Author: Momo Chan

1 In my sixty-eighth year, I finally found her name in my husband’s final confession. Brooks Montgomery had left a letter behind, tucked into his will like a hidden razor blade. He didn’t want to be buried in the Montgomery family plot next to me. He wanted his children to take his ashes back to his hometown of Savannah and bury him beside a woman named Pearl Bennett. The final lines of the letter read: “In this life, I kept my word. I looked after Sienna until the very end. In the next life, I want to be selfish just once. I want to find Pearl first.” Fifty years. We had been married for five decades, and in his eyes, it had been nothing more than a sentence served. A long-term contract he was proud to have fulfilled. The mahogany box in his study, the one he had forbidden me from ever touching, was finally open. Inside was a fountain pen Pearl had given him when they were eighteen, a faded graduation photo, and forty-seven unsent love letters. The last one was dated the night before our wedding. “Pearl,” it said, “just say the word, and I won’t marry her.” I sat in the cemetery all night, clutching that box until my knuckles turned white. When I finally closed my eyes, the cold of the marble headstone seemed to seep into my bones, dragging me down into a deep, dark sleep. When I opened them again, I was sitting on a folding chair in the backstage of a high school auditorium. The air was thick with the scent of hairspray and old wood. Pearl Bennett was sitting at the vanity mirror, wearing the white silk dress that was supposed to be mine for the graduation solo. Brooks was kneeling in front of her, focused and tender, tying the ribbons of her ballet flats. I was standing over them, my arms laden with three backpacks, water bottles, and their discarded jackets. It was a tableau of my entire future. For the next fifty years, they would be the ones who loved. I would be the one who cleaned up the mess. “Sienna, what are you staring at?” Brooks stood up, handing me Pearl’s discarded canvas sneakers. “Keep these safe for her. We’re heading up to the ridge tonight for the meteor shower, and she’ll need them. Don’t lose them.” Tonight was the night of the Perseids. To get the keys to the school’s only high-powered telescope, I had spent a week filing messy archives for the science department. Brooks had promised me that when the first meteor streaked across the sky, I would be the one at the eyepiece. In my past life, that spot had gone to Pearl. I had spent the night carrying her gear and eventually carrying her down the mountain when she “fainted.” I had slipped on the trail and injured my lower back—a dull ache that had stayed with me for half a century. I didn’t take the shoes. “They’re her things,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “Why is it my job to keep them?” Brooks froze. The room seemed to go quiet. Pearl’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. She scrambled to grab the shoes, hugging them to her chest. “I’m so sorry, Sienna. Brooks only asked because my heels were blistering. If it makes you unhappy, I’ll put them back on.” She said it, but she didn’t move an inch toward her feet. Brooks’s brow furrowed. “Sienna, Pearl isn’t well. Why are you being so difficult over a pair of shoes?” She isn’t well. The mantra of my life. Pearl had died at twenty-seven in the original timeline. After her funeral, Brooks had been a ghost for six months. I had thought he was grieving a best friend. I had put my own career on hold to stay by his side, to organize Pearl’s estate, to care for her aging mother. I was sixty-eight when I realized that wasn’t friendship. It was the death of his soul. I shoved the backpacks and jackets back into Brooks’s arms. “If you’re so worried about her, carry them yourself.” He caught them instinctively, his face a mask of bewilderment. For eighteen years, I had been the girl who never said no. He assumed I was just having a “bad day.” At ten o’clock that night, the Astronomy Club reached the summit. As the other students hauled the heavy tripods, Pearl grabbed my sleeve. “Sienna… could I go first?” she whispered. “The doctor says my heart condition is getting worse. I’m scared I won’t have another chance to see something like this.” The group fell silent. Everyone looked at me, waiting for the familiar sacrifice. Brooks was already guiding her toward the telescope. “Sienna is doing the data logging,” Brooks said, not even looking at me. “She can see the stars from anywhere. I’ll buy you your own telescope when we get to college, Sienna. A better one.” In my past life, he had. He’d bought me a telescope with a brass plate that read: To the brightest star in my sky. I had lived forty years believing I was that star. It wasn’t until Pearl died and he locked that telescope away in a room filled with her things that I realized I had spent my life misinterpreting his silence. “Don’t bother,” I said. I picked up my camera and walked to the far end of the ridge, away from the group. When the first meteor cut through the velvet dark, Pearl gasped and grabbed Brooks’s hand. He didn’t pull away. I pressed the shutter, capturing the streak of light in my own frame. A few minutes later, a cry went up behind me. Pearl was on the ground, clutching her chest, her breathing shallow and frantic. Brooks was hovering over her, but his first instinct was to look at me. “Sienna! Pearl can’t walk back down. You need to carry her. I’ll take the gear.” In my past life, I had carried her for three hours, stumbling through the dark, ruining my body for a woman who was faking a panic attack. This time, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “The ambulance will be at the trailhead in thirty minutes,” I said. “If you’re that worried about her, you carry her down.” Brooks’s face darkened. “What is wrong with you? You aren’t acting like yourself.” “No,” I said, looking him in the eye. “I’m finally acting like someone who matters.” I turned back to the stars. Brooks didn’t say another word. He hoisted Pearl onto his back and began the slow trek down the mountain. As they faded into the shadows, I heard Pearl’s voice drift back on the wind, small and manipulative. “Brooks… if Sienna wasn’t here, would you love me?” Brooks paused. There was a long, heavy silence. “Don’t let her hear you say that,” he whispered. A second meteor fell right into my lens. I pressed the shutter, and in my heart, I signed the divorce papers fifty years early. The next morning, Brooks placed a hot coffee on my desk. “Why didn’t you wait for us last night?” “The science teacher gave me a ride,” I said, not looking up from my notebook. He sat down beside me, his voice softening. “Pearl just had an irregular heartbeat. The doctor said she’ll be fine. She gets in her head when she’s scared, Sienna. If she said something weird last night, don’t take it to heart.” I looked at him. “What did she say?” Brooks stiffened. “Nothing. Just… nothing.” He reached into his textbook and pulled out a hand-drawn star map. In the bottom corner, there was a tiny sketch of a Lily of the Valley. Pearl’s favorite flower. He had given me an identical map for our fortieth anniversary. My eyesight had been failing then, and he had held my hand, pointing out the constellations. Our children had envied our “romance.” I had lived in a dream he had painted for someone else. “Everett University is taking forty students for the Astrophysics program this year,” Brooks said, sliding the map toward me. “Our grades are high enough. Pearl can apply for the Literature program next door. The three of us can stay together.” I pushed the map back. “I’m not applying to Everett.” His brow snapped together. “Stop playing around. We’ve had this planned since freshman year.” He didn’t ask where I did want to go. In his mind, my life was an extension of his. That afternoon, the club advisor called us in to review the applications for the National Youth Science Fair. I had done the trajectory calculations, the raw data sets, and the model design. Pearl was only supposed to do the presentation. The advisor looked troubled. “Pearl has no competition history. If she’s only listed as a presenter, she won’t qualify for the school’s recommendation.” Pearl looked down, a tear splashing onto the form. “It’s fine. I’ve always been useless. You guys go to Everett without me.” Brooks was silent for a moment. Then, he reached out and took the pen. “Change the Lead Designer to Pearl,” he told the advisor. The advisor blinked. “But Sienna did all the core work.” “Sienna’s grades are perfect,” Brooks said, his tone terrifyingly logical. “She doesn’t need this one accolade. Pearl does.” He turned to me, as if expecting a thank you. “It’s just a name on a paper, Sienna. Once we’re in college, I’ll help you build something even better.” “This award is the prerequisite for the Northstate University early honors program,” I said, my voice steady. “If you move my name, I lose my chance at the Ivy League.” Brooks’s hand hesitated. This was the last bridge. I was giving him the chance not to burn it. Pearl let out a small, fragile cough. Brooks immediately signed her name in the Lead Designer slot. Every stroke was deliberate. “You’ll have plenty of chances, Sienna. Pearl won’t. We’re going to be married one day—everything I have will be yours anyway. Think of this as me making it up to her.” Making it up to her. That was our marriage. He gave me the title of “Wife” as if it were a consolation prize for the love he was giving to someone else. I gathered my lab notes. “Fine.” Brooks exhaled, relieved. He thought I had folded again. After school, Pearl caught me at the stairs. “Sienna, I really didn’t know Brooks would do that. Maybe I should go back and tell them to put your name back on it.” I held out my hand. “Give me the form. I’ll go with you.” The fake smile on her face twitched. “Well… it’s already been submitted. If we change it now, Brooks will get in trouble for lying. We’re graduating in two weeks. Why ruin the mood over a name? We’re going to be together forever, right?” In my past life, she had said those exact words to me on her deathbed. She had begged me to take care of Brooks, saying I was the only one she trusted. I thought she was entrusting me with her best friend. I realize now she was just parking her car in my garage because she couldn’t drive it anymore. “That’s your plan,” I said, pulling my sleeve out of her grip. “Don’t include me in it.” The lab door was ajar. As I passed, I heard Brooks talking to the advisor. “Just give the credit to Pearl for now. Sienna will be mad for a few days, but she’ll get over it. She loves me too much to actually leave.” I didn’t open the door. Instead, I walked to the payphone at the end of the hall and dialed Northstate University’s admissions office. “Hello. My name is Sienna Rivers. I’d like to submit a solo project for the honors selection. Yes, under my own name.” When the preliminary finalists were posted, Pearl Bennett was at the top of the list. Brooks stood by the bulletin board, waiting for me, his “explanation” ready. “We’re a team, Sienna. It doesn’t matter whose name is first.” I pointed at the top. “If it doesn’t matter, why couldn’t it be mine?” He stammered. Pearl immediately grabbed a pen, her eyes red. “It’s all my fault. I’ll withdraw right now.” Before the pen touched the paper, she “collapsed” into Brooks’s arms. “Pearl! Stay with me!” Brooks shouted. He looked at me with pure accusation. “Are you happy now, Sienna? Is a trophy worth her life?” The students around us began to whisper. To them, I was the villain—the bitter overachiever bullying a sick girl. I didn’t argue. I reached up, unpinned my Astronomy Club badge, and handed it to the advisor. “I’m resigning from the team.” Brooks’s face went white. “Sienna, don’t be dramatic.” “My original negatives, my calculations, and the equipment logs are all in my private locker,” I said to the advisor. “I am submitting a solo project.” Brooks stepped in front of me. “The deadline is in three days. You can’t build a new model by yourself in seventy-two hours.” “Watch me.” “You used to love her, Sienna! Why are you being so cruel?” “Because I finally realized that giving my life away to people who don’t value it isn’t ‘kindness.’ It’s stupidity.” I spent the next two days in the old basement workshop. When I ran out of wood, I stripped old pallets. When the motor burned out, I stayed until midnight fixing it. On the third day, my simulated meteor shower tracked perfectly across the screen. The light illuminated the room, and for the first time, I saw what a life without Brooks Montgomery looked like. It wasn’t empty. It was bright. Northstate called that morning. “Miss Rivers, your solo project has been fast-tracked. If you win the regional gold, you’re invited to the final selection at our campus the morning after your graduation.” I booked a one-way train ticket for 4:50 PM on graduation day. When I went to the school to pick up my diploma, the backstage was chaos. Pearl was in her white dress, but the projector was broken and she couldn’t find her music. The teacher saw me and sighed with relief. “Sienna, thank god. Fix this, would you?” I handed her a folder. “The wiring diagrams and the backup tapes are in there. I don’t work here anymore.” Pearl walked over, the silver “Stellar Rail” brooch—a Montgomery family heirloom—pinned to her chest. Brooks had given it to her. “Sienna, everyone is so stressed. Are you still holding a grudge?” She reached for my hand. I stepped back. “Manage your own show, Pearl.” Brooks was on the floor, trying to fix the projector. He looked up. “It’s graduation day, Sienna. Can’t we just have one day of peace?” “I’m at peace,” I said. “Are you?” The ceremony began. But when it came time to announce the Science Fair winners, the principal didn’t call Pearl’s name. “Due to a discrepancy in the core data, the group project led by Pearl Bennett has been disqualified,” the principal announced. The room gasped. “However,” he continued, “Sienna Rivers, competing independently, has been awarded the Regional Gold. She has been invited to Northstate University on a full scholarship.” The screen lit up with my photos. The meteors cutting through the dark. And at the bottom, a single name: Sienna Rivers. Pearl stood on stage, her face devoid of color. When I went up to take my diploma, she blocked my way. “You stole the data, Sienna. We did that together. How could you be so heartless?” Brooks stepped out from behind the curtain, standing firmly by Pearl’s side. “Sienna, you won. Pearl lost everything. Is this enough? Can we stop now?” I opened my project log and handed it to Pearl. “If we did it together, tell me: which data set did you calculate? Which parameters did you adjust? What part of this is yours?” Pearl’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. “She was the presenter!” Brooks snapped. “She didn’t need to know the math. I made the name change, not her. She’s innocent.” Pearl clung to his sleeve, sobbing. “I just wanted to be with you guys. Sienna used to love me… why does she hate me now?” Brooks looked at me with disgust. “You have your scholarship. You have your fame. Pearl has nothing. How much more do you want to take from her?” I laughed. “When you erased my name, did you ask how much you were taking from me?” “That was my decision!” Brooks yelled. “And I told you I’d make it up to you. Just… stop.” I looked at the boy I had spent fifty years trying to please. In my past life, I had always waited. I had waited for him to notice me, waited for him to choose me, waited for him to love me. But my life wasn’t a waiting room for his heart. Pearl reached for the brooch on her chest. “Here, Sienna. Take it back. Don’t blame Brooks anymore. It’s all my fault.” Brooks pressed her hand down. “No. Sienna gave it to you. If she wants to be petty, let her.” He still thought I was fighting for him. I reached into my bag and pulled out the “Legacy Engagement” letter our parents had signed when we were kids. “Brooks Montgomery, listen carefully.” I tore the paper in half. “The project was mine, so I took it back. The brooch was a gift, and I don’t want it back—keep it. And as for you…” I dropped the shredded paper at his feet. “I don’t want you either.” Brooks’s expression finally broke. “Sienna, you’re making a scene.” “I’m making a departure,” I said. Pearl fainted for real this time, slipping into Brooks’s arms. “Brooks… I can’t breathe…” Brooks scooped her up. As he passed me, he paused. “I’m taking her to the infirmary. We’ll talk about your ‘tantrum’ later.” I didn’t answer. He still thought my life was on his schedule. But I didn’t wait. I took my diploma, walked out of the hall, and picked up my bags from the station. At 4:50 PM, the train to Northstate pulled into the station. I didn’t look back at the town of Everett. I stepped onto the train, and as the doors whistled shut, I finally felt the weight of fifty years fall away.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “548330”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Five years after moving to Provence with Arthur, I still couldn’t speak a lick of functional French. The language felt like a wall of jagged glass, cutting me every time I tried to climb it. Every time I asked Arthur for help, he’d dismiss me with a wave of his hand, his eyes never leaving his laptop. “I’m in the middle of a translation, Eleanor. I’m busy. Use the app.” So, I lived my life through a flickering screen. A digital tether to a world I didn’t understand. That Tuesday, my translator app crashed while I was at the local market. The vendor was shouting something about the price of heirloom tomatoes, and I stood there, paralyzed, a line of impatient locals forming behind me. I tried calling Arthur—no answer. In a fit of panicked desperation, I called our daughter, Becca. She arrived twenty minutes later, face flushed with irritation. She didn’t offer a hug or a kind word. Instead, she snatched the grocery bag from my hand. “Are you serious, Mom? All you do is buy groceries and clean the house. How have you lived here for five years and still can’t manage ten words for ‘produce’?” Her voice rose, attracting stares from the terrace across the street. “It’s no wonder Dad would rather spend his time tutoring Vivienne than dealing with you.” I froze. The noise of the market faded into a dull hum. “Tutoring… Vivienne?” Becca rolled her eyes, realizing she’d let something slip, then leaned in with a cruel sort of honesty. “Yeah. He’s not ‘busy’ all the time, Mom. He’s just teaching someone who actually has a brain. Honestly, I don’t blame him.” The air felt thin. I thought of the countless nights I’d spent alone in our villa, reheating dinner while Arthur claimed he was working late at the university library. I thought of the stable career I’d walked away from in Seattle—a senior administrative role I’d held for twenty years—just because Arthur said he wanted to pursue his dream of becoming a master translator in France, and Becca said she couldn’t imagine life without ‘Mom’s home cooking.’ I didn’t say a word. I went home, and the next morning, I began the quiet process of filing for my return to the States. France was never my home. It was his. And if my heart couldn’t catch fire for this life after five years, I was done trying to keep it warm. Becca wasn’t finished, though. She followed me into the kitchen, her voice sharp enough to make me flinch. “I’ve always wondered, honestly. Dad is brilliant, he’s handsome, he’s a scholar. He and Vivienne Beaumont were the ‘it’ couple in college. Why did he ever settle for a woman as… small as you?” I felt a hollow ache in my chest. Becca saw my silence as weakness and pressed harder. “Since I’ve already said too much, I might as well stop pretending. Vivienne’s been back in his life for a year. He drives halfway across the region every weekend to give her private French lessons. It’s not that he’s cheating—he just needs intellectual stimulation. If you don’t step up, Mom, you’re going to lose him, and it’ll be your own fault.” She texted me an address, then grabbed her designer bag. “I’m heading to the coast for the weekend. I can’t deal with this energy. Figure it out.” I stared at the name on the screen: Vivienne Beaumont. I remembered her. She was the ‘one that got away’—the girl on the pedestal from Arthur’s university days. Years ago, I’d found an old Polaroid of her tucked in a book. Arthur had laughed, thrown it away, and told me I was the only one. I drove to the address. It was a charming cottage on the edge of a vineyard. Through the gap in the lace curtains, I saw my husband. The man who was always “too tired” to speak to me was leaning over a mahogany desk, his voice a low, patient murmur as he helped Vivienne pronounce a string of vowels. Vivienne wasn’t as quick as Becca had suggested. She stumbled over the words, her accent thick and clumsy. But Arthur didn’t snap. He didn’t sigh. He reached out and touched her arm, his expression softened by a tenderness I hadn’t seen in a decade. “French is difficult, Vivienne,” he whispered. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. At our age, just trying is a feat of courage.” A feat of courage. I remembered my first month here. I’d enrolled in an intensive immersion class. I’d come home crying because my memory wasn’t what it used to be, the words slipping through my fingers like sand. Arthur had looked at me with pure disdain. “Just memorize the vocabulary, Eleanor. It’s not physics. Are you really this slow, or are you just not trying?” I’d never felt smaller. I’d eventually stopped trying altogether, retreating into a shell of silence. Inside the cottage, Vivienne leaned back, radiating confidence. “I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. To celebrate, let me take you to that bistro in town tonight.” Arthur chuckled, a sound that twisted the knife in my gut. “I’m tired of French food, honestly. I’m craving something real. Something from home. Tell you what—I’ll bring over some of Eleanor’s roast chicken tomorrow. It’s about the only thing she’s truly mastered.” Vivienne smiled perfectly. “I’ve heard so much about her cooking. I’d love to benefit from her… domesticity.” Arthur snorted. “She’ll never have your grace or your mind, Vivienne. But she can certainly follow a recipe.” I couldn’t breathe. I turned and walked back to my car, the weight of thirty years of marriage crashing down on me. I had supported him when he was a struggling academic. I had been the breadwinner while he chased his ‘intellectual pursuits.’ And when he finally made it, I had uprooted my entire existence to play the role of his silent, bilingual-less maid. On the way home, I pulled over by a row of industrial dumpsters. Without hesitation, I threw out the bags of expensive groceries—the artisanal cheeses, the fresh herbs, the wine I’d spent an hour trying to pick out. My wrists ached from the weight. When I got back to the villa, Arthur was on the sofa, reading a literary journal. He looked every bit the distinguished expatriate. “You’re late,” he said, not looking up. “I’m starving. Dinner should have been started an hour ago.” I looked at the empty table, then at the sink full of his breakfast dishes. A wave of exhaustion, colder than the Mistral wind, washed over me. “Arthur, I’ve been gone for hours. I don’t speak the language, I don’t have friends here, and I was late. Your first instinct isn’t to ask if I’m okay? It’s to ask about your stomach?” Arthur stiffened. “You’re in a quiet village, Eleanor. You go to the market and the post office. It’s not like you’re going to get kidnapped. Don’t be dramatic.” He sighed heavily. “Fine. If you’re going to be in a mood because you’re frustrated with your French, I’ll find you a better tutor. Happy?” I looked at his face—the face I had loved since we were twenty. “Will you do it? Will you teach me?” He frowned immediately. “I’m exhausted when I get home. I need my downtime. Be reasonable, Eleanor. We’re an old married couple, not college sweethearts. I need you to be my partner, not another student.” The last thread snapped. I felt a laugh bubble up—a bitter, jagged thing. “Arthur, how far is it from here to the north side of the city?” He blinked, confused. “About forty miles. Why?” Vivienne lived forty miles away. He drove eighty miles round-trip every weekend to teach her, but couldn’t spend ten minutes at the kitchen table with his wife. I pulled out my phone and showed him the photo I’d taken through the cottage window. Arthur’s face went from pale to a deep, ugly red. He lunged for the phone, his voice exploding in the quiet room. “You followed me? You’re spying on me now? Thirty years, Eleanor! I never knew you were this pathetic!” “It’s tutelage, Arthur. That’s what you said, right?” “Vivienne is an old friend! She’s going through a hard divorce, she’s alone in a foreign country, and I’m the only person she knows here. It’s called being a decent human being. You’re a cold, small-minded woman if you’re trying to make this into something sordid. It’s beneath you. It’s… stupid.” I had nothing left to say. I had spent thirty years thinking he was just a “private” person, a “quiet intellectual.” I realized now he wasn’t quiet. He just didn’t think I was worth talking to. That night, while he slept in the guest room and slammed the door loud enough to rattle the frames, I finalized my flight. I stopped cooking. I stopped cleaning. The villa quickly descended into a state of disarray—dust on the mantle, the laundry bin overflowing with his shirts, the kitchen smelling of the greasy takeout Arthur had to order for himself. When Becca returned from her trip, she walked into a house that was no longer a home. “God, Mom, what is wrong with you? This place is disgusting. Are you really that lazy?” I continued chopping vegetables for my own salad, ignoring her. She turned to Arthur. “Dad, look at her. First she gives up on the language, now she’s giving up on the house. I’m over it.” The tension in the room was thick. Becca realized we were in the middle of a war. She sighed, her tone shifting to that condescending “advice” she loved so much. “Mom, you’re literally at the age where you should be thinking about retirement and grandkids. Are you really having a mid-life crisis over Dad having a friend? Vivienne is the most sophisticated, respectful woman I’ve met. She’s not ‘the other woman.’ She’s a mentor. Only someone with a dirty mind would see it differently.” Arthur watched me, waiting for me to cave. I didn’t. I set a single plate of pasta on the table for myself. Becca sat down, assuming I’d made enough for everyone. “Finally. Let’s see what’s for—wait. This is kale and chickpeas? You know Dad and I hate this ‘healthy’ crap. Make the carbonara instead. I’m not even that hungry yet, so you have time.” I pulled the plate closer to me. “I made this for myself. I’m no longer responsible for your meals.” Becca slammed her fork down. “Mom! What is your problem? Is this seriously about the French lessons? You and Vivienne aren’t even in the same league. Of course Dad wants a conversation that isn’t about grocery prices. Stop being so insecure. It’s embarrassing.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Eleanor, this has gone far enough. We’re too old for these theatrics. It’s bad for our reputation, and it’s exhausting for Becca.” I took a bite of my pasta, looking him dead in the eye. “If you’re worried about your reputation, Arthur, maybe don’t spend your weekends playing ‘Professor’ to your mistress. You want her grace and her mind? Great. You can have them. But you don’t get my labor to go along with it.” Arthur’s face turned iron-gray. “You are a bitter, delusional woman. You think ‘roasting a chicken’ counts as a life’s work? Fine. If you want to be independent, be independent. Don’t expect another dime of my ‘intellectual’ money for your groceries. And remember whose name is on the deed to this house.” I gripped my fork until my knuckles went white. “I wasn’t planning on staying.” He thought I was bluffing. He stood up so abruptly he knocked over his wine glass. The red liquid splashed across the table and onto my hand—a searing, stinging heat. He didn’t apologize. He just turned and walked out. Becca sighed. “Just apologize, Mom. This is France. You have no money, no friends, and you’re sixty. Who’s going to take care of you if you leave?” I remembered when we were twenty-five and Arthur was “finding himself.” I had worked two jobs to pay for his PhD while nursing Becca. I had “taken care” of everyone for thirty years. I sat in the dark living room all night. The next morning, I did something I hadn’t done in decades. I called an old friend from Seattle and asked for a loan for a hotel and a plane ticket. I was packing my bags at a small inn near the train station when Vivienne Beaumont found me. She was wearing a string of pearls I recognized—the ones Arthur told me were a “gift for a client” when I’d found the receipt in his pocket last Christmas. “Eleanor,” she said, her voice like silk. “I heard there’s been some… unpleasantness. I wanted to clear the air.” I looked at the pearls, then at her. “I’m younger than you, Vivienne. Don’t call me by my first name like we’re friends.” She flinched, then recovered with a smirk. “Well, you certainly look older. I suppose stress does that.” “I’m sure it does. I’m also sure that being a parasite is very good for the complexion. You need a man to pay your bills, and Arthur needs a mirror to tell him how brilliant he is. You’re a perfect match.” Her mask slipped. “You’re being incredibly low-class. Arthur married you because he had no other options at the time. A man like him… he needs more than a cook.” “He didn’t have options because I was the one working forty hours a week so he could sit in cafes and talk about ‘symbolism.’ He’s lived off my back for half our marriage. Every pearl on your neck was paid for with my sweat and my lost years. You’re not his muse, Vivienne. You’re just the latest person to benefit from my hard work. You’re welcome to him. He’s a depreciating asset.” I walked out, leaving her sputtering in the cafe. But then, the phone rang. It was Becca. She was sobbing. “Mom, Dad left me! We were hiking in the foothills and he just… he got a call and drove off. It’s getting dark, I’m alone on the trail, and there are people lurking… please come get me!” My heart hammered against my ribs. All the anger evaporated, replaced by the instinct of a mother. I ran out of the hotel into the sudden, freezing rain. I drove to the trailhead, soaked to the bone, my lungs burning as I searched the parking lot. Empty. I called her back, my hands shaking. She picked up on the fourth ring. Her voice was perfectly calm. “Oh, Mom? Sorry. We’re actually at dinner. We never went hiking.” I stood in the pouring rain, the cold water soaking through my coat. “What?” “Dad said you needed a lesson. You poured ‘metaphorical’ coffee on Vivienne today, so he thought you should see what it’s like to be truly alone and cold. Maybe now you’ll appreciate the roof over your head.” The thunder cracked above me. The betrayal was so absolute it felt physical. Arthur took the phone. “Vivienne wanted us to reconcile, but you acted like a child, Eleanor. Stay there for a bit. Think about how much you need this family. I’ll come get you in an hour. Don’t move.” I stared at the dark forest, the rain blinding me. I felt something die inside me—the last flickering ember of “us.” “Don’t bother, Arthur. I’m not coming back. I’ve already filed the paperwork. We’re done.” The line went silent.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “548329”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The call came in at 11:42 PM. My wife’s voice was a jagged shard of glass, cutting through the silence of my Amtrak ride home. “Ethan, I’ve been in an accident… there’s so much blood… my leg, it hurts so much. Please, come save me!” I was still twenty miles outside of Chicago, trapped on a train. My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird. I tried to stay calm, my voice trembling as I asked for her location. “North Loop, near the old industrial docks,” Sienna sobbed. “It’s so dark. There’s no one here. I’m so scared…” The line went dead. I couldn’t reach her again. Panic, cold and oily, flooded my veins. I couldn’t wait for the train to dock at Union Station. I needed someone there now. I called my brother-in-law, Tyler. He was grabbing drinks with friends near the station. My spare car keys were at the valet desk of the parking garage where I’d left my Audi before my business trip. “Tyler, Sienna’s been hurt. Get my keys from the valet. Take my car. Get to her before I do. I’m almost at the station.” By the time my Uber screeched to a halt at the coordinates she gave me, the scene was a nightmare bathed in blue and red strobe lights. But Sienna wasn’t in an ambulance. She was standing by the curb, her white silk dress pristine, not a single drop of blood on her. My car was there, though. The front hood was crumpled, the windshield a spiderweb of shattered glass, stained with something dark and visceral. A man—a stranger—lay thirty feet away on a stretcher, being loaded into an EMT van. He looked broken. Tyler was sitting on the curb, his face ashen, his hands shaking so hard he could barely hold his head up. When he saw me, he lunged forward, nearly collapsing. “Ethan! It wasn’t me! I swear, I found him like this! The car was already wrecked when I got here!” I gripped his shoulders, trying to ground him. I believed him. I’d helped raise Tyler; I’d paid his tuition, bought his first laptop, treated him like my own blood. He wasn’t a hit-and-run driver. “Stay calm,” I whispered. “Go with the ambulance. Find out which hospital he’s going to. I’ll handle the police.” But as Tyler disappeared into the back of the emergency vehicle, the police didn’t ask for my statement. They flanked me. “Hands where we can see them, Mr. Brooks,” a detective barked. I froze, my mind reeling. “Wait, there’s a mistake. I just got here. My wife called me—” Sienna stepped forward then. She wasn’t looking at me with relief. Her eyes were cold, her expression a mask of performative grief. Beside her stood Liam Miller—her “childhood best friend,” the man who had always been a shadow over our marriage. “Sienna? Are you okay? You said you were hurt—” She didn’t answer me. Instead, she pointed a trembling finger at my chest and looked at the detective. “That’s him. That’s my husband, Ethan Brooks. He’s the one who hit that man and tried to leave him for dead.” The world tilted. I felt the air leave my lungs as if I’d been punched. “Sienna, what are you saying?” “Stop acting, Ethan,” she snapped, her voice projecting for the benefit of the officers. “I saw you. You were drinking tonight with Liam’s colleagues. You were angry, you were reckless. I tried to stop you from driving, but you wouldn’t listen. I followed you because I was worried, and then… I saw you hit him.” She pulled out her phone and showed the detective a video. In the grainy, low-light footage, my Audi was seen slamming into a man on a bicycle. The driver’s face was obscured by the glare, but the license plate was unmistakable. It was mine. “I have my Amtrak ticket!” I shouted, pulling my phone out. “I was on the train from Detroit during the time of the accident! Look at the timestamp!” Sienna didn’t even flinch. “Tickets can be faked, Ethan. Or you gave your phone to someone else to carry while you drove back early. You’re a software VP; you know exactly how to manufacture an alibi.” Liam stepped in, his hand resting possessively on Sienna’s shoulder. “He was wasted, Detective. He had a falling out with our board of directors this afternoon. He left the lounge in a rage. I told him to call a cab, but he told me to go to hell.” I looked at the two of them—the woman I had loved for six years and the man she had always told me not to worry about. They were standing united, weaving a noose around my neck. “Ethan, just admit what you did,” Sienna said, her voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a curse. “Don’t expect me to throw away my integrity to cover for you.” I looked at her, at the way she shielded Liam, and for the first time in our marriage, the scales fell from my eyes. I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg. I just smiled, a cold, hollow thing. “You forgot one thing, Sienna,” I said. “I wasn’t the one behind the wheel. Tyler was.” Her face went pale for a fraction of a second, but she recovered instantly. “Don’t you dare drag my brother into your mess.” We were all taken down to the precinct. Thirty minutes later, Tyler walked in. I looked at him, waiting for the truth to set me free. “Tyler,” I said, stepping toward him. “Tell them. Tell them I called you to pick up the car. Tell them you found the victim already on the ground.” Tyler wouldn’t look at me. He shrunk back, his eyes red-rimmed. “I’m sorry, Ethan,” he choked out. Then, looking at the detective, he pointed at me. “He met me near the station. He told me to drive the car to the docks because he was too drunk to get it out of the lot. When we got there, he took the wheel. He told me he needed to clear his head. A few minutes later… I heard the impact. I ran to help, but he’d already hit the guy.” The betrayal was a physical weight. My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. Tyler, the kid I’d spent ten years protecting, was selling my life for a lie. The victim’s parents arrived then, screaming for justice. The mother lunged at me, her nails raking down my cheek, drawing blood. The father landed a heavy blow to my nose. I didn’t fight back. I just stood there as the police pulled them off me, the copper tang of blood filling my mouth. In the chaos, Liam leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. “Give it up, Ethan,” he hissed, his voice a venomous purr. “I was the one driving. Sienna saw it all. And her first instinct? To call you and set the trap. She’d rather destroy you than see me spend a night in a cell.” He grinned, a jagged, triumphant thing. “Six years of marriage, and she chose me in six seconds. When you’re in Joliet, I’ll be sure to take real good care of her. And your parents? They’ll die knowing their only son is a child-killer.” That was the breaking point. I lunged. My fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling across the precinct floor. “Ethan Brooks! That’s enough!” Detective Harrison shouted, slamming me against the wall. I was processed and thrown into a holding cell. The next morning, Sienna came to see me. She looked tired, but she still had that sickeningly sweet “devoted wife” persona on. “Liam isn’t pressing charges for the assault, Ethan. He’s actually helping me find you a lawyer. You need to apologize to him when you get out.” I looked at her through the plexiglass, feeling a deep, soul-shaking disgust. “He told me, Sienna. He told me he was the driver. And I know you’re the one who coached Tyler.” Sienna’s expression didn’t change. “You’re delusional. The stress is getting to you. Just take the plea deal, Ethan. Do your time, and when you’re out, we’ll move. We’ll start over somewhere where no one knows us. I’ll wait for you.” She actually thought this was a gift. She thought that after she stole my freedom and my reputation, her “waiting” for me was an act of grace. “I want a divorce,” I said. The “sweetness” vanished. Her eyes turned into flint. “What did you say?” “You traded my life for his. We’re done. I’m going to strip you of every cent I ever earned.” She laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “With what? You’re a felon now, Ethan. You have no leverage. You’ll regret this.” She was right about one thing: she made sure I regretted it. Within forty-eight hours, the rumors hit. My friend and attorney, Marcus, visited me with a grim expression. “She’s gone scorched earth, Ethan. She leaked the ‘drunk driving’ story to the press. She did an interview with a local blog claiming you’ve been physically abusive for years. She showed them a bruise on her wrist from that skiing trip last winter and told them you did it in a rage.” My board of directors fired me that afternoon. Ten years of eighty-hour weeks, two stomach ulcers, and the core security system I had built from scratch—all gone. I was a pariah. “Marcus,” I said, my voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a well. “The trial is in two days. I need you to find the black box data.” “The Audi’s onboard system?” “No,” I whispered. “The Deep-Eye prototype. I installed the beta version of our company’s new AI dashcam in that car last month. It doesn’t just record the road. It records the cabin. And it uploads to a private cloud server that only I have the encryption key for.” A slow, predatory smile spread across Marcus’s face. “The ‘quiet’ evidence.” “Exactly. Let them testify. Let them lie until they’re out of breath. I want them to commit as much perjury as humanly possible before we pull the trigger.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “548328”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My roommate tossed her phone onto the velvet sofa and groaned, her designer heels clicking impatiently against the hardwood floor. “He is such a yandere. It’s exhausting.” “A what?” I asked, looking up from my laptop. I was currently knee-deep in a spreadsheet for my dev job, wearing my favorite oversized flannel and thick-rimmed glasses. Sienna paused, her manicured fingers twisting a strand of her bleached-blonde hair. she looked at me for two seconds, then let out a sharp, condescending laugh. “I almost forgot. You’re just a little small-town girl from the Midwest. You wouldn’t know the first thing about internet subcultures, would you?” She slid the phone across the coffee table toward me. “Look, why don’t you handle him for a bit? Text him for me. You’ll see exactly what I mean.” Proxy texting? I wasn’t that curious, honestly. I was about to turn her down when a translucent string of text suddenly flickered across my vision like a digital ticker tape. [Don’t be an idiot, Sienna! He’s not ugly. He’s been a heartthrob since he was a kid. He was in a car accident and got some facial scars from the glass—they just haven’t healed yet, which is why he won’t send a selfie. He’s the ultimate catch, and he belongs with the ultimate girl. Don’t hand the Male Lead to a flyover-state nobody, please!] [Seriously! He’s the heir to the Blackwood empire, and you’re a Montgomery. I want to see a power couple, not this flannel-wearing loser taking your place!] 1 I froze, staring at the words scrolling through the air. Sienna had told me her backstory: she’d run away from home because she refused an arranged marriage. Her parents had cut off her credit cards, her lifestyle had plummeted, and she’d ended up splitting this apartment with me out of desperate necessity. And me? A “flyover-state nobody”? More words appeared: [The girl literally cut her own bangs and they look like a lawnmower ran over them. She wears nothing but flannels and baggy jeans. She’s not even on the same aesthetic planet as Sienna.] I looked down at my outfit. It was comfortable. I wasn’t hurting anyone. And yeah, I cut my own bangs. So what? It saved me sixty bucks at the salon. Sienna poked me with a glitter-encrusted nail. “Hello? Does it really take that much brainpower to decide? I’m not asking you to do it for free. Whatever he Zelles me, we’ll split it. Seventy-thirty. My cut is seventy.” She smirked, her red lips curving into a predatory line. “Besides, think of it as an education. You get to see how the other half lives and get paid for it. Where else are you gonna find a deal like that?” I let out a soft sigh. She could have just led with the money. “Fine,” I said, taking the phone with a mock-solemn expression. “I’ll handle your ‘yandere’ for you.” 2 After a quick shower, I flopped onto my bed and started scrolling through their chat history. They’d met through an online game. They’d exchanged names—Adrian Blackwood—and had sent a few voice notes. Looking through the logs, I didn’t see anything particularly terrifying. Adrian was just… intense. He’d send seven or eight “What are you doing, babe?” texts a day. If she didn’t reply within thirty minutes, he’d spiral. It went from “Are you busy?” to “Who are you with?” to a pathetic, self-soothing “You must be sleeping, right?” This was the billionaire heir to the Blackwood fortune? The guy needed a hobby. Then again, they’d only been talking for five days, and he’d already sent her twenty thousand dollars. He was definitely generous. I rolled onto my back, trying to filter out the comments that were still trashing my fashion sense to find something useful. [Sienna, a yandere is easy to tame! He’s just touch-starved and a little possessive. Don’t give up on him.] [He’s just terrified of losing you. If you give him just a little bit of initiative, he’ll be wrapped around your finger.] So that was a yandere? A hyper-sensitive puppy who wouldn’t let you pet any other dogs and turned into a sunbeam the moment you gave him a scrap of attention? The phone on my chest buzzed. Adrian: [What are you doing, babe? Checking in.] Me: [Just holding my phone, waiting for a message from you.] Adrian: [Good girl.] A notification immediately followed. Adrian Blackwood has sent you $520.00 via Zelle. I sat up, fully awake now. I hit accept before I even had the chance to say thank you. Adrian: [Babe, I have a question.] Me: [Ask away.] Adrian: [Are there any other guys in your contacts? Besides me?] Me: [Only my dad. Does that bother you? I can block him if it does.] The comments went into a frenzy: [Wait, is this country mouse actually a low-key savage?!] [Don’t you dare block him! I will find you!] I rolled my eyes. It was just puppy training. Why was everyone so worked up? Sienna had two phones. On her main one, she was talking to a college athlete who sent her shirtless gym selfies on command. The phone I was holding was her dedicated “Adrian phone.” The contact list had exactly one name on it. Adrian had been relegated to the backup phone because he refused to show his face. Now, he was the “Consort” in the cold palace. Adrian replied: [Babe, don’t tease me. How could I mind your father?] Adrian Blackwood has sent you $5,200.00 via Zelle. I practically levitated off the bed. I think I just found the cheat code for Adrian. Give him attention, give him warmth, and give him a suffocating sense of security. Thanks, internet trolls. 3 Monday morning. Before I headed out for my shift, Adrian sent a photo of five ties laid out on a mahogany table. [Babe, pick one for me.] I looked closely. [The navy blue one with the subtle jacquard pattern.] [Perfect. I’ll wear that one to the office today.] I was about to send a thumbs-up, but then I had a thought. Reciprocity is the foundation of any healthy—or unhealthy—obsession. I pulled five flannels out of my closet, lined them up on my bed, and snapped a photo. [Babe, help me pick one, too.] Then… silence. The comments screamed: [Oh my god, he usually replies in seconds! It’s been two minutes of silence!] [LOL, the bumpkin is blowing her cover. Our gorgeous Sienna gets a new set of almond nails every week. There is no way she owns a closet full of thrift-store flannels.] [Just wait until he finds out a fake is talking to him. He’s going to ruin her life.] Ruin me? I felt a twinge of genuine anxiety. But as they say, fortune favors the bold—and the bold need to pay rent. Suddenly, the phone buzzed. Adrian: [The navy blue flannel. That way, we’re technically wearing matching outfits today.] Me: [You got it, babe~ ️] The comments were livid: [Why is she so excited?! He’s only being nice because he thinks she’s Sienna!] [Imposter! Stop smiling!] I smirked, tucked a strand of my “mowed” bangs behind my ear, and headed out. Crisis averted. 4 Being a proxy texter was surprisingly demanding. I spent most of my lunch breaks and “focus time” at work keeping Adrian entertained. I even forgot to check the TikToks my best friend, Lexie, had sent me. She caught me outside my office building after work. “Alright, spill. Are you seeing someone?” she asked, handing me a Starbucks. “No,” I laughed, taking a sip. “I’ve just been really focused on making money lately.” Technically, I wasn’t lying. When Adrian asked what I was having for lunch, I sent him a photo of my sad desk salad, and he immediately sent another five hundred bucks for “a better dinner.” Lexie squeezed my cheek. “You promised, Jo. We’re going to save up and buy that house with the wraparound porch together.” “I know, Lex. You and me against the world.” After dinner, she went back to her dorm, and I went back to the apartment. The comments: [Now I see why she handles Adrian so well. She’s got a best friend who’s just as clingy.] [Sienna, stop taking selfies and take your phone back! The billionaire is being brainwashed by a girl who wears New Balance sneakers!] [So what? It’s just texting. In real life, a guy like Adrian wouldn’t look at her twice.] I walked into the apartment to find Sienna taking mirror selfies. She turned, showing off her new peach-colored manicure. “Like them?” “They’re great,” I said, setting a bag of pastries Lexie had bought me on the table. “Want some?” Sienna ignored the food. “Phone.” I pulled it out of my bag and handed it over. She scrolled through the chat, her eyes widening. She looked at me with a mix of amusement and suspicion. “Damn, Jo. Less than a day and you got him to drop over sixty grand?” I gave a shy smile. “He’s very generous.” Sienna Venmo-ed herself sixty thousand dollars from the account and handed the phone back. “Keep the change. Keep up the good work.” I checked the balance. There was $2,400 left. We’d agreed on thirty percent. My cut should have been eighteen thousand. I looked at her, the words caught in my throat. Sienna caught my expression and sighed dramatically. “Ugh, don’t give me that look. I’m heading to the Hamptons for a few days to ‘find my muse.’ Travel is expensive, Jo. Be a team player.” I glanced at the easel in the corner of the room, covered in a thick layer of dust. Fine. “I get it.” Sienna went back to editing her photos. “Oh, and while I’m gone, if he asks to play games, just make an excuse. I can’t believe you work at a gaming company and you’re so bad at them. I’m not giving you my login; you’ll ruin my rank and blow your cover.” I paused. “What if he asks to meet up?” Sienna looked up, laughing. “Then go. Just try to wear something that doesn’t scream ‘Target clearance rack.’” 5 The comments flickered: [I don’t know why the bumpkin is pouting. Without Sienna, she wouldn’t even have that $2,400. Be grateful!] They were right. I was getting ahead of myself. I should have just been happy to help Sienna for free. I went to my room, flopped onto the bed, and texted Adrian. Me: [Babe, stop sending me money.] Adrian: [? Why?] Me: [I don’t like men who are reckless with their finances. It’s not attractive.] The “typing…” indicator appeared and disappeared for a long time. Finally: Adrian: [Okay. If that’s what you want.] Me: [Good boy. I’m heading to bed. Get some rest, okay? Goodnight. [Kiss emoji]] The moment I sent it, I went stone-faced and deleted the messages from the log. I didn’t want the $2,400 either. Honestly, Adrian’s company was starting to be its own reward. 6 I chatted with Adrian for another three days. I realized he was like a high-maintenance purebred dog. If I didn’t pay attention to him for an hour, he’d start whining—metaphorically. Since I couldn’t spend all day at work on my phone, I decided to make him a “comfort toy.” I pulled three all-nighters and spent my weekend coding a mini-game. On Monday morning, Adrian texted: [Babe, I miss you.] I sent him the download link. [Download this.] Adrian: [Done.] Me: [See the little character inside?] Adrian: [I see her. She’s cute. Did… did you make this?] Me: [Yeah. I’ve been in a lot of meetings lately for a new project, so if I don’t reply, you can play with her instead.] Adrian: [Did you make this specifically for me?] Me: [Of course. You can think of her as me. You can DIY her outfits and everything. She’s your exclusive digital doll from now on.] Silence from Adrian’s end. The comments erupted: [Childish.] [Manipulative.] [Cheap.] [This is why she’s a nobody. Such a tacky gift. Does she know Sienna and Adrian met on a high-stakes RPG? He’s not going to care about some low-res mobile pet.] I shrugged. Who cares about “high-end”? This was about companionship. If he didn’t like it, he didn’t like it.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “548327”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 At the welcome-home dinner for Sloane’s childhood friend, someone suggested a game of “Confession Box.” Sloane lost. Her penalty was to admit to one thing she’d done that made her feel guilty. She glanced at me, then began to speak—not in English, but in fluid, rhythmic French. “Truth is, six months ago, I didn’t fly to London to see my best friend. I went to Paris to take care of Harrison because he was going through a rough patch and drinking himself into a hole.” I froze. The warmth in my eyes died instantly. Seeing that I didn’t react, she continued in French, her tone airy and dismissive. “I was supposed to fly back the next day, but Harrison told me he couldn’t stand to see me go. I’m a sucker for him. I stayed a whole week.” A sharp, cold tremor ran through my chest. So, the “girls’ trip” she’d raved about for a week was a lie. She’d been in a Parisian hotel with Harrison Pierce. Harrison sat beside her, a smug grin playing on his lips as he replied in the same tongue. “Aren’t you afraid Grant will find out if you say it out loud?” Sloane rolled her eyes, her expression thick with indifference. “Please. He’s a local townie. He barely passed high school English; he doesn’t know a word of French.” My “best friend,” Ben, chimed in, offering his own brand of betrayal in French. “Yeah, he’s from the sticks. He didn’t go to a prep school like us. I’ve been teaching myself for a few years, so I caught that. Don’t worry, Sloane—even if he suspects something, I’ll cover for you guys.” I stared at Ben, the shock vibrating in my marrow. I couldn’t believe he was part of this. Around the table, the others smothered their laughter, watching me as if I were a circus animal performing for their amusement. They all thought I was deaf to their insults. What they didn’t know was that I had spent three years in Lyon. I didn’t just understand French; I held a permanent residency permit. But I didn’t snap. I didn’t break down. Instead, I calmly pulled out my phone and sent a single text. Dad, I’m ready. I’ll go through with the merger. I’m coming home to take over the company. The atmosphere in the private dining room turned icy. All eyes were on me. Some looked at me with pity. Others with mockery. Sloane, noticing my grim expression, let out a dry laugh. “Alright, everyone, I’ll stop being mysterious. There’s no big secret.” She turned to me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Grant gets in his head so easily. Let’s not tease him; he can’t handle it.” Harrison let out a performative ‘Oh.’ “So Grant’s the jealous type? Well, I guess I’ll keep Sloane’s little ‘secret’ to myself then!” Ben was quick to back him up. “It wouldn’t matter anyway. Sloane and Harrison grew up together. They’ve known each other longer than they’ve known how to read. I’m sure Grant is man enough to accept that kind of bond.” The rest of the table watched me with strange, hungry eyes. They were emboldened by the language barrier, whispering little secrets in French as if I weren’t even there. Even my best friend was reveling in the deception. Sloane started chirping again in French, “Harrison is so much more attentive than Grant. My back was killing me that week in Paris, and he massaged it every single night.” The table erupted in suggestive hoots and whistles. A surge of white-hot rage boiled in my gut. I couldn’t take another second of it. My hand, which had been resting on my wine glass, tightened until my knuckles turned white. Slam! I smashed the glass onto the mahogany table. The silence that followed was deafening. The laughter died in their throats. Before I could even speak, Sloane’s sharp voice cut through the air. “What the hell is wrong with you, Grant? What kind of tantrum is this?” I stared her down, my voice low and dangerous. “What are you guys talking about? Is there something going on between you and Harrison that I should know about?” Sloane knitted her brows, her face a mask of practiced irritation. “You know exactly what he is to me. Are you really going to start this again? Are you really that insecure?” Ben jumped in, his voice patronizing. “Man, don’t be so small-minded. They’re practically family. Whatever they do is innocent by default.” I was shaking, my teeth gritted so hard my jaw ached. “Insecure? If I’m just imagining things, then why don’t you translate exactly what you all were just saying?” The table went silent. The air grew thick and stagnant. Harrison tried to de-escalate with a greasy smile. “Hey, hey, it’s fine. We were just reminiscing about old times. If those memories bother you that much, Grant, just think of me as Sloane’s ‘sister.’ We’re that close.” I looked at his punchable face and glared. “Sister? That’s funny. I didn’t realize sisters carried XY chromosomes.” Harrison hadn’t expected me to bite back. His face went pale. To defend her ‘sister,’ Sloane stood up abruptly and swung. The slap echoed through the room. “Enough!” she screamed. “Harrison hasn’t said a single thing wrong! My relationship with him is what it is. You have no right to interrogate him!” My cheek burned, and I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Sloane didn’t even flinch. She didn’t look at me with an ounce of regret. She grabbed her purse, pulled Harrison up by his arm, and headed for the door. “You’re such a buzzkill. You ruined his welcome dinner for nothing. Come on, everyone, we’re going to a lounge. Let’s leave him to his temper tantrum.” The group filtered out of the room. As Ben passed me, he gave me a ‘sympathetic’ pat on the shoulder. “Sloane and Harrison are a package deal, man. You’re just hurting yourself being this petty.” When the door clicked shut, the silence of the massive room swallowed me whole. My hand was still gripping the shards of the broken glass. I didn’t even realize my palm was bleeding until the red stained the white tablecloth. I didn’t go home. I went to a dive bar on the edge of town. I ordered the strongest bourbon they had and downed it in one go. As the alcohol burned its way down, the memories started to flood back. When Sloane and I first started dating, Harrison was still studying abroad. She had been upfront about him being her “most important person.” They grew up in the same wealthy suburb, went to the same private schools, and studied French together in college. Then Harrison’s family made a fortune in tech, moved to a gated community, and sent him off to Europe. Back then, their contact seemed harmless. Checking in, wishing each other well. Nothing over the line. Even Ben had been a loyal friend to me back then. I never imagined that Harrison’s return would reveal such a grotesque betrayal. A week in Paris. I didn’t want to think about what they did. I couldn’t think about it. And Ben… the man I called my brother… he had been their lookout. The pain in my chest was suffocating, a dull, throbbing ache that eventually turned into a cold numbness. I was halfway through my third glass when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Ben. It was a photo of Harrison slumped in Sloane’s lap at the lounge, her fingers running through his hair. Then came the follow-up: Harrison’s trashed. Come pick us up and drive us home. I flipped the phone face down on the bar and laughed a dry, hollow laugh. Even now, they saw me as nothing more than an unpaid Uber driver. I called a car and went home. When I walked through the door, I found all three of them in the living room. Harrison was passed out on the sofa, mumbling nonsense. Sloane was beside him, tenderly wiping his forehead with a cool cloth. I had never seen her look at me with that kind of softness. Not once. She looked up, her face instantly hardening. “Why didn’t you come get us? I texted you an hour ago.” I walked in, a sarcastic smirk on my face. “You wanted me to drive drunk? Is that the plan?” Sloane sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “You went out drinking? Who gave you permission to do that?” I ignored her and headed for the bedroom. “Wait,” she called out. “Help Ben get Harrison into the bedroom.” “The bedroom?” I stopped. Sloane spoke as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “Yes. He’s too drunk to go back to his place. He’s staying here tonight.” I frowned. “If he’s staying, he can sleep on the sofa.” Sloane’s face contorted with anger. “Harrison is a Pierce. He’s used to luxury. He can’t sleep on a cheap couch.” Ben chimed in from the corner. “Yeah, Grant. Not everyone is as ‘hardy’ and ‘rugged’ as you are. Don’t be a dick.” Their tag-team insults made my blood run cold. I didn’t have the energy left to fight. I helped Ben haul Harrison’s limp body into our bedroom and dumped him onto the mattress. My head was spinning from the bourbon. I just wanted to crash. But before I could even sit down on the edge of the bed, Sloane shoved me toward the door. “Out. I’m staying here to keep an eye on him. Go sleep on the sofa.” I stared at her, genuinely shocked. “You’re sleeping in our bed with him? Are you insane? Do you have any idea how this looks?” Sloane’s eyes flared with impatience. “So what? Harrison and I have been through everything together. He’s the most important person in my life. It’s just sleep. Grow up.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. “Besides, his family is elite. If I let him get sick or leave him unattended, do you have any idea what that could do to my social standing? Now, get out.” I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died in my throat. There was nothing left to say. Sloane didn’t wait. She grabbed my arm and shoved me into the hallway. Slam. The door shut, locking me out of my own life. I stood there for a long time, my fists clenched at my sides. Ben walked toward the front door to leave, pausing to give me a mocking grin. “Don’t just stand there, buddy. You’ll wake them up.” I stood in the dark hallway for thirty minutes. It wasn’t until I heard the muffled sound of giggling and playful splashing from the master bath that I finally moved. I walked into the kitchen, picked up my phone, and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Dad,” I said, my voice steady. “Set up the meeting with the Montgomerys tomorrow. I’m ready for the merger.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “548326”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve spent three years as the secret wife of Gideon Montgomery, the CEO of Montgomery Holdings. The first year, I was drowning in the workplace. My manager, a petty man named Rick, went out of his way to make my life a living hell. I couldn’t stomach the humiliation anymore and wanted to go public with our marriage. Gideon didn’t even look up from his laptop. “Don’t be dramatic over a little office politics,” he said. The second year, Victoria—Gideon’s “one that got away”—returned from London and was fast-tracked into a senior VP role. The entire company was obsessed with them, shipping them as the ultimate power couple. Fuming, I tried to mark my territory. Gideon’s rejection was cold. “Keep your jealousy in check, Sienna. You need to learn to separate the professional from the personal.” The third year, after losing a major project bid to Victoria, I watched her “accidentally” sweep my months of hard work into the trash can with a flick of her wrist. I couldn’t help it. I broke down. Gideon didn’t offer a tissue. He stood over me, looking down at my tears with clinical detachment. “If your work wasn’t inferior, you wouldn’t have lost,” he said. “Learn to take the L and move on.” Maybe it was guilt, or maybe it was a calculated move to keep me quiet, but Gideon finally decided it was time to take our marriage public. I refused without a second thought. He frowned, genuinely confused. “Isn’t this what you’ve been begging for? What more do you want?” I pressed my hands together, almost in prayer, begging him. “Please, don’t. I have some dignity left. Every single person in this building has walked all over me at some point. If they find out the CEO’s wife was this much of a pushover, I’ll be the laughingstock of the company Slack channels for the rest of my life.” More than going public, I just wanted a divorce. I wanted to bury this embarrassing marriage and let it rot. 1 “She had a miscarriage.” That was the rumor flying around the office. After losing the project to Victoria, I’d had a screaming match with Gideon in the conference room. Mid-argument, the world went black, and I collapsed. To make matters worse, my period had decided to arrive unannounced and aggressive. My white trousers were stained crimson. When Gideon carried me out of the office, his face was a mask of terror. I heard a male colleague whisper, “Look at all that blood. Do you think it’s a miscarriage? My sister almost lost hers last week, and it looked just like that.” Gideon, usually as unshakeable as a mountain, turned deathly pale. He tightened his grip on me, his knuckles white. He drove like a madman, blowing through red lights until we reached the hospital. It wasn’t a miscarriage. It was just low blood sugar and exhaustion. As Gideon stared at the lab results, the tremors in his hands finally subsided. He knelt by my hospital bed and spoke the only soft words I’d heard from him in months. “Sienna… don’t be angry anymore. I was wrong.” The anger I’d been suppressing flared up again. “Gideon, you don’t have to apologize just because I’m in a hospital bed. You were wrong long before I fainted.” “You didn’t even listen to my full presentation,” I continued, my voice trembling. “You walked in, stayed for five minutes, and gave the win to Victoria. Do you honestly think that was fair?” “And are you blind? She intentionally swept my proposal into the trash.” Gideon’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t argue. He just said, “If it means that much to you, I’ll authorize a separate budget for a different project for you.” I remembered what he’d said in the conference room: What’s your proof? Just your ‘feelings’? You lost because you weren’t good enough. Don’t use our relationship to act out. Now, he was “softening,” but the core of it hadn’t changed. He still thought I was just being difficult. I felt a dull ache in my chest. I’d already been diagnosed with two stress-related breast nodules during the check-up. I didn’t want a third. I forced myself to be calm. “Gideon, go back to work. Don’t let me keep you.” “I’ll have someone come stay with me while I finish the tests.” Gideon stood up, his expression darkening. “Suit yourself.” 2 Being at a high-end private clinic meant things moved quickly. After the tests, Jenna sat with me in the room, waiting for the final discharge papers. The suite was spacious and bright, more like a hotel than a hospital. Jenna sighed, looking around. “I have to admit, Mr. Montgomery is actually a decent guy for setting you up in a place like this. Maybe I should faint from low blood sugar too if it gets me a company-sponsored spa day.” I adjusted my contact lenses, feeling a bit guilty. I was only here because I was the CEO’s wife, a secret I couldn’t share. “He’s probably just worried I’ll sue the company for wrongful death,” I joked. Jenna looked at my stomach and joined in. “There goes your imaginary settlement, kid. You could’ve made your mom a billionaire.” “But seriously, Sienna,” she leaned in, “Were you scared when the miscarriage rumors started? The whole office is talking.” I thought about it for a second. “Scared? Honestly, a miscarriage isn’t the scary part. Actually being pregnant with his child—that’s the nightmare.” “Thank God it was just low blood sugar.” A loud thud came from the en-suite bathroom, like something had been dropped. Jenna started to go check the door, but it opened first. Gideon stepped out, looking absolutely livid. He was holding a bowl of freshly washed grapes. Jenna froze, her hand halfway to the door. She clearly started mentally replaying everything we’d just said. I tried to give everyone an out. “Thank you for the fruit basket, Mr. Montgomery. The company really does treat its employees like family.” “But I’m fine now. If you’re busy, please don’t feel obligated to stay.” I thought I’d played it perfectly. Professional, distant, polite. But Gideon’s jaw tightened. He repeated the word “family” under his breath, his eyes boring into mine, waiting for me to say something else. “I mean it, Mr. Montgomery,” I added. “I’m not trying to overstep. It’s just that the benefits here are great. I feel right at home.” If I wasn’t mistaken, his lips thinned into a hard, straight line. After a long silence, he looked at Jenna. “Thank you for looking after Sienna. Your absence today will be recorded as a paid work day.” Jenna nodded like a frantic bobblehead. “It was no trouble, sir! We’re a team. No, we’re family!” Gideon didn’t correct her this time. He just turned and walked out. 3 Jenna left shortly after the results came back. I decided to stay the night at the clinic just to avoid the hassle of going home. I didn’t expect Gideon to return, but he showed up later that evening with a container of shrimp wonton soup—my favorite. I was still mad at him, but I wasn’t about to take it out on the food. I opened the steaming container and put on a mindless sitcom to fill the silence. Gideon sat in the chair next to the bed, working on his laptop as if nothing had happened. It hit me then that we hadn’t actually shared a meal like this in ages. Out of 365 days a year, he spent 200 at the office—where we had to act like strangers—and another 130 on business trips. My only time with him was usually at mandatory family dinners. Last month, Victoria had been on a month-long trip with him. As I chewed, I realized she’d had four more days of his time this year than I had. The wonton suddenly felt like a lump of lead in my throat. I couldn’t eat another bite. Gideon noticed. He quietly took the container, capped it, and tossed it in the trash. “Sienna,” he said, his voice level. “You’ve always wanted to go public, haven’t you?” “After what happened today, it’s probably better if we just tell everyone. It’ll stop the gossip.” “What gossip?” I asked, genuinely tired. “That I had low blood sugar and my period? It’s fine. We don’t need to.” The blue light from his laptop screen cast a cold, sharp glow over his features. “Why not? That’s all you’ve ever wanted.” Why not? I thought about the manager who called me an idiot last week. I thought about my expense reports that were constantly being “misplaced.” I thought about how I had to beg other departments for basic cooperation because I was at the bottom of the food chain. The realization hit me with total clarity. Going public now wouldn’t save me; it would destroy what was left of my pride. I pressed my hands together again, pleading. “Really, Gideon. Don’t. I can’t afford that kind of humiliation. Everyone in that office has stepped on me at some point. If they find out I’m the ‘Lady of the House’ after being treated like a doormat for three years, I’ll never be able to show my face again. They’ll laugh at me forever.” “I’m begging you. Let’s just get a divorce instead.” 4 To be honest, during the first two years, I was desperate for him to acknowledge me. This year, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. The first time I wanted to go public was because of my first manager, Rick. He thought I was “pretty,” so he kept trying to “accidentally” touch my hand during meetings. I wore my YSL stilettos and stepped on his toes every single time he tried it. He couldn’t scream without admitting what he was doing, so he took it out on my career instead. He called me a “clueless bimbo.” He whispered that I must have slept my way into the job. I remember laughing to myself. I did sleep my way here. With the man who signs your paychecks. I used to fantasize about the look on his face when he found out. One night, I went home and used eye drops to fake tears, planning to tell Gideon everything. Gideon was working. He didn’t even look up. “Sienna, what did I tell you when you started?” “The office isn’t a playground. If you expect me to solve every little problem for you, you should just stay home.” It stung. So, I did what any frustrated wife would do—I called his mother. After she hung up on me, she called Gideon. I pressed my ear to his study door, waiting for him to get scolded. But I was the one who lost. Gideon’s voice was calm, tinged with exhaustion. “Mom, you were the one who insisted she work here. If she can’t handle it, that’s on her. I don’t have the energy for these games.” “She wants to be like Victoria? Then she needs to put in the work. Instead, she spends ten times more effort on her outfits than her projects. At least Victoria never bothered me with trivial things like this.” I didn’t need the eye drops anymore. The tears were real. He wasn’t wrong, though. I only took the job because of Victoria. Even before we married, I knew about her. She was the ex-girlfriend he actually respected. She was independent, brilliant, and fierce. They were equals who challenged each other. Gideon’s mother hated her, which led to constant friction until Victoria finally quit, took her team to a rival firm, and left Gideon behind. That was my opening. Gideon was always cold, always busy. He liked high-achievers. I thought if I worked hard and became someone he could respect, he’d eventually love me. But after a few months, all I’d done was prove his initial assessment right: Sienna, you won’t last. 5 I cried half the night and was late for work the next day. Rick was waiting for me, ready to tear me apart in front of the whole department. I had my resignation letter in my bag, ready to slap it onto his desk. But before I could, Emily, the Department Head, issued a formal reprimand against Rick for conduct violations. Later that day, I bought Emily a coffee to thank her. She took a sip, glanced at the corner of the resignation envelope sticking out of my bag, and typed away at her keyboard. “Don’t run away now,” she said calmly. “It’s much more satisfying to leave after you’ve actually accomplished something. To walk out the front door with your head held high.” “By the way,” she added, “that’s a great dress.” Because I looked good, I decided I couldn’t afford to leave looking like a loser. The next day, Rick was fired. I felt a surge of renewed energy, shoved my resignation letter into the back of my drawer, and got back to work. 6 The second time I wanted to go public was when Victoria “crashed” back into the company. The veteran employees knew their history. Rumors of a rekindled flame spread like wildfire. Jenna pulled me into a private group chat. “I can’t believe he’s letting her back in after she stabbed him in the back like that.” “Love is blind, I guess. They’re the ultimate power couple.” There was a photo someone had snuck of them. Gideon was listening to Victoria’s presentation, and his usual icy expression had thawed into a faint smile. It was a look of pure admiration. I was fuming by the time I got home. “How could you hire her back?” I demanded in bed. “She’s your ex!” Gideon leaned in to kiss my cheek, his tone dismissive. “The project she brought is genuinely interesting. Business is business, Sienna. I’m not going to turn down a profit over a personal history.” “Besides, how else am I going to buy you those designer bags?” I pulled away. “Do you think I’m not as good as her?” The mood was ruined. Gideon sat up, put on his robe, and sighed. “No. You’re much prettier than Victoria. Now, if you’re not interested, I have work to do.” 7 To be fair, Gideon and Victoria were professional. They worked, they traveled, they argued. Victoria was probably the only person who could slam Gideon’s office door and get away with it. The company gossip was loud, but Gideon never gave me a “smoking gun.” I tried to ignore it until Jenna sent me a link to a company forum post. Apparently, Gideon had punched a client during a dinner meeting because the guy was being handsy with Victoria. Jenna remarked, “Mr. Montgomery is such a stand-up guy, protecting his female staff like that.” I was chewing my lunch, my heart sinking. “Yeah… stand-up guy.” Of course, sexual harassment is wrong. He did the right thing. But the resentment from my own experiences with Rick came flooding back, making me physically nauseous. Shortly after, Emily went on maternity leave. She’d been pushing herself too hard and had fainted twice at the office. She wanted to finish the new AI design project before leaving, but her body wouldn’t let her. Since I’d worked my way up to a senior role, the project landed on my desk. This was my chance to go head-to-head with Victoria. For Emily, and for my own sanity, I refused to lose. I worked 80-hour weeks. I skipped meals. I had countless late-night Zoom calls with Emily from her hospital bed to perfect the proposal. Gideon saw it all. One night, he touched my shoulder and sighed. “Sienna, you don’t have to try to be Victoria. You don’t have to push yourself this hard.” I wanted to scream at him, but I was too exhausted to speak. I fell asleep where I sat. I used to believe that Gideon, with his “business is business” mantra, was at least fair. I was wrong. The final vote for the project sat with Gideon. He arrived halfway through the presentations and cast his deciding vote for Victoria. The room erupted in applause. Victoria beamed. “Dinner’s on me tonight, everyone!” As she walked past me, her hip “accidentally” brushed my proposal off the desk and into the trash can. “Oh, sorry,” she said, her voice devoid of any actual apology. “Didn’t see it there.” The hatred I felt for Gideon in that moment was visceral. After everyone left, I broke down in the conference room. Gideon came back in. I started screaming at him through my sobs. I was hyperventilating, losing my grip on reality. His only response was a frustrated scowl. “You’re really starting to act like Victoria now. The drama is unnecessary.” I slapped him across the face and fainted. 8 Gideon stared at me, his glasses off, his eyes searching mine. “Sienna, are you threatening me with a divorce? I told you, I’ll give you another project. Is this really just about that one bid? Or is this about your obsession with crushing Victoria?” “The office isn’t a battlefield for your personal vendettas.” I looked at him, one last test of his heart. “And if it is? If I say I want that project and her gone?” He packed his laptop, a cold sneer on his face. “Then you’re being delusional. Throwing a tantrum won’t get you what you want.” I felt a new ache in my chest. I realized then that I would never be able to hold my head up in this company. The prejudice against me was baked into the walls. I took a few days of medical leave. Gideon didn’t even text to check on me. We were officially in a cold war. 9 During my time off, Emily’s baby was born—a beautiful little girl. I bought a set of gold Tiffany bracelets and a necklace for the baby. Naturally, I put it on Gideon’s black card. “I’m quitting, Emily,” I said as I rocked the baby. “But it feels so pathetic. Leaving right after a loss.” Emily sipped her coffee, looking as regal and sharp as ever. “Don’t see yourself as a victim, Sienna. Losing one bid doesn’t define you. Sometimes the judge just has bad taste.” “If you believe in your ideas, go build them. Prove it with results.” She winced at the bitterness of her coffee. “Honestly, I think Gideon has lost his mind, giving a generative design project to Victoria. She has no eye for aesthetics.” That was the encouragement I needed. I hit ‘send’ on my resignation email. Since I wasn’t a C-suite executive, the HR notification wouldn’t go to Gideon immediately. “Emily, once you’re off maternity leave… do you want to start something of our own? I have the capital.” Emily smiled at me. “I thought you’d never ask.” 10 I had two weeks of notice to serve. When Gideon realized I wasn’t coming home to the villa anymore, he stopped staying at the office. One morning, as I went to call my usual Uber, he signaled for his driver to pull up. He’d already had my regular car sent back to the garage. We sat in the back of the Maybach in stifling silence. Gideon was scrolling through his iPad, his brow furrowing deeper with every slide. Eventually, he clicked it shut. “Sienna, are you really planning on never speaking to me again?” He was right. That was exactly the plan. The sunlight hit his hand, making the diamond on his ring finger flash painfully. I remembered a time I’d accidentally worn my wedding ring to the office after a family brunch. Gideon had texted me: [Stop trying to drop hints. Take it off.] I’d been so angry I threw the ring into the back of my desk drawer. Now, he was the one wearing his. “I found a better project for you,” he said, reaching out to take my hand. “Stop being angry, Sienna.” I pulled my hand away. “Did you pick Victoria because she was better, or because you wanted to put me in my place?” Gideon exhaled sharply. “Can we stop going in circles? The decision is made. Do you really expect me to look like a fool and strip the project from her now?” “I understand,” I said quietly. “The divorce isn’t a joke, Gideon. Asset division will be complicated. Get a good lawyer; I won’t be easy on you.” As we approached the corner near the office, I told the driver to stop. The driver glanced at Gideon. Gideon’s face was stone. “Didn’t you hear her? Stop the car.” As I stepped out, I looked at his ring. “Mr. Montgomery, stop trying to drop hints. We’re just colleagues. And soon, we won’t even be that.” I walked across the crosswalk, the morning breeze feeling like the first breath of fresh air in three years. 11 The rumors about Gideon and Victoria were reaching a fever pitch. The office was split. My team thought Victoria’s team were a bunch of “insider-trading” sycophants. Her team thought we were “sore losers” with no class. On my last day, the tension finally snapped. It started in the breakroom. Someone from my team was whispering about Victoria’s “special relationship” with the boss. Victoria and her entourage walked right in. “With your team’s lack of vision, it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long,” someone from Victoria’s side snapped. “Stop acting like you care about ‘fairness’ just because you’re not the ones with the connection.” “Are you saying you wouldn’t want the CEO’s favor if you could get it? Sour grapes, darling. And these grapes taste pretty sweet to us.” Then someone directed a comment at me. “Some people think they can just be ‘pretty’ and throw a fit in the conference room when they lose. Victoria won because she has grace. You’re just a mess, Sienna.” I stood there, holding my coffee, realized that “pretty” was the only thing people saw. Then, one of my younger assistants piped up. “I saw Mr. Montgomery wearing a wedding ring. He might already be married. Careful you don’t end up being the ‘other woman’ without knowing it.” Victoria’s face went pale. She looked at me, her eyes darting with sudden realization. Jenna and I managed to pull our team away before a physical fight broke out. “This place is a glorified kindergarten,” I muttered to Jenna. “Always has been,” she replied. The corporate world is just a giant stage built by amateurs. No matter the degrees or the titles, people will always gossip. It’s the only way they survive the grind. I finished my coffee. “Goodbye, Jenna. I’m moving to a different kindergarten.” 12 I started packing my things. It felt like a retreat. Like I was a soldier deserting the field. I placed my ID badge on the desk and turned to leave. Victoria blocked my way. She “accidentally” bumped into me, sending my box of personal belongings crashing to the floor. She leaned down, a smug smile on her face. “Going back to be a housewife? That’s probably for the best. The professional world isn’t for everyone.” The malice in her voice was unmistakable. She knew. She knew I was Gideon’s wife. She must have loved watching me lose. So what if she’s the wife? She’s still inferior to me. I realized I’d lost so much face over the years without even knowing it. Luckily, I was wearing my YSL stilettos today. I stood up and stepped on her foot—hard. “Oh, sorry,” I said, my voice dripping with fake concern. “My foot slipped. I didn’t mean to.” She gasped, her face contorting in pain. She raised her hand to slap me, but someone caught her wrist mid-air. Gideon stood there, his expression dark. He shoved her hand down and knelt to help me pick up my things. In the middle of the chaos, a colleague picked up a stray ring from the floor. “Um, excuse me… whose is this?” It was my wedding ring. The diamonds caught the light—a perfect match to the one on Gideon’s finger. “I have no idea,” I said, looking the girl straight in the eye. “Maybe it fell out of Mr. Montgomery’s pocket.” Gideon stood up, took the ring, and dropped it into my box. The room went silent. I gave a dry laugh. “How generous, Mr. Montgomery. Giving away wedding rings to departing staff? How very… supportive.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “548325”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

We were filming a high-stakes reality special—the kind where celebrities are forced into “vulnerable” moments for the sake of ratings. The host, a man with a smile as polished as his veneers, leaned forward. “Imagine this is the end. If you could only leave one letter before you died, what would you write?” My hand trembled slightly as I gripped the pen. I stared at the blank stationery, the studio lights hot against my neck, and wrote down three wishes. When it was my turn to share, I stood up, my voice a brittle thread. “First… I wish for everyone to forget me.” Before the words had even settled, a sharp, cold sneer sliced through the silence. “Still as narcissistic as ever, Elena?” Hudson St. Claire sat across from me, his face a mask of frosted glass. He didn’t even look up from his own paper as he twisted the knife. “You really think you’re that important? Trust me, the world isn’t going to stop spinning because you’re gone. No one is going to spend their lives mourning a ghost.” I offered him a small, weary smile. I didn’t fight back. I didn’t have the energy anymore. He didn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know. That letter wasn’t a hypothetical exercise. It was my actual will. 1 We were halfway through the filming schedule, and the crew had already grown used to Hudson’s relentless hostility toward me. Every time he went for my throat, the host would jump in with a practiced, nervous laugh to smooth things over. “Hudson has such a… sharp wit, doesn’t he?” the host stammered, sweating under the LEDs. He turned to me, his eyes pleading for a transition. “Elena, darling, why don’t you finish the rest of your list for us?” I kept my expression neutral, my “red carpet” mask firmly in place. “The second wish is to find a new home for Barnaby. And the last… is to donate my entire estate to the foster care foundations I’ve worked with over the years.” Seeing the confusion on the other guests’ faces, I added, “Barnaby is my cat. A little tuxedo stray I picked up years ago.” The others nodded, their expressions softening into that shallow celebrity sympathy. But Barnaby wasn’t just my cat. He was our cat. I remembered the night we found him. It was a torrential downpour in Manhattan, the kind of rain that feels like the sky is collapsing. The kitten had followed me for three blocks, meowing at my heels. I’d scooped him up, my heart breaking for the shivering thing. Hudson had hated it at first. He wasn’t an “animal person.” He’d complain every time he had to change the litter, holding his nose and grumbling about the mess. But he was the one who spent hours researching the best organic kibble. He was the one who filled our penthouse with enough cat trees and automated toys to start a sanctuary. Then came the blowout. The end of us. And when I left, Hudson made sure I took Barnaby with me. Predictably, Hudson couldn’t let my answer sit. “How touching,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “So detailed, Elena. You better actually be dying, otherwise, this whole ‘saintly’ routine is just pathetic.” The air in the studio turned to ice. The other guests had given vague, poetic answers about “love” and “legacy.” My specific, practical list made me look like I was seeking attention—or like I was morbidly obsessed. The host stood there, frozen, unsure of how to salvage the segment. Then, Liam Crawford, my co-star from my last series, spoke up. He reached over and placed a steadying hand on my arm. “Hudson, maybe try keeping it professional? We’re on camera.” Liam unscrewed a bottle of water and handed it to me. I took it, my fingers brushing his. Liam and I had just finished a massive romantic drama that was currently tearing up the streaming charts. The fans were obsessed with our “chemistry,” and the studio had encouraged us to lean into the “showmance” for PR. Facing Hudson’s unexplained rage, I welcomed Liam’s protection. Hudson’s eyes locked onto my hand gripping the water bottle. His jaw tightened so hard I thought I heard a crack. Just when I expected him to unleash another insult, he looked down, his voice dropping to a strange, hollow tone. “I’m thirsty.” I blinked, confused by the sudden shift. I held out the water Liam had just given me. Hudson took it. He didn’t drink. He just twirled the bottle between his fingers, staring at it with a dark, indecipherable intensity. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the full bottle into the trash can beside his chair. He looked Liam dead in the eye, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Sorry. I don’t drink that brand.” It was a display of pure, unadulterated arrogance. But Hudson was the scion of the St. Claire empire; he was untouchable. Nobody dared to call him out. The host wiped his brow, his voice trembling. “Well! Hudson, would you like to share what you wrote in your letter?” Hudson smiled. For a moment, he looked like the man I had once loved—charming, effortless, breathtaking. “Sure.” The camera panned to his stationery. The audience gasped. Across the big screen, Hudson’s elegant, aggressive handwriting was impossible to miss. He had written: Before I die, I’m taking Elena Rossi down with me. He read it aloud, his voice lingering on my name like a threat. The other guests looked at me with pity. I just sat there, my face a blank slate. I couldn’t blame him for hating me. The way I ended things… it was messy. It was cruel. It was designed to make him walk away. 2 Hudson’s love had always been a beautiful, suffocating thing. He was possessive, intense, and he wanted all of me. But as an actress, my life didn’t belong to me. My last project with Liam had featured a heavily publicized, intimate scene. When Hudson found out, he was livid. He demanded we go public with our relationship. He wanted to mark his territory, to tell the world I was his so that the rumors about me and Liam would die. “Not now, Hudson,” I had told him. “The show is at its peak. My contract has a ‘single’ clause for PR. Just wait until the finale airs.” His eyes had gone bloodshot with hurt. He didn’t scream. He just looked at me as if I were a stranger. Then he walked out. I got tied up with reshoots and press junkets. By the time I tried to call him a few days later, I was blocked on everything. He went off the grid. The next time I heard from him was via a notification. He had posted a photo of us on Instagram—an old, private one from a trip to the Hamptons. The caption was simple: @ElenaRossi is mine. The internet exploded. The servers nearly crashed. But I didn’t see the fallout until much later. Because on the day he posted that, I collapsed on set. I woke up in a sterile white room twenty-four hours later. The doctor didn’t offer a platitude. He just looked at me with that devastating professional pity and said, “Ms. Rossi, I’m so sorry. It’s Stage IV. It’s aggressive.” I didn’t cry. I just felt… hollow. Like the air had been sucked out of my lungs. My phone started screaming. It was my manager, frantic. He hadn’t dared call Hudson, so he rained fire on me. Why had Hudson posted that? We had to deny it. We had a brand to protect. Liam’s fans were revolting. I sat on the edge of the hospital bed for thirty minutes, listening to him talk about “marketability” and “narrative control.” I just kept saying “I’m sorry” and “I understand” until he finally hung up. I stared at the sunset through the hospital window. I should have called Hudson. I should have explained that the Liam rumors were fake, that I loved him, that I was ready to tell the world I was his. But what was the point now? Stage IV. Six months? A year? I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t make him watch me wither away. I couldn’t tie his vibrant, brilliant life to a sinking ship. With trembling fingers, I found his post and typed out a reply. Nice joke, Hudson. But you’re reaching. @HudsonStClaire. The backlash was instantaneous. My fans swarmed his comments. Stop trying to clout-chase off her success! This is borderline harassment. Elena would never be with someone so desperate. St. Claire is a creep. Cancel him. He became a national laughingstock overnight. There were rumors his family was so embarrassed they were cutting him off. And through it all, Hudson stayed silent. He didn’t leak our texts. He didn’t show the world the videos of us laughing in bed. He took the hit. He let the world believe he was a delusional stalker. A few days later, he sent me a single voice note. His voice, usually so confident, was cracked and small. “Elena… just tell me. Do you love me? Or was it all a script?” I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest that had nothing to do with the tumors. I swallowed the bile in my throat and typed back: I don’t love you. I never did. He never replied. Hudson St. Claire was many things, but he wasn’t a beggar. We were over. 3 Back in the studio, the host pushed through the awkwardness to the next segment: “Truth or Dare.” In this industry, everyone has secrets they’d kill to keep. Most people play it safe, but Seraphina Brooks was looking for blood. She’d hated me since I beat her out for the lead in The Emerald Gate. She lived to “accidentally” like hate-tweets about me. I lost the first round. Seraphina’s eyes gleamed. “Elena, darling. Truth or Dare?” “Truth,” I said, my voice steady. She leaned in, a shark sensing chum. “The question everyone wants to know. Did you and Hudson ever actually date? Or was he really just a ‘joke’ like you said?” The host went pale. The entire crew stopped moving. This was the forbidden topic—the one Hudson’s lawyers usually scrubbed from interviews. I felt Hudson’s gaze burning into the side of my face. He was waiting. I looked down at my hands, my nails digging into my palms. “We never dated,” I lied, the words tasting like ash. “There was never anything between us.” A collective gasp echoed through the room. Hudson let out a low, terrifying laugh. “See?” he said, his voice cold as a razor. “She said it herself. Why would I ever be with someone like Elena Rossi?” Under the table, I saw his hand tighten around his wine glass. The stem snapped. Shards of glass sliced into his palm, blood blooming red against the tablecloth. He didn’t even flinch. He just sat there, bleeding in silence. The producers called for an early wrap on the day’s filming. Most of the guests rushed to Hudson’s side, fawning over his injury. I felt a wave of dizziness and nausea. I slipped away to my dressing room, swallowed my medication, and collapsed into a dreamless sleep. I was woken up at 4:00 PM by a production assistant. We had to film a “communal dinner” segment where we cooked for each other. When I walked into the kitchen, Hudson was already there, leaning against the counter. His hand was bandaged. He looked at me with pure vitriol. “I hear Elena is quite the chef,” he mocked. “Why don’t you show us your skills? Or is that just another lie for your bio?” He was obsessed with me. Even now, he couldn’t stop. I looked at his bandaged hand and felt a pang of relief—at least he could still move his fingers. The other guests followed his lead. “Oh, Elena, you’ve got this!” Seraphina chirped. “We’re all so hungry!” “I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I’ll stay out of your way.” Within minutes, they had all vanished to the patio to drink cocktails, leaving me alone to prep a dinner for twelve. I was exhausted. My bones felt like lead. I started chopping vegetables, my vision blurring. I put a pan on the stove, but I lost focus. Suddenly, a flame flared up. A hand reached over my shoulder and slammed a lid onto the pan, extinguishing the fire. It was Liam. “I can’t cook worth a damn,” he said softly, “but I can wash and chop. Tell me what to do, Elena. You look like you’re about to faint.” 4 “Thank you,” I whispered, my eyes stinging. With Liam’s help, the meal came together. But as I was carrying the platters out to the terrace, I caught Hudson watching us from the shadows. I don’t know how long he’d been standing there, but his expression was unreadable, his eyes dark with a simmering hurt. I was too tired to care. I walked past him without a word. At the table, Hudson started again. He took one bite of the risotto and immediately spat it back into his napkin. “God, Elena,” he sneered. “Is your ‘great cooking’ just more PR? This is inedible.” I looked at him, and for the first time, I felt the weight of it all—the cancer, the secrets, the pretending. Why was he doing this? He used to beg me to cook for him on our nights off. He used to eat every grain of rice on the plate and tell me I was wasted on acting. I looked him straight in the eyes and smiled. It was a bright, terrifyingly calm smile. “It’s okay, Hudson,” I said softly. “Don’t worry. This is probably the last time you’ll ever have to eat anything I’ve made.” The insult he was about to hurl died on his lips. His smirk froze. Something shifted in his eyes—a flicker of genuine, raw fear. The rest of the dinner was silent. Hudson ate every bite of his portion after that, his left hand trembling under the table where he thought no one could see. Halfway through the meal, my stomach cramped violently. I dropped my fork and ran for the bathroom. I barely made it to the sink before I was dry-heaving. When I looked down, the white porcelain was splattered with bright, terrifying red. I frantically turned on the faucet, washing the blood away before anyone could see. When I walked back out, I bumped into Hudson in the hallway. He looked at my pale face, his brow furrowed. “Are you okay? You look like a ghost.” I felt a sudden, wicked urge to mess with him. “I’m pregnant,” I whispered. His eyes went wide. He actually stumbled back, his voice failing him. “Is… is it mine?” I let out a soft laugh. “I’m kidding, Hudson. Relax.” “Elena!” he yelled, but I was already walking away. I locked myself in my room and collapsed. It took twenty minutes before I could find the strength to crawl into bed and take my pain killers. As the pills began to numb the ache in my chest, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my mom. Elena, why did you wire me so much money this morning? Is everything okay? My throat tightened. Everything’s fine, Mom, I typed. I’m just going to be filming on location for a long time, and I won’t be able to check in much. Just wanted you to have some extra cushion. Take care of yourself. Okay, honey. I’ll put it in a high-yield account for you. Oh! I sent you a box of those homemade caramels you love. You know your blood sugar gets low when you’re stressed. Keep them in your pocket. I replied with a heart emoji. My mom had sacrificed everything to get us away from my abusive father when I was a teenager. She finally had a peaceful, happy life with her new husband and my younger half-sister. I couldn’t bring this darkness into her world. I wanted to live. God, I wanted to live. I wanted more movies, more mornings with Barnaby, more time. But the world doesn’t care what we want. The next morning, the crew took us up to a mountain ridge to watch the “Golden Hour” sunrise. I had been looking forward to this—one last beautiful thing before I went back to the hospital. But the hike was brutal. Every step felt like a battle against my own fading life. I fell to the back of the group, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Liam noticed. He doubled back and stood in front of me. “Get on my back,” he ordered. “Liam, I’m fine—” “You’re white as a sheet, Elena. Don’t be stubborn.” He hoisted me up before I could protest. “Why are you so light? Have you been eating at all?” “Prep for a new role,” I lied, resting my head on his shoulder.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “548324”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 When I was Eighteen, I fainted from a high fever right after washing my hair. Since that day, no matter how busy Reid Miller was, he always made time to blow-dry my hair. It was our ritual, a quiet constant in a decade of shared life. That was why, on the eve of our engagement gala, when I saw the twelve detailed memos in his phone about Tessa Marlowe, I still gave him one last chance to explain. He remembered everything for her: her stomach aches, her follow-up doctor appointments, her certification exams. He even had a recurring alert for when she needed to change her contact lenses. The last memo he’d written about me was from three years ago. Reid remained silent for a long time after I confronted him. Finally, he straightened his tie, his voice devoid of guilt. “Tessa is a regret, Sloane. But you… you’re the one I can actually build a life with.” He looked at me with those cool, grey eyes. “I promised the elders this engagement. I intend to take responsibility for you.” In that moment, the truth hit me with the force of a physical blow. Care isn’t the same as love. Responsibility isn’t the same as being chosen. That night, after my shower, I pulled away when he reached for the hairdryer. He unplugged it, stepping toward me to wrap both me and the towel in a heavy embrace from behind. “What are you hiding for?” he murmured, his breath warm against my neck. “You used to love this.” I pushed him back, my voice trembling but certain. “If you don’t actually want to marry me, Reid, stop making me believe you do.” The next morning, I cancelled the engagement. I couldn’t get a refund on the private dining hall I’d booked, so I turned it into a matchmaking lunch. My date, Gabriel Ashford, drove me home afterward. Seeing that I’d been caught in the drizzle, he naturally reached out to dry my damp hair with a soft cloth he kept in his car. Reid was standing in the shadows of my building’s hallway. He stared at Gabriel’s hand for a long time, his jaw tight, before he suddenly lunged forward and jerked me behind his back. “Are you really at the point where you’re replacing me for this, too?” “Sir, my fiancée’s hair is none of your concern,” Reid spat, his grip on my wrist painfully tight. Gabriel looked down at my reddening skin with a calm, predatory stillness. “Fiancée?” He offered a thin, sharp smile and turned to me. “Ms. Lane, when we were at lunch this morning, I believe you mentioned you were single.” Reid’s gaze snapped to mine, burning with a mix of shock and fury. “A matchmaking date?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sloane, are you so desperate to throw a tantrum that you’re hiring strangers to play a part?” I didn’t look at him. I simply nodded to Gabriel. “Thank you for the ride, Gabriel. I’ll treat you to dinner next time to make up for this.” “I’ll hold you to that,” Gabriel replied with effortless grace. “And about that project we discussed—call me anytime.” He gave a polite nod, ignored Reid entirely, and walked down the stairs. “Get inside,” Reid commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. I stayed exactly where I was. “I’ve already notified both our families, Reid. The engagement is off. We’re done.” “Done?” In two strides, he was in front of me. Before I could protest, he hoisted me over his shoulder. “Put me down!” I hammered my fists against his broad back, but it was like hitting a brick wall. He hauled me into the apartment, marched straight into the bathroom, and slammed the door, locking it behind us. He ripped the hairdryer from its hook, his eyes dark and shimmering with an unstable energy. “Where did he touch you? Your hair? Your face?” He clicked the dryer to its highest setting. The roar of the motor filled the small space as he forced the scorching air against my scalp. “Reid, you’re insane!” I reached out to swat the dryer away, and the scalding metal nozzle grazed the back of my hand, leaving a bright red streak. He froze, immediately killing the power. He grabbed my hand, his expression softening into a fractured kind of worry. “Why did you jump? I was just trying to dry it for you. Why do you have to fight me on everything lately?” He took a jagged breath. “Tessa posted on social media about not being able to find a place to stay near her new job. I simply let her use the empty condo under my name. That’s it.” “You canceled our engagement and went out with another man over a spare key?” “Just a house?” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “And the hospital follow-up yesterday? You were there with her, weren’t you?” A flash of caught-out surprise crossed his face, followed by an irritable tug at his collar. “She has no one here, Sloane. She’s fragile. Is it a crime to look after an old classmate?” “Right. She has no one,” I whispered, a bitter laugh escaping me. “Which is why you have to track her medication, her contact lens schedule, and her therapy appointments next month.” He went silent. The steam in the bathroom had dissipated, leaving only a biting chill. He reached out to touch my head, but I flinched away. His hand hung in the air, trembling slightly. “Sloane, don’t be unreasonable. I told you, you’re the one I’m spending my life with. What I feel for her is just… guilt. Regret that we didn’t say goodbye properly back then. How many times do I have to explain that?” A “proper goodbye.” For the sake of that one lingering regret, he was willing to trample over ten years of my devotion and then have the audacity to blame me for not being “understanding.” “You don’t have to explain anything ever again.” I pushed past him, walked to the foyer, and grabbed my bag. “The apartment is yours. I’m moving out.” Reid didn’t chase me. He just leaned against the bathroom doorframe, watching me with a cold, detached mask. “Sloane, it’s a torrential downpour out there. If you walk out that door right now, don’t expect me to come begging for you to come back tomorrow.” He was too used to my ten years of compliance. He thought he’d built a cage I’d never dare to leave. I opened the front door. The wind and rain lashed at my face. I looked back at him one last time. “Don’t worry, Reid. I won’t be waiting for you to beg.” 2 I spent a restless night in a hotel, the unfamiliar silence keeping me awake. The next morning, I went straight to the office. I’d barely sat down when my manager called me into the conference room, mentioning a VIP client for a major project. I opened the door and saw Gabriel Ashford. He was in a charcoal-grey suit today, looking every bit the ruthless power player, a far cry from the casual man who’d dried my hair the day before. “Sloane, this is Mr. Ashford, CEO of Aegis Group,” my manager introduced us with a grin. Gabriel stood and extended a hand. “Ms. Lane. A pleasure. I hope you didn’t catch a cold in the rain yesterday?” My manager blinked. “You two know each other?” “I had the distinct honor of dining with her yesterday,” Gabriel said smoothly. I forced myself to focus. Throughout the meeting, Gabriel was sharp, pointing out flaws in my proposal that I’d missed, but offering elegant, brilliant solutions for each. When we finished, my manager pointedly left me to see our guest out. In the hallway, Gabriel slowed his pace. “What happened to your hand?” His eyes were fixed on the burn mark. “Nothing. Just an accident.” “Buy some ointment,” he said, his voice quiet. “Don’t let it scar.” As we reached the lobby, we ran into a commotion. Several delivery men were hauling in massive crates of roses—long-stemmed, premium reds, arranged until they filled an entire corner of the reception area. “Ms. Sloane Lane? These are from Mr. Reid Miller. Nine hundred and ninety-nine roses. Please sign here.” The delivery man held out a gold-trimmed card. My colleagues were already whispering. “Looks like Miller is marking his territory again.” “Those roses cost more than my monthly mortgage.” I looked at the card. It had two words scrawled in Reid’s messy, arrogant script: Good night. “Send them back,” I said coldly. The delivery man stammered. “Ma’am? We can’t… they’ve already been delivered.” “Then leave them here. Anyone who wants one can take them.” I turned to walk away, but a black Porsche screeched to a halt at the curb. Reid climbed out, looking disheveled but fierce. When he saw me standing next to Gabriel, his expression turned murderous. “You don’t like the flowers?” He strode toward me, reaching for my waist. I stepped back, practically bumping into Gabriel. Gabriel didn’t hesitate; he shifted, putting his arm out to create a barrier between me and Reid. “Mr. Miller,” Gabriel said, his voice like silk over steel. “Ms. Lane is on the clock. Please don’t disrupt her work.” Reid laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. “And who the hell are you? Didn’t I warn you to stay away from my woman?” “Your memory is failing you,” Gabriel replied, unruffled. “Ms. Lane made it quite clear yesterday that there is no ‘us’ anymore.” “No ‘us’?” Reid grabbed my right hand, his eyes searching for the engagement ring he’d placed there three months ago. All that remained was a faint, pale mark where the band used to be. His breathing hitched. “Where’s the ring?” “In the trash.” “Sloane!” he hissed, his eyes rimmed with red. “Enough of this. My parents are hosting a gala tonight. Don’t force me to make a scene in front of everyone.” “The only person making a scene is you.” I tried to pry his fingers off me. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a specific ringtone—the sound of waves crashing. I knew it well. It was the special alert he’d set only for Tessa. Reid’s grip loosened instinctively. He checked the screen, his forehead creasing with worry. “Be at the gala on time,” he said, already turning back toward his car. “I’ll have a driver pick you up.” As he sped away, I found myself laughing—a small, hollow sound. Gabriel handed me a sanitizing wipe. “Wipe your hand. He left marks.” He paused, looking at me with an intensity that made my heart skip. “Sloane, do you want to partner with me and really show him what he’s lost?” 3 The gala hosted by the Miller family was intended to be the official announcement of our wedding date. I didn’t wait for a driver. I took an Uber and arrived exactly on time. The moment I stepped inside, I saw Tessa. She was wearing a cream-colored silk gown that was a size too big, the neckline slipping slightly. Reid was at her side, whispering to a server. A moment later, the server handed Tessa a glass of warm honey-lemon water. “Reid, really, I’m fine,” Tessa murmured. “It was just a little dizzy spell.” “Drink it,” Reid said, his tone brokering no argument. He naturally took her clutch from her hand so she could hold the glass. It was a gesture I had seen for ten years. Every time I had my period or felt under the weather, he would carry my things. Now, the transition of that privilege was seamless. “Sloane, you’re here. Why are you standing over there?” He’d spotted me. He beckoned me over as if the last three days of war hadn’t happened. I walked over. Tessa immediately shrank back, hiding slightly behind Reid’s shoulder. “Sloane… I’m so sorry. Reid was coming to get you, and I… I just didn’t feel well and begged him to let me tag along. Please don’t be angry.” I looked at her feet. She was wearing a pair of six-thousand-dollar crystal-encrusted heels. You don’t dress like you’re heading to a royal wedding just to “tag along” for a ride. “I’m not angry,” I said calmly. “If someone wants to sit in the passenger seat of your life, Reid, they’re welcome to it.” Reid’s jaw tightened. “Why the attitude? If Tessa hadn’t come, you probably would have stayed home sulking.” He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and shoved it into my hand. “I had my assistant pick out a new one this afternoon. The other one is gone, fine. Wear this. We’re seeing my parents in ten minutes.” I opened the box. It was a pink diamond, massive and gaudy. It wasn’t my style at all. The truth was, Reid didn’t know what I liked. For ten years, I’d convinced myself that loving someone meant loving what they gave you, so I never complained. It wasn’t until I saw the niche books, the specific art prints, and the artisanal ointments he bought for Tessa that I realized he could be thoughtful. He just didn’t want to expend the effort on me. “This is too expensive,” I said, placing the box on a nearby champagne table. “Save it for someone who appreciates it.” “Sloane!” He snapped, grabbing my shoulder and leaning in close. “Do you have any idea how important tonight is? You’ve been acting out for three days because of a man you met once. You’re losing your mind!” “Let go.” “Reid, don’t, people are looking,” Tessa intervened, her pale fingers fluttering onto Reid’s sleeve. Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s my fault. I’m such a burden… I’ll just leave…” She turned to run, but her heel “slipped.” She tumbled directly into Reid’s arms. He instinctively let go of me to catch her, holding her steady against his chest. The murmurs from the crowd rose like a tide. “Wasn’t he supposed to be engaged to the Lane girl?” “Isn’t that his college sweetheart? I heard she moved back from London.” The whispers stung, but they didn’t break me. Reid scooped Tessa up, ignoring me entirely. “Call the family doctor!” he shouted to a steward. As he brushed past me, Tessa, tucked against his heart, tilted her head just enough to give me a small, victorious smile. I didn’t move. I just watched his back. My phone buzzed. A text from Gabriel: Ready for the show? I typed back: Start the music. 4 In the center of the ballroom, Reid’s father, Richard Miller, was clinking glasses with the board members. I didn’t approach him yet. I watched as Tessa, having “recovered” and changed into a fresh wrap, walked back into the hall. She went straight to a large Samoyed dog lounging near the buffet—Snowball, the dog Reid had owned for five years. Tessa knelt, patted his head, then took his leash and led him through the crowd toward me. “Sloane,” she said, stopping in front of me. “Snowball is being such a good boy today.” She pointed to the dog’s neck. I looked, and my heart stopped. Tied around Snowball’s neck was a vintage emerald pendant on a gold chain. It was my grandmother’s last heirloom, the only thing I had left of her. I’d kept it in the back of a drawer in Reid’s apartment. “Oh, don’t be mad,” Tessa said, feigning innocence as she covered her mouth with her hand. “Reid said the setting was so old-fashioned it was just gathering dust. He said Snowball needed a new ‘charm’ for the party, so we put it on him.” She looked up, her eyes wide. “The stone is a bit dull anyway, so it actually looks quite cute on a dog. You don’t mind, do you?” The whispers turned into sharp stabs. “Isn’t that her family’s heirloom?” “He gave his fiancée’s inheritance to a dog?” “Sloane is being humiliated in her own house.” Richard Miller stood nearby, his face purple with embarrassment, but he said nothing. I looked at Tessa’s smug face. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply walked forward, knelt down, and unclipped the necklace from the dog’s collar. I pulled a silk handkerchief from my clutch and meticulously wiped the emerald clean before tucking it into my inner pocket. “You’re right, Tessa,” I said, standing up and smoothing my skirt. “When things are left in the wrong place, they tend to pick up a lot of filth.” I ignored her stunned expression and walked straight to Richard Miller. “Richard,” I said with a slight bow. “Sloane. Where is that idiot son of mine? It’s late.” “He’s in the back, tending to a Ms. Marlowe,” I said, my voice steady. “But I didn’t come to find him. I came to say goodbye.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the formal dissolution of the engagement, already signed. I placed it on the table next to the champagne tower. “Thank you for everything, Richard.” Just then, Reid burst back into the room. He saw the papers and lunged forward, tearing them into shreds. “I didn’t sign these! You aren’t going anywhere, Sloane. Not until I say so!” He grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me toward him. “In front of my father? You’re going to make a scene now? Do you even know who you are without me?” “She’s the woman the Ashford family is proud to welcome, and the sole partner of Aegis Group’s new venture. Who exactly do you think she is, Mr. Miller?” A cool, commanding voice echoed from the entrance. Gabriel Ashford, dressed in a bespoke black tuxedo, walked in, flanked by assistants and security. Behind him walked the patriarch of the Ashford empire himself—old Elias Ashford. Richard Miller’s glass hit the floor. “Aegis Group? The ones who just bought the downtown waterfront district?” Gabriel reached me and naturally tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The intimacy of the gesture made Reid look like he was about to lose his mind. “Don’t touch her!” Reid swung a fist at Gabriel. Two of Gabriel’s security guards stepped in instantly, catching Reid’s arm and pinning him back. Elias Ashford walked up to Richard, his expression frostier than the champagne. “Richard, you’ve got quite the temper in this house. Is this how you treat a woman my family has officially endorsed? As a backup for your son’s whims?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “548323”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The humming static of the System in my head sounded like a hard drive crashing. I held the rose out to Sebastian Caldwell. “For you.” Sebastian—the boy who usually had every girl in the hallway swooning—seemed to have forgotten he was even hiding a flower of his own. I suppose when you’ve spent your whole life as the hunter, getting “hunted” back feels like a glitch in the matrix. After a long beat, he scratched the back of his neck, his cocky facade finally cracking. “Thanks,” he muttered. He pulled his own rose from behind his back and handed it to me, his hooded, dark eyes shimmering with that familiar, flirtatious charm. “A fair trade.” I shook my head. I took his rose, and with a swift flick of my wrist, I tapped the two flowers together. Suddenly, they were bound by a silk ribbon I’d seemingly pulled from thin air. I placed both of them back into his hand. “Now you have two. Both for you.” Sebastian blinked, completely thrown. He hadn’t planned for a second act. “Why?” he asked, his voice a little breathless. The System finally rebooted, screaming: [Host! You have to be demure! Playing hard to get is the only way to hook a guy like Sebastian!] Demure? Understood. That meant I shouldn’t be clingy or force a connection. I took a step back, creating space. “Because I like you,” I said simply. The System: […] To be thorough, I added, “And I like giving beautiful things to people I like.” If emotions had a physical form, I’m pretty sure steam would have been pouring out of Sebastian’s ears right then. He gripped the roses so hard the stems probably bruised, turned on his heel without another word, and bolted down the hall. I watched the tips of his ears glow red as he disappeared into the crowd. Did I do that right? I asked the System. The System stayed silent for a beat before whispering: [That was… a pro move. 10/10.] 2 In my previous life, I died on stage. A teammate’s mistake during a high-stakes escape act cost me everything. When I woke up in this world, I was told I had a mission to “subdue” the second male lead. Honestly? I didn’t care much about the mission. I was just happy to be alive and able to perform again. The next few days of “pursuing” Sebastian were actually quite fun. The System told me that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach and constant attention. I decided to follow the advice—in my own way. “Morning, Sebastian. I brought you breakfast.” I sat in the desk in front of him before first period, placing a single hard-boiled egg on his desk. Sebastian looked at the egg, then at me. He seemed to be remembering our rose encounter because he looked guarded. He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “You’re bringing me breakfast, and it’s just… an egg?” “What else do you like?” I asked. “I don’t know,” he snapped. “A bagel?” I waved my hand over the egg. Suddenly, a toasted, buttered bagel appeared in its place. Sebastian’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “I—I meant a coffee!” Another flick of the wrist. The bagel was gone; a steaming cup of dark roast sat there instead. “Holy shit… I meant… I meant pancakes!” This time, I didn’t move. Seeing that I had finally “run out” of magic, he leaned back in his chair, a triumphant smirk returning. “Ran out of tricks, didn’t you, Magician?” I nodded solemnly. “If you really want pancakes, Sebastian, I can go down to the cafeteria and buy them for you right now.” Silence fell over him again. He slowly sat up straight, clearing his throat. “Just… give the bagel back.” With a wave, the bagel reappeared. “This is fine. Don’t go buying anything else. You’re annoying,” he grumbled, though he immediately started eating. I watched the flush creep up his neck and smiled to myself. [Host, didn’t you actually have the pancakes ready?] the System asked. The secret to magic isn’t just the trick, I replied. It’s about making someone happy and surprised, not just giving them whatever they demand. 3 A few weeks into my “pursuit,” the midterms arrived. When the rankings were posted on the bulletin board, Sebastian wasn’t his usual smug self. He didn’t say much, but he refused the coffee I brought him that morning. I looked at the top of the list: 1. Adrian Miller 2. 3. Sebastian Caldwell 4. [The Hero and the Rival are always at each other’s throats,] the System explained. [They fight for the top spot in grades, and in the original story, they both fight for the female lead’s heart. Sebastian is her childhood friend, but he can never beat Adrian, the “Destined One.”] I nodded. The System had mentioned that the female lead, Sophie Bennett, would be transferring here soon. In the original plot, Sebastian gets so distracted chasing Sophie that his grades slip, he never beats Adrian again, and he eventually moves abroad, bitter and broken-hearted, only to die young and alone. I came to two conclusions. One: Confidence is key. I needed to rebuild Sebastian’s ego. Two: Happiness is essential. I needed to make him smile. I found him skipping class, sitting on a bench under a sprawling oak tree at the edge of campus. When he saw me approaching, he immediately closed his eyes. “Can you just leave me alone for five minutes?” 4 I didn’t say a word. I just sat down quietly on the other end of the bench and pulled a small, black plastic jar from my pocket. “Sebastian,” I said softly. “Let me show you a trick.” He opened one eye, looking ready to snap at me—until he saw me shake the jar. A single large die inside suddenly shattered into a dozen tiny dice with a rhythmic clack. He sat up, his curiosity getting the better of his brooding. “How?” “There’s a magnet in the lid that holds the shell of the big die, and the little ones are hidden inside,” I explained. I reset the trick and handed it to him. “You try.” Sebastian gave it a firm shake. But instead of a dozen tiny dice, a single wrapped strawberry candy fell into his palm. His hand shook slightly. He wouldn’t look at me. “Doing all this useless stuff for what…” But when he unwrapped the candy, he froze. Tucked inside the wrapper was a tiny slip of paper. It read: You’re always #1 in my book. I designed the trick. The System helped me with the note. [Host, do you think he’s going to cry?] the System asked. [I think I’m going to cry.] Ignoring the System’s weird electronic sobbing, I quietly ate the breakfast Sebastian had rejected. Sebastian eventually composed himself. He kept his head down for a long time, crushing the candy wrapper and the note into his fist. Then he stood up, his movements stiff as he started walking back toward the main building. “Sebastian?” I followed him. “Where are you going?” “You’re so annoying,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I’m going back to class. To study. Obviously.” He walked a little faster, putting some distance between us. “And stop chasing me. I’m not… I’m not into high school romances. I don’t date.” I stopped in my tracks. Has he never had a girlfriend? [Correct, Host. Sebastian Caldwell follows the ‘Peacock Rule’: Flirt with everyone, commit to no one. Honestly? He’s a bit of a fraud.] I nodded. Recently, I noticed he hadn’t been talking to any other girls at all. 5 “Hi everyone, I’m Sophie Bennett. I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you.” At the front of the classroom, the original female lead was introducing herself. I glanced at Sebastian. He wasn’t looking at his notebook anymore. He was gripping his pen, staring at Sophie. Sophie, meanwhile, was looking at the front row—at Adrian Miller. And Adrian? Adrian was looking… at me. What? [Host, Host! Eyes on the prize! Look away!] the System panicked. “Who were you looking at?” Sebastian’s voice came from beside me, low. I quickly looked down. “Checking for teachers in the hall.” I picked up a deck of cards and did a flashy one-handed shuffle. “Didn’t want to get caught with these.” The trick worked; his attention shifted to my hands. “Teach me that after class,” he muttered. “Okay.” After Sophie joined the class, things got noisy. Since she sat diagonally from Sebastian, I could hear their constant bickering. “Sebastian, can you show me how to do this last problem?” “Are you stupid? It’s easy. Go away.” I looked down at my own worksheet. It was a barren wasteland. I hadn’t answered a single question. [Looks like Sebastian doesn’t like ‘stupid’ girls,] the System noted. A second later, my worksheet was snatched off my desk. Sebastian stared at the blank page. “Why haven’t you started?” “I don’t know how,” I admitted. I was bracing for a “stupid” comment, but instead, Sebastian pulled his chair closer. “Which one?” I pointed at a random question. Sebastian began explaining the first question on the English Lit quiz—a basic multiple-choice question—with the intensity of a surgeon. My palms started to sweat. The System sighed. [I take back what I said earlier. The Peacock has a double standard.] 6 Sebastian looked after Sophie, and occasionally, Sophie would bring him breakfast. With Sophie’s muffins on his desk, Sebastian started turning down my breakfast. “Just eat it yourself,” he’d mutter. “You’re getting too thin anyway…” [What a waste,] the System lamented. [You spent all night practicing that new coin trick.] I took a bite of my own bagel. “It’s fine.” “Hey, Sebastian told me you do magic!” After class, Sophie sat in the seat in front of mine. I blinked, then nodded. “Can you show me one? He tried to do one for me the other day—he said you taught him.” Before I could even process that, Sebastian was there, grabbing Sophie by the shoulder and pulling her up. “Why are you bothering her? Go back to your seat.” “Ugh, let go! I just want to see a trick!” Sebastian frowned and looked at me. I shook my head. “It’s okay.” I stood up and pulled a rubber band from my wrist. I asked Sophie to hold out her index finger. I looped the band around her finger, then mine, pressing our fingertips together. With my other hand, I gave a sharp tug. The rubber band passed right through our fingers and ended up dangling from my thumb. Sophie’s eyes went wide. Before she could gasp, I flicked the rubber band into the air. When it landed back in my hand, it was a lollipop. I handed it to her and gave her a small smile. Sophie’s face turned bright red. “Th—thank you…” she stammered. “That was incredible.” 7 When school ended, Sebastian’s hand slammed onto my desk. “Why did you do that for Sophie?” he demanded. He leaned in closer. “Aren’t you… jealous? Of her and me?” The System coached me: [Host, be magnanimous!] “You like her,” I told him. “If she’s happy, you’re happy. And if you’re happy, then I’m happy to help.” Sebastian looked like he had been struck by lightning. He stood frozen, then looked down, covering his face. “Are you actually an idiot?” He looked moved—deeply, strangely moved. “It’s not like I ‘like’ her like that,” he explained, his voice soft. “We grew up together. I’m just supposed to look out for her.” He looked away. “Is there… anything you want?” “What?” “A gift,” he muttered. “I can’t just let you be all ‘noble’ and ‘suffering’ for nothing.” The System was screaming: [This is it! The ROMANTIC UPGRADE!] I thought about it seriously. I looked into Sebastian’s eyes. “Can I hold your hand? Just for a second?” Sebastian stiffened. He turned his head away, and for a moment, I thought I had overstepped. But then, his hand slowly slid across the desk toward mine. I smiled and reached out, but I didn’t grab his hand. I just gently hooked my index finger around his. Sebastian’s breathing hitched. Even with his head turned, I could see the feverish red on his cheeks. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he whispered. “I told you, I don’t date in high school.” He looked at me, almost waiting for me to argue. I nodded solemnly. “I understand. I promise I won’t try to be your girlfriend.” Sebastian suddenly looked like a deflated balloon. I asked the System why. [I don’t know, maybe he’s hungry?] the System guessed. 8 It was the class president’s birthday, and the whole group ended up at a karaoke lounge. Sebastian, Sophie, Adrian, and I were all there. Sebastian had declined the “Truth or Dare” game, calling it “childish.” Adrian Miller, surprisingly, agreed to play. I drew the card. Adrian was the interrogator. In the corner of the dim room, I felt Sebastian’s gaze snap toward us. “Truth,” I said. Adrian leaned forward. “Is there someone you like?” The room went deathly quiet. In the shadows, I saw Sebastian shift in his seat. I thought about it. If I said yes, the next person would inevitably ask who. That would put Sebastian in an awkward spot. He’d told me he didn’t want a relationship. “No,” I said. Sebastian stood up abruptly. The chair screeched against the floor. He was already turning, his jaw set as he stormed out of the private room.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “548322”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The first thing I felt when I opened my eyes was the phantom sensation of my bones shattering against the pavement. That sickening, wet thud of my body hitting the concrete after a twelve-story drop. I could still hear Tyler’s voice, mocking and youthful, calling out from the window above: “See ya, old man.” Then, the smell of Audrey’s perfume hit me—expensive, floral, and suffocating. I was standing in our foyer in downtown Chicago. Audrey was standing in front of me, breathless, her hand gripped tightly around the handle of a massive, oversized hardshell suitcase. I realized then: I was back. I had been given a second chance at the day my life—my first life—had ended. Before I could even greet her, Audrey’s face hardened. She stepped between me and the luggage, her voice sharp with a rehearsed kind of panic. “Don’t touch this, Nate. Seriously. Stay away from it.” In my previous life, I had been the doting, trusting husband. I had assumed it was some sensitive equipment from the architectural firm where she was a senior partner. I hadn’t asked questions. I had just smiled and offered to make her dinner. I looked at that suitcase now. It was unnervingly large. I knew exactly what—who—was inside. Tyler, the twenty-two-year-old intern she had been sleeping with for months, was curled up in that dark space, stifling his laughter, waiting for the “thrill” of being smuggled into our home. My fingernails dug into my palms until they drew blood. I forced my face into a mask of mild curiosity, a gentle smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Why not? It looks heavy. Let me help you get it into the den.” I reached out, my fingers grazing the cold plastic of the handle. Audrey shoved my hand away, her eyes flashing with a sudden, ugly impatience. “I said don’t touch it! Are you deaf?” she snapped. “It’s… it’s hazardous material. Bio-waste from the site. It’s highly toxic if it’s exposed to the air. If you breathe it in, you’re dead, Nate. I’m serious. I have to handle the disposal myself. Just leave it alone.” Hazardous material. A fitting description for the man inside. I let out a shaky breath, feigning a look of genuine terror. I recoiled, putting several feet of distance between myself and the suitcase. “Bio-waste? In the house? Audrey, why would you even bring something like that here? What if it leaks?” Seeing my fear, Audrey’s expression softened into a look of smug superiority. She loved it when I was small. When I was compliant. “Relax. I’ve got it under control,” she said, her voice dropping into a purr. “I’ll ‘take care’ of it later. Just stay out of my way.” She put a deliberate emphasis on take care, and then she did something that made my stomach turn: she playfully nudged the side of the suitcase with the toe of her designer heel. The suitcase wobbled. From within, I heard a faint, muffled rustle—the sound of someone trying desperately not to giggle. My blood turned to ice. They were treating me like a prop in their sick little game. A background character in their erotic thriller. “Well,” I said, my voice steady despite the roar in my ears. “Make sure you ‘take care’ of it thoroughly then.” Audrey let out a sharp, triumphant laugh—the first real smile she’d given me all day—and whistled a tune as she dragged the suitcase into her home office. That night, I lay in bed and waited. I slowed my breathing, mimicking the deep rhythm of sleep. Beside me, Audrey stirred. She crept out from under the duvet, her movements silent and practiced. She slipped out of the room, leaving the door ajar. A moment later, the light in the office flickered on. I got out of bed, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. I pressed myself against the hallway wall, inching closer to the office door. Through the sliver of light, I heard them. “God, finally,” Tyler’s voice complained. It was muffled but unmistakable. “I thought I was gonna suffocate in there.” “Oh, shut up,” Audrey giggled. “You’re the one who wanted the ‘forbidden thrill.’ Was it intense enough for you?” “It’ll be intense when you actually get over here,” he muttered. “I didn’t spend an hour in a box just to talk.” In my last life, I had walked into that room because I wanted a glass of water. I had seen the light, opened the door, and found them—naked, intertwined, laughing at me. When I had broken down, screaming and crying, Audrey hadn’t apologized. She had led me toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, pretending she wanted to “explain.” Then, with a cold, calculated shove, she had sent me over the ledge. Afterward, she had paid off a crooked psychiatrist to back up her claim that I was severely depressed. She told the world I jumped. She inherited everything and married Tyler three months later. I gripped the doorframe, the phantom pain of my broken neck flaring up again. I shook with a rage so violent I thought I might shatter. “You’re so much better at this than Nate,” Audrey’s voice drifted out, dripping with contempt. “The man is like a piece of wood. I have to beg him to even try anything new, and then he acts like he’s doing me a favor.” “If you hate him so much, why not just get rid of him? Use those meds you were talking about.” “I’ve been slipping them into his ‘organic’ supplements for six months,” Audrey sighed. “The idiot hasn’t suspected a thing, but he’s still walking around fine. I think the guy I bought them from online ripped me off. Besides, I read that they’re getting better at detecting those things in autopsies now. I’m not taking that risk.” My heart stopped. I looked back toward the kitchen, where my “customized” vitamins sat on the counter. She had told me they were high-end bio-hacking supplements from a boutique lab in Switzerland. I had always hated pills, so I usually just hid them in the trash, pretending to take them so she wouldn’t feel “unappreciated.” She hadn’t just been cheating. She had been a slow-motion executioner. “So when are you finally dumping him?” Tyler asked. “I’m tired of playing hide-and-seek.” “Soon,” she whispered. “I’ve got an appointment with a doctor tomorrow morning. He’s going to sign off on a paper trail of ‘depression’ for Nate. Once that’s in the system…” “And then?” “And then? Look at those windows, Tyler. The sill doesn’t even reach your knees. If a ‘depressed’ man happened to lose his balance while looking at the stars… well, it’s a tragedy, isn’t it?” Silence followed, and then the sound of them laughing together. My skin crawled. It hadn’t been a crime of passion. It wasn’t an accident born of being caught. She had planned to kill me all along. I had just walked into her trap a few hours early. I retreated to the bedroom and lay in the dark, my mind racing. She was going to the doctor at 7:30 AM. She would leave then, and she would likely try to get Tyler out of the house shortly after. I had no intention of letting that happen. Around 4:00 AM, Audrey’s heavy snoring signaled she was finally out. I got out of bed and went to work. I moved with a quiet, frantic energy. I went to the walk-in closet and began dragging out bags of clothes and shoes, piling them in the hallway. I stripped the sofa cushions and threw them into the center of the living room. I went to the kitchen and emptied the trash bins, the recycling, and the pantry. I scattered flour and cereal across the floor. I took the rotting produce from the fridge and mashed it into the carpet. Finally, I went to the office door. I ignored the suitcase, but I grabbed the heavy art books from the shelves and stacked them in the hallway, creating a literal barricade between the office and the front door. I looked at the chaos. Our pristine, million-dollar condo looked like a dumpster fire. I went downstairs to the building’s loading dock and grabbed two more bags of trash from the bins, bringing them up and emptying them right in the foyer. The stench of old coffee grounds and discarded seafood filled the air. I put on a face mask and sat in the middle of the mess. At 6:30 AM, the bedroom door opened. Audrey stepped out, still in her silk robe, and stopped dead. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Nate?! What the hell are you doing?!” she shrieked, clutching her throat. “What is this smell? Have you lost your mind?” I wiped fake sweat from my forehead, looking up at her with a dazed, manic grin. “I couldn’t sleep. I got hit with this sudden urge to deep clean, you know? A fresh start. But then I tripped and the trash bags broke, and then I realized the carpet was filthy underneath, so I had to pull everything out…” Audrey looked at the mountain of garbage blocking the path from the office to the front door. To get the suitcase out, she’d have to lift a hundred-plus pounds of “hazardous material” over chest-high piles of debris. She was five-foot-four and hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a Pilates ring in years. She checked her watch, her face twisting in fury. “You idiot! I have to leave in ten minutes! I can’t get my things out through this!” “I’m so sorry, honey,” I said, my voice dripping with feigned innocence. “I didn’t know you needed that suitcase today. Why don’t you stay and help me? We can have it all cleared by noon.” “I can’t!” she screamed. “The doctor—I mean, my meeting! I can’t be late!” She looked at the mess, then at the door, then at me. She was trapped by her own schedule. “Fine,” she hissed. “I’m going. I’m calling a private waste removal service right now. They better have this place spotless by the time I get back.” She whipped out her phone and dialed. “Yes, this is Audrey Rhodes. The Pinnacle, Unit 4202. I need an emergency junk removal. Everything on the floor needs to be hauled away and destroyed. No, I don’t want anything salvaged. It’s all contaminated. Just throw it in the incinerator. Fast.” I smiled behind my mask. Contaminated. Exactly. “Are you sure, babe?” I asked. “What about your ‘hazardous’ suitcase in the office? Should they leave that for you?” “No!” she barked, already grabbing her purse. “It’s the most dangerous thing in here! Tell them to take it first. Don’t let them open it, Nate. If they open it, the fumes will kill everyone in the hallway. Just tell them to toss it in the truck and crush it immediately. Do you hear me?” “I hear you loud and clear,” I whispered. Audrey slammed the door behind her, muttering about how she was married to a lunatic. I stood up and stripped off my gloves. The silence in the apartment was heavy. I walked over to the office door and leaned against the frame, staring at the hardshell suitcase. A rhythmic, low snoring was coming from inside. Tyler was still asleep. In my last life, Tyler had stood over my broken body and joked about my age. “Tyler,” I whispered to the suitcase. “You have no idea how quiet it’s about to get.” The doorbell rang. Two burly men from ‘City-Wide Disposal’ stood there, looking at the trash-strewn luxury condo with bewildered expressions. “Everything?” the lead guy asked. “The lady said ‘no exceptions.’” “Everything,” I confirmed. “Start with the office. There’s a large suitcase in there. My wife was very specific: it contains bio-hazardous waste. Do not open it. Do not tilt it. Just get it into the compactor and let the machine do the work. She’s terrified of the ‘leaks.’” The men nodded, looking slightly nervous. They went into the office and hoisted the suitcase. I followed them to the elevator. I watched as they wheeled it out to the curb where the giant, orange garbage truck was idling, its hydraulic press groaning. “Hey, this thing is heavy,” one of the workers shouted over the noise of the city. “You sure there’s no glass or anything?” “Just hazardous waste,” I said, leaning against the brick wall of the building. “My wife says it’s ‘toxic to the touch.’ Best to just let the ‘neutralization’ process begin.” They tossed the suitcase into the back. As the heavy steel blade of the compactor began to descend, I thought I heard a muffled, high-pitched yelp. It was lost instantly under the roar of the engine and the screech of crushing plastic. I walked back upstairs, cleaned the apartment until it sparkled, and then sat on the sofa with a glass of wine and a burner phone. I made one call to a private investigator I’d looked up the night before. At 9:00 AM, the door unlocked. Audrey walked in, a victorious smirk on her face. She probably had the “depression” diagnosis in her purse. “Is it gone?” she asked, not even looking at me. I took a slow sip of my Merlot. “The ‘big trouble’ you were worried about? Yeah, Audrey. It’s been thoroughly neutralized.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “548321”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel