Author: Momo Chan

“When she goes into labor, she most likely won’t survive.” I stood outside the room, listening to the nurses discuss my case. I had two hearts inside my body. One was my baby. The other was a cloned heart that growing inside me for another woman. And my husband had approved this himself. ********** Nine months pregnant. My last ultrasound before delivery. “Both heartbeats sound are strong and healthy.” The doctor said. I was confused because every single prenatal checkup showed a single fetus. Outside the exam room, I grabbed my husband Alexander’s hand. “The doctor said there were two heartbeats. How could it be? The previous checkups showed it was one.” He paused for a split second, then laughed and patted my shoulder. “That’s impossible. You misheard. He meant your heartbeat and the baby’s are both healthy.” He smiled. “Don’t overthink it. Once the baby’s here, I’ll take you to see the Northern Lights. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” I believed him. Just a mix-up. Until that night, when I got up to use the bathroom and passed the nurses’ station. Low voices drifted out. “Mrs. Sinclair’s organs are starting to fail. Carrying the baby and incubating the cloned heart at the same time—her body can’t handle both. ” “When she goes into labor, she most likely won’t survive.” “What about the cloned heart?” “It’s perfect. Mr. Sinclair’s investment in chimera organ technology paid off. His childhood sweetheart’s heart failure finally has a cure.” A nurse gasped. “So Mr. Sinclair knows the mother will probably die?” “Of course. He approved this protocol himself.” Ice flooded my veins. I didn’t storm in to confront them. I clamped my hand over my mouth and shuffled back to my room, step by step. Alexander was still asleep. Moonlight fell across his handsome face. That face had stayed by my side, eyes red from sleepless nights, when my parents died. That face had wept when I was so dehydrated from morning sickness I needed an IV. He’d said, “Natalie, you’re the only family I have in this world. I’d give my life to take care of you.” I’d believed his words for eight years. The next morning, Alexander brought me a glass of warm milk and a handful of colorful pills, same as always. “Natalie, sweetheart. Take your prenatal vitamins.” His eyes were gentle. He kissed my forehead. I looked at those pills. They weren’t prenatal vitamins. They were something to keep my body from rejecting the heart growing inside me. For the woman he actually loved. I reached out and took them. I looked him in the eye and tested him. “Alexander, I’ve been having chest pains lately. The doctor said I might have a difficult labor. If something happens—” He pressed his hand over my mouth and pulled me into his arms, his voice shaking. “Don’t say that.” “I hired the best medical team. They’ve assessed everything. The risk is less than one percent.” “You and the baby are going to be fine. Just take your medicine. After the birth, we’ll be a family of three. We’ll never be apart again.” He believed I wouldn’t die. So to save that woman, he’d put me on a one-percent gamble without a second thought. I lowered my eyes, swallowing the nausea rising in my throat. “Okay. I’ll take them.” I swallowed the pills in front of him. He smiled, satisfied, and tucked the blanket around me. “I need to run to the office. I’ll be back later to stay with you.” The door clicked shut. I rushed to the bathroom and shoved my fingers down my throat, purging every last pill. I stared at the bloody mess in the sink and pulled out my phone. I need to find a underground clinic.

Three days after I started secretly spitting out the pills, my body began to revolt. First came a low fever that wouldn’t break. Then my joints ached like someone was hammering them with a mallet. At its worst, I couldn’t even grip a glass of water. But I never let Alexander see any of it. He came to the hospital every day, bringing me chestnut cake from that bakery across town I loved. “Natalie, did the baby kick today?” He pressed his hand to my belly, feeling for movement. His palm rested right over the place where the extra heart was growing. I watched the smile crinkle at the corners of his eyes. It felt like a knife carving into my chest. “Alexander.” My voice came out soft as a breath. “If something goes wrong during the delivery, will you take care of our baby?” His hand froze mid-slice on the apple. The knife slipped and cut his finger. Blood welled up. “Natalie, what’s wrong? Why do you keep saying things like that?” He grabbed a tissue, pressed it carelessly to the wound, then came over and took my hand. His voice softened. “I told you, as long as I’m here, nothing will happen to you. I already booked the postnatal care center.” “Stop worrying. When this is all over, I’ll take you traveling. You’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights in Iceland, right?” What a cheap promise. I lowered my gaze to hide the storm inside me. He was so greedy. He wanted to use my body to save his precious first love, and he still wanted me safe and sound, bearing his children, playing the dutiful wife. Did he really think he was playing God, deciding who lives and who dies? Just then, his phone rang. A special ringtone. One I’d never heard for anyone else. Alexander glanced at the screen. His expression changed instantly. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” He hung up and grabbed his coat. “Natalie, something urgent came up at work. I need to handle it. Get some rest.” He didn’t even wait for my answer before he was out the door. I didn’t ask where he was going. I just walked to the window and looked down. His car didn’t leave the hospital grounds. It drove toward the VIP building at the back—the one with security so tight even senior doctors needed special clearance. I changed into regular clothes, put on a mask, and slipped past the nurses. I followed him. Sixth floor of the VIP wing. The door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar. A weak female voice drifted out. “Alex, don’t worry about me…” “I won’t live much longer anyway. If saving me hurts Natalie, I’ll never forgive myself.” Alexander’s voice came next. Nothing but tenderness. “Lily, don’t talk like that. You’re not going to die.” “The medical team is ready. The cloned heart is perfect.” “Just five more days, and you’ll be able to live like a normal person.” “But Natalie, she—” “She’ll be fine.” Alexander cut her off. His voice was certain. “I’m using the best medication. The risk is minimal. And even if, worst case scenario—” He paused. His voice dropped. “I owe you this. If you hadn’t saved me back then, you wouldn’t have ended up with heart failure.” “Lily, as long as you survive. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to Natalie.” I stood outside that door, biting down on my lip until I tasted blood. Make it up to me? That’s pure bullshit. All this time, I thought he loved me. Clearly, Lily mattered more to him than me or our child ever would.

After I got back to my room, I started coughing up blood. The rejection was hitting full force. My body was fighting the heart that didn’t belong to me. Two forces tearing each other apart inside. Doctors and nurses rushed in. Chaos everywhere. By the time Alexander got back, I was already on oxygen. He thought I was asleep. He grabbed the doctor by the collar. “How did this happen? How the hell were you taking care of her?” For a split second, he looked terrified of losing me. The doctor stammered out an answer. “Mr. Sinclair, your wife’s immune system suddenly started attacking the cloned embryo. ” “Her liver and lungs are failing. We may need to terminate the incubation—” “No.” Alexander let go of him. Didn’t hesitate for a second. “The heart needs three more days to mature. If we take it out now, it won’t function properly. Lily won’t be able to use it.” Dead silence. I lay there with the oxygen mask on, watching him through the haze. The man who swore he loved me. When it came down to life or death, he didn’t waver for even half a second. The doctor tried again. “Mr. Sinclair, your wife really can’t take much more—” Alexander cut him off. “Keep the incubation going. Save the heart.” “Give her the strongest immunosuppressant injections. The best drugs. Whatever it costs, you keep her alive for three more days.” I closed my eyes and let the tears slide down. He’d just snuffed out the last flicker of hope I had left. The moment the needle pierced my skin, I made my decision. For the next two days, Alexander didn’t leave my side. He canceled all his work. Dark circles bruised his eyes. He wiped my face, held water to my lips, sat up holding my hand through the night. “Natalie, hang in there. It’s almost over.” “When this is done, you can hit me, curse me, whatever you want. Just please, hold on.” I looked at how worn down he was and felt nothing but pity. He didn’t even know I’d heard everything. He was still dreaming that he’d pull me back from the edge of death and we’d go on being the happy couple. “Alexander.” I struggled to pull off the oxygen mask. My voice was barely a whisper. “I want some of that honey walnut shrimp from the place downtown. Fresh out of the kitchen.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260619gYxC1JupSq 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni413088”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

I was nine months pregnant when I suddenly started bleeding. I asked my husband for help, but he took my hospital bag, went to another woman, and locked me in the house alone. I called out to my husband, Lucas, who was sitting on the couch beside me. *Take me to the hospital.* He answered a call instead. He listened for a few seconds, then stood up. Without a word, he grabbed the hospital bag from the living room floor and headed for the door. “Lucas, wait. I haven’t changed yet.” At the door, he turned back. His face was tight with urgency. “Vivian’s going into labor. She didn’t pack anything. I’m borrowing yours.” I gripped the wall, my legs unsteady. “What about me? I’m bleeding.” He slipped my phone and keycard into his pocket. “You’re not due yet. Don’t play the victim to get attention.” “Just stay home. I’ll be back when it’s over.” … The heavy door slammed shut. The lock clicked into place. I dragged my swollen body to the entrance and twisted the handle. He had locked it from the outside. There was no way to open it from in here. The dull pull in my belly sharpened into something cruel. A warm rush slid down my thighs and hit the hardwood floor. My water had broken. Lucas had taken my phone. I crawled toward the landline in the corner of the living room. The moment my fingers touched the receiver, I saw it — the cord had been cut clean at the base. The cut was fresh, the copper wire still bright. The contractions came harder, faster. Sweat poured down my forehead. I slid down the wall and sat on the cold floor, my nightgown soaked. Survival pushed me toward the balcony. I couldn’t give up. I crawled toward the balcony. We lived on the second floor. Below was a strip of garden. I pushed the window open and shouted into the dark. “Help!” “Someone — please — call 911!” A security guard’s flashlight beam swept up and hit my face. He squinted up at me. “Mrs. Valentine. Please don’t make a scene.” “Mr. Valentin told us you’ve been emotional during pregnancy, that you like to scream. “He said you’ve been imagining you’re in labor. He told us not to come up, no matter what we heard.” My fingernails scraped against the aluminum frame. I clung to the sill, my knuckles white. “My water really broke! Please. I’m in labor. Please call an ambulance.” The guard shook his head. “Mr. Valentine was very clear. Anyone who calls 911 or the police on your behalf would be undermining your marriage. He said he’d hold us responsible.” “Please go back inside, ma’am. Don’t make trouble for us.” He clicked off his flashlight and walked away, his footsteps fading into the dark. I stared at the empty garden. No sound came from my throat. Lucas had blocked every escape. He had even cut off the kindness of strangers. I stumbled back inside. My vision was starting to blur. The baby inside me must have sensed it — he started kicking, frantic, desperate. My knee gave out. I went down beside the coffee table and knocked over the fruit bowl. Glass scattered across the floor. The whole room was a mess. *I can’t die here.* My fingers closed around a long shard of glass. I would break the door open. I didn’t care if I tore my hand apart. Then the red light on the ceiling security camera blinked on. Lucas’s voice came through the smart speaker, cold and distant. “Veronica. haven’t you made enough of a scene?” His voice echoed through the empty room, looking down at me from somewhere safe. I lifted my head and stared at the blinking red light. He had been watching the whole time. He had time to watch me bleed. I raised my bloody hand toward the lens. “Lucas. I’m bleeding. I’m really in labor.” A small, dismissive scoff came through the speaker. “Here we go again.” “Last time it was red ink. What is it this time?” “Vivian is in agony right now, and you’re putting on a performance for sympathy.” “You disappoint me, Veronica.” My whole body was shaking. Blood pooled beneath me, warm and spreading. “Lucas. For the baby……Please.” “Call me an ambulance.”

There was a pause on the other end of the speaker. Then Lucas sighed. “Veronica. The lengths you’ll go to for attention.” “I read your prenatal report before I left. The doctor said everything was fine. You aren’t due for another two weeks.” “You’re lying on the floor playing dead just to pull me away from Vivian, don’t you?” I dragged in a breath. “I’m not lying to you.” “My water broke. The baby is going to suffocate.” “Lucas. This is your child.” Through the speaker, I heard a woman’s weak moan—Vivian’s. “Vivian, are you in pain again? The doctor is on his way.” His voice softened, full of care. “Veronica. Vivian is an orphan. She has no one but me.” “You have a family. You have money. Why do you have to compete with a poor girl?” “She’s just borrowing your hospital bag, and you stoop to such a dirty trick to force me back. You’re despicable.” My cheek pressed against the cold floor. Tears mixed with sweat and dripped off my chin. I pulled my eyes away from the camera and started crawling toward the door, gritting my teeth. Glass cut into my palms. I didn’t feel it. I only had one thought: *Get out.* I reached the entryway, raised the shard, and slammed it against the lock. The glass shattered. My hand opened up in a deep red line. The deadbolt didn’t even shift. Lucas’s voice came back through the speaker, low and furious. “Veronica. What are you doing?” “If you damage that door, I swear —” I wiped my bloody hand on the shoe cabinet and searched frantically. I remembered there was a spare key here. If I could find it, I could live. I threw everything onto the floor. At the bottom of the lowest box, my cold fingers touched a metal key. I dragged myself upright against the wall and pushed the key into the lock with both hands. It wouldn’t go in. I leaned down to look. Someone had filled the keyhole with dried glue. I just sat there, staring at it. “Don’t bother.” Lucas’s voice came through the speaker, a little smug now. “I know how stubborn you are. I was afraid you’d sneak out and cause a scene at Vivian’s hospital.” “So I sealed the lock with super glue before I left.” “Just apologize. Veronica, just admit you were wrong and promise not to bother Vivian. The moment she’s done, I’ll come straight back.” My back slid down the door until I slid down slowly, the wood cold against my spine. He hadn’t sealed me in to protect Vivian. He had sealed me in to make sure I had no way out. He wanted to take away my very right to survive. I looked up at the camera, my voice hoarse. “Lucas. Let’s get a divorce.” A pause. Then his enraged voice exploded from the speaker. “*Veronica*. You’re threatening me again?” “You think saying *divorce* will make me come running? Is that the only trick you have? Crying, screaming, threatening — is that *all* you know?” I closed my eyes. I didn’t answer him. The contractions came one after another now, relentless, crushing. I felt something descending, a terrible pressure. “Lucas. I don’t want you anymore.” Then I gathered the last of my strength, raised the metal key, and threw it at the camera. The lens shattered. The red light went out. The room fell silent. I lay there in the spreading blood, breathing hard.

Lucas had taken control of the apartment automation system through his phone. The living room lights cut out all at once. The hum of the air conditioner died. The fridge fell silent. Every appliance stopped breathing at the same second. Darkness swallowed the room. Through the smart speaker, his voice came cold and hard. “Veronica, since you don’t want to behave, you can reflect in the dark. ” “When you’re ready to admit you were wrong, I’ll turn the lights back on.” “Don’t expect any sympathy from me. You brought this on yourself.” I curled up on the floor, biting down on my lip so I wouldn’t cry out. I could feel the blood draining out of me. Each contraction was sharper than the last. I had to stay conscious. I had to. I crawled toward the bathroom, my hands slipping in the wetness. There were scissors in there. Towels. If no one came to save me, I would have to deliver the baby myself. I had just reached the bathroom door when the speaker came back to life. This time he forced a video call through, casting it onto the TV in the living room. The screen lit up the room in a pale blue glow that fell across my face. Vivian was on the screen, propped up in a hospital bed. Her color was good. Her hair was brushed. She was curled against Lucas’s chest, my hospital bag resting on the bed beside her. “Lucas… is Veronica really upset with me?” Vivian’s voice was sugary, laced with fake concern. “I didn’t mean to take her bag. The contractions just came so fast.” “Maybe you should go home and check on her. I’ll be okay on my own.” Lucas brushed a tear from the corner of her eye, painfully gentle. “Don’t worry about her. She just can’t stand seeing me good to you. She smashed the security camera—she’s probably throwing a tantrum somewhere right now.” Then he turned to face the screen, and his expression hardened. “Veronica. Look at Vivian. Look at how sweet she’s being.” “Now look at yourself. Screaming. Breaking things. Cutting yourself off like some lunatic.” “I’m warning you. If you upset Vivian one more time —” “Tomorrow morning, I cut off your brother’s medical bills.” My heart sank into a bottomless pit. My younger brother was the only family I had left in this world. He was still in the ICU, kept alive by machines. Lucas knew that. He knew exactly where to strike. All his tenderness was reserved for Vivian—the woman who called me “sister” to my face. Watching the two of them on that screen, I felt sick. “You disgust me, Lucas.” I forced the words out with what little I had left. On the screen, Vivian flinched and pressed herself against Lucas. “Lucas, she’s so mean. My stomach hurts.” His face went black with fury. “Veronica, you’re asking for it. Since you love throwing fits so much, you can stay locked in there until you rot.” The video cut. Then I heard a hollow sound from the pipes—air sucking through empty lines. He hadn’t just cut the power. He had remotely shut off the main water valve. I dragged myself to the sink and twisted the faucet. A few drops fell. Then nothing. No water. No electricity. No way to call for help. He had backed me into a corner with no way out. My back rested against the cold tile wall. I panted, each breath a struggle. The blood had soaked through my dress completely. The metallic smell filled the small bathroom. The baby’s movements had slowed. From frantic kicks to weak, barely perceptible shifts. “It’s okay, baby.” I whispered, my hand pressed to my belly, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. “Mommy will save you. I promise.” I gritted my teeth and reached under the sink. My fingers brushed against something rusted. A pair of old scissors. I closed my hand around them. This was my last chance to save myself.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202606199teiH2bwoG 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni569068”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

I’m nine months pregnant. Bleeding out on the living room floor. And my husband just stepped over me to go hold another woman’s hand while she has her baby. A sharp cramp pulls low in my belly. Something warm slides down my thigh. Blood. “Liam.” My voice is shaking. “Liam, something’s wrong. I’m bleeding. Take me to the hospital.” He’s right there on the couch. Phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t even glance up. He hangs up, stands, snatches my hospital bag off the coffee table, and heads for the door. “Liam—wait—I haven’t even changed—” He turns at the doorway, already half out of it. His face is flushed. In a hurry. “Ruby’s water broke. She doesn’t have anything ready. I need to borrow your bag.” I sag against the wall. My legs won’t hold me. “What about me? Liam, I’m bleeding.” He slides my phone and key fob into his own pocket. Doesn’t even slow down. “You’re not due yet, Stella. Quit playing the victim. I know you’re just jealous.” “Be a good girl. Sit tight. I’ll come keep you company when I get back.” The front door slams shut. The deadbolt slides into place from the outside. I drag my heavy body to the foyer and grab the handle. Twist. Yank. Throw my shoulder against it. He locked me in. There’s no way to open it from inside. A pain rips low through my belly. Hot liquid gushes down my thighs and splashes onto the hardwood. My water just broke. He took my phone. I drop to my hands and knees and crawl toward the landline in the corner. My fingers close around the receiver— The cord is sliced clean through. Right at the base. The cut is fresh. The contractions are coming faster now. Cold sweat beads on my forehead. I slide down the wall, leaving a long red streak behind me. Some last animal instinct in me hauls itself toward the balcony. We’re on the second floor. There’s a sidewalk down below. Somebody walks their dog at this hour. Somebody. I shove the French doors open and lean out into the dark. “Help!” “Somebody—anybody—please call 911!” A flashlight beam swings up and catches me square in the face. It’s the night patrol guy the HOA hires. “Mrs. Holt.” His voice is flat. Bored. “Ma’am. Come on. Cut it out.” My fingernails screech down the aluminum frame. “Mr. Holt told us before he left. Said the pregnancy hormones have been real hard on you. Said you’ve been having these episodes—screaming, imagining you’re in labor.” He sighs. “He said no matter what we hear out of this house, just leave you be.” “My water broke!” I’m digging my nails into the railing now. ” Please. Just call an ambulance, I’m having the baby—” He shakes his head. “Mr. Holt was real clear. Anybody who calls the cops or 911 on you is interfering with your marriage, and he’ll come at us with a lawsuit. Go on back inside, ma’am. Don’t make this hard.” He clicks off his flashlight and walks away. I watch his back disappear into the dark. No sound comes out of my throat. Liam thought of everything. Every door. Every neighbor. Every stranger who might’ve shown me a scrap of kindness—he killed it all before he ever walked out. I stumble back inside. Black spots are eating the edges of my vision. The baby is kicking like crazy, like she knows. My knees give. I crash into the coffee table and the glass fruit bowl on top of it shatters across the floor. Not here. I am not dying here. My fingers close around a long shard of glass. I’ll break that door down. I don’t care if it costs me my hand. The red light on the ceiling camera blinks on. Liam’s voice comes through the smart speaker. Calm. Bored. Disappointed. “Stella. Are you done throwing your tantrum yet?” His voice fills the empty house like he owns the place. Like I’m a toddler having a meltdown and he’s the grown-up. He’s actually checking the cameras. He’s got the time. I lift my head and stare straight into the blinking red dot. I raise my bloody hand to the lens. “Liam. I’m bleeding. I’m really in labor.” He scoffs. “Here we go again.” “Last time it was red ink. What is it this time? Ketchup?” “Ruby is screaming in agony right now and you’re putting on a one-woman show in our living room.” “Stella. You really disappoint me.” My whole body is convulsing. The blood under me has spread into a wide black pool on the hardwood. “Liam.” It comes out as a whisper. “For the baby.” “Call an ambulance.”

Liam goes silent on the other end for a couple of seconds. Then he sighs. Long. Disappointed. “Stella. The lies you’ll tell to keep my attention—it’s unbelievable.” “I looked at your prenatal report before I left. The doctor said you’re perfectly fine. You’ve got two more weeks till your due date.” “You’re rolling around on the floor playing dead because you want to trick me into coming home, away from Ruby. That’s it, isn’t it?” I’m gasping for breath. “I’m not lying to you.” “My water broke. The baby’s going to suffocate.” “Liam—this is your daughter.” A soft whimper crackles through the speaker. Ruby. “Sweetheart, another contraction? Hang in there, the doctor’s coming.” He soothes her in that warm, melting voice—the one he used to save for me—and then he turns back to the mic. His voice goes cold enough to cut. “Stella. Ruby is an orphan. I’m all she’s got in this world.” “You have a family. Money. A whole life. Why are you so determined to take from a girl who has nothing?” “All she did was borrow your hospital bag. One bag. And you pull this disgusting stunt to drag me back.” “You are an ugly person. I never knew how ugly until tonight.” My cheek is pressed flat against the cold floor. Tears mix with sweat and roll onto the back of my hand. I pull my eyes away from the camera. I start crawling toward the front door. Glass shards bite into my palms. I don’t feel them. There’s only one thought left in my head. Get out. I make it to the foyer. I lift the biggest shard of glass and smash it into the lock with everything I have left. The glass shatters. My hand splits open—deep, to the bone. Blood sprays the door. The lock doesn’t move. Liam’s voice explodes through the house, choked with rage. “Stella Hayes! What the hell are you doing?!” “You damage that door and I swear to God you will regret it the second I walk back through it!” I’m already clawing my way to the entryway closet. There’s a spare key in there. I know there is. I put it there myself. I rip everything out onto the floor with bloody hands. Shoes. A scarf. A toolbox. I find it at the bottom of an old shoebox—a small, cold brass key. My way out. I haul myself up against the wall. My whole body is shaking. I jam the key into the lock. It won’t go in. I bend closer and squint. The keyhole is packed solid with something dried and clear. Sealed shut. I stare at it. Dumbly. “Don’t waste your strength.” There’s a smile in his voice now. Pride. “I know how stubborn you get, baby. I was worried you’d try to sneak out and go after Ruby. So I sealed the lock before I left. Little tube of superglue.” “Stella. All you have to do is apologize. Promise me you’ll leave Ruby alone.” “As soon as she delivers, I’ll come right home and take care of you.” My back slides down the door. Inch by inch. He planned my last way out. He didn’t seal the lock because he was worried about Ruby. He sealed it to take my right to live away. I tip my head back and look straight at the camera. “Liam. I want a divorce.” Dead silence on the other end. Then he erupts. “Stella Hayes, are you threatening me again?!” “You think waving ‘divorce’ in my face is gonna make me come crawling back? Is there a single thing in your bag of tricks besides crying, screaming, and threatening to leave?!” I close my eyes. I don’t answer him. The contractions have stopped being waves. It’s one long endless tearing now. Something is pushing down. Something is coming whether I’m ready or not. “Liam. I don’t want you anymore.” I lift the brass key with the last of my strength. And I hurl it at the camera. The lens shatters. The red light dies. The living room goes black and silent. I lie in the spreading pool of my own blood, and I breathe.

He’s controlling the smart home from his phone. The living room lights cut out instantly. The AC. The fridge. Every appliance in the house dies in the same heartbeat. The whole place drops into black. His voice comes through the speaker, ice cold. “Stella. Since you don’t know how to behave, you can sit in the dark and think about what you did.” “When you’re ready to apologize, I’ll turn the lights back on.” “Don’t sit there waiting for me to feel sorry for you. You brought this on yourself.” I curl up on the floor. I bite my lip until I taste blood. I will not let him hear me scream. I can feel the blood draining out of me. Actually feel it. Warmth, leaving, replaced by cold. The pain in my belly is coming in waves now—each one worse than the last. Some part of me still alive enough to think tells me: stay awake. I crawl on my hands across the floor toward the bathroom. There are scissors in there. Towels. If no one’s coming for me—and no one is coming—I’m going to have to do this myself. I’m almost at the bathroom door when the speaker hums back to life. The TV in the living room flickers on with it. He’s hijacked it. A video call, pushed straight onto the screen through the smart home app. Pale blue light floods the house and washes the color right off my face. Ruby is on the screen. Tucked into a clean hospital bed. Cheeks pink and healthy. She’s curled into Liam’s chest, holding my hospital bag like a stuffed animal. “Liam, is Nova mad at me?” Her voice is small. Wobbly. Pitiful. “I didn’t mean to take her bag. My contractions just started so suddenly.” “Maybe you should go home and check on her. I’ll be okay by myself.” Liam kisses her forehead and gently wipes a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t worry about her. She just can’t stand seeing me be nice to anyone but her.” “She smashed our security camera. God only knows what she’s smashing in there now.” Then he turns. Looks straight into the lens. His face goes flat and hard. “Stella. Look at Ruby. Look how good she’s being.” “Now look at yourself. Like some screaming, glass-breaking lunatic.” “I’m warning you. If you make one more sound that upsets Ruby—” “Tomorrow morning I am cutting off your brother’s hospital bills. Every cent.” My heart drops through the floor. Ethan is the only family I have left in this world. He’s in the ICU. He’s only alive because of those machines—and those machines are alive because of Liam’s money. Every soft thing in this man—every drop of tenderness—he gives to the girl who calls me sis. Looking at them on that screen, I think I might actually be sick. “Liam.” I force the words out. “You make me sick.” Ruby flinches against his chest like I hit her. “Liam, Nova sounds so scary—my stomach hurts—” Liam’s face goes black with rage. “Stella, you want to die in there?! Fine! Stay in there till you do!” The call cuts off. Then I hear it. A hollow sucking sound deep in the pipes. He didn’t just cut the power. He shut off the main water valve too. Remotely. I drag myself to the bathroom sink and twist the faucet. Two drops. Then nothing. No power. No water. No phone. He’s buried me alive in my own house. I slump against the cold tile, gasping. The blood has soaked through my dress. The thick, metallic smell of it fills the tiny bathroom. The baby has gone quiet inside me. The wild kicking is gone. There’s only the faintest flutter now, like a moth dying in a jar. “Baby. Don’t be scared.” My hand splays across my belly. The tears finally come. “Mommy’s gonna get you out. Mommy promises.” I bite down hard and dig under the sink with shaking fingers. Rusty scissors. Cold metal. I close my fist around them. This is the last thing in the world that can save me.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260619cI32BYOzQ3 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni752271”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

My husband’s mistress complained that our daughter snubbed her by refusing to touch her food. That night, he ripped out Lily’s tongue — and served it to her as dinner. I snapped. I severed Amber’s tendons , hands and feet,then ripped her womb out and fed it to the dogs. I wanted her to feel exactly what I felt. Everyone thought Ethan Cole would kill me for it. Instead, he locked me in a psychiatric facility for two years — then shoved our daughter’s ashes in my face and made me sign the papers. “The Cole family doesn’t keep dogs that bite. Die in here, or crawl out and disappear.” After that, I was gone. Completely. Until three years later — when I inherited my father’s empire, every piece of it, legit and underground — and came back to find Amber still breathing. She slapped me the second she saw me. “Oh my God, Zoe. You’re alive? Could’ve sworn you’d be rotting in a gutter somewhere by now.” I smiled. Grabbed her forearm. And snapped it. “Funny — you forgot what I’m capable of. Let me jog your memory.” Amber screams like something dying. Her little entourage loses their minds — pointing, shoving, screeching all at once. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” “Do you have any idea who she belongs to?!” Some guy rushes forward to pull Amber away from me. I plant my foot in his chest and send him flying. Amber’s ghost-white, drenched in cold sweat, but she still manages to point at me with her good hand. Shaking. “Zoe! You crazy bitch! You actually—” “What? Surprised I would?” I cut her off. Drop her arm. Watch her stumble backward, clutching the twisted mess of it. “Three years, and the only thing Ethan taught you is how to talk shit? That’s it?” Dead silence. Ethan Cole’s name hits the room like a kill switch. The noise cuts out almost entirely. Amber’s voice cracks. Pitches high. Desperate. “Ethan’s going to make you pay for this! You hear me?! You’re DEAD!” I pull an antibacterial wipe from my bag. Clean each finger. Slow. Deliberate. Like I just touched something diseased. “Then tell him to come. I’ve been dying to ask how he raised you to be this useless. All bark. No bite. Just a yappy little thing that can’t do anything but make noise.” Gasps ripple through the crowd. Everyone in this room knows. Amber is Ethan Cole’s. His untouchable. Even back when she was just a dirty little secret on the side, nobody dared cross her. Three years under his wing turned her into one of the most dangerous women in this city. And I just shattered her arm and spat in both their faces. She’s shaking. Rage. Tears and sweat running together. Pathetic. “You’re NOTHING! A thrown-out ex-wife! A goddamn mental patient! Who the fuck do you think you are, putting your hands on me?!” I step forward. She scrambles back. Terror flooding her eyes. “Amber. Want me to remind you what it felt like? When the dogs got into you? Because I remember every second. And I can do it again.” Every drop of color drains from her face. Like she’s seen a ghost. Screaming, stumbling backward. “Someone grab her! Get this psycho away from me!” People shift. Nobody steps forward. Then the crowd parts on its own. Tall. Familiar. Flanked by bodyguards. Ethan Cole. Amber spots him and collapses into full hysterics. Throwing herself at him. “Ethan! She broke my arm! Oh God it hurts—” His eyes land on my face. Hold for one second. Brow tightening. Then he looks down at Amber — sobbing, shaking against his chest — and reaches for her. But not to comfort her. He grips her dislocated forearm. She gasps. Crack. She shrieks. Goes limp. He catches her. Pulls her close. “Shh. You’re fine.” His voice — dead flat. But the look he gives me is pure murder. “Zoe.” My name. Even. Measured. The pressure behind it could crack stone. “Three years gone, and you come back swinging like this? Hell of a homecoming gift.” I look at him. I think about the windowless days in that facility. I think about him forcing Lily’s ashes into my hands and making me sign away everything. I let my lips curl. No warmth behind it. “That was just the appetizer. You want the main course? I can serve it right now.”

Amber wails louder into Ethan’s chest. “Ethan it hurts so bad — she’s completely lost it — just kill her already!” He pats her back. Twice. Then keeps his eyes on me. “Seems those years locked up didn’t teach you a damn thing, Zoe. If anything, you got dumber. Bolder. Stupider.” I toss the used wipe into the nearest trash can. Look him dead in the eye. “That’s hilarious coming from the guy who let his whore get his own daughter killed. You wanna talk about stupid? Let’s talk about stupid.” “You—!” Vein pops at his temple. His arm crushes tighter around Amber. She yelps — but doesn’t dare say a word. “Take that back. Apologize to Amber.” His voice drops into command mode. Low. Absolute. “Then break your own hand. I might — might — let you crawl out of here still breathing.” I laugh. Loud. Right in his face. Like he just said the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life. “Ethan. Sweetie. You actually still think you’re God in this city?” I step into his space. Ignore the bodyguards going tense all around me. “You want me to apologize?” I point at Amber. Sneering. “Tell that bitch to give my daughter her tongue back first.” Amber shrinks behind him. Trying to disappear. His face goes black. Like a storm about to break. “Lily brought that on herself! She pissed Amber off!” The way he says it. Casual. Offhanded. Like he’s talking about a spilled drink. Something inside me goes ice-cold. Lethal. “Over one bullshit made-up complaint — you ripped your own daughter’s tongue out of her mouth? Even the sickest, most fucked-up animal on this earth wouldn’t do that to its own young. You’re not even an animal, Ethan. You’re something worse. Something that shouldn’t exist.” That night. When they brought Lily back. Her mouth — a lake of blood. Her tiny body curled on the cold floor like a shattered doll. She was staring at the ceiling. Big eyes — nothing left in them but tears and terror. Already gone. Drowned in her own blood. No breath. And Ethan stood right there. Looking down at me — collapsed, destroyed — and said in that dead flat voice: “She won’t piss Amber off anymore.” That was the moment I knew. One of us was going to die. And it wasn’t going to be me. “Shut your MOUTH!” Ethan. Roaring. I hit the nerve. “You wanna play it this way?! FINE! We do it the hard way!” Hand raised. Signaling the guards. “Pin her down! She won’t do it herself — then you do it for her!” They close in around me. Amber’s mouth curves into a smile. Already tasting my blood on the floor. I don’t move. Don’t flinch. Just look at Ethan. “You actually think I’m still her? That scared little wife you pushed around? The one who couldn’t save her own baby?”

Ethan charges. Hand clamping around my throat. Eyes bloodshot. Nothing behind them but murder. “You really think I won’t, Zoe? You really think I give a shit?” Vision going dark. But I look right at him. And smile. Force the words through his grip. “Do it then… squeeze…” “…just like you watched Lily choke on her own blood.” Her name. His fingers loosen. Just a fraction. I drive my knee up between his legs. Hard as I can. He grunts. Grip gone. I stagger back. Gasping. Throat raw and burning. Guards swarm me. Arms wrenched behind my back. Face slammed into cold marble. Amber peeks out from behind him. Pure poison in her eyes. “Baby, are you okay? Make her kneel! Force that bitch to her KNEES!” He straightens. Fixes his collar. Looks down at me like I’m something on the bottom of his shoe. “You heard her. Amber doesn’t like you standing.” He crouches. Quiet. Clear. “Get on your knees. Apologize. Then smash the hand you touched her with.” Pause. “Or I dump Lily’s ashes in a pig trough. Your choice.” Lily. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. Pinned flat. Can’t move. I can only wrench my head up and stare at him. That tiny girl. Who called me Mommy in her little voice. All that’s left of her now — a handful of ash. And he’s using even that. To break me. “You don’t deserve to be called her father. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her memory—” My voice is shredded. Blood on my lips. He scoffs. Amused. “Monster or man — wasn’t that your choice? You married me, Zoe. You picked this.” And he’s right. I fell for Ethan Cole when he was nothing. Broke. Empty pockets. Big mouth. I ignored my father’s warnings. Walked away from everything the Sinclair name meant. Poured it all into him — the connections, the resources, my own blood and sweat — built the throne he’s sitting on right now with my bare hands. And what did I get? My daughter slaughtered. Myself thrown out like garbage. “Hard way it is then.” He stands. Patience gone. Nods at the guard. The man grabs my right hand. Ethan watches. Eyes flat. Unreadable. My voice — raw. But steady. “You sure you wanna go there, Ethan? You really sure?”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260619rzkN4dyNXU 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni703923”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

“Luna. Let me tell you a secret.” Alpha Kaelen leaned in close, voice barely a whisper. “The late Alpha didn’t just die of illness. I switched out his medicine that night.” He smiled. “Funny, isn’t it? You saved a Rogue’s pup, Luna. And I killed your Alpha.” *********** Six months since Kaelen took over the pack. Six months, and my guards, my servants, my food had been cut three times. The fourth time, the Beta who delivered the message didn’t even bother to bow. He said the Alpha had found me a quiet cabin at the edge of the territory. “The Alpha thinks it would be good for you to rest there.” I sat all day, sorting through everything my late mate had left me. The Obsidian Fang. Three Blood Decrees that the late alpha made. The next day, I attended the Full Moon Council as usual. From my seat, I watched the pack through the flickering firelight. Kaelen turned his head and glanced at me. The woman standing beside him wasn’t the Luna. It was Chloe—his chosen Mate, the one he’d publicly claimed just last month. She adjusted his collar, her fingers lingering on the fresh bite marks on her neck. She leaned in and whispered something. Then Kaelen raised his voice for everyone to hear. “I don’t think our Luna has been feeling well lately. She doesn’t need to worry about pack affairs anymore.” A few Betas murmured in agreement. I didn’t move. “So you think it’s time for me to go?” I paused. “Let me ask you something.The late Alpha left three Blood Decrees. Did you konw?” Dead silence. Kaelen’s fingers dug into the armrest. “The first one protects my position as Luna. You’ve seen that one. But you seem unwilling to comply.” “The second one—do you want to open it now? Or would you rather wait until I’m gone?” Not a sound. Every wolf in attendance lowered their heads. Even their breathing seemed to slow. Kaelen’s face drained of color. He stared in my direction, his throat bobbing twice. His knuckles had gone white from gripping the armrest. I watched his eyes through the dim light. That wasn’t guilt. That was fear. “Luna, you can’t be serious.” His voice dropped low, barely holding steady. “The Blood Decrees is sacred. You can’t just throw it around like this. We can talk about this in private after the council.” He was stalling. I wasn’t going to give him the chance. My hand slipped into my cloak. My fingers brushed against the Blood Decrees. In the front row, a few of the late Alpha’s old allies lifted their heads. “Well. Since you’re in no rush.” I flicked my wrist. The Blood Decrees flew from my hand and tumbled down the stone steps. Every pair of eyes followed it down. No one moved. Kaelen shot to his feet—but the woman beside him was faster. Chloe grabbed her skirts and rushed down the steps, bending low to snatch the Blood Decrees. “Our Luna hasn’t been sleeping well. I think the stress is getting to her head. Don’t worry, I’ll keep this safe—” I watched her bent figure, and a memory surfaced. Twelve years ago. Dead of winter. I had found him half-dead in the snow, a rogue’s unwanted pup, and brought him into the pack. I gave him a home. A name and a future. And this was what I got in return. “How dare you.” Four Luna’s Guards burst through the entrance, half-shifted, claws out and pressed against Chloe’s throat. She froze. Hand in midair. All the color gone from her face. Someone gasped. Chloe’s legs shook. She looked desperately at Kaelen, lips trembling, but nothing came out. Kaelen’s eyes went wide. He pulled Chloe behind him, voice rising. “She was just trying to help! What the hell are you doing? You want to tear this pack apart over nothing?” His hand clamped down on Chloe’s shoulder. Veins popped along the back of his hand. The Betas who had backed him up moments ago were now staring at their feet. Silent. I didn’t acknowledge him. “Head Elder.” In the front row, the white-haired elder’s knees gave out. He sank to the ground. “I… I’m here.” “Pick it up. Read it out loud.” The old man crawled to the bottom of the steps. His hands trembled as he lifted the Blood Decrees. His fingers shook so hard that flakes of dried scattered across the stone. Kaelen opened his mouth, ready to stop him—but dozens of eyes snapped toward him at once. The words died in his throat. His eyes scanned the text. Left to right. His face changed. He looked up at me. Then back at Kaelen. His lips moved, but no sound came out. “Read it.” I said.

The Head Elder’s voice shook as he read, every word forced out. “The late Alpha’s second decree: Should the new Alpha neglect his duties for personal pleasures or permit any mate to overstep her place” “—the Luna holds the right to strip all ranks from those involved. No appeal. No council vote. Effective at once.” Silence. Then every pair of eyes turned to the same spot. Chloe stood behind Kaelen. Her face had gone gray. Her nails dug into her palms so hard they nearly drew blood. The Decree bore the late Alpha’s blood seal and scent. Every stroke, every mark is unmistakable. Impossible to forge. Kaelen’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t get a single word out. I rose to my feet. Every wolf in the room turned to look at me. The old guard in the front lowered their gazes. The younger wolves in the back were shaking. “Beta Hendricks failed to teach his daughter her place. He let her snatch the late Alpha’s Blood Decree in front of the entire pack. A direct insult to this council.” “The Blood Decrees carries the late Alpha’s blood seal. Only the Luna has the right to unseal it. ” “Beta Hendricks failed to teach his daughter her place. She tried to snatch it in front of the entire pack—that’s not just disrespect. That’s a direct challenge to his final command.” My voice was calm. But everyone heard it. On the left side, third row—Beta Hendricks, Chloe’s father, went purple in the face. He swayed twice but forced himself to stay standing. My voice was calm. But everyone heard it. “Effective immediately: stripped of his rank and banished from the inner territory. He runs with the strays now.” I looked at Kaelen. “Alpha. Any objections?” His lips pressed into a thin line. His jaw was clenched so tight a vein bulged at his temple. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. He’d bitten through his own lip. Behind him, Chloe clutched his arm, trembling all over. Kaelen closed his eyes for a moment. “…Granted.” The word came out through gritted teeth. Beta Hendricks stood frozen. Chloe’s knees buckled. She collapsed against Kaelen, sobbing without a sound. He held her shoulder and lowered his head. But when his eyes lifted to meet mine— Pure hatred and ice cold. Less than two hours after the council ended, every guard outside my quarters was gone. Replaced by Kaelen’s warriors. The marks on their collars bore his initial. I stood by the window, watching them line up in the courtyard. Finley came in with tea, his steps lighter than usual. He set down the cup and gave me a small bow. “Luna. The guards have changed. We’ll need to be more careful from now on.” I glanced at him but said nothing. He backed out quietly. I opened the hidden compartment and spread out the third Blood Decree and the Obsidian Fang on the table. My fingers traced over the fang’s carved surface, inch by inch. Before my mate —the late Alpha died, he had pressed these into my hands. His last words to me— “Keep them. Don’t give them to anyone.” I thought he was being paranoid. That night, an unfamiliar servant walked in carrying a bowl. He set it on the table without so much as a nod. His eyes swept over me with open contempt. “Alpha’s orders. The Luna hasn’t been well. One bowl Every day. No exceptions.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “And if Luna still refuses to hand over the Obsidian Fang… well, the recipe for this tonic might change.”

After the servant left, I picked up the bowl. It smelled faintly sweet. I walked to the window and poured the entire thing onto the ground outside. The liquid splashed against the stone, spreading into a dark stain. Late that night, a soft thud came from the rooftop. A shadow dropped down and knelt before me. One of my hidden scouts. The ones I’d kept outside the territory. “Luna. Something Urgent. Chloe’s cousin intercepted General Marcus’s supply convoy at the border. Thirty thousand pounds of provisions. Not a scrap left.” My grip tightened around the arm of my chair. Marcus—my brother—was stationed at the northern border. Thirty hundred warriors depended on those supplies. Cutting them off was the same as sentencing them to death. The wood cracked beneath my fingers. “Got it.” I sat in the darkness, staring at my hands. He wasn’t just coming for me. He was coming for the whole pack. The next morning. My door was kicked open from the outside. Kaelen strode in, boots echoing against the floor with every step. Chloe followed behind him. Kaelen walked straight to the table and slammed a piece of paper down. “Luna. Read this.” A letter. My brother’s handwriting. The contents accused him of conspiring with enemy packs. Treason. The handwriting was close. But Marcus had an old injury in his right hand. His strokes always hitched at the end. This letter was too smooth. Every line too perfect. It was forged. “Your brother, Marcus has been caught red-handed. Conspiring with rogues. Plotting against the pack.” Kaelen crossed his arms, looking down at me. “Hand over the Obsidian Fang. Maybe I’ll let him die in one piece.” Chloe smiled maliciously. “Luna, I’m only trying to help. Marcus’s bad leg—he got that protecting our Alpha, didn’t he? Such a shame if he dies a traitor.” Years ago, during a rogue attack on the border, Marcus had shielded Kaelen with his own body. Took a blow meant for a boy who was nobody back then. He’d walked with a limp ever since, stationed at the frozen border for seven years. And now they wanted to execute him for treason. Kaelen shifted. His claws extended, gleaming in the low light. He held them inches from my chest. “I only ask once more.” His voice dropped low. “Give me the Fang and the last Blood Decree. Or tonight, I’ll feed Marcus’s remains to the rogues.”

I didn’t back down. I shifted just enough for my claws to extend. In one swift motion, I grabbed Chloe’s wrist and yanked her in front of me. My claws pressed against her throat. Chloe screamed. Kaelen’s eyes went wide. His claws shifted instantly—away from my chest, now aimed at my neck. Three years ago, I took him in during the dead of winter. Now his claws were at my throat. “Kaelen. This is how you repay the one who saved you.” My voice was quiet. Only he could hear. “Fine.” I let go of Chloe. She stumbled and fell, then crawled back to Kaelen’s feet, sobbing. I walked to the hidden compartment and took out an obsidian fang—but not the real one. A replica. One I’d prepared long ago. It sat heavy in my palm. The late Alpha had told me the day he gave me the real one: This is your last safeguard. Now I was going to throw this fake at his feet. I held it up in front of Kaelen. Watched his eyes. It was greedy. I let go. The fang dropped from my hand and hit the stone floor. A piece chipped off the edge. “Take it. And my family doesn’t need your mercy.” Kaelen bent down and picked it up. He turned it over three times, checking every inch. The tension in his face finally eased. A smile crept onto his lips. He grabbed Chloe and walked out without looking back. The moment the door closed, Chloe’s laughter drifted in from outside. I turned and reached into the deepest part of the hidden compartment. My fingertips touched something cold. I pulled it out. The real Obsidian Fang. Black as midnight. Carved with ancient wolf runes. “They think that fang can command the warriors.” I gripped it tight. “They don’t know all pack warriors only answers to this real one.” A hidden passage opened silently. One of my scouts slipped out and knelt at my feet. I placed the fang in his hand. “Get word to my brother. Fake a defeat. Pull back from the border. Bring three hundred warriors. Surround the territory. Cut off every exit. Wait for my signal.” The scout took the fang and vanished without a sound. I stood by the window. The sky had gone dark. Finley hurried in. “Luna. Kaelen used that fang to reassign the border patrols. Every post is now held by his wolves.” I didn’t turn around. “Finley.” “Yes, Luna.” “The third Decree. It’s time everyone knowned what he really is.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202606195jfr0P2dDo 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni847654”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

A year after the car accident stole my memories, I got married. On my way to my prenatal checkup, a kid blocked my path. He scowled at me, voice ice-cold: “Dad sent me to bring you home. Are you done throwing your tantrum?” I almost laughed. I crouched down, reaching to pat his head. “Hey sweetie, I think you’ve got the wrong person.” He jerked away from my hand, irritated. “Stop pretending. Fine—I’ll let you tuck me in from now on.” I felt bad for him, but for safety’s sake, I walked him back to his house. Outside a massive mansion stood a man—tall, sharp-featured, radiating cold authority. When he saw me, something flickered in his expression. But his voice dripped with contempt: “Chloe. So you finally decided to come back.” He grabbed my hand, trying to drag me inside. I yanked free and dialed my husband: “Babe, I think I just ran into a family of psychos!” … Before he could respond, my phone was slapped from my hand. It shattered against the stone driveway. The man’s jaw clenched with barely controlled rage: “Chloe, quit the act.” “So what if you took the fall for Evelyn and did three years? You weren’t exactly suffering.” “But no—you had to jump out of the car on your way home from prison. Made Evelyn feel guilty for a whole year!” “When you see her, you’re going to apologize.” My chest tightened with sudden, inexplicable pain. My hands trembled as I reached for my broken phone. “You’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know you!” I turned to run. He caught my wrist and pulled me against his chest. Close enough to feel his breath, I could see the impatience in his eyes: “Chloe, how many years in prison does it take for you to learn? Nobody’s watching your little performance!” My heart felt like it was being ripped apart. I couldn’t breathe. Nameless terror wrapped around me. I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak. Then a strange woman emerged from the house. She wore a fitted lace nightgown, peeking out from behind the man: “Chloe! You’re back!” “Where have you been this whole year? You abandoned your husband and your son!” “What Julian did back then was wrong, I already punished him for you…” Julian. The name was familiar. But I couldn’t remember who he was. “Don’t touch me!” I instinctively shoved her hand away. She cried out and fell. “I don’t know any of you! I need to go home, I need to find my—” Pain exploded across my forehead. Blood dripped down my face. The kid had thrown a rock at me. “Bad woman! Don’t bully my mommy!” Julian glanced at me with something like concern, but he scooped Evelyn into his arms first. She struggled free, eyes red as she grabbed my hand: “Chloe, don’t blame Leo. He’s been raised by me these past few years—he forgot you’re his real mother.” She pulled me inside, grabbing iodine and bandages to patch me up. “You have no idea how hard Julian searched for you…” I realized I was trapped. I stopped resisting. Silent, I scanned the photos covering the walls. A happy family of three. Holding hands through spring, summer, fall, winter. The dates ranged from last January through December. I smiled bitterly, pointing at the glaring kid. “You say I’m his mother. So who are you?” “I…” Evelyn flushed, glancing at Julian. The man frowned, his voice sharp: “Evelyn is your sister-in-law. Why are you playing dumb?” “All those years you were locked up, she took care of me and our son. You should be thanking her.” I almost laughed. I turned to Julian. “You say I’m your wife. Then answer me this.” “Why would I go to prison in her place?” He froze. His voice rose: “Evelyn’s delicate. She can’t handle suffering. How could you compare to her?” I stood, pressing him: “Then what do I like? What’s my favorite flower? What size do I wear?” He retreated, step by step, his face draining of color. His lips moved. No words came out. I asked my final question, each word deliberate: “When is my birthday?” Julian went silent. His fists clenched. Then he exploded: “Enough! Stop this!” I laughed coldly, raising my left hand to show the massive diamond on my ring finger. “I’m sorry, Mr. whatever-your-name-is. I don’t know what kind of delusion you’re all having, but I really don’t know you.” “And I’m already married. My husband is waiting for me at home.” “As for my injuries and damages—my lawyer will be in touch.”

Evelyn dropped the ointment in her hand. She stood in disbelief: “Chloe, what did you say? Husband?” “No wonder you wouldn’t come home—you did something to betray Julian!” Julian’s eyes went dark. He gripped my wrist so hard his knuckles turned white. “Chloe, who’s the bastard?” “Is that why you’re pretending not to know me?!” Like a madman, he dragged me upstairs by my arm and threw me onto a bed. “Let’s see if that bastard left any marks on your body.” “Get off me!” I screamed, slapping him across the face. “If you touch me, my husband will make you pay—” Before I could finish, he covered my mouth with his. Julian ripped at my clothes with one hand, shoving the other inside my body. He kissed and bit my neck, voice hoarse: “Chloe, you’ve got some nerve.” “If I can’t touch you, who can?” I sobbed and struggled. Then he suddenly froze. His hand found not smooth skin, but layer after layer of crisscrossing scars. Julian’s hand trembled. He reached for the nightstand lamp. Someone pounded on the bedroom door. Evelyn’s soft crying filtered through: “Julian, I dreamed about your brother again! I dreamed he was hitting me, coming for my life!” The man immediately released me and rushed out to hold her, soothing her. “Sweet Evelyn, it wasn’t your fault.” “If he hadn’t abused you, you wouldn’t have killed him in self-defense.” “It’s over now. Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” His gentle words drifted to my ears. I trembled as I buttoned my clothes. When I touched my face, I felt wetness. I crawled to the door, pounding desperately. Even when my fingers bled, no one came. I curled up in the corner, whispering his name over and over. Silas, when will you find me? I sat alone in that room all night. The next morning, a maid finally let me out. When she saw the dead snake, she wasn’t even surprised—just tossed it in the trash like routine. Julian sat downstairs reading the financial paper. When he saw me, he ordered: “Evelyn wants the chicken soup you make. Go cook it.” “And Leo’s milk needs to be room temperature.” “I’m putting you in charge of ironing my shirts too. The staff don’t have your touch.” The words felt coded into my DNA. I actually started walking toward the kitchen. Only when my hand touched an apron did I snap out of it. I stormed out, shaking with rage: “You’re holding me against my will. I’m calling the cops!” Julian looked up, tossing the paper aside with a cold laugh: “Chloe, what game are you playing now?” I was about to answer when I caught sight of the newspaper. There was a photo of Silas at last week’s charity gala. My voice burst out, excited: “That’s my husband! If you don’t believe me, call him!”

Julian narrowed his eyes, about to speak. Evelyn stood on the spiral staircase, eyes full of contempt. “Chloe, what kind of joke is this?” “Everyone knows Silas Thorne doesn’t do women. Hell, he won’t even get a female dog—only males.” “Plus, our companies have been collaborating. We’d know if he got married.” I clenched my fists to argue back when a sharp pain hit my abdomen. My baby… I saw the unguarded front door and bolted. “Chloe, where are you going?” Evelyn rushed down and grabbed me. I’d had enough. I bit down on her hand, hard enough to taste blood. She fell screaming, clutching her hand: “Julian, my hand—it hurts so much…” The tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her turned to ice when he looked at me. “Chloe, have you lost your mind?!” CRACK. A vicious slap across my face. My vision went black. My ears rang. When I came to, Julian had dragged me in front of Evelyn and kicked my knees out from under me. “Apologize to Evelyn. On your knees.” “You hurt my mommy! I’ll kill you!” The kid swung his toy car at my head over and over. The wound split open. Blood poured out. I swallowed blood and struggled to my feet, trying to run. Someone shoved me hard. My stomach slammed into the steps. Sharp, brutal pain engulfed me. Blood ran down my thighs. Feeling the blood beneath me, tears streamed down my face: “My baby—please, get me to a hospital…” I shakily tried to stand. The world spun. Everything went black. When I woke up, the smell of disinfectant filled my nose. Muffled voices nearby: “Pregnant? Amnesia? What the hell does that mean!” “Mr. Montgomery, it’s dissociative amnesia—the patient’s defense mechanism against trauma.” Julian’s voice was barely controlled fury: “She was pampered and spoiled. How could she have this?!” The doctor sighed. “The patient has lacerations from sharp objects, contusions and fractures from blunt force trauma—clear signs of long-term, sustained violent abuse.” “Her body has endured unimaginable torture. When her mind finally broke, it activated self-protection and selectively erased all painful memories.” Silence. Then Julian’s voice, hoarse and raw: “I’ll investigate…” “But the baby goes. I’m not raising another man’s kid.” Terror seized me. I forced my eyes open but couldn’t move. They want to hurt my baby! Medical staff approached. A needle slid into my arm. Julian stood beside me, eyes red-rimmed, jaw tight. I used my last strength to grab his collar. “Don’t…” He covered my desperate eyes with his hand. I lost consciousness. When I woke again, I was back at the Montgomery house. Strapped to a metal chair. Electrodes clamped to my head. “Chloe, you’re awake.” Evelyn crouched in front of me, smiling with cruel satisfaction: “I just heard from Julian about your amnesia.” “Don’t worry. We’ll help you remember real soon.” I touched my empty, aching stomach and broke down sobbing. Julian knelt, kissing my tears, his eyes red: “The doctor said 99 shocks and you’ll remember everything.” “Then everyone who hurt you will pay. Every single one.” “As for the baby—I won’t hold it against you anymore.” I shook uncontrollably, shaking my head: “No, I really don’t know you, please—” “Do it.” Julian stood and gave the order. The button was pressed. Electricity—like molten wire—shot through my veins, from fingertips to organs. Every jolt brought bone-shattering agony. I screamed until my throat was raw. Blood poured from my lips. My vision went black. Only endless, tearing pain remained. The dam of memory finally broke. Numb tears fell one after another as I whispered: “I remember…” I remembered eight years of soul-crushing pain.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/2026061994HsyhXU0y 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni821166”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

It was the tenth day of our silent war, the fight that started because of a female intern, when I heard his voice on a late-night call-in podcast. “I have a girlfriend. We’ve been together eight years. Back in high school, her right hand was broken for saving me. She can never paint again.” “I always told myself I’d take care of her forever. But I’m so tired now.” “She’s volatile. Hypersensitive. The new intern is different. She’s an artist too.” “When I look at her hands — perfect, unblemished — I feel alive again. I can’t keep facing those scarred hands. Every time I do, all I feel is guilt.” The host sighed and offered her advice. “Guilt isn’t love. Letting go is a kindness to you both.” “If she’s become a burden in your life, tell her directly. Offer her a settlement — enough to cover her medical bills and living expenses — and part ways cleanly.” The next second, a Venmo notification lit up my phone. Ethan Blake had sent five million dollars. “Rena. This is enough for your treatments and a fresh start somewhere new. Let’s stop torturing each other. Please just let me go.” I accepted the transfer. Typed back a single word: Okay. I set my phone down and looked at my right hand. A jagged scar ran from my wrist to my fingers. In the cold, it ached like a needle driving straight to the bone. This hand had been useless for eight years. It had kept Ethan chained for eight years. Now he’d bought his freedom for five million dollars. — The next morning, I went to Ethan’s office to return his apartment key. I pushed open the door to his office. He wasn’t there. Stella Sutton was. The intern he’d described on that podcast. She was sitting in Ethan’s chair, head bowed over a stack of documents. She looked up at the sound of the door and smiled at me. “Rena, are you looking for Ethan? He’s in a meeting.” I didn’t answer. I set the key on the most visible corner of his desk. I turned to leave. Stella called after me. “Rena, Ethan was in a bad mood last night — his stomach was acting up again. Could you maybe—” “I’m not his mother,” I cut her off. The smile froze on her face. Then it softened again. She picked up a cup of coffee from the desk and stepped toward me. “Sorry, I overstepped. Don’t be upset — have some coffee. I ground the beans myself.” She walked toward me. Her foot caught on something. She lurched forward. The scalding coffee poured directly onto my right hand. The pain was immediate and total. I hissed through my teeth, instinctively pulling my hand back. Stella screamed first as though she were the one who’d been burned. A few drops had landed on her wrist. A small red patch bloomed on her skin. The office door burst open. Ethan rushed in. He didn’t look at me once. He went straight to Stella, grabbing her wrist with both hands. “Where does it hurt? How bad is it?” Stella’s eyes reddened. She shook her head. “I’m fine, Ethan. I wasn’t careful — I spilled it on Rena.” Only then did Ethan look at me. His gaze dropped to my right hand — blistered, scalded red. His brow creased. There was no concern in his eyes. Only impatience. Only blame. “Rena. What is wrong with you lately?” His voice went cold. “Stella is just an intern. If you have a problem with me, take it up with me. Why are you going after her?” My heart felt scalded too. I watched him shelter Stella so carefully. She peered out from behind him, and for just a moment, a gleam of satisfaction crossed her face. I couldn’t find a single word to say. I picked up the key I’d just set down and put it back in my pocket. Ethan’s voice dropped lower, colder. “What now? Using the key as leverage?” “No,” I said. My voice came out raw. “I just figured that key is useless to you now.” “After all, you already changed the locks.” I turned and walked out. Behind me, Ethan’s voice followed, tight with barely contained anger. “Serena Holt. Are you done?” I didn’t look back. I walked out of that building one step at a time, out of the place that had never let me breathe. The sunlight outside was brutal. My right hand burned. Eight years ago, this hand had caught a steel pipe meant for his skull. He’d wept and promised he would never let me get hurt again. Eight years later, this hand was scalded by a cup of coffee. And he was asking why I was being so unreasonable. — I came back to my little flower shop. The familiar green smell of leaves and soil washed over me the moment I stepped inside. This place was how I survived. It was the only place that was mine. I pulled an ice pack from the refrigerator and pressed it against my hand. The sharp pain eased, just a little. The burning inside my chest only grew.

My phone rang. Mia Blake. “Rena, did my brother piss you off again? He’s such an idiot — don’t let him get to you.” Mia’s voice was as bright as ever. She was the only person in this entire relationship who had ever been on my side. “It’s nothing,” I said. “Nothing? He literally just called me and told me to talk some sense into you. He said that Stella’s wrist was peeling from the burn. He said you went too far.” My stomach dropped. Peeling? I looked down at the blisters rising on my own hand and almost laughed. “Rena, who even is this Stella? My brother keeps bringing her up.” “An intern he hired.” “Just an intern? I don’t buy it. You know how my brother is — when has he ever paid that much attention to any woman who wasn’t you?” I knew. Of course I knew. Ethan had always been guarded around people, especially women. Back in high school, he was the brooding overachiever the whole class had shut out. I was the only one who got close. I pulled him out of that darkness. I walked through the worst of it beside him. For a long time, his need for me had bordered on obsession. When had things started to change? Probably around the time he made something of himself. While I stayed exactly where I was — the woman behind the counter of a failing flower shop, with a useless hand. “Mia,” I said. “Ethan and I broke up.” Silence on the other end. A long moment passed before Mia’s voice came back, thick with tears. “Don’t scare me, Rena. Eight years. You can’t just — how can you call it over just like that?” “He ended it.” “That’s impossible. My brother loves you. He would never—” Her voice broke. I didn’t have the energy to explain. “I’m tired. I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up and sat in the corner of the shop without moving. Outside the glass, traffic moved and swirled. Boston was a big city. There was no place in it that felt like mine. Years ago, I’d turned down a full scholarship to RISD to stay in this city I hadn’t grown up in — because Ethan had gotten into Harvard pre-med and said he would give me a future. My professor had been heartbroken. She told me I was throwing away my talent for a man. I didn’t regret it. I believed him. So I learned to tend flowers instead of canvases. I opened a small shop with the hand that couldn’t paint anymore. I told myself we would grow old like this — quietly, steadily, together. I was the only one who ever believed that. — Evening came. The door of the flower shop swung open and the wind chime rang. I assumed it was a customer. I didn’t look up. “Rena.” Ethan’s voice. My body went rigid. I still didn’t move. He walked over and crouched in front of me, looking at my face. “Is your hand still hurting?” he asked. He sounded tired. I said nothing. He reached for my right hand. I pulled it back sharply. His hand stopped mid-air, caught off guard. “I checked the security footage this afternoon,” he said quietly. “I was wrong to blame you. Stella tripped on her own.” “The cameras in your office have been broken for two years,” I said flatly. Ethan went still. The cameras outside his office had been decorative for years — disabled to protect his privacy. He hadn’t checked any footage. He was testing me. If I’d followed his lead — admitted I was hurt, given him the opening to feel sorry — he would have offered a token apology. And then, like every other argument we’d ever had, it would have dissolved into nothing. But this time, I didn’t give him that. Ethan’s expression hardened. “Do you have to be like this, Rena?” “Like what?” “Picking a fight. Needing to be right.” I pulled the corners of my mouth into something that wasn’t a smile. Two tears slid down my face without my permission. “Who’s picking a fight?” I looked at him. “Eight years, Ethan. Is that really all I am to you?” He said nothing. That silence was worse than anything he could have said. He stood, reached into his pocket, and placed a small tube of ointment on the table beside me. “It’s imported. For burns. Use it regularly.” He was back to that version of himself — composed, elevated, dispensing care like charity. Like he was the one doing me a favor. Like I should be grateful. “And—” he paused, “—that money is yours. You earned it. Go live well.” He turned and walked out. No hesitation. No looking back. I watched his back — the one I had once thought was my steadiest place in the world. Now it felt like a knife. I grabbed the tube of ointment off the table and threw it at him with everything I had. It hit him between the shoulder blades and dropped to the floor with a hollow thud. His footsteps slowed. He didn’t turn around. The door opened. The door closed. The flower shop left me alone with the wreckage.

For the next few days, Ethan didn’t come back. My life fell back into its ordinary shape. I opened the shop. I helped customers. I kept moving. Only the burn on my right hand kept reminding me that something had changed permanently. Then, one afternoon, a package arrived. I opened it. An invitation card for an art exhibition. Stella Sutton: New Works — A Solo Exhibition. The venue was the most prestigious gallery in the city. The name on the invitation line: Ethan Blake. My chest tightened like a fist closing around my ribs. Stella studied art. Ethan had said that looking at her hands made him feel alive. What was he doing? Was he showing off? Showing me he had found a perfect replacement — a woman who could give him everything he’d ever wanted? I crumpled the invitation and threw it in the trash. Then I went anyway. I had no invitation, so security stopped me at the door. I stood on the other side of the glass wall and watched the crowd move inside. Stella stood in the spotlight in a designer gown, radiant, receiving compliment after compliment. Ethan stood beside her in a tailored suit. The way he looked at her — it was a softness I had never once seen him aim at me. A pride I had never once earned. In that moment I felt like exactly what I was: a person who had shown up somewhere she wasn’t wanted, pressing her face against the glass at someone else’s happiness. I turned to leave. And then I saw it. The largest piece in the center of the gallery. The title card read: Shattered. A girl curled in a corner. Fragments of shattered stars scattered around her like broken glass. The composition. The line weight. The color choices. I felt the world tilt. That was my painting. The last sketch I had ever made — drawn in the weeks after my hand was broken, when I was at the bottom of the worst pain and despair I had ever known. My hand shook so badly I could only finish the pencil outline before I couldn’t hold a pen anymore. I had kept that sketch locked in my studio. Only one other person knew the code. Ethan Blake. He had stolen my painting. He had taken the most painful memory I owned and handed it to his new lover to build her career on. The blood rushed to my head. The room spun. I shoved past the security guard at the entrance and pushed through the door. “Ethan!” My voice came out like a scream. Every head in the gallery turned. Ethan and Stella both looked up. Ethan’s brow collapsed. He strode toward me, fury in every step, his voice dropping low and vicious. “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?” I pointed at the painting. My hand was shaking. “That painting. Why is it here?” Ethan glanced in the direction I was pointing. His face didn’t change at all. “That’s Stella’s work.” “Her work?” A broken laugh tore out of me. “You’re going to stand there and tell me you’ve never seen that sketch before?” His pupils contracted. “Ethan Blake, you are disgusting!” I screamed. “Rena—” He grabbed my arm. “This is a public event. Stop making a scene.” “I’m making a scene?” I looked at him, and the tears finally broke through. “You stole my painting. You stole my dream. You gave it to her. And I’m the one making a scene?” More people had gathered now, watching. Stella walked over and took Ethan’s arm, her face a portrait of confusion and distress. “Rena, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. This piece is entirely my own. Ethan just — gave me some inspiration.” “Inspiration?” I laughed coldly. “Taking my pencil sketch and painting over it — that’s what you’re calling inspiration?” “I don’t know what sketch you mean…” Stella let her tears fall. “Ethan, I’m scared—” Ethan pulled her protectively behind him and looked at me the way you look at someone beyond reasoning with. “Enough. One more word and I’m calling security.” Security again. In his world, I was always the disturbance that needed to be removed. “Fine,” I said. I wiped my face. “Remember today, Ethan.” I held his gaze for one long moment, then turned and walked out, each step heavier than the last. Behind me, voices: “Who is that woman? She’s unhinged.” “I heard she’s his ex. Her hand is disabled. She’s apparently not quite right mentally either.” “No wonder he moved on. Who could put up with that?” Each word landed like something sharp and small. So that’s what I was to them. A disabled, unstable ex. A burden he’d finally managed to shed. And Ethan was the one to be pitied. — I went back to the flower shop and locked myself in the storage room. It was full of old art supplies, untouched, layered in dust. From the bottom of a cardboard box I pulled out an old sketchbook. Every page was something I had poured myself into. Portraits of Ethan. Landscapes we had seen together. Everything I had once imagined for our future. The last page was the pencil sketch of *Shattered.* Only a few lines. But those lines were the deepest scream my soul had ever made. Now they were someone else’s staircase to success. I curled up in the corner of that small dark room, clutching the sketchbook, just like the girl in the drawing. Only this time, no one was coming to find me.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260619BpMGihLtCG 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni137698”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

“The wedding is off.” “I’m in love with your sister. I want to be with her.” My groom announced this at our wedding in front of everyone. I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. Because my sister was only two years old. The hall erupted into chaos. I stood there in my white dress, my mind completely blank. He looked at me, guilt written all over his face. “Aria, look… I know this isn’t fair to you.” “But from the moment I first saw your sister, I knew she was the one.” I stared at him in shock. His voice softened, almost pleading. “Aria, please. Just let me be with your sister.” I finally moved my lips, but no words came out. “Aria, I know you’re crazy about me.” “But I don’t love you anymore. She’s the only one I want.” “Whatever, you’re just a fake heiress. You were never good enough for me anyway.” Caleb looked down at me, his eyes filled with contempt. The guests were buzzing. “He’s calling off the wedding? Oh, this is going to be good.” “Cheating but with Aria’s sister? You can’t make this stuff up.” “I mean, can you blame him? Didn’t you hear? Aria’s just a fake heiress!” “Caleb’s a top graduate, a rising star. Why would he marry a fraud? That’s just embarrassing.” Hearing this, Caleb seemed to stand a little taller. His voice turned coaxing. “Aria, don’t take it too hard.” “You’re just a fake heiress. But I’m going to be one of the most successful men in this city.” “Look around you. This is our wedding, and not a single person from your family bothered to show up. That should tell you something about how little you matter to them.” “A fake is a fake. You were never be my wife.” I listened to his absurd words, still unable to wrap my head around what was happening. Caleb and I had been together since college. Right after graduation, we started planning our wedding. But my parents had always looked down on him. They never wanted me to marry him. That’s why they didn’t come today. I never expected Caleb to twist their absence into this. A fake heiress? I was my parents’ biological daughter. How could I possibly be fake? And my sister… she was only two years old! How could he possibly be with her… I pressed my fingers to my temple, completely bewildered. “When did you even meet my sister?” “She’s only… how could you two possibly…” “What do you mean?” Caleb cut me off with a cold snort. “I fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her.” “She’s sweet, she’s the true heiress of the Sterling family. She’s the kind of woman who actually deserves to be with me.” “And just so you know, we’ve been together for three years.” My jaw nearly hit the floor. Three years? Three years ago, my sister was still in my mother’s womb! I took a deep breath and studied Caleb from head to toe. So he was cheating. But his mistress sure as hell wasn’t my two-year-old sister. My nails dug into my palms and smiled coldly a cold smile crept across my face. “Caleb, someone’s been playing you.” “Cut the crap!” Caleb shot back, anger flashing in his eyes. “You don’t believe me?” “Look at this!” He slapped a photo down in front of me. “Still going to tell me this isn’t your sister?”

All eyes locked onto the photo. I just stood there, frozen, unable to speak. “Is this the Sterling family’s true heiress?” “I guess she’s pretty, but her vibe isn’t even as classy as Aria’s…” “Please. Old money doesn’t need to show off.” Caleb turned to me with a smirk. “Now do you believe your sister and I are really together?” “Aria, I know this is hard for you to accept.” He sighed, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. “But it is what it is. A fake heiress like you was never good enough for me. Your sister and I are in love. We’re meant to—” “Who said she’s my sister?” I couldn’t help it. I cut him off with a frown. “I’ve never seen this woman before in my life. She’s NOT my sister.” Caleb’s face froze. But a second later, he burst out laughing like he’d just heard the funniest joke. “Never seen her? Wow, Aria. I didn’t know you had it in you.” “You’d really pretend you don’t know your own sister just to keep me?” “Give it up, come on. I never would’ve been with you if I’d known you were just a fake heiress!” I frowned, a bitter taste in my mouth. When Caleb and I first got together, he was the one who chased me for months. Texting me every day, checking in, being the perfect gentleman. That’s how he won me over. When my parents found out, they didn’t approve. But I was stubborn. Blinded by love. I insisted on marrying this broke nobody. And now? Now I find out he’s nothing but a shallow, gold-digging piece of shit. He thought I was a fake heiress, so he cheated on me for three years behind my back. And now he was dumping me at my own wedding. “Aria, I know how much you love me.” “We’ve been together for years. Of course I still care about you.” “Your sister’s even willing to be generous about it. She’ll be my wife, and you… well, you can stay in the picture.” “Just keep a low profile, stay out of her way, and she’s fine with me coming to see you.” My fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white. The little bitter I’d felt turned into a wave of pure disgust. I never thought Caleb could actually say something like this out loud! What a shameless piece of shit! “Nothing to say? I knew you’d come around.” Caleb looked at me with that mocking smile, his tone playful. “I knew it. Women like you are all the same—get dumped and still come begging for scraps. This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Just be a good girl, and I’ll—” “Fuck you!” I lost it. I slapped him so hard across the face my palm stung. SLAP! The sound echoed through the entire hall. Caleb’s head snapped to the side. Five red fingerprints bloomed across his cheek. “What the fuck?! Did you just hit me?!” Caleb clutched his face, staring at me in disbelief. I laughed coldly and didn’t hesitate to kick him hard right where it hurts. “AHHH—!” His scream pierced the air. I lifted my foot, ready to stomp down on him. But just then— “STOP!” An enraged voice exploded from the back of the crowd.

#{3|The Real Sister} # “Caleb! Are you okay?” A woman rushed over and helped him up, then turned to glare at me with teary eyes. “How could you hit him?” “If you want to blame someone, blame me. I’m the one who wants to be with him.” “I’m so sorry… Caleb, this is all my fault. That’s all because of me…” Tears streamed down her face. “How is any of this your fault?” Caleb pulled her into his arms. “I’m the one who fell for you. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Aria.” Then he whipped his head toward me, his voice turning ice cold: “Apologize to Harper. Now.” I paused, almost laughing at the absurdity of it all. These two shameless cheaters actually had the nerve to blame me. They cheat, and somehow it’s my fault? “I’m so sorry!” Harper suddenly threw herself at me, eyes red and brimming with tears. “I know you’ve always been insecure about being a fake heiress.” “You’ve bullied me our whole lives, taken everything that was mine. I never held it against you.” “But please… I really love Caleb. I’m begging you, just let him go. Please?” She sounded so sincere, so heartbroken, that the crowd immediately started taking her side. “Oh my god, the true heiress got bullied this badly by a fake? Aria’s a monster!” “A fraud is a fraud! Stealing her things since childhood, and now even trying to steal her man!” “At least the real heiress has a good heart. After all that abuse, she’s still calling her ‘sister.’ If it were me? I would’ve slapped her across the face!” The whispers grew louder and louder. Everyone was looking at me like I was the villain. Like I was the homewrecker. Caleb looked heartbroken, pulling Harper closer to wipe her tears. I stood there, feeling like I’d stepped into some alternate reality. This woman, standing here calling me her sister and claiming to be the true heiress— I had never seen her before in my life. “Please, just let him—” “Who the hell are your sister?” I took a deep breath and stared at her coldly. “I don’t know you. Stop pretending we’re related.” “Aria!” Harper cried out, looking like I’d just stabbed her in the heart. Fresh tears spilled over. “I know you’re angry. I know you don’t want me to be with Caleb.” “But you can’t… you can’t just pretend you don’t know me!” She grabbed my hand, her voice trembling with desperation. “I’m sorry, okay? Please, just let me be with Caleb!” Seeing her play the victim so perfectly, the crowd started piling on. “Enough, Aria! You can’t force someone to love you. They’re happy together—why do you have to ruin it?” “Exactly! You’re just a fraud. What gives you the right to compete with the real heiress for a man?” “She’s your sister! Are you really going to throw away family over some guy?” I listened to the accusations flying at me, my nails digging into my palms. Finally, I looked at Harper and smiled. “Fine. If you’re my sister, sure, I’ll let you have Caleb.” “So do you have any proof?” The murmuring stopped. All eyes shifted to Harper. She looked away nervously, then cleared her throat. “Of course I have proof!” She pulled out her phone, dialed a number, and put it on speaker. “Hey, sweetheart! Why are you calling now?” I froze. My whole body went rigid.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260619u8mQAISUX2 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni202280”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

Over the holidays, my adopted sister Wanda brought my boyfriend Boyce home and announced their engagement. My parents gave their blessing. Boyce looked thrilled. I caught the warning buried in his glance at me, and offered a calm little smile. “You two make a beautiful couple. Congratulations.” But that night, once everyone else was asleep, he slipped into my room, his face dark. “You just—gave me up to your sister, just like that? Then what were the last seven years?” … “Call it a doctor-patient relationship.” His expression cracked. His fingers started worrying against each other—an old tic of his, the one that surfaced whenever his nerves got the better of him. Every other time he’d had an episode, I would’ve been the first to soothe him. Tonight, I simply looked away. “You’re taking Wanda to confirm the engagement venue tomorrow. Get some sleep.” He didn’t move. He stayed pressed against the door, his breathing audibly uneven. “And what about you? What about us? Our seven years?” I paused, then almost laughed. Where did he find the nerve to bring up our seven years? I had spent seven years walking beside a man with severe social anxiety and emotional dysregulation, coaxing him back into something resembling a normal life. Sitting through his therapy. His rehabilitation. Teaching him, slowly, how to build connections with other people again. And in the end—he became my sister’s fiancé. For as long as I could remember, Wanda had been the favorite. She was always at the center of every room, and I was always the one expected to step aside. The night before an SAT exam, I still had to stay up talking to her. Three sleepless days at work meant nothing—I was still dragged to Disneyland to keep her company. What I felt had never mattered. I gave him a faint smile. “I wish you both happiness.” Boyce stood frozen. It was a long time before he turned and walked out. I shut the door, sat back down at my desk, and looked at the email I’d already drafted. The recipient was a top-tier psychiatric center in Boston. I stared at the screen a long while, then pressed send. — Early the next morning, I’d planned to round everyone up for a trip out to the lighthouse—until I saw Wanda’s Instagram post. 【They say if you watch a sunrise together, you’ll be happy for the rest of your lives. We’re going to be so happy! 】 Nine photos. My parents. Boyce. Wanda. Everyone clustered around her, grinning. They’d driven down to the coast before dawn to watch the sunrise—even brought the family dog. I was the only one they hadn’t invited. I scrolled through every picture in silence, then put the phone down. On my way downstairs, I dropped the travel itinerary I’d spent half a month putting together straight into the trash. The four of them came back through the door, mid-laugh. The laughter stopped when they saw me. My father cleared his throat, fumbling. “Wanda got a sudden urge to see the sunrise. We didn’t want to wake you, so we just let you sleep.” My mother instantly produced a Polaroid. “See, we even saved you a spot. We can Photoshop you in later and print a new one.” Later. Again. Next time. Again. They watched me, almost wary, as if bracing for me to be jealous of Wanda. I just nodded. “It’s fine. I don’t really like hiking anyway.” The relief on their faces was visible. They walked right past me and up the stairs. No one asked where I was going. No one asked whether I’d eaten. I stood there for a long time. Then I sat down to a tasteless breakfast, alone. On my way back to my room, I passed my parents’ suite. The door hadn’t quite latched. From inside came the muffled sound of Wanda crying. “I didn’t mean to take Edith’s things…” “I was just scared. Scared of becoming the kid no one loved best.” My mother, undone, hurried to comfort her. “How could you ever not be loved? From now on, you’re the only child in this family who matters.” My father chimed in. “We’ve never told anyone outside which of you was adopted. People have always assumed it was Edith—from now on we’ll just let them go on thinking it.” Wanda’s tears turned to laughter in a heartbeat. “Really? I knew you loved me most.” I stood outside the door and listened to all of it. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. The relatives had already started passing the news around the family chat. 【So Edith wasn’t actually theirs?】 【That explains why she never looked like the rest of them.】 【Wanda was always the more lovable one anyway.】 I read through the messages, and something in me turned almost amused. To make Wanda feel better, they were willing to sever blood ties with me by their own hand. What was the point, then, in staying? I turned, went back to my room, and opened my laptop. I formally accepted the offer from the hospital in Boston.

The confirmation email had barely left my outbox when there was another knock at the door. I opened it to find Wanda leaning against the frame, smiling with practiced innocence. “Edith, since you’ve thrown out your travel plans anyway, why don’t you come with us today to finalize the engagement details? Everyone’s already talked it over.” I glanced down at my phone. The notification screen was empty. No one had so much as mentioned it to me. The next second, Wanda had already hooked her arm through mine, with all the easy expertise of someone who had done it a thousand times before—dragging me, the way she had since childhood, into a world that belonged to her. “Come on. I heard you had a boyfriend of seven years too, didn’t you? Weren’t you about to get engaged? You can help me out, give me some pointers.” She batted her lashes, her smile sweet and disarming. But I knew her too well. Maybe because she was the adopted one, she had grown up needing to take things from me—proof of her own importance, a way to shore up her sense of safety. Toys when we were small. Friends when we were older. And then— The man I had loved for seven years. Once upon a time I would have fought her tooth and nail. Now I was just tired. “We broke up,” I said flatly. A brief silence. The next second, her eyes welled up. “I’m sorry…” “Did I just bring up something painful?” She bit her lip, head bowed, looking heartbroken—as if she were the one who’d been hurt. My mother happened to be passing by and immediately gathered her into her arms. “There, there. Edith won’t be upset with you.” Then, with an arm around Wanda’s shoulders, she steered her gently away. As she went, she turned and gave me a long, weighted look. A few seconds later, my phone buzzed. A message from my mother. 【We know Boyce used to be your boyfriend.】 【But Wanda really likes him.】 【Be the bigger sister. Mom will introduce you to someone better later.】 I stared at the message for a few seconds. It struck me as almost funny. My parents probably still didn’t realize—Boyce had been the one to choose Wanda. I didn’t reply. I simply put my phone away. Just before we left, Wanda suddenly draped her arms around Boyce’s neck. “Don’t forget to introduce Edith to your best friend. Not you—the next best one. I mean, I’m about to be engaged to you, and Edith’s still all alone. It breaks my heart.” Boyce was quiet for a beat. Then, low: “Okay.” And he actually did push three contacts to me. 【They’re all good men.】 【The kind of normal relationship you’ve been wanting—they can give it to you.】 I looked at the messages for a few seconds, then replied: 【Thank you.】 He visibly froze. His fingers started working against each other again. The unraveling had begun. In the old days, the moment he showed signs like that, I would have stepped in to calm him. This time I just looked away as if I hadn’t noticed. My phone rang again. A message from my father, with a pin attached. 【The Grand Windsor Hotel.】 I stared at the name, my fingers stilling. Because in the original plan— that was where Boyce had been going to propose to me. A month ago, he had held me close in the middle of the night and asked, in all seriousness: “Edith, do you prefer white roses, or irises?” Back then, I’d really believed we had a future. … Half an hour later, the car pulled up at the hotel. A massive engagement banner had already been mounted out front. The photograph was one Boyce and I had taken together in New York. Only now, my face had been swapped out for Wanda’s. Inside the ballroom, white irises cascaded from above, swaying gently. Beneath each bouquet hung a love letter—one of the letters Boyce had written to me over the last seven years. Every signature, every name, had been changed. Wanda stood in the middle of it all, in a white gown, beaming, radiant. “Edith! Come look—isn’t it gorgeous? Boyce had been planning it in secret for the longest time. Even I didn’t find out till today. Honestly, with his social anxiety being what it is, how does he manage to be so romantic when it comes to love?” She complained out loud, but the smug pride in her eyes was impossible to hide. I looked quietly at Boyce. I said nothing. Because I knew— the dress on Wanda didn’t actually fit. He had cut it himself, to my measurements. The atmosphere stiffened. My mother stepped in to smooth things over. “Wanda, sweetheart, I invited a lot of your friends. Go say hello.” Wanda threw herself into her arms, even pressed a kiss to her cheek. That kind of affection had never, ever been given to me. When I was little, I had tried to hug my mother. But she had nearly died giving birth to me, and somewhere in her, a quiet resentment had always lived. Whenever I leaned in for closeness, she would instinctively push me away. So eventually, I stopped trying. This time, too, I simply lowered my head and reopened the flight-booking app. My mother spotted it, and her expression shifted. “Edith.” “Why are you looking at plane tickets?”

I instinctively darkened the screen. “Nothing.” But my mother’s brow furrowed, displeasure already creeping into her voice. “Are you sulking again? Trying to leave early?” “Today is the most important day of Wanda’s life. Could you please stop ruining things?” I paused for a second, then grabbed at the first excuse I could find. “There are always too many people traveling back at the end of the holidays. I was just checking flights to Boston for the whole family.” That softened her. She even smiled. “What’s the rush? If Wanda wants to stay a few more days, she can just quit her job. It’s exhausting work, and it’s not as if we can’t afford to support her.” Then, as if remembering something, she gave me a little nudge. “Don’t just stand there. Go take Wanda a glass of juice. Can’t you see she’s chatting with her friends?” I followed her gaze. In that little crowd were the friend who had once been closest to me, an upperclassman from medical school, and classmates who had pulled countless all-nighters with me in the lab. Somewhere along the way, every one of them had drifted over to Wanda’s side. And I had become the one who didn’t belong. Under my mother’s continued prodding, I picked up a glass of juice and walked over. The way I had for so many years—playing Wanda’s shadow. But before I could even get close, Wanda let out a sharp cry. She lurched sideways straight into the arms of the man next to her, and the juice in my hand went flying. The glass shattered across the floor. The juice splashed all down the front of me. Her eyes welled up instantly. “Edith… why would you throw the juice on me?” “Are you still angry with me? Please don’t be angry, okay?” “What did I do wrong?” Her voice trembled, as if she’d suffered some unspeakable wrong. The faces around her changed in a heartbeat. The friend who had once been my closest let out a cold laugh. “You haven’t changed a bit. You’re only happy when you’ve ruined Wanda’s mood, aren’t you?” Someone else simply shoved me back. “Could you stay away from her? You’ve been bullying her your whole life.” The upperclassman bent down to retrieve Wanda’s shoe. When he straightened up, the look he gave me was distant, cold. “Edith, even if you’re jealous of Wanda, this isn’t the way to treat her.” I stood there, soaked and disheveled, my chest aching so much it had gone numb—and I didn’t even have the will to defend myself. I just said, evenly: “Wanda, you knocked the juice over yourself. You know it.” The air went still. For a flicker of a second, the wounded look on her face froze. Her lips parted, as if she were about to say something. But before she could, my father had already come striding over, his expression dark. “Edith.” The weight in his voice. Just like every other time—he took Wanda’s side without asking a single question. “Wanda has always been insecure. You’re her older sister. You need to make more allowances for her.” He pulled a bank card out of his wallet and held it out to me. “Go clear your head somewhere. You don’t need to be at the engagement party tonight. We don’t need any more upset.” I looked at the card, and a strange laugh almost escaped me. So in their eyes, my very presence was the problem. Fine. I hadn’t wanted to stay anyway. So I nodded, obedient. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything to interfere with their engagement.” Hearing that, my father visibly relaxed. As though a nuisance had finally been dealt with. I tucked the card away, reopened the booking app, and bought a one-way ticket to Boston. This time, I really was leaving. — On the final day of the holiday, I packed early. I had just snapped the suitcase shut when there was another knock at the door. Wanda poked her head in, beaming. “Edith! Today’s the last stop of our trip—Cape Destiny! They say that if couples and families go there to make a wish together, they’ll be happy forever. Come with me and Boyce?” I was about to refuse when Boyce, standing behind her, spoke up. “Come along. You missed the engagement party yesterday. Wanda’s been upset about it for hours. Don’t make her keep feeling guilty.” His eyes, as he spoke, were fixed on something behind me. In the next second, his expression changed. He had seen the suitcase on the floor. The air froze. He stared at the case, his voice dropping low and quiet. “Edith. The trip isn’t over yet. Where are you going?”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202606191eBKo4KyFO 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni398275”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

In the Moretti family, there’s no such thing as divorce. There’s only death. Tonight, my husband holds his hand flat on the altar and lets the Don drive a blade through it — just to throw me away. Three years of marriage, and Dante is on his knees in the family chapel . He’s begging the Don to let him walk away. Because she’s back. The girl he was supposed to keep safe. The one everyone told him was dead. Those hands — the ones that used to cup my face in the dark, are sliding annulment papers across the table like I’m a deal gone bad. And he has the nerve to look like he’s the one hurting. “She was mine to protect. My father put her life in my hands, and I let them take her. I have to make that right .” I hold Lily so tight she squirms. ” What about our daughter?” He can’t even look at me. A long silence. “Sera can’t have children. She can’t even be reminded I have one.” “Lily has to disappear. From the registry. From my life. From everything. I’ll place her with a family far away — somewhere no one will ever connect her to me.” My own husband. Talking about erasing our baby. And just like that — it hits me. Christmas Eve. Three and a half years ago. That masquerade. The riddle he whispered in my ear. Funny. I thought it was romantic. Should’ve taken the hint. I take the papers. Fold them. Slip them inside my coat. “Fine. I’ll sign. But Lily’s mine.” “From tonight, we’re gone. Don’t look for us. Don’t send your people. Don’t even say her name. My daughter and I are dead to you. ” The chapel goes so quiet I can hear Lily breathing against my neck. Every single person in that room is staring at me. The capos. The uncles. The Don. His wife. All of them. I hold Lily tighter. She’s so small. She’s the only reason I’m still standing. Dante is staring too. And there it is — a flicker of shock behind his eyes. He expected screaming. Begging. The full performance. The kind of breakdown a wife is supposed to have when her husband tears her apart in front of his whole family. I didn’t give him the satisfaction. His mother gets to me first. Grabs my arm hard enough to bruise. “Elena — have you lost your mind?” “He doesn’t get to do this! The code won’t allow it — we won’t allow it!” The Don is on his feet. Shaking. I’ve never seen a man that old tremble with that much rage. He points at Dante, and his finger won’t hold still. “You ungrateful piece of— She gave you a daughter. She gave you everything a man could ask for. What did she do wrong? !” “You want to throw your wife and baby out like garbage? You’ve lost your goddamn mind!” The uncles are shaking their heads. The old consigliere — the one who’s been with the family since before Dante was born — leans forward. His voice sounds like it’s been dragged over gravel. “Dante. A hundred years. A hundred years of Moretti blood. No man in this family has ever thrown out his wife and child.” “You want to be the first? Fine. But you pay for it. Right here. Right now.” Dante doesn’t flinch. His back is straight. “Father. Mother. Everyone. This is my fault. Every bit of it.” “My father entrusted her to me. I was her only protection, and I pushed her away. The Volkovs took her because of me. Everything that was done to her — I carry that. I won’t carry it and do nothing.” He turns toward me. His eyes catch on Lily — asleep against my chest, and something in his face cracks. Just for a second. Then it’s gone. “Lily… I can’t keep her. Sera can’t have children. She can’t stand the reminder that I do.” “Once Lily’s off the registry, I’ll find her a good home. She’ll be safe. She’ll be—” The Don laughs.Not a real laugh. “Fine. Bring me the knife.” A blade is laid on the altar. Dante peels off his jacket. Drops to his knees. Lays his right hand flat on the marble. The Don picks up the blade. It punches through the center of his palm with a sound I’ll hear for the rest of my life. Blood hits the white stone. Someone behind me gasps. Dante doesn’t make a sound. The Don pulls the blade free. Flips it. And drags it across his son’s chest — slow, collarbone to ribs. Blood rolls down Dante’s torso and pools around his knees. He sways. His face goes the color of ash. But he doesn’t fall. The Don hurls the knife across the marble. It skids and clatters against the far wall. “Get out of my sight. And don’t you dare come back inside until you’ve come to your senses.” It’s pouring rain outside. Dante gets to his feet like a man twice his age. Blood is running down his arm, dripping off his fingers, mixing with the rain the second he steps through the doors. His face is white. His lips are going blue. Rain hits the open wounds and thins the blood out — long pink streaks running down his chest, pooling in the stone around his knees. And he just keeps saying it. Over and over. Teeth chattering. “I’ll die right here before I change my mind.” I watch him from the chapel doorway. This man. Bleeding out in the rain. Willing to die — for her. And my chest splits open. Because I remember. He knelt in this exact same spot for me once. Looked the Don in the eye and said he’d marry no one else. Took a beating for it. Bled for it. Didn’t flinch. That was a different man. Or maybe it was the same man . Back then he was the golden heir. The crown prince. The name everyone in New York whispered with respect. And me? I was nobody. The daughter of a mid-level accountant who used to keep the books clean for one of his uncles. Wrong neighborhood. Wrong tax bracket. Wrong everything. His whole world told him he was crazy. He married me anyway. Gave me the kind of wedding people in this city still talk about. On our wedding night, he lifted my veil. Candlelight on his face. And he whispered: “Elena. I’ll be good to you. For the rest of my life.” I believed every word. How the hell did we end up here? Yesterday. Lily’s christening. The compound packed with people — champagne, white roses, the kind of laughter that only happens when powerful men feel safe. That’s when she showed up. Sera. Thin as a ghost. Clothes torn. Eyes hollow. Standing in the doorway like something the rain dragged in. “Dante.” And the man I married came apart at the seams. His champagne glass hit the floor. He shoved past three people , nearly knocked a waiter down , and crossed the room like the building was on fire. Pulled her into his arms so hard her feet left the ground. I have never seen him lose it like that. Red eyes. Cracking voice. Saying sorry like it was the only word he knew. “It was my fault, Sera , I never should have turned you away . ” Three hundred people in that room. And not a single one was breathing. His men — capos, lieutenants, the guys who help him run half of Manhattan — they just shook their heads and muttered. “Knew he never got over her.” “She’s finally back.” And me? I stood in the corner. Holding our newborn daughter. Watching my husband hold another woman like she was the only thing keeping him alive. I told myself it was fine. He felt guilty. That’s all. He loved me. We had Lily. Our family was solid. I was wrong. Last night he came to my room. Sat on the edge of the bed. Didn’t speak for a long time. Then: “Elena. I want a divorce.” “I’m sorry. Sera was taken because of me. They held her for years. They did… things. She can never have children.” “My father gave me one job , keep her safe. I didn’t. That debt , I’ll spend the rest of my life paying it.” The air left the room. “A divorce.” I heard my own voice from somewhere far away. “And Lily? What happens to our daughter?” He wouldn’t look at me. “Sera can’t handle knowing I have a child. Lily has to go. Removed from the family. Placed somewhere she’ll never be tied to me again.” I hit him. Punched his chest with both fists, screaming, sobbing, asking him how he could do this — how any man could do this. He took it. Every hit. Never moved. Never blocked me. Just stood there with his jaw clenched and agony in his eyes — and never once took it back. By the time the sky started getting light, I had nothing left. No fight. No tears. Nothing. I said fine.

The blade wounds and the cold finally take him down. Dante collapses in the rain. His men drag him inside. A doctor comes. I stand in the courtyard with the rain soaking through my clothes, watching shadows move behind the windows, listening to his mother cry. I don’t feel anything. Back in my room, I start packing. Three years in this house. I’m amazed at how much I’ve accumulated. Jewelry. Dresses. Art he bought because I admired it once in passing. All of it worthless now. Every piece a reminder of a life I’m walking away from. I’m folding Lily’s things into a bag when I hear footsteps behind me. Dante. Propped up between two of his men like a puppet with half its strings cut. He looks like death warmed over. Bandages peek out from under his shirt — already spotting red. “Elena. This is all on me. I know that.” His voice is wrecked. I don’t turn around. “I’ll make sure everyone knows it was my decision. I’ll tell people it was mutual — not a casting out. Your reputation won’t take a hit.” He pauses. Swallows. “You’re still young. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ll meet someone who deserves you. And I’ll make sure you have enough to start over — more than enough.” I stop packing. Turn around. Look at him. He’s standing there with guilt plastered all over his face. So earnest. Like he really, truly believes he’s being a good man right now. I almost laugh. “Dante. Stop pretending this is about me.” He blinks. I walk toward him. Close enough to see the pulse jumping in his throat. “You’re not doing this for my sake. You’re doing it so you can sleep at night. So you can marry Sera without the guilt eating you alive.” “You keep saying you can’t lose her again. Fine. But what was I? What were these three years? What was any of it?” His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Elena… I never wanted it to end like this. But I can’t undo what happened to her. And I can’t be two people.” I stare at him. At that beautiful face I used to love so much. At the careful, practiced sorrow he’s wearing like a mask. “So three years of marriage and a baby daughter — we’re still worth less than your regret.” I hear my own voice — flat, dead — and barely recognize it. Something breaks behind his eyes. But all he says is: “I’m sorry.” I turn my back on him. Go back to packing. But my mind won’t stay in this room. It keeps pulling me backward. Christmas Eve. Three and a half years ago. A masquerade in midtown Manhattan. One of those obscene parties where the chandeliers cost more than most people’s houses. Champagne I couldn’t pronounce. Masks that cost a month of my father’s salary. I’d slipped away from the crowd , and found a little fortune teller’s booth tucked in the corner. A card on the table. A riddle written below it in gold ink: I’m born the moment you look, and I die the moment you touch. I stared at it. Drew a blank. Was still frowning when a voice came from right beside me , a little amused. “A reflection.” I turned. A man in a black mask. Dark suit, perfect fit. The kind of posture you can’t fake. And behind the mask — eyes like honey in firelight. He tilted his head. Half-smile. “I believe the prize is a dance. Would you like to claim it?” I couldn’t speak. I just nodded. He held out his hand. And that was it. Every rumor I’d ever heard about Dante Moretti — brilliant, impossibly elegant, untouchable — stopped being a rumor and became the man holding my hand on a dance floor. The second time was a hotel uptown. Some charity event. A storm knocked the power out — guests stranded, hallways dark, everyone panicking. He found me sitting alone in a corridor. Didn’t say a word. Just handed me his room key, told me his driver would be waiting in the morning, and disappeared. I found out later he spent the night on a chair in the lobby. Third time — outside a restaurant in SoHo. Two drunk sons of a rival family decided I looked like easy entertainment. They had me cornered against a wall when Dante appeared. He didn’t yell. Didn’t threaten. Just stood there and looked at them. They left. He walked me to my car. Didn’t say a single word the entire way. Then there was the garden party at the Moretti estate. I knew exactly what it was — his mother parading potential brides in front of him like a fashion show. I was there as a courtesy invite. Background decoration. I sat in the corner of the garden, miserable, trying to figure out how to leave without being rude. He found me. “Hiding in the corner at my mother’s party. Bold move.” Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the late afternoon light doing something impossible to his face. Maybe I was just tired of pretending. “Because I know I don’t belong here. And I know I’ll never be good enough for someone like you.” He went still. Just… studied me. Like I’d said something he wasn’t expecting. Then he smiled. Slow. Quiet. The kind that makes you forget where you are. “That’s funny. I was just thinking the opposite.” He married me three months later. Against his mother’s wishes. Against the consigliere’s advice. Against every unwritten rule about who a Moretti heir is supposed to end up with. Everyone in the city said Dante Moretti was a man of principle. That he married for love, not leverage. I believed them. I believed him. I believed we’d grow old in that house. Turns out I was just the intermission.

The first two years, Dante was the kind of husband other women invent in their heads. He’d trace my eyebrows with his thumb while I was still half asleep. He walked out of sit-downs when I had a cold. When I got pregnant with Lily, he turned into a different person entirely — softer, careful, like I might break if he breathed too hard. I thought: this is it. This is what forever feels like. And then one afternoon, I knocked over a picture frame in his study. It had been facedown on the shelf. I figured it had fallen. I picked it up. An old photograph. Sera — maybe fifteen, sixteen. Standing in the back courtyard of the estate. Wild grin. A pistol in one hand, aimed at the sky like she’d just fired it. And Dante beside her. Young. Unguarded. Laughing — this open, reckless laugh I had never once seen on his face. I was still staring at it when the door opened behind me. “Who told you to touch that?” I froze. Not because of the words — because of the voice. Cold. Hard. A voice he had never once used with me. He crossed the room in two steps, almost knocked me out of the way, and snatched the frame from my hands. I caught myself on the desk. Stood there. Staring at his back. He was checking the glass for cracks. Running his fingers over the frame. Holding it the way you hold something irreplaceable. “Get out.” He didn’t turn around. “Who is she?” Silence. A long time. “Someone I grew up with. Serafina.” And then it came out. All of it. Sera’s parents were family allies. Good people. They were killed when she was eight — a Volkov hit. Don Moretti took her in. Raised her under his roof. And gave his son one order: She’s your responsibility. You protect her. You train her. You keep her alive. So Dante did. He taught her to shoot. To fight. To read people. To survive in a world that eats little girls whole. Day after day. Year after year. She was his shadow, and he was her shield. “She told me she was in love with me.” His eyes were closed. His voice was barely there. “I shut her down. Told her it was never going to happen. My father put her life in my hands — crossing that line would’ve been the worst kind of betrayal.” That night, Sera left the compound alone. Got drunk. The Volkovs picked her up off the street. She was gone. Dante’s voice broke when he told me the rest. “Three years. I tore the whole Northeast apart looking for her. Called in every favor. Burned every bridge. Everyone told me she was dead.” He turned around. Took my hands. He looked wrecked. “Meeting you — that’s when I finally stopped looking. You’re the reason I stopped drowning, Elena.” We fought that night. The worst fight of our marriage. I screamed until my throat was raw — if he never stopped loving her, why the hell did he come after me? Why drag me into this? Why let me fall for a man who was already gone? He couldn’t answer. Not really. In the end, he grabbed the photograph and threw it into the fireplace. Right in front of me. I watched the flames eat her face. Her grin. That reckless, wild-girl joy. He pulled me close. Whispered I’m sorry until the words lost their shape. Said there was only me now. Only us. I believed him. God help me, I believed him. After that, he was even better. More attentive. More gentle. Like he was trying to prove something — to me, or maybe to himself. Everyone in the city envied me. Elena Moretti. Luckiest woman in New York. I thought the photo was ash. I thought the past was dead. Then Sera walked through our front door. Said his name once. And three years of marriage went up in smoke. That’s when I finally understood something I should have known all along: Some things don’t burn. They just go underground. And they wait.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260619MsTNMF2Iv3 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni976318”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix