his large palm. “Just stay safely at home from now on, okay?” I smiled into the darkness, leaving the question unanswered. Kinsley was flying back into the country the day after tomorrow. I wouldn’t be trapped in his house much longer anyway. The sheer excitement of escaping with Macy kept my brain buzzing, making sleep impossible. I lay there in the quiet room, mentally reviewing every step of our escape plan. It was only when his breathing turned deep and rhythmic beside me that I realized Damian had fallen asleep. In his sleep, the terrifying mob boss dropped his sharp, guarded edge. His facial features relaxed, making him look surprisingly approachable, almost gentle. Suddenly, he shifted in his sleep, his long arm sweeping across the mattress and pulling me firmly into his chest. The movement was so natural, so fluid, it felt like something he had done ten thousand times in his dreams. Wrapped against his radiating warmth, resting against the solid expanse of his broad chest, an undeniable sense of safety washed over me. It had been two years since Macy and I landed in this world. During that first year in the entertainment industry, I had fought through the mud, seeing the absolute worst of human greed. As a gorgeous, unprotected D-list actress, I was constantly sabotaged by rivals and cornered by sleazy executives. That terrible night in the old producer’s room hadn’t even been the only close call. It had left me with severe nighttime anxiety. For months, the moment darkness fell and I was left alone, terror would grip my chest, leaving me shivering under the covers until dawn. Yet ever since I married Damian, despite my constant complaints about his coldness, he had been there every single night. I had never voiced my fear of the dark to him, but without realizing it, his quiet, constant presence had cured my insomnia. I hadn’t shivered alone in the dark once since the day I wore his ring. Maybe my quiet shifting woke him. His deep, gravelly baritone vibrated against my ear, low and dark with sleep. “Cold?” My heart slammed against my ribs. I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to be fast asleep. He gently reached down, pulling the duvet higher over my shoulders and tucking it securely around my back before drawing me even closer. Resting his chin lightly atop my head, his warm, steady breath fanned across my hair, making my face burn red. Truthfully, we had never been this physically intimate during our waking hours. The intense, comforting heat of his body created a faint, dangerous lingering ache in my chest. I shook my head internally, forcefully clearing the thought away. “There are plenty of strong, warm men in the world,” I reminded myself sternly. “Why waste your life obsessing over a man who refuses to give you his heart?” Now that I was leaving, I shouldn’t let his physique confuse my mind. Though… I couldn’t help wondering if other men would have chest muscles this firm, or shoulders quite as broad and protective as Damian’s… Lost in my chaotic thoughts, I eventually drifted off to sleep. By noon the next day, I had gathered my personal savings—several property deeds and a set of untraceable global black cards I had painstakingly accumulated over the years. Under the guise of a weekend mountain getaway, I drove deep into the remote wilderness, following a winding trail to a secluded cabin where Ryder was waiting. When I handed him the satchel containing my assets, Ryder looked at me, his sharp, dark eyes entirely clear and calm. “Are you absolutely sure you want to walk away from him?” Ryder was a former military contractor, only three years older than me, but remarkably precise, quiet, and reliable. We had met a year ago when he was hired to protect a high-profile film lead. During a chaotic security breach, I had managed to pull him away seconds before a vehicle exploded. Ever since, he had held a strict personal debt of honor to me, promising to grant me one favor, no questions asked. When I first suspected Damian’s physical issues months ago, the idea of fleeing had taken root. I just hadn’t possessed the courage to execute it until now, waiting until the book’s original plot forced my hand. “Yes,” I said quietly, nodding once. I quickly reviewed the final rendezvous details for our destination overseas. “On September tenth, Macy and I will head up to the St. Jude Cliffside Sanctuary under the pretense of praying for good fortune…” Ryder nodded calmly, reassuring me: “Everything for your new identities is ready. Once the two of you go over the overlook cliff, my team will secure you at the base and transport you directly to the airfield.” Once every detail was locked in, Ryder paused, asking a surprisingly personal question. “Can you really let him go?” I gave a bitter, quiet smile. It wasn’t a matter of wanting to let go; it was simply that my heart had finally run out of hope. That night, Damian came home late again. He carried the faint scent of damp night air mixed with his familiar cedar-and-citrus body wash as he slid into bed beside me. Knowing this was one of the very last nights I would ever spend beside him, a sudden wave of reckless emotion washed over me. I rolled over, pressing myself tightly against his firm chest, my arm wrapping around his solid waist. Driven by a mix of desperation and curiosity, I let my hand slide lower, reaching past his waistline… In an instant, his breathing hitched, turning harsh and heavy. My face burned with shame, but I didn’t pull back. As bold as I had been over the past year, this particular area had always been an absolute off-limits zone. I had been terrified that if I exposed his secret, he would eliminate me to protect his pride. Suddenly, a scorching, incredibly massive ridge hardened violently beneath my fingertips, surging against my palm with undeniable force.

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The first time I found a necklace tucked under the passenger seat of my fiancé’s car, his mother called me herself to explain. “Mallory, sweetheart, you’re overthinking it. I accidentally dropped that necklace in Jason’s car last weekend.” The second time, it was two movie ticket stubs. His best friend tagged me in a group chat before I could even bring it up: Don’t get any crazy ideas, sister-in-law. I had Jason buy those tickets for me. The third time, the fourth time… every single instance after that, someone stepped out from the shadows with a neat, airtight explanation ready. Until the ninth time. I pulled a tube of designer lipstick from the gap between the leather seats and held it up right in front of his face. “Whose is this?” Jason’s hands on the steering wheel gave a micro-flinch, almost imperceptible. Then, with practiced ease, he dialed a number on speakerphone. “Hey, who left a tube of lipstick in my car?” The voices on the other end belonged to my own younger brother and my absolute best friend. “Jason? Oh, man, so that’s where it went!” my brother, Colin, laughed into the receiver. “Samantha searched all over for that shade. But seriously, Sis, are you getting paranoid again? What did everyone say at the last dinner? If you keep making these baseless scenes, maybe you two shouldn’t even get married.” Samantha jumped right in, her tone dripping with exasperation. “Exactly, Mallory. Jason treats you like a queen and you know it. You’re really pushing it this time.” The line went dead. Jason turned to me, his expression a picture of gentle, wounded innocence. “See? Will you finally stop doubting me now?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is the ninth time, Mallory. If you’re going to throw a tantrum over every tiny thing, maybe we really should reconsider the wedding…” I looked at him, feeling a sudden, icy calm wash over me. I smiled and cut him off. “Then let’s not bother. Let’s cancel the whole thing.” What Jason didn’t know was that the lipstick didn’t belong to some secret mistress. Nor did it belong to Samantha. I had bought it myself and intentionally dropped it down the seat cushion. It was my final test—a trap designed to see just how far everyone in my life would go to cover up his affair. … “I’ve already called the venue and canceled the reception,” I said quietly. “Make sure you notify your friends and family.” Jason slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched against the asphalt. “Mallory, are you out of your mind?!” He spun around to face me, his face darkening completely. “What, now you don’t even believe your own brother and best friend? Is that it?” He leaned closer, his voice laced with venomous disgust. “Maybe you really do need to see a psychiatrist. Normal people don’t love like this. You won’t even trust your own blood—how the hell am I supposed to prove my innocence to you?” “If we don’t even have basic trust, what is the point of this marriage?” Before I could answer, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID, and the harsh aggression on his face melted instantly into something agonizingly soft. “I have business to attend to,” he said, staring straight ahead. “Go home and reflect on your behavior. I’ll pretend this conversation never happened today.” The black Mercedes sped away without a second glance, leaving me standing alone on the curb. I didn’t go home. I hailed a cab and followed the signal from the location tracker I had slipped into his car weeks ago. Half an hour later, the tracker stopped at an upscale waterfront restaurant overlooking the bay. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, I watched a lavish, bustling party in full swing—a baby’s one-month milestone celebration. The dining room was filled with familiar faces, clinking glasses, laughing, celebrating. And at the center of it all sat a woman holding a newborn. Around her neck was the very pearl necklace I had found in Jason’s car the first time. Tied in her hair was the velvet scrunchie I had pulled from his coat pocket the third time… When my eyes finally locked onto her face, the fragile composure I had maintained for weeks shattered into dust. It was her. A month ago, while I was on shift as a surgeon, an IV bag issue led to a minor blood reflux in a patient. It was a routine clinical hiccup, easily fixed, but the patient’s family used it to accuse me of medical negligence, taking their complaint straight to the hospital board. During the heated confrontation in the hallway, the patient’s bodyguard shoved me hard against a metal cart. My right wrist fractured on impact, and the hospital suspended me pending an investigation. And now, right inside that glass room, stood my brother, Colin—the devoted defense attorney who had supposedly been working day and night to clear my name from that lawsuit. He was currently smiling, eagerly taking shots of liquor on behalf of that very same woman. Beside him was Samantha—my best friend, who had supposedly screamed at hospital administrators on my behalf and stayed up late writing my appeal. She was bustling around the dining room, happily greeting guests for the mother. And then there was Jason, who just minutes ago had shouted at me about basic trust and innocence. “Jason, you’re late!” someone teased from the main table. “Aren’t you going to make it up to the mother of your child?” Smiling, Jason wrapped his arm around the woman’s waist, leaned down, and kissed her deeply on the lips as the room erupted into cheers. Every single piece of the puzzle fell into place with brutal, agonizing clarity. They were her family. It was them who had inflated a minor medical mistake into a career-ending scandal, just to ruin me, to strip away my livelihood. A wave of nausea hit me, followed by a searing, burning heat that rushed to my face. To be lied to, manipulated, and played like a fool by the people I loved most in this world… I had never known a humiliation so absolute. My phone vibrated in my hand. It was a notification from the hospital’s human resources portal: [Dr. King, your transfer request has been approved. Please report to Oakridge Community Hospital in three days.] I stared at the glowing screen, a dry, hollow laugh escaping my throat. Fine. There was nothing left in this city worth staying for anyway. In three days, whatever was left between Jason and me would officially die. I turned away, my chest heavy as lead, unable to watch the nauseating display a second longer. But before I could take three steps, a voice called out behind me. “Dr. King? Did you come all this way to celebrate our little Toby’s milestone?” Bridget hurried out of the restaurant, her face flushed with excitement. “I thought you were still angry with us and wouldn’t come,” she continued seamlessly, grabbing my arm. “Don’t hold a grudge against my family, okay? They were just overprotective of me when the IV incident happened. It was all a big misunderstanding! Today is perfect—let me introduce everyone to you properly so we can clear the air.” She pulled me toward the glass doors before I could pull back. “Hey, everyone! Look who’s here!” Bridget announced cheerfully. The noise in the room died down instantly. All eyes turned toward us. When Jason, Colin, and Samantha saw me, the triumphant smiles on their faces froze into horrific masks. “This is my close friend, Samantha,” Bridget said, pointing to Sam. “She works in psychiatry at your hospital. You two must have crossed paths, right?” Samantha’s eyes darted nervously. She cleared her throat, her voice cold and formal. “Dr. King. Good to see you.” Distance, professionalism, as if we were complete strangers. Bridget didn’t notice the tension and dragged me over to Colin. “And this is my college bestie, Colin. He’s the idiot lawyer who filed that claim against you! But don’t worry, I gave him a piece of my mind. Don’t hold it against him.” Colin’s face turned deathly pale. His lips trembled. “Sis…” His voice was barely a whisper, drowned out by the ambient chatter. Bridget missed it entirely. Finally, she brought me right in front of Jason, wrapping her arm around his waist and nestling into his chest. “And this is my husband. He’s—” “Jason,” I interrupted, my voice crystal clear. “The owner of this restaurant.” Bridget blinked, looking back and forth between Jason and me. “How did you know that? Have you met before?” I met Jason’s panicked, warning glare head-on, letting a quiet, icy smile spread across my face. “Because he’s my fiancé. We’ve been together for seven years, and we were supposed to get married in two months.” I stepped closer to Bridget. “And as for this restaurant? He bought it for me as my twenty-sixth birthday gift because I once said I wished I could watch the ocean every day. Six months ago, he told me his business was struggling, so I let him sell it to raise capital. Did he forget to mention any of that to you?” “Dr. King, what kind of sick joke is this?” Bridget’s eyes welled with tears. “Jason and I got married a year ago! How could he be your fiancé? What is going on?!” Jason went instantly pale. “Bridget, babe, listen to me, I can explain—” A cold, dead sensation filled my chest. The man who had just demanded my trust was now scrambling only to comfort his secret wife. I laughed out loud—a harsh, jagged sound that cut through the room as I laid out every truth I had guarded for years. “He has a long surgical scar on his lower back from four years ago—he took a knife for me during an attack by an unstable patient,” I said, my voice echoing across the quiet room. “And the silver cross pendant he wears around his neck? I hiked up the mountain shrine in the rain to get it blessed for his heart condition.” I looked straight at Bridget. “So yes, you are the mistress he’s been keeping behind my back.” “Mallory, that’s enough!” Three voices shouted in unison, sharp and furious. Jason pushed Bridget behind him, his eyes filled with murderous ice. Samantha and Colin glared at me with pure condemnation. “Did I say something untrue?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. “Jason, Samantha, Colin—are you all really so brave in your betrayal, but too cowardly to own up to it?” Jason wrapped a tight arm around Bridget, who was now weeping hysterically. “Mallory, Bridget didn’t know anything about this! If you have a problem, take it out on me! Don’t you dare talk to her like that!” Samantha stepped forward, her tone sharp as a razor. “Mallory, stop making a scene! Jason stopped loving you a long time ago. He and Bridget are true love!” And then my own brother, the boy I had raised after our parents died, took a breath and looked me in the eye. “Sis, since you know the truth now, just let them be,” Colin said, his voice cold and rational. “Bridget risked her life to give him a child. No matter how much you kick and scream today, you can’t break up a family of three.” The words hit me like physical blows, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Tears burned behind my eyes, hot and unbearable. “So that’s why you destroyed my career?” I whispered, looking at my brother, then at my best friend. “That’s why you let her bodyguards break my wrist?” The rage and grief ripped through my throat. I stared at Bridget, then back at them. “She is a home-wrecker. And you two are her accomplices! Am I wrong?!” Before the last word left my mouth, a glass of ice water was slammed into my face. The freezing liquid drenched my hair, soaked through my shirt, and ran down my collar, chilling me straight to the bone. “Get a grip, Mallory!” Samantha barked, grabbing my arm with a harsh grip. “You’re the one who was abandoned here, not Bridget!” Over Bridget’s dramatic sobs, Samantha forcefully dragged me down the corridor and shoved me into the private VIP lounge upstairs. My heart seized when I saw the room. This room used to be our secret sanctuary. Because it was close to the hospital, Jason had furnished it for us so I could rest after long surgeries. Knowing I forgot to eat when I was busy, he would bring hot meals in thermal containers. Knowing my neck cramped after hours over an operating table, he had bought a massage chair just for me… All those quiet, tender moments had made me believe that this was what love looked like. Now, the room had been completely gutted. It was a nursery. Cribs, changing tables, plush toys, and baby clothes covered every inch of the floor, erasing every single trace of my existence. “He loves Bridget,” Samantha said, standing near the wall. “As for you? He just confused gratitude with love because you saved his life.” I froze. “What are you talking about?” Samantha gave me a look of deep, bitter pity. She reached out and pulled back the heavy velvet curtain covering the far wall. Behind it was a photo gallery. Hundreds of photos covered the plaster. Jason and Bridget skiing in the mountains. Walking hand-in-hand along a beach at sunset. Riding a boat through a European canal… “They’ve been together for three years,” Samantha said, pointing to the massive wedding portrait in the center. “Last year, on your birthday? Jason wasn’t on a business trip. And Colin and I weren’t on vacation either.” She turned to face me. “We all flew to France. We attended their wedding. We watched them tie the knot.” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Even that medical complaint at the hospital? Jason helped set it up. If we hadn’t gotten you suspended, you would have been Bridget’s attending physician—and we couldn’t risk you finding out who she was and refusing to treat her properly.” I looked at Samantha as if she were a monster wearing my friend’s skin. How could those words come out of her mouth? Just six months ago, at her wedding to my brother, she had thrown her bouquet straight into my hands. She had hugged me, crying, telling me that I was the sister she never had, praying that I would be happy for the rest of my life with Jason. She had even pulled Jason aside and threatened to kill him if he ever hurt me. And now, she was the one who helped rip my life apart, standing there to tell me that I was the trash being thrown away. Tears finally overflowed, spilling down my cheeks. I couldn’t put the feeling into words. It felt as if my heart had been pulled out, stamped into the dirt, and ground to dust until there was nothing left to repair. The door clicked open. Jason and Bridget walked in, Bridget wiping her eyes. I looked at them, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “Fine,” I said softly. “Then stay together. I give you my blessing.” Bridget blinked. “Dr. King…” “Mallory, what are you talking about?” Jason muttered, looking unsettled. I didn’t answer. I reached down, pulled the diamond engagement ring off my left ring finger, and pressed it directly into Bridget’s open palm. “I wish you a long, happy marriage. A perfect family of three forever.” Samantha and Colin stood frozen near the doorway. Jason opened his mouth, a strange look of panic flickering in his eyes, as if he wanted to reach out. But I didn’t want to hear another word. I pushed past them and walked out into the night. The next afternoon, Jason stormed into my apartment after receiving an automated alert from the real estate agency. He grabbed my shoulders, dragging me away from the suitcases packed in the middle of the living room floor. “Mallory, what the hell is this?!” he bellowed, his face red with anger. “You listed our apartment for sale?! Have you lost your mind?!” The suppressed rage inside me finally tore through the surface. I let out a cold, bitter laugh, raised my hand, and slapped him across the face with everything I had. SLAP. “Our home?” I spat, my voice shaking. “You still have the nerve to use that word around me, Jason? Was it fun treating me like an idiot for three years?!” A sharp red handprint flared up on his cheekbone. But Jason didn’t get angry. Instead, seeing the violence in my eyes, he softened his tone—the exact same tactic he used every time we had an argument. “Are you done?” he asked gently, trying to take my hand. “Is the anger out of your system? Look, I admit I was wrong for lying to you. But Mallory, we’ve been together for seven years. You can’t just slice a seven-year life in half over a mistake.” He took a step closer, his eyes glossy. “My life belongs to you. You know that. How could I ever truly abandon you?” I turned away, sickened, but he grabbed me from behind, pulling me into a suffocating, desperate hug. “Bridget is the daughter of my company’s late vice chairman,” he pleaded into my hair, his chest heaving. “Before her father died, he begged me to take care of her. I admit it—I was weak, I got involved with her… I tried to break it off, I swear I did! But she has severe separation anxiety. Every time I mentioned leaving, she hurt herself. I couldn’t just watch her die!” He buried his face in the nape of my neck, weeping. “Mallory, I never wanted to lose you. You and Bridget are both good women. You’re the two most important people in my life, and I can’t bear to hurt either of you. Just… just pretend you don’t know about this. We can keep living like we used to. I’ll fulfill all my duties to you, I’ll give you everything you want, I promise…” The absolute filth of his words left me speechless with disgust. Jason took my silence for hesitation. He released me, a hopeful smile breaking on his face. “You haven’t eaten all day, have you? Let me make you that coconut chicken soup you love.” He turned toward the kitchen. BOOM. The front door was kicked open with violent force. Before I could even process what was happening, Samantha rushed in, grabbed my hair, and delivered a devastating blow across my face. SLAP. “Mallory! What did you do with little Toby?!” she shrieked, her eyes bloodshot. Bridget sobbed hysterically as she ran in behind her, sinking to her knees right in front of me on the hardwood floor. “Dr. King, I beg you, give my baby back!” Bridget wailed, clawing at my jeans. “I’ll give Jason back to you! I’ll leave! Just please, don’t hurt my baby!” The warmth on Jason’s face vanished instantly. “What are you talking about?! What happened to the baby?!” “Bridget took Toby to get his vaccinations an hour ago!” Samantha yelled, pointing an accusing finger at my face. “As soon as she finished paying at the counter, someone took him from his stroller! Who else would kidnap a one-month-old baby out of pure revenge except her?!” Veins bulged along Jason’s neck. He lunged forward, grabbing my throat with both hands and shoving me violently against the wall. “You had someone take my son?!” he roared, his grip tightening until my vision flickered. “Mallory, are you insane?!” The air was cut off completely. I clawed wildly at his thick fingers, forcing raspy, suffocating words from my lungs. “I didn’t… I’m a doctor… I would never kidnap a child!” Bridget collapsed onto the floor, screaming, “Please, Dr. King! If anything happens to my baby, I’ll kill myself!” Jason slammed my head back against the drywall, his eyes wild with red veins. “Where is he?! Speak!” “I told you I didn’t do it!” I wheezed, tears falling from the corners of my eyes. “Why won’t you ever believe me?!” “Who else could it be?!” Colin stepped into the apartment. The brother who used to fight kids twice his size to protect me stood in the entryway, his face a mask of cold detachment. “Sis,” Colin said, his voice flat. “If you don’t tell the truth right now, I’m calling the police and pressing full kidnapping charges against you.” My heart didn’t just break; it withered into dust. I shook my head, unable to speak. “You brought this on yourself!” Samantha’s patience snapped. She grabbed me by my hair, dragging my limp body down the hallway and throwing me into the small utility closet near the laundry room. She reached into the medical emergency kit mounted on the wall, pulled out the portable automated external defibrillator (AED) unit we kept for Jason’s heart conditions, tore open the adhesive pads, and slapped them directly onto my bare chest. “I’m sick of your lies, Mallory!” Samantha screamed, her face contorted with rage. “He’s a month old! How could you be so cruel?!” “Are you going to talk, or are you going to make me force it out of you?!” She knew about my medical phobia of electrical shock. She knew better than anyone how to break me. “I didn’t do it…” I sobbed, clutching the cold concrete floor. “How can I confess to something I didn’t do?!” “Fine!” Samantha snarled. “You asked for this!” She hit the manual shock override on the unit. THUMP. A massive, agonizing current surged through my chest, violently contorting my entire body. I was thrown upward like a broken ragdoll before crashing back onto the floor. My head slammed hard against the baseboard. Bright white light exploded behind my eyes, followed by a deafening ringing in my ears. And then, a surge of thick, warm fluid began pouring out between my inner thighs, soaking rapidly through my clothes. Everyone in the doorway froze. “Mallory… what is that?” Samantha stammered, stepping back. Before anyone could move, a phone chimed loudly from the living room. It was the police dispatcher calling back on Jason’s phone. “Is this the family of Toby? We found the child! A nurse accidentally pushed the wrong stroller to the pediatric observation room. Please come down to the hospital immediately!” The heavy silence in the room broke. CLATTER. Samantha dropped the defibrillator handles onto the floor. A wave of pure, hysterical relief washed over their faces. Pushing past one another, laughing and crying out in joy, they turned and rushed out of the apartment in a frenzy. Not a single person looked back at me. Not one. I lay alone in the dark utility closet, staring blankly at the ceiling as the crimson stain on my light blue dress expanded inch by inch, my tears silent as they slipped into the blood. Hours later, the front door clicked open. Jason, Bridget, Colin, and Samantha walked back into the quiet apartment, Jason carrying a gourmet strawberry cake he had bought to celebrate the baby’s safe return. They stepped into the living room, talking softly—until their eyes fell upon the floor. Dark, dried blood covered the hallway runner. On the kitchen island sat a folded paper, a USB drive, and an official medical discharge summary left under a glass cup. The box containing the cake slipped from Jason’s fingers, crashing onto the hardwood. With stiff, trembling hands, Jason walked over and picked up the medical report. His eyes scanned the black-and-white print, and his face instantly turned ash-gray.

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A week before the summer trip, I marched into the living room clutching a battered tin box and dumped it onto the coffee table in front of my family. Inside sat five hundred and seventy-six reward vouchers—three years’ worth of carefully saved paper tokens. “Mom, Dad, my entrance exam scores came in,” I said, unable to keep the pride out of my voice. “I ranked top three in the state.” I looked at them, my heart beating fast against my ribs. “I met the goal for the Hawaii trip. When do we leave?” I pulled out my phone, eager to show them the swimsuits I’d picked out and the detailed five-person itinerary I’d spent weeks mapping out. I was so caught up in my excitement that I failed to notice the heavy silence settling over my older brother, Mason, or the sudden, downcast shift in my cousin Kelsey’s posture. I talked until my throat felt dry, right up until my mother interrupted me with a sharp, irritated sigh. Her eyes held no pride—only a cold, sharp annoyance. “You know Kelsey couldn’t match your scores,” Mom said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Must you compete with her for everything? Do you have any idea how disgusting you look, rubbing it in her face?” I froze, the air leaving my lungs. It was Mom who had drilled it into my head years ago: “Kelsey lost her parents. We can never make you seem more special than her.” To keep things “fair,” every tiny thing I wanted over the past five years had to be earned through reward vouchers—earned by doing chores or getting perfect test scores. Even the clothes I wore and the notebooks I used were secondhand items Kelsey didn’t want anymore. Desperate, I turned to my father and Mason, searching their faces for support. Both of them avoided my gaze. Instead, they crowded around Kelsey, helping her unbox her massive graduation gift haul: a full Apple ecosystem set, eighteen years’ worth of makeup gift boxes to make up for her lost childhood birthdays, and a row of brand-name handbags. The next morning, a notification popped up in our family group chat. Dad announced that the trip destination had been changed to Disney World in Orlando—because that was where Kelsey wanted to go. I looked at the message, walked over to my desk, and silently tossed the tin box into the trash bin. My parents always said Kelsey was pitiful because she was an orphan, so they had to compensate her with everything. But even though I had a mother, a father, and an older brother, I was worse off than if I had no family at all. If that was how it was going to be, I wasn’t going back to that empty house ever again. … A week later, I pushed open the front door holding a paper bag of warm bakery crullers I’d bought downstairs. The living room was full of life, filled with warm, bright laughter. They were back from Florida. Kelsey was curled up on the couch next to my father, happily scrolling through photos from their trip. As she recounted a story, she cast a mock-annoyed glance at Mason, who was busy breaking down empty cardboard gift boxes on the floor. “It’s all your fault,” Kelsey pouted. “You just “had” to stop for those specialty pastries before we got on the riverboat. Now every single group picture is missing that one perfect spot. It’s such a shame…” Mason chuckled, his voice filled with fond indulgence. “And whose fault was it for being a little foodie?” As they teased each other, my eyes caught the screen of Kelsey’s phone. It was a three-person photo. In the frame sat my father—a man who was usually rigid and severe—wearing a pair of pink Mickey ears, his nose dabbed with red paint in a goofy, comical pose. Next to him, my mother was laughing so hard her eyes were crinkled shut. A dull ache flared behind my ribs. No matter the time or place, they always looked like a complete family without me. I pulled the door shut behind me with a faint click. Mom stepped out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of washed cherries. Her eyes landed on the paper bag in my hand, her brows instantly drawing together. “Kelsey can’t stand the smell of fried food right now,” Mom said coolly. “Go eat that in your room.” The three of them in the living room seemed to notice me only then. Mason’s expression hardened. “Standing in the doorway like a ghost—who are you trying to scare? Can’t you say something when you come in?” Kelsey leaned over, deftly taking a cherry straight from Mom’s hand with a sweet grin. “Thanks, Aunt Nora.” The warm, cozy picture stabbed at my eyes. I turned away without a word and walked back into my bedroom. A moment later, the door pushed open. Mom stepped inside. Acting out of a familiar blend of lingering guilt and defensive entitlement, she shoved a fresh stack of reward vouchers into my palm. “I was a bit harsh with you last time,” she began, her tone rehearsed. “But Kelsey lost her parents so young. If I let you go on a big graduation trip while leaving her behind, she’d feel heartbroken and left out. You’re the sensible one, Sadie. You understand, don’t you? We’ll go another time.” I stared at her back as she turned and left. Ever since we were young, anything Kelsey wanted was handed to her the moment she asked. I, on the other hand, had to do endless housework and hit perfect test scores just to get paper tickets to exchange for basic things. And yet, whether it was a pretty dress or a chicken leg I liked, the moment Kelsey cried, it became hers. This wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. It was almost funny. The rules were only ever meant for me. A little while later, feeling thirsty, I stepped out to grab a glass of water. In the living room, the whole family had gathered around Kelsey to discuss her college applications. Dad proudly declared that he would fund her education no matter how much it cost, while Mason pulled out a three-hundred-page college guide binder he had stayed up all night assembling. “If you pick from this list,” Mason said, pointing to a highlighted page, “they’re all top-tier local programs. You can’t go wrong.” Kelsey’s eyes welled up with delicate tears. “Thank you all so much… If only I were smart like Sadie and scored in the top percentile…” Mom cut her off immediately, pulling her into a protective hug. “Nonsense! What’s the use of scoring that high? At the end of the day, girls just get married anyway. Does a higher test score guarantee a better husband?” Kelsey nestled pitiably into Mom’s arms, shooting me a timid, hurt look. “I just thought… if I could go to the same college as Sadie, we could look out for each other.” Dad slapped his knee without hesitation. “That’s easy enough!” Mason chimed in from the side. “You pick first, Kelsey. Once you choose your program, Sadie can apply there too.” My hand holding the water glass trembled. I turned to face them, my voice dropping several degrees. “On what grounds?” My scores were high enough to get me into top Ivy League institutions like Columbia—a guaranteed path to a real future. Why should I drag myself down to a local community college just to keep her company? Hearing my tone, Mom’s face turned icy. “If you go somewhere far away, who’s going to protect you when you get bullied? If you go to the same school as Kelsey, our whole family can move over there to take care of both of you. Everyone is trying to look out for you—what are you being so dramatic about?!” My knuckles turned white around the glass. Looking out for me? Strip away the excuses, and they were simply terrified that Kelsey’s delicate ego would bruise if I went somewhere better. I unclasped my tight jaw and stopped arguing. Back in my room, I picked up my phone and dialed my high school advisor’s number. “Mrs. Albright,” I said softly, “I’ll take the full-ride offer to Columbia.” The next morning, during breakfast, the atmosphere was unusually calm. Taking my silence from the night before as consent to follow Kelsey to community college, my mother did something rare: she fried an egg and placed it over my plain noodle bowl—without asking for a single voucher. Mason and Dad were noticeably warmer, talking about taking me out to a high-end restaurant to celebrate my college admission. Sitting nearby, Kelsey munched on her poached beef, raising a hand with a bright smile. “Let me pick the dishes for Sadie! Let’s go to that French place on Main Street.” When we arrived, every single dish ordered under the guise of “celebrating me” was a heavily spiced, rich plate that Kelsey loved—and that I couldn’t stomach. Even more absurdly, the family had spent hours waiting for Kelsey to finish her makeup and outfit before heading out. Before leaving the house, they had insisted on going together as a family. Yet, by the time I stepped out of the bathroom, the living room was empty. They had already driven off. Not a single text came through to tell me where the restaurant was. That night, I sat alone in my pitch-black, silent bedroom, chewing on the cold leftovers from earlier, scrolling through Kelsey’s latest social media update. In the photo, she was holding a giant lobster plate, leaning her cheek against Mom’s. Her eyes were curved into happy crescents. “Family dinner! Aunt Nora feels more like a mom than my real mom ever did~” Beside her, Mason and Dad were casually dropping freshly shelled shrimp onto her plate, radiant with familial warmth. I let out a quiet breath, strangely relieved that I hadn’t been there to ruin their mood. I remembered when Kelsey first moved in with us—it happened to fall on my birthday. I had begged my mother to take us to a hot pot restaurant to celebrate. On the way there, Mom had sat in the back seat, smiling as she played string games with me. But when the cake was brought out at the restaurant and Kelsey saw my name written across the frosted surface, she burst into loud sobs, clutching my mother’s arm and crying about how much she missed her own parents. Without a second thought, Mom picked up a butter knife and scraped my name off the cake. Then she made Dad and Mason sing Happy Birthday to Kelsey instead. “From now on,” Mom had declared back then, “even when it’s not your birthday, you get to eat cake too.” I was supposed to be the main character that day, but I ended up a silent bystander. Afterward, Mom handed me my very first set of reward vouchers. Five of them. Just like the stack lying in front of me now. Mom snatched the vouchers off the nightstand and threw them straight at my face, staring at me with sudden anger. “Sadie, what kind of game are you playing now? Kelsey specifically picked that restaurant for you—why didn’t you show up?” The sharp edge of the paper scraped against my cheek, leaving a faint, stinging sensation. But inside, the turbulence in my heart was slowly settling into a quiet, dead calm. “Was it really my choice not to go?” I asked softly. Mom paused, realization dawning on her that they had simply left me behind. But almost instantly, her embarrassment twisted into disgust. She slammed the takeout container onto my desk, her face hardening. “Well, who’s to blame for that? You were taking forever. We’ll make it up to you next time.” I didn’t answer. At my father’s call from the hallway, Mom turned and headed straight into Kelsey’s room. They had just bought a brand-new, high-end gaming console worth thousands of dollars. A family of four, diving into interactive video games, their laughter echoing through the thin walls. I clutched my abdomen as a sharp, searing pain tore through my lower stomach. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead. Shaking, I pulled out my phone and used an online medical service, describing my symptoms through gritted teeth. The doctor’s response came quickly: “Suspected acute appendicitis. Go to the emergency room immediately.” Pale and bent double, I limped over to Kelsey’s bedroom and knocked on the door, hoping Dad could drive me to the hospital on his scooter. A few minutes later, Mason opened the door, his face dark with annoyance. Hearing my request, he let out a harsh laugh. “Your stomach hurts? You’re just jealous that everyone’s hanging out with Kelsey. Stop faking an illness just to draw attention.” “I’m not…” I shook my head, too weak to fight back, my fingers digging harder into my side. Mom, worried that the commotion would distract Kelsey from her game, reached under the TV stand, pulled out a leftover packet of flu powder, and tossed it at me. “You probably chilled your stomach eating cold leftovers. It won’t kill you. Just tough it out.” I chewed the dry powder and swallowed it down, but the pain only multiplied. Left with no choice, I crawled back to my room, pulled out the piggy bank hidden under my bed, and smashed it on the floor. Scooping up roughly seventy dollars in crumpled bills and coins, I stumbled out the door to take a taxi to the hospital alone. The test results were terrible. The doctor held my chart, his brow deeply furrowed. “You have severe tissue inflammation caused by an untreated infection. We need a family member’s signature for an immediate appendectomy. If we wait any longer and the appendix ruptures, fluid will flood your abdominal cavity, and it’s going to get dangerous.” Cold dread washed over me, climbing up my spine. I dialed my mother’s phone number, my fingers trembling so badly I missed the keys multiple times. It went unanswered. It wasn’t until my fifty-eighth call home that Mason finally picked up. Before I could open my mouth, a barrage of sharp scolding hit my ear. “Are you out of your mind?! If she’s not picking up, it means she doesn’t want to talk to you! Your constant ringing has distracted Kelsey three times already! Whatever it is, talk about it later—stop calling!” When I tried dialing again, the line went straight to a busy tone. He had blocked my number. In desperation, I called my high school advisor, Mrs. Albright. The moment she heard my shaky, gasping breath, she caught an Uber and rushed to the hospital. She signed the authorization forms, paid the advance deposit out of her own pocket, and handled everything with unwavering care. Right before I was wheeled into the operating room, sensing my panic, Mrs. Albright gently patted my hair. “Don’t be afraid, sweetie. Just close your eyes and sleep.” When the anesthesia wore off and I opened my eyes, there were two extra people in the hospital room. Mason stood by the bed. There was no relief or concern in his eyes—only accusation. “Out of all the times to get surgery, you had to pick the exact day Kelsey booked her graduation photo shoot,” he sneered. “I really can’t tell if you did this on purpose or if you’re just that spiteful.” Mom shot him a warning look, gesturing for him to pipe down. “Your sister is sick, why are you shouting? Your father is with Kelsey at the studio. Our job is to stay here and take care of Sadie.” Her words sounded nice, but when my throat felt parched and I asked for a sip of water, Mason was busy picking photo filters on his phone for Kelsey, and Mom was on a video call helping Kelsey choose photoshoot dresses. Neither of them had their eyes on me for a single second. In the end, it was a delivery driver bringing broth to the next bed who noticed me. He poured a small cup of warm water and brought it to my lips so I could wet my dry throat. “Little girl,” the driver murmured, looking at the two people by the window, “are those your real family? Why are they both glued to their phones instead of looking after a patient?” Mom and Mason’s faces turned instantly uncomfortable. Once the delivery driver left, Mason glared at me. “Always playing the tragic victim. It’s just a cup of water—if people didn’t know better, they’d think we were abusing you.” Mom didn’t correct him, clearly agreeing with his sentiment. Still, she opened a container of takeout broth and brought a spoon to my mouth. It was seafood broth—something I was severely allergic to. When I turned my head away, she seemed to find the perfect excuse to vent her frustration. Her face darkened. “What kind of petty mood are you throwing now? You dragged out this whole hospital thing just to ruin our day with Kelsey, didn’t you? Drink it or don’t!” With that, the two of them snapped the lid shut and walked out of the room in anger. The older woman in the neighboring bed, who had watched the entire scene unfold, looked at me in disbelief. “Are those really your mother and brother?” “Yeah,” I whispered, forcing a small smile as I fought back the hot prickle of tears in my eyes. “Though… I kind of wish they weren’t.” Over the next few days, my recovery in the hospital was marked by their brief, fleeting appearances. When I was finally able to get out of bed and walk around, I scrolled through social media and saw Kelsey’s posts. During the time I was stuck in the hospital, the whole family had been taking her to check out viral food spots, buy designer clothes, and attend concerts. Of course, Mom sent me a photo too—a picture of my desk at home, where a growing stack of reward vouchers was piled up. “When you get better, we’ll all go together next time.” Looking at the photo, my heart remained entirely flat. I walked to the nurse’s station and processed my own discharge papers. Coincidentally, as I stepped out of the hospital doors, Mrs. Albright called me. Beyond confirming that my full-ride paperwork to Columbia was fully finalized, she mentioned a bank transfer. “Given your family’s situation, the school raised a emergency fund of four thousand dollars for your tuition and initial living expenses, so you can focus entirely on your degree.” Staring at the figure, a wave of warmth surged through my chest, making my eyes sting. But a second later, I went completely rigid. Mrs. Albright’s cheerful voice came through the receiver: “The funds were wired over this morning. Did you get the bank notification?” I checked my empty text inbox, and sudden realization hit me like cold water—I hadn’t set up my own independent bank account yet. When submitting my school paperwork earlier, I had used my mother’s secondary account. A bad feeling seized me. I rushed onto a city bus and headed straight home. When I pushed open the front door, the living room was packed with visiting relatives, all gathered around Mom and Kelsey. “Back when Kelsey’s parents passed away,” my aunt was saying loudly, “if it weren’t for Nora taking her in, she’d never have had such a good life.” “Exactly! Nora really treats her like her own flesh and blood.” “Oh, look, Sadie’s back!” I ignored my aunt completely, walking straight up to my mother and extending my hand. “Where is the money?” The lively atmosphere plunged into a dead silence. Mom’s face went cold. “What money? Does this family not pay for your schooling? You need charity donations now? Or do you think you’re hot stuff, thinking four thousand dollars is enough to make you completely independent?” Regardless of what she thought, that money belonged to me. I steeled my gaze, repeating every word clearly: “The four thousand dollars. Give it to me.” Seeing the tension, Kelsey stepped forward with a gentle, understanding air, tugging softly at my sleeve. She pointed toward an unopened, high-end computer graphics card sitting on the living room table. “I’m so sorry, Sadie… Aunt Nora was a little short on cash when she bought my new setup, so she used that money to cover the final balance. If you really need it right now, I can take it back to the store and return it.” Mom pulled Kelsey back instantly. “Return what?! It was bought for you, so you keep it!” Mom turned her harsh glare onto me. “She’s going to be staying at home anyway—what does she need that much cash on her for? If anything happens, the family is right here to handle it.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out another handful of reward vouchers, and shoved them into my hands. She said she was just “borrowing” the money from me and would make it up to me later. This time, I looked down at the worthless slips of paper in my palm, and the final trace of warmth in my heart died out. In front of the entire family, I tossed the vouchers directly into the trash bin, turned on my heel, and walked out the door. If Kelsey was always going to be their first choice, then I would become my own. That evening, a group of relatives stayed over, talking and laughing around Kelsey in the living room. My mother walked into my bedroom alone, her eyes immediately catching the metal tin sitting inside the trash can. She picked it up and opened the lid. Seeing the box packed to the brim with years of saved reward vouchers, her heart sank slightly. She looked around the sparse, bare room—at the tiny desk, the thin blanket, the complete lack of anything new—and for the very first time, a wave of discomfort hit her as she realized how thoroughly I had been set aside all these years. Standing there in the quiet, she pulled out her phone and sent me several voice notes. “Sadie, it’s dark out. It’s not safe for a girl to be out alone. Whatever it is, come home and we can talk.” “About the four thousand dollars… it was Mom’s mistake. I transferred it back to your account.” “Kelsey’s already been to Disney World, so this time we’ll go to Hawaii. I’ll have your brother book the flights right now…” I sat on a bench outside, watching the messages pop up one by one on my screen. My heart didn’t flutter; my eyes didn’t tear up. Some things, if you didn’t get them when they mattered, lose all meaning later on.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “554429”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve been able to hear inanimate objects talk for as long as I can remember. My house slippers were always complaining about my cold feet, the refrigerator constantly whined about needing a vacation, and the living room television grumbled that it wanted to be upgraded to a sleeker model. For twenty years, my ears were filled with this endless, mundane chatter. That was until my wealthy biological parents tracked me down, announcing I was their long-lost daughter. Right away, they arranged a blind date for me and my adopted sister, Pamela—offering us two potential matches. One was a polished, foreign-educated finance elite. The other was a hulking, sun-baked, heavily weathered man. Pamela didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the elite finance guy for herself and tossed the rough-looking man to me with a sneer. “A hideous freak for a penniless nobody,” she mocked. “You two are made for each other.” Before I could even respond, a hysterical voice shrieked directly from the charcoal powder smeared on the man’s face: “What is wrong with this billionaire heir? He’s worth tens of billions, yet he forced three thick layers of me onto his skin just to cover up his pale complexion!” The silicone body suit under his shirt chimed in with an agonizing sob: “Tell me about it! The man has a chiseled eight-pack, but he insisted on using me to fake three rolls of belly fat! I’m getting squished into a pancake here!” Meanwhile, the sleek watch on the finance guy’s wrist offered a bitter snort: “I’m a ten-dollar knockoff from a street market, and this clown is using me to flex! He’s running a pig-butchering scam!” I paused for a second, then smiled warmly as I wrapped my arm around the heavy-set man’s bicep. “Mom, Dad,” I said softly, “I’ll take him.” … The man went completely rigid beside me. The silicone suit’s scream nearly deafened me. “His heart rate just hit 160! Girl, let go of his arm! When he gets nervous, his core tightens up—I’m being crushed!” My mother almost dropped her teacup. “Callie… are you serious?” My father frowned, eyeing the man’s stretched-to-the-limit black shirt and faded flip-flops. He swallowed hard before asking, “Mr… Hank, was it? What did you say your family does again?” The man rubbed the back of his neck, offering a clumsy, timid smile. “Just call me Hank, sir. My family… well, we raise pigs down in the country.” Pamela looked at my hand on Hank’s arm, her face twisted in pure disgust. “Callie, you must be truly desperate to stomach someone like that. But then again, a trashy loser with an ugly brute—it really is a match made in heaven.” A dark, sharp glint flickered in Hank’s eyes for a fraction of a second. He turned to look at me, his gaze hiding a cautious, fragile uncertainty. “Um… Miss Callie, I know I’m not much to look at. You really don’t mind?” I looked straight into his eyes, keeping my expression entirely sincere. “I think you’re incredible,” I said softly. “You’re different from every other man I’ve met. You give off this quiet, distant vibe… a profound sort of loneliness. It feels like deep down, you’ve been carrying everything alone, hiding who you truly are. No matter where you are, my eyes are drawn to you. Looking at you right now… you seem so fragile, like you might break.” Hank’s breathing hitched completely. He stared at me, his throat working through several heavy swallows before he managed a muffled response: “…You can take all the time you need to get to know me.” Beneath the dark charcoal powder, the tips of his ears flushed a deep, burning crimson. Keeping my gentle smile in place, I quietly celebrated inside. The relationship advice on social media really didn’t lie—no man could resist that kind of emotional validation. Brandon, the finance elite, observed us with a look of utter perplexity. He leaned down toward Pamela’s ear, whispering in a dramatic, gravelly tone, “Is your sister… into tragic fixer-uppers?” Pamela flushed, covering her mouth as she giggled softly. “She’s just completely blind. A hideously fat pig farmer—only someone like her would fall for that.” Brandon stood up, cleared his throat, and elegantly buttoned his tailored suit jacket. “Allow me to introduce myself properly,” he announced smoothly. “I hold a Master’s degree in Financial Engineering from Cambridge. Returned home last year to launch my own firm, which pulled in over fifteen million in revenue this past year alone. I’ve secured three properties in the city center and picked up a modest vehicle for daily commutes.” With practiced subtlety, he adjusted his wrist—showing off his fake Patek Philippe—and tossed a Porsche key onto the marble coffee table. His eyes flicked toward me, waiting for an impression. I remained focused on Hank’s flustered expression, holding back a smirk with great difficulty. Because right at that moment, Brandon’s watch was wildly venting in my ear: “Look at this peacock strutting around! Who is he trying to fool? He was crammed into the subway doors two days ago—I literally watched him get stuck in the sliding doors for thirty seconds before he squeezed out!” “And to think a ten-dollar cheap piece like me gets to pretend to be high luxury. What a joke.” The Porsche key quietly chimed in with a verbal dagger: “I’ve been rented out by a hundred guys, but this one is easily the biggest poser of them all.” Pamela didn’t notice where Brandon’s gaze had strayed. Her eyes sparkled with admiration as she cupped her cheeks. “Brandon, you’re amazing! So young and already running your own empire!” My mother nodded approvingly. “A truly accomplished young man.” My father pondered for a moment before finally making the call. “Since both of you girls have made your choices, spend some time getting to know them.” Brandon chimed in immediately, offering a charming, polished smile. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll take wonderful care of Pamela. Coincidentally, there’s an exclusive charity gala hosted by top industry leaders tomorrow night. I’d love to bring Pamela as my date.” He paused, his eyes straying back toward me once more. “Callie, would you like to join us? It would be a great opportunity for you to network—” The cheap watch cut him off ruthlessly: “Your invitation pass is literally a cropped, Photoshopped screenshot! What are you taking her for—to stand by the velvet ropes and take photos for social media?” Hank interrupted him with a booming, nervous tone as he looked at me. “Miss Callie, I… I wanted to take you to see my farm tomorrow. Would that be okay?” The charcoal powder whispered: “Whether it’s a farm or a multi-billion-dollar industrial park, our boss will let her decide.” My eyes lit up, and I gripped his hand tightly. “I’d love to. I’m definitely coming!” Early the next morning, both Hank and Brandon arrived at the front gates at almost the exact same time. Pamela stood by Brandon’s rented Porsche in a floor-length designer gown, radiating artificial glamour. I wore a pair of loose, practical canvas overalls, stepping toward Hank’s battered, rusted van. Pamela covered her mouth, making no effort to hide the sneer in her voice. “Sister, everyone else is attending premier galas to build high-level connections, and here you are, insists on wallowing in the mud with a hideous butcher.” Hank looked noticeably darker than he had yesterday—likely because he had applied an extra layer of charcoal powder. He rubbed his hands together awkwardly, looking fidgety. “Callie, I use this van for hauling cargo… it might smell a little rough. Do you mind?” Without a word, I pulled open the passenger door and hopped in. “Let’s go. Take me to the farm.” The van chugged and sputtered its way toward the outer outskirts of the city. The moment we stepped out, the pungent scent of livestock filled the air. I walked into the barn without flinching. Hank followed closely behind me, offering a self-deprecating smile, but the silicone suit under his clothes couldn’t keep quiet. “Girl, don’t just look at the livestock! Look at the commercial development behind it! That entire industrial zone! Every square inch belongs to him!” Hank stared at the pens, his voice dipped in practiced insecurity. “I’ve been working with livestock my whole life. I’m ugly, and people always made fun of me. Growing up, whenever I went on blind dates, girls would take one look at me and run.” He paused, looking at me with gentle confusion. “You… you’re so beautiful. I really can’t figure out why you picked me.” I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I pointed toward a solid, well-fed hog in the corner. “Can I have this one?” Hank blinked in surprise. “Sure… absolutely. Take ten if you want…” I rolled up my sleeves, pulled a sharp butcher’s blade from the rack, and tested the weight in my hand. “It’s been a while since I did this. Let me show you what I can do.” Hank panicked for a second, quickly calling over a couple of farmhands to help pin the animal down. With swift, practiced precision, I made the cut—clean, efficient, and methodical. Half an hour later, I washed my hands clean and turned to offer a soft smile to a stunned Hank. “Growing up, the annual harvest feast was what I looked forward to most,” I said quietly. “Freshly prepared roast was the ultimate comfort.” I dried my hands on a towel. “My adoptive parents were disabled. My mother had severe facial scars from an accident, and my father suffered from partial paralysis. Neither of them looked like the people in your family’s glossy photo albums. But they always saved the best cuts of meat for me, and they never once made me feel lesser just because I was a girl.” Hank crouched down, looking up at me without blinking. “When I was brought back to this wealthy family,” I continued, my voice steady and neutral, “everyone looked polished and perfect. But my biological parents showed blatant favoritism, people whispered behind my back, and sometimes… hands were raised against me.” I met his gaze directly. “So tell me, Hank… do looks really matter that much? I only care about what’s genuine.” Hank stood up abruptly, his posture shifting subtly as a cold, dark intensity flickered in his eyes. “Who laid a hand on you?” I pretended not to hear him, pulling up my phone to show him Pamela’s latest social media post. A nine-photo grid featuring champagne pyramids, crystal chandeliers, and Brandon holding her waist. The caption read: “Some people are born for the penthouse; others belong in the gutter.” “See?” I said quietly. “They look effortless and refined. But to me, all of that isn’t worth a real, home-cooked meal.” Hank’s expression turned complex. “You… you don’t care for high society?” Instead of answering, I offered him a small smile. “Thank you, Hank. I had a really good time today. Honestly, I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time.” At that exact moment, the charcoal powder on his cheeks practically shrieked: “Oh no, oh no! The boss is blushing! He’s burning me up!” Hank remained silent for the entire drive back. When we arrived at the gates of the Caldwell estate, we happened to run right into Pamela and Brandon returning from the gala. The moment Pamela saw me, she covered her nose and mouth, her face twisted in utter revulsion. “Ugh—Callie, did you actually go out to a pig sty with that disgusting brute? That’s revolting!” she scoffed. “I guess you really can’t wash off the dirt. Go ahead, marry that hideous loser and spend the rest of your life in the mud!” Even Brandon, who had been trying so hard to project a suave demeanor yesterday, pinched his nose in distaste. I heard his cheap watch wailing in despair: “Guys, it’s over! This scammer actually convinced her to buy him a sixty-thousand-dollar watch tomorrow! Am I getting thrown into the trash bin?!” I smiled faintly, looking at Pamela with a quiet, knowing look. “Who’s actually getting slaughtered here… remains to be seen.” Pamela and Brandon swept into a whirlwind romance over the next few weeks. She drained her personal savings to throw into Brandon’s private investment fund, constantly pressuring our parents to jump in as well. My parents ended up committing over seven million dollars. To push his venture further, Pamela even organized an exclusive networking banquet, inviting high-net-worth individuals from across the city to invest in his firm. Meanwhile, Hank and I spent our days wandering through low-key local spots, grabbing street food, and occasionally visiting the farm. Life felt remarkably peaceful. On the night of the investment banquet, Pamela arrived on Brandon’s arm, wearing an exquisite couture gown and radiating arrogance. Brandon took the stage with effortless composure, delivering a smooth pitch. Impressed by the Caldwell family’s apparent backing, several prominent figures agreed to write checks on the spot. Hank and I found a quiet, out-of-the-way corner table and quietly enjoyed the spread. Halfway through the evening, Pamela marched over to our table and slammed a glass of red wine straight into my face. “Callie, do you have no sense of shame?” she hissed, her voice cutting through the ambient room noise. “Tonight is an elite capital gathering, a room most ordinary people couldn’t buy their way into if they tried! How dare you bring a filthy, unrefined brute into a space like this?!” The cold wine soaked through my dress, clinging heavily to my skin. Every eye in the room instantly snapped toward us. In a flash, Hank stepped directly in front of me, his eyes cold and menacing. “Apologize.” Brandon stepped up to shield Pamela, releasing a mocking laugh. “A nobody who handles livestock thinks he can talk to Pamela like that? Everyone in this room commands millions. You getting through those doors is a privilege you should be thanking us for on your knees!” Hank glanced down at Brandon’s wrist, his voice dropping into a quiet, dangerous tone. “A man wearing a ten-dollar fake has no place talking about millions.” He paused, staring straight into Brandon’s panicked eyes. “You put on a convincing show, Brandon. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work on me.” The cheap watch on Brandon’s wrist nearly broke into tears: “Friends, I’m back from the garbage bin! This cheapskate couldn’t bring himself to wear the real luxury piece he bought, so he resold it and strapped me right back on!” Brandon’s face turned pale as he instinctively pulled his left hand behind his back. Pamela, however, flared up with instant outrage. “That watch cost me sixty thousand dollars out of my own pocket! What would a penniless loser who spends his days in the dirt know about luxury brands?!” She sneered, gesturing wildly. “If you sold yourself and everything you owned, you wouldn’t be worth a fraction of the leather on Brandon’s wrist!” I gently tugged at Hank’s sleeve, keeping my voice low. “Let it go… if my parents see this, they’ll only punish me again.” Hank looked down at my wine-stained lashes, his voice raspy with suppressed rage. “As long as I’m standing here, no one touches you.” Pamela scoffed. “Who do you think you are to protect her?!” She turned toward the hall security, raising her voice to a sharp command. “Security! Throw these two disruptive freeloaders out immediately!” Three heavy-set guards lunged forward, grabbing my arms to haul me toward the exit. Hank surged forward. “Get your hands off her!” Before he could reach me, two of the guards tackled him, pinning him firmly to the marble floor. As he was forced down, he caught sight of my dress tearing at the shoulder from the rough handling. His eyes turned bloodshot. “Pamela! Do you have any idea who the hell you’re putting your hands on?!” he roared, his voice shaking the room. “I order you to let her go right now!” Pamela stepped forward, raising her high heel and digging the sharp tip firmly into his chest. “You think you can address me by my name? I can ruin whoever I want! What are you going to do about it, you useless piece of trash?” Right at that moment, the heavy double doors of the ballroom were slammed open with a deafening crash. A furious roar echoed across the hall: “I’d like to see who dares lay a hand on a member of the Kingsley family!” A quiet gasp rippled through the crowd as people recognized the newcomer. “That’s… that’s Kieran Kingsley! The second-in-command of the Kingsley Syndicate!” “If Kieran Kingsley is here in person, does that mean Brandon’s project has the backing of the main Kingsley estate?!” Brandon’s eyes lit up with wild ambition, and he frantically gestured for the security guards to release us. Hank immediately stripped off his heavy jacket, rushing over to wrap it tightly around my shoulders. Kieran strode into the room, but the moment his eyes landed on Hank’s disguised appearance, his expression visibly twitched. Pamela, eager to seize the moment, rushed toward Kieran with an apologetic smile. “Mr. Kingsley, I’ve already looked into this man. This Hank is just a distant, forgotten relative from an obscure branch of your family tree. He’s already married with a child, yet my sister was foolish enough to fall for his act. I was merely stepping in to maintain order—please don’t take offense.” Disdainful glares rained down on me from every corner of the room like sharp slaps to the face. My mother rushed over, digging her finger forcefully into my temple. “You’ve completely humiliated the Caldwell family name!” I shook my head helplessly, my voice barely audible. “Mom, it’s not what she’s saying…” Hank clenched his fists, taking a firm step forward. “Ma’am, let me explain. I’m actually not—” “SMACK.” My mother delivered a harsh, echoing slap across Hank’s face. Kieran drew in a sharp breath, his jaw dropping in utter shock. My mother glared at Hank with absolute revulsion. “I am correcting my daughter. It is not the place of an outsider to speak.” I broke away and threw myself in front of Hank, screaming until my voice went raw. “Why do you always believe Pamela without question?!” “Why is it that no matter what I say, you never listen?!” Driven by sheer desperation, I pulled back the hem of my gown, exposing the long, jagged scars running up my legs. Tears spilled over uncontrollably. “Ever since I was brought back to your home, Pamela set dogs on me, burned me with candles, and neither of you cared!” “Now, all I wanted was to have one genuine friend who actually cares about me! What right do you have to judge me?!” My father stepped up, his hand swinging down with heavy force across my cheek. “You ungrateful girl! How dare you speak to your mother like that?!” A deafening ring echoed in my ears as my balance gave out. I fell backward, plunging directly toward the heavy, nine-tier crystal champagne tower behind me. Panels of glass shattered violently as hundreds of filled flutes tumbled down around us. “Callie!” Hank’s pupils contracted in pure terror. He lunged forward without hesitation, throwing his body over mine and wrapping me in a tight, protective embrace. A deafening cascade of shattering glass echoed through the hall. The torrent of spilled wine washed away the thick layer of charcoal powder clinging to his face. Sharp shards of glass sliced through the hidden seams of the silicone suit. Beneath the soaked, torn white shirt, the firm, defined contours of a natural eight-pack were unmistakably visible. A mixture of red wine and crimson blood trickled down from his temple. When he raised his head, he revealed a face of breathtaking refinement—cold, noble, and strikingly handsome. Someone in the crowd caught sight of his features and gasped, unable to believe their own eyes. “Greg Kingsley?! The main heir to the Kingsley empire?!” “How… how could he be that rough country butcher?!” Pamela and Brandon’s faces drained of every drop of color instantly.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “554428”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My fiancé—a man bound to a wheelchair—had just arrived to hand me my engagement ring. In response, I threw it right back at his chest, throwing a full-blown tantrum and demanding we call off the wedding. Then, out of nowhere, translucent boxes of glowing text materialized in my field of vision, hovering in the air like a live-stream chat room. What an idiot. Her identity as the fake heiress is getting exposed tomorrow, and she’s still throwing a fit. The second the real heiress comes back, her adoptive parents are packing her up overnight and handing her over to that sick old pervert Henderson to settle their debts. She looks down on a disabled billionaire every single day, pulling stunt after stunt to break off the engagement. He’s top-tier old money! If she doesn’t lock him down right now, he’s going to belong to the real heiress. I sucked in a sharp breath. The hand I had been pointing aggressively at his nose slowly, awkwardly retreated. Damian remained silent for a beat. He turned his wheelchair toward the door, his voice cool and indifferent. “Fine. I’ll issue a statement tomorrow. The engagement is off.” Thump. I dropped to my knees in front of his wheelchair, snatched the ring right out of his hand, and shoved it onto my finger. “Don’t be like that! Why are you so sensitive?” I squeezed out a desperate, theatrical smile. “I’m yours in life, and I’m yours in death! Hubby, why wait for a good day? How about we head to City Hall and get our marriage license right now?” … Damian’s dark brows pulled together tightly. His sharp, analytical gaze swept over me, heavy with suspicion. “Sadie,” he said, his voice measured. “Five minutes ago, you were threatening to jump off a balcony if I didn’t release you. What kind of game are you playing now?” More glowing text drifted past my face. What is this toxic fake heiress up to now? Calling him ‘hubby’ after throwing a fit? There’s definitely a catch! A dramatic nightmare like her—no man could stand her for more than five minutes. I let out a forced laugh, forcing my theatrical acting into overdrive. “That was a test! I was testing your patience, trying to see if you could tolerate my little quirks—if you really wanted to marry me. Congratulations! You passed with flying colors!” I peeked down at Damian’s legs beneath his tailored trousers, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I had, in fact, detested the idea of marrying a man in a wheelchair. Rumor had it that Damian Cross was cold-blooded, ruthless, and entirely unfeeling. On top of that, I had been harboring a pathetic, secret crush on my brother’s best friend, Mason. The floating comments seemed to read my mind, rolling across my vision in a frantic frenzy. Doesn’t she still have a massive crush on her brother’s best friend? Too bad Mason can’t stand the sight of her. Right? He’s the male lead—he belongs exclusively to the real heiress. Mason has been sick of Sadie for years. He only smiles at her because he respects her brother. A cold chill washed down my spine. My quiet, unrequited love… had been viewed with nothing but disgust by Mason all along? The text kept scrolling. She has the nerve to look down on Damian just because he’s in a chair. Once she gets shipped off to old man Henderson with his sadistic bedroom habits, she’ll realize what a saint Damian actually is! My mind began racing through rapid calculations. A sadistic old creep versus a ridiculously gorgeous, ultra-wealthy billionaire in a wheelchair. Damian might be bound to a chair, but he was breathtakingly handsome and immensely powerful. He was my absolute golden ticket to survival. To hell with romance! Compared to money and staying alive, romance wasn’t worth a single dime. Who wouldn’t want to be a billionaire’s wife? So what if he was in a wheelchair? A husband who couldn’t run around was a blessing—he’d hand over his black card, stay out of my hair, and live a long, prosperous life! Damian watched the emotions flickering across my face, clearly unconvinced by my speech. He pulled his sleeve out of my tight grip, his voice icy. “Marriage isn’t a game, Sadie. I won’t have you regretting this.” The live chat rallied behind him instantly. Hell yeah! Good job, boss! Don’t fall for this drama queen’s trap! She’s definitely plotting something! Run, man, run! The real heiress comes back tomorrow. You deserve so much better! Damian’s dark eyes locked onto mine, searching, deep. “I’ll give you one night,” he said quietly. “If you haven’t changed your mind by morning… I’ll be parked outside the Lambert estate at nine sharp. We’ll go to City Hall.” With a flick of his wrist, he signaled his assistant, who immediately stepped forward to wheel him toward the exit. After Damian left, I collapsed onto the sofa, staring blankly at the massive diamond ring resting on my finger. A seed of doubt crept into my mind. Could I really trust these floating text boxes? Even if I wasn’t their biological daughter, the Lamberts had raised me for twenty years. My parents and my brother had pampered me like a princess. How could they possibly have the heart to pack me up and sell me to a monster to cover their debts? As if answering my internal conflict, the floating text illuminated the air once more. The Lambert family’s capital chain snapped two weeks ago. The only reason they pressed for her to marry Damian was to secure the Cross family’s emergency bailout. If she weren’t so drop-dead gorgeous, the Lamberts wouldn’t have adopted her in the first place. Raising her for twenty years was just an investment—a bargaining chip to pave the way for her brother, Brandon. The real heiress lands tomorrow. By then, Sadie won’t even be eligible for a high-society marriage. She’s getting handed straight to Henderson for a twenty-million-dollar cash injection. My scalp went numb. Terror spread through my veins, cold and absolute. I took a deep, shaky breath, my vision sharpening with newfound vigilance. On the drive back to the Lambert estate, I thumbed the polished diamond on my finger. If these floating words were true… then Damian Cross was my only way out. The moment I stepped through the front doors of the mansion, my adoptive parents rushed into the foyer. There was no warmth in their eyes, no inquiry about whether I was tired or hungry. Instead, their faces were tight with anxiety, their questions sharp and impatient. “Sadie! How did it go with Damian? Did he mention a wedding date?” A knot tied itself in my stomach. I decided to test them. Leaning into my usual spoiled, reckless persona, I tossed my designer handbag onto the entry table with a loud thud. “I’m not marrying that cripple!” I snapped, tossing my head back. “I told him straight up that it’s over. He agreed to break off the engagement, and he’s releasing a public statement tomorrow morning.” The indulgent, loving smiles instantly vanished from their faces. In their place emerged stark shock and raw, venomous rage. My adoptive father, Howard Lambert, trembled with fury. He raised his hand and brought it down hard across my cheek. SLAP. “You brainless brat!” he roared. My adoptive mother, Beatrice, didn’t offer a single word of comfort. Gone was her gentle demeanor; she stepped forward, her voice sharp and scolding. “Do you have any idea what’s happening to our company’s finances? Without the Cross family’s funding, we’re going under! The Lambert family raised you for twenty years—asking you to marry a man in a wheelchair isn’t asking you to die!” I stood there, stunned, my hand pressed against my burning cheek. Just then, the heavy front door swung open. My brother, Brandon, walked in. Seeing the brother who had always protected me, a wave of hurt crashed over me. I reached out, seeking refuge. “Brandon…” Having caught the tail end of the conversation, Brandon’s face turned thunderous. He didn’t pull me into a hug. Instead, he shoved me back violently. “You selfish, stupid bitch!” he snarled. “You only care about your own little feelings! You don’t give a damn about this family’s survival or my future!” The glowing text floated overhead once more. See? The Lamberts were only good to her because she had value. Now that she’s ruined the deal, she has nothing. It’s better if she doesn’t marry him anyway. The real heiress comes back tomorrow—she’ll be Mrs. Cross soon enough. My chest tightened as I looked at the three people before me. This was my family? Faced with my silence, Howard, Beatrice, and Brandon exchanged a swift, meaningful glance. I caught it instantly—a flash of cold, calculating greed in their eyes. It was the look of ruthless business executives cutting their losses. Howard drew a long breath, forcing his rage back down, his face morphing back into a gentle, fatherly mask. “Alright, alright. Since the engagement is off, what’s done is done. If you really don’t want to marry Damian, we won’t force you.” Beatrice and Brandon quickly fell in line, their attitudes doing a complete 180-degree turn. Beatrice stepped closer, taking my cold hands in hers, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Sadie, sweetie… there’s an exclusive charity gala tomorrow night. Dress up nicely and come with us. You’re older now; it’s time you met some of the influential executives in the city. If there’s a fine young man you like, they can introduce you.” The text box flashed again, glowing bright crimson. Here it comes! They’re taking her to meet old man Henderson! At this exact party, the Lamberts are going to spike her drink and ship her straight to Henderson’s hotel suite in exchange for a twenty-million-dollar investment! That old pervert has literally killed girls in bed before. But hey, she brought this on herself by being such a drama queen! Looking at the smiling faces of my parents and brother, the blood in my veins turned to ice. It was all real. Every single word. To them, I wasn’t a daughter or a sister. I was an asset to be liquidated. To avoid tipping them off, I swallowed the wave of nausea rising in my throat, forcing myself to nod meekly. “Okay. Whatever you say, Mom, Dad.” Late that night, when the house was swallowed by silence, I crept out of my bedroom and slipped into my father’s study. I flipped through drawers and unlocked safes until I finally retrieved my official birth records and personal documents. Under the dim moonlight streaming through the window, I clutched the papers to my chest, my gaze hardening into steel. To hell with family loyalty. To hell with tragic romance. Tomorrow morning, I was marrying Damian Cross. The next day, I woke up early and dressed meticulously. I slipped my documents safely into my leather tote bag and made my way downstairs. My parents were sitting at the dining table, having breakfast. Seeing me dressed to the nines, Beatrice’s eyes narrowed in instant suspicion. “Sadie? Where are you going so early?” I didn’t blink, letting out a airy, spoiled sigh. “I have to prepare for the gala tonight! I booked a full spa treatment and a hair salon appointment. If I’m going to impress these wealthy eligible bachelors, I need to outshine everyone in the room.” Relief washed over their faces. Convinced that I had fallen completely into line, they smiled and let me go. Stepping out through the gates of the estate, I spotted a sleek, low-profile black Maybach parked by the curb. The license plate was unmistakable. It was Damian’s. My eyes lit up. I hurried over, opened the rear door, and slid into the leather seat. Damian had been reviewing documents on a tablet. Looking up to see me actually standing there—without a hint of reluctance—a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his deep, dark eyes. The moment I sat down, I clicked my seatbelt into place, pulled the documents from my bag with a bright smile, and handed them over. Then, I casually wrapped my arm through his. “Hubby! I brought all my papers. Let’s go!” I caught a faint, almost imperceptible flush creeping up the back of his ears. Clearing his throat, he pushed a thermos of warm milk and a box of delicate breakfast pastries toward me. “Have you truly thought this through?” he asked, his dark gaze intense, predatory—as if giving me one last chance to run before he locked the cage forever. I nodded firmly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” The text boxes exploded above us. Wait a minute… why is this drama queen acting so docile today? Holy crap, did Big Boss Cross just feel a spark of satisfaction? He even bought her breakfast! Weren’t they supposed to despise each other? What is this weirdly sweet energy? Why am I suddenly shipping them?! I ignored the floating text entirely. Together, Damian and I arrived at City Hall. The photos, the paperwork, the official seals—it was all completed in less than twenty minutes. Holding the sleek, navy-blue marriage certificate in my hands, the weight in my chest finally lifted. I had officially secured my lifeline. Stepping out of the building, I tugged gently on Damian’s sleeve, softening my voice into a sweet, coaxing tone. “Hubby… can we keep this quiet for just a little bit? I want to tell my parents in person and give them a big surprise.” Damian had navigated the cutthroat corporate world for years; he could see right through my lie. He studied me intently, choosing not to break my cover, and simply offered a quiet nod. “Fine. As you wish. Call me if you need anything.” His unspoken indulgence warmed my chest. When I arrived back at the Lambert mansion, I opened the door to hear the sound of muffled weeping coming from the living room. Walking into the grand foyer, I saw a young woman—dressed simply, looking frail and deeply pitied—wrapped tightly in my mother’s arms. The true heiress, Cassie Lambert, had finally arrived. Standing beside Cassie, his eyes filled with fierce protection, was Mason—the man I had spent years pining over. The moment Mason caught sight of me, he stepped in front of Cassie like a guard dog, his expression dripping with defense and disgust. Seeing the man I used to love looking at another woman with such tenderness gave me a brief, dull sting in my chest. Then, the text scrolled past. The male lead was always meant for the real heiress. What is the fake heiress getting all bitter about? I snapped back to reality instantly. Bitterness? Please. I had an official marriage certificate to a billionaire sitting in my bag! The crying stopped the moment I entered, plunging the room into an excruciating, awkward silence. Howard cleared his throat, his tone sounding like a request, though it was clearly an order. “Sadie, move your things out of the master suite on the second floor. Clear out your walk-in closet too—give the designer dresses and jewelry to Cassie. Consider it compensation for everything she suffered over the years.” Beatrice chimed in immediately. “And Sadie, tomorrow night, bring Cassie along to the gala.” The live chat went frantic once again. The Lamberts are planning to pitch the real heiress to Damian for marriage, while drugging the fake heiress and handing her over to old man Henderson to settle their debt! One daughter for a marriage alliance, one daughter for debt clearance. The Lamberts really know how to play the math! Poor Mason has no idea he’s delivering his girl right into a corporate human-trafficking setup. I let out a cold laugh on the inside, but my face molded into a bright, cooperative smile. “Of course, Mom, Dad. I’ll go pack right away. And don’t worry, I’ll take great care of my new sister at the gala tomorrow.” I cleared out my room with lightning speed. Cassie stood by the doorway, her eyes rimmed with red as she watched me pack my luggage. “Sister… I really didn’t mean to drive you out…” Looking at the timid, fragile girl before me, I couldn’t find it in myself to hate her. Knowing what a snake pit the Lambert family was, I actually felt a wave of pity for her. I offered her a slight smile. “It’s fine. It was yours to begin with; I was just holding onto it for a few years.” Before rolling my suitcase out, I leaned in close to Cassie, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Just a heads-up—tomorrow night’s party isn’t going to be safe. Keep your guard up, and don’t trust a single word our ‘parents’ say.” The glowing text flickered above us in sheer confusion. Huh? Why isn’t the evil fake heiress bullying the real one? Is she actually… warning her? This isn’t how the script goes! Ignoring Cassie’s stunned expression and the live chat’s confusion, I walked straight into the adjacent guest room, locked the door, and dialed Damian’s personal number. He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” his deep voice echoed through the line. I skipped the small talk, asking directly if he was attending the charity gala tomorrow night. When he gave me a concise “Yes,” the final knot of anxiety in my chest unraveled. I let out a cheerful breath and launched into a ridiculously affection-drenched sign-off. “I miss you so much, Hubby! See you tomorrow night! Get some good rest!” I hung up immediately, feeling completely at peace, and wrapped myself in the duvet for a solid night’s sleep. The following evening, the gala venue was a sparkling sea of haute couture and champagne flutes. Howard and Beatrice paraded a beautifully styled Cassie around the room. Pleased with how ‘obedient’ I had been, they dragged her from guest to guest, shedding tearful tears as they introduced her as their long-lost biological daughter. Before long, Damian’s wheelchair appeared at the entrance of the ballroom. My adoptive parents’ eyes lit up instantly. Dragging Cassie along, they practically threw themselves in his path, flattering him relentlessly while subtly hinting that the arrangement for the Cross family marriage could easily be switched to their biological daughter. Standing a short distance away, I spotted Mason lurking in a dark corner, his face as black as thunder. Watching his suppressed, miserable rage, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. While Howard droned on, Damian’s gaze cut straight through the crowd, landing precisely on me. Taking advantage of the fact that no one was paying attention, I popped out my tongue and made a ridiculous face at him. Seeing my goofy expression, Damian’s dark eyes softened slightly, the corner of his lips tugging upward in an almost imperceptible smile. The live chat lost its mind. Holy shit! Did Big Boss Cross just smile?! The Lambert parents are out here aggressively marketing the real heiress, completely unaware that the married couple is flirting right in front of them! Halfway through the evening, knowing how filthy the Lamberts’ tactics could be, I glued myself to Damian’s side. I poured his tea, fetched his water, and acted thoroughly devoted. Though Damian pretended to be annoyed by my clinginess, he didn’t push me away once. When an executive came over to toast him, he even signaled his assistant to swap my wine glass for chilled grape juice. Watching from afar, the Lamberts were practically breaking out in a sweat, but they couldn’t find a single window of opportunity to isolate me. Toward the end of the night, seeing Damian locked in conversation with a group of board members, I slipped away to use the restroom. The moment I stepped out of the lounge corridor, a red-eyed Mason blocked my path. Driven frantic by something, he yelled straight into my face. “Sadie! What did you do to Cassie?!” “Are you so consumed by jealousy that you did something terrible to her?” “I know you’ve been obsessed with me for years, but give it up! Even without Cassie, I would never love a girl like you!” I stood there, completely bewildered by his sudden outburst. Suddenly, massive crimson text boxes flashed aggressively before my eyes. MASON IS A DUMBASS! THE REAL HEIRESS WAS DRUGGED BY HER OWN PARENTS TWENTY MINUTES AGO! BECAUSE DAMIAN PROTECTED THE FAKE HEIRESS ALL NIGHT, THE LAMBERTS COULDN’T GET TO HER. TO SECURE HENDERSON’S TWENTY-MILLION-DOLLAR INVESTMENT, THEY DRUGGED THEIR BIOLOGICAL DAUGHTER AND CARRIED HER UP TO ROOM 302! THE REAL HEIRESS IS ABOUT TO BE RUINED BY OLD MAN HENDERSON! MASON, STOP FREAKING OUT ON THE WRONG GIRL AND RUN UPSTREAM TO SAVE HER! I gasped, my jaw practically hitting the floor. To save their own skins, the Lamberts had actually pushed the biological daughter they just reclaimed into a living hell! I didn’t have time to argue with Mason. I opened my mouth to tell him to sprint to Room 302— When the soft, distinct sound of rubber wheels rolling over the plush hallway carpet echoed behind us. The ambient temperature in the corridor instantly plummeted to freezing. Damian brought his wheelchair to a halt a few paces away. His long, elegant fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest, his dark eyes narrowing into a dangerous, icy slit. His voice carried a terrifying, quiet chill. “Oh? So… Miss Lambert’s heart has belonged to young Mr. Mason all along?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “554427”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my daughter’s sixth birthday, my husband didn’t order her favorite custom princess cake. Instead, he had a flatbed truck deliver a hundred pounds of fresh cilantro to the estate. All because our daughter, severely allergic to cilantro, had refused to eat a single bite of the cilantro-lime ribeye steak her step-sister had deliberately grilled for the birthday dinner. In retaliation, he ordered his men to pry her small mouth open and force-feed her handful after handful of the herb. He livestreamed the entire ordeal to my phone, forcing me to watch. Listening to my daughter’s desperate, fading cries, I sobbed into the receiver, consumed by agonizing despair. “Damon, Daisy is dangerously allergic to cilantro! Are you really going to kill your own daughter for a stranger? You’re a monster!” Damon’s response was a brutal slap across my face when he returned, his voice icy and unyielding. “She caused Talia’s stress-induced asthma attack! This is the punishment she deserves.” As he turned to leave, he threw a final threat over his shoulder. “If she doesn’t finish every last ounce of that hundred pounds, she will never have another birthday again.” … When I finally saw my daughter again, her sweet face was covered in angry red hives, her skin swollen and burning hot to the touch. Her throat was so severely swollen from anaphylaxis that she was choking. Her lips had turned a terrifying shade of bruised purple, her breathing shallow and ragged. She was on the brink of death. Yet the moment her glassy eyes caught mine, she fought with every remaining shred of strength to comfort me. “Don’t cry, Mommy… Daisy doesn’t hurt… I don’t hurt…” A knife twisted deep inside my chest, a suffocation of pure agony. I forced my hands not to tremble, forcing myself to remain functional. I scooped her tiny, trembling body into my arms. “Don’t be scared, baby. Mommy’s here. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” As a senior physician, I knew better than anyone that with acute anaphylactic asphyxiation, every passing second brought her closer to brain death. I sprinted toward the villa’s private medical bay. The room was fully stocked with a complete inventory of emergency pharmaceuticals and trauma equipment, maintained specifically for unexpected medical emergencies on the estate. If I could just reach the epinephrine, I could stabilize Daisy’s airway immediately. But as I reached the heavy glass doors, two towering guards in dark suits stepped into my path, blocking the entrance. Desperation tore through me. “Get out of my way! My daughter is in critical condition—she needs immediate emergency resuscitation!” The guards’ expressions remained entirely blank. “Mrs. Carlton, all medical supplies and emergency pharmaceuticals in this villa are reserved exclusively for Miss Whitmore by Mr. Carlton’s strict order. No outsiders are permitted access.” “Outsiders?” Red spots blurred my vision, my voice vibrating with sheer disbelief and horror. “I am Damon’s wife! The person dying in my arms is his flesh and blood!” One of the guards uttered a quiet, dismissive sneer. “Mrs. Carlton, everyone on this estate knows Miss Whitmore is Mr. Carlton’s top priority. He explicitly instructed us that all resources are reserved for Miss Whitmore first. No exceptions.” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my throat, forcing every word out through gritted teeth. “My child is dying. This is a matter of life and death. I only need a single dose of epinephrine. I beg you, let me inside to get the medication! I will take full responsibility for whatever happens!” The guard’s stance only hardened. “I’m sorry. Without Mr. Carlton’s personal authorization, no one goes through these doors.” It felt as though my heart was being torn open by hand. Realizing logic was useless, I dialed Damon’s video call directly. He answered on the second ring. The high-definition screen lit up with a sickeningly serene scene. In the plush leather booth of an exclusive private lounge, Talia leaned fragilely against his shoulder, looking small and cherished. While on my end, his six-year-old daughter was suffocating in the dark. Damon’s brows knit together in immediate annoyance. “What do you want now?” I slammed the camera down toward Daisy’s pale, bloated face. “Damon, look at what you’ve done! Daisy ate the cilantro and is in severe anaphylactic shock! She’s slipping away!” “The guards are blocking me from the emergency kit! Tell them to let me in right now so I can save her!” Tears spilled over my lashes, my tone reduced to a raw, broken plea. Damon glanced at the screen for less than a second, his eyes filled with nothing but cold disgust. His voice cut through the line like ice. “Valerie, what kind of pathetic game are you playing now? Just to vent your petty spite against Talia, you’re making our daughter act out some tragic drama?” My body went completely rigid, the blood draining from my face. “Damon, she is your daughter! She is dying! Can’t you see that?!” Beside him, Talia shifted closer, her fingers delicate on his lapel. Her voice came through soft and helpless. “Damon, those medical supplies were prepared specifically for me… I suppose Valerie is just jealous because you care about me so much.” She looked straight into the camera, putting on a show of gentle magnanimity. “Valerie, if you really need them that badly, please, take them. It’s okay. Though… is Daisy’s allergy really that severe?” That subtle insinuation lit the fuse on Damon’s volatile temper. His expression turned instantly murderous as he barked into the phone. “Valerie! You’re a doctor, yet your mind is so consumed by malice and jealousy!” “Talia has been frail her entire life and requires constant care—is it a crime for me to keep medication on hand for her?” “Not only do you lack an ounce of empathy, you target her at every turn! You even teach our child to fake illnesses just to gain sympathy and push Talia out!” Looking at the man on the screen—a man who refused to see the truth, who twisted reality to suit his cruel obsession—the absolute last ember of love and hope I held for him shattered into dust. I let out a harsh, broken laugh, my body shaking so violently that tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. “Damon Carlton… you will regret this for the rest of your life.” Before he could respond, he disconnected the call. I couldn’t waste another second. Earlier, before the confrontation with the guards, I had already dialed emergency services. I gathered my unconscious daughter into my arms, stumbling frantically toward the estate’s main gates. The sight of the approaching ambulance brought a split second of relief to my chest. Then, without stopping, the ambulance pulled a sharp U-turn at the security gates and sped away in the opposite direction. The gate guard approached with a flat, bureaucratic expression. “Miss Whitmore had a sudden asthma flare-up at the lounge. Dispatch re-routed the unit to prioritize Miss Whitmore’s emergency.” By the time I managed to flag down a private car and commute to the hospital, the small body in my arms had gone terrifyingly limp. The attending physician in the ER, Dr. Donovan, was a former colleague of mine. The moment his eyes fell on Daisy, his face went completely pale. “Severe anaphylactic shock! Grade four laryngeal edema! Prepare an immediate IV dose of high-potency epinephrine!” He rushed to the emergency medication cabinet and pulled open the drawers, only to freeze. “Where are the ampoules?” Another doctor ran over, his face dark. “Dr. Donovan, the entire reserve batch of emergency epinephrine was transferred to the VIP suite.” Dr. Donovan spun around, furious. “Who authorized that?! That was our last remaining emergency supply for acute allergic reactions! Who had the right to—” “Dr. Donovan… Miss Whitmore had an asthma attack earlier. Mr. Carlton ordered all relevant resuscitation drugs in the hospital to be moved directly to her VIP room…” Before he could finish his sentence, I had already turned and rushed toward the VIP wing like a woman possessed. When Damon saw me kick open the door to Talia’s room, his gaze darkened with intense irritation. “Valerie, is there truly no end to your antics? You followed me all the way to the hospital? Do you think the ER is your personal stage for throwing tantrums?” My eyes ignored him completely, locking onto the tray sitting on the bedside table—containing over a dozen vials of emergency epinephrine. “Damon, I am begging you. Daisy is in the trauma bay right now. Her airway is completely closed. Dr. Donovan said if she doesn’t get this medication immediately—” “Here we go again,” Damon interrupted, his brow heavy with contempt. “Valerie, I’ve seen you lie, and I’ve seen you act. But I never imagined you would invent a lie about your own daughter dying—twice in a single day.” “I am not acting! Come down to the trauma room and see her with your own eyes—” “Enough!” He grabbed a glass water tumbler from the nightstand and threw it forcefully at my head. The thick glass struck my forehead with a sickening crack. Warm, metallic liquid immediately ran down my face, dripping onto my collar. I didn’t care. I didn’t even wipe it away. Without a second thought, I dropped heavily to my knees on the cold tile floor. “I beg you. Just give me the medication. The second my daughter is safe, I will sign the divorce papers. I will leave and never bother either of you again.” For a fraction of a second, something flickered in Damon’s eyes. Then Talia let out a soft, weak cough from the bed, speaking up at just the right moment. “Valerie, if you want the medication that badly, I can give it to you. You don’t need to say things you don’t mean out of anger…” Damon turned his head, his touch impossibly tender as he pinched her nose lovingly. “Give it to her? Do you even know the condition your own body is in?” My heart seized painfully in my chest. Talia tugged gently on his sleeve, a sly, amused smile touching her lips. “Damon, I just think Valerie’s performance is so moving. I want to play along.” She turned her eyes to me, affecting a look of gentle hesitation. “Valerie, you always insist I don’t really have asthma and refuse to treat me properly. If you’re willing to go out to the main lobby, kneel down, and publicly announce that you were wrong, I’ll give you the medication.” Damon stared down at me for three agonizing seconds. “Valerie, Talia is being more than generous by giving you a way to save face. Go on. Do as she says.” Kneeling on the ground, my fingernails dug into my palms until blood leaked through my fingers. All I could see behind my eyes was Daisy’s gray, lifeless face. I forced my trembling body up, staggered out of the room, and walked into the center of the crowded main emergency lobby. In front of dozens of patients, nurses, and doctors, I dropped heavily to my knees. “I am a terrible doctor!” The chaotic noise of the lobby gradually faded as countless eyes turned toward me. “My medical judgment is incompetent! I failed to properly diagnose Miss Whitmore’s asthma! I do not deserve to practice medicine!” My voice trembled, each word torn from a bleeding throat. “I apologize to her! I am sorry!” The gazes of the onlookers sliced into me like invisible scalpels, but I felt no shame, no humiliation, no pain. I only wanted the box of medicine for my baby. The doors to the VIP corridor opened. Damon walked over with an unreadable expression, standing over me like a king looking down at a beggar. Just as I opened my mouth to ask for the vials, a violent blow struck the small of my back. His foot slammed into my ribs. He drew back his leg, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Valerie, to compete with Talia, you’ve thrown away every last shred of your dignity. Acting like this only makes me find you more revolting.” “Have you put on enough of a show? If you’re done, get out.” He turned on his heel, walking back toward the VIP suite. As he retreated, he carelessly tossed a single vial over his shoulder onto the floor. Every ounce of physical agony vanished from my mind. I threw myself forward on my hands and knees, clutching the fragile glass container to my chest. I scrambled up and ran like a madwoman toward the trauma bay. Slamming open the double doors, I held up the medication in my blood-stained hand, gasping for breath. “Dr. Donovan! I got the epinephrine! Give it to Daisy now!” The trauma bed in the center of the room was completely empty. The attending nurse looked at me with deep, pitying eyes. “Dr. Ashford… I am so sorry. Ten minutes ago, the child suffered complete respiratory arrest. We couldn’t bring her back.” I froze. The strength in my limbs vanished in an instant, a deafening ring roaring in my ears. The vial slipped from my numb fingers, shattering against the concrete floor. No. That was impossible. How could my sweet Daisy leave me like this? I stumbled forward, seizing the nurse’s coat with white-knuckle force. “You’re lying to me! She was just in shock! Epinephrine will fix it—take me to her! Let me give it to her!” The nurse’s eyes welled with tears as she gently pried my fingers loose. “Her body has already been transferred to the morgue. You should go say goodbye.” My world went entirely dark. I stumbled through the corridors like a ghost, running toward the basement. When I gave the attendant my daughter’s name, the worker on duty checked the logbook with a puzzled frown. “A woman presented a release form signed by Mr. Carlton about twenty minutes ago. She already collected the child’s remains.” A sudden darkness swirled in front of my eyes, and I nearly collapsed to the floor. I bit my bottom lip so hard that blood filled my mouth, using the sharp spike of physical pain to force my mind back into consciousness. I turned and sprinted out of the hospital into the night. When I pushed open the wrought-iron gates of the estate, the scene waiting in the courtyard made my blood run cold. Two dozen guards stood in formation along the paved driveway. Behind them, heavy iron cages held twenty massive, muscular attack dogs. Talia stepped out from the main entrance, dressed impeccably, a gentle, harmless smile playing on her lips. Yet the words that fell from those lips dragged my soul into an abyss. “You know, Daisy could have had a complete body for her funeral. She could have been buried with dignity. But it’s all your fault—you just had to fight me for Damon. You just had to stand in my way.” A suffocating wave of hatred surged through me. I wanted to tear her apart with my bare hands. Instead, my legs buckled, and I crashed heavily to my knees before her on the gravel. Sharp stones sliced through my pants, embedding in my knees, but I felt nothing. “I beg you… give me Daisy’s body back.” “I will leave immediately. I will disappear forever. I will never come back, never bother either of you ever again.” I slammed my forehead onto the hard ground, repeating the plea over and over like a mantra. Talia let out a soft chuckle. “Give her back to you? Then who is going to compensate me for all the grievances I’ve suffered over the years?” She flicked her eyes toward the head guard, giving a casual instruction. “My precious boys are hungry. Open the cages and let them in for their feast.” The guard stepped forward, raising the heavy iron latches on every cage door. Twenty massive dogs roared with aggression, surging past the threshold and hurtling inside the villa’s lower wing. A second later, a chaotic, horrific sound echoed from inside the room—a wet, vicious sound of tearing and feeding. In an instant, I realized what was in that room. The final pillar holding my sanity together snapped. My eyes strained against their sockets, blood screaming in my ears as I threw myself toward the doorway like a feral animal. Before I could reach the threshold, a heavy boot slammed into my chest, sending me flying backward onto the stone tiles. I scrambled forward on all fours, wrapping my arms around the guard’s leg with desperate strength. “Open the door! Let me in! That is my daughter! How can you be so cruel?!” “Damon Carlton! Talia Whitmore! May you both rot in hell!” With a signal from Talia, the guard struck me across the face, sending me sprawling across the courtyard again. Her cruel voice floated down to me. “Poor little Daisy. Right before she drew her last breath, I bet she was still waiting for her doctor mommy to come save her.” My heart felt as though it were being slowly ground to dust, yet I was forced to watch it all unfold. The sickening crunch of bone tore through the air from behind the closed doors. “Ahhh—!” The agony locked in my lungs exploded, fueling a desperate burst of strength that carried me straight at Talia’s throat. “I will make you pay with your life!” Just as my fingers scraped her neck, a powerful hand gripped the back of my collar from behind, violently yanking me off my feet. My back slammed violently onto the hard stone floor. Old injuries mixed with new pain, and my vision flickered dark for a long second. Damon stepped over me, wrapping an arm around Talia to shelter her behind his body. “Valerie, have you completely lost your mind?!” “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Just because of your pathetic jealousy, you’re trying to murder her in broad daylight?!” Talia placed a delicate hand on his arm, affecting a soft, mournful sigh. “It’s all my fault, Damon. If I hadn’t cooked that dish for Daisy, none of these misunderstandings would have happened…” Hearing this, the fire in Damon’s eyes burned even hotter. I lay collapsed on the ground, forcing my chin up to look at him. He stood there in his tailored, immaculate suit, looking every bit the refined gentleman. Yet the way he looked at me was colder than ice. “Damon… do you have any idea what your sweet Talia just did?” I rasped, my voice barely human. “She let twenty attack dogs into that room… to tear apart your daughter’s body.” Damon’s brow twitched slightly. He stared down at me as if looking at a repulsive, insane monster. “Valerie… do you even hear the insane nonsense coming out of your mouth?” “Attack dogs? A body?” The last trace of patience vanished from his face. “You disgust me. I used to think that no matter how jealous or vindictive you were, at least you were a mother. But look at you now! To frame Talia, you’re actually willing to curse your own daughter to death.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and slapped it hard against my face. “I found this in your study drawer. It’s Daisy’s allergy panel. It says right there in black and white that she has zero allergy to cilantro.” I looked down at the paper lying on the stone floor. With a single glance at the formatting, my trained eyes caught the fake lab headers immediately. A broken, ragged laugh tore from my throat. “Damon Carlton… right and wrong, truth and lies… all you have to do is open that door and see for yourself!” Damon paused for a moment, then turned his back on me, addressing the guards. “Even now, you refuse to admit your lies. Men—break her hands.” Heavy hands pinned me to the stone. The solid wooden baton descended onto my wrists and fingers. Screams tore through my throat—the raw, agonizing sound of an animal being skinned alive. “Damon Carlton! You murdered your own daughter with your own hands! You will burn in hell!” “You and Talia will both suffer a horrific death—!” Damon stood a few paces away, gently using a handkerchief to dab away a tear from Talia’s cheek. A few seconds later, his cold order drifted over the sound of my screams. “Sew her mouth shut.” The guards produced heavy suture needles and thick black thread, forcing my jaw still as they pierced through my lips. Even as the needle tore through skin, I glared at Damon, my eyes burning with a desperate, bloodthirsty hatred. Underneath the crevice of the closed door, a thick, dark crimson fluid was slowly seeping out across the white tiles. “Damon Carlton… you will live to regret this!” With a muffled, bloody roar, I threw my weight against the guards, breaking free of their grip. I hurled my entire body against the locked wooden door. The heavy door gave way under the impact, swinging inward. Inside, the pack of wild dogs was still snarling, tearing frantically at the center of the room. I threw myself over the remains without hesitation. Startled by my sudden intrusion, a massive dog turned, its razor-sharp teeth snapping shut violently around my throat. Hot blood erupted from my neck, spraying across the floor. In that fading moment of consciousness, I saw Damon break past his guards, throwing himself toward me. His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted in absolute terror as he screamed my name. “Valerie—!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “554426”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When my boyfriend took me out on a date, he made a point of bringing along Kayla, the underprivileged college student he was mentoring, claiming he wanted to “show the girl the finer things in life.” During dinner, he handed me a wilted grocery store bouquet he’d bought for ten dollars on sale. Moments later, I watched a delivery driver hand Kayla a gorgeous, three-hundred-dollar arrangement of preserved velvet roses from Venus et Fleur. When I confronted him, he dismissed my anger with an airy shrug. “She’s young. Girls her age care about these frivolous little gestures. You’re mature—you don’t need all that superficial nonsense.” Another time, when he and I won a small stuffed claw-machine prize, he went out the very next day and bought Kayla an entire backseat full of giant Jellycat plushies. His excuse was offhand and effortless. “A young girl needs to be spoiled a bit, or else she’ll fall for the first bad boy who buys her a cheap drink. I’m just fulfilling a small wish for her.” From then on, whenever he bought me a gift, he inevitably bought Kayla something ten times more expensive right after. Until our wedding day, when Derek suddenly vanished. I searched for him like a woman out of my mind, only to stumble upon him dressed in his bespoke tuxedo at another venue down the street—kissing Kayla passionately at the altar of a separate wedding. When he saw me standing in the doorway, his tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Kayla was envious of your wedding, so I just threw one together for her on the side.” The venue he booked for Kayla was the grand ballroom, draped in fresh lavender flown in straight from Provence. With him, I was always handed the budget version. This love—where I was forever forced to settle for second best—was something I no longer wanted. … Derek checked his watch, tapping the face with a flick of his wrist. “I still have toasts to make down the hall. Don’t wait up for me—head back and rest.” He draped his suit jacket over my shoulders, telling me to get home safely. I grabbed his sleeve, my voice tight and raw. “What about our wedding?” He pulled his arm free, a fleeting look of regret passing over his face. “Kayla’s waiting for me.” Then he turned and walked toward Kayla, who stood waiting on the grand stage. The jacket around my shoulders still held his warmth, but a bone-deep cold settled inside me, making me shiver violently. I made my way back to our apartment in a daze. The wedding coordinator called, asking if I had found the groom. I shook my head, my voice eerily calm even to my own ears. “We’re calling it off. There is no groom.” When I hung up his jacket, Derek’s phone slid out of the inner pocket and clattered onto the floor. I picked it up and swiped the screen. The passcode was still my birthday, but the lock screen wallpaper had been changed to a photo of Kayla’s silhouette taken from behind. I opened his banking app. The same Derek who had cried broke in front of me last week had just wired ten thousand dollars to Kayla, with the memo note: “For the wedding dress.” That same week, I had fallen in love with a five-hundred-dollar bridal gown I wanted to rent for our ceremony. He had looked pained, lecturing me about not being wasteful. Trying to be understanding, I settled on a cheap, off-the-rack dress under a hundred dollars online. The tailoring was atrocious, and it was a size too big, hanging off me like a borrowed sack. A knot tightened in my chest. I opened his hidden photo album. It was filled with photos of him and Kayla vacationing in the Maldives. The day they departed was our anniversary. The day before that, he had rushed me through a quick half-day trip to a neighboring town. He had claimed it was a business trip, but in reality, he was clearing his schedule to give Kayla a luxury getaway. Swiping down, I saw professional portrait shots of the two of them. I remembered begging him for months to do a couple’s photoshoot with me. He had stood beside me with a cold, expressionless face the entire time. Now, looking at the bright, genuine smile on his face in these photos, my stomach churned. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. When I wiped my mouth and looked at his phone again, I opened their chat history with a masochistic compulsion. I saw how he had fully supported Kayla’s application for an exchange program at Oxford. Around that same time, I had received an offer for an advanced professional program abroad and asked to use a third of our joint savings to cover my tuition. Derek had stopped me cold. “Kayla has a stronger academic background than you. An international exchange will do wonders for her resume. Spending that money on your continuing education won’t change much for your career—it’s better to give it to her.” I locked the screen and laid out the acceptance letter from Harvard that had arrived in the mail that morning. It was the result of a year and a half of grueling, late-night study, something I had planned to surprise him with today. The front door opened. Derek walked in, supporting a visibly tipsy Kayla. The mixture of his cologne and her heavy perfume hung thick in the air, making me nauseous. Derek used to tell me he hated perfume and asked me never to wear it. He carefully guided Kayla into the apartment’s master bedroom—the largest room, which Derek insisted on giving to her, claiming it was unsafe for a young single girl to sleep in a smaller, street-facing room. He had spent a fortune decorating it with custom furniture, while my bedroom was furnished entirely with second-hand finds from Craigslist. He walked out quietly and sat down beside me on the couch. Holding a silver crystal necklace, he brushed my hair aside and clasped it around my neck. “I was supposed to spend today with you and take her out tomorrow,” he murmured softly. “But Kayla threw a little tantrum, so I had to smooth things over with her first. In a few days, I’ll plan another wedding for you, okay?” It took me only one glance to recognize the necklace. It was a free promotional gift. I had seen the exact same design featured in a promotional set on Kayla’s Instagram feed weeks ago. I pushed his hands away, my tone flat. “Don’t bother. We don’t need a wedding anymore.” Derek gave a light chuckle. “Is my wife trying to save money for me again?” “I just think it’s unnecessary,” I said softly. He stood up and headed to the kitchen to boil hangover soup for Kayla—a task he almost never performed for me. I stared at his back. “Ask Kayla to move out. Otherwise, we’re breaking up.” His hand paused mid-air as he reached for a bowl. “Stop throwing a fit.” “I’m not throwing a fit. I’m serious.” Before the words fully faded, the bedroom door clicked open. Kayla stood bare-footed in the doorway, looking fragile and teary-eyed. “Naomi, please don’t fight with Derek because of me. I’ll leave right now.” She reached for her handbag on the entryway table. Derek immediately tossed the bowl into the sink and rushed forward to stop her. “Where are you going in the middle of the night? Stay right here. Nobody is kicking you out.” He turned back to face me, his tone sharp with accusation. “Grow up, Naomi. Whatever is going on between us, don’t drag her into it.” Looking at the two of them, my heart sank to the bottom of an abyss. Kayla clutched the doorframe, sobbing softly. “I’m sorry, Naomi. It’s my fault. But I still want to thank you… thank you for agreeing to let Derek use your savings to pay the down payment on my condo…” Derek’s face drained of color. My mind went completely blank. I pulled out my phone and logged into our joint savings account. The balance read zero. Not a single cent was left. I looked up, staring dead at Derek, my voice trembling. “You took our house down payment and used it to buy her a place?” Derek avoided my gaze, looking away. “She’s a young woman alone in the city with no family. Helping her get a foothold is the right thing to do.” “What about me?” I interrupted him. “What about our house? What about our future?” He scowled, his tone growing impatient. “So what if we buy a house a little later? With my income, do you really think I won’t be able to buy you a place eventually?” It was never about buying a house sooner or later. Ever since he started ‘helping’ Kayla, everything had shifted. Our shared savings were spent on her tuition, her study-abroad expenses, and now even our house down payment was handed over to complete her life. A relationship built for two had been forced to accommodate a third person. Exhaustion swept over me. I couldn’t bring myself to argue anymore, so I turned and walked into my room. Derek followed me in, offering a lazy attempt at reassurance. “Don’t be mad. Kayla will pay all of it back later. I wouldn’t just throw money away on her for no reason.” It was laughably absurd. In all the years he had spent money on Kayla, she had never returned a single penny. I gathered my thoughts, preparing to deliver the breakup statement I had rehearsed in my head. But before I could speak, a sharp scream sounded from the living room. Without a second thought, Derek turned and ran out. I kept my eyes open until dawn. Over the next few days, I pulled all-nighters preparing my paperwork and applying for my student visa to the United States. When I went into the office on Monday, I found my nameplate removed from my desk. In its place was Kayla’s name. My personal items had been swept onto the floor, including the professional certification awards I had earned over five years of hard work. Kelly, the junior assistant, cowered by the doorway and whispered timidly, “Naomi, you were out on leave the last few days, so you didn’t know… Manager Derek promoted Kayla to Team Lead, and your desk was reassigned.” Before she could finish, Derek walked into the office area with Kayla by his side. I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning white. “I’ve worked in this position for five years. I handled every major client and led every senior localization project without a single mistake. She’s been here for less than a year and botched two major translation assignments. On what grounds does she get promoted over me?” Derek’s expression was distant, his voice cold and strictly professional. “Corporate life doesn’t care about tenure; it cares about value. Kayla has international exchange experience and a higher degree than you. Her promotion is completely standard.” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Kayla tugged gently at Derek’s sleeve. “Derek, maybe we shouldn’t. I don’t have to be the Team Lead. It’s okay.” Derek immediately stepped in front of her, his tone dropping several degrees, as if lecturing me in front of everyone. “The decision is final. You don’t need to accommodate anyone, Kayla. Just focus on your work.” The surrounding colleagues kept their heads down, afraid to utter a word. Suddenly, Kayla pulled my Harvard acceptance letter out of my leather tote bag on the floor, looking astonished. “An acceptance letter from Harvard? Naomi, you didn’t forge a fake admission letter just to save face because you knew you were being reassigned, did you?” “It’s real,” I said quietly. Derek took the paper from her hand, casually flipped through a few pages, and let out a soft sneer. “Even if you’re desperate to advance your career, you shouldn’t resort to fraud. With your basic state-college degree, how could you possibly meet the admissions threshold for Harvard?” It was always the same narrative with him. Kayla graduated from an elite university—his alma mater. In his mind, I would always be inferior to her. Five years of dedication at this company meant nothing against his deep-seated prejudice. Kayla held the letter, a hint of smugness in her eyes. “Naomi, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately and were worried about being replaced. You wanted to give yourself some prestige, but fake documents will get exposed. It’s embarrassing.” “I didn’t forge it,” I said calmly. “You can verify its authenticity on the official university portal in five minutes.” “Enough,” Derek cut me off sharply, tossing the letter onto the floor. “If the rest of the department finds out my girlfriend pulled a stunt like this, how am I supposed to show my face?” “You don’t care about your dignity, but I care about mine.” With that, he wrapped an arm around Kayla’s waist and began discussing how to redecorate the office to her liking. I knelt, picked up the crumpled acceptance letter, wiped off the dust, and walked out of the office. A wave of sympathetic gazes followed me down the hall. I sat at the remote, tucked-away desk I had been reassigned to, pulled out the resignation letter I had drafted in advance, and signed my name. I walked up and knocked on Derek’s office door. He was on the phone. I slid the resignation form across his desk. Without even glancing at it, he picked up a pen and signed his name at the bottom. I stood there, momentarily stunned. He impatiently pulled the phone away from his mouth. “Anything else?” I shook my head slowly. “No.” When off-duty hours arrived, Derek drove his car to the front of the building. I instinctively reached out to open the passenger door, but as soon as my hand touched the handle, I saw someone already sitting inside. Derek rolled down the window. “I’m taking Kayla out. Take a cab home yourself.” Sensing his own harsh tone, he softened slightly. “It’s cold out tonight. Head home early.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he hit the gas, driving off in the opposite direction from our apartment. A sudden downpour slammed into the city. I stood on the curb for nearly half an hour without catching a cab, eventually forcing me to walk through the pouring rain to the subway station. By the time I dragged myself back to the rental apartment, I was soaked to the skin, shivering uncontrollably. I flipped the light switch, but the apartment remained pitch dark. Checking my phone, I saw a notification that the entire block had lost power. Just then, a notification popped up on Instagram—it was an update from Kayla. Two photos. One showed a beautifully renovated luxury condo, infinitely more elegant than my cramped rental unit. The other was the property deed, stamped with her name. Caption: “A special kind of devotion, just for me.” A chill seeped through my skin into my chest, far colder than the rain outside. I stared at the screen for a long time, then quietly tapped the like button. A second later, a system notification flashed on my screen: my US student visa had been approved. It was perhaps the only good news I had received all day. Without hesitation, I opened an airline app and booked a one-way ticket to Boston for the day after tomorrow. By the faint glow of my phone screen, I packed up all my belongings into luggage. Shortly after I finished, a barrage of text messages from Derek flooded my phone. I suddenly remembered that the primary card linked to my flight app was his account. “Why did you buy a flight to the US?” “You don’t actually think playing this trick through to the end makes you a Harvard student, do you?” “Cancel the ticket right now before the refund fees kick in.” Looking at the messages, I felt only a profound sense of absurdity. Eighteen months of relentless effort were nothing more than a self-directed performance in his eyes. Fine. Let the performance play out. I replied with a brief message: “I’m not refunding it,” and immediately transferred the full cost of the ticket back to his account. Derek didn’t send another word. Over the next two days, he never returned to the apartment. I contacted the landlord to finalize the lease termination, settled the utilities, retrieved my security deposit, and scheduled my luggage to be shipped directly to an airport hotel. On my final day at work, I ran into Derek in the breakroom. I kept my eyes down, pressing the button on the coffee machine, avoiding his gaze entirely. In the past, whenever we bumped into each other during breaks, I would eagerly lean in and talk about my day. Today, I didn’t care to say a single word. Just as I turned to leave, a strong hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me into an embrace. Derek’s breath brushed against my neck, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Why have you been so down lately? Are you having trouble adjusting to your new position?” I remained silent, pulling myself free from his grip. I picked up my coffee cup and turned to walk out. The moment I stepped around the corner, someone slammed hard into my shoulder. Scalding coffee spilled all over my clothes. I looked up and met Kayla’s eyes. Kayla clutched a tiny, slightly reddened spot on the back of her hand, her eyes welling with tears instantly. Derek bolted forward, grabbed her hand, and rushed her to the sink, turning on the cold water to rinse it. He turned to glare at me, his eyes blazing with fury. “Are you satisfied now?” I froze. “Kayla just took over your major client accounts, so you intentionally burned her to get back at her?” A suffocating weight pressed down on my chest. I slowly looked up. “If she earned those accounts through actual competence, I’d have nothing to say. But she doesn’t deserve them.” I set the empty cup on the counter and walked out of the breakroom. Shortly after applying ointment to my minor burn, the department head called me into the conference room to cover a last-minute simultaneous interpretation assignment for a sick colleague. My partners for the session happened to be Derek and Kayla. Suppressing my emotions, I took the reference binder and locked into work mode. Kayla stood behind us, responsible for passing terminology glossaries during the live feed. The first half of the conference went smoothly. Then, the client delivered a long string of complex industry jargon. Kayla hesitated behind us, failing to pass the prepared glossary slip in time. My translation stumbled into an abrupt halt. The entire hall fell into an agonizing fifteen-second silence. Derek stepped swiftly behind my chair, whispering a harsh command: “Step aside.” I didn’t move. Relying on my years of experience, I quickly restructured the sentence structure in my head, translated the general meaning on the fly, and executed the rest of the presentation without a single error. After seeing off the client, only the three of us remained in the room. Kayla stood with her head hung low, silent. Derek’s face was dark. “Stumbling on basic terminology—when did your professional standard drop this low?” he demanded coldly. My back was still soaked in cold sweat. “Kayla didn’t hand over the reference sheet in time. I didn’t have a chance to preview the technical terms…” “Stop making excuses to shift the blame!” Derek snapped. “I won’t report this to senior management this time, but if it happens again, you’re fired.” The remaining words caught in my throat. I couldn’t utter a single line of defense. His eyes were entirely focused on Kayla’s perceived grievance. If he had paid even a fraction of that attention to me, he would have noticed that my resignation paperwork had already been processed days ago. I stopped arguing and offered a quiet nod. When we walked downstairs after work, Derek’s voice sounded behind me. “I can give you a ride. Let’s grab dinner on the way.” I shook my head and declined. He didn’t press the matter, turning instead to leave with Kayla. Watching his car disappear into the traffic, I hailed a taxi, slid into the back seat, and gave the driver the address of the airport hotel. On the way, I pulled up my contacts and deleted Derek and Kayla’s phone numbers and messaging accounts completely. The next morning. Derek walked past my old desk and noticed it was completely bare. A frown creased his forehead. I was never late. He pulled up his phone to text me, asking where I was. Before he could send the message, the department head called an emergency meeting regarding a critical new account. He set his phone aside for the moment. Intending to use the opportunity to build Kayla’s credentials, he assigned her as the lead interpreter for the client presentation. However, Kayla panicked under pressure, making glaring translation errors left and right. Derek grew increasingly agitated as he listened. He turned to his assistant and ordered, “Has Naomi arrived yet? Get her in here to take over.” The assistant looked surprised and whispered cautiously, “Manager Derek… Naomi finished her exit process yesterday.”

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