Author: Momo Chan

I grew up pampered, always held in the palm of my family’s hand. On the first day of college, my bodyguards carried two suitcases into my dorm room. I stood at the doorway, glanced around, and said: “Keep the AC on 24/7, I’ll cover the electricity bill.” “I’m a light sleeper, so no noise after 11 PM.” “Wipe down the bathroom every time you use it, I’m a germaphobe.” “I can’t do heavy lifting. I’ll pay you $100 to pick up my packages.” My three roommates exchanged confused glances. I looked at them and added: “No offense, it’s just my first time living in a dorm, so I’m laying out the rules upfront to avoid any drama later.” Then I pulled out the welcome gifts I’d prepared: a Chanel bag for each of them. “Thanks for your understanding.” Their eyes lit up, and they exclaimed, “From now on, you’re our Lady Boss!” But then, one girl named Sophia Miller started acting up. She told people behind my back that my gifts were charity, that I looked down on her. “She thinks a little money and a few designer items can make me her slave. I might be poor, but I have pride!” Even more absurdly, my fiancé, Ethan Hayes, flew all the way back from abroad just to defend her. “Evie, can’t you dial it back a little? Sophia doesn’t come from money, how can she pay you back for such expensive gifts?” “Can you please change your arrogant attitude? Stop acting like the whole world revolves around you.” I watched him standing protectively in front of Sophia, and suddenly, I smiled. If you all think I’m a bully, then I’ll show you what a real heiress can do.

My family is well-off, and my friends always tease me, calling me an “heiress.” It’s not entirely a joke, though. After all, I have the backing of a century-old, top-tier prominent family. So when I stood at the door, seeing a dorm room smaller than my own bathroom back home, meant to house four people, my head was spinning. I only stepped inside after a bodyguard had made my bed. My three roommates were standing by, openly scrutinizing me. Their faces showed undisguised exasperation. I glanced at the line of bodyguards by the dorm door and the mountain of luggage taking up half the room. Okay, maybe it was a bit much. I sat on my freshly made bed and smiled as I greeted my new roommates. “Hi everyone, I’m Evelyn Reed. I’m from a prominent family in Los Angeles. We’ll be roommates for the next four years.” “I’ve never lived in a dorm before, so I have a few requests.” “First, the dorm AC should be set to 77°F all day. I’ll cover the electricity.” “Second, I’m a light sleeper, so no noise in the dorm after eleven o’clock.” The three of them looked awkward, their gaze screaming “high-maintenance.” I waved my hand, and a bodyguard brought in three large boxes. “These are gifts from Miss Reed for everyone.” The three girls opened the boxes and stared blankly for a long moment. Full skincare sets, Apple laptops, Chanel handbags. My demands were quite specific, so it was only right to prepare some gifts for them. It’s also a standard move in my circles. What money can buy is often far more cost-effective than owing someone a favor. “I don’t mean anything by saying all this, just want to be clear upfront to avoid any misunderstandings later.” Chloe Davis, a girl with a big personality, quickly accepted my terms. “Oh my God, I thought we were getting a princess, but we got a real princess!” “You’re so generous, I’m almost embarrassed.” I smiled. “Also, I don’t do chores or clean. I’ll pay $500 for cleaning and $100 for picking up a package.” I thought for a moment and continued: “If you’re not willing, I can always ask the dorm next door…” Chloe immediately jumped up, pulling Mia Brown, who was next to her, to her feet. “I’m willing! Of course, we insiders should be the first to interview for serving our Lady Boss!” Mia’s gaze was even more determined than my bodyguard’s. “Lady Boss, I actually know a bit of self-defense. I’ll be your protector on campus from now on!” As everyone slowly warmed up, Sophia Miller, who had been sitting in the corner, tightly clutched her gift bag, biting her lower lip. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, assuming she was just slow to warm up and a bit shy. Little did I know, this person would bring unexpected trouble and ‘surprises’ to my college life.

When did I first realize something was wrong? Girls from the next dorm room would see me in the hallway and, instead of smiling and greeting me as before, would pretend not to see me. In class, everyone except my two roommates kept their distance. I thought I was being sensitive. After all, the places I’d lived growing up had such tight security that I rarely saw neighbors. So I had no frame of reference for this kind of “cold” environment. Until one day, Chloe couldn’t hold it in anymore. I walked out of the shower, drying my hair with a towel, when Chloe suddenly pushed open the door and sat on my bed, her face looking odd. “Evie, have you heard?” “Heard what?” She hesitated, then pulled out her phone and opened a SnapChat group. Scrolling up through the chat history, a girl named Sarah Johnson had posted three messages in a row. “You guys know Evelyn Reed from Class 4? The way she showed up on the first day, bodyguards and all, really thinks she’s a princess.” “She gave her roommates skincare, but the condition was for them to be her servants. $500 for cleaning, $100 for packages. Isn’t that just using money to humiliate people?” “Sophia from the next dorm told us. She said receiving the gift made her feel awful, like she was being humiliated, but she didn’t dare refuse it because she was afraid of offending Evelyn.” After reading those, I admit, I was definitely annoyed. The replies below had already reached almost a hundred comments. Some cursed me for being a nouveau riche, others said I was a rich person with no class. Someone even passive-aggressively sent a string of candle emojis, saying: “Poor Sophia, stuck in a dorm with someone like that.” I handed the phone back to Chloe. “Sophia said all this?” “The chat logs say it was her, but Sophia’s still acting innocent in the group!” Chloe was furious. I scrolled down further. Sophia had posted, feigning distress: “I didn’t mean for everyone to know, I just complained a bit privately to Sarah. Please don’t attack Evelyn, let’s not cause her any trouble.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Pfft! ‘Privately complained’ and it spread across three classes?” I didn’t say anything. Chloe thought I was angry and added: “Evie, don’t worry about it. These types are just jealous of others’ success. If you want to deal with her, I’ll help you!” I shook my head. “No need. It’s too minor to bother with.” The next morning, on my way to class, I deliberately walked past Sophia’s seat. She was looking down, flipping through a book. I didn’t say anything, just sat in the empty seat next to her. She stiffened. The few girls sitting nearby also looked up and glanced at me. I opened my phone, pulled up that screenshot, and pushed it toward her. “Explain this.” Sophia glanced at the screen, quickly pushed the phone back, and whispered: “I… I just felt a bit uncomfortable, so I complained a few times, it was all just a joke…” I took my phone back and leaned against the chair. “You accepted my skincare, Apple laptop, and Chanel bag, then turned around and told people behind my back that it was charity, that I was using money to humiliate you?” Her eyes quickly reddened. The students around us were already looking our way. Sophia suddenly raised her hand to cover her face, her shoulders trembling, her voice tearful: “Evelyn Reed, what did I ever do to offend you? Why do you have to corner me like this?” She sniffed, then looked up, her eyes showing a mix of grievance and defiance. “You gave me such expensive things. I know you’re rich, but you know my family’s situation, how can I ever pay you back?” “I didn’t even dare use them. They’re just sitting in my closet, and looking at them every day terrifies me. What’s wrong with me complaining a bit to Sarah? Am I not allowed to have feelings?” I sat there silently, watching her performance. Sophia simply stood up, her chair scraping loudly across the floor. “Yes, I’m poor, so I should be eternally grateful for your gifts?” “But who are you to condescendingly decide the nature of our relationship? You humiliated my pride with your money, am I not allowed to feel uncomfortable?” After she finished speaking, her tears fell even harder. The students nearby started whispering to each other. “Evelyn Reed, don’t be too much. Just because you have money doesn’t mean you can bully your classmates!” My voice was flat. “Sophia, done crying?” Her sobs paused. “First, if you felt the gifts were too expensive and you were uneasy accepting them, then bring them back to me tomorrow.” “Second, you think I’m using money to make you a servant, but why didn’t you feel humiliated when you accepted the money for chores?” She opened her mouth, tears still streaming, but couldn’t say anything. I stood up and adjusted my jacket. “I have the SnapChat screenshots saved. I advise you not to push it.” I scanned the surrounding students who were watching. “I don’t care if they believe you, but next time, I won’t be so easy to deal with.” After my warning, she and those in the group chat were quiet for two days. But a week later, I received a FaceTime call from my fiancé, Ethan Hayes.

Ethan is my fiancé. Our families have been close for generations. When we were ten, our parents had dinner together and basically decided our future on the spot. If you scroll up our SnapChat history, the last message before this was “Happy New Year” from months ago. “Evie, is Sophia your roommate?” “You know her?” “She’s a scholarship student my family has sponsored since high school. She called me crying for a long time a few days ago.” I picked at my nail, casually asking: “And?” “She said you gave her very expensive things, and she didn’t dare refuse for fear of being isolated. Later, she mentioned in the dorm that she felt a lot of pressure, and then you gave her a hard time in class.” Ethan sighed, his tone reproachful: “Evie, her family isn’t well-off. Those things are a burden to her. Can you just tone it down a bit? Just interact normally, don’t make such a show.” “I’m telling you this for your own good. Your personality makes it too easy to offend people.” I pretty much understood. Sophia dared to spread rumors behind my back because she had someone backing her up. But she got one thing wrong. Ethan Hayes, he wasn’t in a position to lecture me. I found it amusing. “Ethan, you should know, if I truly wanted to target someone, she wouldn’t even be able to get into Los Angeles.” Ethan was choked up. He was about to speak, but I hung up the phone. Someone who hadn’t bothered to send a holiday greeting in ten years was calling me from overseas just to lecture me over a scholarship student. I tossed my phone onto the table. Chloe leaned over, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Evie, who was that?” “An arrogant idiot.” The next afternoon, Ethan was leaning against his car by the school gate. He was impeccably dressed in a suit, his features carrying the cultivated air of someone accustomed to luxury. Sophia stood beside him, head bowed, eyes red, looking utterly aggrieved. As I walked out of the school gate, Ethan stepped forward and blocked my path. “Evie, let’s talk.” I glanced at the curious stares around us and simply hummed in agreement. In the cafe next to the school, Sophia sat beside Ethan. She kept her eyes downcast, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. Ethan got straight to the point: “Evie, what I said on the phone yesterday might not have been clear enough, so I’m telling you face-to-face today.” “Sophia hasn’t had it easy. She fought tooth and nail to get into this university. Whether it’s those gifts or the way you speak, it’s all pressure for her.” I leaned back in my chair, took a sip of my lemon water, and remained silent. Seeing no response from me, Ethan’s brow furrowed even deeper. “You grew up pampered by your family, so you can’t understand the struggles of ordinary people. But since you’re my fiancée, I hope you can show some empathy.” “Sophia has cried to me several times, saying she’s afraid to speak or move in the dorm, terrified of upsetting you again.” Sophia looked up, her voice trembling: “Ethan, please don’t say anymore. Evie wasn’t targeting me. I’m just too sensitive, it’s my fault…” As she spoke, tears welled up again, but she quickly wiped them away with her sleeve, her face still defiant. Ethan’s expression darkened even further. When he turned to me, his voice held anger: “Evie, look at what you’ve driven her to! Can’t you just apologize to her?” I finally put down my cup and looked at Ethan seriously. “Ethan, how old are you this year?” He paused. “What?” “Twenty-five, right?” I chuckled softly. “A twenty-five-year-old man, swayed by a young girl’s few soft words, flying all the way from abroad to stand up for her. Don’t you find that ridiculous?” Ethan’s face darkened. “Evelyn Reed, what is your attitude?” I tilted my head, my gaze sweeping past him to Sophia. “Sophia, I’m asking you one last time: did I bully or humiliate you?” My voice was calm. Sophia bit her lip. “You… you gave them in front of the whole dorm. I didn’t dare refuse…” I scoffed. “You didn’t dare refuse, but then you turned around and told everyone I was giving you charity and humiliating you?” “Fine. If you didn’t dare refuse, then give the items back to me. Go get them now, I’ll wait.” Sophia’s face turned pale. “What? You don’t want to give them back?” I tilted my head, looking at her. “Or have you already opened and used that skincare set? Did you boot up the Apple laptop? Did you swatch the lipstick kit?” Sophia’s tears welled up again. She turned to Ethan, her voice tearful: “Ethan, I didn’t… I didn’t open them. I didn’t even touch the packaging…” Ethan reached out and patted her shoulder, then turned and glared at me. “Evelyn Reed, that’s enough! How much is a skincare set? Do you really have to be so aggressive?” “Sophia’s from a less fortunate background, what’s wrong with her being a bit sensitive? Can’t you be more magnanimous and understanding?” His words made me laugh, and my eyes turned cold. “Ethan, I used real money to buy harmony in the dorm, to ensure four years of peace for four people. Am I in the wrong for that?” Ethan took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions. “Evie, no matter what, your condescending attitude is truly problematic. You’ve always been…” “My childhood pampering is a privilege my family affords me. I don’t owe her anything.” Ethan suddenly stood up. “Evelyn Reed! Don’t be too much! I came here with good intentions to mediate, and you’re making it so awkward?” “Sophia is just a girl. Can your conscience really be clear after humiliating her in front of so many people?” Sophia tugged on his sleeve, sobbing softly: “Ethan, it’s okay, let’s just go. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have told you…” Ethan glared at me, his chest heaving several times, then suddenly picked up the coffee in front of him and splashed it on me. “Evelyn Reed, I’ll make you beg Sophia for forgiveness.” I was stunned for a few seconds by the coffee splash. When I looked up at them, Sophia’s eyes held undisguised triumph. Coming back to my senses, I blinked hard, letting my eyes redden. Then I took out my phone, snapped a selfie, and sent it to the family group chat with a tearful voice message. “Daddy, Ethan hit me because of a scholarship student! My eyes are all swollen from crying~” Ethan still scoffed from across the table. “Our families go way back! Do you really think selling a sob story will get me punished? You really think you’re a princess!” Three. Two. One. The urgent screech of tires came from outside, followed by the sound of the door being violently pushed open. “Who’s tired of living, daring to lay a hand on my darling?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “418480”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My eighteenth bonding ceremony with Kael Frost was canceled—again—because of my adopted sister. Mother opened a mind-link, her voice flooding into my head laced with agitation: “Briar’s having another episode. Stomach cramps, bad ones. Your father and I are taking her to the infirmary. Handle the ceremony yourself—you’ve canceled enough of these by now, you’re better at it than anyone.” My lifelong best friend and maid of honor, Liora, was even blunter: “Is your ceremony really more important than Briar’s life? She’s in so much pain she’s nearly blacking out—are you seriously expecting us to stay for the ceremony? Selene, when did you become so heartless?” And my fiancé. I waited a full twenty minutes. All he sent was this: Ceremony’s off. We’ll reschedule. We’ll reschedule. I rolled those words over and over in my mind. He’d used the exact same phrase to dismiss me eighteen times. A bitter laugh slipped through my lips. Suddenly, none of it mattered anymore. The moon still hung at the edge of the sky, pale as a sliver of bone about to shatter. I closed my eyes and silently addressed that moon— Sever it. Every bond I share with them—let it end. Right now. Moonlight flashed behind my eyelids, and a line of silver text crystallized at the center of my vision, visible only to me: Connections severed. Countdown: 72 hours. When the time expires, all who were once bonded to you shall return everything—including their lives. … I opened my eyes, drew a deep breath, picked up the microphone, and walked onto the ceremonial stage. Violets. Everywhere. My bonding ceremony, blanketed in Briar’s favorite flower. Laughable. “My apologies, everyone. Tonight’s ceremony is canceled.” The Northern Realm’s aristocrats exchanged glances, though none looked particularly surprised. “Expected, isn’t it? How many times have they tried over the years? Not once has it actually gone through. If I were the Graves heiress, I’d have stopped showing up ages ago.” “The entire Graves clan dotes on that adopted little sister. Why bother competing? Stepping aside would at least let Selene keep her dignity.” “You don’t understand—Frost operations fall apart without Selene. They’ve tested it more than once. Every time Kael has a falling-out with her, the clan’s holdings take a nosedive. That’s the only reason he hasn’t dropped her.” I descended the stage under the pitying, faintly mocking gazes of the crowd. My lips twitched. This time, it wouldn’t be a mere dip in holdings. I changed into plain clothes and returned to the Graves estate, wanting only to grab a few things before leaving for good. But the moment I pushed open the front door, a procession of people swept into the foyer around Briar, all chattering and laughing. The instant they saw me, every smile vanished at once. Kael’s dark gray eyes clouded with anger, his tone thick with undisguised reproach: “Selene, why didn’t you give any explanation when you canceled the ceremony? You said nothing—now people are going to blame Briar again.” Father cast me a cold glance. “You handled this appallingly. In the past, cleaning up a canceled ceremony never required our involvement. Today, you have thoroughly disappointed me. Issue a statement immediately—say you canceled on a whim, and that it had nothing to do with anyone else.” Liora already had her phone out. “I’ll have the publicist contact the major outlets. If Selene puts out a statement now, we can still get ahead of it. We’ll plant a few narratives online, redirect the discourse toward her—then nobody will even think of Briar…” I didn’t respond to any of it. Not a single word. I simply stared at the silver countdown hovering in my vision. Remaining: 2 days, 18 hours. When the time came, they would lose everything they had. “Selene, what the hell are you staring at?” Kael stepped closer, his impatience reaching its peak. “I’m warning you—if you don’t handle this properly, I can’t guarantee when we’ll schedule the next ceremony.” I lifted my eyes and looked at him for one brief moment. That face I’d once fallen for at first sight now looked like a stranger’s. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t going to be a next time. —

“That’s enough.” Briar chimed in at the perfect moment, her voice a breathy wisp, her slender fingers tugging at Kael’s sleeve. “It’s all my fault… I’m the reason Selene’s ceremony fell through again… There are still auspicious dates this month—please, stop pushing it back…” Halfway through her sentence she broke into a fit of coughing. Kael turned instantly, his palm settling on her back, patting gently. “This has nothing to do with you. Don’t overthink it. Your sister can’t live without me—it makes no difference when we hold the ceremony.” “That’s where you’re wrong.” I finally spoke. My voice was so calm it startled even me. Every expression in the room froze at once. I gave the backpack in my hand a little shake. “I’m leaving.” The words had barely left my mouth. Crack— Mother’s palm struck my face with full force, the sharp sound echoing through the foyer. My head snapped to the side. I tasted iron on my tongue. Her hand was still trembling, her nails digging into her own palm. “You dare cause another scene! All these years we’ve spoiled you rotten. How did a perfectly good child turn out so insufferably willful?” “Leave? And go where? So you can set the whole Northern Realm buzzing with gossip, make everyone think we’re playing favorites? Selene, when are you going to grow up? How could I have raised a daughter like you—you’re not worth half of what Briar is!” The taste of blood spread through my mouth. Yes. Every time before, I’d made a scene. Because I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why, when it was Briar who shattered Father’s prized ancient fang crown, they decided I was the one who’d smashed it. I didn’t understand why, even with the estate’s security footage, they refused to believe I hadn’t pushed Briar down the stone stairs. Even the moonflowers I’d planted in the garden that triggered Briar’s allergies had been entered into evidence as proof that I was trying to murder her. And this wasn’t the first time Mother had raised her hand. The last time was only two days ago. Briar had wanted to wear the custom ceremonial gown I’d spent six months preparing for the bonding. I said no. And then—right on cue—she fainted. Mother charged at me, shoved me so hard I stumbled, then grabbed a pair of scissors and, right before my eyes, shredded that gown I’d waited half a year for into ribbons. Over Briar, she and I had been driven nearly to the point of drawing knives. So the old me had fought back with everything I had—demanding that someone, anyone, tell me I was right. But this time, I truly didn’t want to fight anymore. Because I’d finally seen it clearly. I am the incarnation of the Moon Goddess. In all the Northern Realm, only those who forged an emotional bond with me could receive the blessings the Goddess bestowed. The day after I was born, the Graves family—teetering on the brink of extinction—were struck overnight by a string of miraculous windfalls. Their power swelled at breakneck speed until they secured their place as the most powerful clan in the Northern Realm. Father’s chronic illness, already deteriorated to a terminal stage, vanished as if it had never existed. Even the elder who treated him couldn’t explain it. My best friend Liora, inseparable from me since childhood, grew more stunning with each passing year and she became Hollywood’s first werewolf to win Best Actress. And Kael. He had been nothing more than a stray low-rank gray wolf roaming the border territories. No parents. No pack. No surname. He scraped by running a market stall at the border bazaar, hounded by enforcement patrols, beaten up by rival vendors. Until one night, he found me—a little girl lost in a night market. I stared up at his handsome face. In that single instant, I fell for him. From that moment on, he awakened as a White Wolf Alpha, his abilities and influence soaring at an impossible rate. He established the Frost Clan, never once losing a business deal or a territorial dispute, and today stood as the man closest to the Alpha King’s throne in all the Northern Realm. All he had to do was complete the bonding ceremony with me—make me his Luna—and the throne would be his. For over twenty years, they’d held me in the palm of their hands, showered me with love. Kael, above all, had treasured me like something precious. Because of me, they’d gotten everything they ever wanted. And then Briar was brought into the Graves household. And everyone changed. —

Briar performed a textbook-perfect faint right in front of me. The arc of her body falling backward was precisely calibrated—graceful enough to land squarely in the arms of the people who’d rushed over at the commotion. Before anyone could even ask a question, Kael had already stepped in front of me—five fingers clamped around my throat, slamming me against the corridor’s stone wall. “Selene, did you hit her again?” His pupils blazed with the dark-gold pressure unique to an Alpha. “Do you actually think I won’t lay a hand on you?” I didn’t even get the chance to deny it. “Guards!” Father’s roar erupted at the far end of the corridor. “Take her away—lock her in the dungeon. Punish her according to clan law!” The dungeon. Damp, dark, and devoid of sunlight all year round. This was my second time being thrown in here. The memory of the first was still knife-sharp. That night, I’d discovered Briar slipping silently into Kael’s bedroom after dark. When I pushed open the door, she was perched on the edge of his bed, her clothes half undone. I confronted them on the spot. But Briar, eyes brimming with tears, offered her defense: she said she’d nearly been snatched by a rogue wolf as a child, which had given her severe sleepwalking. Subconsciously, she explained, she felt safe near Kael. It wasn’t intentional. My parents and Kael believed her without question. Kael even told her gently that if she was ever scared, she could come find him anytime. Back then, my love for him burned at its most intense. I’d been so possessive that I’d issued an order—no female was to hold a position anywhere in the Frost Clan’s inner circle. So that day I’d slapped Briar across the face without a moment’s hesitation. The price was seven days in this dungeon, with nothing but a bowl of cold porridge each day. They didn’t let me out until I was so starved I could barely stay conscious—and agreed to apologize to Briar. This time, they clearly didn’t intend to stop at starving me for a few days. The heavy iron door groaned open. Father walked in, a cane rod gripped in his fist. Kael followed behind him. “Per the Graves family code, the sentence is thirty lashes.” Father’s voice was frigid. “However, Briar took pity on you and begged me on her knees to use the cane instead of the silver whip. Since the cane is lighter than the whip, the count is raised to fifty.” Crack— The first blow landed across my back. A livid purple-red welt swelled up instantly. After a dozen or so, my skin split open. Every strike after that came with a corrosive, bone-deep burn—mercury. The cane Briar had so “kindly” begged them to substitute had been soaked through with mercury. I could barely hold my human form. When the fifty lashes were done, my entire back and arms were a raw, bloody mess. Thin rivulets of blood traced my spine downward, pooling on the stone slab beneath my feet. My body had long since slipped beyond my control, warped into something half-wolf, half-human—a grotesque thing. I curled up in the corner, gasping in great heaving breaths, shaking all over. Father tossed the cane aside, dropped a single remark—”Utterly incorrigible”—and strode out. Kael crouched down in front of me and unfolded a bundle of clothes. “These are the fresh clothes and ointment Briar prepared for you. Selene, she’s always been respectful toward you. As her older sister, you should be looking after her. Why do you insist on assuming the worst about her?” He shook out the garments and “thoughtfully” draped them over my blood-soaked back. The instant the fabric touched the open wounds— It was as if my entire body had been plunged into boiling brine. The pain hit so hard I curled into a ball in a single convulsion, my spine arching, my lengthened wolf-claws gouging into the cracks between the floor stones. “Always so dramatic. Briar goes deathly pale from her episodes and still doesn’t carry on the way you do.” He stood up, tossed out that contemptuous remark, and walked away. The echo of the iron door slamming faded slowly into nothing. It was a long time before I clawed back even a thread of breath. Moonlight filtered through the single narrow slit above, pale and silent. I closed my eyes and silently addressed that moon— Accelerate. I want to sever all connections faster. Silver text materialized in the darkness: Acceleration engaged. Tomorrow at noon, twelve o’clock sharp, all repercussions will descend. —

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260623kI32QsZO6A 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni378844”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

At my eighteenth wedding rite with my fiance, everyone was taken away by my adopted sister again. When the temple herald came hurrying over, his voice was anxious and edged with impatience. “Lyra’s stomach illness has flared up again. The king and queen have gone with her to Apollo’s temple for treatment. Handle the wedding yourself. It has been canceled so many times anyway. You have experience.” Lina, the beloved songstress of the Muse temple and the closest friend I had grown up with, clicked her tongue. “Can your wedding vows possibly matter more than Lyra’s pain? She almost fainted from it, and you still expect us to stay here? When did you become so cruel?” As for my fiance, Phaethon, the youngest chariot commander under Ares, he did not even send anyone to explain in person. He only had an attendant deliver a word. [The wedding is postponed. Another time.] Another time. I repeated those words over and over in my heart. He had dismissed me with those words eighteen times. A laugh tugged at the corner of my mouth. Suddenly, all of it felt utterly pointless. “Moirai.” “Cut every thread of fate between me and them.” A familiar voice came from the depths of the temple, like a spindle turning, like the Fates whispering. “As you command. Cleione, daughter of fate, every character’s bond to your golden thread has been severed.” “In three days, they will lose everything they possess because of you.” “Including their lives.” — Watching the three-day countdown appear on the Loom of Fate, I took the bronze staff the priest handed me and walked up to the wedding altar covered in violets. My wedding, and yet the altar was filled with Lyra’s favorite flowers. How laughable. “My apologies, everyone. Today’s wedding rite is canceled.” The nobles and priests below exchanged glances. No one asked a single question. “I knew it would be canceled. After all these years, not one of her weddings, big or small, has ever gone through. If I were the elder princess of this kingdom, I wouldn’t even show my face.” “The whole royal family dotes on the younger one. If it were me, why would I keep fighting my own sister? I would just give him to her. At least then I wouldn’t be a laughingstock across the entire city-state, and I might even earn a reputation for generosity.” “What do you know? The elder princess is no ordinary woman. Whenever Phaethon rejects her, the Phaethon family’s warships sink the next day, and their armories catch fire. After losing several cities testing it, he finally settled down and agreed to marry her.” I left under everyone’s pitying stares. As I listened to their whispers, the curve of my mouth turned sharp with irony. This time, it would not be as simple as a few sunken warships. After changing out of my ceremonial robes and returning to the palace, I meant to gather a few things and leave. But just as I reached the door, I ran straight into a group of people returning with Lyra at their center, talking and laughing around her. The moment they saw me, every smile vanished. Anger rose in Phaethon’s eyes, and his voice carried open blame. “Cleione, why didn’t you explain properly when you canceled the wedding? If you don’t make things clear, that’s your fault. Now everyone will start suspecting it was because of Lyra again.” My father, the king, curled his lip and ordered, “Cleione, you handled this badly. We never had to worry about temple announcements for the previous cancellations. This time you have disappointed me. Go swear before the city-state at once and say it was your own willful behavior that offended Hera.” Lina immediately took out a speaking stone engraved with the mark of the Muses. “I’ll have the bards and gate scribes spread the word right away. There is still time for Cleione to admit fault. Then we can have people in the market curse her a little more, and no one will speculate about Lyra.” Faced with their accusations, I said nothing. I only looked silently at the threads of fate before me, visible to no one but me. Two days left. Then they would be finished. “Cleione, why are you standing there in a daze?” Phaethon walked up to me, his voice thick with impatience. “Let me tell you, if you don’t fix this properly, I can’t promise when the next wedding rite will be.” Lyra finally spoke, soft and fragile. “It’s all my fault. I delayed Brother Phaethon’s and Sister’s wedding. I ruined everything.” “There are still auspicious days at Hera’s temple this month. Please don’t postpone it again…” Before she could finish, she began coughing. Phaethon rushed over at once and rubbed her back. “This isn’t your fault. Don’t overthink it. Your sister will never be able to leave me in this lifetime. It makes no difference when we marry.” “Then you’ve overestimated yourself.” At last, I spoke my first words in a cold voice. Several faces froze. I lifted the bundle in my hand. “I’m leaving.” The words had barely fallen when, in the next second, a sharp slap rang through the entire palace hall.

My head tilted to one side. I gave a self-mocking smile. My mother’s hand was still trembling with anger. “You still dare to make a scene? We spoiled you too much all these years. How did such a perfectly good child become so willful and domineering?” “And you want to leave? Leave for where? Are you trying to stir up gossip across the city and make everyone think we favor one child and mistreat you? Cleione, when will you learn to be sensible? How did I give birth to a child like you? You can’t compare to even half of Lyra!” The taste of blood spread through my mouth. I licked the corner of my lips. Yes. In the past, every time, I would make a scene. Because I could not understand. I could not understand why, when Lyra had clearly broken the sacred cup Father brought back from Delphi, they insisted I had smashed it. I could not understand why, even with the temple’s water mirror recording everything, they refused to believe I had not pushed Lyra down the white stone steps. Even the flowers I offered to Aphrodite, which triggered Lyra’s allergy, became proof that I had deliberately bullied her. This was not the first time Mother had struck me. The last time was only two days ago. Lyra wanted to wear my wedding robe, and I refused. Then she suddenly fainted. Mother came up and shoved me, then used ceremonial shears to cut apart the white gauze robe I had waited half a year for. Because of Lyra, my own mother and I had nearly become enemies. So I made scenes. I wanted everyone to judge who was right. But this time, I truly had not made a scene. I was the only daughter of fate in this world. Only those connected to me could receive the blessing of the golden thread granted by the three Fates. On the second day after my parents gave birth to me, the Shen royal family, whose treasury had been empty and whose kingdom stood on the verge of collapse, suddenly discovered an entire gold mine beneath the sea and became the wealthiest city-state in the Aegean. Even Father’s liver disease, which Apollo’s priests had declared incurable, healed by some miracle. Because Lina had been my friend since childhood, the old scar on her face gradually disappeared, her voice grew clearer and brighter, and she eventually became the most dazzling songstress in the Muse temple. Even kings were willing to offer gold for the sound of her lyre. As for Phaethon. He had once been nothing more than a petty merchant in the market, selling fake bronze wares. He was chased by city guards and beaten by his rivals. Then he saved me when I got lost in the night market, and I fell in love with him at first sight. From then on, he built his own fleet and army. His business prospered, his battles never failed, and at last he became the most valued chariot commander under Ares. For more than twenty years, they held me like a treasure in their palms. Phaethon, especially, cherished me as if I were the apple of his eye. They also gained everything they wanted because of me. But later, Lyra was brought back to the palace. And everyone changed. Father ordered in a heavy voice, “Someone, take away all her things. She is not to carry a single item from the palace.” “Cleione, if you want to leave, fine. But this time, no one will come coaxing you back. Once you leave, we will hold a city assembly before Athena’s temple and sever our parent-child ties with you. From then on, you will no longer be our daughter.” They did not even let me take one piece of clothing before they pushed me out the door. Phaethon sighed and quietly handed me the key seal to a small shrine-house. “You can stay in this cottage. Cleione, we’re truly tired. We don’t want to keep indulging your tantrums.” “How good it would have been if the person I saved back then had been Lyra.” I gave a cold scoff. “You can marry her now.” Phaethon sighed helplessly. “There you go again. Cleione, you know I swore before Hera that I would marry you, and I will not break my word.” “Lyra is a pure, kind girl. I won’t allow you to toss her around in your mouth like some object. Don’t let me hear you say that again.” He turned and walked up the steps. I threw the key seal onto the ground and was about to leave. Lyra suddenly rushed over and grabbed my sleeve. “Sister, don’t go. I shouldn’t have longed for warmth that doesn’t belong to me. I’m not worthy.” “Don’t leave. I should be the one to go. I’ll leave the palace right now…” I knew exactly what Lyra was planning. So I simply stood there and let her clutch me while she pretended to cry. But when she saw that I did not push her away as I used to, she immediately began struggling for breath and fainted at my feet. “Lyra!” “Call Apollo’s priest! Lyra, my daughter!” Everyone rushed over in panic and surrounded her. Phaethon’s eyes were vicious as he seized me by the throat. “Cleione, you still dare lay a hand on Lyra? Do you think I truly can’t bear to hurt you?” So this was what it felt like to laugh when words failed you. I had not even bothered to touch her, and somehow it had still become me attacking her. “Phaethon, I hope none of you regret this later.” “Guards!” Father roared, pointing at me. “Lock her in the underground shrine room and punish her according to family law!”

The underground shrine room was damp and dim. This was the second time I had been locked inside. The first time was still fresh in my memory. It was because I discovered Lyra sneaking into Phaethon’s bedchamber in the middle of the night. I lost my temper on the spot and caught her red-handed on Phaethon’s couch. But in the end, she sobbed that old trauma had made her sleepwalk. She had no idea why she had entered Phaethon’s chamber. She only felt safe there. She had not done it on purpose. My parents and Phaethon believed that explanation without question. Phaethon even told her gently that if she was frightened, she could come to him anytime. Back then, my love for Phaethon was at its deepest. I would not even allow female attendants near him. Other than low-ranking servants, there could not be a single young woman in the entire commander’s residence. So I slapped Lyra across the face, and my parents locked me in this underground shrine room. For seven whole days, they gave me only one bowl of thin porridge a day. Only after I was starved into a daze and agreed to apologize to Lyra did they let me out. This time, however, they clearly did not intend to merely starve me for a few days. When Father came in carrying a cane soaked in pepper wine, Phaethon came with him. “According to royal family law, you should receive thirty lashes. But Lyra felt sorry for you and knelt to beg me to replace the whip with a cane. Since a cane is less forceful than a leather whip, you will receive fifty strokes.” Crack. The cane struck my body, and a red welt rose at once. Father struck me more than a dozen times. The swollen marks gradually split open. Every blow after that carried a numbing, burning agony. I thought of what they had said, that Lyra had begged for the cane. It must have been soaked in pepper wine. “Apologize to your sister!” “Will you apologize or not?” Father could not get the answer he wanted, so his anger only grew. After fifty strokes, my entire back and both arms were covered in wounds. Each gash gaped open, flesh turned outward, thin lines of blood sliding down my spine onto the floor. Pain had numbed my whole body. I curled into the corner, gasping for breath. After Father finished beating me, he threw down the cane and left. Before he went, he left one sentence behind. “Stubborn to the end.” Phaethon walked over and crouched in front of me. “Lyra prepared medicine and clothing for you. Cleione, Lyra has always treated you with respect and courtesy. As her elder sister, and as her brother-in-law, we should both take better care of her. Why must you be so petty and filthy-minded?” “Once you’ve thought it through, hurry up and apologize. Stop making us angry.” He shook out the clothes Lyra had prepared for me. Then, with what he thought was care, he laid them over my back. The instant the fabric touched my body full of wounds, it felt as though I had fallen into salt water. I curled up from the pain. “So delicate.” Phaethon curled his lip and stood. “Lyra turns pale from pain every time she falls ill, and even she doesn’t exaggerate like this.” He left. It took me a long time to catch my breath. “Moirai…” The voice of the Loom of Fate rang beside my ear. “Daughter of fate, would you like to activate pain shielding?” “No.” I gritted my teeth. “I want to speed up the severing of the fate threads.” “Very well. Acceleration has begun. At noon tomorrow, everyone connected to you and blessed by you will suffer the backlash.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260623lkq08Ry2Y2 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni614634”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

I ran through the toxic haze. My lungs were on fire. I didn’t care. Six hours ago, my mate’s voice had cut through our matebond: “Clara—rogues everywhere, come save me!” So I came. Briars tore my skin. Poison seeped into the cuts. I felt each one—and kept running. My legs stopped feeling like mine somewhere back there. I didn’t care about that either. “Luna—” My subordinate’s voice cracked through the link. “Get out of there! He was never there.” “He’s with Tessa. Watching her try on your wedding dress.” The words stopped me cold. The ground didn’t move with me. Neither did the haze. Just me. Frozen. “CLARA—RUN!” My wolf’s scream ripped through my chest. I turned. Too late. Emerald eyes ignited in the gloom. A blur of fur and fangs erupted from the dark. I threw my arm up— Teeth sank into my throat! … The night stretched into a mindless eternity. Everything dissolved into a blur of blood, rain, and bone-chilling screams. By the time the first cold rays of dawn hit my face, I was a broken, blood-stained mess. But I was alive. And the Clara who loved Xavier was dead. Bzzz. My phone vibrated. A text from Thomas, my most loyal sentinel. “Luna, I’m sorry. Alpha Xavier has been in contact with her the entire time. Last night, he rented out the Peak Penthouse. He’s throwing her a welcome-back gala.” Then came the video. In the clip, Xavier stood before a grand, gilded mirror. He was adjusting a delicate white veil over a woman’s soft brown curls. He was smiling—that same tender, breathless smile he used to give me before we mated. I checked the timestamp. 9:47 PM. While the rogues were tearing the meat from my bones, he was playing dress-up with his ex. My thumb hovered over the screen, a bead of blood from my mangled hand dripping onto the image, staining Tessa’s perfect, radiant smile. It also shattered the lie I’d spent months forcing myself to believe. Six months ago, Xavier had knelt by my dying father’s bedside. He’d sworn on his wolf’s life that he would never see her again. Ended up…a Lie. Every word out of his mouth had been a calculated lie. I dialed his number. It rang for a long, agonizing minute before he finally picked up. “Clara?” His voice was deep, smooth. In the background, I could hear it—the faint, elegant swell of a violin. “Where are you?” I asked, my voice a hollow shell. “I told you,” He sighed, that patronizing tone creeping in. “Rogues blocked the pass. I’m at the border cabin.” “Are you hurt?” “No. Just a weak signal.” He paused, his voice dropping into a low, practiced hum of concern. “Why are you still awake? Are you scared of the storm?” “Come on, Clara. Don’t be so dramatic. You’re stronger than that.” Stronger? I looked down at my leg. The wound still burned. Blood and mud caked the the empty place where the flesh had been. “Does the cabin have a live orchestra, Xavier?” I whispered. The line went dead silent. “The cabin owner has an old record player,” He chuckled, mocking. “Are you really calling to micromanage me, Clara? I’ve had a long day and I’m not doing this with you.” The classic move. Make me out to be the crazy one. The paranoid mate. Anything to escape accountability. “I’m not fighting, Xavier.” “Then be a good girl and go to sleep,” he said, his voice softening again, though the edge remained. “I’ll bring you those lemon scones from Magnolia’s tomorrow. Your favorite.” Magnolia’s lemon scones. They were Tessa’s absolute favorite. I was highly allergic to them. He hadn’t just forgotten—he had never cared enough to remember. “Okay,” I said. It wasn’t compromise. It was giving up. “Love you. Sleep tight.” The line went dead. I stared at the black screen until a notification popped up. It was a new post from Tessa’s private account. A close-up of Xavier’s hand—unmistakable with his heavy, obsidian Alpha ring—tracing the curve of her collarbone. Her caption: He promised that no matter who he married, I would always be his first priority.

I dragged myself into the Peak Penthouse. My jacket was soaked through, sticking to my skin like ice, and my muddy boots squeaked with every step. The security guard stopped me twice, but when I showed him my wedding photo with Xavier, he let me through with a look of pity. I headed for the VIP elevators. Before I could arrive, the doors slid open. Xavier stood inside. Italian suit. Top buttons undone—that effortless, rugged thing he did. Tessa was draped against his chest. White silk dress. Delicate curls. A veil falling from her hair. That was my wedding dress. “Xavier, my feet hurt,” she whimpered, pouting. Without hesitation, my proud Alpha husband knelt on the cold elevator floor, gently lifting her ankle. “I told you not to wear those heels, princess.” “But they’re pretty!” She giggled, running her fingers through his hair. “You used to love watching me dance in them.” “That was before,” he murmured, his voice dripping with affection. “Now, if you hurt yourself, I’ll have to lock you in my room.” Then Xavier carried her heels in one hand, his other arm securely wrapped around her waist. I stood behind a massive concrete pillar, watching them. A sudden wave of nausea hit me, so violent I had to press my hand against the cold stone to keep from collapsing. Then my eyes met Tessa’s. Her gaze swept over my wild hair, my muddy face, and the dried blood crusting on my leg. A tiny, cruel smirk played on her lips. “Xavier,” she said, her voice echoing in the quiet garage. “Look at that poor girl over there. She looks like a filthy stray.” Xavier didn’t even turn his head. He didn’t waste a single glance on the woman who had almost died in a rogue-infested forest for him. “Don’t look at that trash, Tessa,” he said, pulling her closer to his side. “You’ll ruin your eyes.” Trash… I laughed bitterly—silently. That was it. That was what I’d nearly died for. I watched they walked toward the revolving glass doors. Tessa paused, “Xavier, wasn’t yesterday your Mate Anniversary? If you spent the whole night with me, won’t Clara be mad?” Xavier’s footsteps halted. “Why are you even bringing her up?” His voice dripping with irritation. “I just don’t want her to be jealous. She always keeps such a tight leash on you.” “She’s just bored,” Xavier sneered. “Aside from hovering over me, what else does she even do?” He tossed Tessa’s heels to a valet and yanked off his tie to wipe his hands— the same silk tie I’d hand-picked and given him just yesterday morning. “And yet, you still chose her to be your mate.” Tessa pouted, her voice trailing into a whine. “I only mated her cause she was easy. No drama. The pack wanted a trophy Luna, so I gave ’em one.” With that, he tossed the silk tie into a trash can. He had promised to wear it close to his heart. Now, it was buried under garbage. “Tessa, remember this,” he said, pulling her close. “A mate bond is just about politics and pack duty.” “She is fit to be the Luna. But you are the only one I want to protect.” Tessa beamed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. Then Xavier pulled her flush against him and kissed her back hard. A dull ache flared in my chest—a pain so familiar it had practically lived there for months. Xavier had always told me it was just the bond echoing his injuries from the training grounds. I bought it all. I was so naive. I thought I was just feeling his physical pain, the way mates do. I’d forgotten that betrayal burns just as hot. Then I felt it—a different kind of ache. Lower. Deeper. My pup…was crying. Hurting. My palm pressed flat against my stomach. Right there, a tiny, fragile heartbeat was fighting to survive. A two-month-old pup. I had planned to tell him during our anniversary dinner last night. But then he told me he was trapped by rogues in the Forbidden Forest of Death. I had driven three hours through a deadly storm, braving the rogue wolf scent, crawling through the mud to save him. I thought he was dying. Instead, he was making out with another woman. Their tangled figures blurred before my eyes, and then, I saw a flash of blue fire. Coming from Tessa’s neck. When my gaze caught The Lunar Tear, my breath stopped. Xavier had bought it at an auction three months ago, proudly telling the media it was a gift for his “beloved mate.” So I waited, day after day, expecting him to give it to me on our anniversary. Now, that very sapphire was glittering around Tessa’s neck. It felt like a physical slap to the face.

The cramping in my abdomen grew sharper, an agonizing tearing sensation that made me gasp. I dragged myself to a bus stop, clutching my stomach as I slid onto the metal bench. A black SUV rolled out of the underground garage, stopping at the red light right in front of me. Xavier was behind the wheel. Then my phone rang. His name flashed on the screen. His voice echoed through his car’s speakers, drifting out of his half-open window. “Hey, babe. The roads finally cleared, so I’m heading home now.” His voice was incredibly warm, dripping with that fake, loving concern. “I got those lemon scones from Magnolia’s for you. They’re still warm.” Through his window, I watched him reach over to brush a strand of hair from Tessa’s face. Tessa giggled, biting into a scone he was holding out to her. “Is it good?” he whispered to her, his lips moving silently. “Xavier,” I gripped my phone, whispering. “What’s wrong? Your voice sounds weak. Did you catch a cold?” “If I told you I was standing outside the Peak Penthouse right now…” I stared at his car. “Would you step out and look at me?” A beat of slience. Then, he let out a dry, forced chuckle. “Clara, stop playing games.” “I went to the Forbidden Forest of Death to save you last night.” I said. His laugh vanished. It was replaced by a cold, harsh growl. “Clara, are you insane? I told you I was safe. Why do you always have to create drama?” “Do you have any idea how much trouble you almost cost me? You really want the pack elders asking questions about why you were out there alone?” So that was all he cared about. Not me bleeding in the woods. Not me almost dying. Just what the elders would say. There was nothing left to say. I wanted to hang up— Then the pain hit. A full-body seizure of it, white-hot and blinding. “Xavier, my stomach hurts,” I whimpered, curling in on myself as a warm wetness soaked through my pants. “Then take some medicine. I’m an Alpha, Clara, not a healer.” his voice was cold. Too cold. At the same time, in the passenger seat, Tessa suddenly gasped, clutching her stomach with a dramatic groan. Xavier’s face went completely pale. “Tessa? What’s wrong? Is your stomach flaring up again?” He didn’t even bother to cover the phone. The raw, desperate panic in his voice sliced right through me. “Xavier… it hurts so bad,” Tessa whimpered. “Don’t worry, I’m taking you to the pack hospital right now.” The SUV roared to life, surging forward. The tires kicked up a wave of muddy, freezing street water, drenching me from head to toe. The call went dead. I slid off the bench onto the wet pavement, my vision blurring into a dark, bloody red. Someone was screaming in the distance, calling for an ambulance, but my mind was already slipping away. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh smell of bleach filled my nose. A nurse was changing my IV drip, her eyes filled with pity. “I’m so sorry, Clara. We couldn’t save your pup.” “You arrived too late. The hypothermia and the sheer physical trauma… it was too much.” I stared at the white ceiling. So that was it. I waited for the tears. For the anger. For anything. Nothing came. I just felt completely hollow. The nurse sighed softly and slipped out of the room. I picked up my phone. The screen lit up with messages from Xavier. “Something came up at the pack house. I won’t be home tonight.” “I left the scones in the kitchen. Make sure you eat them.” “Clara, stop giving me the silent treatment. You were the one acting crazy last night.” He was still playing his usual game, expecting me to crawl back the moment he threw me a bone. I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened a hidden folder on my phone. Inside was all the evidence my private investigator had gathered six months ago. The lease for Tessa’s luxury apartment, the bank transfers, the hotel bookings. I used to think I would use this to scream at him, to demand answers. Now, I just felt disgusted. I called my family’s lawyer. “Mr. Vance, prepare the divorce papers.” “Luna Clara? Are you sure? What about the asset division?” “I only want what belongs to my family. But every single cent he spent on Tessa? I want it clawed back.” After hanging up, I dialed Xavier’s number. He answered almost instantly. In the background, I could hear the steady beep of hospital monitors. “Clara? Done throwing your tantrum?” His tone was insufferably arrogant. “I knew you’d call.” I looked out the window, my mind clearer than it had been in years. “Xavier, let’s get a divorce.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260623T8R0upi7FH 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni067173”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

1 After my college roommates started getting into relationships one after another, they became obsessed with setting me up. Unable to handle the constant pressure, I did what any desperate person would do; I invented a boyfriend. One evening, after a late-night dinner with the girls, everyone’s significant other showed up to pick them up. To keep my lie from collapsing, I casually lied. “My boyfriend has to work overtime tonight, so he can’t make it.” But the moment we walked out of the restaurant, a sleek black Mercedes executive sedan pulled up to the curb. A driver wearing white gloves stepped out and opened the door for me. “Good evening, Miss Emma. Your boyfriend booked this luxury ride to take you back to campus. It is an honor to serve you.” I froze on the spot. I was single to my very core. The boyfriend was a complete fabrication, a ghost in my own imagination. So who on earth had ordered this car? … “Emma, you are way too modest! This is what you call an ordinary, working-class boyfriend?” “No wonder you kept making excuses when we tried to set you up. You’ve been holding onto a secret millionaire this whole time!” My mouth twitched, but I couldn’t utter a single syllable. During my two years at university, this imaginary boyfriend had been the perfect shield. When my classmates invited me to go to a club until three in the morning and I didn’t want to go, I would say my boyfriend didn’t like me staying out late. When an upperclassman tried to pursue me and I wanted to reject him politely, I would say I was already taken. It was incredibly convenient. But the reality was that I was twenty-one years old and had never even held a boy’s hand. Looking a guy in the eye for more than a second made me want to curl up and disappear. Where would I get a boyfriend? I stole a glance at the driver. He stood by the open door, his back straight as a rod, looking entirely professional. He definitely didn’t seem like the type to make a mistake. “Excuse me, are you sure you have the right person? My name is Emma.” “There is no mistake, Miss Emma. The reservation has your name and phone number. You can check the screen if you’d like.” The driver held out his tablet. The booking platform displayed my name and my exact phone number. My mind went entirely blank. Who was this? I glanced at my roommates out of the corner of my eye. Could they be pulling a massive prank on me? But Lily was busy clinging to her boyfriend’s arm, whispering sweet nothings. Nora was looking down at her phone, a soft, genuine smile on her lips as she texted her guy. Phoebe was tapping her foot, impatiently waiting for her boyfriend to pull his car around. None of the three showed even a hint of suspicion. “Miss Emma, please step inside. Your boyfriend was very specific about making sure you returned to your dorm safely,” the driver urged gently. My roommates began pushing me toward the back seat, and with no other option, I climbed in. The ride was incredibly smooth. The driver didn’t say a single word the entire trip. When we arrived at my dorm building, I opened my mouth to ask for the name of the gentleman who had booked the ride, but the driver simply gave a polite nod, got back in, and sped away. I stood in the chilly night air for a long time before finally walking upstairs. The moment I pushed the dorm door open, I saw a beautifully wrapped gift box sitting on my desk. I hadn’t ordered anything online recently. After hesitating for several minutes, I carefully unwrapped the box. Inside was a complete, high-end luxury skincare set. Just yesterday, I had casually mentioned in the dorm that I wondered if I would ever be able to afford such an expensive brand by the time I turned thirty. A small card rested on top of the bottles. No need to wait until you are thirty. You can have it now. Loving you always, your boyfriend. Phoebe and the others walked in just then. When they saw the famous, incredibly expensive skincare set on my desk, their eyes nearly popped out of their heads. “Oh my god, isn’t this the set that costs over two thousand dollars? Emma, your man is insanely generous!” “Emma, you need to tell us the truth. Is your boyfriend a corporate executive or a trust-fund baby?” I shoved the bottles back into the box, my face pale. “What is wrong? Aren’t you happy to get a gift?” Phoebe nudged my arm. “Did you guys get into a fight?” I didn’t answer. The only people who knew I was dining at that specific restaurant tonight, and the only people who heard me wish for that skincare set, were the three girls in this room. Was it really a prank? But these things cost a fortune. We were all broke college students; who would spend this kind of money just to mess with me? I turned the box over and found the shipping label to check the sender’s information. The sender field was completely blurred out, marked as a private, high-security shipment. It was terrifyingly stealthy. I lay in bed that night, tossing and turning, unable to find a single logical explanation. The next morning, as I walked downstairs with heavy dark circles under my eyes, the dorm supervisor called out to me. “Emma! Perfect timing, someone left breakfast for you!” My heart sank with a terrible premonition. Sure enough, when I took the insulated bag from the courier, I found a warm container of custard-filled cronuts and a hot white chocolate mocha. A card was tucked into the side, the handwriting elegant and smooth. Remember to eat breakfast. Don’t go to class on an empty stomach. Loving you always, your boyfriend. My hand shook, nearly dropping the container. The supervisor offered a knowing, sweet smile. “You’re a very lucky girl.” The courier added, “Your boyfriend was worried you wouldn’t have time to stop by the dining hall before your early class, and he didn’t want you eating cold food. He had me time the delivery perfectly.” A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. The professor had only announced the rescheduled seven AM class on our private group chat late last night. How could this person possibly know my schedule? As the courier turned to leave, I grabbed his sleeve. “Wait! Please, can you tell me what my boyfriend looks like?” The courier stared at me as if I had lost my mind. I forced a strained laugh. “We met online. We haven’t actually met in person yet.” The courier’s eyes lit up with understanding. “I didn’t see him myself, Miss Emma, but with a boyfriend this attentive, you should definitely hold onto him.” I mumbled a thank you, carried the bag to my classroom, and stared at the card. The handwriting was completely unfamiliar. I had never seen it before in my life. It was possible the sender had simply paid the bakery to write the note. The cronuts were still piping hot. They were from a famous bakery located ten miles away from campus, a place I only treated myself to when I won a scholarship. This person knew my exact tastes, my exact schedule, and my exact location. The more I thought about it, the more my skin crawled. Phoebe slid into the seat next to me, her eyes lighting up when she saw the pastry box. “Wow, your boyfriend again? Those pastries are so expensive. I wanted to get them last week, but the price made me walk right out.” She leaned over to read the card, letting out an exaggerated gasp. “He even writes cute little cards! How romantic! Emma, you must have saved a kingdom in your past life.” I offered a weak smile, keeping my mouth shut. If I saved a kingdom, then who was going to save me now? If someone actually had a crush on me, why were they lurking in the shadows, pretending to be a boyfriend I had made up? The gifts kept coming, relentless and precise. When the tip of my favorite fountain pen broke during a lecture, a brand-new one was sitting on my desk the very next morning. When I got my period and was doubling over with cramps, a heating patch and a thermos of chamomile tea appeared in my desk drawer by the afternoon. There was even an advanced calculus problem I had been struggling with for hours. While I stepped out to use the restroom, a page of neatly handwritten steps appeared on my notebook. Every step was perfectly clear, with a small note at the bottom: Keep going, you’re going to do great. And the signature was always the same: Loving you always, your boyfriend. Even my classmates started teasing me. “Emma, when are you going to let us meet this mysterious, perfect boyfriend of yours?” “Exactly! You’ve been hiding him for so long, are you worried we’re going to steal him?” I could only offer awkward laughs to brush it off. But the terror inside me was growing. This person was everywhere. They knew my schedule, my preferences, and my daily struggles. I stopped talking in my dorm room entirely, constantly feeling like a pair of invisible eyes was watching my every move. The breaking point came when I went home for the weekend. My mother confessed that our family’s florist shop was struggling financially and she was thinking of closing it down, even though it was our only source of income. I hid under my blanket that night and cried myself to sleep, telling absolutely no one. The next morning, my mother woke me up, her voice trembling. “Emma, wake up! I just got a call from the corporate office of the Grand Plaza Hotel. They want our shop to be their exclusive floral provider!” I sat up in bed, thrilled. “That is amazing, Mom! Now we don’t have to close the shop!” “But, they also sent this card with the contract.” My hand began to shake as I took the familiar card from her. The joy drained from my face instantly. A gift for my future mother-in-law. Loving you always, your boyfriend. The blood froze in my veins. I sank back onto the mattress, paralyzed. I had cried about the florist shop last night. And by this morning, the problem was solved? Just then, my phone buzzed with an anonymous text message. Don’t cry. I’m here now. I couldn’t take it anymore. I dialed the number in a frenzy of panic. But a cold, mechanical voice replied: “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service.” I called the Grand Plaza Hotel. The corporate manager told me that their client had strictly forbidden them from releasing any personal information. The terror was suffocating. This person knew about my family’s private financial struggles. It was impossible. Unless… I stripped off my clothes and had my mother inspect my body for any hidden tracking devices. Then, I bought an infrared detector and swept every corner of our house, but found absolutely nothing. I stared at my phone. Was it possible that my device had been infected with a tracking virus? That afternoon, I went to a local electronics shop, sold my phone, and purchased a brand-new device along with a new SIM card under a different number. The transaction cost me a chunk of my monthly allowance, but I was too terrified to care. I didn’t dare stay at home, returning to campus that very evening. Thankfully, over the next three days, no strange gifts appeared. I was just starting to let my guard down when I had a dream. In the dream, a man whose face was obscured by a soft mist spoke to me, his voice low and laced with a gentle sadness. “Emma, did you not like the things I sent you?” “It is almost your twentieth birthday, baby. I’m going to send you a nice, big gift so you can buy whatever your heart desires.” I bolted upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Aside from my mother, no one knew that I had altered my birth year on my identification documents by a year so I could enroll in primary school early. Everyone at university believed I was twenty-one. I had never told a single friend, and my roommates definitely didn’t know. While I was trying to process this, my new phone buzzed. I picked it up. It was a notification from my bank. A wire transfer of three hundred thousand dollars had just cleared. The memo line read: Happy 20th birthday, baby. I dropped the phone onto the floor. The screen remained lit, the massive number staring back at me. Phoebe was woke up by the sound, asking sleepily what was wrong. I quickly snatched the phone and turned off the screen. “Nothing, just a nightmare.” I pulled the blanket over my head, shivering. The dream and the notification had lined up perfectly. The three hundred thousand dollars was exactly what the man in my dream had promised. Could this really be coming from my nonexistent boyfriend? It was completely insane. I tossed and turned until sunrise, heading straight to the bank the moment it opened. I wanted to return the funds, but the teller informed me that they couldn’t process a return without the sender’s verified account information. “Miss, if you are truly concerned about the origin of these funds, I suggest you contact the police.” Her words snapped me out of my daze. Yes. The police. I walked out of the bank, but before I could pull out my phone to dial the emergency line, someone called my name. I turned around to see my university counselor, and beside him stood two uniformed police officers. Before coming to the bank, I had sent a frantic email to my counselor about the mysterious funds, which explained why he was here. “Emma, thank goodness we found you. These officers need to speak with you.” My heart did a violent flip. One of the officers stepped forward, displaying his badge. “Emma? We received a report regarding a series of highly suspicious financial transactions and high-value gifts sent to your name, including a recent transfer of three hundred thousand dollars. We need you to come with us to the station to assist with an investigation.” My head spun. Who had reported this to the police before I could? I followed them to the station, sitting in a stark interrogation room as the questions began to fly. “Who sent these items to you?” “Where did the three hundred thousand dollars come from?” “What is your boyfriend’s name and contact information?” I clutched the edge of my shirt, my palms slick with sweat. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t know who sent those things, and I don’t know who transferred that money.” The officer frowned. “No boyfriend? But everyone at your university has stated that you’ve been in a committed relationship for two years.” “I made him up!” I cried, my voice trembling. “I just wanted to avoid being set up, so I invented him. I don’t have a boyfriend!” The two officers exchanged a dark look. “Emma, we need you to cooperate. The delivery records and the bank transfer are all registered in your name. Do you really expect us to believe you have no idea who is behind this?” “I really don’t know!” Tears began to spill down my cheeks. “I want to know who is doing this more than anyone! I changed my phone, I changed my number, but he still found me. He even knew about my mother’s flower shop!” The officers questioned me for another hour before finally letting me go, telling me to remain in the city and keep my phone active. By the time I walked out of the station, the sky was dark. The freezing wind bit at my face, and my head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. I kept my head down as I walked back toward campus, constantly sensing someone following me. But when I spun around, the sidewalk was completely empty. I quickened my pace, and as I reached the university gates, I saw Phoebe waiting for me. Her face was twisted in a look of disgust. “Emma, tell me the truth. Are you being kept by some sugar daddy?” I froze. “What?” “Otherwise, where did all those things come from? And that three hundred thousand dollars? Who hands out that kind of cash for no reason?” Phoebe’s voice was incredibly loud, and several passing students stopped to stare. “You’re always acting so quiet and humble, and your family is broke. Who would spend this kind of money on you? Stop pretending, Emma. Everyone knows.” The whispers around us grew louder, and the judgmental stares felt like needles poking into my skin. I stood there, my entire body turning cold. I looked up at the dark sky, and suddenly, a violent, cracking pain exploded in my skull. My legs gave out, and the world began to tilt. But in the fraction of a second before I hit the ground, a rush of understanding flooded my mind. I finally understood what was happening. And as the darkness took me, a strange, frantic hope bloomed in my chest.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464478”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Dr. Franklin Prescott was a saint in the eyes of the public. To the medical world, he was a pioneering savior, a man of profound mercy. But to me, he was a monster. He was the man who drove my mother mad and tossed his wife and daughter aside like garbage. Thirty years ago, on a rainy night, my mother caught him in bed with his mistress. The very next morning, she was bound in a straightjacket and hauled off to an asylum. By the time she was finally released, her mind was completely shattered. She ended up giving birth to my younger brother under a cold concrete bridge. I was only six years old when I had to shoulder the weight of our ruined lives. I clawed my way up from the dirt, fighting through the dark until I became the chief psychiatric expert at this very hospital. And today, a very special patient was referred to my clinic. It was Tyler Prescott, the golden boy Franklin had with the mistress who successfully usurped my mother’s place. Tyler had gone drag-racing while wasted, plowing into a crowded bus stop and killing over a dozen people. Now, he was lounging in my office, expecting me to sign off on a forged psychiatric evaluation to get him off the hook. The hospital board has been breathing down my neck, demanding I cooperate. But none of them know that I have been waiting for this exact day for thirty years. … Inside the evaluation room, I kept my eyes on the thick file in my hands. Across from me, a young man in his early twenties sat on the leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other. He kept his head down, scrolling through his phone, occasionally letting out a soft, mocking chuckle. He did not have a care in the world. “Look, Dr. Brooks, let’s not dance around this.” Tyler pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his designer bag and slapped it onto my desk. “Just make the report a little vague. Say I suffer from intermittent blackouts. Do that, and this cash is yours.” Tyler Prescott. He was the precious son of my hypocrite father, Franklin, and his mistress, Brenda. Three days ago, Tyler had drunk-driven a heavily modified sports car through a red light downtown. He smashed right into a crowded bus stop, killing four people instantly and leaving nine critically injured. The tragedy sparked outrage across the city. Yet, Tyler had spent less than twenty-four hours in holding before being released on bail. The excuse was a suspected psychiatric episode that required a forensic evaluation. And the doctor assigned to write that evaluation was me. I closed the folder and looked him in the eye. “Tyler, based on all your test results, your mental state is completely normal. I will not sign off on a falsified evaluation to excuse your crimes.” “What did you just say?” “I think I made myself clear.” The lazy smirk vanished from Tyler’s face, replaced by a sudden, ugly rage. He slammed his hands on the desk and stood up, sending the stack of bills scattering across the floor. A few notes drifted onto my white lab coat. “Don’t play the saint with me!” his voice rose to a harsh shout. “My dad is Franklin Prescott. You better think long and hard about whether you want to disrespect his name.” I looked down at the bills on the floor and remained still. He took a step closer, his tone turning smug. “Listen, Dr. Brooks, the alcohol in my system is long gone. If you quietly edit the report, no one will ever know.” “You took over a dozen lives.” “They shouldn’t have been standing there,” he shrugged, entirely indifferent. “I’ll tell you one more time: my dad is Franklin Prescott. A woman with no backing doesn’t climb to chief of psychiatry easily. You should know when to take a helping hand.” His eyes slowly slid from my face down to my collar. “But hey, if you want to play nice with me instead, I’m down. I’m not picky.” I stared at his face. The brow, the bridge of his nose, the curl of his lip, he looked exactly like a young Franklin. He possessed the same condescending arrogance Franklin had shown thirty years ago when he ruined my mother with a single, casual sentence. It made my stomach turn. I picked up the bills that had landed on my coat, placed them back on the desk, and pushed them toward him. “Your father was the one who insisted on inviting the media to witness this process. Every major step of this evaluation has been recorded on video and audio. My conclusion is based entirely on objective medical data. There is no room for negotiation.” Right on cue, the office door was pushed open. Three journalists carrying heavy camera gear filed into the room, and the red recording lights flickered to life. “Good afternoon, everyone. We are live from the hospital for Tyler Prescott’s psychiatric evaluation results…” Tyler had clearly not expected me to actually go through with it. Facing the cameras, I calmly laid out the evaluation process, the tests administered, and the raw data. Then, I delivered the final blow. “The subject, Tyler Prescott, shows no signs of cognitive or psychiatric impairment. He is fully competent to stand trial.” “His decision to drive under the influence was a deliberate act. There are no psychological factors that would limit his understanding of his actions or his control over them.” The live chat on the broadcast erupted. Tyler jumped to his feet, knocking his chair back with a loud screech. “You’re going to regret this! Just wait, my dad is going to ruin you!” He shoved a camera out of his way and stormed out of the office. A reporter tried to follow him for a comment, but Tyler kicked the microphone out of her hand. I stood there, watching his shadow disappear down the hallway. Thirty years have passed. I wonder if my dear father will finally recognize his own daughter. And I wonder if he will remember the woman he broke. As soon as the broadcast ended, I was summoned to the director’s office. “Audrey, you are one of our brightest young minds, you have a brilliant future ahead of you,” Director Crawford said, slamming his teacup onto his mahogany desk. “Do you have any idea who Franklin Prescott is? He is the Vice President of the Medical Association. He chairs three major journals. He practically wrote the state guidelines for psychiatry. If he asks you for a minor favor, you take the exit he offers. Why on earth did you have to pull a stunt like that on a live broadcast?” I stood straight before him. “Director Crawford, the evaluation is based on facts. He committed a crime, and he should face the law.” Crawford slammed his hand on the desk. “He ran people over, which is a matter for the police and the courts! Since when is it a psychiatrist’s job to play judge and executioner?” “Forensic evaluation is part of the legal process. If anyone doubts my findings, they are welcome to request a secondary evaluation through the proper channels.” “You’re lecturing me on the proper channels?” Crawford scoffed, temporarily speechless. He knew as well as I did that the state randomly assigns forensic evaluators to prevent tampering. Even with all their influence, they couldn’t bypass the system easily. “Audrey, it’s good for young people to have principles, but you can’t fight a brick wall. Go apologize to Franklin. Soften the wording of the report, and we can make this go away. He is not someone you want as an enemy.” “The report stays as it is.” Crawford took a deep, trembling breath. “Then you are suspended. Leave your keys and stay out of the ward until this is resolved.” I turned and walked out. By that evening, the internet was flooded with targeted articles about me. #AudreyBrooksEvaluationControversy #InsiderExposesAudreyBrooks A prominent tabloid account posted a scathing update: “An anonymous source reveals that Dr. Audrey Brooks, a young psychiatrist who rose through the ranks via questionable connections, targeted Tyler Prescott after he rejected her personal advances.” Attached was a cropped photo from an academic conference a few years ago, edited to make it look like Tyler and I were sharing an intimate moment. The caption read: “If I can’t have you, I’ll destroy you?” The comment section went wild. How is this woman even allowed to practice medicine? No wonder she wouldn’t sign the papers. She was just mad she couldn’t bag a rich guy. Disgusting. She’s using her position for a personal vendetta. Investigation needed. Then came the coordinated wave of fabricated scandals. Someone posted “wild photos” of me at a nightclub, which were actually heavily edited pictures from a department karaoke night three years ago, with my clothes photoshopped to look provocative. Others targeted my academic record, claiming I had plagiarized my thesis, using the records of another student with a similar name. They even forged a text message exchange showing me negotiating a bribe with a patient’s family. The comments grew viler by the minute. With a face like that, no wonder he turned her down. A psychiatrist? She looks like she belongs in a ward herself. She needs to be fired before she hurts anyone else. The next morning, a crowd of strangers was waiting for me outside the hospital gates. People thrust their phones into my face, recording me, while others deliberately bumped into me. One man waved a consultation slip, sneering, “Hey, Dr. Brooks, my head feels a bit funny. Why don’t you give me a private exam?” The security guards barely managed to push them back. Meanwhile, Franklin Prescott granted an exclusive interview to a major news outlet. He wore his white lab coat, his hair perfectly coiffed with silver at the temples, his expression heavy with sorrow. “As an elder in the medical community, I don’t wish to criticize a junior colleague. However, forensic psychiatry is about human freedom and reputation. When personal emotions are allowed to dictate a professional evaluation, it damages our entire industry.” He never mentioned my name. But everyone knew who he was talking about. The comment section praised him. “Dr. Prescott is a class act. He’s still defending the profession after being targeted like this.” “He has spent his life saving people. To see his son treated this way is heartbreaking.” “This is what happens when good people get taken advantage of.” By that afternoon, the hospital board issued a formal notice. “In light of the severe negative public impact caused by Dr. Audrey Brooks, the board has determined that Dr. Brooks must deliver a formal apology to Professor Franklin Prescott within three days and revise Tyler Prescott’s evaluation. Failure to comply will result in immediate termination.” The HR director hand-delivered the letter to me, adding a quiet warning. “Audrey, don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is your last chance.” I looked down at the thin sheet of paper. A formal apology? Perhaps it was indeed time to pay a visit to the man who ruined my mother’s life. The Prescott estate was nestled in the exclusive gated community in the eastern hills. The driveway was flanked by ancient, manicured pines that had reportedly cost a fortune to import. When the housekeeper led me through the grounds, a lavish afternoon tea was laid out in the garden. Brenda was sitting with a group of wealthy socialites, chatting over fine china. “Brenda, you and Dr. Prescott are truly a fairytale couple,” a woman with a round face gushed. “After all these years, he still dotes on you.” Brenda sighed, putting on a show of elegant melancholy. “Well, we had our share of trials. His first wife was… unstable, to say the least. She put poor Franklin through so much pain.” “Oh, really? Was it that bad?” “It was dreadful,” Brenda shook her head. “She lost her mind right after they married. Screaming, throwing things. Franklin was kind enough to pay for her treatment, but she escaped the facility. She took the kids and vanished. Franklin spent years looking for them.” “How tragic. Dr. Prescott is such a saint to have endured that.” “Exactly. Brenda, you are the one who truly stood by him through the hard times.” My fingernails dug deep into the palms of my hands. Brenda. Thirty years ago, she was just a shampoo girl at a cheap salon near our apartment complex. Now, she was the lady of the manor. Drugged into madness. Sent away out of kindness. Escaped. Every word out of her mouth was a calculated lie. When Franklin had nothing, it was my mother who married him against her parents’ wishes, cutting ties with her own family to support his dreams. For years, Franklin didn’t bring home a single dime, leaving my mother to work triple shifts at a textile factory to keep us fed. When my mother’s parents passed away, Franklin went as far as to block her phone calls, ensuring she never got to say goodbye. And the moment he gained status and wealth, he turned around and slept with a salon girl. When my mother discovered the truth, she didn’t get an apology. She got hauled off to an asylum, injected with experimental sedatives, and systematically driven out of her mind. Brenda raised her teacup, pretending to notice me just then. She tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over me with cold disdain, before turning to the maid. “Martha, you must be getting old. Since when do we let stray dogs into the garden?” The other women smothered their snickers behind their silk napkins. I kept my voice perfectly level. “Brenda, I am here to see Franklin. Tell him I’m here.” “See Franklin?” Brenda arched an eyebrow. “My husband is busy. Come back another day.” Before she could finish, footsteps echoed from the veranda. Tyler stepped down the stairs, dressed in designer loungewear, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He paused when he saw me, then let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Well, well. If it isn’t Dr. Brooks.” He ambled over, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking down at me with supreme satisfaction. “Regretting your little stunt now?” “It would have been so much easier if you had just listened to me in the first place,” he said, flicking his collar. “But in the end, you still have to crawl back and beg for mercy.” He turned and called out to Brenda, “Hey Mom, I’m heading out!” He brushed past me, deliberately slamming his shoulder into mine as he walked toward a brand-new Porsche parked in the driveway. The car he used to kill those people was still impounded, yet he already had a replacement. The engine roared to life, and he drove off as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I clenched my fists and took a step toward the house. “Dr. Brooks?” A deep, commanding voice called out from behind me. I turned. Franklin Prescott stood there, dressed in a grey cashmere cardigan, his silver hair perfectly styled. He looked at the scene in the garden, bid a polite farewell to his guests, and gestured for me to follow him into his study. The walls of his study were lined with photographs of him shaking hands with city officials and prestigious medical boards. Below them sat rows of trophies. The largest trophy in the center was engraved with the words: To a Healer of Great Mercy. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, his elegant demeanor vanished. “Audrey, I’ve looked into your file,” he said, crossing his fingers on the desk. “Making chief at thirty-two is an impressive feat. You are a smart girl. You must know what this evaluation report means for your career.” He opened a drawer and slid a thick envelope across the desk. “Inside is a formal nomination for the state medical board, along with two prestigious offers from private clinics. If you help me with this minor issue, all of this is yours. I will also personally see to it that the online rumors about you disappear.” I didn’t move. His voice softened, taking on a warm, paternal tone. “Tyler is my only son. I am getting old, and he is my legacy. As a doctor, surely you can understand a father’s heart.” “I understand you have a younger brother, and your mother’s mental health is… precarious. You of all people should know that a father will do absolutely anything to protect his child.” He had investigated me. He knew about my brother, my mother, and where we lived. But he still had no idea who I actually was. I reached into my pocket and quietly pressed the record button on my device. “Dr. Prescott, the report stands. If you want to fire me, go ahead.” Franklin had expected me to bow my head. Seeing me defy him, his paternal mask cracked, and he slammed his hand onto the desk as he stood up. “You are a woman with no family, no backing, and no influence. Do you honestly think you can survive in this industry if you cross me?” I reached for the door handle, not bothering to look back. “You can certainly try to stop me.” As I stepped out, the sound of a heavy crystal glass shattering against the mahogany desk echoed behind me. In the garden, Brenda was still laughing with her friends, bragging about how her husband was the most honorable man in the city. The retaliation was swift. The next morning, when I tried to scan my badge at the hospital entrance, the turnstile let out a sharp, grating beep. Access Denied. A security guard approached me, looking apologetic. “Dr. Brooks, the administration has terminated your employment effective immediately. You are no longer permitted on the premises.” I stared at the red light on the scanner for a second, then turned on my heel. When I got back to my small apartment and opened my phone, the internet was already ablaze with new details. They had dug up my mother’s medical history. Audrey Brooks’ mother, Margaret Brooks, was diagnosed with severe schizophrenia thirty years ago. How can we trust a psychiatrist whose own mother is mentally unstable? Is madness hereditary? She should be evaluated herself before she hurts her patients. Worse still, someone had leaked my home address. A small crowd of people with cameras was already gathered outside my building. One man shouted at my window, “Crazy Margaret! Your daughter is a criminal! Come out!” I pushed through the crowd, slipped inside, and immediately drew the heavy curtains shut. My brother, Toby, was holding our mother’s hand, his face pale. “Audrey, what do we do?” My mother was curled into a tight ball in the corner, her hands over her ears, shaking violently. The shouting from the street and the word “crazy” had dragged her straight back to that sterile, white room from thirty years ago. “I’m not sick… please… I’m sorry… don’t send me back… don’t give me the shots…” My heart felt as if it were being squeezed by a cold hand. “Mom,” I knelt before her, gently taking her trembling hands in mine. “You are not sick, and you did nothing wrong. I promise you, I am going to make him pay.” My mother looked at me, a rare spark of clarity returning to her hollow eyes. She reached out and touched my cheek with a shaking hand. “Audrey… I trust you.” I opened my desk drawer and pulled out my notebook, my mother’s original marriage certificate, and the audio recording device. On the television, Tyler was giving another high-profile interview. He sat before the cameras, flashing a smug grin as he held up a stamped document. “The previous evaluation was deeply flawed. I have received a proper diagnosis from an accredited private clinic proving I suffer from intermittent cognitive impairment. I will be cleared of all charges shortly. Thank you all for your support.” I dialed a number on my phone. “I’m ready. Come pick me up.” An hour later, I arrived at the broadcasting studio in a police cruiser. Tyler had just finished his interview and was walking out of the lobby, surrounded by his assistants and bodyguards. When he saw me, he smirked. “Told you so, Dr. Brooks. You couldn’t stop me even if you tried…” But his smirk died the second he saw the badges flashing behind me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464477”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The factory motor was literally smoking. I sprinted over with my toolbox, only to be stopped cold by the Production Supervisor. “Did you fill out the emergency work order?” I gritted my teeth, scribbled the form, and rushed the main breaker. Then the Safety Officer blocked my path. “Where is your lockout-tagout risk assessment?” I told him the machine was seconds from melting down; my apprentice was already bringing parts. But when my apprentice arrived, the Warehouse Manager intercepted him. “Where is the parts requisition slip? No slip, no parts.” My voice was hoarse. I screamed at them to let me fix the damn thing. He just sneered. “Protocol isn’t finished.” I stared at the three of them, asking one final time, word by word. “I am going to ask you one last time. Are you going to let me cut the power and fix this machine?” All three stepped forward. Not a single one moved. It finally clicked. They didn’t care about the problem. They just wanted to flex their tiny ounce of power. Prove nothing happens here without their nod. The fight drained out of me. I nodded. “Fine. Don’t regret this.” The words had barely left my mouth when a muffled explosion shook the concrete floor. The motor blew. The entire plant went pitch black. 1 My radio crackled to life. “Marcus, Motor 3 is smoking! Get down here!” I grabbed my tool bag and sprinted out of the maintenance room. My brain was locked onto one single thought. Cut the power, unhook the wiring, find the fault. By the time I hit the double doors of the production floor, the bitter stench of burning ozone hit my nose. The motor was tucked away at the very back of the assembly line. Through the gaps between the heavy machinery, I could see thin trails of toxic blue smoke rising into the air. I picked up my pace, power-walking toward the source. Suddenly, an arm shot out, blocking my chest. Victor Wallace, the Production Supervisor, looked at me with maddening slowness. “Where is the emergency work order?” I froze. “Victor, the motor is smoking. I need to get in there right now…” “Who gave you permission to touch the equipment without a ticket?” he asked, barely glancing at me. I swallowed my frustration and tried to explain. “I have not touched anything yet! I need to get over there and assess the situation!” “Assessing the situation is classified as a maintenance action. Any maintenance action must be preceded by a filled-out work order, signed by the shift supervisor. Those are the rules.” He recited the employee handbook without even blinking. My stomach dropped. Victor and his clique of middle managers had always been completely jealous of the electrical maintenance crew. When the machines were running smoothly, we sat in the breakroom on standby. To them, we were just lazy guys getting paid thirty bucks an hour to do nothing. So whenever a machine broke down, guys like Victor practically thrived on it. Protocols, signatures, approvals, audits. The red tape they completely ignored on a normal Tuesday suddenly became absolute law the second something caught fire. When you are sweating bullets, they take their sweet time flipping through clipboards. That smug little smirk hiding in the corner of their mouths says it all. They just love watching you panic. “Victor,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level. “The motor is smoking. Smell the air. That is not normal. If we delay this, it is going to cause a massive chain reaction.” “Then you should hurry up and fill out the ticket.” Victor did not budge an inch. He pulled a cheap ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “The blank forms are in the dispatch office. Fill it out, I will sign it, and you can get to work. It will only take you a few minutes.” A few minutes? I did the math in my head. A four-hundred-yard sprint to the office, filling out the paperwork, and sprinting back. Ten minutes minimum. In ten minutes, the core temperature inside that motor would spike from two hundred degrees to six hundred. Victor checked his watch. “If you run now, you can be back in six minutes. I am timing you.” I stared at him. He stared right back. The blue smoke behind him was getting thicker, turning into a nasty, toxic black cloud. I could not afford a staring contest with him. A minor burnout was about to turn into a total system failure. I gritted my teeth, spun on my heels, and sprinted back to the dispatch office. I grabbed the clipboard and scribbled like a madman. By the time I sprinted back to the production floor, my lungs were burning. Victor was still standing in the exact same spot. Panting heavily, I slapped the clipboard directly against his chest. He took it. He slowly smoothed out the paper. He held it up to the fluorescent lights, his eyes hovering over the ‘Safety Observer’ box. He stayed silent for about two excruciating seconds. My heart hammered against my ribs. He frowned. “Your handwriting is way too messy. You need to rewrite this later for the archives.” “You missed the cross on the ‘t’ in my name right here. Pay attention next time. Anyway, leave this ticket with me, I will get it filed with dispatch after I sign it, and you…” “Can I go now?!” I practically yelled. “You may proceed.” Victor took half a step back, clearing the path. I bolted past him. The motor was practically screaming now, a high-pitched metallic whine. I took one look and knew exactly what it was. If I cut the power right this second and swapped out the scorched bearings, the motor could still be saved. We still had time. I spun around and sprinted toward the main breaker panel, reaching out to yank the heavy red disconnect lever. “Hold it right there!” 2 A thick hand clamped down hard on my wrist. It was Paul Jenkins, the floor Safety Officer. “What do you think you are doing?” “Paul! The motor is catching fire! I need to cut the power!” I pointed wildly at the machine behind me. My voice cracked from the sheer stress. “Cut the power? Did you complete the lockout-tagout risk assessment? Are you blind? The safety regulations are posted right on the wall, or do you just use them as toilet paper?” He barked at me, stepping directly in front of the breaker box, using his entire body as a shield. I was losing my mind. “We are out of time, Paul! Get out of the way! Let me cut the power first, and we can do whatever analysis you want afterward! I will sign anything!” I tried to shoulder past him, aiming my right hand at the lever again. Paul shoved me back with both hands. “Are you trying to violate safety protocols on my watch?!” I stumbled backward, my boots slipping on the slick floor, and hit the ground hard. The veins in Paul’s forehead bulged. “I told you, no one touches that breaker until the risk assessment is done! Have you been pulling these reckless stunts the whole time? No wonder your safety audit scores were absolute garbage last month!” He pulled an iPad out from his belt holster and shoved the screen in my face. It was the digital assessment form. Dozens of mandatory checkboxes. “You see this? Thirty-one points! You want to pull that lever without checking a single one? Who takes the fall when someone gets killed? You?” I pulled myself up from the floor. My chest ached from the shove. I took a deep breath, swallowing the boiling rage in my throat, and forced myself to speak calmly. “Paul, listen to the motor. The bearings are grinding to dust. If I do not cut the power, the coils are going to short out. It will blow the end caps right off the casing! Look at those empty wooden pallets stacked next to the panel! One spark and the whole place goes up! The entire assembly line will go down!” He tilted his chin up, shouting right back at me. “That is not my problem! I am in charge of protocol! If you do not do the assessment, you do not pull the lever. If the motor burns out, that is a maintenance issue. If the building catches fire, that is a fire department issue. But on my floor, nobody breaks the rules!” Seeing that Paul was completely unmovable, I pulled out my phone and dialed my apprentice, Toby. “Toby, get down to the supply cage right now. Grab a replacement bearing for a Type-3 motor. You know exactly which shelf it is on. Run! Do not walk, run!” I hung up and glared at Paul. “Fine. The risk assessment. Thirty-one points, right? Let’s do it. You ask, I answer.” Paul nodded, looking incredibly smug. “Now that is more like it.” The motor had maybe thirty minutes left before it completely fused. If I played along with Paul’s little power trip, I could get the sign-off, kill the power, and wait for Toby. Once the bearing got here, it would be a quick swap. Paul cleared his throat and read the first line off his tablet. “Confirm the scope of the power outage.” I rattled it off instantly. “Panel 3, feeding three pieces of equipment…” Paul slowly tapped a green checkmark on his screen. The seconds ticked by. The grinding noise from the motor was getting louder, turning into a sickening crunch. But I could not rush Paul. If I pushed him, he would just throw another tantrum. I just kept praying in my head. Hurry up, Toby. Please, hurry up. Halfway through the checklist, I saw Toby sprinting across the factory floor, clutching a cardboard box to his chest. “Marcus!” Toby skidded to a halt in front of me, bending over and gasping for air. “I got… I got the bearings!” I snatched the box from him, ripping the tape open to check. Perfect. Right part. I was just about to let out a sigh of relief when another nightmare walked up. 3 Gary, the Warehouse Manager, came storming down the aisle, his face red with anger. “You little punk! Who told you to take that? You stand right there!” Gary pointed a fat finger at Toby. “Did you fill out the parts requisition slip? You think you own the damn supply cage? Do you have any respect for company policy?” Toby flinched, shrinking behind my shoulder. I quickly stepped between them, forcing a polite, apologetic smile. “Gary, listen, I told him to grab it. The motor is about to blow. It is an emergency rush job. I will backdate the slip for you as soon as…” “Backdate?” Gary practically threw a blank form into my face. “The warehouse operates on rules! If you do not hand me a properly filled-out slip right now, you are giving that part back! I will lock it back on the shelf myself!” Toby spoke up nervously. “Gary, please, it really is an emergency. Look at the machine, it is literally smoking…” He pointed at the toxic cloud billowing behind us. Gary barked a laugh. “I do not care if it is melting into a puddle! We follow the process!” The motor spat out a thick plume of black soot. Paul, still holding his tablet, tapped the screen impatiently. “Marcus, we are only on item fifteen. Can you focus? Stop wasting my time.” Caught in a crossfire of utter stupidity. I swallowed the urge to punch a wall and turned to my apprentice. “Toby, fill out the damn slip right now.” I shoved my pen into his hand and lowered my voice. “Write fast. Make it legible. Do not leave any blanks.” I spun back to Paul. “Keep going.” “Marcus…” Toby stammered, looking totally helpless. “The Department Head is in a summit meeting all day. I asked the front office. They said his phone is off and he will not be reviewing any requests until tomorrow…” Tomorrow? This motor would not survive the next twenty minutes. Gary heard him and let out a mocking snort. “You hear that? Without the boss’s signature, that piece of paper is trash. Hand over the bearing.” He reached out to snatch the box out of Toby’s hands. My reflexes kicked in. I slammed my hand down on top of the box, trapping it. “Gary,” I said, locking eyes with him. “Just wait a second.” My brain was running in overdrive. “Toby,” I spoke incredibly fast. “Go find Brenda in admin. Tell her the boss is unreachable, the factory is about to catch fire, and ask her to stamp it. She has the proxy stamp for emergencies.” Toby dropped the clipboard and took off running. Gary tried to step around me to chase him, but I grabbed his uniform sleeve. “Gary, let him go. He will be back in ten minutes. You will have your form, you will have your stamp. You will get everything you want. Just stand right here and wait. I need to start prepping the machine. Deal?” Gary scoffed, yanking his arm away. “No deal. We wait for the paperwork. You do not touch that machine until it is official.” Paul’s voice dragged from behind me, dripping with annoyance. “Marcus! Are we doing this safety analysis or not? If you refuse, I am reporting you to Corporate for gross insubordination!” “I am doing it!” I snapped, spinning back to Paul. I glanced at the tablet, scanning the rest of the list. “Item twenty. On-site safety monitor. That is you, Paul. Sign it.” Paul took the tablet back and spent an agonizing five seconds slowly tracing his signature on the screen with his index finger. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Toby. I pulled it out, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. 4 Toby: Marcus, Brenda says this form is the wrong format. Toby: She said they rolled out a new version of the requisition slip last month. The old ones are void. We have to print out the new one from the intranet and start over. When the hell did they roll out a new version? Nobody told maintenance. Our dispatch office was stacked with hundreds of the old forms. No one had ever rejected them before today. My thumb hovered over the screen. I had absolutely no idea how to reply. “Marcus.” I looked up. Victor Wallace was standing right in front of me again. He was holding a fresh stack of paper. “Replacing a bearing requires dismantling the equipment housing,” Victor said, his tone utterly relaxed, like we were discussing the weather. “You have not completed the teardown analysis. This is a separate form. Separate approval chain. Fill it out now, or you cannot start the repair.” “Victor,” I pleaded, sweat dripping down my forehead. “This packet is over forty pages long. How long is this going to take?” “Standard processing time is twenty minutes.” “Listen to me,” I begged, trying to reason with him. “Let me tear down the housing. Let me swap the part. Once the machine is stable, I will sit down and fill out every single page of this packet. I will write a formal incident report. I will take full responsibility. Just let me work.” Victor pushed the stack of papers right against my chest. “Protocol dictates that teardown analysis must be completed prior to physical labor. Proceeding without it is a severe safety violation. If you cause an accident, you are looking at criminal negligence.” Paul chimed in, his voice full of self-righteous anger. “Marcus, just fill out the damn paperwork! You are wasting everyone’s time! You fill it out, Victor signs it, I sign it, you fix the machine. Everyone covers their ass. Simple.” A massive, suffocating wave of exhaustion washed over me. If this motor burned out, the entire factory floor would shut down for three days. We were right in the middle of a massive rush order for our biggest client. Three days of downtime meant millions of dollars in losses, not to mention the breach-of-contract penalties. But it had been almost an hour since the first radio call. I had spent the entire hour filling out bullshit paperwork. And now, because some pencil-pusher changed the margins on a form, I could not even hold the spare part in my own hands. My hands started to shake. Pure, unfiltered rage. “Can you guys seriously not just let me fix the machine first?! We are completely out of time!” Paul glared at me. “You follow the protocol! What happens if someone dies?!” “I have been an industrial electrician for twelve years! I have torn down hundreds of these motors…” “Twelve years of experience means you should know better than to make amateur mistakes,” Victor interrupted smoothly. “Senior techs need to set an example. If you dive in there without authorization, it is reckless behavior. What happens when the junior guys see that? It completely undermines management.” Gary muttered from the sidelines. “Yeah, exactly. You maintenance guys always try to bend the rules. Not today.” Three men. Three mouths. Every single word was ‘protocol’, ‘rules’, and ‘compliance’. Their faces were glowing with petty triumph. They finally had the perfect excuse to put me in my place. They hated that my team operated outside their usual chain of command. Now that the building was practically burning down, they were using the flames to roast marshmallows. I took one long, deep breath. “I am going to ask you one last time. Are you going to let me cut the power and fix this machine?” Paul let out a condescending scoff. “You have not finished the protocol.” Behind me, the motor let out a sickening, metallic crack. It was a sound every electrician knows by heart. The death rattle. The final breath of a machine before total catastrophic failure. I took two steps back and let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Fine. Do not regret this.” Paul rolled his eyes. “Regret what? We are following company policy to the letter.” Victor chuckled, shaking his head. “Wow, Marcus. Listen to yourself. You are acting like we are the ones stopping you from doing your job. You are the one refusing to follow procedure.” Gary nodded eagerly. “Yeah. You think you can scare us? We have seen guys like you throw tantrums before.” The moment the words left his mouth, a massive, muffled explosion shook the concrete floor. The motor blew. The entire plant went pitch black.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464476”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 A drunk man hunted me through dark, empty streets last night while I dialed Chazz Antoon five times. The first call, I screamed for help. The second, only trembling sobs escaped. The third, the fourth… they rang out unanswered. By the fifth, a notification lit up my screen—a new post from his social media. It was Daphne Lloyd, serene in sleep. The caption read: My ninety-ninth successful bedtime. While I ran for my life, my husband was across town tucking his patient into bed. I stumbled into a bright, fluorescent-lit convenience store. My reflection in the mirror was pathetic—disheveled clothes, eyes wide with terror, clinging to the hope he would save me. How incredibly foolish I had been. For five years, his psychiatric clinic and my botanical greenhouse sat barely three miles apart, yet he never once offered me a ride. On our wedding night, his phone buzzed for a single second before he snatched his keys and vanished, claiming psychiatric patients were unpredictable and his line must remain open 24/7. That always-on phone was never available for his own wife. A cold gust swept through the store. I stared at his post, unable to look away. After a long silence, a dry, mocking laugh escaped me. If he was sleeping elsewhere, there was no point keeping the porch light on. The botanical research project transfer list was finalized. It was time to pack up and leave. … “Ms. Barlow, do you remember any distinct physical features of the suspect?” At the precinct, my knuckles turned white as I tried to piece together the terrifying details of the previous night. Before I could speak, my phone buzzed on the metal table. The caller ID read Chazz Antoon. I offered a quiet apology to the officer and stepped aside to answer. “It’s the weekend. Are you not at home?” “No,” his voice was crisp. “Is everything alright at the greenhouse?” I swallowed hard. “Yes, it’s fine.” “Good.” “Chazz, I have something to tell you…” I closed my eyes, trying to find the words, but my voice was instantly drowned out by a soft, sleepy murmur from his end of the line. The rustle of bedsheets came through the speaker. “Chazz…” the woman cooed. “Go back to sleep, sweetie,” Chazz whispered back, his tone dripping with protective tenderness. The plea to ask him to come home and stay with me died in my throat. My chest felt as if it had been pierced by a cold needle. “What were you saying?” Chazz’s voice returned to the receiver, suddenly formal. I forced a weak smile. “Nothing.” “Your voice sounds strange.” I dug my fingernails into my palm, letting the sharp pain anchor me. Outside the station windows, the sky had turned a heavy, bruised grey. Rain began to patter against the glass. “I’m just tired.” I expected him to hang up, but he hesitated. “Get home early, then.” By the time the statement was finished, the rain had turned into a torrential downpour, roaring against the pavement. “Ms. Barlow, would you like us to give you a ride home?” the officer at the desk offered kindly. I shook my head and declined with a polite smile. I had already learned how to handle the storm on my own. I reached the house just as the water began to pool around my ankles. Before I could punch in the security code, the door swung open. Chazz stood in the hallway. “You’re back. Is it pouring out there?” I wiped the dampness from the tips of my hair. “A bit.” “Why didn’t you ask me to pick you up?” I kicked off my wet shoes, my voice entirely flat. “I called you last night. You didn’t answer.” Chazz’s hand paused on the doorknob. “I was exhausted last night. I fell asleep early.” Early sleep. Or perhaps, early bedtime stories for Daphne. I lined up my shoes neatly and caught sight of his damp trousers. The cuffs were soaked through. My gaze drifted up to his face. “Did you just get back too?” Chazz poured himself a glass of water, offering a casual nod. “The storm was bad. Daphne is terrified of thunder, so I went to check on her.” He could anticipate Daphne’s fears in a storm, but he never stopped to wonder if his wife was walking home in the downpour. “You really care about her, don’t you?” “She’s my patient, Iris. It’s my job to care.” Chazz didn’t look up as he opened a takeout container and handed me a pair of chopsticks. I didn’t take them. “She was discharged months ago, Chazz.” Chazz let out a heavy sigh, setting the chopsticks down. “Not this again. Daphne suffers from severe psychiatric trauma. Even after discharge, the threat of a relapse is constant.” He reached out, patting my head with a patronizing tenderness. “Be a good girl. You don’t need to wait up for me tonight.” “And what about me?” “You’re different.” Was I different because I was strong, or because I simply didn’t matter? I pushed the food aside as a massive crack of thunder rattled the windowpanes. I swallowed down the urge to beg him to stay, choosing a different approach instead. “Can you drop me off at the greenhouse on your way out? The storm is getting worse, and I’m worried the roof might leak.” Chazz blinked, looking at me in surprise. “I can take you first thing tomorrow morning.” Tomorrow morning? If the roof leaked, all my rare orchids would be ruined by then. “Why not now?” Before he could answer, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his expression instantly softened into a smile. “Alright, get some rest,” he said, already reaching for his coat. “Daphne is frightened. I have to go.” The door clicked shut, leaving me completely alone in the silent, dark house. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by the sharp chime of my phone. Notification: The transfer assignment has been officially scheduled for seven days from now. Please ensure your personal affairs are in order before departure. I stared at the screen for a long moment before typing two words. Understood. Confirmed. The next morning, before the sun had even cleared the horizon, the front door opened. Chazz’s mother stood on the doormat, carrying several heavy grocery bags. She looked around the empty hallway. “Where is Chazz?” I took the bags from her hands, placing them on the counter. “It was pouring last night. He was worried…” Mrs. Antoon paused, then let out a knowing, soft chuckle. “Iris, dear, you have to understand. Daphne was the very first patient Chazz successfully cured. He’s bound to be a little overprotective. You must be patient with him.” I didn’t say a word. I hadn’t even mentioned Daphne’s name, yet she already knew. Mrs. Antoon hummed a cheerful tune as she unpacked the groceries in the kitchen. Soon, the sound of her dialing her phone echoed through the apartment. “Chazz, darling, it’s Mom. I’m at your place. Bring Daphne over for lunch. I’m making her favorite herb-crusted cod.” As she spoke, a fresh fish slipped from the counter, flopping wildly on the floor and splashing water everywhere. Mrs. Antoon quickly scooped it up, slamming it onto the cutting board to stun it before expertly scaling it. She caught me watching and smiled warmly. “We’re having a fish feast today, alright? I went to the harbor early this morning to get the absolute freshest catch.” She asked for my opinion, but she didn’t wait for an answer before returning to her work. As the kitchen filled with steam, Chazz walked through the door. Daphne peeked out from behind his shoulder, her eyes crinkling into a sweet smile. “Hi, Iris.” Chazz offered me a reassuring smile, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Are you still angry with me? Do you want me to take you to the greenhouse now?” “No need,” I replied quietly. “Good. Daphne brought you a little peace offering.” He handed me a gift bag containing a hand-knit scarf. Chazz knelt down to help Daphne slide into a pair of slippers, explaining on her behalf, “Daphne knit this herself. I remembered red is your favorite color. Do you like it?” “My favorite color is red?” Chazz looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Isn’t it?” I suddenly lost all energy to correct him. After three years of marriage, he didn’t even know my favorite color. “Yes. I love red.” I looked down at the scarf. The stitching was uneven, loose in some places and tight in others. But it looked incredibly familiar. “The blue scarf you keep locked in your closet,” I murmured. “Did she knit that one too?” “Yes, she did,” Chazz replied casually. I finally understood why he had thrown such a massive tantrum when I accidentally touched it while folding his laundry. “Why are these slippers this color again?” Daphne pouted, wiggling her toes in disapproval. “I don’t like them. Didn’t I ask you to replace them, Chazz?” “My mistake,” Chazz said gently, without a hint of annoyance, as he slid a different pair onto her feet. “I’ll buy you those pink ones you wanted later today, okay?” I watched them, a suffocating weight settling in my chest. Last month, when I was burning with a fever, I had asked him to boil some warm water so I could take my medicine. He had promised he would, but when I finally dragged myself out of bed hours later, the kettle was ice-cold. Perhaps I should have gotten used to this a long time ago. “Daphne, you’re here!” Mrs. Antoon called out, bringing the steaming dish to the table. Daphne immediately rushed over, wrapping her arms affectionately around the older woman’s shoulders. They looked far more like a family than I ever did with them. Over the last three years, I had visited the Antoon household countless times. But every time I tried to get close, Mrs. Antoon would flinch away, avoiding my touch as if I were a threat. Chazz had always excused it, saying, “My mother just isn’t a physical person.” It turned out she was perfectly fine with physical affection. She just didn’t want it from me. The three of them sat down at the table, their laughter filling the dining room. “Iris, aren’t you joining us?” Mrs. Antoon finally noticed me standing by the door. I didn’t move. The doorbell rang, and I opened it to collect a takeout delivery I had ordered minutes before. “You guys go ahead. I’m having this.” I held up the takeout container with a polite smile. I sat down on the floor by the coffee table, peeling back the lid of my food. The laughter in the dining room died instantly. Chazz’s brow furrowed. “Iris, my mother spent the entire morning cooking a fresh meal, and you’d rather eat cheap takeout?” I ignored him, taking a quiet bite of my sweet-and-sour chicken. With a harsh scrape of wood against the floor, Chazz stood up, marched over, and grabbed my wrist. “Iris, I am speaking to you.” His grip was tight, sending a dull ache up my arm. The sweet taste of the food in my mouth suddenly turned to ash. “Chazz, I am severely allergic to fish.” Chazz froze, his grip loosening. Silence fell over the room. No one spoke, and no one asked why I had ordered takeout anymore. Mrs. Antoon patted her temple with a nervous chuckle. “Oh dear, look at my memory. I saw the fresh fish at the market and completely forgot Iris doesn’t eat seafood. My mistake, dear.” I looked down, offering a small, hollow smile. “It’s fine.” I had gotten used to this, too. On my very first visit to the Antoon home after our wedding, they had asked about my dietary restrictions. Yet, they had served an entire table of fish. It happened the second year, and the third. The only difference was that this time, I refused to play along. “Well, if you can’t eat the fish, you can still have some of the roasted vegetables on the side,” Mrs. Antoon tried to smooth things over. “Come, sit with us.” Chazz didn’t say another word. He grabbed my takeout box with one hand and pulled me up with the other, ignoring my silent resistance as he led me to the table. With me sitting there, the atmosphere turned incredibly tense. I didn’t care. I kept my head down, focusing entirely on my own food. “Daphne, isn’t your birthday coming up soon?” Mrs. Antoon asked, desperate to break the silence. Daphne smiled brightly, launching into her birthday plans. I finished my meal quickly, setting my chopsticks down. “I’m finished. I’ll leave you all to enjoy the rest of your lunch.” Before I could close my bedroom door, Chazz shoved his way in. “Iris, my mother is getting older. Her memory isn’t what it used to be.” “And Daphne is incredibly sensitive. If you just walk out like that, she’s going to think she did something wrong.” He didn’t care about my feelings. His only concern was protecting Daphne’s fragile ego. “Chazz,” I said, turning to face him. “Do I really have to walk on eggshells for another woman in my own home?” He let out a soft laugh, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Are you jealous, Iris?” “Daphne is my patient. Her mental state is still highly unstable, and as her doctor, I am legally and morally responsible for her safety.” And what about my safety? I looked down, keeping the words locked behind my teeth. “I’m not jealous. I’m just tired.” I brushed his hands off. As I did, the collar of my shirt slipped, revealing a dark purple bruise and a nasty scratch on my shoulder. Chazz’s eyes locked onto the injury. “What happened to your shoulder?” It was from the night I was followed, when the drunk man had thrown a glass bottle at me. I pulled my collar back up. “Just an accident at the greenhouse.” His fingers trembled slightly. “I’ll go get some ointment for you. Wait here.” I listened to him. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him all night. But Chazz never returned. I called his phone, but it rang out continuously. The next morning, Daphne posted a new photo online. It was a shot of the sunrise from a mountain peak, captioned: The sunrise is beautiful, and the person watching it with me is perfect. I locked my phone and smiled. For the next several days, Chazz didn’t come home. He merely sent a courier to drop off a bag of medical ointments at our door. He finally returned the night before Daphne’s birthday. “How is your shoulder?” he asked, walking into the bedroom. “It’s fine.” “Are you… packing a suitcase?” Chazz stopped, staring at the open luggage on the bed with a look of confusion. I nodded calmly, reaching into my purse to retrieve the divorce papers my lawyer had drafted. “My transfer has been approved, Chazz. Let’s sign the—” Before I could finish the sentence, Chazz took a step back, his elbow catching a glass on the nightstand. It shattered against the hardwood floor with a sharp crash. At the sound of the shattering glass, a sudden wave of panic washed over me, and my body began to shake uncontrollably. As Chazz knelt down to clean up the water and glass, his phone rang. In the midst of the chaos, the phone rang for less than a second before he swiped the screen. It was Daphne. His voice immediately turned soft and comforting, but as he spoke, he reached out and snatched the papers I had laid on the desk to wipe up the spilled water. Within seconds, the divorce agreement was soaked, ruined, and tossed into the wastebasket. When he hung up, he finally noticed the missed calls on his screen. “Did you call me last night?” “Yes.” “Don’t call so late next time. It might disturb…” He trailed off, but I knew what he meant. He was worried I would disturb Daphne’s sleep. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Iris, tomorrow is Daphne’s birthday. I need you to prepare the floral arrangements, just like last year.” Every year, I made the bouquets for her party because Chazz said she loved flowers, and I happened to grow them. “This year, she wants white tulips,” he added. “And what about me?” I interrupted him. Chazz paused. “What?” “What flowers do I like, Chazz?” “Roses? Peonies?” He frowned, clearly annoyed. “Does it really matter right now?” For Daphne’s birthday, he remembered every detail. But my preferences were entirely insignificant. “I’ve prepared the bouquets,” I said flatly. I had made two. One was for Daphne’s party, and the other was a parting gift for Chazz, a final marker to end our hollow marriage. “Good. I’ll come by the greenhouse to pick them up later,” he said. “I’ll wait for you.” I checked my watch. My flight was in six hours. This would be the last time I ever waited for him. One hour passed. Then two. “When are you coming?” I messaged him. My flight was now three hours away. My message went completely unanswered. I closed the app, ordered a courier service, and had the bouquets delivered directly to the banquet hall. Then, I grabbed my suitcase and took a cab to my greenhouse. I had spent six years in this industry, and this greenhouse had been my sanctuary for five of them. Before I left this city forever, I wanted to say goodbye to my flowers. Just as I was about to arrive, a message popped up on my phone from Daphne. “Iris, your flowers are absolutely stunning! I took a bunch of them to decorate the main stage. Thank you so much for the birthday gift!” Attached were several photos. The moment I saw them, the blood in my veins turned to ice. I jumped out of the cab before it had even fully stopped. I rushed to the greenhouse doors and threw them open, only to be met with complete devastation. My sanctuary was in ruins. Rare orchids had been brutally ripped from their stems, delicate petals were crushed into the dirt, and soil was scattered everywhere. Five years of painstaking labor had been trampled into nothingness. My hands shook violently as I reached out to touch a broken stem. I dialed Chazz’s number. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask him how he could let her do this, how he could walk into my private sanctuary and destroy my life’s work without a second thought. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Finally, he answered. “Iris?” I looked down at a rare white orchid, now crushed into the mud. “Why did you go into my greenhouse, Chazz?” Chazz let out a light laugh. “Oh, sorry, I meant to tell you. Daphne decided she didn’t want the tulips after all, and I knew you had plenty of other flowers, so I brought her over to pick some.” “To pick some? Chazz, those flowers were my entire life!” “Look, Iris, the party is starting and it’s really loud here. Let’s talk about this when I get back, okay?” The line went dead. I stared at the ruins of my life’s work. Without a single tear, I opened my settings, blocked Chazz’s number on every platform, and boarded the flight to the misty valleys of the Northwest. He didn’t care about the flowers blooming or dying. But someone else would. [Will Chazz realize his devastating mistake? Unlock the next chapter to see Iris find her true worth and leave him in the dust…]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464475”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On the day Sebastian Hale proposed to me, he built me a rose garden made entirely of gold. A billion dollars, just because I once said roses were beautiful. I cried from happiness. The moment I threw my arms around him, I realized his gaze had passed over my shoulder. It landed on a maid standing in the corner. Her face was covered in scars. Only later did I learn her name was Naomi Reed. She was Sebastian’s childhood sweetheart. They had loved each other. They had hated each other. At their worst, she had cut off half of Sebastian’s finger with her own hands. And Sebastian had personally destroyed the face she had once been most proud of. This was their first reunion after seven years apart. Sebastian recovered quickly. He looked at Naomi, his voice cold. “My fiancée’s shoes are dirty. Come wipe them.” Naomi lowered her eyes and obediently knelt before me. Bit by bit, she wiped the dust from my shoes. In Sebastian’s eyes churned emotions I could not understand. He smiled through gritted teeth. “Naomi Reed.” “How did you become this pathetic?” At that moment, looking at the loss of control in his eyes, I suddenly felt exhausted. So painfully exhausted. I stood there with the blue diamond ring Sebastian had just placed on my finger. A billion-dollar rose garden. A priceless engagement ring. Sebastian Hale, the most arrogant prince in Manhattan’s old-money circle, had gone down on one knee and asked me to marry him. Yet in that moment, I felt like a joke displayed on a stage. Sebastian finally seemed to notice my silence. He turned to me, and all those dark, turbulent emotions disappeared from his eyes. “Lily, don’t look at her.” “She’s no one. Don’t dirty your eyes.” As he spoke, he tucked a strand of hair blown loose by the night wind behind my ear. The movement was gentle and practiced. If I had not seen him lose control a moment ago, I might have believed again that he only had eyes for me. Sebastian really was good to me. So good that everyone said I was the woman he held in the palm of his hand. I casually said I liked roses, and he truly built me an entire garden of gold roses. I said my hands got cold in winter, so he had a glass conservatory shipped back from Northern Europe, temperature-controlled at seventy-eight degrees, just so I could look at flowers on snowy days. His love was grand, dramatic, and also meticulous. But the better he treated me, the harder it became for me to understand what that look in his eyes had meant when he saw Naomi. Naomi swayed slightly when she stood. I clearly felt Sebastian’s fingers tighten around mine. But he did not step forward. He only said coldly, “What are you pretending for?” “When you cut off my finger seven years ago, you had plenty of strength.” Naomi lifted her head. Her face was terrifyingly pale. She did not argue. She only said softly, “Mr. Hale, may I leave now?” Sebastian laughed. “Leave?” “The show is over, so you want to walk away?” The moment his words fell, Naomi’s eyes suddenly went dark, and she collapsed straight to the ground. Everyone cried out. Before I could react, Sebastian had already let go of my hand and rushed over. He picked Naomi up too quickly. So quickly that my hand was still suspended in the air. The blue diamond flashed under the light. It seemed to remind me that the words he had just said about marrying me had not yet scattered in the wind. Sebastian carried Naomi out. Halfway there, he seemed to suddenly remember me and turned back. “Lily, she fainted.” “I’ll take her to the hospital. I’ll be back soon.” The guests still stood in the golden rose garden. Their whispers pricked my ears like needles. Some even quietly raised their phones, camera lenses aimed at my pale face. Sebastian’s assistant came over, forcing himself to clean up the mess. “Miss Morgan, Mr. Hale said you should rest in your room first.” “We’ll handle the guests tonight.” I did not return to my room. Silently, I followed. I wanted to see with my own eyes how far Sebastian would lose control for Naomi. When I found Sebastian in the hospital corridor, an hour had passed. As I approached, I heard Naomi’s weak voice from inside the ward. “I’ll pay back the medical bills later.” Sebastian sneered. “Of course you will.” “Did you think I’d still be like before, feeling sorry for you and paying every bill?” “Naomi Reed, your life is worth nothing to me now.” His tone was cruel. But standing at the door, I only felt a sour ache in my chest. Because his mouth said he did not care, yet he had personally waited outside the emergency room. When the doctor came out, Sebastian’s first question was: “Why did she faint?” The doctor glanced at the test results. “Long-term malnutrition. Severe anemia.” “And some old injuries that were never properly treated.” “Her family should pay more attention.” Family. The moment that word fell, Sebastian’s expression turned icy. “I’m not her family.” That was what he said. But when Sebastian stood, he still instinctively looked toward the ward. As if afraid she might really die inside. I suddenly felt tired. Sebastian saw me and froze. All that coldness vanished from his face at once. He walked to me and reached out as if to hold me. “Lily.” “I wronged you today.” His voice softened, carrying the guilt and tenderness I knew so well. “I was only afraid she would die at the proposal banquet and ruin your place.” “I don’t feel anything else for her.” “Trust me, okay?” I looked into his eyes. There was apology there. Concern. Care for me. All real. But the panic in him when he picked Naomi up was real too. I asked softly, “Sebastian, do you hate her?” He was silent for a few seconds. Then he smiled. “Yes.” “I hate her so much I want her kneeling before me for the rest of her life, never able to lift her head again.” “Lily, the person I love is you.” “I will marry you.” He held my hand, his thumb rubbing over the ring. “The dignity you lost tonight, I’ll repay tenfold.” “Tomorrow, I’ll have every media outlet pull their drafts.” “Anyone who dares say one word will disappear from this circle.” When he said these things, his tone was calm, powerful, certain. The same way he had defended me countless times before. But just then, something shattered inside the ward. Naomi’s panicked voice rang out. “Don’t touch that!” Sebastian turned back almost instinctively. A young nurse ran out of the ward holding a photo wrinkled with blood. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help organize the patient’s bag.” “She reacted too strongly.” The photo fell to the floor. It slid right to Sebastian’s and my feet. In the picture was a little boy, about five or six years old. His brows and eyes looked exactly like Sebastian’s. Sebastian stared at that photo, his eyes turning red in an instant. “Whose child is he?” At last, a little moisture appeared in Naomi’s eyes. “Sebastian Hale, don’t you hate me?” “Don’t you hate me so much you want me kneeling before you forever?” “Now that you know there’s a child, why are you pretending to be so devoted?” Sebastian shoved her hard against the wall. “Why didn’t you just die?” “Naomi Reed, why didn’t you die out there back then?” “Why did you have to come back and disturb my life now?” The moment those words fell, I stood in the corridor, my fingertips turning cold bit by bit. So in Sebastian’s heart, everything between us could be disturbed so easily by Naomi’s name. Naomi looked up at him and suddenly smiled. “Then why were your hands shaking when you saw me?” “When you carried me to the hospital, why did you run so fast?” “Do you dare say you’re really over me?” Sebastian’s expression turned terrifying. “Shut up!” Naomi suddenly rose on her toes and kissed him. In that instant, Sebastian went completely stiff. I stood there and clearly saw his hand lift. As if he meant to push her away. But in the end, he did not move. Naomi slowly opened her eyes and looked past Sebastian’s shoulder at me. There was a nearly cruel challenge in her gaze. My stomach churned. I no longer had the courage to look for even one more second. I fled the hospital in a mess. When I got home, I started packing. My friend Paige stayed beside me, so anxious her eyes were red. “Lily, are you really leaving?” I placed my clothes into the suitcase one by one, my voice calm. “Yes. I’m tired.” Paige wanted to say something else. Then her phone suddenly buzzed. She looked down, and her expression changed instantly. On the screen was a video someone had sent from a bar. In the video, Sebastian sat in the innermost booth, eyes heavy with alcohol. A friend beside him sighed. “Sebastian, what the hell are you doing?” “You spent half a year preparing that gold rose garden.” “You clearly treasure Lily like she’s your life.” “But tonight, in front of everyone, you abandoned her and carried Naomi away.” Sebastian said nothing, only poured drink after drink down his throat. “Are you still not over Naomi?” Sebastian suddenly sneered. “Not over her?” “She cut off half my finger with her own hands.” “I ruined that face of hers myself.” “I want her to rot in the mud.” His friend was silent for a few seconds. “But when she kissed you, you didn’t push her away.” Sebastian slammed his glass onto the table. “I slapped her.” “I told her to get out.” “I told her the woman I love now is Lily.” His voice suddenly lowered. “I love Lily.” “I love her beyond saving.” “She wanted roses, so I built her a garden of gold.” “She’s afraid of pain, and I can’t even bear to see her frown.” “She is the woman I’m going to marry in this life.” His friend looked at him. “Then what about Naomi?” Sebastian lowered his head and laughed like a madman. “I don’t know.” “The moment I see her, I lose control for no damn reason.” “When she kneels, I get angry.” “When she obeys, I get angry.” “When she doesn’t hate me, I get even angrier.” “I clearly want her to hurt, but when she really fainted, I was afraid she’d die.” At this point, he suddenly covered his face. “Am I insane?” His friend tested, “Then what if Naomi has a new boyfriend too?” Sebastian lifted his head, his eyes blood-red. “I’ll kill that man.” The video fell silent there. I sat on the edge of the bed and suddenly smiled. But as I smiled, my eyes grew hot. So this was what Sebastian called hate. Maybe it was true that he loved me. It was true that he spent a billion on me, defended my dignity, and paved a glittering future for me. But all Naomi had to do was stand there. And he would lose control. He could say he loved me beyond saving. And at the same time, the thought of another woman having a new life could make him want to kill. I suddenly felt a deep sourness. Not jealousy. Not anger. Just bitterness. Like I had finally understood that no matter how much I was loved, I could never defeat the violent old wound between them. But Sebastian and I had also had three sweet years together. I closed the video and continued packing. Paige asked quietly, “Lily, are you okay?” I smiled. “I’m fine.” “At least I found out now, not after the wedding.” The video had not finished. In the last few seconds, Sebastian suddenly stood, his voice hoarse. “I’m done drinking.” “I’m going back to coax Lily to sleep.” “She’s timid. She can’t sleep without me.” I watched him stagger out of the bar on the screen. And suddenly remembered so many nights. I would wake from nightmares, and Sebastian would pull me into his arms, patting my back again and again. “Lily, don’t be scared.” “I’m here.” Back then, I thought he would always be there. Now I knew that his being there could vanish at any moment, as long as Naomi appeared. I zipped up the suitcase. “Paige, take me to the airport.” Before leaving, I looked one last time at the gold rose garden outside the window. Moonlight fell on the golden petals. It was beautiful like an expensive illusion. I did not look again. When Sebastian rushed back, the bedroom was empty. On the nightstand, only the blue diamond ring he had placed on my finger remained. Beneath it was a note I had left. There was only one sentence. “Sebastian, the rose garden is too heavy.” “I don’t want it.” “And I don’t want you either.” On the way to the airport, Paige held my hand the entire time. “Lily, once you’re abroad, don’t look back.” I watched the night scenery retreat beyond the car window and hummed softly. Sebastian’s calls came in again and again. I did not answer. But when the car reached the mountain road, a black van suddenly cut across in front of us. The next second, the car door was yanked open from outside. A sharp chemical smell covered my mouth and nose. When I woke again, the sound of roaring wind filled my ears. I was tied up at the edge of a cliff. Not far from me, Naomi was tied up too. There was no panic on her face. Instead, she looked at me calmly, with a faint mocking smile in her eyes. “Want to see who Sebastian really chooses?” “Haven’t you always believed he loves you?” “A billion-dollar rose garden. A blue diamond ring. The fiancée of Manhattan’s crown prince.” “Can any of those compare to this face he destroyed?” The wind stung my eyes. I looked at Naomi and suddenly asked, “So you deliberately let him see the child too?” Naomi smiled and did not deny it. Before long, the sound of a car came from afar. When Sebastian arrived, his tie was crooked, and his coat was half-thrown on. The moment he got out of the car, his gaze crossed over me first. It landed on Naomi. With just that one look, I suddenly laughed. So when a heart truly dies, it no longer hurts. It only thinks, of course. Sebastian quickly looked toward me, his voice tight. “Lily!” He took one step forward, and the kidnapper immediately pressed a knife to the rope. “Mr. Hale, don’t move.” “You can only choose one.” Sebastian’s expression changed. “I’ll pay you. Whatever amount you want.” The kidnapper laughed. “We don’t need money.” “Today, we only want to see Mr. Hale choose.” The wind at the cliff edge was fierce. Sebastian stood there, his eyes violently unsettled. He looked at me, then at Naomi. I saw him struggle. I saw him hesitate. I saw his throat move again and again. Naomi suddenly began to cry. “Sebastian…” “The water below is so fast. I can’t swim.” “I’ll die.” Sebastian’s face changed sharply. Naomi continued, “Do you remember?” “Back then, when I nearly drowned, you pulled me out with your own hands.” “You said that even if one day you hated me, you still wouldn’t let me die in water.” Her tears rolled down along her scars. “We also have a child.” “The child I gave you.” “He’s already spent five years without his father.” “Can you really bear to make him lose his mother now too?” Sebastian closed his eyes. In that moment, I finally knew the answer. He turned to look at me. His eyes were full of pain and apology. “Lily.” My chest was terrifyingly calm. Sebastian’s voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. “You can swim.” “You won swimming competitions when you were little.” “I’ll save Naomi first.” “I’ll come back for you right away.” I looked at him and suddenly remembered what he said on the day he proposed. “Lily, from now on, whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” It turned out all I wanted was to be chosen firmly, just once. And he could not give me that. I smiled faintly. “Sebastian.” “From today on, you never have to choose me again.” His face went white. “Lily…” But Naomi suddenly laughed. The sound was not loud, but Sebastian froze. She lifted her head, tears still hanging on her face, yet there was not a trace of fear in her eyes. “Sebastian.” “The kidnappers are mine.” “I only wanted you to see clearly.” “To see who is really in your heart.” “Look. You still chose me.” Sebastian looked as if he had been struck by lightning. “Are you insane?” Naomi looked at him, her voice light as a sigh. “Yes.” “I went insane seven years ago when you ruined my face.” “Sebastian Hale, if I can’t live well, neither can you.” Sebastian lunged forward. “Let Lily go!” But it was too late. Naomi suddenly leaned toward me. Her movement looked panicked, but her shoulder struck my arm with perfect accuracy. My feet were already at the cliff’s edge. That hit made me lose my balance. Wind rushed past my ears. As I fell, I saw Sebastian throw himself toward the cliff edge like a madman. “Lily!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464474”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 At the party, my girlfriend lost a round of Truth or Dare. The crowd immediately started chanting, egging her on to list ten of my childhood best friend’s greatest qualities. Lyla didn’t even hesitate. “He’s outgoing, handsome, in great shape, and knows exactly how to charm people,” she said, her voice bright. “He’s always smiling, has high emotional intelligence, is incredibly capable, and has impeccable taste. Oh, and he really knows how to make people happy.” In the next round, Alan smiled and turned the question back to her. “What about Miles? What are Miles’s best qualities, Lyla?” Lyla looked at me, pausing for a few seconds. When she finally spoke, she only offered a single word. “Dependable.” Someone laughed to break the sudden tension. “And? What else?” Lyla frowned, looking as if she were thinking incredibly hard. But after a long silence, she couldn’t find a second thing to say. In the middle of that awkward quiet, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. Lyla and I had been together for seven years, and our wedding was scheduled for next week. Yet, after racking her brain, the only positive thing she could say about me was that I was dependable. This time, I didn’t want to be the dependable one anymore. … I stood up to leave, but someone slammed their hand on the table, laughing. “Don’t go yet, Miles! One last round!” “Let’s play something spicy. Let’s see who has the most chat history with whom on WhatsApp.” Alan chuckled, sliding his unlocked phone onto the center of the table. “Sure, why not? I’ve got nothing to hide.” But when the data popped up on the screen, the room went dead silent. The person Lyla messaged the most wasn’t me, her fiancé. It was Alan. Someone let out a forced, nervous laugh. “Well, look at that. Lyla and Alan sure talk a lot.” Alan blinked, his tone light and breezy. “Well, Miles is just so mature, you know? He handles everything on his own. Lyla gets stressed out sometimes and needs someone to talk to.” As he spoke, he carelessly scrolled through the screen, accidentally revealing a snippet of their chat history. Lyla’s text popped up: Miles is nagging about the wedding schedule again. He’s so rigid. Alan’s reply: He’s just too uptight. Unlike me. I think a wedding should just be fun and relaxed. Lyla: That’s why talking to you is so much easier. My fingers tightened around my glass. A second later, another exchange slid into view. Lyla: Miles is wearing that white shirt again today. Does he really think he looks good in white? Alan: Don’t be mean. But yeah, it’s not really his vibe. Too plain. Lyla: Yeah, you’d look much better in it. The room was completely silent now. I stood there, feeling as though something were choking me. A sharp, stinging ache spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe. All my quiet anticipation, all the nervousness I had felt while trying on my wedding suit, were nothing more than gossip for Lyla to mock with Alan. Alan walked over, casually putting an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t be mad, Miles.” “If Lyla were talking to anyone else like this, I’d yell at her for you. But I’m your best friend.” He tilted his head, his expression completely innocent. “I’m just keeping an eye on her for you. Isn’t that a good thing?” I stared at Alan’s hand resting on my shoulder. On his wrist was a sleek, silver watch. A few days ago, Lyla had sent me a picture of that exact watch while she was away on a business trip, asking if I thought it looked nice. I had stared at that photo for a long time, my heart bursting with joy as I typed back, It’s beautiful. I had assumed it was a surprise gift for our wedding. I had even planned to act surprised when she came home, pretending I didn’t know anything about it. I had waited days for that surprise. And now, there it was, sitting on Alan’s wrist. I slowly reached up and brushed his hand off my shoulder. Alan’s eyes immediately turned red. “Miles, do you not even trust me anymore?” Lyla finally frowned, her voice tight with irritation. “Miles, it’s just a game. Don’t be so sensitive.” When she said those words, any lingering sadness I had felt instantly vanished, replaced by a dull emptiness. I stood up, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m tired. I’m going home.” I made it all the way to the front door before realizing I had left my coat on the back of the sofa. When I went back to get it, the door to the private room was cracked open. “Lyla, are you seriously not going after him?” someone was asking in a hushed tone. “Miles looked incredibly pale.” Lyla was silent for a moment, but her voice was entirely dismissive when she spoke. “Miles won’t actually stay mad.” “He’s too dependable. Give him a night of sleep, and he’ll be fine.” My hand froze on the brass doorknob. “Alan’s the one who was embarrassed by the teasing,” she added. “I need to comfort him first.” My fingers grew cold against the metal. The word dependable felt like a blunt knife. It didn’t draw blood, but it slowly carved away at my chest. I didn’t go back into the room. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from our wedding planner. Mr. Barret, are you sure you want to cancel the wedding? You’ve spent over half a year preparing this. From the specific camellias to the soft lighting, the textured invitations, the seating cards… you personally approved every single detail. It would be such a shame to cancel now. I stared at the rendering of the venue she had sent. I remembered how, in the beginning, I had wanted a wedding filled with white camellias. But Lyla had taken one look at the design and sighed. Alan says camellias are too plain. A wedding should be lively and bright. So, the camellias were replaced with the red roses Alan preferred. I had wanted soft, golden lighting. Lyla had countered, Alan says warm orange makes for better photos. I had wanted simple, elegant invitations. Lyla had insisted, Let’s go with Alan’s idea. He has better taste. Eventually, the wedding I had spent six months planning had been systematically stripped away, replaced with everything Alan liked. And I, the groom, was reduced to nothing more than a name on the invitation. The planner sent another message: Are you absolutely certain about the cancellation? I looked at the unrecognizable rendering of the venue and let out a quiet laugh. Yes, I am certain, I replied. I will cover all the cancellation fees. When I returned to our apartment, I began packing my things. Lyla and I had chosen this place together. She had promised me that after a long day of work, the porch light would always be on, a pot of warm soup would be waiting in the kitchen, and the balcony would be lined with my favorite camellias. It had sounded like a dream. But looking around now, the apartment was filled with Alan’s presence. The fridge was stocked with his favorite peach soda, his jacket was draped over the back of our sofa, and the groomsman’s suit hanging next to mine looked far more tailored and exquisite than my own wedding attire. I stood in the closet, staring at the two suits. A bitter ache rose in my chest. Even before the ceremony had begun, the space that was supposed to belong to me had already been claimed by Alan. I didn’t cry. I simply packed my passport, my documents, and a few change of clothes into a small suitcase. Halfway through packing, the front door unlocked. Lyla was home. She carried a small designer bag, her tone carrying a hint of performative warmth. “Honey, don’t be mad anymore.” “I was walking past the store and saw these obsidian cufflinks. I remembered you saying you liked obsidian.” She opened the box, revealing a pair of dark, polished cufflinks. I did like obsidian. Years ago, I had stared at a pair through a shop window for a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to buy them because of the price. Lyla had held my hand then, whispering, When we get married, I’ll buy you the best pair in the world. Now she had finally bought them. But they were cufflinks. And I never wore French cuff shirts. The only person who wore them was Alan. Lyla wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. “Let’s just put tonight behind us, okay?” I looked down at the box. Before I could speak, a paper receipt slipped from the designer bag, fluttering onto the floor. The amount listed was staggering. It was for a silk tie, costing ten times the price of the cufflinks. I recognized the brand instantly. Thirty minutes ago, Alan had posted a picture of that exact tie on social media. His caption had been: Groom’s gift from a certain someone. I’m going to be the most handsome groomsman next week. I stared at the receipt, and a hot tear slipped down my cheek, splashing onto the paper. The warmth in Lyla’s face vanished, replaced by irritation. “Why are you crying again?” “Miles, honestly, this is exhausting.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I remembered how she used to react when I cried. She used to panic, clumsily wiping my tears away as she held me close, whispering, Miles, please don’t cry. My heart breaks whenever you do. Once, after a nightmare woke me up in tears, she had driven across three neighborhoods in the middle of the night just to buy me a bowl of hot soup. She had told me, You didn’t have anyone to comfort you when you were little. From now on, every time you cry, I’ll be here to hold you. Back then, she truly cared. But now, my tears were only met with a sigh of exhaustion. When your tears no longer touch a person’s heart, it’s time to dry your eyes. I wiped my face and said quietly, “I’m fine.” Lyla looked relieved. She leaned in to kiss me, but I instinctively turned my head away. Her expression turned completely cold, and she ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Fine. Get some space and calm down.” With that, she turned and locked herself in the study. Later that night, as I was preparing to turn off the lights, the iPad on my nightstand lit up. Lyla’s accounts were still synced to it. I had only intended to turn the screen off, but the notification banner that popped up caught my eye. Alan’s name on the screen sent a dull ache through my chest. Alan: Did you make up with him? Lyla: No. He’s getting harder and harder to deal with lately. Alan: Did you give him a proper makeup session tonight? A few seconds passed before Lyla’s reply appeared. Lyla: Don’t ask. He rejected me. Honestly, we’ve been together for seven years. I’ve lost any physical spark with him anyway. I’m actually glad he turned me down, otherwise I would have had to force myself to touch him. I stared at the screen. My eyes burned, but no tears came. Even showing me affection had become a chore she had to force herself to perform. I shut down the iPad. I placed the obsidian cufflinks back into the designer bag, setting them next to my engagement ring on the entryway table. It felt like returning a dream that had finally ended. Right then, my phone buzzed with a confirmation email. My ticket was booked. Tomorrow at 3:00 AM, a one-way flight to Iceland. From this moment on, wherever I flew in the world, I would never land by her side again. The next morning, as I dragged my suitcase past the study, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. Lyla’s soft laughter drifted out. She was on a video call. On the screen, Alan was lounging in bed, holding a sheet of paper. “Lyla, this part of your wedding vows is way too formal,” he teased, reading aloud. “Miles, thank you for seven years of companionship…” He let out a scoff. “It sounds like a corporate speech.” Lyla laughed. “I’m just not good at writing that kind of stuff.” Alan propped his chin on his hand, looking at her through the screen. “You could say something like, ‘You are my spring, the only person who makes me feel truly light and alive.’ Doesn’t that sound more romantic?” Lyla was quiet for a moment, her voice dropping. “That sounds more like you.” The call fell silent. Alan asked softly, “Are you sure you want to say that to Miles?” Lyla didn’t answer right away. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “It doesn’t matter who I read it to at the altar.” “Just pretend I’m secretly saying it to you.” I stood outside the door, my chest feeling as though it were being slowly torn open. For my vows, I had filled three entire pages, editing them over and over to find the perfect balance between sincerity and love. I had asked Lyla if we could write them together, but she had dismissed it, saying, There’s no need for that kind of performance. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about vows. She just didn’t care about writing them for me. Alan leaned closer to his camera, his voice a whisper. “Then come closer.” Lyla didn’t turn away. She simply stared at the screen and let out a soft sigh. “Alan, stop. I’m getting married next week.” Alan looked down, his voice laced with artificial sorrow. “I know. That’s why I wanted to be selfish one last time before you belong to someone else.” Lyla didn’t scold him. Her silence was a quiet indulgence. My fingers turned numb. If she truly felt he was crossing a line, why hadn’t she hung up the phone? Alan quickly shifted to the designs for the wedding venue. “Do we have to display all your old relationship photos? It makes me sad to see how happy you two used to be.” Lyla looked at the screen and replied quietly, “Let’s just take them down then. Miles is dependable, he won’t mind.” I felt a sudden, sharp sting in my eyes. That photo wall was the only part of the wedding I had fought to keep. Photos of the first snow we watched together, of our very first vacation where she held my hand tightly, of the birthday cake she had baked for me… I had curated those memories so carefully because I believed they were proof of our love. But with a single complain from Alan, Lyla dismissed them entirely. When your heart is broken completely, the pain fades into a dull, hollow numbness. I quietly turned and dragged my suitcase toward the front door. My phone buzzed. It was the wedding planner. Mr. Barret, Ms. Barlow just confirmed that the photo wall is canceled and the vows have been updated by Mr. Ward. Are you absolutely certain you want to cancel the wedding? I stared at the text and typed a final reply. Yes. Cancel it. The cold morning air rushed into the hallway as I opened the door. I pulled my suitcase behind me, stepping out into the dawn. Lyla had deleted seven years of our memories with a single sentence. And now, I was leaving her behind. As I stood at the gate, waiting to board my flight, the official cancellation notice finally reached Lyla’s phone. She immediately called the planner, her voice trembling. “What is the meaning of this?” The planner sounded more shocked than she was. “Mr. Barret canceled the wedding himself. He said he accepted a job in Iceland and won’t be coming back.” “Ms. Barlow… did you not know?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464473”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel