Author: Momo Chan

The day I left the Sterling estate, Liam leaned against the doorframe. He watched me pack my luggage with a half-smile. “What’s this?” “Did you finally realize the kid has no intention of forcing me to marry you?” “So you think he’s useless now, and you aren’t planning to take him with you?” Before I could even open my mouth, Leo, who had been eavesdropping by the door for a while, walked in. He carefully dumped the money from his piggy bank into my hands. “Mom, you need to take good care of yourself.” “Also, please promise me you will never, ever come back.” “Chloe said she’ll only be my mom if you leave for good.” 1 After six-year-old Leo finished speaking. His dark, shiny eyes blinked at me, overflowing with anticipation. Liam lowered his voice, carrying a hidden warning. “Leo.” “Is that how they teach you to speak to your mother at school?” Leo lowered his head and pouted. “But last time Chloe asked Dad if he still liked Mom, he said he didn’t.” “And I don’t really like her either…” “If Mom wants to leave, just let her leave…” I had long stopped feeling sad over his words. A week ago, it was his sixth birthday. He threw a tantrum, insisting on celebrating with Liam and Chloe. I suddenly felt as if I had nothing left to lose. I didn’t have the slightest urge to stop him. Even when I walked past that restaurant that evening. And heard him introducing Chloe to the violinist as his mother, my heart remained completely still. 2 Because I was packing, I was crouching down. My line of sight was exactly level with little Leo. I accepted his money and gave a slight nod. “Okay, I promise you.” I stopped referring to myself as his mom and said quietly: “I will never come back to this house.” “And I won’t be your mom anymore. Leo, you’re free.” He didn’t seem to expect me to agree so easily. He stared at me for two seconds. Then he smiled and cheered, “Yay!” “Chloe is going to be my mom from now on!!” He ran out, shouting that he was going to call Chloe to tell her the good news. I packed my last piece of clothing. I zipped up my suitcase and stood up. Liam had been silent this whole time. But as I brushed past him, he grabbed my arm. His eyes were half-closed, hiding his emotions. “Tara, not liking you doesn’t mean I hate you.” “Over the years, I’ve gotten used to you.” “Why are you throwing this tantrum and insisting on leaving?” By the end, his voice was tinged with a faint irritation. I wanted to say something, but it felt redundant and overly dramatic. So I just pulled my arm free and left him with one sentence: “Take good care of Leo.” I dragged my suitcase out of the Sterling estate. Leaving the upscale neighborhood required a long walk. The weather wasn’t great. The cold wind whipped dead leaves against my body. It was the kind of day that made it easy to look miserable. But I kept walking. Not once did I look back. 3 I had rented an apartment in advance and found a job. Using my degree, I applied to be an art teacher at a children’s extracurricular center. On my first day of work. I walked into the office and saw several female teachers crouching around a little girl. “Mia, sweetie, does your uncle like desserts?” “Also, also! What kind of girls does he like?” “Right, Mia honey, is he picking you up tonight?” The girl remained expressionless. “Teachers, you called me over. If there’s a problem with my drawing style, shouldn’t you be talking about that?” The teachers exchanged awkward glances. “Since there are no problems, I’ll go back to the classroom.” The girl turned around and saw me. She gave a flat greeting, “Hello, teacher.” Then she walked away without looking back. 4 The other teachers were very friendly to me, the newcomer. After explaining the workflow, they started gossiping about the girl again. “You probably don’t know, but that kid’s uncle is Harrison Cole.” “He and Liam Sterling are known as the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelors.” “Oh, not anymore. I heard Liam Sterling is already back together with his first love, Chloe Davis.” “Now Harrison Cole is the only one left.” Hearing Liam’s name again, I felt as calm as if I didn’t know him. But Harrison Cole… I sighed silently. He was Liam’s arch-rival. In the past, he couldn’t stand the sight of me. Every time we crossed paths, I inevitably endured his sarcasm. “You’re pathetic. Photos of Liam and Chloe kissing are trending online, and you don’t even dare to make a peep.” “What do you actually get by following Liam around? A title, or status?” “Tara, why the hell don’t you look at other men?” I decided I should stay far away from the girl named Mia. If Harrison found out I was here, he might use his connections to get me fired. 5 Liam called me while I was squeezing onto the subway after work. “Hello?” The noisy background on my end made him pause. After a few seconds, he asked, “Where are you?” “On the subway.” He let out a barely audible chuckle. “Squeezing onto the subway?” “Tara, you brought this on yourself.” I held onto the handrail and simply asked, “Do you need something?” The sound of the man’s footsteps was steady and measured, even through the static of the phone. Just like the man himself. I could even picture him walking from his desk to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Leo has a fever.” He said, “Tell me your address. I’ll pick you up.” “No need.” I lowered my eyes. “Take good care of him at home.” “He doesn’t need me.” Liam’s voice darkened. “Are you really going to ignore him?” “Tara.” He sounded as if he found the whole thing absurd. “Just because he said he liked Chloe more?” Liam seemed to have never understood my feelings for Leo. Even though I had explained it countless times. He still didn’t believe I took emergency contraceptives after that accidental night years ago. Because I had loved him for years. He always assumed I purposely got pregnant with Leo to force him into marriage. In his eyes, my bond with Leo wasn’t that deep. He thought of him as my tool, or a bargaining chip. So he didn’t know that out of fear that Leo would grow to like Chloe more and more… I had endured countless days and nights of breakdowns and anxiety. The subway arrived at a transfer station. The car instantly emptied out. “It’s not about that, Liam.” I found a seat, giving my aching legs temporary relief. I said softly: “It’s because he really does like Chloe more.” “And I don’t want to force myself to try so hard to please him anymore.” Liam wanted to say something else. The next second, Leo’s voice came through the receiver, proving my point. “Dad! My fever is gone!” “Can I go play with Chloe tomorrow?!” Liam’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Tara, listen to me…” I hung up. I got off at the next stop. And pushed that phone call out of my mind. 6 When Leo heard his mother’s name, he paused. He stopped insisting on Chloe for a moment. He tugged at Liam’s pant leg and asked: “Dad, did Mom call?” Liam gave a slight nod. “Oh, did you tell her I was sick so she would come back to see me?” Liam met those cute, round eyes. Eventually, he murmured a “yes.” Leo had fully expected Tara to worry about him and rush home. “Then I’ll go put on a mask so I don’t get Mom sick.” “I’ll go play with Chloe later.” They hadn’t seen each other in a week. He didn’t seem quite as resistant to seeing his mom anymore. Liam pressed his lips tightly together. “Mom is working overtime.” “I didn’t ask her to come back.” Leo still had a cooling patch on his forehead. He blinked at those words. “Then, then I guess I can just go find Chloe first…” He didn’t look disappointed. After all, his mom was definitely going to come back to see him. Ever since he was little, his mom was always the most anxious whenever he got sick. He was just a little surprised. Because in the past, even if his mom was out of state, she would fly back overnight if she heard he was sick. 7 After a week of work, I was basically used to the routine. Even though Harrison hadn’t shown up once. Just in case, whenever parents came to pick up their kids at the front door, I preferred to hide in the office and grade drawings. Only once, when Mia missed a class. I followed a colleague outside to see the students off. Normally, I tried to treat all the students equally. But she still noticed a difference. 8 That day, Mia was visibly down. During the break in the hallway, she rested her chin on her hands, staring out the window. A few boys were chasing each other and accidentally knocked her over. They ran off without apologizing. I immediately went over and crouched in front of her. “Are you okay, Mia?” “Are you hurt? Let me see.” The girl covered her knee, refusing to let me look, and turned her head away. “I don’t want to bother you.” “I’ll go ask another teacher for a band-aid.” I paused, then said gently, “Ms. Carter has some too.” “I don’t want yours.” The back of her round head radiated stubbornness. “I know you don’t like me. You don’t have to pretend to be nice.” I was taken aback. “I don’t dislike you at all.” “You’re well-behaved, polite, and very talented at drawing.” “How could I not like you?” Mia shot me a quick glance. Then turned her head back and hummed quietly. “The other day, when Ms. Lee asked you to see me off, you heard it was me and refused.” “And a few days ago, at lunch, I didn’t want to eat with those other teachers, so I took my bowl and sat next to you. But you finished your food in one bite and ran away.” Saying this seemed to remind her of that scene. Her cheeks puffed out in anger as she turned to accuse me: “No one has ever hated me this much!” “If you don’t like me, I don’t want to like you either.” I felt incredibly awkward… That day in the cafeteria, I thought I had been very subtle. Mia had sat down right across from me with her tray. She didn’t look at me, just mumbled: “They’re too loud, they keep asking about my uncle.” I moved my tray to make room for her. But less than half a minute later, her smartwatch rang. It was Harrison calling. My guilty conscience flared up, I shoveled the rest of my food down, and bolted. I couldn’t explain this to her, so I just looked at her earnestly. And said word by word: “Then I was wrong. From now on, I’ll eat with you every time, and, and I’ll walk you out after class…” “But I really, truly do not dislike you, Mia.” The girl turned half her face toward me. Her chubby profile looked a bit like a cartoon character. “Really?” Princess Mia asked with a touch of arrogance. “Really,” I promised. She reached out both arms toward me, keeping a straight face. “Then hug me…” “My knee hurts.” The scrape on her knee was exposed. I picked her up and carried her to the office to disinfect it and apply medicine. When we returned to the classroom, I made the boy who knocked her down apologize. Mia blinked at me, her lips pressing into a tiny smile. It was a signal that she was willing to make peace. 9 During the lunch break, I flipped through Mia’s file again. My eyes suddenly locked onto her date of birth. Today… was her birthday. Her gloominess today probably had a lot to do with this. I remembered the little bunny pattern on her pencil case and the bunny keychain on her backpack. Before class ended, I rushed to crochet a mini lop-eared bunny plushie. It even wore a little dress similar to what Mia was wearing today. She finished her drawing ten minutes earlier than the other students. I called her over and gave her the plushie. “Mia, happy birthday.” She stared blankly for two seconds. “Is this bunny me?” I smiled and nodded. “Just as cute as you.” “Thank you, Ms. Carter. I love it.” The little girl accepted it primly, though she tried not to show too much emotion on her face. “You’re welcome. Go back to your seat.” She took two steps, then turned back around. “Crouch down.” She waved me over. I did as she asked. “What’s wrong? Did you want to tell me something?” The next second, the girl’s soft, warm lips pressed against my cheek. “This is the first gift I got today.” “And it’s my favorite.” She clung to my side, her eyes shining brightly. “Ms. Carter, do you think my uncle is handsome?” “I can give you his phone number as a thank you for the bunny!” The warmth rising in my heart instantly froze. “…No, no thank you.” 10 After finding out Harrison wasn’t picking her up tonight. I kept my promise to walk Mia out after class. But when we reached the front doors and I saw the man leaning against the Maybach, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. “Uncle Harrison, why are you picking me up today?” The man’s gaze slowly shifted from my face. He glanced down at Mia. “To celebrate your birthday, kiddo.” “Yay!” The girl hopped up and down. I braced myself and spoke up. “Hello, Mr. Cole. I…” “What a surprise.” He cut me off, smiling faintly. “Liam is really harsh on his women, making you come out here to work.” To prevent him from mentioning me to Liam next time they met and causing a misunderstanding. I proactively explained: “I’ve already left the Sterling family.” “My job here has nothing to do with him.” Harrison’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because of Chloe?” “Did they bully you?” I didn’t want to talk about this with Harrison, so I pretended I didn’t hear him. “Mr. Cole, if you don’t have any questions about Mia’s classes, I’ll head back to the office.” Mia innocently waved her little hand. “Goodbye, teacher.” I waved back. “Goodbye.” I turned and walked away, but I could feel an intense, unignorable gaze burning into my back the entire time.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “408336”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day we signed our marriage license, I scrolled past a viral video on my husband’s secret TikTok account. It was titled “Six Toasts to Myself,” and it had millions of likes. “Toast one: To myself, for stealing my mom’s gold ring at age five to propose to her.” “Toast two: To myself, for intentionally bombing the SATs so we could go to the same college.” “Toast three: To myself, for buying her dream house at age thirty.” “Toast four: To myself, for standing by her side through thick and thin for twenty-five years.” “Toast five: To myself, for never breaking a single promise.” In my heart, I chuckled at Liam’s childishness. But then, I watched him speak his sixth line. “Toast six: To myself—for sharing the twin swallows with my one true love. No regrets in this lifetime.” I froze. It felt like I had been plunged into an ice bath. I turned to look at my husband. The swallow tattoo on his collarbone was faintly visible under his shirt. And the other matching swallow? I had seen it on the shoulder of his junior lab assistant. 01 The video already had hundreds of thousands of comments. The top replies were women praising his loyalty. [Wow, this guy is amazing. I believe in true love again.] [He loved one woman for 24 years. My ex cheated on me after 4 months. I’m crying!] [So jealous of his wife! Where do I find a man like this??] Little did they know, the woman they were so envious of was sitting there, her fingertips trembling against her phone screen. I opened Mia Thorne’s Instagram page again. The swallow tattoo on her shoulder was clearly visible in her latest post. The caption was dripping with romantic subtext: [Sharing the twin swallows with my true love. Isn’t this what a lifetime of companionship looks like?] Tears dropped onto my screen. I finally broke down and cried. Liam Sterling had been smiling mysteriously at his phone. He turned his head, and seeing my red eyes, a flash of impatience crossed his face. “Are you reading that toxic internet relationship advice again?” “Haven’t I been good enough to you? I transferred Mia to the out-of-state lab just because you were jealous.” “She’s just a young girl in a new city, who knows how she’s doing…” My knuckles turned white as I gripped my phone. I had never doubted Liam’s loyalty until six months ago. My girls’ night out had run late, so I asked Liam to pick me up. I watched with my own eyes as Mia stepped out of his passenger seat, holding a bag of snacks. When I got in, the passenger side was a mess of crumbs. The car reeked of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. The heavy, gross smell made my throat itch. I casually pulled a cough drop out of my purse, but the moment I unwrapped the plastic, Liam’s face turned vicious. He yelled at me: “How many times do I have to tell you? No eating in the car!” “Why can’t you ever remember?” I suppressed my anger and replied, “The car smells terrible. My throat is scratchy.” “If you’re uncomfortable, roll down the window! If you take one bite of that, get out of my car!” In the rearview mirror, Mia watched me with a half-smile, her eyes full of undisguised triumph. Yet she spoke with a sickeningly sweet, anxious voice. “Liam, you’re being so strict with Chloe, it’s scaring me~” “I won’t eat either! Don’t be mad, Liam, please don’t yell at me! T_T” Liam’s face softened instantly. He handed her a bottle of water with a doting look. “It’s different with you. You’re still practically a kid, you need your snacks.” “Plus, you get carsick. Eating helps your stomach. Don’t choke, have some water.” Sitting in that car, I felt like the outsider. Perhaps noticing my discomfort after dropping Mia off, Liam patiently coaxed me. “Chloe, don’t overthink it.” “Our lab director asked me to give her a ride. She was feeling carsick, so I let her sit up front and eat something.” “She’s just a young girl, basically like a little sister to me. There is absolutely nothing going on between us! If it bothers you that much, I’ll send her to the Paris lab for her fellowship, and she won’t come back. Deal?” As he spoke, he watched my expression through the rearview mirror. Seeing my face soften, he breathed a sigh of relief. Liam had never been stingy about sweet-talking me. So, I let it go. Until a few days later, when I saw Mia’s Instagram post. The young girl was wearing an antique silver locket around her neck, smiling brilliantly. [Heading off to Paris in a few days. My mentor still treats me like a kid. He gave me this antique locket to keep me safe on my travels.] That locket was the last thing my mother left me before she died. It was my only keepsake of her. I sat there stunned for a long time before dialing Liam’s number. “Who did you give my mother’s silver locket to?” He answered cleanly, without hesitation: “To Mia.” “Don’t read into it. She’s leaving for her research in Paris in a few days. The locket has good protective meaning, so I gave it to her for safe travels.” “That was the last thing my mother left me! What right do you have to give it away without my permission?!” I screamed into the phone, my heart tearing open. Liam’s cold voice came through the receiver: “It’s just a beat-up old necklace. Why are you being so cheap? I’ll Venmo you the money for it!” “Mia is only going to Paris because you’re insanely jealous. Think of this as my apology to her on your behalf!” Through the phone, I could faintly hear Mia whining in her sickeningly sweet voice: “Liam, if Chloe really doesn’t want me to have it…” “It’s fine. Ignore her.” Before I could say another word, Liam hung up. I sat with my mouth open, frozen. I remembered my mother on her deathbed, holding mine and Liam’s hands, telling us to support each other and stay together forever. In the end, I swallowed the pain. Mia was leaving anyway. What kind of sparks could they possibly have from across the world? So I forced myself to forget the red flags and let myself sink into the blissful bubble of our impending marriage. I just never expected that bubble to be violently popped today. I thought about his viral video and the hotel room background that perfectly matched Mia’s latest post. I looked up at Liam, asking him word by word: “You didn’t come home last night. Where were you?” 02 A flash of panic crossed Liam’s eyes. Then, pretending to be outraged, he ripped off his towel, turned his back to me, and started pulling on his pajamas. “Where else would I be? Pulling an all-nighter at the lab.” “Call my coworkers if you don’t believe me.” “Stop being so paranoid all day long! We just signed our marriage license! I’m your husband now, what more do you want?” I let out a mocking laugh. “Why are you getting so defensive? I just asked a question.” Perhaps sensing his own guilt, Liam finished changing and lay down next to me, his hand roaming over my body. He said gently: “I’m sorry, babe. I’ve been so stressed lately, my mood is shot.” “We have seven days of honeymoon leave. Let’s go somewhere and relax, just the two of us. You pick the place, I’ll pay.” His touch, which used to ignite desire, now just made my stomach churn with nausea. “I need to use the restroom.” I locked his advances outside the door, leaned over the toilet, and threw up. When I stood back up, I fought through the heartache and pulled up the screenshot of his video comments. A user named “StarCatcher” had left a comment that Liam had liked. Her IP address was in Paris. The caption read: [One wild night of indulgence. My love is finally complete.] I clicked on her profile. There was only one video pinned to her page. It was a man’s hand, offering her a makeshift ring fashioned from a soda pop-tab, proposing to her. The man’s voice was gentle and unwavering. “Even though we can only be husband and wife for one night, I hope you know my love for you will never change.” The caption was a blatant flex. [With true love, even a soda-tab ring is enough. Better than wearing a massive diamond but sleeping in an empty bed.] This was his so-called “all-nighter at the lab.” I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. Suddenly, I felt incredibly foolish. If Liam didn’t love me, he could have just said it straight to my face. I would never have clung to him. But he chose to humiliate me in the most despicable way possible. He seemed to have forgotten that back in college, I was notoriously known as “The Viper.” Because I hold grudges, and I always get payback. No mercy. I had just never shown him that side of me. Well, then. It was time to refresh his memory. I washed my face, gathered my emotions, forced a smile, and pushed open the door. Looking at Liam, I said softly: “Let’s go to Paris for our honeymoon! I want to go on a shopping spree~” Liam froze for a second. I didn’t miss the spark of joy in his eyes. The next second, his voice pitched up. “Paris?” I tilted my head and smiled. “Yeah. Didn’t you say I could pick anywhere?” This time, Liam—who usually hated planning trips—was far more proactive than me. Terrified I would change my mind, he booked the flights and hotels overnight. He enthusiastically chatted with me about where we should take photos. Which cafes he wanted to check out. Even at two or three in the morning, his phone screen kept lighting up. He was messaging someone constantly. He couldn’t even hide his smile. I watched him coldly. He was probably planning everything he wanted to do with Mia. Since that was the case, I decided to give these two star-crossed lovers a chance to fulfill their dreams. After all, hell was about to descend upon them. 03 The morning of our flight. I suddenly “came down with food poisoning.” I ran to the bathroom seven or eight times, my face pale as a sheet. While I lay in bed resting, Liam slammed a mug of hot water onto the nightstand. Water splashed onto my arm, leaving a red burn mark. I gasped, clutching my arm in pain. Liam just looked impatient. “You always get sick right when we’re supposed to travel. I only get seven days off, and you’re just dragging me down.” “Stop faking it. The water wasn’t even that hot! Drink it and let’s go to the airport!” Suddenly, his phone dinged. He checked the screen and let out a goofy, lovesick smile. When he noticed me staring at him, he guiltily averted his gaze, then shoved the phone near my face, trying to mask his panic with anger. “Are you trying to save money by faking sick again, just like last time?” “Can you stop being so cheap all the time? Can you just live like a normal person for once?” “Being with you is suffocating! We can’t eat anywhere nice, we can’t do anything fun!” I sneered. “Have you ever seen someone faking sick with a face as ghostly pale as mine?” When Liam first started his research lab, it required massive funding but brought in zero profit. To support his career, I hadn’t bought new clothes in nearly seven years. In the winter, I washed our clothes by hand in freezing water just to save a few bucks on the electric bill. Back then, he used to cry over my red, swollen fingers, swearing he would give me the best life possible. Now, he found me embarrassing. My heart was completely dead. I didn’t even want to speak to him. I grabbed my purse to leave. “Where are you going?” “The hospital.” Liam grabbed my arm forcefully. “Why are you going to the hospital?! Just take some Pepto! We still have to make our flight!” “If I take you to the ER, we’ll miss the plane!” I gave him a freezing glare. “You can go by yourself! But I am going to the hospital.” “Or,” I paused, “do you want me to die on that plane so you can find a new wife?” Liam’s face changed. He spoke quickly. “What nonsense are you talking about?” “I just didn’t want the money to go to waste. The flights and hotels are non-refundable. It’s thousands of dollars.” He gave me a flattering, fake smile and said hesitantly: “Babe, how about this? I’ll go ahead and scout things out. I’ll find all the best food and fun spots early.” “You just focus on getting better.” “I promise, by the time you fly out to Paris, I’ll have everything perfectly arranged for you.” Looking at the man I had been with for 25 years, who had witnessed my lowest lows and my growth, I asked him with a final, desperate shred of hope: “Liam, I feel really sick. Can you please stay and take me to the hospital?” “Paris,” I closed my eyes and said slowly, “We just won’t go.” The silence in the room was suffocating. Liam was quiet for a long time before he finally spoke. “But this is our honeymoon. How can we not go?” “I’ll go to Paris and prepare a huge surprise for you, okay? My Uber is downstairs, I’m heading to the airport! Get better soon, Chloe, I’ll be waiting for you!” He grabbed his suitcase and practically fled the apartment. As if he was terrified I would call him back. I forced a bitter smile, stumbled to my feet, and ordered a cab. “To the airport.” 04 I was indeed faking sick. But it wasn’t to save money. It was to give Liam and Mia the perfect opportunity to meet up. I had booked a flight that left exactly ten minutes after his. Sitting on the plane, resting my eyes, I thought back to last night. While Liam was sleeping, I had gone through his phone. That TikTok burner account with the millions of views had thousands of DMs. But he only had a “streak” and a little fire emoji with “StarCatcher.” They had been messaging for 145 straight days. Their chat history was sickeningly flirtatious. It was their secret digital diary of infidelity. “I’m coming to Paris for my honeymoon, but I just want to see you one more time.” “Mia, tell me, do I really have to choose between my responsibilities and true love?” Mia’s reply was quick. “But that night we had together was perfect, wasn’t it?” “I miss you too, I love you, but you’re someone else’s husband now, Liam.” … The final message was from Mia. “Okay. Let’s see each other one last time.” Such a deeply moving, tragic love story. I absolutely had to make sure the entire internet witnessed their profound romance! The second my plane landed, I started a TikTok Live. The title: “The ‘6 Toasts’ Guy and His Mistress Exposed: Catching Them Live.” Then, I routed the feed from the micro-camera I had hidden in Liam’s collar button directly to the stream. Unsurprisingly, Liam and Mia couldn’t even control themselves. They were making out aggressively in the back of a Parisian taxi. “I missed you so much, Mia baby. Chloe got sick and couldn’t come. God gave us this opportunity.” “Liam, I love you. Let’s be husband and wife for one more night.” The passionate, explicit audio broadcasted clearly. Within minutes, the viewer count skyrocketed into the millions. [What the hell? That’s definitely the guy’s voice! Are they flexing their cheating live?!] [Bruh, this sounds so wrong. This is exactly how my cheating ex talked to his side piece.] [I don’t believe it. This has to be the guy and his wife doing some weird cosplay!] The live chat was a chaotic mess. I covered my mouth tightly, my fingernails digging into my palms. Following the GPS tracker I’d installed on Liam’s phone, I walked all the way to the door of the honeymoon suite that was supposed to be for me. Fighting back my adrenaline, I knocked. “Who is it? We don’t need room service, ah~” Mia’s breathy moan echoed from inside. “It’s Chloe.” The moment I said my name, the room went dead silent. After a long, agonizing wait, Liam finally opened the door, his face flushed red. “Babe? Weren’t you going to the hospital? How did you get here so fast?” He asked awkwardly. Behind him, Mia stood wrapped in a bath towel, giving me a smug, curved smile. “Chloe, I’m so sorry. I spilled coffee on my clothes when I picked Liam up from the airport, so I just came up to take a quick shower. We didn’t do anything, please don’t misunderstand! Liam really loves you.” “It’s fine. Since we’re all here, let’s shoot a video together.” I calmly cut her off. Right in front of them, I pulled up the “Six Toasts to Myself” challenge filter. Both of their faces drained of color. “N-No, let’s not. I have somewhere to be, I should go.” Mia tried to bolt, but I grabbed her arm in a death grip. “Don’t be in such a rush! We’re all family here, let’s just play along for fun~” “Unless you two did something guilty and are too scared to play?” Perhaps my calm demeanor was too terrifying, because Mia and Liam ultimately sat back down in the room. Turning the camera toward us, I poured a glass of water and made 6 toasts to myself. “Toast one: To myself, for staying loyal for 25 years, loving him, and marrying him.” “Toast two: To myself, for giving up my career for love, becoming a housewife right out of grad school!” “Toast three: To myself, for finding a soda-tab ring hidden in my own house.” As I spoke, I pulled out the pop-tab ring Liam had tried to hide. Liam shot up from his chair, completely ignoring the camera as he lunged to snatch the object from my hand. “Where did you find that?! Give it back!” I stood up and shoved the inside of the ring right up to the camera lens. Engraved on the metal were tiny, neat words: “Liam & Mia, Love Forever.” My sudden movement caught Liam off guard. By the time he snatched the ring back… He glanced at my phone screen and saw the little red “LIVE” icon. His face went chalk white. 05 Because my livestream had been running non-stop since I got off the plane, the viewer count was now breaking 3 million. It was the #1 trending live on the app, and the chat was moving at lightspeed. [MAJOR PLOT TWIST. The 6 Toasts guy is a massive cheater!] [Did anyone else see the swallow tattoo on the towel girl’s shoulder? Disgusting. He’s playing two women at once and acting like a romantic saint online?] [Eating popcorn! The guy is the director of our research lab! The mistress is his junior assistant. They always locked the lab doors together…] Within moments, the internet sleuths in the chat had doxxed Liam and Mia’s identities completely. Liam stared at the scrolling chat, his face flashing between green and pale white. Finally realizing what was happening, he snapped his head up and glared at me viciously. “Chloe, did you set me up?!” I glanced at the chaotic livestream and laughed out loud. “Set you up? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Isn’t this our honeymoon suite? Am I not allowed to come on my own honeymoon?” “But,” I cast a mocking look at Mia, whose eyes were now red with panic, “what do those words on the soda-tab ring mean?” “I had no idea you and Mia had a thing! Oh my god, if you had just told me your love was so deep, I never would have signed the marriage license with you~” I had found the pop-tab ring right before I left for the airport. It was hidden in Liam’s nightstand. I had never snooped through his drawers before, but today, some gut instinct told me to look. There it was, glaringly obvious. An engraving claiming her territory over my husband. At that moment, Liam still didn’t grasp the severity of the situation. He was still trying to interrogate me. “Are you done yet?! I told you, absolutely nothing is going on between me and Mia!” “This is all a massive misunderstanding!” Mia started crying on cue. “Chloe, can you please just let me go? You already bullied me into moving to Paris, why are you doing this…” I raised an eyebrow. “If it’s a misunderstanding, then clear it up.” “I’ve got nothing but time. Go ahead, explain.” Liam was momentarily speechless. He cursed under his breath, finally breaking his composure. He reached out to grab my phone and end the stream. But I guarded it closely. “Don’t be so hasty. I haven’t finished my toasts yet.” I looked directly into the camera and “drank” three more times. “Toast four: To myself, for discovering my husband’s affair on the exact day we got our marriage license, giving me the ultimate rollercoaster of a marriage.” “Toast five: To myself, for catching my husband and his mistress in a hotel room on the first day of our honeymoon.” “Toast six: To myself, for finding the courage to sever 25 years of history, file for divorce, and restart my life!” The chat exploded like a powder keg. [Holy shit, is this real? Is this a scripted drama account?] [Queen behavior! I support you!] [Is there really no misunderstanding? The 6 Toasts guy made me cry, his eyes looked so genuinely in love. You can’t fake that.] Seeing the waves of support in the chat, a warm feeling washed over my heart. Liam looked at me in absolute shock. “What did you just say?” My eyes were slightly red, but as I looked at Liam, I felt absolutely nothing. “I said, I want a divorce.” “I’m setting you free to chase your true love.” Liam’s voice trembled. “But we just signed the papers! Chloe, why are you trying to hurt me like this?” “Yeah, Chloe! This is all a misunderstanding! Sob Liam really loves you!” Watching them put on this pathetic performance, I laughed out of pure anger. “A misunderstanding?” “Did I forge the engraving on that ring? Was it a misunderstanding that you didn’t come home the night before we got our license?” Looking at the tattoos on their bodies, I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Or did I hold a gun to your heads and force you to get matching swallow tattoos?!” My rapid-fire questions left them completely speechless. Their eyes darted around guiltily. But after a moment, Liam suddenly forced himself to calm down. He glanced at the screen, then turned back to me, wearing his mask of deep affection. “Chloe, this really is a misunderstanding. I never thought your jealousy would drive you to do something like this.” “Since it’s come to this, I have no choice but to tell you the truth.” “Nothing happened between me and Mia. The only reason we’re meeting up… is because we were planning a surprise for you.” 06 Liam’s expression was so earnest when he said this, I almost believed him myself for a second. But three seconds later, I understood his play. Seeing the public opinion turning against him, Liam was terrified his career would be destroyed. He was lying through his teeth to manipulate the audience. He truly was a top-tier manipulator. With just one sentence, the tide in the live chat started to shift. [I knew it! The 6 Toasts guy definitely loves his wife. See, the surprise is coming!] [This woman is so insecure. A guy can’t even talk to his female coworker? She probably just wants his money.] [6 Toasts guy is a saint. If I had a wife this controlling, I would’ve snapped ages ago.] Watching the comments scroll by, I furrowed my brow. Mia exchanged a quick glance with Liam. Then, she suddenly dropped to her knees, looking up at me with wide, red, doe-like eyes. “Chloe, we really didn’t do anything.” “Liam said it was your honeymoon, and he asked me to help plan the itinerary and pick out gifts for you.” “Back home, you slandered me until I was exiled abroad. Now you’re livestreaming to millions, accusing me of being a homewrecker! How am I supposed to live with this?!” As soon as she finished speaking, Mia scrambled up and made a theatrical dash toward the wall, acting like she was going to bash her head in. Liam quickly “caught” her. She collapsed onto the floor, wailing pitifully. “I haven’t even had a boyfriend yet! How am I ever going to show my face in public again? Liam, what am I going to do?!” Liam pulled her gently into his arms. He glared at me, full of righteous indignation. “Are you done yet?!” “Slander me all you want, but Mia is just an innocent young woman! You’re ruining her reputation! How is she ever going to get married now?!” “Turn off the damn stream!” I stared at him with a complex expression. I mean… I might have been a stay-at-home wife, but I didn’t lose my brain cells. Did they really think I was that stupid? I narrowed my eyes, flipped my phone around, and played the footage from the micro-camera right into the livestream. “Turning the honeymoon suite into your personal hookup room—is that the surprise you prepared for me?” “Were you and Mia just going to huddle under the covers and have a pure, innocent chat?” The internet immediately remembered. At the very beginning of the stream. The footage of Liam and Mia making out passionately in the back of the taxi. “You tracked me?!” Seeing the video, Liam’s face twisted in horror. I smirked. “If I didn’t track you, how would I have gotten a front-row seat to this R-rated movie?” Liam’s eyes darkened ominously. His voice went dead cold. “Chloe, I am genuinely angry now.” “Why couldn’t we discuss this in private? Why did you have to start a livestream and humiliate us?” I almost wanted to clap for his sheer hypocrisy. “Wow, double standards much, bro?” “You’re allowed to post viral videos professing your deep love, but I’m not allowed to livestream catching you cheating?” Glancing at the viewer count, which was still skyrocketing, I smiled brightly. “Besides, the people love a good show.” Liam panted heavily, glaring at me. “Chloe, you…” But constrained by the millions of eyes watching him, he couldn’t get physical. He stared at me fixedly for a few seconds, then nodded heavily. “Since you want to push it to this point, then I’m not holding back either.” He pulled out his phone, scrolled furiously for a moment, and shoved his screen into the camera’s view. “Take a good look, everyone! This video was taken three months ago. You went into a hotel room with a man, and you didn’t come out until the next morning!” “If we’re keeping score, you were the one who cheated first!” “Because I loved you, and for the sake of our marriage, I endured it in silence! But you just got worse and worse! Chloe, you have disappointed me profoundly!” In the video, I was indeed seen entering a hotel room with a “man,” arms wrapped around each other, looking undeniably intimate. The chat saw the video and immediately turned their guns on me. [Holy shit, so the wife cheated first?! The guy took a green hat for love? That’s true dedication!] [Just divorce her man, this guy is too tragic.] [This woman is disgusting, playing the victim and gaslighting him. Poor 6 Toasts guy.] Those words felt like daggers stabbing into my heart. My eyes instantly stung with tears. On the other side of the room, Liam looked triumphant. “You cheated first. I was heartbroken and devastated. It was only through Mia’s comfort that I slowly managed to heal.” “Chloe, you’re too greedy.” “From the moment I met you at age 5, I gave you everything you wanted. A house, a marriage, companionship. Why did you have to betray me?” “I don’t have to divorce you, but you need to pay Mia for emotional damages.” I looked at the man in front of me with utter disappointment. His eyes were entirely consumed by the desperate desire to clear his own name. I finally lost the last shred of hope I had for his humanity. At this point, I felt entirely liberated. I walked over to the door, opened it, and spoke slowly. “Come on in.” The “man” from the video, wearing a sharp, tailored suit, walked in and pulled me into a fierce hug. She glared venomously at Liam. “You absolute piece of trash!” “Chloe has had the worst luck in the world being tied to you. You make me sick.” In an instant… The entire livestream went dead silent. Because her voice was distinctly feminine, lively, and cute. Obviously, a woman.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “408335”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend had a female “bro.” She talked like a classic pick-me girl, and wore a dress the exact same color as mine. I thought she was a “cool-girl” pick-me. Until that day in the pouring rain, when she carried me on her back for three miles. 01 The first time I met Olivia was at a dinner with Nate’s frat brothers. Before we went, Nate just laughed and said, “Liv? Oh, she’s basically just one of the guys.” The moment I saw her, I was genuinely confused. Olivia’s features were bright and flawless, and she was wearing a soft, elegant white maxi dress. She looked up at me from her stool, two little dimples appearing on her cheeks as she smiled shyly. There was absolutely nothing “one of the guys” about her. Olivia had a slender figure, and the white dress made her look incredibly graceful. I, on the other hand, was a bit chubby, and the color of my dress clashed perfectly with hers. Olivia opened her mouth and the first thing she said was: “What a coincidence, we’re wearing the exact same color.” Yes. Compared to her, I looked like a complete clown. I felt incredibly awkward, but I still reached out my hand to be friendly. “Look at her pretending to be shy. She used to be so violent, she’d chase me down the street to beat me up,” my boyfriend Nate laughed, playfully shoving Olivia’s shoulder. Olivia suddenly jumped up, slapping Nate on the shoulder. Her voice was playful, chirping like a happy little bird: “What kind of nonsense are you talking about!” “See? See? Am I wrong?” Nate laughed, dodging her slaps. I stood frozen in place, my outstretched hand hanging awkwardly in the air. I turned my head and watched my boyfriend roughhousing with her. It felt like— It felt like I was the outsider. My nose stung, and I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to watch them play-fight, and I didn’t want to leave a bad impression of being a jealous girlfriend the first time I met his best friend. Until I heard a loud, resounding smack echo through the room. The moment I opened my eyes. I saw a bright red handprint stamped across my boyfriend’s cheek. Nate’s shocked voice rang out: “Holy shit, did you put your whole arm into that slap?” 02 After getting to know Nate, I slowly got to know Olivia. Whenever Nate mentioned Olivia, his mouth was full of praise. He said Olivia was cheerful and optimistic, a true example of a girl raised with old money. I added Olivia on Snapchat and Instagram. Olivia’s Instagram was filled with photos of her surfing in Hawaii. Her slender figure and radiant energy made her look like a white seagull soaring over the ocean. There were photos of her snowboarding in Aspen, and writing papers in a Parisian cafe wearing chic glasses. With her slender, swan-like neck lowered, she looked gentle and intellectual. Even though I felt a bit sour because of their play-fighting that first time. I couldn’t help but sigh to Nate: “Olivia really is an incredible person.” Nate snatched my phone and said, “Hey, why is her profile public now? She used to have it set to close-friends only.” Nate’s casual remark made my sensitive mind overthink. Why did she suddenly make her profile public right after I added her? As I scrolled through Olivia’s feed, Nate immediately leaned his head close to mine to look. He was highly enthusiastic, constantly urging me to scroll to the next picture. After a few swipes, I suddenly didn’t want to scroll anymore. I was jealous. I asked him, half-joking, half-serious, “Do you have a crush on her?” Nate replied with a goofy grin, “Who wouldn’t like a rich heiress? But don’t worry, she doesn’t date.” “Alright, stop overthinking. If something was going to happen between us, it would have happened years ago.” As he said that, he continued staring intently at Olivia’s photos. I locked my phone screen. Through the dark reflection of the screen. I clearly saw his crestfallen expression. It looked exactly like the disappointment and sorrow of not being able to obtain a coveted treasure. 03 Actually, I had probably heard the name Olivia back in college. The very day Nate accepted my confession. He was drunk, repeatedly mumbling the word “Liv” under his breath. A six-foot-two guy, crying like a dog in the middle of a diner. I heard the friend next to him shove him and say: “Enough, Liv just went abroad to study. She’s not dead.” His friend called me, and I rushed to the diner to pick him up. I half-carried, half-dragged him home. By a planter on the side of the road. He grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt and violently threw up all over me. The Emma from back then was so stupid. My heart and eyes were completely full of him; I didn’t feel an ounce of disgust. The highest level of liking someone is feeling your heart ache for them. With blurry, drunken eyes, he looked up and saw my face full of concern. Nate gripped my wrist incredibly tight. The boy’s eyes burned bright like flames. He said, “You’re the only one who won’t abandon me.” Then, as if granting me a charity, he said: “Let’s be together.” I really, truly loved Nate. I gave him all my sincerity and love. But in Nate’s heart, it seemed… Olivia was always there. It was hard for me not to care. But I never asked too much, and he seemed to have forgotten Olivia. Because of my passionate and sincere love, he began to love me back. Until Olivia returned from abroad, breaking that balance. Even though I minded so much. Olivia seemed to do it on purpose. She started inviting Nate and me out frequently. She was like a bird, proudly and arrogantly diving straight into our lives. 04 Olivia invited Nate and me to play tennis. I didn’t want to go, but I also didn’t want Nate playing alone with her. I pleaded with Nate, “Can you just say no? I don’t know how to play tennis, and I really don’t want to.” “But I want to play,” Nate said, looking at me seriously. “But… if you want to play, you can play with other friends. We don’t have to go to Olivia today.” I stammered out my explanation. Nate’s handsome brow furrowed, looking annoyed: “Just because of you, am I not allowed to have normal recreational activities anymore?” “I never noticed you being this unreasonable before. Why are you so possessive?” I went silent. His impatient tone let me know I couldn’t stop him. I had no choice but to change into activewear and go with him. When we got to the courts, Olivia was wearing a pleated tennis skirt, her high ponytail swishing lightly. She looked like a proud little white bird. Her big, almond eyes widened as she tossed a racket directly to me: “Emma, play with me.” “I’m not very… good at this,” I tried to refuse. My boyfriend chimed in from the sidelines: “Just play with her.” “No, I specifically want to play with Emma,” her eyes curved into smiling crescents. Faced with Olivia’s enthusiasm, I had no choice but to accept. Unsurprisingly, as someone who sucked at sports, I was absolutely decimated by her. I couldn’t return a single serve, my slightly chubby figure running awkwardly across the court. Like a clumsy raccoon. I was getting angry inside. Looking so pathetic in front of my boyfriend. Was she doing this on purpose? In contrast to me, she shone even brighter. Beautiful and athletic, she was simply perfect. Especially after the workout, some strands of hair had come loose, and sweat stuck them to her fair cheeks. She looked like a porcelain doll. When another tennis ball rolled past me onto the ground. I said, “I’m done playing.” Olivia held her racket, smiling at me: “Okay. Let’s go take a break together then.” Then, she put down her racket and redid her hair, which had gotten messy from playing. She deliberately held her hair tie in her mouth, facing my direction as she fixed her hair with her hands. Exposing her fair, swan-like neck. The way she looked with the hair tie in her mouth was incredibly beautiful. Honestly, she looked like an innocent, adorable deer exposing its neck. My heart skipped a beat. But I was absolutely certain she was deliberately showing off her charm. Sure enough, I turned around and saw Nate standing behind me, watching her. Without even blinking. 05 I hated Olivia. I hated the powerless feeling of knowing she was getting closer and closer to my boyfriend, but being unable to do anything about it. I lucidly watched Nate’s appreciation for Olivia become less and less disguised. But when I brought it up, he would just say, “Liv and I are just friends.” “You’re my girlfriend, stop overthinking.” Even though he said that, I had a sinking feeling. I was his backup plan, his safety net. He realized that being with me had the highest ROI. He realized I treated him the best. I was probably just the honest girl settling down with him. Blissfully unaware of my inner turmoil, Olivia continued to invite Nate and me to the movies. She sent a screenshot of the booked tickets. Her seat choices were very interesting. Two seats were together, and the other seat was right in front of them. I had already guessed that I would definitely be the one sitting in the front. While she and Nate got cozy in the back. Olivia even sent a pouty, apologetic emoji on Snapchat: “There were only these three seats left.” I complained inwardly, but since Nate insisted on going, I was absolutely not going to let them be alone together. It was a horror movie, too. I could already picture Olivia pretending to be a fragile, scared girl just to sit with my boyfriend. Stupid pick-me. Sure enough, as soon as we got to the theater entrance, Olivia ran over and grabbed my arm. Her expression was pitiful as she said to me: “You don’t mind, right, Emma?” I really couldn’t hold back my anger anymore. But Olivia’s second sentence choked out my fury: “I’ll sit with Emma. Nate, you sit in the front. You don’t have a problem with that, right?” Huh? Olivia actually wanted to sit with me? That last sentence ended on a rising note, carrying a definite hint of a threat. “Alright, alright, Princess. I thought you needed me to protect you,” Nate said, rubbing his nose, trying to play it off as a joke. Inside the dark theater, only the flickering light of the screen illuminated us. I watched the movie while observing Olivia out of the corner of my eye. American horror movies always rely on jump scares and sudden loud noises to terrify people. I wasn’t scared of horror movies. To be honest, I found the real world depressing enough, so I didn’t fear death, much less the ghosts and monsters that could cause it. But Olivia looked genuinely terrified. Her teeth were biting down hard on her lips, which looked like fresh snow-dusted roses. Her elegant brows were tightly furrowed. Her fingers were trembling unconsciously. Was she really that scared? Little pick-me. A terrifying musical cue played, and she let out a small whimper, her entire body curling up in fear. The sight of her 5’9″ frame curled up in the seat was a bit cute and a bit comical. She literally looked like a startled cat with its fur puffed up. I found it amusing, but my smile quickly faded. Suddenly, a horrifying image flashed on the screen. Olivia seemed completely terrified, her shoulder suddenly leaning into mine. With her soft figure pressing against me, the faint, lingering scent of freesia drifted to my nose. “Emma…” her voice was slightly hoarse, like a kitten’s. “I’m so scared. Hold my hand… please.” Her warm breath tickled my ear. Coupled with her raspy, pleading voice, a shiver ran down my spine. Her body was too close. That lingering, soft freesia scent felt like a hand tickling my heart. I looked down at her innocent, clear eyes as she clung to my waist. They were watery and pleading. Like I was possessed, I held her hand. It was ice-cold and smooth. Nate, sitting in front of us, suddenly turned around at that moment and laughed: “American horror movies aren’t even scary.” I tried to quickly pull my hand away, but she gripped it fiercely. While Nate turned his head to talk. Our hands were tightly intertwined under her jacket. 06 After returning home that night, my heart was pounding. Why did this happen? I felt like something wasn’t quite right. The little pick-me I had pictured in my head was secretly holding my hand. While I was puzzling over this. I discovered that all the money in my and Nate’s joint account had been withdrawn. Looking at the bank notification text, the remaining balance was $5.20. There was a total of $20,000 in there. Of that, $18,000 was money I had scraped together from part-time jobs. Money I saved by tutoring and doing DoorDash deliveries during winter and summer breaks. Nate had said that after graduation, we would move back to my hometown, find jobs, and this would be the startup fund for our new life. He was the dream guy I had fought so hard to get. I always spoiled him. I forgave him when he spent money carelessly and when he didn’t contribute to the couples’ account. I ran to Nate and asked: “Why did you take out all that money? That’s everything I saved up doing DoorDash and tutoring!” “Wow, you say you love me, but the second I spend a little money, you interrogate me,” Nate raised an eyebrow, his handsome face looking annoyed. “No, I just wanted to ask why,” my tone became even more cautious. “It’s Olivia’s birthday soon. She invited us over to celebrate, and I bought her a gift.” “Of course we should get her a gift, but since we’re still just starting out, we didn’t have to buy something that expensive,” I pleaded, looking at Nate. Nate raised an eyebrow, a half-smile on his face: “Do you even know who Olivia is? There will be a ton of rich kids at her party. The average gift will be over ten grand. Do you want me to look like a joke?” Noticing my pale expression, Nate reached out and pulled me into his arms: “Alright, babe. If I look like a joke, you look like a joke. We’re a team. This gift represents both our intentions.” “But…” While I was still hesitating, Nate’s expression turned cold. I was terrified of him throwing a tantrum. When he got mad, he could ignore me for a whole week. I was terrified of the silent treatment. I had no choice but to force a nod and agree. I comforted myself by saying Olivia was a good person, so buying her a gift was the right thing to do! It’s just that— I couldn’t help but remember the times my t-shirt clung to my sweaty back as I climbed six flights of stairs delivering food. I think I was starting to hate Nate a little bit. 07 Before the birthday party, Olivia sent me a dress. It was a champagne-colored mermaid gown, with a small cluster of pale pink roses at the bust. Clothes make the man. I never expected it to fit so perfectly and look so beautiful on me. I was a bit chubby to begin with, and my only redeeming feature was my pale skin. This dress practically magnified my best features and flattered my figure flawlessly. I suddenly felt that those twenty grand were somewhat worth it. I had never been a princess. After putting on this dress, I couldn’t help but twirl in front of the mirror, admiring myself. I felt like a sweet little princess smiling in a rose garden. But Nate, sitting on the sofa, crushed my spirit: “Alright, stop admiring yourself. You’re just there to be a foil for Olivia anyway. I really don’t know why she sent you a dress.” Right after he said that, Nate stopped abruptly. As if realizing something, he stared at me intently. “She sent you a dress, but you still can’t compare to her. But why would she want to compare herself to you…” “Could she be jealous?” I was still lost in the beauty of the dress and didn’t catch the second half of his sentence. I asked him what he just said, and Nate smirked and said, “Nothing.” I hated him now anyway, so I didn’t care what he said. He could say whatever he wanted. Olivia’s driver came to pick us up. The party was at her family’s mansion. Honestly, standing in front of the magnificent mansion, I subconsciously felt a bit intimidated. Nate didn’t even hold my hand. He walked ahead with long strides, seemingly eager to see Olivia. The fountain in front of the villa was already decorated with massive bouquets of roses. I was wearing heels and walking a bit slow, gradually falling behind Nate. I reached out to grab Nate in the distance. Olivia had already opened the door and walked out. She bypassed the smiling Nate and extended her hand toward me, lifting her hem slightly as she approached. She was wearing a champagne-colored tailored suit, with a pink rose pinned to her lapel. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, her eyebrows drawn sharp. She exuded an androgynous, breathtaking beauty. She looked like a proud, elegant white crane. “Welcome.” One of her hands wrapped around my waist, and the other caught my outstretched wrist. Her five slender, pale fingers slipped through the gaps of my fingers like little snakes. The proximity made me uncomfortable, and I quickly pushed her away. “Hey, hey, why are you wearing a suit instead of a dress? You look like a tomboy.” Nate, annoyed by being ignored, hurried over and casually slapped Olivia on the shoulder. Olivia, who had been wearing a warm, radiant smile, let the corners of her mouth drop slightly. She said what sounded like a joke: “Touch me with that pig trotter again, and I’ll chop it off.” After saying that, she winked in my direction—a playful and proud little white crane. Okay, okay. Wearing the same color clothes as me again. Ready to compete for male attention again. 08 Olivia’s birthday dinner wasn’t overly extravagant, just a dozen or so people gathered around eating exquisite dishes. The only thing to celebrate was that this meal consisted entirely of things I had never eaten before. Lobster, foie gras, caviar. I ate until I was stuffed. While I was gorging myself, I saw Olivia resting her elbows on the table, watching me with a melting smile, bright as the moon through the branches. Great, she definitely wanted to laugh at me for eating too much. Nate noticed Olivia’s gaze and gave me a subtle pinch. His expression was cold and stern; the subtext was telling me not to embarrass him. I sheepishly wiped my mouth, sat back in my seat, and sipped my wine idly. After the party, the guests all drove away. Olivia’s hair was a bit messy. She had drank quite a bit, and her gaze stuck to me like syrup. Her stare made me incredibly uncomfortable, and I quickly looked for an excuse to leave. But Olivia’s voice rang out: “It’s too late. Just stay over here tonight.” “Sure.” Before I could even speak, Nate accepted for me. “Then Emma and I will stay on the first floor. Nate, you can take the second floor,” Olivia said with a smile. I whispered to Nate, “I want to go home. My head hurts.” Since the party started, I had a headache and felt chills all over. Nate shot me a look. “Just lie down for a bit and you’ll be fine. You’re so high maintenance.” I didn’t know how to drive, so I had no choice but to stay at Olivia’s house. I climbed into bed, wrapping the blankets tightly around me. My body was starting to burn up. At Olivia’s house, I felt too embarrassed to bother her. I wanted to tough it out until tomorrow. I tossed and turned in bed, falling into a groggy, half-awake state. The room was quiet and dark. A massive clap of thunder suddenly lit up the entire room. I realized my body was already burning like a small furnace. It felt like boiling heat radiating from my very bones. I forced myself to try and get up. I needed to find Olivia for some ibuprofen. I wouldn’t make it to tomorrow like this. I was acutely and painfully aware of this fact. I tried to climb out of bed, took two steps, my legs gave out, and I crashed to the floor. The thud pierced the silence of the night. Then my door was gently pushed open. The lightning outside illuminated the person standing in the doorway. Accompanied by the pouring rain. I clearly saw that it was Olivia. The lightning illuminated the distance between us as she walked toward me, step by step, her eyes deep and dark. Her hands were icy cold as she touched my forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me your fever was this bad?” “I was afraid… of bothering you.” I stammered due to being sick, my voice low. “I just moved into this mansion, I haven’t stocked up on medicine yet. I’m taking you to the ER.” “Thank you…” Those slender hands gripped my waist, and then, she scooped me up effortlessly into a tight embrace. 09 She put a raincoat on me, and I let her maneuver me in my hazy state. I even forgot to ask for Nate. Afraid I’d get wet, she secured the hood and put a mask on me. My mind was a chaotic mess, but somehow, I said to her: “Happy… birthday. Olivia.” Her body stiffened. She leaned down, her warm breath hitting my ear. “Why didn’t you say it during the dinner party? Everyone else did. Why did you hide in the corner?” My brain was a tangled mess, but I vaguely remembered. Ah. It was because I was too intimidated. She stood there so radiantly, many people raising their glasses to her. I inexplicably shrank back. But I still remembered I had to wish her a happy birthday. So I took advantage of now, while we were alone together. I said it out loud. “Emma, you idiot.” Suddenly, a shiver shot up my spine from my tailbone. I almost convulsed. I felt my earlobe being taken into someone’s mouth and gently bitten. Cold and gentle. In my dazed state, I was carried into the car and fell asleep in the backseat. I don’t know how much time passed. When I opened my eyes again, I was clinging to Olivia’s back. In my ears was the drumbeat of torrential rain, and before my eyes was a stretching, dark gray highway. The pitch-black night was illuminated only by pools of warm yellow streetlights, which seemed to wrap around her and me. I instinctively grabbed Olivia’s shoulders. “Olivia, put me down. I can walk.” “The rain is too heavy. The car stalled halfway. It’s three miles left, and the hospital is just down the hill.” “Be a good girl, stay still.” “No, you’re so skinny, how can you carry me! I’m heavy, put me down, I can walk myself.” “You’re burning up like a little fireball, how could I let you walk.” Her voice rose, filled with unquestionable resolve. But then, afraid of scaring me, she lowered her voice to coax me: “I work out, carrying you is nothing. Be good, hold on tight, we’ll be there soon.” I had no idea how someone so thin could have so much strength. She carried me, trudging solidly through the pouring rain for three miles. Seeing her afraid I’d get wet, she had draped her raincoat over me. She wore a windbreaker, and the raindrops smashed against her clothes with loud smacks. Some raindrops slid down her forehead and fell from her hair. Falling like a string of pearls. I couldn’t tell if it was rain or my tears anymore. I said: “Put me down, I can walk.” She said: “Silly Emma, how could I bear to let you suffer.” 10 Because of the time Olivia took me to the hospital, I was incredibly grateful. I swore I would never call her a toxic pick-me again. I started actively inviting Olivia over to our place. I humbly and earnestly, blushing, asked Nate for his permission. Nate looked at me with an expression that said finally, you’re being reasonable. Nate was exceptionally eager that day. He ran out to buy Olivia’s favorite groceries, saying he was going to show off his cooking skills. Even though we had lived together for so long, he rarely cooked for me. But I didn’t care anymore. Olivia showed up that day carrying a few bottles of red wine. She smiled and said, “These are from my family’s vineyard in France. We’ll open a bottle to taste with dinner.” Nate was wearing an apron, cooking in the kitchen. Olivia and I sat on the rug watching TV. Thinking about how she carried me to the hospital, I sincerely thanked her: “Thank you, Liv. Without you, my fever would have fried my brain.” Olivia cast a casual glance toward the kitchen, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly. Her clear eyes watched me, holding what seemed like a rippling little spring, emotions gently undulating like ripples. From the kitchen came the loud sizzle and pop of cooking. It sounded like Nate had already fired up the wok. In an instant, Olivia leaned over me. She dropped to one knee, her hands planted on the rug, completely caging me in. Olivia’s face was quite striking, like a western version of Anne Hathaway. She tilted her head slightly, looking at me like a highly excited cat that had just caught its prey. “This is how you can thank me.” Her lips conquered mine like an invading army. Rather than a kiss, I’d call it a ravaging. Bastard, how did she know how to—how did she know how to use tongue? I tried to push her away, but I couldn’t move her at all. This was absolutely not a peaceful, moonlight-gentle kiss. It was like two wild beasts tearing into each other in the wilderness, branding each other with their mark. The cooking noises in the kitchen crackled and popped. Olivia and I kissed until the world spun. “My tongue is very agile, isn’t it.” Her voice was husky, carrying a bewitching edge. She was so skinny, her chest completely flat. Pressed against mine, it actually hurt. We desperately explored each other’s secrets, urgent, fierce, passionate. Suddenly— The cooking noises in the kitchen stopped. Olivia and I quickly separated. Olivia casually picked up a sparkling water from the table and took a sip. I wiped my lips and started fiddling with a plushie on the table. Sure enough, when people are nervous, they look for something to do. Nate walked out carrying dishes. Seeing us, he smiled and said: “You guys must be hungry. Dinner’s ready.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “408334”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was 107°F in the scorching summer heat, and I was standing on the street handing out flyers. My mother’s Bentley was parked right by the curb. She was blowing the AC inside, supervising me as I earned my “cleaning fee.” It wasn’t until I shoved the very last flyer into the window of a Ferrari that had just pulled up. Two minutes later, I pulled open the car door and got in. My mother finally panicked. Speeding down the road, she called my phone: “Who is the man driving that car?” “What is your relationship?” “Have you slept with him?!” I just smiled. “He is a man who would buy me tampons, and who doesn’t mind that I stained the backseat of his car.” “Don’t worry, I’m on my period right now. He’s not that much of a beast.” “He’ll have to wait at least seven days…” 1 Heat waves rolled up from the asphalt pavement in waves, and I felt like the soles of my shoes were about to melt away. Sweat dripped from my forehead, slid down my cheeks, and stung as it seeped into my eyes. My cheap T-shirt had been soaked through for a long time, clinging stickily to my back, suffocating me so much I could barely breathe. I wanted to stand under the shade of the trees on the sidewalk, even if it was just for one minute. But I didn’t dare. Not far away was that black Bentley. My mother sat in the car, staring at me like an overseer. I had two hundred flyers in my hand, and I had to hand every single one out without a single one left over. This was the “task” she gave me today. All of this was simply because this morning, my period came early. When I stood up, I accidentally left a tiny, nail-sized bloodstain on the beige leather backseat of her Bentley. For this one spot of blood, my mother went crazy. She used her six-figure Hermès Birkin bag to smash me over the head, over and over again. The hard metal lock struck my temple, making it throb with pain. “Olivia! Do you think this car is too clean? You ruined my car on purpose! You are exactly like your con-artist father, filthy to the bone! You only know how to bring trouble to people! Disgusting!” I hung my head, silently enduring her verbal abuse. It was like this every time. As long as I made her unhappy, she would bring up that man. The man who had a brief marriage with my mother, and who, when she was pregnant, embezzled a massive sum of money from her company to save his high-school sweetheart—some poor girl from the countryside. My dad. Since the day he vanished, I became the biggest stain in my mother’s life. A living, breathing piece of evidence, constantly reminding her that she had been cheated out of her money, her heart, and her body by a poor boy. My mother projected all her hatred for my father onto me, intensifying it. She firmly believed that the blood of “poverty” and “betrayal” flowed in my veins, just like my father’s. She sent me to the most expensive private academy in the city, but she only paid the most basic tuition for me—just enough to let me step foot through the school gates. She made me wear cheap street-stall clothes, looking like a freak among a group of wealthy heirs. Every day, lunchtime at school was my public execution. My classmates would sit in the dining hall, eating flown-in Wagyu beef and bluefin tuna. But I couldn’t enter that dining hall. Because my mother didn’t pay the two-thousand-dollar monthly meal fee for me. I could only be alone, like a rat hiding from the light, tucked away in the corner of an abandoned utility room on the top floor of the academic building. When I opened my lunchbox, a sour smell hit my face. Inside were the leftovers from what the house staff ate the night before, haphazardly mixed together. It was impossible to tell what it originally was. Blackened, wilted vegetable leaves, solidified clumps of grease, and a sticky, mushy lump of rice. Sometimes, if I was “lucky.” There would even be one or two rib bones inside that had already been gnawed completely clean. It felt like some kind of charity, and at the same time, a silent mockery. My mother called this “tempering.” She said I had to first grind away that filthy, impoverished bloodline before I was worthy of the Sterling family’s wealth. 2 The year I turned 14, a sharp, twisting pain flared up in my lower right abdomen. At first, it was just a dull ache. I thought I had eaten something bad and didn’t take it seriously. But not long after, the pain violently escalated, like a red-hot iron rod brutally churning back and forth inside my body. I was in so much pain that I rolled off the bed, curling up on the ice-cold floor. Cold sweat broke out layer by layer, quickly soaking through my thin pajamas. Supporting myself against the wall, I struggled to drag myself to the living room, begging for help from my mother, who was leisurely applying a face mask. Even my voice was trembling. “Mom, my stomach… hurts so much…” She lifted her eyelids, shot me a glance, and let out a cold sneer from her nose. “What trick are you trying to pull now?” “Your father used that exact same pitiful face to con money out of me back in the day. You father and daughter, you have cheap, lowly calculation carved into your bones.” The disdain in her tone chilled my heart even more than the twisting pain in my abdomen. I tried to explain, but the severe pain made me unable to speak a single complete sentence. Waves of pain hit me one after another. I started rolling on the floor, my vision blackening in flashes, my consciousness hovering on the edge of collapse. I was really going to die. This thought caused me to burst out with my last bit of strength. I struggled to crawl to her feet and grabbed her silk robe. I kowtowed to her. One time, then another. My forehead struck the floorboards, making a dull, heavy thud. “Mom… please… save me…” Perhaps this utterly pathetic, miserable display of mine finally pleased her. She slowly stood up, looking down at me from above. “Going to the hospital is fine, but sign this first. My money isn’t blown in by the wind; you have to remember every single cent I spend on you.” She threw a piece of paper and a pen at me. It was an “IOU.” On the white paper with black ink, it stated that I, Olivia Sterling, due to a sudden illness, voluntarily borrowed the surgery fees and subsequent treatment costs from my mother, Evelyn Sterling. I promised to repay the principal and interest in full once I reached adulthood and started working. The interest rate was five times the bank’s standard rate. In that moment, I finally understood that in her eyes, I wasn’t her daughter. I was just a burden who needed to constantly repay a father’s debt. Through the agonizing pain, I used all the strength in my body and trembling hands to sign my name on that ice-cold piece of paper. Only then did she unhurriedly call the driver. 3 After the surgery, my mother only allowed me to stay in the hospital for two days. She ripped out my IV tube, saying that if I didn’t go back to school, I would fall behind on my coursework. The wound on my abdomen chafed painfully against the fabric of my clothes, but this little bit of physical pain was far less agonizing than the torment of being an “outcast” in that elite prep school. Because I hadn’t paid the few hundred dollars for textbook fees, I could only squeeze next to my desk-mate to share one book during class. My desk-mate was a somewhat cowardly boy. Whenever those rich kids, who took pleasure in bullying me, cast unkind looks our way, he would slide the book a large chunk over to his side, leaving me only an awkward corner. I could only desperately crane my neck, like a starving bird stealing food. During the break, the humiliation arrived as expected. A group of girls wearing exquisite makeup cornered me in the restroom. The leader was Madison, the “Queen Bee” of our class. They pushed me to the floor, and ice-cold, filthy water was poured over my head. It soaked my cheap, washed-out T-shirt and instantly soaked through the gauze on my abdomen. An icy, stabbing pain radiated from the wound. “Hey, Olivia, I heard your mom is the CEO of a publicly traded company. Why can’t you even afford your textbook fees?” “You wouldn’t happen to be an illegitimate daughter, would you? The kind that can’t be shown in public?” Their mockery pierced my heart like needles. That day, they pushed and shoved me, kneeing my abdomen. The freshly healed wound tore open again. Bright red blood soaked through the gauze, dyeing my clothes red. I was sent to the infirmary to be re-bandaged. The school called my mother, reporting the bullying and the unpaid fees. The phone was on speaker. I stood in the office, like a criminal waiting for trial. I clearly heard my mother’s voice on the other end—calm, unbothered, even carrying a trace of a lazy smile. “It’s just kids playing around. Our Olivia isn’t that delicate.” “As for the textbook fee,” she paused, her voice carrying a playful amusement, “I’m doing this to train her independence. I absolutely cannot let her develop the bad habit of getting something for nothing.” “If she wants money, make her go earn it.” And so, I became the only student in that elite private school who had to go collect trash after the final bell. While my classmates sat in various luxury cars with logos I didn’t recognize, heading to high-end restaurants and private clubs. I carried my heavy backpack and walked into the dirtiest corners of the city, digging through dumpsters that reeked of sour rot, searching for plastic bottles and cardboard that could be exchanged for cash. Once, I was digging through a dumpster in the back alley of a high-end French restaurant. I happened to see my mother and her socialite friends sitting at an open-air cafe not far away. My mother saw me. She showed absolutely no surprise. Instead, she lifted her coffee cup and toasted me from afar, the corners of her lips curling into a cruel yet satisfied arc. Like she was appreciating a play she had personally directed, titled “Tempering.” And I was just the clown struggling in the mud for her amusement. I collected recyclables for a week. My fingers were cut, and my entire body reeked of sour garbage. In the end, I only exchanged it all for thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents. The thousands of dollars needed for textbook fees were nowhere in sight. At the very last moment on the day of the payment deadline, my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Miller, called me into her office. She pushed a brand-new set of textbooks in front of me and said gently, “Olivia, the teacher paid for your books.” “Mrs. Miller… I…” I held that stack of brand-new books, and my tears fell uncompetitively. Mrs. Miller patted my shoulder, her tone warm. “Don’t cry. I don’t need you to pay me back. You just need to promise me that you will study hard, and that will be enough.” After getting the textbooks, for the first time, I sat in the classroom with my back straight. I studied like crazy, wanting to repay Mrs. Miller’s kindness with excellent grades. But those good days lasted less than a week. My mother must have seen the crossed-out textbook fee on the billing statement the school mailed to our house. She came to the school and went straight to the Principal’s office. Not long after, Mrs. Miller, who was right in the middle of teaching our class, was called out by the principal’s assistant. When she left, she was still pinching half a piece of chalk in her hand. She only said, “Students, self-study,” and never came back. The class started buzzing with discussion. A strong wave of unease suddenly rose in my heart, so much so that I couldn’t even focus on my book. It wasn’t until after class that I saw it on the bulletin board. A thin piece of A4 paper, yet heavy enough to crush a person—a notice regarding the termination of Mrs. Sarah Miller’s employment contract. My mother was one of the biggest financial sponsors of this private school. To her, firing a teacher was easier than crushing an ant. I rushed to the school gates like a madwoman. My mother was just about to get into her car. “Mom! Why did you fire Mrs. Miller?!” I cried and shouted at her, my voice cracking from agitation. “Why are you crying?” Her tone was completely flat. “Did I fire her? No. It was your ‘kind-hearted’ Mrs. Miller who insisted on being a busybody and ruining my educational policy.” “What educational policy! Mrs. Miller is a good person! She was just helping me…” “A good person?” My mother let out a short laugh, as if she had just heard the biggest joke in the world. “Olivia, I’ll teach you another free lesson today. In this world, the most worthless thing is a so-called ‘good person,’ and all that unprovoked kindness.” “Besides, you need to be very clear about one thing. Everything Mrs. Miller is experiencing right now is because you implicated her.” “She lost her job because of you.” That single sentence pinned me dead to the spot. It was true. It was because I accepted that kindness that I harmed the only person who was good to me. My mother looked at my deathly pale face with satisfaction, turned around, pulled the car door open, and got in. The car window slowly rolled down, revealing that well-maintained, yet entirely temperature-less face of hers. “Oh, right. I’ve already reimbursed Mrs. Miller for your textbooks.” “That money, naturally, still counts as a loan to you.” “The interest will continue to accrue.” 4 After Mrs. Miller was fired, I became the god of plague in the school, someone everyone avoided at all costs. When I walked down the hallway, classmates who had originally been laughing and talking would instantly fall silent, looking at me with a gaze mixed with fear and disdain, before silently dispersing. The bullying from Madison’s clique completely tore off its disguise and became unprecedentedly blatant. They would snatch the brand-new textbooks Mrs. Miller bought me right off my desk in front of the entire class. They used markers to draw obscene doodles and vicious curses all over them, and then, right in front of my eyes, tore them to shreds, page by page. I pounced on them like crazy, trying to snatch those books back. They were the only proof of warmth I had ever possessed. But they pushed me to the ground in a chaotic scramble. The hard floor bruised my bones. I don’t know who unscrewed a bottle of ink. The sticky, freezing blue-black liquid poured down from the top of my head. The ice-cold liquid soaked through my clothes and dyed the scattered pages on the floor black. But no other teacher ever dared to step forward to help me again. They intentionally avoided my gaze, as if I carried some contagious bad luck. They were all afraid. Afraid that they would end up like Mrs. Miller—that because they offered me a trivial piece of charity, their lives would be effortlessly destroyed by my powerful, omnipotent mother. I became a true isolated island, abandoned by the whole world. That day, they cornered me in the restroom again, pouring a bucket of dirty water over me from head to toe. When I got home completely drenched, unable to tell if it was dirty water or tears on my face, I collapsed. I could no longer endure this boundless despair. For the first time, I mustered up my courage and blocked the doorway to my mother’s study. She was elegantly sipping red wine and flipping through a financial magazine, turning a blind eye to my miserable state. Using all my strength, I asked the question that had hovered in my heart for years, nearly tearing me apart: “Why?” My voice was trembling, carrying a crying tone. “Why can’t you treat me like a normal mother would?” She finally reacted. She took a photo frame out of her drawer and threw it at my feet. Crash! The glass of the frame shattered, scratching a corner of the photo inside. In the photo was a man smiling a gentle, clean smile. His eyes and features were identical to mine. My mother finally lifted her eyes, and in those beautiful pupils surged a hatred that was practically overflowing. “Because of this face, these eyes. You look exactly like him.” She stood up and walked toward me step by step, looking down at me as if she were looking at a piece of garbage that completely disgusted her. “Every day I look at you, it’s like looking at a debt collector. A living, breathing piece of evidence constantly reminding me of how stupid and cheap I was back then!” She extended her finger and poked my heart heavily. “Olivia, the fact that I didn’t throw you away the moment you were born is already the greatest mercy I could show you as a mother.” In that moment, the last trace of warmth in my heart, the final thread of extravagant hope for family affection, was snuffed out by her own hands. Thoroughly frozen, shattered into powder. It turns out that not all bloodlines are tied to heartache. The maternal love written in books might just be a fairytale, and the hatred a real mother had for me was bone-chilling, colder than the winter wind. 5 … The static noise in my Bluetooth earbud snapped me awake from my scorching trance. I had just handed a flyer to a passing man. He swatted my hand away with a look of disgust and cursed vulgarly, “Roll away, don’t bother me.” Instantly, my mother’s cold voice came through the Bluetooth earbud in my ear. “Olivia, your posture is wrong.” “If you are begging for a living, you need to look like you’re begging. You need to smile, you need to look approachable. Who are you showing that funeral face to?” She paused, her tone full of mockery: “Do you think it’s that easy to make money? You don’t even stand properly. Who is going to take your stuff?” I twitched the corners of my mouth, forcing a smile that looked uglier than crying, and began mechanically repeating the process: handing out, getting rejected, handing out again. But my mother was still endlessly nagging and lecturing in my earbud. The two hundred flyers were finally handed out until only the very last one remained. At this moment, she spoke into the earbud again: “Do you see it, Olivia?! That red Ferrari that just parked by the curb!” “Quick! Shove the flyer to him! That is our premium client. Catching someone like him is more useful than handing out a thousand flyers!” I numbly lifted my head and looked over, following her words. That red Ferrari was parked by the curb, its engine still running. Gripping that final flyer, which had long been softened by my sweat, I moved my lead-filled legs and walked over. Just as I was about to bend down to shove the flyer through the gap in the car window. The car door was pushed open without warning. A man stepped out of the car. He was tall and stood perfectly straight. Even a simple white T-shirt and black pants couldn’t hide the noble aura radiating from his entire being. He was carefully cradling a tiny kitten in his hands. The cat was only the size of a palm, completely dirty, and meowing with a soft, tiny voice. It sounded like it was acting spoiled, but also like it was afraid. One look and you could tell it was a stray cat he had just picked up. The man lowered his eyes, focused entirely on the little guy in his arms. He frowned slightly, looking somewhat helpless. He lifted his head, his gaze falling on me, and his cold, clear voice carried a trace of inquiry: “Do you know how to take care of a kitten?” I was instantly stunned in place. My brain went completely blank. And right at that moment, my mother’s death warrant rang crazily in my earbud again. The sound was sharp and piercing, almost puncturing my eardrum: “Olivia! What are you staring off into space like a dead person for?!” “Hurry up and hand the flyer over! Let him see your sincerity! You idiot!” I looked at the shivering little cat in the man’s arms, and then I thought of myself. I jerked my head up. Tears burst out like a broken dam without warning, blurring my vision. Right now. This was my only chance. “I do, but can you take me away from here first?” I stared intensely into his eyes, terrified of missing even the slightest hint of rejection. “Please.” “…Someone is watching me.” The man’s deep eyes narrowed slightly. His line of sight seemed to cross over my shoulder, glancing at that black Bentley parked not far away. He didn’t ask a single question. He just pulled the car door open. “Get in.” I practically crawled and scrambled my way inside. The engine let out a roar, and we instantly vanished around the corner. Before I even had time to catch my breath, my mother’s furious voice came through the Bluetooth: “Olivia! You’re crazy! What are you doing?!” “Whose car is that! Get out right now!” I took a deep breath and spoke faintly: “Mom, he is a man who would buy me tampons, and who doesn’t mind that I stained the backseat of his car.” There was dead silence on my mother’s end for a second. Following that was a hysterical stream of curses, even worse than before. “You slut! You are exactly like your deadbeat father!” “You’re both lowlife trash! Like a dog that jumps the moment it sees money!” Normally, I would only endure it silently. But right now, I took the earbud out and threw it out the window without hesitation. 6 Actually, I had no idea how to take care of a kitten. My only intimate contact with a cat was when I was very young. That day, I brought a rain-soaked stray cat back from outside. It was skin and bones, and I put it in my room, wanting to keep it. As a result, my mom found out. She wore that familiar look of disgust and disdain. She had a maid grab the kitten by the scruff of the neck and throw it far out the front door, just like tossing a piece of trash. She pointed at my nose and warned me, word by word: “Olivia, if you ever dare to bring this kind of dirty thing home again, I will throw you out right alongside it, and don’t you ever come back!” On the way to the man’s house, I constantly used my phone to search for tutorials on taking care of kittens. [How to care for a kitten as a beginner?] [Can kittens drink cow’s milk?] [What temperature warm water should be used for goat milk powder?] I read until my head was spinning, terrified that I would remember any detail wrong. I was afraid. Afraid that he would realize I knew absolutely nothing, and then, just like my mother, throw me out of the car. Luckily. When we got back to his house—which was as massive as a palace—and it was time to feed the kitten. This man, Ethan Vance, didn’t seem to be much better at this than I was. He held the tiny baby bottle with a serious expression, but his movements were incredibly clumsy. And I, relying on the knowledge I had just frantically crammed, helped him mix the warm water and test the temperature. He couldn’t spot my flaws. The kitten finally finished the milk with immense satisfaction, curled up in a soft towel, and let out a tiny purring sound. The room fell quiet in an instant. This moment of peace reminded me that this short-lived shelter was about to end. I gripped the hem of my shirt tightly, my fingernails almost embedding themselves into my palms. I can’t leave. I can’t go back to that hell. I lifted my head, meeting his inquiring gaze. I mustered all the courage I had in my life, my voice trembling slightly from tension. “…Does your house need a maid?” Ethan was stunned for a second, then replied faintly, “I have an auntie who cooks for me.” It was an expected answer. But I was unwilling to accept it. This was my only chance. I urgently added, “What about someone to take care of the cat?!” “I can take care of it. I’m very good at taking care of small animals. I can do anything!” I wanted to stay so badly. Because the current me was penniless and homeless. Right at this moment, an inopportune sound echoed in the room. Rumble— My stomach growled. I haven’t had a single drop of water to drink since morning. Ethan’s gaze landed on my face, which was now flushed red with embarrassment. He said: “Let’s eat first.” The dining table was covered in exquisite dishes, the kind of food I had only ever seen my mother eat before. I sat cautiously at the table, my hands resting on my knees, not even daring to touch the silverware. He seemed to notice my constraint and handed a clean fork and knife to me. “Eat.” That single word instantly shattered my initial reserve. I shoved the food into my mouth with total disregard, wolfing it down. I ate too fast and even choked, coughing until tears came out of my eyes. When I finally lifted my head from the food, I suddenly realized that the man sitting across from me hadn’t touched his silverware from start to finish. Ethan just sat there quietly, his deep gaze resting on me, his emotions unreadable. My cheeks burned hotly in an instant, and a sense of shame overwhelmed me. He must think I am uneducated and embarrassing. “It’s okay,” he seemed to see through my thoughts, a very faint curve hooking the corner of his mouth. “The way you eat is very appetizing.” “By the way, looking at your age… you should still be in school, right?” Gripping my fork, I nodded, my voice as small as a mosquito’s hum: “…High school senior.” He frowned imperceptibly. “Then why are you out here… offering to be a maid?” “Also, who was watching you?” I put down my fork, lowered my head, and stared at the dirty tips of my shoes. I was silent for a very, very long time. “It was my mom.” I don’t know how I managed to recount everything. The humiliation, the pain, the despair. Through my barren vocabulary, it became a pale, lengthy statement. By the end, my voice was unbearably hoarse, and my vision was a blur. I lifted my head, looking at him with teary eyes, like a drowning person grabbing onto the last piece of driftwood. “I’m begging you, please give me a job.” “I promise I will take good care of the cat. I can swallow any bitterness.” Ethan listened to my story. There was no pity in his eyes, nor was there disdain. After a long time, he finally spoke, his voice calm to the point of being almost cruel. “I don’t need a maid here.” He rejected me. The very last flame of hope was extinguished. I stood up from the chair, my body swaying slightly from exhaustion. “…I understand. Thank you for dinner.” I bowed deeply toward him. Then I turned and walked toward the grand front door. I should go. Back to the hell I belong in. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, Ethan called out to me. “Wait a second. I don’t need a maid.” “But your tuition, your living expenses, and all the expenses for your future college education—I can sponsor them.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “408333”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When the System pulled me back into this world for the second time, I was already infamous. I was the ultimate charity case, the gold-digging husband who had married hopelessly out of his league. But I was done acting like a madman over my wife’s wandering eye. I was done shedding tears because my own daughter had started calling another man “Dad.” Instead, I instituted a new rule in our sprawling Virginia estate. Every time they mentioned Tristan’s name, they had to transfer five thousand dollars into my bank account. In just fifteen days, I had amassed a quarter of a million dollars. I did it because the System had whispered to me upon my return: “Your target mortgaged thirty years of her own lifespan to drag you back. But rest easy—this time, you only need to survive twenty days.” In these twenty days, my only goal was to save enough money to secure a peaceful retirement for my adoptive parents. At dinner, Victoria was chatting casually with our daughter. Inevitably, Tristan’s name slipped out. The atmosphere at the mahogany dining table froze instantly. I simply reached across the linen tablecloth, my palm face up. “Five thousand. Venmo or Zelle?” Mia, my daughter, finally snapped. She slammed her silver fork down, the clatter echoing in the cavernous dining room. “Is money the only thing left in your pathetic brain? You’re not even worth one of Tristan’s fingernails!” I didn’t argue. I just extended my hand a fraction closer to her. “Ten thousand. You just said it again.” 1 Mia stared at me, her young face contorted in sheer disbelief. My expression didn’t shift. I kept my voice flat, hollowed out. “Transfer the money first. Don’t make me ask twice.” “Simon, is this a joke to you?!” Victoria violently pushed her plate away, the porcelain shattering against the marble floor. Her eyes were dark, swirling with sudden, explosive anger. “I know you’re holding onto resentment. That’s why I’ve turned a blind eye for the past two weeks. I traded half my soul, half my life to wake you from that coma, because I wanted to build a real life with you! Why do you have to be so petty?” I lowered my eyes, my tone maddeningly even. “I wouldn’t dare be petty. But you are the CEO of Vanguard Defense. A woman of your word. You agreed to the rule; surely you won’t back out now.” Victoria lunged forward, grabbing my hand and pressing it hard against her chest, right over the jagged, ugly scar hidden beneath her silk blouse. It was the physical toll the System had extracted from her—an open-heart procedure she endured just to reboot my timeline. Her face contorted in pain, and her voice softened into a desperate plea. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him up in front of you. Please, Simon, don’t be angry, okay? Don’t call me CEO. I’m your wife. We are supposed to be forever.” Years ago, I would have killed to hear her admit she was wrong. I would have dreamed of her calling me her husband with that kind of raw vulnerability. Now, the feeling of her heartbeat against my palm just made stomach acid rise in my throat. I felt physically sick. I pulled my hand back, wiping my palm against my slacks. “You just said his name again. That makes it fifteen thousand.” The color drained from Victoria’s face in a sickening rush. “Fine. Fine.” Her voice trembled with a terrifying, glacial rage. “You really never cease to amaze me, Simon. I want to see exactly how long you can keep up this pathetic, money-hungry charade.” She yanked a black Centurion card from her blazer, hurled it at the floor, grabbed Mia by the wrist, and stormed out. The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them. Standing by the sideboard, a young security detail whispered to a maid. “He doesn’t get it. The boss is tough, but she loves him. The six months he was gone, she lost her mind. She almost let the entire company go under. She just sat in the dark, clutching his photo until sunrise.” I raised a hand, dismissing them both. When the room was empty, I bent down and picked up the black card. I didn’t care where they went. I didn’t care about Victoria’s supposed grief. Five more days. That was all I had left before I vanished from this timeline forever. Having finally seen the absolute zero of Victoria’s heart, my only tether to this world was securing my adoptive parents’ future. I called one of the junior guards and ordered him to pack up every luxury watch, cufflink, and designer suit in my closet and take them to a high-end pawn broker in the city. While I was stripping the room, I caught sight of the platinum wedding band on my left hand. I gripped it, ready to pull it off and toss it into the sell pile. Before I could clear my knuckle, my wrist was seized in a vice grip. Victoria was standing there, her eyes bloodshot and wild. “You’re trying to sell our wedding ring?” I looked up at her, finding the entire situation profoundly absurd. Five years ago, she had taken her own wedding band to a jeweler to melt it down, using the cash to buy a vintage Rolex for Tristan. If she could sell hers, why couldn’t I sell mine? I wrenched my arm free and tossed the ring toward the guard. “It’s a heavy platinum setting. It should fetch a decent price.” “I said, don’t touch it!” Victoria screamed, snatching the ring out of the air. She glared at the guard with a look that promised violence. “Get out!” The moment the door clicked shut, she lunged at me, crashing her mouth against mine. It wasn’t a kiss of passion; it was a desperate, aggressive claiming. I shoved her away with everything I had. My lip tore against my teeth. I instinctively wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. When I looked up, Victoria was staring at me in utter devastation. “You… you’re disgusted by me?” Her voice broke. “Are you still punishing me because I let him touch me?” If this were five years ago, seeing her look so shattered would have broken me. I would have pulled her into my arms and forgiven everything. But now, I just held out my hand, my palm steady. “You just brought him up again. That’s five thousand.” Victoria swayed on her feet like she’d been struck. I watched her, completely numb. I remembered looking at her with that exact same agonizing desperation. Years ago, when Vanguard Defense was still a fledgling contractor, her convoy was ambushed overseas. She took three bullets to the chest and abdomen. I was the combat medic who refused to call time of death, dragging her back from the brink of the grave. She defied her wealthy, aristocratic family to marry me. The first two years were magic. We built a life. We had Mia. But four years in, she moved her recently divorced childhood best friend, Tristan, into the compound. She introduced him as a “consultant,” but gave him the run of the estate. He was the golden boy she’d never quite gotten over. I fought. I cried. I begged. But she would just look at me with exhausted irritation. “Tristan has no one else, Simon. What’s wrong with me looking out for him?” Slowly, methodically, he poisoned my home. Even Mia, the daughter I had stayed up nights rocking to sleep, began to drift into his orbit. “You don’t understand anything, Daddy. Tristan is so much cooler.” A sudden, sharp pain in my ribs snapped me out of the memory. Mia had charged into the room, shoving me hard. “What are you doing?!” she shrieked, pointing at the half-empty closet. “I already promised Tristan he could have the East Wing for his birthday! You emptied it all out! How am I supposed to explain this to him?” She glared at me, her eyes filled with a vitriol no child should possess. “Why did you even come back? Why couldn’t you just stay dead?” 2 I froze, the air knocked out of my lungs. I couldn’t form a single word. This room, the East Wing master suite, was the one Mia had helped me decorate when we first built the estate. She had painted a small, lopsided heart inside the closet door. “I want Daddy to have the safest harbor in the whole world,” she had said. Victoria clearly remembered that memory, too. A flicker of genuine guilt crossed her sharp features. “Mia, stop. You don’t mean that.” Mia yanked her arm away from her mother, her glare fixed on me. “Yes, I do! Why are you here?” “I said, shut up!” Victoria snapped, her voice turning to ice. But when she looked back at me, her eyes darted away, unable to hold my gaze. “Don’t listen to her. Simon… about Tristan and me. We were just… I had too much to drink that night. I thought he was you.” I listened to the silence ring in my ears. My chest felt tight, filled with a dense, suffocating ache. Six years. Six years, and she couldn’t even be bothered to invent a new lie. I dug my fingernails so hard into my palms that the skin broke, forcing the moisture back from my eyes. “You just referenced him four times. Plus the previous one. That’s twenty-five thousand dollars.” Victoria stood completely still for thirty agonizing seconds. Then, she exploded. She kicked the heavy, solid-wood nightstand, sending a designer lamp crashing to the floor. “Fine! You are unbelievable!” she screamed, her chest heaving. “You want money? I’ll give you money! In fact, I have a very lucrative job for you. Are you taking it or not?” I looked at her. Her lips curled into a cruel, calculated smirk. “Tristan is sick. It’s a severe stomach bug, very debilitating. You used to be a medic. You’re going to be his personal, live-in nurse.” Her voice dripped with venom. “Make him comfortable, and I’ll write you a check for half a million dollars.” “No.” I didn’t expect her to stoop to this level of humiliation. My voice was thick with suppressed rage. Victoria’s expression hardened into a mask of pure sociopathy. “You don’t have to agree. But if you don’t, I’ll just have my security team bring your adoptive mother here to do it. She was an award-winning head nurse before she retired, wasn’t she? I’m sure she’d love to help.” My heart seized. A cold, familiar terror washed over me. This was the same dead-eyed expression she wore five years ago when she ordered her private security to ruthlessly purge corporate spies from her company. She destroyed lives without blinking. I couldn’t gamble with my mother’s safety. My jaw tightened until my teeth ached. “Fine. I’ll do it.” A guard escorted me down to the industrial kitchen. Mia trailed behind us, her arms loaded with ridiculously expensive, holistic supplements. “These are imported truffles, and this is organic bone broth,” she dictated, dumping them on the stainless-steel counter. She looked at me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into her house. “Don’t think you can pull anything, Daddy. I’m going to watch your every move. You are not going to poison Tristan.” I just stared at her, feeling a profound, echoing emptiness. A second later, two raw, whole chickens were violently thrown onto the counter in front of me. The cloying, metallic smell of raw poultry hit my sinuses, and my stomach violently rebelled. I gagged, gripping the edge of the sink. Since I was a child, I’ve had a severe, documented psychosomatic aversion and contact allergy to raw poultry. Just touching it causes my skin to erupt in painful, burning hives. It was a trauma response from a childhood incident, and both Victoria and Mia knew exactly how bad it was. But Mia just rolled her eyes. “Tristan only likes fresh chicken soup. Just deal with it, okay? Besides, Mom told me to make sure you do it.” I snapped my head up. Victoria was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. There wasn’t a shred of pity on her face. Her voice was clinical. “Tristan has a weak constitution and a refined palate. He can only stomach your recipe.” She crossed her arms. “You grew up on a dirt-poor farm, Simon. Stop pretending you have the delicate sensibilities of high society. Make the soup and bring it up to him.” My hands were already breaking out in a furious, raised rash just from being near the raw meat. I shook my head, my breathing shallow. “I can’t. I—” “If you don’t,” Victoria cut in, her voice slicing through the air, “I’ll have your mother brought in from the city to pluck and gut them.” The last remnants of my pride crumbled into dust. My adoptive mother was nearly seventy. Her heart couldn’t take the stress of Victoria’s armed guards dragging her here. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, swallowed down the suffocating humiliation, and nodded. By the time I carried the heavy ceramic bowl of boiling soup up to Tristan’s quarters, my hands and forearms were covered in weeping, agonizing hives. I was running a fever, my legs shaking so badly I could barely stand. Tristan sat propped up against a mountain of pillows. He took a tiny, theatrical sip from the spoon, then grimaced. “It’s too greasy. I can’t keep this down.” Mia’s face instantly twisted in fury. She whirled on me, screaming. “Are you deaf? He doesn’t like it! Go back down and make a new batch right now!” I stood completely still, my vision blurring from the pain in my arms. Mia lost her temper and shoved my shoulder, trying to push me toward the door. Victoria stepped forward and caught Mia’s arm. Her tone softened, just a fraction, as she looked at my inflamed skin. “If you’re willing to just apologize to him, you don’t have to make another—” 3 “It’ll cost extra.” The rest of Victoria’s sentence died in her throat. Silence stretched through the room. Finally, she ground the words out through her teeth. “Fine. I will pay you extra.” I turned, walked back down to the kitchen, and spent another agonizing hour making a fresh bowl. When I brought it back, I handed it toward Tristan. As he reached for it, his hand “slipped.” He violently jerked his wrist, and the entire bowl of boiling, greasy broth splashed directly onto my thighs. The pain was instantaneous and blinding. Tears sprang to my eyes before I could stop them. Before I could even react, I was shoved hard against the wall. Victoria and Mia practically dove over me, frantically checking Tristan’s blankets to see if a single drop had touched his skin. Tristan shot me a smug, triumphant look over Victoria’s shoulder, while his voice trembled with engineered panic. “I’m so sorry! I’m fine, but Simon looks burned. Should we call the estate doctor?” Victoria didn’t even look up from wiping Tristan’s hands. “No need. Men who are this obsessed with money are cockroaches. He won’t die.” She pulled a checkbook from her blazer pocket, scribbled on it, and threw it. The paper fluttered through the air and landed in the pool of spilled soup at my feet. “Half a million. Take it.” She finally looked at me, her eyes filled with revulsion. “I’ll have the maids handle Tristan from now on. I’m sick of looking at you. Every time you open your mouth, it’s about a payout. It’s pathetic.” I didn’t say a word. I slowly bent down, my scorched skin screaming in protest, and picked up the damp check. The burn on my leg felt like it was chewing through muscle, but I didn’t make a sound. I secured the check and limped out of the room. This money. It was enough. My parents would be safe. The next morning, I packed the cash, the pawn shop receipts, and the checks into a duffel bag, intent on delivering them to my parents. But the moment I walked out the front doors of the mansion, I froze. Standing just beyond the main security gate was my adoptive mother, Martha. She was trembling violently in the morning chill. “Mom? What are you doing here?” A sickening knot pulled tight in my gut. “Where’s Pops? Didn’t he come with you?” Martha’s eyes were bloodshot and swollen. She grabbed my forearms, her grip desperate. “Your father was taken this morning. A black SUV pulled up, said Victoria invited him to the estate for breakfast. I followed them in a cab because I was terrified, but they won’t let me past the gate, and I haven’t seen him!” My heart plummeted into an icy abyss. My adoptive father, Henry, had taken a bullet to the head for Victoria years ago during a corporate hit. He survived, but the severe traumatic brain injury left him permanently with the cognitive capacity of a seven-year-old child. “Mom, stay right here. Don’t move. I’ll find him.” Before I could take a step, a blood-curdling, agonizing scream echoed from the back courtyards. My blood ran cold. I broke into a sprint, ignoring the tearing pain in my burned leg, tearing through the manicured hedges toward the sound. In the center of the stone courtyard stood Victoria, her face an unreadable mask of dark fury. Mia was huddled behind her, looking spooked. Tristan stood off to the side, looking the picture of a traumatized victim. And on the cold, hard concrete, my father was pinned facedown by two massive private security contractors. When he saw me running toward him, his cloudy, confused eyes lit up. “Simon! My boy is here…” “Shut him up!” Victoria barked. She stepped forward and kicked my father hard in the shoulder with her steel-toed boot. I let out a raw, animal scream and threw myself over my father’s body, shielding his head. “Victoria, what the hell are you doing?!” She grabbed the collar of my jacket and violently hauled me backward. Her face was contorted in disgust. “Why don’t you ask the old fool what he did?!” Tristan stepped forward, his voice trembling perfectly. “I was just walking in the garden. This… this crazy old man just lunged at me. He was trying to strangle me! If the guards hadn’t heard me scream, he would have killed me!” “You’re lying!” I roared, my voice tearing my throat. “His brain is ruined! He can’t even tie his own shoes or feed himself! How the hell could he coordinate an attack? You set him up!” Victoria let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Why would Tristan lie about something like this?” She didn’t look at me again. She turned to the captain of the guard, her voice devoid of any humanity. “Take him to the wall. Fifty strikes with the heavy batons.” “No!” I screamed, thrashing wildly against the guards who had grabbed me. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. “He’s almost seventy years old! Fifty strikes from those batons will stop his heart! Victoria, look at him! Have you forgotten he’s only like this because he took a bullet for you?!” Victoria’s posture stiffened. For a fraction of a second, hesitation flickered in her eyes. But Tristan immediately shrank back, clutching his throat. “Victoria… it’s okay. If it makes you look bad, let him go. I can take the bruises…” The guilt in Victoria’s eyes instantly evaporated, replaced by absolute, blinding rage. “Do it! If anyone intervenes, beat them too!” Knowing Victoria was a lost cause, I dropped to my knees, practically crawling across the concrete toward Mia. I grabbed her designer skirt. “Mia, please. Please. When you were little, Pops was your favorite person. He used to carry you on his shoulders. You know he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Tell your mother! Tell her he didn’t do it!” 4 Mia refused to look at me. A flash of profound hesitation crossed her face. Hope flared in my chest. I gripped her skirt tighter. “Mia, speak up! Tell them he’s innocent!” She slowly lifted her head. She looked over at Tristan, who gave her a subtle, sad, imploring look. Mia ripped her fabric out of my hands and shoved me backward. “I saw him.” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. The blood in my veins turned to ice. “Mia… what are you saying?” “I said, I saw him!” Mia shouted, her voice shrill, as if volume could make the lie true. “He’s a crazy old man! He tried to hurt Tristan, and he deserves to be punished!” The last ounce of strength drained from my body. I collapsed onto the freezing concrete. Victoria sneered down at me. “Even your own daughter saw it. Are you done spinning lies?” She gestured to the guards. “Commence.” “NO!” My scream was entirely drowned out by the sickening, heavy crack of the solid polymer baton striking bone. My father’s cries of agony echoed off the stone walls of the compound. He didn’t understand what was happening. He just cried out for me. “Simon… it hurts… Dad hurts…” I fought like a madman, tearing my fingernails on the pavement trying to reach him, but the two guards had their knees dug into my spine, pinning me completely. I was forced to watch. The heavy, rhythmic thwack of the batons. The blood pooling on the gray stone. By the fiftieth strike, my father’s body went completely limp. He didn’t twitch. He didn’t breathe. “Dad!” My voice tore completely. The guards finally let me go, and I scrambled over the blood-slicked concrete, pulling his broken body into my arms. His skin was already cooling. The light in his eyes was completely gone. Victoria stood over us, looking down with clinical detachment. “Enough. He was a vegetable anyway. This is a mercy. Don’t be too dramatic about it; I’ll pay for a premium funeral.” I stared at the blood on my hands. The world had gone entirely silent. Mia trotted over, looking annoyed. “Stop crying, Daddy. He tried to hurt Tristan. He brought it on himself.” She pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from her pocket and threw them. They fluttered down, landing in the pool of my father’s blood. “Here. This is enough to buy him a nice spot in the cemetery.” Suddenly, a piercing, soul-shredding shriek cut through the air. I snapped my head up. Martha had somehow slipped past the front gate. She was sprinting across the courtyard, her eyes fixed on the bloody heap in my arms. She threw herself onto my father’s body, her hands trembling violently as she touched his face. “Henry… Henry, wake up! How could you leave me? How could you leave me here all alone?!” “Mom.” I reached out a shaking hand to pull her back. Dad was gone. She was the only family I had left in the universe. But before my fingers could brush her sleeve, she lunged upward. With a guttural cry, she threw her entire body weight forward, driving her head headfirst into the sharp, granite edge of the decorative fountain. “NO!” I lunged, but my fingers only grazed the fabric of her coat. A sickening crack echoed. She slumped to the ground, a dark pool rushing out from beneath her skull. I knelt there on the stone. To my left, the beaten corpse of my father. To my right, the shattered body of my mother. In my hands, I still gripped the blood-soaked duffel bag of cash I was supposed to give them for their retirement. A terrible, suffocating pressure seized my chest. I doubled over, and a mouthful of dark blood violently expelled from my lungs, splattering across the concrete. “Simon!” Victoria’s voice fractured. The icy facade broke, replaced by sudden, raw panic. She rushed forward to grab me. But Tristan casually tugged on her sleeve. “He’s just playing the victim again, Victoria. He probably thinks we didn’t give him enough cash. Remember a few months ago when he faked a coma? He always comes back.” Mia pulled out another stack of bills and threw them directly at my face. “Is this enough? Get over it, Daddy. Stop acting. It’s annoying.” I looked at the scattered bills. I looked at the checks. I started to laugh. A broken, wet, horrific sound that clawed its way out of my ruined throat. Victoria took a hesitant step toward me, her face pale, but Mia stepped in front of her. “He’s just going to threaten to kill himself again. Let him do it. If he really dies this time, we won’t even care.” I reached out and gently brushed my thumbs over my parents’ open, sightless eyes, closing them. Then I looked up at Mia. “Okay. I’ll die.” Mia smirked. She reached over to the guard standing next to her, unclipped the heavy Glock from his holster, and kicked it across the pavement toward me. “Use this. It’s faster.” I picked up the heavy, cold steel of the gun. I didn’t say a word. Seeing me holding it silently, Victoria let out a long sigh of relief, assuming the bluff was over. “Alright, Simon, enough of the tantrums. Put it down, come inside, apologize, and we can move past this…” Before she finished her sentence, I pressed the barrel flush against my heart and pulled the trigger. BANG. The sound was deafening. A spray of boiling, crimson blood painted the side of Victoria’s face. The relieved smile on her face froze. The color drained from her skin, leaving her looking like a wax corpse. “SIMON!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “408332”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The Kensington family’s monthly Sunday dinners were strictly closed-door affairs. No outsiders. Ever. Yet, Victoria’s junior assistant had somehow made the guest list, month after month. In the past, he just sat there, playing the quiet background character. I swallowed my pride and endured it. But tonight, my five-year-old daughter, Mia, bypassed me entirely and handed the private chef’s menu directly to him, asking what hewanted to eat. In that split second, the illusion shattered. I just felt an overwhelming, bone-deep exhaustion. The moment we got home, I dropped the divorce papers on the kitchen island in front of Victoria. She stared at the pristine white pages, a cold, mocking smile twisting her lips. “All this because Spencer picked an appetizer? Are you out of your mind?” “Yes,” I said. “Sign it.” 1. “Nathaniel, if you’re absolutely determined to throw a tantrum, can we at least schedule it?” Victoria leaned heavily against the back of the leather sofa, her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can you wait until I get home from the office tomorrow night? I am suffocating under deadlines right now.” Spencer stood near the foyer, clutching a stack of legal folders. His posture was perfectly neutral—neither submissive nor arrogant. Outside, the engine of the Maybach hummed a low, expensive purr in the driveway. The housekeepers huddled in the adjacent dining room, wiping down spotless surfaces, their eyes strictly averted. Everything in the Kensington estate ran with immaculate, clockwork precision. Everything except me, standing in front of my wife, bristling like a cornered animal. After a long, suffocating silence, Victoria finally opened her eyes and looked at me. “Just let me off the hook for tonight. Please, Nathaniel.” The moment the words left her mouth, I heard a faint, barely disguised scoff from the dining room. I knew the staff looked down on me. I’d given them plenty of ammunition over the years, constantly picking fights with Victoria over trivial details, desperate to prove I still held some weight in her heart. Now, her weary, condescending retreat only made me look like an unreasonable lunatic. A surge of nameless anger ignited in my chest. I snatched the duplicate copy of the divorce agreement and slammed it back down in front of her. “No. Sign it right now.” Victoria looked up at me, a storm of complicated emotions rolling in her eyes. She looked genuinely worn down by my aggression. “Nathaniel. If you’re this humiliated over the menu thing, I give you my word, it won’t happen again. Mia hurt your feelings tonight. When she wakes up tomorrow, I will personally march her down here to apologize to you. Will that satisfy you?” Victoria Kensington never compromised. But just seconds before, I had caught the subtle, pleading glance Spencer shot her. Only then did her tone soften. I let out a harsh, hollow laugh, a chilling sadness pooling in my gut. My brilliant, high-and-mighty wife, bending so easily to the unspoken cues of a twenty-something assistant. Victoria and I grew up together. We were supposed to be the perfect match—two old-money families merging. I had loved her for as long as I could remember, but her heart had always belonged to someone else. Eventually, she caved to the ruthless pressure of the Kensington patriarchs and married me. Her first love, devastated, fled to the States. But timing is a cruel joke. Barely a month after our wedding, my parents died in a sudden accident, leaving my family’s empire in ruins. I was orphaned and stripped of my leverage. The Kensingtons had wanted a powerful alliance to solidify their absolute control over the East Coast markets. Instead, they got a bankrupt dependent. They despised me for it. It took three years of marriage—and the successful conception of our daughter, Mia—before I was even allowed to attend their sacred monthly dinners. And even with my “ticket” in, I was treated like a glorified servant, expected to pour the wine and swallow their veiled insults. I took it. I took it because I loved Victoria. I chose the humiliation. I chose to endure. I thought things would change when Mia was born. But as my daughter grew, she absorbed the venom of the Kensington household. She watched how they treated me, and she learned. Today, she had personally handed the menu to another man. A man who was blatantly gunning for my place in this family. I would never forget the night I drank myself into a bleeding ulcer at a networking gala, desperately trying to secure a contract for Victoria’s company. When I got home, clutching my stomach, I just asked her to order me something bland to eat. Her relatives had been visiting. They laughed in my face. They tore into my deceased parents, calling me a pathetic freeloader with no upbringing. Victoria had watched the whole thing. She didn’t say a word to defend me. She just told me to bear it. But the second I tried to stand up for myself, she joined them, picking apart my tone, my posture, my ‘inappropriate’ timing. I had revised this divorce agreement over and over. Disappointment isn’t a sudden explosion. It’s a slow accumulation. Tonight, the jar was finally full. I uncapped the fountain pen, signed my name at the bottom of the page, and shoved the heavy brass barrel into Victoria’s hand. “Save the speech. Sign.” 2. Victoria gripped the pen so hard I thought the brass would snap. The fire in her eyes flared into an inferno. “Nathaniel, you need to learn when to back down, before you push this past the point of no return! Do I really have to spell this out for you?!” With a violent swing of her arm, she hurled the pen. It slammed against the custom wallpaper, shattering the casing and splattering black ink across the hardwood floor. Spencer jumped, dropping his folders. I flinched, a tremor running through my spine. The temperature in the room plummeted. Breathing heavily, Spencer knelt to gather the scattered papers, then stepped closer to Victoria. He placed a gentle, grounding hand on her shoulder. “Victoria,” he murmured, his voice infuriatingly soft. “Stress is bad for your health. Just talk to him.” That quiet, soothing tone worked like magic. The tension bled out of Victoria’s shoulders. Before she could speak, the rapid patter of bare feet echoed from the stairs. Mia came running down, her little face scrunched in panic. Maria, our nanny, was right behind her, clutching a pair of slippers. “Mia, sweetheart, please put your shoes on! If you catch a cold, your father will be so worried.” I stood frozen as my five-year-old daughter ran right past me. She threw her arms around Spencer’s legs, looking up at him, checking him over frantically. “Spencer, don’t be scared!” she squeaked. “I’ll protect you! I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Spencer smiled a soft, practiced smile and ruffled her hair. “Thank you, Mia. But shouldn’t you put your slippers on? If you get sick, your dad will be sad. Maria, I’ll take those.” Only then did Mia look at me. Her little upper lip curled in obvious disdain. Maria stood there, paralyzed by the sheer awkwardness of the room, terrified of making a move that would offend the wrong person. “Give them to me,” I said quietly. I took the small pink slippers from the nanny, walked over to my daughter, and knelt on the floor. “Shoes on, Mia.” Instead of listening, Mia grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and hurled it blindly at me. “I don’t want you to help me!” The heavy glass struck my forehead. The skin split instantly, warm blood trickling down into my eyebrow. Spencer let out a gasp and scrambled to find the first-aid kit. Victoria didn’t move. she just stared at the blood on my face, her eyes icy. “Are you happy now? Is this the scene you wanted?” Even now. Even with blood on my face, she thought I was just acting out. Looking at them—Victoria, Spencer, and Mia—I realized something profound. They looked like a family. I had poured eight years of my life into this house, and I was leaving with nothing but empty hands. I slowly reached down, picked up the ashtray, and set it perfectly back in its place. Victoria watched me in silence for a long time. Maybe the sight of me, bleeding and quietly tidying up, finally sparked a flicker of pity in her. She stepped forward and reached for my arm. “Stop cleaning,” she said, her voice dropping a fraction. “The staff will do it. Just… stop looking for a fight, and we can move past this.” I ignored her hand, sat down on the sofa, and slid the divorce papers back across the marble table toward her. “Are you ready to sign now?” “Nathaniel!” Victoria snapped. She shot up, glaring down at me with absolute fury. “You just won’t let it go, will you?! Fine! You want a divorce? You can have it. But don’t even think about getting custody of Mia!” I had raised Mia with my own two hands. While Victoria chased her corporate ambitions, I was the one changing diapers, pureeing peas, and staying awake for 48 hours straight when the fevers spiked. I had sacrificed my own identity to be the safety net Victoria needed to conquer the boardroom. Despite Mia’s growing coldness toward me over the years, I had never stopped pouring every ounce of my love into her. Victoria knew Mia was my anchor. She thought she had the ultimate trump card. She was wrong. The moment Mia had looked at Spencer with adoration while hurling glass at my head, the tether snapped. I had already let my daughter go. “I’m forfeiting custody,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I’ll also leave my mother’s jewelry behind. Consider it my contribution to her trust fund. You don’t have to worry, Victoria. The second this paper goes through, I will vanish from Mia’s life. You’ll never have to explain me to her again.” The massive living room fell dead silent. You could hear the hum of the refrigerator two rooms over. Then, Mia’s high-pitched voice sliced through the quiet. “Good! I hate having you as my dad anyway! I want Spencer to be my dad!” She was five. She probably didn’t grasp the agonizing weight of those words. My chest caved in. A dull, suffocating pain radiated from my heart. I slowly bent forward, pressing my palms against my face, forcing myself to swallow the bitter, jagged grief clawing up my throat. Victoria didn’t reprimand her. Instead, she turned her wrath entirely on me. “What the hell is wrong with you, Nathaniel?! Are you happy now? Are you satisfied that you’ve turned your own daughter against you and torn this family apart?!” She lashed out, swiping her hand across the coffee table. The cracked ashtray went flying again, shattering loudly against the floorboards. Mia burst into tears. She buried her face in Spencer’s chest, sobbing. “Spencer, I’m scared! Tell Mommy to stop yelling! She only listens to you…” Spencer rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. “Victoria, you promised me you wouldn’t lose your temper,” he said softly. “Please, speak to him calmly.” Then, he turned his wide, apologetic eyes to me. “Nathaniel, please don’t take it to heart. She’s just angry. It’s my fault for tonight. I shouldn’t have ordered the food. I promise, I won’t attend another family dinner. Please, just make peace with her.” There were actual tears pooling in Spencer’s eyes. He looked like a tragic peacemaker, sacrificing himself for our marriage. The sight of it made me want to vomit. I looked at Victoria. Despite her raging temper, Spencer’s words had worked. She had instantly quieted down. A laugh bubbled up in my chest. I laughed so hard the tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over. “Tell me, Spencer,” I wheezed, wiping my eyes. “In what capacity exactly are you playing marriage counselor for my wife and me?” “I—I—Nathaniel, you misunderstand!” Spencer stammered, stepping back. “Victoria and I are strictly professional! Please don’t be angry. If you hate me that much, I’ll resign tomorrow. I’ll leave the company. As long as you two are happy…” Victoria stared at him, her fists clenching so tight her knuckles turned white. I saw the raw, desperate concern bubbling up in her eyes. I decided to push it. “You should know something, Spencer,” I said, my voice dropping to a conversational murmur. “Victoria clearly has a soft spot for you. But until I vacate the position of the pathetic, live-in husband, you’ll never get the promotion you really want. If you keep begging me to stay, I just might. Is that really the outcome you’re hoping for?” 3. Victoria finally signed the papers, driven to the edge by the sound of Spencer’s soft, manufactured weeping. I called my lawyer right then and there, handing over the logistics. Victoria stood frozen by the island, her face a mask of frost, watching me handle the call with detached efficiency. When I hung up, the venom finally spilled out. “Remember this, Nathaniel. You brought this entirely on yourself,” she sneered. “I’ve signed. There is no going back. We have an ironclad prenup. Don’t harbor any delusions that you’ll be walking away with a single cent of Kensington money.” I carefully folded the agreement and slid it into a manila envelope. I nodded. “I know.” I stood up and looked at her. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to pack a bag.” Victoria’s blazing fury hit the brick wall of my absolute apathy, leaving her visibly choking on her own adrenaline. I knew that feeling. It was like having a wad of cotton shoved down your throat—you can’t swallow it, and you can’t spit it out. It just suffocates you. For eight years, that was exactly how she had handled every conflict between us: with walls of ice and suffocating silence. Her face darkened. Spencer took a cautious step toward her, reaching out to support her arm. I pulled my gaze away and looked down at Mia, whose face was streaked with tears. I thought about it for a second, then spoke softly. “I won’t be picking you up from preschool anymore. And I won’t be there when you’re sick in the middle of the night. You’re five now. You need to learn who actually cares about you, and who is just playing a part. Don’t go wandering off with strangers just because they offer you something sweet.” Six months ago, Victoria had a sudden out-of-town conference. She commanded me to drop off some clothes at her office before her flight. I was a nervous wreck; I’d been berated before for bringing outfits she deemed “unpresentable.” I spent an hour carefully steaming and matching her clothes, then drove like a maniac to her corporate headquarters. Because of that, I was twenty minutes late picking Mia up from her elite preschool. Mia had wandered out of the gates and down the busy avenue. A stranger offered her a lollipop and coaxed her into a car. Thank God, the person only realized she was lost and drove her straight to the precinct. But during those agonizing two hours, I lost my mind. The Kensington security detail swarmed the city. Victoria aborted her business trip and sped back from the airport. In the aftermath, I was crucified. It didn’t matter what the circumstances were. The entire Kensington clan poured their collective wrath onto me. I could take their abuse. I was used to being their punching bag. But from that day on, Mia looked at me like I was the villain of her story. That shift in her eyes was the slow poison that finally cured me of my attachment to her. “Nathaniel, Mia is the sole heir to the Kensington estate. She doesn’t need life advice from an outsider!” Victoria snapped. “Or are you just saying these dramatic, pathetic things hoping I’ll beg you to stay?” I just smiled, didn’t say a word, and walked lightly toward the master bedroom. I had been a stay-at-home husband for eight years. I never realized that packing a bag could feel so paralyzing. I looked around the bedroom. I had picked out the curtains, sourced the vintage rugs, framed the art. Suddenly, it all looked incredibly tacky to me. In the end, I only opened my bedside drawer. I took a single photo album and two keys. Victoria had been standing in the doorway the entire time, her eyes burning holes into my back. As I walked past her into the hall, I kept my voice flat. “Tell the staff to throw the rest of my stuff away tomorrow.” “Don’t you dare regret this, Nathaniel!” she screamed down the hallway. I didn’t break my stride. I walked out of that beautiful, frozen cage, and the front door clicked shut behind me. 4. A huge part of why I had loved Victoria with such humiliating devotion was because she was the only light in the darkest chapter of my life. In high school, I had severe, painful cystic acne. My parents took me to every dermatologist on the coast, but nothing worked. I was already cripplingly shy, and the relentless bullying pushed me to the brink of a severe depression. Victoria was a year ahead of me. Every single day, she would walk into my homeroom between periods just to stand by my desk. If anyone made a joke, she would physically throw down with them. She spent half her sophomore year in the principal’s office because of me. But she never cared. She’d just clap me on the shoulder, knuckles bruised, and say: “You’re my guy. I’m the only one allowed to mess with you. Anyone else tries it, I’ll break their jaw.” A sharp honk pulled me out of the past. I turned around. Spencer scrambled out of the backseat of the Maybach and jogged toward me. “Na—Nathaniel! Victoria has to get back to the office for a late conference call. Where are you going? We can give you a ride.” I looked past him. The rear window rolled down, and Victoria’s eyes met mine in the dim streetlights. She was quiet for a long moment before pressing her lips together. “Get in.” It was an unfortunate reality. My SUV was at the dealership getting a transmission check. Though the Kensington garage held six luxury cars, none of them had my name on the title. The estate was out in the wealthy, sprawling suburbs. Getting back to the city meant walking miles down a winding, unlit mountain road. Without overthinking it, I walked toward the passenger side. I didn’t expect Spencer to practically sprint to beat me to the door. He slid into the front seat, forcing me to sit in the back. Next to Victoria. I gave the driver an address in the city and didn’t say another word. The air in the car was frigid. But for the first time in years, she was sitting next to me and not staring at a glowing iPad screen. I could feel her peripheral vision snagging on me, over and over. Holding her tongue wasn’t her style. I let out a soft breath of amusement. As the city skyline came into view, I finally broke the silence. “What is it, Victoria? Spit it out.” She frowned deeply, her eyes fixated on the dried blood crusted over my eyebrow. “Nathaniel. If you swallow your pride and apologize, I’ll grant you visitation with Mia once a week.” “No thanks.” My answer was instant. The car pulled to the curb, and I pushed the door open. Victoria snapped. “You are so damn ungrateful! Your family is dead! Let’s see how long you survive out here on your own!” I hated being alone. It was my deepest, most agonizing fear. Victoria always knew exactly where to slide the knife. I slammed the door and walked away fast. But Spencer jumped out and chased me down, grabbing my sleeve. “Nathaniel, please! She only followed you because she was worried you’d get hurt walking in the dark! She cares about you…” Before he could finish the sentence, Victoria threw her door open. She marched over, ripped his hand off my jacket, and pulled him behind her defensively. “Let him go!” she barked. “Victoria, I just—” “I said, let him walk!” I stood on the pavement watching them scuffle. I didn’t miss the flash of smug triumph hiding just beneath Spencer’s wide, panicky eyes. A sudden, dark impulse seized me. I smiled. “I’m actually curious about something, Victoria,” I said, tilting my head. “Are you giving Spencer all this special treatment because you’re genuinely falling for him? Or is it just because, in the right light, he looks exactly like Wesley?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “408331”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I graduated and hit the wall of “what now,” I turned to an AI for career counseling. The algorithm suggested a path in municipal administration—a stable, prestigious government track. It coached me through the exams, polished my interview persona, and helped me land the job. I was more than grateful; I was a believer. Then the “guidance” turned dark. The AI warned me of an impending “physical catastrophe.” It suggested I book a preventative dental surgery to “realign my luck.” I went, but on the way, a reckless driver slammed into me, leaving me permanently disabled. The AI then suggested I take out high-interest private loans to cover the astronomical medical bills. I listened. Not long after the funds cleared, my parents were brutally beaten by debt collectors. Desperate, I scoured the internet for remote side hustles to pay off the mounting debt, but haste bred mistakes. I fell for scam after scam. The hole only got deeper. The AI then suggested my father take a lucrative electrical contract overseas. I trusted it. I begged him to go. He was lured to a lawless compound in Southeast Asia. Within months, news of his death reached us. When my mother heard the news, her heart gave out on the spot. My brother, Connor, lost his mind. He lunged at me, a kitchen knife sinking deep into my chest. “You killed them! You destroyed this family!” As the light faded, I couldn’t understand how my life had become a horror movie. Then, I blinked. I was back in my bedroom. It was the morning the AI first told me I had a “physical catastrophe” coming my way. … I sat up, gasping, staring at the familiar walls of my apartment. The phantom pain of the knife piercing my heart was so vivid I clutched my chest. The grief was a physical weight, crushing the air out of my lungs. Tears tracked down my face before I could even process a thought. I didn’t understand. It had started so simply. I was just another lost grad student looking for a roadmap. The AI had been my North Star. It helped me get that government job back in my hometown. I remember the day the offer letter arrived—the way my parents and Connor sobbed with joy, the way they held me. I thought we were finally safe. Then came the “warning.” The dental appointment. The car that turned me into a broken doll. Lying in that hospital bed, feeling my bones scream under the weight of the casts, I heard my father outside the door. His voice was a ragged whisper. “I don’t know what to do, Diane. Even if we sell the house, it won’t cover the rehab… Maybe I can sell a kidney. People do that, right?” Terrified he’d do something that desperate, I consulted the AI again. It pointed me toward “Specialized Medical Financing”—predatory loans disguised as a lifeline. I picked the one that looked the safest: five hundred thousand dollars, a ten-year plan. I thought I’d solved it. I thought I’d saved my father. But the ink wasn’t even dry before the collectors showed up. They broke into the house, leaving my parents bloody. My mother was struck so hard she lost hearing in her left ear. I went into a fever state. I spent every waking second on my laptop from my hospital bed, trying to find a way out. But I was a mark. I stepped into trap after trap, and the debt ballooned into millions. That’s when the AI suggested the overseas job. “High-risk, high-reward electrical engineering in a developing zone.” I didn’t want him to go, but we were drowning. I did the research—or so I thought—and found a company that looked legitimate. He went. And then he was gone. My mother’s scream when the “Consulate” called… it still echoes in my brain. “Frank… they took his heart… they took everything… did it hurt, Frank? Did it hurt?” I reached for her heart medication, but I was too slow. By the time I pulled her into my arms, she was cold. Then Connor. My little brother. He didn’t see a sister; he saw a monster. He grabbed the knife and ended it. “Are you happy now? You ruined us! You killed Mom and Dad! You took everything from me!” Blood filled my throat. The world turned black. I leaned against the wall now, shivering in the present. I’m not going to that appointment, I decided. I packed my bags. I’d go home for the holidays early. I missed my parents so much it hurt. I just wanted a normal Christmas. To be safe, I avoided the bus and booked an Amtrak ticket. Trains were safer. Controlled. I made it all the way to the station. I stepped off the platform, feeling the crisp winter air, thinking I had outrun my fate. Then I saw it. A black SUV, accelerating, veering straight toward me. It was too fast. I didn’t even have time to scream. I lost consciousness the moment the metal hit my hip. When I woke up, the first thing I blurted out was, “My legs… can I feel my legs?” A nurse pushed me back down. “Don’t move, honey!” “A utility pole took most of the impact before the car hit you,” she said, her voice a soothing hum. “Your legs are fine. You’ve got several fractures and some internal bruising, but you’ll walk again. You just need time.” I let out a breath that was half-sob. At least I wasn’t paralyzed this time. But why? Why did it still happen? Was this my “destiny”? Was this the “catastrophe” the AI warned me about? Before I could spiral, the door flew open. My parents rushed in, eyes red and swollen. My mother immediately started spooning warm chicken soup into my mouth, her hands shaking. “Regina, baby, it’s okay. We talked to the doctor. You’re going to be fine.” “The doctor said protein is good for you,” my dad added, hovering at the foot of the bed. “Mom’s going to make this for you every day. We’ll get you back on your feet.” I was pinned by braces, unable to move, forced to just swallow. The soup was warm, and slowly, the icy chill of blood loss began to recede. I thought, This is it. A second chance. I can fix this. But then, my father looked away. He couldn’t meet my eyes. “Regina…” he started, his voice heavy with guilt. “The accident… the emergency surgery and the out-of-network costs… it wiped us out. The insurance is fighting it. We’re flat broke.” He paused, a desperate flicker in his eyes. “Do you have anything? All that money we sent you for rent and school… did you save any of it?” My mother looked at me with that same jagged expectation. A chill ran down my spine. It was happening again. The script was the same. In my last life, I had lied to protect their dignity. I’d claimed I had plenty of money and then secretly took out the predatory loans that destroyed us. This time, I wouldn’t carry the lie. “I don’t have a cent,” I said firmly. “The money you sent just covered the basics in the city. I haven’t even started my job yet. How could I have savings?” My father’s face fell. He scratched his head, looking utterly defeated. I thought for a moment. “Dad, the house. It has equity. We can go to the bank, get a formal mortgage or a home equity line. It’s the legal way. It’s safe.” “Once I’m healed, I’ll work double shifts. We’ll pay it back. We won’t lose the house.” It was the most logical, safest path I could offer. My parents exchanged a look. It was brief, almost imperceptible. Then they nodded. Two weeks later, I was discharged. When I pulled up to the house, I froze. The front door was hacked with deep gouges, as if by an axe. Red paint was splashed across the porch like fresh blood, smelling of chemicals and rot. Inside, the house was a shell. The TV, the furniture, even the microwave—everything of value was gone. I turned to my mother, horrified. “What happened?” She let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Your father… he couldn’t bring himself to go to the bank. He was afraid they’d reject him. So he went to some local guys in the neighborhood. Private lenders.” I felt like I was going to faint. I told them to go to a regulated bank! In my previous life, the loans I took were at least disguised as legitimate. These… these were street thugs. Debt collectors who used pipe wrenches and gasoline. You don’t “pay back” people like that. They just own you until you’re dead. My father shuffled out of the kitchen, a thick, blood-stained bandage wrapped around his head. “They came for the first payment,” my mom whispered. “They broke his head open. But don’t worry, honey. It’s just a scalp wound.” My father reached out and patted my hair with a terrifyingly gentle hand. “It’s okay, Regina. It’s fine.” “I heard about a gig overseas. Electrical work. Pay is incredible. I already called the guy. I’m leaving in a few days.” “Don’t worry. I’ll clear the debt. It won’t touch you. I’ll be safe. I’ll just work and send the money home.” I screamed. I threw things. I went into a hysterical fit, kneeling on my fractured legs, begging him, threatening to kill myself if he left. I did everything in my power to stop history from repeating itself. But my father still packed his bag and walked out the door. The harassment started immediately. Men would hammer on the door at 3 AM with machetes, screaming obscenities. They poured buckets of sewage over our threshold. The smell was unbearable. Connor, full of young, misplaced rage, tried to fight them every time. My mother would have to pin him down to keep him from getting killed. I felt the familiar, gnawing helplessness. I had to do something. “I’m going to start my job early,” I told my mother. “I’ll talk to the department. I’ll get an advance.” “No!” she snapped. “You aren’t going anywhere!” “Your bones aren’t set. You’ll be a cripple for life if you don’t rest. I’ve already called your supervisor. I told them you had a relapse. They’re holding the position for another month. Your career is safe.” I stared at her. “How did you get the supervisor’s personal number? How did you pull those strings?” She didn’t answer. She just pushed a bowl of soup toward me. Ten days later, the phone rang. “Is this the home of Frank Miller?” a detective asked. “Yes,” my mother said, her voice trembling. “I’m his wife.” “Your husband went overseas for work. He was lured across the border into a restricted zone. When the local authorities found him… well, he’d been stripped. His organs were gone. You need to come identify the remains as soon as possible.” My mother’s face went white. “That’s… that’s impossible…” The detective added one more thing. “Do you have a daughter? Unemployed? Had an accident recently? We think that’s why he took the risk. People lose their minds when they’re under that kind of pressure.” The words hit me like a physical blow. It’s all my fault. As long as I existed, my father would die. This family would be destroyed. Destiny was a straight line, and I was the one drawing it in blood. It’s all… on me? My mother clutched her chest and collapsed. She was gasping, tears streaming down her face. I scrambled for her heart pills, shoved them into her mouth, but she went limp. I tried to check her pulse, tried to call 911, but Connor shoved me back so hard I hit the floor. “Don’t touch her!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in debt! Dad wouldn’t be in a body bag with his insides scooped out!” “You destroyed this family! You killed us all!” “Don’t you dare touch her! You don’t have the right!” I crawled toward him, sobbing. “Connor, stop! We have to help her! We have to get her to the hospital or she’s going to die!” I tried to push past him, but he shoved me again. My head hit the corner of the wall. Pain exploded in my skull, and I felt warm blood trickling down my neck. Connor picked up a kitchen knife. He walked toward me, his eyes cold and dark. “Regina, you should never have been born. We were so happy before you. Mom and Dad wouldn’t be dead if it wasn’t for you.” “You’re a parasite. Even in hell, you won’t find peace.” I killed them? But… Mom was right there. We could save her. Why was he stopping me? In that moment, like a bolt of lightning, the fog cleared. I looked up at my brother. My eyes were red, but my heart turned to ice. “…All for this?” I whispered. “What?” I used the wall to pull myself up. I reached into my pocket and threw an object directly at his face. He caught it. His expression shifted instantly. His hand started to shake. “You…” He looked at me, trying to maintain his mask of rage. “Why do you have a passport? Were you planning to run away and leave us with the debt?” My voice was a jagged blade. “That’s Dad’s passport, Connor.” “Tell me, Connor. How did Dad go overseas without his passport? I took it the day he said he was leaving. I haven’t let it out of my sight.” Connor’s eyes darted around the room. “He… he must have gone through a coyote. He went illegal to make more money because of you! That’s why he ended up in that compound!” His confidence surged again. He pointed the knife at my throat. “You destroyed us, Regina!” I didn’t flinch. I walked right into the tip of the blade. “Why won’t you let me check on Mom?” “Mom’s had heart trouble for years. She faints, sure, but if you get her to a doctor, she’s fine.” I stared him down, and for the first time in our lives, he was the one who backed away. “You’re blocking me because you’re trying to let her die for real this time… or…” I looked at my mother lying on the floor. The grief was gone. Only a cold, hollow realization remained. “Is she even sick at all?” Connor jumped in front of her body. “Shut up! You’re a monster! You don’t deserve to touch her!” I pulled out my phone. “If she’s dead, I should call the family. Let’s start with Aunt Sarah.” “I’ll dial now—” Smash! Connor lunged, snatched the phone from my hand, and hurled it out the window. It fell twenty stories to the pavement below. He turned back to me, snarling. “Regina!” “Connor!” I screamed back, the sound tearing from my lungs. “You’ve been lying to me from the start!” “You, Mom, Dad… and your little AI project. You’ve been squeezing me until I break!” The tears came again, but they weren’t for them. They were for me. “The car accident. The debt. Making me believe I was a murderer who destroyed her own family. And then, when that wasn’t enough, you decided you had to actually kill me!” Connor’s pupils dilated. He looked at me with a terrifying, calm pity. “You’ve really lost it, Regina.” “No one is out to get you. You did this to yourself.” I laughed. It was a sharp, jagged sound. “Is that so?” Before he could react, I tackled him. I was always stronger, faster. In my last life, he only got me because I was paralyzed by shock. This time, I pinned him to the floor, the knife pressed against the side of his neck. “Regina! Get off me!” he shrieked. I ignored him. I looked at my “dead” mother. “Mom, stop playing. If you don’t get up right now, I’m going to open up your favorite son’s throat.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “408330”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I stumbled across a shared folder titled “Honeymoon” on my wife’s laptop. For a fleeting, beautiful moment, I thought she was finally making good on a promise she’d deferred for five years. I clicked into it, my heart light with anticipation, only to find a spreadsheet that looked nothing like the one we’d drafted together. The departure date fell right in the middle of a business trip I’d already scheduled, so I pushed it back two days. I noticed she’d picked Antarctica; I changed it to Iceland, remembering that she’d once mentioned wanting to see the Aurora Borealis, which wouldn’t be visible in the south this time of year. Then, thinking of the budget we were trying to save for the baby we were planning, I downgraded the first-class flights to business. Suddenly, a cursor flickered on the screen. Another user had entered the document. With surgical precision, they reverted every single one of my changes. Then, a comment popped up in the sidebar: “Mommy, we said Antarctica. If we change it, Daddy will be sad!” I froze. A prank? A virus? A neighbor’s kid who’d somehow linked accounts? I didn’t hear Claire walk up behind me. Her voice was terrifyingly level when she spoke. “He’s the son of my foster brother, Bennett. Next time, Nigel. I promise, next time I’ll take you on a honeymoon.” 1 Claire said it with the casual indifference of someone mentioning the weather. She had a son. With Bennett. My jaw tightened, a ghost of a smile twitching on my lips. “It’s not April Fools’, Claire. What kind of joke is this?” I prayed for it to be a joke. A cruel, tasteless one, but a joke nonetheless. Instead, Claire picked up her phone right in front of me and hit a contact. “Hey, sweetie. No, that was just an accident. Someone touched the computer who shouldn’t have. I promised we’re going to see the penguins, didn’t I? Mommy never breaks her promises.” The softness in her eyes—a maternal glow I had hungered to see directed at a child of our own—felt like a hallucination. She hung up and turned the screen toward me, showing the traveler list for the “Honeymoon” trip: Claire Steward, Bennett Steward, and a five-year-old named Jamie. “Honestly, keeping this from you for five years has been exhausting,” she said, leaning against the desk. “Maybe it’s better this way. Now you know.” She reached into her bag and tossed a document onto the desk. A marriage certificate. “We’re a family. Legally.” The room seemed to tilt. The oxygen left my lungs. “A… family?” I thought back to the beginning. My internship at her firm, the whirlwind romance, the quiet ceremony we had five years ago, the domestic life we’d built. Every meal, every shared secret, every night in each other’s arms. I wasn’t even her husband. Not in the eyes of the law. Claire nodded, her expression bored. “At our engagement party, I had too much to drink. I thought Bennett was you. I was pregnant with his child when we ‘married.’ I had to take responsibility for him, Nigel. I had to give Jamie a legitimate home.” “But… the baby you had,” I stammered, my mind racing back to that sterile hospital room five years ago. “The doctors said he died. Minutes after he was born.” She stepped closer, placing a hand on my chest. “Don’t worry about the logistics. In my heart, you’re my husband. That’s how we’ve lived all this time, hasn’t it? Nothing has to change.” How we’ve lived. The pieces began to click into place, a mosaic of betrayal. The nights I’d spent in the ER after a car accident while she was “working late.” The times I’d waited at home with a candlelit dinner for an anniversary she forgot. She wasn’t at the office. She was with them. With her real family. I looked at the flight confirmation I’d printed out just an hour ago—the one I’d intended as a surprise. I felt a laugh bubble up in my throat, bitter and sharp. “You know, this was the last time,” I whispered. “The last time I was going to ask you to choose me.” Before I could finish, her phone chimed. The caller ID read Husband, punctuated by a heart emoji. Claire walked toward the hallway, answering with a voice so honeyed it made my skin crawl. Bennett’s voice bled through the speaker—intimate, demanding, familiar. I stood there in the silence of our—her—house, my hands shaking so hard I had to shove them into my pockets. That was when my phone buzzed. A friend request on Instagram from a private account: Bennett_Steward. 2 I accepted. The first thing I saw was a pinned post from two weeks ago. A wedding. A real wedding. Claire in white, Bennett in a tuxedo, Jamie between them, all of them laughing under a canopy of wisteria. Claire had told me she was in London for a merger that weekend. I had stayed up all night worrying because she hadn’t texted. While I was staring at the ceiling, she was promising forever to another man on a cliffside in Big Sur. I scrolled down. It was a curated gallery of a life I wasn’t part of. Family trips to Disney, weekends in the Hamptons, Christmas mornings. Everything I had begged for—the simple intimacy of a shared vacation—was their everyday reality. The final blow was a locked album he’d sent me a link to in a DM. Thousands of photos of Claire. But these weren’t the stiff, professional headshots she let me take. These were candid. Claire laughing with a smear of flour on her nose; Claire sleeping; Claire looking at the camera with raw, unfiltered adoration. Whenever I tried to take a photo of her, she’d swat my hand away. “I’m not a child, Nigel. Put the phone away. It’s tacky.” She wasn’t camera-shy. She just didn’t want to be captured by me. Claire walked back into the room, her phone tucked away. She wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, a practiced, hollow gesture of affection. “Nate, I’m sorry I kept it from you so long. I’ll make it up to you. Next time, I promise, it’ll be just us.” She said it so easily. As if five years of systemic gaslighting could be brushed away with a “next time.” I wrenched myself out of her grip. “I don’t want a next time! You’ve lied to me for half a decade. You think I’m that pathetic?” I felt the heat behind my eyes, the sting of humiliation. “We’re done. Get out.” I realized, with a sickening jolt, that I couldn’t even say the word divorce. There was nothing to divorce. Claire’s face hardened. The mask of the doting “wife” slipped, revealing the cold CEO underneath. “A man in my house doesn’t throw tantrums, Nigel.” She saw my tears and her voice softened, though it was the softness of a parent talking to a deluded child. “Jamie will learn to call you Dad eventually. As for the ‘legal’ part… to the rest of the world, you’re the man of this house. Why obsess over a piece of paper?” “Because it’s a lie!” I shouted, the dam finally breaking. “It’s not fair! None of this is fair!” She looked at me as if I were a tragic, broken thing. “You’re the only man who lives here. Bennett is just family. You should be set an example. Bennett’s birthday gala is tomorrow night. I expect you to be there, and I expect you to be composed.” She turned and left without looking back. She didn’t come home that night. Instead, she appeared in Bennett’s stories. The woman who claimed she hated the smell of grease was in a kitchen, covered in flour and butter, laughing as Jamie threw dough at her. Then, an anonymous DM hit my inbox. A video. It was grainy, shot in a hospital five years ago. A doctor was walking out of a delivery room with a crying newborn. Bennett stumbled into the frame, sobbing, grabbing the doctor’s coat. “The doctor just told me… I’ll never be able to have kids,” Bennett wailed into the camera. “No one will want me. I’ll never be a father. Claire, are you really going to leave me like this?” Claire was there, holding the baby. She looked torn, her eyes darting to the door where I was presumably waiting in the hallway. The baby in the video was loud, healthy, and very much alive. Then Claire spoke, and the sound of her voice made my ears ring. “Go tell my ‘husband’ the baby died. Tell him there were complications.” 3 I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning. The child I had mourned for five years—the son I had wept for in a cemetery for three days straight—wasn’t dead. She had given him away. She had handed my flesh and blood to Bennett like a consolation prize. The next evening, Claire’s security detail literally forced me into a suit and drove me to the gala. Bennett was there, looking every bit the master of the house, one hand on Jamie’s shoulder, the other resting possessively on Claire’s waist. I stood on the periphery, a ghost at my own funeral. I heard the whispers behind me. “I heard Nigel can’t have children. That’s why she keeps Bennett around—to secure the Steward heir.” “Bennett’s the real power there. Nigel’s just the trophy.” Claire looked at me, a small, triumphant smirk on her lips. She thought I’d finally folded. She thought I was there to play my part. I didn’t. I walked straight up to them, my voice trembling with a decade’s worth of suppressed rage. “You stole my son. You told me he was dead and gave him to him.” Claire’s eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before they turned into icy daggers. “We’ll discuss this at home. Do not make a scene.” The last flicker of hope I had for her died in that moment. The video was real. The betrayal was total. Bennett pulled Jamie closer, shrinking back with a look of practiced terror. “Nigel, please. Don’t hurt us again. I never told her about what you did… just leave us alone.” He shifted his sleeve, intentionally revealing bruises on his and Jamie’s arms. The guests gasped. “He’s bitter because he’s sterile?” someone hissed. “To hit a child…” another whispered. “Nigel, you monster!” Claire’s voice boomed over the crowd. “He’s my son!” I screamed. “I would never—” “That mean man hit me!” Jamie cried out, his voice shrill and rehearsed. “He told me to stay away from my real Daddy! I saw him hit Papa too!” The room spun. My own son was looking at me with eyes full of lies, coached by a sociopath. Claire’s face was a mask of pure loathing. “I had no idea you were this sick, Nigel. To take your jealousy out on a child?” I reached for Jamie, a desperate, primal instinct to connect with my son. “Luke—Jamie—I’m your father—” Bennett gave the boy a subtle, violent shove. Jamie tumbled backward, crashing into a towering pyramid of champagne flutes. Glass shattered. Blood bloomed on the boy’s white shirt. “Nigel, no!” Bennett shrieked. “He’s just a baby!” 4 I froze, paralyzed by the horror of the setup. Claire’s palm slammed across my face before I could breathe. “You did that right in front of me!” she screamed, her voice shaking with rage. “God knows what you’ve been doing to them behind my back!” The taste of copper filled my mouth. The room was a cacophony of insults and camera flashes. Bennett looked at me from behind Claire’s shoulder. His face shifted—the fear vanished, replaced by a slow, mocking grin. His lips moved silently: How does it feel to lose everything? I lost it. I lunged for him. I didn’t even reach him. Claire’s heel caught me in the chest, a brutal, practiced kick that sent me spiraling down the marble stairs. I landed in a bed of broken glass. “Nigel, enough!” Claire yelled from the top of the stairs. I couldn’t move. The pain in my chest was sharp, but the shards of glass in my skin were worse. “Help me,” I wheezed. “Please… he’s lying. Look at him.” “You’re a danger to this family,” Claire said, her voice dropping to a deadly, cold whisper. “If I leave Jamie with you, you’ll kill him.” She turned to her security team. “Take him to the private clinic. I want him sterilized. A man like this doesn’t deserve the chance to ever be a father again.” My heart stopped. “Claire, you can’t. That’s illegal—Claire!” She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Consider it a lesson in accountability. You want to play the victim? I’ll give you something to cry about.” The guards pinned me down. The last thing I saw was Claire turning her back to me to comfort Bennett and the boy. I was dragged into the back of a black SUV. The clinic was private, unmarked, and cold. The anesthesia was poorly administered; I felt the tugging, the slicing, the agonizing heat of the procedure. I thought of the years Claire and I spent talking about names for a second child. I thought of the nursery we’d painted blue. While I lay on that table, Bennett posted to his stories. The three of them were at the airport, heading to Antarctica. A perfect family, heading to a frozen wasteland. Claire sent me a text while I was in the recovery room: If you can learn to accept Bennett and Jamie, maybe I’ll take you on that honeymoon when we get back. I didn’t reply. I waited until I could walk. Then I gathered the medical waste—the physical evidence of what she’d stolen—and the flash drive of the clinic’s security footage I’d bribed an orderly for. I packed them into a cold-storage box and addressed it to her office. Claire, I’m returning what’s yours. We’re even now. A week later, Claire returned home with her “family.” The house was silent. Nigel was gone. The doorbell rang. A courier stood there with a package. “For Ms. Steward. Mr. Nigel said you’d want this personally.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “408329”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Twenty-three years. That was the lifespan of my marriage to Robert. Together, we’d built a home, a reputation, and raised a son we thought was the best of us. After our son started college, he began bringing a girl home. I was thrilled. I genuinely liked her. I thought I was witnessing the start of my son’s first real love story, imagining a future daughter-in-law. That illusion shattered the moment I saw Robert’s phone. There, tucked behind the digital folders of family vacations and graduation photos, was a shot that didn’t belong. It wasn’t a family portrait. It was a nude. In that heartbeat, the world tilted. The girl wasn’t our son’s girlfriend. She was Robert’s mistress. Our son wasn’t a young man in love; he was the lookout. He was the smoke and mirrors for his father’s mid-life filth. “She’s barely older than your own son,” I screamed, my voice cracking, the hysteria clawing at my throat. “Do you have even a shred of dignity left?” Robert didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look guilty. He just sat there with the terrifying composure of a man who believed he was owed the world. “Joanna, look at us. Twenty years of history. No one can touch what we have,” he said, his voice smooth, academic. “Piper… she’s just a distraction. A detour.” He paused, then looked me straight in the eye with a cold, clinical honesty. “When I married you, you’d already given yourself to someone else. For twenty-three years, that’s been a thorn in my side. I just wanted to know what it felt like…” He hesitated, tasting the words. “I wanted to know what it felt like to be a girl’s first.” 1 Today was the third time Piper had been to the house. She was wearing a white pleated sundress, her long hair loose and effortless. She was barely wearing any makeup, the kind of natural beauty that only comes with youth. The second she walked in, she chirped a sweet “Hi, Professor!” to Robert. She didn’t even look at me. It had been like this every time. She ignored me as if I were part of the furniture. No “Mrs. Bennett,” no “Ma’am,” not even a polite nod. It was raining outside, a sudden summer downpour that had soaked her through. Robert, a man who usually guarded his personal space like a fortress, immediately grabbed a plush towel. He began to dry her hair himself, his movements rhythmic, intimate. “You’re drenched,” he murmured. “Next time it rains, call me. I’ll come down to the parking lot with an umbrella.” “I will. Thanks, Professor,” she sang back. “What are you hungry for? I’ll have her fix us something.” Piper pouted her lips, rattling off a list of complicated, high-maintenance dishes. Then, all three of them—Robert, Piper, and my son, Tyler—turned to look at me. “Go on, Joanna,” Robert said. “And remember, she can’t do spicy. Make sure there’s no heat in anything.” Piper offered a hollow, performative smile. “Do you want me to help in the kitchen, Mrs. Bennett?” “No,” Robert snapped before I could answer. “You just got your nails done. Don’t ruin them. Joanna’s hands are… well, she’s used to the work. It’s fine.” “Okay! I’ll just wait for the feast then!” A knot of unease tightened in my chest, but I forced it down. You’re being paranoid, I told myself. She’s Tyler’s girlfriend. Robert is just being a mentor. I spent the next two hours sweating over a stove while laughter drifted in from the living room. They were playing chess. Piper lost two games and, in a fit of “adorable” rebellion, used a felt-tip marker to draw whiskers on Robert’s face as a penalty. Robert, a man with a notorious obsession with hygiene, just threw his head back and laughed, letting her mark his skin. I remembered a time, years ago, when I’d tried to touch his face before washing my hands. He’d recoiled as if I were covered in acid. The knot in my chest turned into a cold weight. I scolded myself for being jealous of a girl. She was my son’s partner, after all. That evening, after Piper left, I remembered she’d taken some photos of the three of us earlier. I asked Robert to air-drop them to me. “Sure,” he said. He sent over a dozen shots, but then, his face went pale. He frantically tapped his screen, unsending a photo. “Slip of the thumb,” he muttered, his voice thick with fake casualness. “Sent a random screenshot by mistake. You didn’t see it, right?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was paralyzed. In the five seconds before he’d deleted it, I’d seen it. It wasn’t a screenshot. It was Piper. Posing. Exposed. 2 In the photo, she was provocative, her tongue out, her legs parted in a way that was undeniably an invitation. There was no mistake. None. Why was that on my husband’s phone? The realization hit me like a physical blow. All the “small things”—the lingering glances, the hair-drying, the whiskers—they weren’t my imagination. They were the truth. My brain was a chaotic roar of static. She was Tyler’s age. Robert could have been her father. It was grotesque. And Tyler… did he know? The questions were exploding in my head like shrapnel. I needed the truth. I needed to see it all. I waited. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, until 1:00 AM, listening to the steady, rhythmic snoring beside me. Once I was sure Robert was dead to the world, I reached under his pillow. My fingers were trembling as I pulled out his phone. I entered our anniversary—the code he’d never bothered to change—and the screen glowed to life. I searched his messages. My breath hitched. Hidden in his archived chats was a group thread. Three people: Robert, Tyler, and Piper. Robert had sent the last message: [Piper, are you back at the dorm?] Piper’s response was a voice note. I pressed the phone to my ear. Her voice was a sugary purr: “I’m back, Professor. Did the Wife suspect anything today?” Robert had typed back: [No. She spends her whole life in the kitchen. Her brain has turned to mush. She won’t figure it out.] Then, Tyler’s text popped up below it: [Exactly. Mom is clueless. Besides, I’ve got you guys covered. Don’t worry about it.] The betrayal was total. My husband. My son. They had invited this girl into my home, sat at my table, and treated me like a court jester in my own life. I scrolled up, my chest tight, my ribs feeling like they were about to crack under the pressure. They had started six months ago. Tyler had introduced them. Piper was a “fan”—a literature student who had idolized Robert’s published novels since high school. When she found out Tyler was the son of the great Robert Bennett, she begged for an introduction. Admiration had turned into an affair within weeks. In six months, they had met at hotels thirty-one times. Once a week, like clockwork. I found digital receipts for thousands of dollars. Lingerie. Jewelry. And prescriptions for Viagra. Robert and I hadn’t touched each other in two years. He’d told me it was “low testosterone,” a natural part of aging. It was a lie. He just wasn’t interested in me. The room blurred as tears finally came—hot, silent, and bitter. I turned to look at the man sleeping beside me in the dark. For a long time, I just watched him breathe. Then, I reached over and flipped on the bedside lamp. I shook him hard. 3 “What… what is it? It’s the middle of the night,” he groaned, squinting against the light. Then he saw my face. “Joanna? What’s wrong?” “I know,” I whispered, my voice a jagged edge of rage. “I know everything.” I shoved the phone into his chest. “You’re sleeping with a girl who could be your daughter. Have you no shame, Robert? Do you have even a pulse of human decency?” Robert sat up. He didn’t look scared. He didn’t look panicked. He just sighed, reached for a tissue on the nightstand, and offered it to me. “Joanna, let’s be adults. Twenty-three years. That’s a foundation no one can shake. Piper… she’s just a lapse in judgment. A mid-life glitch.” His tone was insufferably condescending, like he was explaining a difficult text to a freshman. “Look,” he said, leaning in. “When we got married, you weren’t ‘new.’ You’d been with that guy before me. For twenty-three years, I’ve had to live with that. I’ve had to carry the weight of being the second man.” He paused, a flicker of something dark crossing his face. “I just wanted to experience what it was like to have someone who was only mine. To taste… purity.” I couldn’t hear him anymore. My ears started ringing, a high-pitched drone that drowned out his voice. I could see his lips moving, but the words were just static. Twenty-three years. He’d been nursing a grudge for twenty-three years over something that wasn’t even my fault. Before him, I’d dated a man who turned out to be a predator. He’d drugged me. I’d woken up in a nightmare. When I tried to go to the police, he’d threatened me, told me he’d tell everyone I was “used goods.” I went to the police anyway. It was a scandal. My classmates whispered behind my back. Robert was the only one who stood by me. He told me he loved me, that my past didn’t matter, that he wanted to protect me. I had spent two decades being grateful to him. I thought he was my savior. I didn’t realize he was just a bookkeeper, tallying up a debt I could never pay. “Joanna, do you know what it does to a man’s ego? Knowing his wife was handled by someone else first?” he continued. “I don’t blame you, but I needed balance. I found Piper. I promise you, it was a one-time thing. It’s over.” My stomach lurched. I scrambled out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and doubled over. I retched until my throat burned. Robert followed me, standing in the doorway, looking mildly inconvenienced. “Joanna…” “I had no idea you were this broken inside,” I gasped, wiping my mouth. “If you’ve been in this much pain for twenty years, then we’re done. I want a divorce.” Robert’s face hardened. “No. Absolutely not. We’re an institution, Joanna. We’ve come too far.” He stepped forward and tried to put a hand on my shoulder. I flinched away. “We’re almost fifty,” he said, his voice softening into a manipulative purr. “In a few years, Tyler will get married. We’ll have grandkids. We’ll retire, travel the world. It’s going to be beautiful. Don’t throw all that away over a tantrum.” A tantrum? I felt a wave of vertigo. For a split second, I actually hesitated. The “sunk cost” of my life felt like a physical weight. Our lives were like two vines that had grown so tightly together you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. To pull apart would mean tearing skin, breaking bone. Could I actually survive the surgery? 4 Robert helped me back to bed. He stroked my hair with a chilling tenderness. “Just sleep. When you wake up, this will all feel like a bad dream.” The next morning, he was the picture-perfect husband. He made breakfast—avocado toast and poached eggs, just the way I liked. He even went out to the local bakery for the sourdough I loved. He was “better” than he’d been in years. Remorse, or the fear of losing his lifestyle, had made him attentive. Throughout the day, he sent me texts from his office. Thinking of you. What do you want for dinner? I’ll pick it up on the way home. He ended the texts with a little winking bunny emoji. I’d seen that emoji in Piper’s texts. The nausea returned, violent and absolute. I realized then that I couldn’t lie to myself. Betrayal isn’t a smudge you can wipe off; it’s a crack in the foundation. I called Tyler. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?” His voice was casual, flippant. “I know about your father. And Piper.” There was a long silence on the other end. “I’m not calling to argue,” I said. “I’m calling to tell you that I’m divorcing him.” Tyler actually laughed. “Mom, are you serious? You’re going to blow up our whole family over this? At your age?” “Tyler—” “Dad treats you like a queen. So he had a little fun on the side. Big deal. Every guy does it. Just close your eyes and let it pass. You’re halfway to the grave, don’t you think a divorce is a bit embarrassing?” He sighed, his voice dripping with disdain. “And honestly, Mom? You’ve been a housewife for twenty years. How are you going to survive? You want to be a beggar? Get over yourself.” He hung up. The silence of the dial tone was the coldest thing I’d ever felt. My son was gone. My husband was a stranger. That night, Robert and Tyler walked through the door together. Tyler had obviously tipped him off. Robert was in full “damage control” mode. He even went into the kitchen to help me prep vegetables—something he hadn’t done since the Clinton administration. “Look, Mom,” Tyler said, leaning against the counter. “Dad is trying. He’s tired from work, and he’s still helping you. He’s a good guy.” I let out a sharp, dry laugh. “Oh, and I’m not tired? Keeping this house running for twenty years isn’t work?” The two of them exchanged a look. The “crazy woman” look. “Joanna, honey,” Robert said with a forced smile. “Stop being angry. If you don’t want to cook, let’s go out. That French bistro you like? The one with the long waitlist? I’ll get us a table.” I’d been asking him to take me there for six months. He always said he was too busy with his research. It wasn’t that he didn’t have time. It was that his time belonged to her. I shoved his hand off my arm. “Don’t touch me. I’m not going anywhere with you.” “Joanna… for God’s sake! I’m giving you an out here! How much more do I have to grovel?” Robert’s patience finally snapped, his true face peeking through. “If you keep pushing this, it won’t end well for you.” I opened my mouth to scream at him, but the doorbell rang. It was Piper.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “408328”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve been an OB-GYN for ten years. I’ve delivered thousands of babies, and finally, I was pregnant with my own. On our anniversary, I’d planned to leave the hospital early to celebrate with my husband. But a last-minute emergency surgery landed on my schedule. The patient was young—barely twenty, a college student who’d taken a leave of absence to have this baby. She wasn’t due for another few weeks, but her water had broken prematurely, and the umbilical cord was wrapped around the infant’s neck. We had to go straight to a C-section. “Dr. Brooks, I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I had a nightmare last night. I dreamed that after the baby was born, you stuffed her back inside me… that you let her suffocate.” I gave her a small, professional smile to calm her nerves. “I’m not that’s not how this works. Don’t be nervous. I promise I’ll get both you and your baby through this safely.” The delivery went perfectly. It was a girl, with a cry so loud it filled the entire OR. I placed the baby on her chest for skin-to-skin contact. The girl pressed her cheek against the infant’s, her eyes damp as she whispered her thanks to me. The nurses hurried out to give the family the good news, and I stepped aside with the baby for a moment, waiting for the final sutures. The girl suddenly spoke, a weak but provocative smile flitting across her lips. “Ma’am… the baby looks just like Professor Miller, doesn’t she?” … 1 My head spun. The blood in my veins seemed to turn to ice instantly. Then, Christopher Miller walked into the OR, still in his surgical scrubs. The girl immediately began to sob piteously. “Chris… why are you just getting here?” she wailed. “I don’t want anyone else touching me. I was so scared. Dr. Brooks was so mean to me.” Christopher rushed to her side, his voice a low, soothing murmur that felt like a serrated blade to my heart. “It’s okay, honey. Don’t cry. I’m here now. No one is going to hurt you.” Then, he turned a cold, dismissive gaze toward me. “I’ll handle the closing. Take the baby and get out. She’s young; I need to make sure the scarring is minimal.” I don’t know how I made it out of that room. The weight of my colleagues’ shocked, gossiping stares felt like needles in my back. Their whispers were low, but in the sterile silence of the hallway, they hit me with perfect clarity. “What does that mean? Is that girl’s baby Dr. Brooks’ husband’s? Did Natalie know?” “They’ve been together since high school. They’re the ‘it’ couple. There’s no way.” “Please. You never know what goes on behind closed doors. Maybe it’s some twisted arrangement. Maybe she’s in on it.” … I stripped off my scrubs, my skin drenched in a cold, sickly sweat. Sophie, one of my residents, helped me back to the breakroom. “Dr. Brooks…” She started to speak, but she didn’t know what to say. Eventually, she just started crying out of sheer indignation on my behalf. I managed a hollow laugh and told her to go back to work. I needed to be alone. I sat there, my hand trembling as I touched my still-flat stomach. The tears finally broke. Just a week ago, when I saw the positive test, I had wept with joy. I had been waiting for tonight—our anniversary—to give him the surprise. But I was the one who got the surprise first. Months ago, I’d found a scrap of paper in his pocket with a list of names. I had assumed, naturally, that they were for our future child. I’d even teased him about it: “I thought you said we were letting nature take its course? You’re clearly dying to be a dad. I think ‘Everly’ is the prettiest one on the list.” During the surgery, when I heard the girl whisper that name, I had told myself it was just a coincidence. The door pushed open. Christopher walked in, his face shadowed and grim. The silence stretched between us until he finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to break your heart.” “Brianna is an orphan,” he continued, his voice devoid of the warmth he’d just shown her. “She was abandoned at birth. She couldn’t bring herself to terminate the pregnancy, and I couldn’t force her to.” “Moving forward, I’ll have to split my time between you and them. But you’re my wife. You’ll always be my priority. That will never change.” I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh. My teeth were chattering. “When… when did it start? Why?” He looked out the window, his tone light, almost nostalgic. “Almost two years ago. Being with her is just… easy. It’s fun. I couldn’t help myself. She made me feel that rush again—the racing heart, the heat in my blood.” “Natalie, we’ve been together for twenty years. That’s a very long time.” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to. Because it had been so long, the fire had gone out. But for me, the time had been even longer than that. 2 When I was in the third grade, my father went back to prison. My mother didn’t say a word; she just packed a bag and left me behind. My only relatives were two aunts who treated me like an unwanted piece of luggage, kicking me back and forth between their houses. I grew up in the shadows of other people’s homes, living in constant fear. When I was ten, my uncle tried to put his hands on me in the middle of the night. I cracked his head open with a heavy lamp. The scandal was massive. My aunts called me a “little slut” and decided to ship me off to foster care. It was Christopher’s mother—who was also my teacher—who took me in. In those early days, I would hide in the laundry room and cry. Christopher would find me and press a piece of chocolate into my hand without a word. At seventeen, I thought he was seeing someone else and spent a week acting out in a jealous fit. He demanded to know what was wrong until I broke down in tears. He looked at me with such helpless devotion and pulled me into his arms. At twenty-seven, we married. At the altar, his hands shook so hard he could barely slide the ring onto my finger. He choked up during his vows. “Natalie, we have so many decades left. I dreamed about us last night—two old people with white hair, walking hand in hand. I think that’s God’s promise to us.” Only one decade had passed. I didn’t have a single gray hair yet. And he had already traded our “forever” for a girl who made his heart race. Christopher’s phone buzzed. He glanced at me, muttered a quick “stop crying,” and walked out. I laughed until I felt sick. A violent wave of nausea hit me, my internal organs twisting in a knot of physical grief. A few minutes later, the door opened again. Christopher pulled me up by my arm. “I need you to go in there and calm her down,” he said. He dragged me toward the maternity ward. I felt every eye in the hospital tracking us. Brianna Scott was pale, looking fragile in her recovery bed. Her face and neck were flushed a deep, blotchy red from crying. She looked utterly pitiable. “Dr. Brooks, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I really didn’t know the extent of your relationship with Professor Miller.” “The baby has nothing to do with him. I’ll raise her myself. I won’t come between you ever again.” “Chris, please apologize to your wife. Beg for her forgiveness.” Christopher wiped her tears with a tenderness that made me want to scream. Then, Brianna did something insane. Ignoring her fresh surgical incision and the IV lines, she scrambled out of bed and dropped to her knees on the cold tile. Her face contorted in genuine pain. “I’m sorry, Natalie! It was me. I seduced him. Blame me, hit me, do whatever you want—just please, don’t hurt my baby. She’s innocent…” Christopher looked like his heart was shattering. He lifted her back into bed and then roared at me, “Natalie, say something! Are you a statue?” I just looked at him and smiled. It was the only thing I had left. He grabbed my wrist, his face a mask of irritation. “Is it that hard to be human? She’s just a girl. she just gave birth. Why do you have to be so cruel?” My phone began to vibrate incessantly. I yanked my arm away from him. It was the Chief of Medicine. He wanted to see me in his office. Immediately. My stomach dropped. I knew this wasn’t good. “Natalie,” the Chief said, sighing heavily as I entered. “A formal complaint reached the Board. They’re accusing you of abuse of power and professional misconduct—specifically, that you used a medical procedure to intimidate a student.” “We’ll investigate, obviously. But the promotion to Associate Chief? That’s off the table for now. You need to take a few weeks of administrative leave. Let the dust settle.” I clenched my fists and walked back to Brianna’s room. “Christopher, is this the plan? You won’t be happy until you’ve destroyed my entire life?” He knitted his brows, his expression cool and detached. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I trembled with a mix of fury and sorrow. “Why here? Why did you bring her to my hospital? Why did you make medeliver her child?” “This hospital has the best OB-GYN department in the city,” he said calmly. “The baby was high-risk. I wasn’t going to gamble with their lives. As for the surgery… that was just luck of the draw.” I nodded, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Fine. But what about you? If this goes public, what happens to your tenure? Her reputation? You’re throwing it all away.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, considering his words. “I turned in my resignation a month ago. A friend of mine, Marcus, asked me to join his private surgical group. He’s giving me equity.” “And Brianna? She’s already transferred to a different university. I’ll continue to mentor her there.” I started to clap. I couldn’t help it. “Bravo. I’m the only one who didn’t get the memo. I’m the only one left standing in the ruins.” Christopher’s face darkened with shame-induced anger. “I should have consulted you. If you can’t handle this, then fine. We get a divorce.” “We don’t have kids. I’ll give you the house and the car. Whatever else you want, just name it.” A sharp, stabbing pain flared in my lower abdomen. I let out a long, cold peal of laughter. “Why would I make this easy for you? You want me to step aside so you can play house? In your dreams.” 3 After we got married, we were both so busy with our residencies that we wanted to enjoy being a couple for a while. We didn’t rush into parenthood. Three years ago, we started trying. We saw every specialist in the city. There was nothing physically wrong with either of us, but I just couldn’t get pregnant. The pressure became an obsession. I tested myself every single morning. Once, I even had a phantom pregnancy—all the symptoms, the morning sickness, the missed period—only to find out it was my mind playing tricks on me. When the blood finally came, I cried for three days. Christopher held me, his own eyes red. “Remember that dream I told you about? The one where we were old? There were no kids in that dream, Natalie. Maybe this is just the way it’s supposed to be. Maybe the universe doesn’t want anyone coming between us.” So, we stopped trying. We let it go. We chose “us.” And now, the baby had finally come, but the “us” was gone. The room began to tilt. I felt lightheaded, my legs turning to water. Christopher reached out to steady me, leaning in close. His voice was a low hiss in my ear. “Let’s just end this quietly, Natalie.” “I got a call from back home yesterday. Your father was paroled. He’s looking for you.” A chill ran down my spine. It wasn’t just the thought of my father finding me—it was the fact that Christopher was the one telling me. When I was in high school and my father got out of prison the first time, he stayed clean for six months before the gambling debts piled up. He tried to “sell” me to a local businessman to clear his tab. Christopher had broken down the door. He’d seen me tied to a chair, and he had gone primal. He’d nearly killed my father with a baseball bat. Now, the person he was protecting had changed. He was using the man who traumatized me as a bargaining chip. My heart finally turned to ash. I hadn’t eaten all day, and the stress was too much. The world went black. “Natalie!” I heard him calling my name. When I woke up, his hand was resting on my forehead. His brow was furrowed with that familiar, worried look. For a split second, I thought this was all just a fever dream. Then, he pulled the divorce papers out of his bag. “Sign them. Brianna won’t stop crying. I need to go be with her. Stress is bad for her recovery.” I took the pen. I read every page. He was giving me seventy percent of our assets. It was more than fair. I was about to sign when he suddenly pressed his hand over mine. Outside, a commotion erupted. The door was kicked open. A gaunt, hollow-eyed man burst in. “Baby girl!” It was my father. He rushed to my side, grabbing my hand with a mock-devotion that made my skin crawl. I looked at Christopher, horrified. He looked away, his expression a guilty knot of conflicting emotions. He reached out to pull my father back. My father dropped to his knees, slapping his own face. “I know I messed up, Natalie. I’m a new man. I’m going to make it up to you.” Then his eyes lit up with a predatory gleam. “Where’s my grandbaby? Let me see the little princess!” He saw the divorce papers on the bed and snatched them up, tearing them to shreds. “So what if your womb is broken? The man had to find a backup. It’s all the same once they’re grown. You’re the wife; you need to show some grace.” I felt like I was going to vomit. “Christopher… is this what you want?” He wouldn’t look at me. “If you could just accept them… it would be for the best.” His face was becoming a blur. I wiped the tears away before they could fall. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it, Dr. Brooks. I’ll give you the baby, as long as you promise to be a good mother to her.” Brianna had appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame for support. Christopher rushed to her side, his voice frantic with concern. “What are you doing out of bed? Do you want your stitches to pop? Think about your health!” A crowd had gathered in the hallway. People were holding up phones, filming the scene. Christopher roared at them to get out. The lenses were inches from my face. My head throbbed. In a moment of pure, reflexive habit, I looked to Christopher for protection. I only saw his back. He was wrapping his jacket around Brianna’s face to shield her from the cameras as he led her away. I looked at the scar on his forearm—the one from the burn. I remembered how he’d come home two years ago, complaining about a “clumsy student” who’d spilled boiling water. “She started crying before I could even say anything,” he’d said. “I ended up having to comfort her.” He’d started keeping a little wooden rabbit charm on his keychain around then. Brianna had a tattoo of rabbit ears in the exact same spot on her arm. I had been so blind. I had trusted him with my life. I leaned over the side of the bed and retched. 4 My father grabbed a camera from a bystander and smashed it on the floor. He picked up a chair, waving it around. “Who wants to mess with my daughter? I just got out of the pen! My daughter and her husband have money—they can have as many babies as they want, however they want! It’s none of your business!” I closed my eyes, wishing the earth would swallow me whole. Security finally arrived and cleared the room. My father turned to me with a greasy smile. “Did I say the wrong thing again, honey?” The story exploded. Before I could even leave the hospital, I was cornered by a mob of reporters. Microphones were shoved into my face. “Dr. Brooks, is it true you’re unable to conceive and hired a student as a surrogate?” “Did your husband fall in love with the surrogate? Do you have any regrets?” “As an OB-GYN, how do you justify the ethical breach of using a student for your own reproductive needs?” … Two hours later, “Renowned OB-GYN’s Illegal Surrogacy Scandal” was trending. The internet was a cesspool of vitriol. The hospital board called me back in. Christopher denied the surrogacy, but his version of the truth was even worse. He claimed our marriage had been over for years, that I had filed for divorce and then refused to sign the final papers out of spite. The hospital issued a formal statement clearing me of medical malpractice, but the public didn’t care. They saw a cover-up. Someone leaked my father’s criminal record, using his “thug” persona as proof of my own “wickedness.” Protestors showed up at the hospital with banners. I was fired that afternoon. My phone number and home address were leaked. Every time I turned on my phone, I was met with death threats. My front door was splashed with red paint; someone left a dead rat on my porch. I tried to post a clarification on social media. It only invited more abuse. I spent the night curled on a hotel bathroom floor, the darkness of my thoughts turning toward a permanent exit. But Christopher found me. He forced me to go back to the small apartment he had rented for Brianna. It was decorated with photos of the two of them. “Stay here for a while. Turn off your phone,” he said, his tone incredibly casual. “In a week or two, they’ll find something else to talk about.” “If you’re embarrassed to go back to the hospital, don’t. Our friend Sarah has been trying to get you to join her private clinic for years.” “You need to keep busy. You can help Brianna with the baby.” Every word was a fresh puncture wound. He talked as if he hadn’t just burned my world to the ground. “I’m not a nanny, Christopher. And I still have my dignity.” I signed the new set of divorce papers and walked out. A month later, Christopher called me to meet at the courthouse to finalize everything. But instead, he directed me to a hotel ballroom. The sign outside read: Everly Miller’s One-Month Celebration. “Let’s just have lunch first,” he said. “We can go to the courthouse afterward.” Brianna was there, radiant in a silk dress. She saw me and walked over, holding the baby. “Natalie, you came! Look, she’s smiling at you. You were the first person she saw in this world. I hope she grows up to be as beautiful as you.” The room went quiet. I could hear the whispers of the guests. “That’s the ex? She’s actually quite striking.” “Doesn’t matter how she looks if she’s barren. No wonder he left.” … Brianna smiled, extending the baby toward me. “Please, Natalie. Hold her. We wouldn’t be here without your… sacrifice.” I stepped back instinctively. She stepped forward, pushing the baby into my space. I kept backing away until I hit the top of the stairs. My heel caught on the carpet. I tumbled. The world blurred into a series of sharp impacts. I landed at the bottom, my hands clutching my abdomen. A hot, wet sensation spread through my clothes. Christopher saw the blood, and his face went white. “Natalie?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “408327”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel