Category: English

Eric and I were together for seven years. The thing he said to me most often was: “Sorry, I forgot.” He forgot my birthday. Forgot the trips we’d planned. Forgot to buy medicine when I was burning up with a hundred-and-four-degree fever. I’d cried over it. I’d fought with him about it. He’d always rub his temples, exhausted: “Once this busy stretch is over, I’ll make it up to you.” Looking at the weariness pooled beneath his eyes, I swallowed my hurt again and again, telling myself he was tired—that I shouldn’t make things harder for him. Until Grandma was suddenly on her deathbed, gripping my hand with what little strength she had left: “Harper… I still haven’t met your boyfriend…” I dialed his number with trembling fingers. It rang twice before he hung up. Eric sent back a cold text: **[Busy. We’ll talk when I’m home.]** At the same time, the company’s new intern Sarah updated her Instagram: **[Successfully convinced Boss to ditch work for a movie today!]** Half a face was visible in the photo beside hers. Eric’s. So when I needed him most, his time and attention went to someone else. Then there was no point in continuing this anymore. … The heart monitor flatlined into a cold, unbroken line. I reached over and closed Grandma’s eyes—the eyes that death hadn’t been able to shut. When I signed the death certificate, my hands shook so badly I could barely hold the pen. The nurse looked at me with concern. “Would you like us to contact another family member to help?” I shook my head. Fifteen years ago, my parents died in a car accident. I was about to be placed in a group home when Grandma took three connecting buses to come get me and bring me home with her. To raise me, she’d worked simultaneously as a milk delivery woman, a gardener, and a waitress. She’d wrecked her body doing it, and even on her deathbed, she was still worrying about me—afraid the man I’d chosen wouldn’t take proper care of me. I took three days off. Alone, I contacted the funeral home and watched her go into the cremation chamber. It wasn’t until I was holding the urn that I finally collapsed against the wall and sobbed. Eric’s call came through. “You took time off? Why?” I forced down the sound of crying. “I just… wanted to rest for a couple days.” He paused, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Have you been crying?” I was about to answer when a startled female voice came through from his end: “What happened to Harper? Did some creep grope her on the subway or something? If Eric had been there, no one would’ve messed with her!” Sarah. I had no idea what to say. Before, I would have demanded to know why he was with her again. Told her to mind her own damn business. But now, I just felt tired. When I said nothing, Eric cut in, his tone scolding yet indulgent: “Sarah, knock it off.” “So, Harper, what’s going on?” His voice went soft. “I’m done with work now. Just tell me straight.” All I felt was cold. I mumbled something vague and hung up. After the arrangements were handled, I dragged my exhausted body back to the apartment. The moment I pushed open the door, I froze. Sarah was wearing one of Eric’s dress shirts, bare-legged, curled up in his arms watching a movie. I’d begged him countless times to watch movies with me. He’d always pat my head: “I’ve got a multi-million-dollar case to deal with. Next time, Harper. I promise I’ll make up for every movie I owe you.” He could find the time to watch movies with someone else, but he’d never kept a single promise to me. Was he really that busy? Or was it because I never threw tantrums—so I was the one whose feelings didn’t require maintenance? Hearing me come in, Sarah looked up: “Oh! Harper’s home!” She opened the shoe cabinet with practiced ease, trotted over, and held out a pair of disposable slippers. “Come in, come in—it’s cold outside.” I looked down. On her feet were my favorite fuzzy slippers. As if she were the lady of this house. Before I moved in with Eric, I’d had a Maine Coon I’d raised for three years. He made me give it away, citing his germophobia. Yet now he casually took the blanket he always used and draped it over Sarah’s shoulders. He turned to me, his tone as light as if he were discussing tomorrow’s weather: “Harper, Sarah’s landlord kicked her out today. We’ve got a spare room anyway—let her stay for a while.” “You’ve always been reasonable. I know you won’t make a fuss about it.” Reasonable. I’d been hearing that word for too many years. I looked up, eyes rimmed red. “And what if I do make a fuss?” He stared at me, stunned. I spoke softly: “Eric, let’s break up.” —

The air went still for a beat. Eric’s brows drew together: “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like,” I said. “If you two want to live together, there’s a hotel across the street. Get a room.” Sarah’s eyes reddened, her lower lip caught between her teeth: “Harper, you’ve got it wrong! Eric and I aren’t like that… If it upsets you, I’ll leave right now…” She wiped at her eyes and made to go, but Eric grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him, shielding her. His face went completely cold: “Harper, watch what you say. What’s the point of bullying a young girl?” “How many times have I told you—Sarah is like a little sister to me. We grew up together. She doesn’t know anyone else in Manhattan. What’s wrong with me looking out for her?” “And don’t forget—this is *my* apartment!” Watching movies with her was looking out for her. Moving her into the apartment he shared with his girlfriend was looking out for her. Fighting with me over and over for her sake—all just looking out for her. I smiled bitterly: “OK. Keep looking out for her, then. I’ll move out.” I walked straight to the bedroom to pack. Eric soothed the shaken Sarah and coaxed her into taking a shower before finally appearing in the doorway: “Haven’t you made enough of a scene?” “It’s the middle of the night. Where would you even go? Besides, you have work tomorrow.” When I didn’t stop packing, he softened his tone. “…I promise there’s nothing between us.” My hands stilled. I looked at him: “Eric, do you remember the call I made three days ago?” He pressed his lips together. “I was busy. Forgot to call you back.” “Busy with what?” “Work.” The answer came fast, but his eyes slid away from mine. He’d been with Sarah. I didn’t call him out on it. I quietly zipped my suitcase shut. Seven years, and everything I’d left in this apartment didn’t even fill a twenty-four-inch carry-on. On the couch, Sarah’s clothes and snacks were piled everywhere. Eric blocked the door: “Is this really necessary? All because I didn’t return a phone call?” “Harper, you’re almost thirty. Aren’t you a little old for this childish running-away act?” He rubbed his brow. “I don’t have the energy to coax you back.” I didn’t need him to. I stepped around him and saw the key hanging behind the door. Early in our relationship, he’d pressed it into my palm with a tender smile: “Welcome home, my lady. From now on, this place is our safe harbor.” What a shame that *from now on* was over. I pulled the key off its hook and tossed it on the cabinet, then yanked open the front door. Eric’s expression shifted—he moved to stop me—but from the bathroom, Sarah called out timidly: “Eric, I forgot to grab a towel. Could you get me one?” Eric turned away without a second’s hesitation. From inside, Sarah’s voice came, soft and coy: “Eric, maybe I should just leave. Harper’s so upset…” His tone carried a trace of contempt he didn’t seem to notice: “Relax. She won’t actually leave. She loves me too much. This is just her throwing a tantrum for show—she’ll be back in a couple days.” I smiled, bitter to the bone. So he did know I loved him. But Eric—even love runs out eventually. I pulled my suitcase through the door and let it close behind me. At the hotel, I opened my laptop and started writing my resignation letter. —

Vivian, the HR manager, didn’t approve my resignation. She asked me to come to her office the next day to talk. The next morning brought a downpour. I hadn’t brought an umbrella and was drenched by the time I ran into the building. I was wringing water from my clothes in the lobby when a black Bentley pulled up outside. Eric stepped out with an umbrella, sheltering Sarah in the crook of his arm as they climbed the steps together. He spotted me and frowned. “Why didn’t you call me for a ride?” Sarah covered her mouth. “Seriously, Harper—it’s on the way! You’re soaking wet. What kind of image does that give the company?” I said nothing, quietly straightening my wet sleeves. I’d asked him so many times before. On rainy days when I couldn’t get a cab, I’d ask if he could pick me up since he drove right past. He’d only ever reply with cold indifference: “I’m in a rush. Besides, it wouldn’t look good if colleagues saw. Just take an Uber.” I looked up at him: “Director Eric, we’ve already broken up. Please don’t say things that could give people the wrong idea.” A flash of triumph flickered in Sarah’s eyes. Eric’s gaze went ice-cold: “Fine. Let’s see how long you keep this up. Sarah, let’s go.” In her office, Vivian sighed: “Harper, are you sure about this?” She studied me, her expression caught between admiration and regret. “Back then you turned down an offer from an international firm to come here for Eric. You’ve finally worked your way up to project lead. Quitting over a lovers’ quarrel—it’s not worth it.” Vivian was my college classmate. I gave a tired smile. “Vivian, this isn’t spite. We really broke up.” “My grandma passed away. I want to take her home. Manhattan isn’t the place for me anymore.” She stared at me for a long time, then sighed: “Alright. But you’ve been on this core project for three years. You need to see it through—it’ll be important for your next job search.” I agreed, grateful. My flight was booked for next Wednesday—just enough time to wrap things up. To finish sooner, I stayed late working into the night. At some point Eric appeared, rapping his knuckles on my desk, holding out an iced latte: “Why aren’t you answering my messages?” I checked my phone. An iMessage from two hours ago: **[What kind of milk do you take in your coffee?]** Meanwhile, Sarah had just posted on Instagram—more than a dozen coffee cups spread across her desk, captioned: **[Eric’s such a dummy—didn’t know what I liked so he ordered one of EVERYTHING. I’m gonna turn into a little piggy! He spilled one though, what a waste 🥺]** I looked at the coffee stain on the rim of the cup in front of me and pushed it straight into the trash. “Sorry. I’m lactose intolerant.” Eric blinked, frowning. “Since when?” “Always.” “Sorry. I forgot.” Silence stretched between us. Eric shifted uncomfortably for a long moment before speaking again: “…Harper, that project you’ve been leading for three years—could you hand it off to Sarah? Let her get some practice?” —

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202608112GuSF8d3Cr 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni286846”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

The day I got out of prison, it was pouring rain. I followed my husband Julian to the cemetery to visit our son Leo. Rain hammered against the headstone. Julian spoke without warning, his voice eerily calm: “The surveillance footage from the day Leo died—I had someone delete it.” My body went rigid. My daughter Maya looked at me without a shred of guilt: “I’m the one who testified that you abused Leo. I helped clear Aunt Sophia’s name.” Over a thousand days and nights of hell in that prison—none of it compared to the agony of the truth being ripped open. I seized Julian by the collar of his suit, tears streaming, demanding to know why. Maya let out a soft laugh: “Leo’s already dead. You can’t seriously expect a pianist like Sophia to go to prison over it?” “You’re just a housewife. A few years behind bars—it’s not like it killed you.” Julian pried my fingers off one by one, his gaze cold and absolute. “Vivian, you will always be the gracious lady of the Reynold family. Sophia bore me Ethan, yet she can never step into the light.” “As long as you don’t make trouble for her and the boy, I guarantee—you won’t be harmed again.” They looked at me the way you’d look at a dog that had outlived its usefulness. And yet later—every one of them would end up on their knees, begging me to come back. … I crumpled at the foot of my son’s grave, my entire body plunged into ice. Julian crouched down and, with those hands sheathed in bespoke leather gloves, brushed the wet hair from my face. “Vivian, you went digging into Sophia behind my back. That was very disobedient of you.” “So I sent a few men—just to teach you a lesson. To help you learn to be quiet.” “I didn’t expect them to go so far. Breaking your leg like that—it wasn’t intentional.” My lips began to tremble. That day, I’d just gotten my hands on the critical evidence—proof that Sophia had pushed Leo into the lake. Before I could even dial the police, several men pinned me to the concrete floor of the parking garage and smashed my kneecap with a baseball bat. Maya glanced down at me kneeling in the mud: “Spare us the victim act.” “Sophia was about to perform her solo recital at Carnegie Hall, and you just had to go stirring up trouble.” “Dad never meant to hurt you that badly. You forced his hand.” My daughter. Every word out of her mouth was an exoneration for the woman who killed her brother. I dragged myself upright, summoned every ounce of strength left in my body, and slapped my daughter across the face with everything I had. *Crack!* Maya clutched her burning cheek, frozen in shock. Julian shoved me away: “Vivian! Have you lost your mind?! Hitting a child!” I slammed into the ice-cold headstone, blinding pain exploding through my skull. Blood mixed with rain ran into my eyes, staining the entire world a savage, hopeless red. Two hulking bodyguards seized me by the arms, hauled me up, and threw me into the back seat of a car. They dragged me all the way back to the estate on Long Island. In the master bedroom, Julian slammed an adoption agreement down in front of me. “Sign this. Make Ethan legally yours—give him a proper place in this family.” Ethan. His bastard son with Sophia. I swept the wine and porcelain off the coffee table in one violent motion, my eyes burning as I glared at him: “Julian, you’re out of your goddamn mind!” “That woman murdered Leo! I will die before I raise her spawn!” Shards of porcelain sliced open the back of my hand, blood dripping onto the Persian rug. Julian’s brow creased slightly. He pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressed it to my wound: “Vivian, stop being unreasonable.” “All you have to do is show a little of that high-society grace. Accept Sophia and the child.” “You’ll still be my legitimate wife. The title of lady of this estate—it will always be yours.” Nausea churned through me. I wrenched my hand free with every bit of force I could muster. Julian’s expression went utterly dark: “When you’ve learned to think like a proper woman of your station, we’ll talk.” He turned and walked out. The door slammed shut behind him like a verdict. Trembling, I pulled out my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Miami. —

Through the closed door, the servants’ whispers carried with shameless clarity: “Mr. Reynold absolutely dotes on Ethan—tomorrow’s adoption gala is going to be even grander than his wedding to the missus.” “I’ll say. Mr. Reynold took the helicopter to Paris last night just to pick up a custom Dior suit for the boy.” I leaned against the cold wall. I thought of that winter night in the federal women’s prison. A hundred-and-four-degree fever, dragging my ruined leg, pounding on the iron door all night long begging for help. That same night, every major news outlet and TikTok feed in America was running footage of Julian at an auction, bidding a fortune on jewels for Sophia. The gossip outside my door continued: “But isn’t tomorrow Leo’s anniversary?” “Well, Vivian never had Mr. Reynold’s heart, did she? Looks like Ethan’s going to be the heir from now on.” My nails dug crescents into my palms. Before long, the door opened. Julian carried in a glass of warm milk and set it on the nightstand. “Vivian, I’ve already contacted the top orthopedic specialist in the country.” “Your leg can still be saved. Next week I’ll have the jet take you for reconstructive surgery.” He reached out, fingers moving to stroke my hair. I slapped his hand away. The mask of tenderness vanished from Julian’s face in an instant: “Vivian, I’ve gone out of my way for you at every turn. Found you the best doctors in the world.” “How much longer are you going to keep up this irrational nonsense?” I looked up, my stare cutting through him: “Having thugs break my leg—that was going out of your way for me?” “Using your power to shield the woman who murdered our son—that was going out of your way for me?” Julian rubbed his temples, his voice saturated with exhaustion and exasperation: “You’re the one who ruined Leo! A child that young, pointing at someone’s face and cursing at them in public!” “All Sophia did was give him a little shove. Who could’ve predicted a shallow lake would actually drown someone?” “To this day, Sophia’s still seeing a therapist. She tortures herself over it every single day! You can’t pin all the blame on an innocent person!” To protect a murderer, Julian was willing to throw dirt on a five-year-old corpse. I thought of when I was eighteen. Kneeling in the blood-soaked floor of a tenement apartment, my father’s murdered body at my feet, my mother’s wrists slit open beside him. Julian burst through the door and pulled me—shattered, hopeless—into his arms: “Don’t be afraid… From now on, you have me. I’ll protect you with my life.” Every vow, every whispered promise—all of it had rotted into a stinking pool of dead water. “Julian, let’s get a divorce. I’ll set you free.” “I don’t want anything except Leo’s ashes.” Julian’s face went terrifyingly dark: “Divorce? Keep dreaming.” “Tomorrow’s adoption gala—you will be there as the lady of the Reynold family.” “Otherwise you’ll never learn where Leo’s ashes are.” He released me abruptly and stormed out, slamming the door. I stumbled out of the room, half-running down the corridor until I stopped in front of a painfully familiar door at the end of the hall. I pushed it open. What had once been Leo’s nursery was now filled with girls’ children’s clothing, gowns, and an entire wall of Hermès bags. On the wall hung an enormous portrait—Sophia and Ethan, mother and son. This room… had become their personal closet. “Like what you see?” Sophia leaned against the doorframe, swirling a glass of red wine, her eyes glittering with amusement. “When Leo fell into the water, he kept crying and calling for his mommy.” “I’m the one who pushed him back under every time he tried to climb out.” “It took him a full five minutes to stop struggling. When he finally died, his eyes were open so, so wide…” I raised my hand and swung at her face with every shred of remaining strength. Sophia didn’t flinch. The corner of her mouth curled upward. The next instant—searing pain exploded through the back of my skull. I crashed to the ground. The world went black. —

A bucket of ice water crashed over my head, shocking me awake. Bodyguards shoved an ill-fitting gown onto my body and pushed me from backstage into the banquet hall. Instantly—blinding spotlights and a hundred camera flashes erupted in unison, exposing my soaking, wretched figure to every socialite in New York. “So that’s the woman who killed her own child?” “How does she even have the nerve to still be alive? Disgusting.” “Julian’s so unlucky—married to that crippled psychopath.” Laughter and scorn closed in around me. Sophia walked over in towering heels, Ethan’s hand in hers. “Vivian, there you are. You must’ve suffered so much all those years inside.” She wore a Chanel haute couture gown that I recognized instantly—Julian had commissioned it for me as an anniversary gift. I stared at the dress that should have been mine, bile rising in my throat. Five-year-old Ethan suddenly launched himself at me and kicked my left leg—directly into the shattered kneecap. I screamed. Pure reflex—I pushed him away. Ethan toppled onto the carpet and burst into wails. “What are you doing?!” Maya came shrieking across the room, scooping Ethan into her arms, glaring at me with venom: “Haven’t you had enough?! Do you want to go back to prison?!” Julian closed the distance in one stride, his fingers clamping around my arm like a vise: “Do you have to make a scene in front of all these people?!” I fought to wrench free of his grip, dragging my leg, trying to reach the door. Sophia dabbed at her tears and turned to address the surrounding reporters: “Vivian, wasn’t it enough to hurt your own child? Now you’re going after innocent little Ethan too?” “As Julian’s childhood sweetheart, I shouldn’t involve myself in their marriage—but I simply can’t stand by and watch!” Her flawless victim performance had every socialite in the room shaking their heads in sympathy. Then the massive LED screen at the center of the hall lit up without warning. Reporters with microphones swarmed around me: “Mrs. Reynold, according to our investigation, you come from the slums. Your father was killed by rivals. Your mother took her own life in atonement.” “Did you inherit your family’s violent genes? Is that what makes you so vicious?” Flashbulbs strobed. A wall of black microphones pressed against my lips. Buried nightmares surging back paralyzed me where I stood. It took an eternity before I found my voice, and I screamed it with everything I had: “I was framed!!” “Sophia is not Julian’s childhood sweetheart! She’s the other woman who destroyed our marriage!” “Ethan is her bastard son with Julian! Those two killed my son Leo!!” The entire hall plunged into deathly silence. The color drained from Sophia’s face. She swayed on her feet. Julian wrapped a possessive arm around her. He let out a long, pained sigh for the audience, his voice heavy with sorrow: “I’m sorry. My wife suffered severe trauma during her incarceration. She’s experiencing serious psychological delusions.” Then he leaned close to my ear, his whisper surgically cruel: “Apologize to Sophia. Tell everyone she’s not the other woman. Admit you made it up out of jealousy.” I clenched my jaw. “In your dreams.” Julian pulled out his phone, lit the screen, and shoved it in front of my eyes. On it was a message he’d just drafted, addressed to a private military contractor: **[Grind the child’s ashes in the pulverizer.]** My entire body began to convulse. Ice shot from the soles of my feet straight to the crown of my skull. Julian watched me with dead eyes, his thumb hovering over the send button. “No—!!” *Thud.* I dropped to my knees on the freezing marble, tears flooding my vision beyond all control. “I’m sorry… I was jealous of Sophia! I lost my mind! I made it all up!” “I was wrong… I apologize to you both…” —

“Jealousy like that—making a scene over nothing.” “A lunatic like her should be locked in an asylum for life.” I kept my head down, kneeling on the ground, enduring the contempt. Sophia held Ethan’s hand, smiling graciously as she accepted the admiration of New York’s elite. The picture of a perfect family. After the gala ended, Julian pressed the wooden urn into my hands, his tone softening: “Vivian, I know you’ve been wronged. From now on, I’ll keep Sophia away from you.” “You’ve already lost one son. Putting Ethan’s name under yours—think of it as compensation.” I took the urn. My voice was flat, devoid of anything. “Fine.” The instant Julian turned and walked away, I clutched the urn to my chest and ran with everything I had toward the back gate of the estate. But the moment I burst through the alley behind the rear courtyard, a group of masked men in black closed in around me. A dim basement. Sophia withdrew her hand slowly, gazing down at me—battered, broken, curled on the floor shielding the wooden urn beneath my body. A cold smile played on her lips. From her designer handbag, Sophia produced a different urn—white porcelain—and dangled it before my eyes. “Did you really think Julian would give you the real ashes?” My pupils dilated. “Give it to me! Give it to me!!” I lunged like a woman possessed, but the bodyguard’s massive hands slammed my shoulders back down. Sophia crouched, her manicured fingers—nails painted in meticulous lacquer—seizing my chin in a crushing grip: “Julian told me once. When he married you, it was nothing but pity.” “A slum orphan whose mommy and daddy are both dead—what right do you have to be the lady of the Reynold family?” She straightened, carrying the white porcelain urn, and walked toward the garbage bin in the rear courtyard. I lost my mind completely. Hands and knees, I crawled across the floor, leaving a winding trail of blood: “No! Sophia! I’m begging you! Give Leo back to me!!” Martha, the housekeeper, happened to be walking past with a pair of garden shears. I seized the hem of her skirt, clinging with desperate hands: “Martha! You watched me grow up! Help me! Please—save Leo!” Martha stopped. Conflict twisted across her face. In the end, she took one quiet step backward and pulled her skirt free from my grasp: “Mr. Reynold gave his orders.” “Household matters are Sophia’s domain now.” “And if you don’t behave—that goes for you too.” My body froze in place. Boundless cold pierced straight through my heart. Sophia flicked her wrist. Several vagrant men immediately closed in around me. “Have your fun with her.” “And make sure you film every second of her pathetic begging.” The stench—filth and rot—pressed closer. Rough hands tore my evening gown apart. I snatched the pruning shears from the ground and drove the blade against my own carotid artery. The sharp edge broke the skin instantly. “Get away from me!! One more step and I’ll bleed out right in front of you!!” The smile on Sophia’s face only deepened. She held the urn over the reeking garbage bin, fingers loosening one by one. “Go ahead and try, Vivian.” “You wouldn’t want to see Leo’s ashes mixed in with the garbage, would you?” White powder slipped free, falling straight into the rotting heap below. “No—!!” I threw myself forward like a maddened animal, but a bodyguard’s boot caught me square in the stomach, slamming me to the ground. I could only watch—helpless, screaming—as the last trace of Leo merged with garbage and food scraps until it was indistinguishable from waste. Just then, the iron gate at the back of the courtyard groaned open. I turned my head, numb and hollow, and looked directly into Julian’s face—every drop of blood draining from it. —

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260811pXNSJKSpoH 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni877426”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

After I slapped my Alpha’s mistress, he had me committed to the Pack infirmary, where they pumped me full of drugs to suppress the agony of a shattered mate bond. My father—the Alpha of the Moore Pack—and my brother Johnathan were being held captive by the Quinn Pack. Every time Sebastian betrayed me, I lay in that infirmary bed, enduring pain that tore through me like my chest was being ripped apart from the inside. It wasn’t until Hedy’s pup was born that I finally worked up the courage to beg him—carefully, meekly—to release my family. Sebastian smiled mockingly and spoke as if his words were of no consequence. “Sera, do you have any idea how I first met Hedy?” My breath caught. My nails dug hard into my palms. “Your father and your brother delivered her to my bed.” “Hedy is your half-sister.” He watched the color drain from my face, his expression dripping with contempt, then unlocked his phone and slid it across to me. “Your father and brother were never imprisoned. They’ve been with Hedy this entire time—all three years.” On the screen, Dad and Johnathan hovered around Hedy and her pup, their faces lit with a contentment and joy I had never once seen directed at me. My vision blurred as my eyes filled with tears. Pain tore through my chest, sharp and slow, like a blade working its way deeper. Sebastian went on, talking as though I weren’t falling apart right in front of him. “Sera, you’ve been very well-behaved these past three years. Keep it up. Whatever you want as compensation—name it.” “Although…” A sly smile tugged at his lips. “Even if I offered, you wouldn’t actually want anything, would you?” I wiped my tears away, lifted my face, and smiled. “Sebastian, then compensate me with a hundred million dollars.” A mate like this. A family like this. I wanted none of it. Sebastian’s expression froze. “What did you just say?” I raised my head and looked him straight in the eye, my voice trembling despite myself. “You said you wanted to compensate me. Then give me money.” “A hundred million. Not a cent less.” The warmth bled out of Sebastian’s gaze. He let out a derisive scoff, then spoke toward the phone on the desk. “Hedy, looks like neither of us guessed right.” At some point, the screen had switched to a live video call. Hedy stared back at me, amusement and mockery written all over her face. “Sera, we placed bets—on what you’d demand from Sebastian once you learned the truth.” “I bet you’d refuse any compensation and trash the office in a meltdown. Sebastian bet you’d use it as leverage to make sure he never dissolved the mate bond.” “As for Dad and Johnathan—one guessed you’d demand Sebastian send me away, and the other guessed you’d hurt yourself to force his hand.” She turned the camera to the side. Dad was cradling Hedy’s pup, beaming from ear to ear—but the moment his eyes landed on me, every trace of warmth vanished from his face. “Sera, I never imagined you could be so shameless. You’re no better than a rogue!” Johnathan stroked Hedy’s hair, his eyes full of tenderness and fond exasperation—yet the instant he looked into the camera, his face went cold. “Sera, I know you’re upset.” “If you need money, I can transfer some into your account. But you shouldn’t be asking Sebastian for it.” “Hedy and Sebastian are in love. They don’t owe you a thing.” “Is that so?” I cut him off, eyes rimmed red. “Stealing my mate. Stealing my father and my brother. Destroying my marriage and my family.” “Stringing me along for three years, leaving me to suffer through three years of a severed mate bond.” “And you call that not owing me anything?” Johnathan frowned. “Sera, there’s no need to be so dramatic about it.” “We didn’t set out to deceive you—but you’ve been stubborn since you were a child. If we hadn’t done it this way, you never would have accepted Hedy.” “Hedy’s been in low spirits since the delivery. We were worried about her postpartum depression, so we came up with this little bet to cheer her up. Don’t take it to heart.” “Well, in that case, just give me the money.” “Dad, give me fifty million dollars. Johnathan, thirty million dollars. And I’ll keep playing along with your charade. How does that sound?” Johnathan’s face went dark. “Seraphina, stop horsing around.” I smiled coldly. “It’s just a bit of pocket change. Don’t tell me the Alphas of two Packs can’t even scrape together that much.” “Enough.” “Since money is what you want, I’ll give it to you.” Sebastian shot me a glance and pulled a document from his desk drawer. “Hedy has given birth. In the Quinn Pack, only the Luna’s children can be recognized as heirs. Sign this agreement to dissolve the mate bond, and a hundred million will be transferred to your account immediately.” I looked at the thin stack of papers. I didn’t hesitate for a single second. I grabbed the pen and wrote my name.

Something complicated flickered across Sebastian’s face as he looked at me. “You really care that much about the money? You never used to be like this…” I swallowed against the pain slicing through my chest and forced out a carefree smile. “If I don’t take the money, what else are you going to give me?” His dark eyes locked onto mine, something unreadable stirring in their depths. “You could beg me not to dissolve the mate bond.” “Sera, all you have to do is ask—and I’ll tear up this agreement right now.” Beg him? I bit down hard on my lip, memories flooding back to the early days after I’d discovered his affair with Hedy. I had begged him. Countless times. I’d even taken a silver dagger to my own wrists to force him to come home. My blood had pooled across the floor, and all it earned me was a single sentence: “Don’t do that again. Hedy can’t stand the sight of blood.” “And then what?” I looked at him calmly, my voice laced with contempt. “Then you’ll tell me this was just another one of your little bets—another game to see how pathetic I’d look.” A bitter laugh scraped out of my throat, raw and aching. “Sebastian, stop testing me.” “Haven’t you had enough fun at my expense these past three years?” Something cold traced a line down my cheek. They were the tears I’d held back for so long. Now they finally fell. Sebastian reached up instinctively and wiped them away. Something that might have been guilt flickered through his eyes. He sighed. “Hedy gave birth to my pup, after all. She’s still young, and a little headstrong. But you’re her older sister. You should be more understanding.” “Don’t worry. I’ll give you back the Luna title. Marrying Hedy is just to secure the pup’s status as heir.” He paused, then added, as if to reassure himself as much as me: “I’ll give you a hundred million dollars, too. Take the money, go enjoy yourself for a while, and once I’ve sorted everything out, we’ll form the mate bond again.” “That should make you happy, right?” I tilted my face up, smiled, and let out a soft “Mm.” “Then book me a flight to Switzerland. We always said we’d visit the Alpine lakes together.” Relief washed over him. He pulled me into a tight embrace. “Okay.” “You go ahead first. Once things are settled here, I’ll join you.” “Sera, wait for me.” I rested my head against his shoulder and said nothing. But I knew, deep down, that I would never wait for him again. Once Sebastian was satisfied that I’d given in, he finally spoke again. “You’ll need to move out of the Pack residence for a while.” “Hedy’s moving in. You know she hasn’t been in the best mood since the delivery. Pack up your things. I don’t want her seeing any of your things and getting upset.” He cleared his throat and produced a set of keys from his drawer. “I’ve arranged a new place for you out in the suburbs.” I said nothing, but my mind drifted to the day I’d first moved into the Quinn Pack. We had designed the Alpha residence together, from the curtains to the painting in the entryway. We’d even planned two nurseries: one in pink, the other in blue. He called it our love nest. He carved a nameplate by hand and hung it on the manor door, our names etched side by side. But later, he’d spent his nights tangled up with Hedy in his office until dawn—while I lay alone in the Pack infirmary, losing our pup. I smiled faintly and placed the keys back in his hand. “It’s fine.” From now on, everything I owned would be new. Not just the house. After leaving Quinn’s Group, I went to the Pack infirmary alone. Over the past three years, I had been brought here countless times, crying until I blacked out from the agony of a shredding mate bond. But none of them knew that I’d met a boy here. I pushed open the door to the room. Sunlight streamed through the window lattice, yet a small wolf lay curled up in the darkest corner, shrinking from the light. If the Pack elders had been here, they might have recognized him—the missing heir of the Hadrian Pack. I spoke softly. “I can afford it now. I’m going to take you home and help you shift back into human form.” Sebastian didn’t know that my real destination wasn’t Switzerland. It was Greece.

When I returned to the Quinn Pack to collect my things, the servants gave me strange looks, hovering as if they wanted to say something but couldn’t quite bring themselves to. I frowned and walked into the living room. Then I understood why. Everything I owned had been thrown haphazardly across the floor. And there was Hedy, descending the staircase in a snow-white wedding gown. I bit my lip and stared at her. She gathered the skirt and smiled. “Sera, this is the wedding dress Sebastian designed for you by hand, isn’t it?” “Well, Sebastian’s already given it to me.” “He said you’ve let yourself go—you can’t even fit into it anymore. Good thing someone who can appreciate it came along.” She lifted the hem and twirled. “Sera, what do you think? Does it suit me? Do I look beautiful?” The white gown shimmered like a dream beneath the crystal chandelier. Hedy’s face was radiant, brimming with triumph and joy. Back then, Sebastian had spent several sleepless nights finishing the design sketches for that dress. The first time I put it on, he said: “Sera, this is the only dress like it in the world—for the only girl like you.” His words still echoed in my ears, but his heart had already changed. What Hedy didn’t realize was that I’d already given up Sebastian himself. Why would I still care about a dress that meant nothing to me now? I smiled placidly, and my clenched fists slowly uncurled. “Hedy, hasn’t anyone ever told you that when you take someone else’s things, you have to pay for them?” “That gown is worth thirty million dollars. I want the money in my account today.” Hedy’s expression shifted in an instant. “You bitch! You stole Sebastian, and took my family for all these years. How dare you still have the nerve to ask for money!” She raised her hand and tried to slap me. But the gown’s skirt was far too heavy. I simply sidestepped half a pace, and Hedy tripped over the fabric and crashed to the floor. Dad and Johnathan came rushing down the stairs. “Hedy, what happened?” My brother glared at me with fury in his eyes. “Seraphina, did you bully Hedy again?!” Before I could get a word out, a palm cracked hard across my face. A searing sting spread across my cheek. I stared at my father in disbelief. His face was flushed. His voice cold and sharp. “I know you’ve never truly accepted Hedy. But she just gave birth, her body is still weak. How could you do this to her?” Hedy sniffled, playing the wounded innocent. “Dad, don’t be mad at Sera. It’s not her fault. She said the dress costs thirty million dollars, and if I don’t pay her, I don’t deserve to wear it. But I don’t have any money… She didn’t push me on purpose.” She lifted her pitiful gaze. “It’s all because I can’t afford to pay her. Dad, Johnathan—if we give her the money, will she stop being angry at me?” Dad gave a derisive snort, fury blazing across his face. “Hedy, you’re too kindhearted. Give that bitch money? Over my dead body! I should have known she’s just like her mother. A gold-digging whore!” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I pressed my hand to my stinging cheek and stared at him. His face was twisted with venom, curse after curse spilling from his lips. The mask of fatherly love he’d worn for years seemed to crack before my eyes. Johnathan was quick enough to step in and hold him back. “Dad.” A flicker of hope kindled in my chest. But then, cold as ice, came his next words: “If you push her too far and she makes a scene at Hedy’s wedding, it’ll be a disaster.” “Since she wants money so badly, just give it to her. Think of it as being robbed by a rogue.” He pulled out a check and tossed it at my feet, his voice dripping with disgust. “There. A check for thirty million dollars.” “Take it and get out. Don’t ever show your face around Hedy again and ruin our day.” I lowered my eyes and stared at the check, drawn on the Moore Pack’s account. The last thread of attachment in my heart finally went dark. I bent down slowly, picked up the check, and smiled as if none of it mattered. I looked at the luggage strewn across the living room and decided I no longer cared to sort through any of it. “Since you’re spending money on everything your new sister wants, as your old sister, I certainly won’t stick around here.” “From this day on, I no longer belong to the Moore Pack!” I dug my ID card out of the pile of luggage on the floor, turned around and walked away. “Wait—”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260811ALEAWuOtU7 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni807720”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

At dinner, Mom always tossed Dad a bowl and made him crouch by the table to eat, like a dog. She said men who cheated didn’t deserve a seat at the table. Dad always looked at her with quiet remorse and lowered himself down without a word. Sometimes, watching him hunched on the floor in his sharp-tailored suit, scraping at his food, a flicker of something soft would cross Mom’s eyes. Then came Dad’s birthday. That day, Mom smiled, which was rare, and told me a secret: I was going to have a little sister. She bought a big cake and set it on the table, ready to share the good news with Dad, ready to let the past turn a page. But when Dad came home, he brought Mom’s best friend Rachel with him, along with a little boy who looked about three. The boy called out timidly, “Daddy.” Dad’s back was straight for once. He wasn’t avoiding her eyes the way he usually did. “Lucas is my son with Rachel. I’m bringing him home.” Mom’s face went white. The wine glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. … Mom walked over quietly. Dad instinctively stepped in front of Rachel and the little boy. But Mom only reached up and placed the birthday hat on his head. She patted his shoulder. She said nothing. Then she took my hand. She was going to take me out of that house. I could feel how cold her palm was. I knew, in that moment, that whatever had tied her to this home was gone. “Claire—” Rachel chased after us and blocked the way. Her eyes were red, tears clinging to her cheeks. She looked more heartbroken than Mom did. “You… blame me, if you have to blame someone.” Her hands were shaking as she reached for Mom, who pulled away. I had seen Mom and Rachel at their closest, curled up together under one blanket watching a movie, both of their faces lit with the same bright laughter. Now there was an invisible wall between them. “Daniel didn’t cheat. He doesn’t love me. I begged him…” “I just wanted to help. I couldn’t stand watching the two of you drift apart because of a child…” She caught Mom’s hand, tears spilling down her face. “Rachel. We’ve known each other for twenty years.” Mom’s voice was quiet. “Put your hand on your heart and tell me. When you slid into bed with Daniel, when you got pregnant with his child, did you think of me? Even once?” Rachel’s mouth opened, closed. Tears ran into her lips. She didn’t answer. “You didn’t.” Mom said it flatly. I looked up at her. Her eyes held nothing but a still, frozen calm. “Claire, I did! I thought about you!” Rachel was crying harder now. “From now on, my child will be your child too. We can all live together. If you’re not happy, I…” She glanced back at Dad, biting her lip. “I can crouch and eat with Daniel, too.” Before Mom could speak, Dad exploded. “Enough!” He shoved Mom hard. She stumbled and slammed into the corner of the table. A quiet, pained sound escaped her lips. Dad planted himself in front of Rachel and glared at Mom. “You’ve humiliated me enough. Don’t you dare lay a finger on Rachel or Lucas.” Mom stood there, head bent, spine curved, unable to straighten up for a long time. I squeezed her hand, worried. Then, after a long silence, she gave a low, broken laugh. “Now you call it humiliation? Daniel, this is what you owe me.” Her head snapped up. The whites of her eyes were shot through with red as she stared him down. “Or have you forgotten?”

At those words, Dad froze. Rachel’s face crumpled with something like guilt. I knew exactly what Mom was talking about. I had been very small then, but I remembered. I had seen her, drenched in blood, with my own eyes. Mom was the only heir to the Whitfield Group. Not long after I was born, she went back to work. The company was in the middle of a major restructuring, and it couldn’t run without her at the helm as CEO. Grandmother waited until Mom wasn’t home, and had Dad quietly take me out to the old family estate in the countryside. I was terrified of this strange place. I cried and cried for Mom, but Grandmother ignored me, and didn’t give me any food. The sky grew completely dark. Then she brought out a large bowl. It was too heavy for me to lift. Inside was some milk, grayish, with tiny specks of dust floating on the surface. I was starving. I got down on my knees, stuck out my tongue, and lapped at the milk, clumsy, one lick at a time. Like a puppy. That was when Mom arrived. The moment she saw it, something in her broke. She rushed over, scooped me up, and turned to run. Grandmother stopped her. She turned back, shoved the front door shut, and let the bolt drop with a heavy thud. “You worthless thing. What’s the rush?” Mom didn’t answer. She just held me tighter and watched the old woman warily. “The Whitfields have a whole empire. What good is a girl?” Grandmother’s mouth curled downward with contempt. “A family needs more than one child. Fine, Daniel doesn’t have the stomach for it. It doesn’t matter…” She paused, and smiled. “He has an older brother.” Mom’s face drained of color. I could feel her heart racing, and I started to cry. Heavy footsteps came from behind us. A man shambled out of the back room. There was something wrong with him. Drool hung from the corner of his mouth, dripping down in slow beads. When he saw Mom, his eyes lit up. “Baby… Baby…” He lurched toward her. Mom scrambled to get out of the way, and while she was distracted, Grandmother snatched me from her arms. “Please, calm down. I have money. I can pay to have him treated. Just don’t touch Lily…” Mom’s voice, always so composed, was breaking with panic as she pleaded. “Treat him?” Grandmother laughed coldly. “He can’t be fixed. And I’ve stopped trying.” “Give him a child. That way I’ve done right by my firstborn.” She stepped back and tilted her head toward the door behind her. “Go with Marcus. Otherwise, you can forget about taking this girl anywhere.” Mom looked at the old woman, then at me. Her eyes were red. “Mother, I’ll go. Just don’t hurt Lily. She’s your granddaughter too.” The door closed. I didn’t dare cry. I didn’t dare move. I could only stare, frozen, at that dark doorway. It felt as though the door had swallowed my mother whole. I don’t know how long it was before Dad came. He broke down the door and carried Mom out, soaked in blood. Rachel picked me up. Her hands shook, and her eyes burned with hate.

After that, Mom was in the hospital for a long time. Every day I waited for her to come home. I missed her so much. But the mother who came back was not the one I had known. She was quiet now. Nothing interested her. She didn’t run the household. She didn’t ask about the company. Only when Dad was in the room did something ignite in her, and it was pure hatred. Rachel came often to sit with her, but nothing anyone did could make her smile again. Until my birthday. That was the happiest day I can remember. For one day, Mom seemed like her old self. She took me shopping for a beautiful princess dress. She made a little crown for me with her own hands. She invited Dad and Rachel over, and the four of us had a warm, quiet birthday at home. Mom’s smile was so soft. I thought maybe everything was going to be all right. But the next day, all of it shattered. I woke to the sound of voices in the living room. I peeked through the crack of the door. Dad was on his knees. Mom stood over him, clutching a shirt. “Daniel. Whose lipstick is on this collar?” Dad kept his head down and said nothing. Mom threw the shirt in his face. Her voice came out hoarse, like it wasn’t hers. “Have you been sleeping with someone else? How could you do this to me?” He still didn’t answer. But from that day on, Dad never sat at our table again. “Rachel. I lied to myself for years. I couldn’t let myself believe that the woman he was seeing was you.” “I would rather have been wrong than have to prove it.” Mom’s eyes glistened as she stared at Rachel. Rachel sank to the floor, shoulders trembling. Whatever guilt had lived in Dad’s eyes vanished. “Claire, that’s enough. Rachel is already suffering. What more do you want?” “When it comes down to it, wasn’t going in there your own choice?” “For you, I had my own mother sent to prison. I accepted that.” “But you’re not exactly clean either. What gives you the right to look down on us?” Mom’s head snapped up. The hatred in her eyes could have burned them alive. The room fell silent. Rachel slowly got to her feet. “Claire, stop pushing me. I don’t want to destroy what you two have. I’ll leave!” She grabbed the little boy and rushed out of the house like a gust of wind.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202608111XMdHPWZbw 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni316013”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

After the engagement party, Ethan Caldwell brought family and friends back to the apartment to show off the smart home system I had installed. He held my hand and steered me to the middle of the living room. “From now on, you have the highest access in this house.” I laughed and said it three times. “Close the curtains.” The system didn’t respond. The guests laughed uncomfortably. Someone tried to smooth it over for me. “Her voice print probably hasn’t been registered yet, right?” Ethan’s expression shifted. He was about to end the demonstration. Then the ceiling lit up, and a woman’s voice filled every wall. “Ethan, I’m home.” The curtains slid shut on their own. The thermostat dropped to sixty-six degrees. Warm accent lighting rolled across the whole apartment. The system replied gently, “Welcome home, Vivian Shaw.” The room went silent. Vivian Shaw. The woman Ethan had lost three years ago. The one he’d never really let go of. I stood there in the light with my hands and feet turning cold. I had watched the crew install every line of this system myself, working late into the night alongside them. But it remembered that she couldn’t stand the heat, remembered she liked this exact lighting, remembered the soft lilt at the end of her voice when she called Ethan’s name. I was the one it didn’t recognize. Ethan yanked the master power cord out of the wall. “It’s just a memorial program. Don’t take it to heart,” he said, his voice rough. A second later, the darkened screen lit up again on its own. Her face. Vivian’s face. It appeared on the wall and smiled at me. “Outsider, Iris Langley. Please leave my home.” … I clutched the water glass Ethan pressed into my hand. The heat of it burned my palm red. Ethan came back to himself and moved to block the projection. I stared at his back. “Why are you standing in her way?” He turned, and something flickered across his face. “Iris. Don’t do this right now.” “I’ll delete it after everyone leaves.” I let out a small laugh. “I’m doing this?” “This is our engagement party. And your system just called me an outsider in front of every guest in the room.” Someone next to us tried to defuse it. “Come on. Smart systems glitch all the time. And you know, Vivian’s gone. It’s not really right to rush and erase things a dead person left behind.” I turned to look at whoever had said it. They shut up. Ethan took my hand, his fingers tightening around mine. “I know this hurts.” “Give me a little time. Don’t make a scene in front of everyone.” I pulled my hand free. “Which one of us is making a scene right now?” Ethan didn’t answer. He reached for my hand again. “Iris. You’re my fiancée.” The system responded tenderly, “Mistress designation error detected. Suggested address: Vivi.” The whole room fell silent. Ethan crossed to the main console and started ripping cables out. He talked as he did it. “An old recording got triggered by accident. It’s not what you think.” I set the glass down. “Ethan. Don’t bother. I’m leaving.” I walked to the entryway. The lock lit up red. “Iris Langley does not have after-hours exit privileges. Please wait for owner authorization.” I stared at the words and clenched my fingers. During the installation Ethan had said the paperwork was a hassle and let me register every verification account in my own name. And yet somehow I was the only person in this apartment without permission to leave. I pressed the door release three times. The red light never went out. Ethan came over and opened the door with his fingerprint. The lock clicked. And through the speakers came Vivian’s voice again. “Ethan. Don’t leave me.” Ethan’s hand froze on the handle. I didn’t rush him. All he had to do was pull the door open and offer to walk me out, and I would have found a reason to convince myself to stay. He looked back at the projection wall. “Tonight’s been a mess. Can you just not leave? Please.” I let go of the handle. I didn’t argue anymore. He led me to the guest room. There was a bottle of pillow spray on the nightstand. There was a name on the label. Vivian. I picked it up and dropped it into the trash. Ethan came in, bent down, and fished it back out. “They don’t sell this scent anymore,” he said. I asked, “Is everything of Vivian’s more important than me?” He paused. Then he came over and put his arms around me. His voice went low. “No. The person I’m marrying is you.” I closed my eyes. But the bottle was still in his hand. Sometime in the middle of the night, the guest room lights came on by themselves. The system announced softly, “Please practice Vivian’s goodnight recording, Iris.”

I didn’t sleep. At sunrise I sat down in the living room and opened the system’s admin panel. The login page showed my email. But it refused me management rights. I opened the household member list. Ethan. Ethan’s mother. A grayed-out profile for Vivian. And Vivian’s mother, Linda Hayes. My name was at the bottom. My status wasn’t fiancée. It wasn’t family member either. It was “adaptation subject.” Ethan came out with breakfast. There were lilies of the valley on the dining table. I sat down, and my throat immediately started to itch. He got up to move the flowers. The system chimed in. “Lily of the valley was Vivian’s favorite. Retention recommended during the engagement period.” Ethan’s mother frowned. “Iris. Bear with it. It’s just flowers.” I looked at Ethan. He stood there holding the vase, unmoving. Finally, he said, “I’ll have someone put them a little further away.” The system continued. “Vivian’s breakfast preferences do not match. Please correct Iris’s selection.” I looked at him. “Did you hear what it just said?” He reached over and switched off the speaker. “Ignore it.” “Muting the speaker doesn’t delete the program.” His hand stopped on the switch. “There’s too much going on before the wedding.” “Once the wedding is over, I’ll wipe the system.” “Why does every single thing have to wait until after the wedding?” He didn’t answer. The doorbell rang. I opened the door. My mother stood outside holding a paper bag. She had just been discharged from the hospital. She had to brace herself against the doorframe to stay upright. She still smiled and held the bag out to me. “I finished your scarf. I was worried you’d be cold at the wedding.” I reached out to help her inside. The lock flashed red. “Temporary visitor. Please wait for owner authorization.” Mom’s hand froze on the bag. “It’s fine. High-tech things, you know.” I looked back at Ethan. He came over and cleared her. “Mrs. Langley. The system’s been acting up. Please don’t take it personally.” She waved him off. “Not at all.” The moment she stepped inside, Vivian’s voice came over the speakers. “Mom. You’re here.” A profile card popped up on the wall. Linda Hayes. Family. Permanent access. Mom sat down. The system chimed again. “Temporary visitor access remaining: nine minutes, fifty-eight seconds.” Her fingers tightened on the paper bag. She didn’t open it. Instead she took the scarf out and held it out to me. “The color might be a little plain. If you don’t like it, I can knit you a new one.” I took the scarf and pressed it against my chest. “I love it.” I turned to Ethan. “Why is my mother a temporary visitor while Vivian’s mother is permanent family?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Those permissions are old. I never noticed.” “You never noticed. And me? I’m listed as an adaptation subject. Did you never notice that either?” Ethan pressed his lips together. “Iris. Not in front of your mother.” I gave a thin smile. “So I’m the one being unreasonable again.” Mom pulled at my sleeve. “Iris, don’t fight. Cool off and talk about it later.” I wanted to walk out. But she had just gotten out of the hospital. The wedding invitations had already gone out. I needed to know. Was this a glitch? Or was Ethan doing it on purpose? The door closed. The system scanned the scarf in my hand. “Does not match Vivian’s color palette. Replacement recommended.” I grabbed a decorative piece off a nearby shelf and hurled it at the sensor. Ethan heard the crash and rushed in, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Iris. Don’t.” I tried to pry his arms off. I couldn’t. “It said my mother’s work doesn’t belong here.” He tightened his hold. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll have the scarf put away safely. Okay?” I stopped struggling. My phone lit up. A new reminder had appeared on my calendar. 【Day Three. Complete family relationship adaptation.】

The monitoring dashboard was covered in red flags. I started pulling the device logs. I didn’t bring it up with Ethan again. Asking him just meant hearing “I’ll deal with it.” I sat on the floor of the guest room and logged in with the engineering account I’d kept from installation. Following the log trail, I opened Vivian’s old data records. There was no clinginess in them. No performing for anyone. Just late nights refining project proposals, and clear, level-voiced messages telling Ethan to stop interfering with her work. She had been independent. Proud. And in death she had been trapped inside a system that called itself love. It was pathetic and it was cruel. The system was recording me every single day. The bedroom. The kitchen. The bathroom door. The fitting mirror. The entryway. Every clip came tagged. Tone deviation. Intonation deviation. Emotional deviation. I opened one. It was from six months ago, when I had the flu. I remembered that night. Ethan had sat by the bed coaxing me to take my medicine. I had said his name. “Ethan. I feel awful.” He had lifted me up and said, “I’m here.” I had always thought that moment belonged only to us. But now the recording had been sliced into fragments. Beside each one was a tag. Correctable material. The handle turned. Ethan stood in the doorway, eyes on my screen. I asked, “When I was sick, why were you recording this?” He came in. “I just wanted to keep the moments when you needed me.” “Then why did you have to break my voice apart?” He didn’t answer. He crouched down and reached for my hand. I moved my hand away and kept scrolling. I opened the system photo album. Every picture of me and Ethan was split into two versions. Original and Enhanced. In the enhanced version, the corner of my mouth had been lifted. My hair color and eye makeup had been altered. Below it read, “Similarity to Vivian increased by twelve percent.” I remembered this photo. Ethan had looked at the enhanced version and said, “This is my favorite picture of you.” I turned the phone toward him. “Was it me you loved, or the version of me edited into her?” He gripped the phone. His knuckles went white. “I didn’t know the photos were being altered.” “There’s a lot you don’t know.” That afternoon, the bridal shop called about my fitting. Ethan took my hand. “I’ll go with you.” At the shop, the stylist brought out a gown that wasn’t the one I’d chosen. I stopped in front of it. A high-necked dress. “This isn’t the one I picked.” The stylist glanced at her clipboard, then at Ethan. “Mr. Caldwell confirmed this design last night. This cut suits a bride with short hair better.” The one with short hair wasn’t me. It was Vivian. I turned to Ethan. “I didn’t confirm anything. Maybe the account sent it automatically.” I didn’t say anything. I walked closer to the gown, and realized the high neck would cover the mole on my collarbone. Ethan’s phone lit up on its own. 【Distinguishing feature suppression complete.】 I let out a bitter laugh, turned around, and went back to the fitting room to change into my own clothes. Ethan followed me to the door. “Since we’re already here with this one, could you just keep it?” I stopped. “This is your choice. Not mine.” His lips moved. He tried again. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t want to make things complicated for the staff.” “Every time something happens, you’re worried about inconveniencing other people. Somehow you’re never worried about upsetting me.” He looked down. He took off his coat and put it around my shoulders. “I’ll order a new one. Whatever style you want, I’ll pick it with you.” I didn’t push his coat off. I didn’t look up either. “Ethan. Which time you said you’d handle something did you actually handle it clean?” His phone lit up again. A notification. 【Complete Iris voice recheck tonight.】 I saw it. He saw it too. He killed the screen. I laughed once. “See? It’s more honest than you are.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260811BdJQW5lYTW 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni321152”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

The night of the World Cup opener, I finally made it back home just before midnight. But when I pushed the front door open, I saw my boyfriend and his childhood best friend had already set up the projector. Ashley was wearing Andrew’s jersey—the authentic, autographed Lionel Messi one that I wasn’t even allowed to touch. There was no room left on the two-seater sofa. The plates of spicy buffalo wings and sweat-beaded bottles of cold beer on the coffee table were a quiet reminder of where I stood. In this three-person dynamic, I was the intruder. My stomach couldn’t handle spicy food or ice-cold drinks; Andrew and Ashley lived for them. I didn’t really understand soccer; they worshiped the exact same teams. Like countless times before, they naturally hadn’t thought to invite me to join. I turned to head back to my room when Andrew called out, “Hazel, turn off the light on your way.” I froze for a second. “Sure.” “Aren’t you going to invite Hazel to join us?” Ashley asked, her voice light. “She doesn’t do spicy food, and she doesn’t get soccer anyway,” Andrew replied, his deep voice carrying clearly through the room. “No need to force her.” His words rang in my ears like a heavy bell, waking me up. The things I couldn’t stomach, the spaces I didn’t fit into… from now on, I wouldn’t force myself to swallow them anymore. … I walked toward the bedroom in the dim, flickering glow of the projector. Despite being careful, I stubbed my toe hard against the doorframe. My sharp gasp of pain was instantly swallowed by a sudden roar of cheers from the living room. I tilted my head back, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from spilling over. I finally made it into the bedroom, turned on the light, and pulled out my phone. It took a moment for my eyes to clear before I could message my manager. “Hey, I’d like to cancel my time-off request for this week.” The reply came almost instantly. “You worked a whole month of overtime just to get those two days off. Why are you canceling?” “Plans changed. I’ll save the days for next time.” June was our firm’s peak season. Requesting even a couple of days off required a month’s notice and grueling overtime to cover the hours. To watch the World Cup opener with Andrew, I had submitted my request back in early May, pulling late nights for weeks. I had spent my evenings cramming soccer rules, studying his favorite teams, and watching re-runs of past matches. But he already had someone to watch with. He didn’t need me to force myself. Just a few days ago, while organizing our closet, I had found his prized Messi jersey. I couldn’t resist taking it out to admire it, only for Andrew to snap at me, “Don’t touch that! You’ll get it dirty.” And now, Ashley was wearing that very jersey while eating greasy buffalo wings. I took the notebook filled with handwritten soccer facts from my nightstand, shoved it deep into a drawer, and turned off the light. From the living room, Andrew and Ashley’s laughter and cheers drifted in, causing the sound-activated nightstand lamp to flicker on and off. Andrew had insisted on installing this lamp two years ago. I had teased him back then, saying nobody put sound-activated lights in a bedroom. He had pulled me close, tender and warm: “You have night blindness, and you’re a light sleeper. I don’t want you waking up in pitch black and feeling scared.” I had teased him, “But what about your snoring?” He had seriously pulled out a box of anti-snoring strips. “I’ll wear these. I won’t snore.” Now, the lamp, triggered by the living room cheers, illuminated the dusty box of strips on his side of the nightstand. It felt incredibly blinding. I put in my earbuds and pulled the blanket over my head, but the light still flickered on every few minutes. 1:00 AM, 3:00 AM, 5:00 AM… By the time the morning sun hit Andrew’s pillow, the chatter in the living room still hadn’t stopped. I got up to wash my face, caking layer after layer of concealer under my eyes. But the face in the mirror still looked hollow and exhausted. The bedroom door swung open, and Andrew wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Hazel, can you drop Ashley off on your way to work?” She lived on the West Side. My office was on the East Side. He called this “on the way.” Suppressing the heavy smell of alcohol on him, I asked, “Done watching?” “Yeah, going to catch up on sleep today and do it all over again tonight.” He yawned, his stale breath suffocating me. I pushed him away, my voice flat. “You guys kept me up all night.” He blinked, cupping my face to look closer. “Yeah, you do have some dark circles.” Then he hugged me again. “My bad, babe. The game was just too exciting. I forgot you’re a light sleeper.” “When did you start forgetting?” I walked into the living room to find a total disaster. Crumpled napkins, empty beer cans, and greasy takeout boxes were scattered everywhere, with sticky sauce dripped all over the table. Ashley looked at me with sheepish eyes. “Hazel, sorry about the mess. Why don’t you head to work, and I’ll clean this up before I leave?” “No, let Hazel drive you home first,” Andrew said protectively, looking at her with warm concern. “You’ve been up all night. Don’t push yourself too hard.” I hadn’t slept a wink either, and now I was expected to drive his childhood friend all the way to the West Side before starting my own workday. My dry eyes ached with a sharp, burning pain. I navigated the morning traffic to drop Ashley off. In the backseat, she lay sprawled out, smelling of stale beer, with several dark grease stains clearly visible on the prized jersey. I pulled my gaze away and forced myself to focus on the road. As she got out, Ashley suddenly turned back. “By the way, Hazel, Andy and I are heading up to Lake Tahoe next week to beat the heat. Are you coming?” Seeing my blank expression, she gave an awkward smile. “Oh, did Andy not tell you?” “Well, the food up there is mostly heavy, rustic barbecue and chili. Andy probably figured you wouldn’t enjoy it, so he didn’t want to pressure you.” Of all the getaways in the country, they had to choose one defined by food I couldn’t eat. Was he worried I wouldn’t have fun, or was he just worried I’d show up? I forced a tight smile. “I’m not going.” An uninvited guest shouldn’t go, and frankly, doesn’t want to. At the office, a coworker handed me a warm coffee. “You look exhausted. Fight with the boyfriend?” “No.” We barely even spoke anymore. How could we fight? Across the room, a young intern sighed, rubbing her cheeks. “Men are so exhausting. I stop replying to his texts, and he still won’t leave me alone.” I smiled weakly at her frustration. “Maybe he just wants a clear answer.” “Everyone has their phone glued to their hand these days,” she grumbled. “If I don’t reply, isn’t that answer clear enough?” I looked down at my phone. My pinned chat with Andrew had been quiet for three days. My last text was asking him what he wanted for dinner. He never replied. Yet, at that exact same hour, Ashley had posted a photo on Instagram asking which of two dresses she should wear to dinner. Andrew had commented within seconds: “The one on the left suits you better.” My smile froze. I guess silence really is an answer. A sip of hot coffee burned its way down my throat, settling in my stomach like a dull ache. When I got home that evening, the apartment was pitch black. I groped around to find the light switch. The mess from this morning was still exactly where it was. Andrew didn’t let Ashley clean it, but he had no problem leaving the disaster for me. Leaning against the front door, I dialed his number. It rang a dozen times before he finally picked up. “Hazel? You off work? I didn’t want to wake you up at home, so I took Ashley out to a sports bar to catch the match.” The background was deafening. Before I could speak, another roar of cheers erupted. “Hello? Andrew!” He didn’t reply. The line remained open, filled with the loud chatter of a crowded bar. He must have forgotten to lock his screen. Just as I was about to hang up, I heard a male voice near his mic. “Hey Andy, is Hazel off work? Why don’t you tell her to come meet us?” “Nah, she’s too high-maintenance,” Andrew’s voice cut through, laced with irritation and exhaustion. “She can’t eat this, can’t drink that. It ruins the vibe for everyone. It’s just too much of a hassle.” I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and ended the call. Three years ago, to help his startup secure its first round of funding, I—a complete lightweight—drank an entire bottle of hard liquor to appease an investor. I spent the night huddled over the toilet throwing up blood, and by the time I was rushed to the ER, I had a perforated ulcer. During my two-hour emergency surgery, Andrew sobbed outside the operating room the entire time. When I woke up, his eyes were swollen like cherries. He squeezed my hand gently, whispering, “Hazel, I promise I’ll take care of your stomach. I’ll never let you hurt like this again.” For a long time after that, no matter how busy he was, he made sure to cook gentle meals for me. But “a long time” was temporary. Eventually, he started telling me to just order takeout. Then, he stopped asking if I had eaten at all. And now, I was “high-maintenance.” I was a “hassle.” Suppressing the wave of nausea in my chest, I cleaned up the sticky mess on the coffee table. I made myself a simple bowl of plain oatmeal, finishing it by midnight. After staring at my screen for a long time, I finally text him: “When are you coming home?” The text sank like a stone. By 2:00 AM, there was still no reply. I scrolled up through our chat history. It was mostly me reaching out, met with brief, one-word replies—or complete silence. I exited the chat, opened my email drafts, and pulled up my transfer request. My finger hovered over the send button for a few seconds. Then, I tapped it. The next evening, Andrew pulled up to pick me up from work. “Sorry about yesterday, Hazel. It was too loud, I didn’t see your text.” “Okay.” He looked surprised by my coldness, but quickly forced a smile. “Come on, I’m taking you to Jade Garden.” Jade Garden was the Cantonese spot we used to love. The mild, savory flavors were perfect for my stomach. But for the past year, I had only ever eaten there alone. At the restaurant, he requested a private booth. “I’ve been so busy lately and haven’t taken you out. Let me make it up to you tonight.” He ordered a massive spread of my favorite dishes, piling food onto my plate. For a brief second, it felt like years ago, back when he would order everything I liked, and I never had to worry about waste because he would gladly finish whatever I couldn’t. For one fleeting moment, I thought to myself: “Maybe we should give this one more try.” But the illusion shattered when his phone rang. “Andy! I found this amazing Szechuan joint right near Jade Garden. I ordered that spicy cumin beef you love. Hurry over!” Ashley’s voice blared clearly through the receiver. He hung up, and a text vibrated with her location. My eyes caught their chat history. It was a constant back-and-forth. The most recent message, sent thirty minutes ago, was Andrew sending her our location at Jade Garden. Even our quiet dinner together had to be reported to her. The snow peas in my mouth suddenly tasted incredibly bitter. I swallowed, choking slightly. Andrew stood up and patted my back, looking torn. I wiped the involuntary tears from my eyes, my voice raspy. “Go if you want to. The food will get cold.” He gave me a brief, apologetic hug. “I’ll just run over and check on her. I’ll be right back.” “Okay.” I didn’t beg him to stay like I used to. I didn’t cry. Though he hesitated for a second, he ultimately turned and walked out quickly. I sat alone in that private booth for two hours. He never returned. I had grown quite used to this kind of endless waiting. I called the server over and had everything packed into two large bags. This food would last me three or four days. As I reached the door, the elderly host said in his gentle, accented English, “Young lady, that is a lot of food for one person. Don’t force yourself to finish it all.” I smiled. “I won’t. Not anymore. Thank you.” I won’t force myself anymore, and I won’t force anyone else either. The next morning, Andrew finally remembered to text me. “Hey Hazel, Ashley ended up inviting a bunch of friends last night and it got late. I assume you went home early?” “Yeah.” How late was it? Late enough that he didn’t come home at all. I locked my phone and picked up my transfer approval. The company was opening a branch in Miami, and they needed experienced staff to spearhead the office. My transfer had been approved. My start date was the 3rd of next month—exactly one week away. My coworker was stunned when I told her. “Hazel, are you out of your mind? Moving to Miami means starting from absolute scratch. All the local clients you’ve built up here, your connections… your boyfriend… you’re just throwing it all away?” “I don’t want them anymore.” I had six days of accrued paid time off saved up over the last two years. Our relationship had begun with a road trip planned by our friends. It felt fitting to end it with a trip of my own. Even though I knew he already had plans with Ashley, I still sent him an invite: “Andrew, I have six days of leave. Let’s take a trip together.” This time, the reply was instant: “Hazel, I already promised Ashley I’d take her to Lake Tahoe. I don’t have enough vacation days left. Next year, okay? Next year, we’ll go wherever you want.” He had ten days of paid leave. Four were spent on the World Cup, six were reserved for Ashley. I was left with “next year.” But ever since Ashley returned to the country, I had heard “next year” at least a dozen times. And this time, I really didn’t want to wait anymore. On the kitchen calendar, June 28th was circled in red marker. It was our anniversary. Every year when Andrew bought a new calendar, he circled that date first. He always said he was terrified of forgetting it. But despite that bright red circle, he forgot. I didn’t receive a gift, or even a call. Just a text: “Boarding my flight now. Text me if you need anything.” Then Ashley’s contact popped up on my feed. “Don’t worry, Hazel! I’ll take good care of Andy.” Attached was a photo of Andrew sleeping soundly, his head resting gently on her shoulder, a soft smile playing on his lips. Andrew always insisted she was just like a little sister to him. But I refuse to believe he was blind to how possessive she was of him. He simply chose to allow it. I took a flight to Miami. In this unfamiliar, sun-drenched city, I spent my days rushing between corporate buildings and rental properties, eventually securing our office lease and finding a small apartment for myself. My boss told me to relax and enjoy my time off, but I knew myself. I couldn’t let my mind wander. Right now, being busy was my only shield. Strangely, Andrew started checking in constantly. He sent a selfie of them standing by a waterfall in Tahoe. “It gets freezing here in the mornings and evenings, Hazel. Good thing you didn’t come, you definitely wouldn’t have tolerated the cold.” In the photo, the girl leaning into his chest was wearing his jacket, her face glowing with happiness. He sent a photo of their dinner—a table covered in heavy, spicy dishes. “So good. Too bad you can’t eat spicy food.” Yes, it was a shame. A shame that for your sake, I never cherished myself. On the day I returned to prepare for my move, he texted me a photo of a delicate beaded bracelet. “I’m so sorry, Hazel. I just realized I missed our anniversary last week. Here’s a little something to make up for it.” I had already seen that bracelet on Ashley’s social media. It was a free souvenir given out to visitors who completed a small prayer walk at a chapel in Tahoe. I had also seen her post about their trip—watching the sunset over the lake, walking along the docks, hiking the falls. Ashley had posted a perfect nine-photo grid. The center photo was a screenshot of a shared digital bucket list with checkmarks next to almost every item. Her caption read: “Finished our yearly bucket list six months ahead of schedule with my favorite person. Thanks for always keeping your promises. Here’s to us.” The first item on that list was “try 30 new restaurants.” The second was “travel to a new city together.” The third was “fulfill one big wish for each other.” There were twenty items in total, and they had completed them all. The lock screen on my phone with Andrew was also a bucket list. It had only six items. We wrote it three years ago, and we hadn’t even finished half of them. How ironic that back then, he had proudly set his background to that exact same list. I wonder if he ever thought about our unfinished list while he was crossing off items on Ashley’s. But it didn’t matter anymore. I walked into my dark apartment late at night. The motion-sensor nightlight in the entryway had broken months ago, and Andrew had never bothered to fix it. I could tell myself I was no longer afraid of the dark, but I couldn’t change the fact that my eyes struggled to adjust to the pitch black. Ficking on the lights, I packed my clothes and came across the anniversary gift I had bought for him. I took a photo of the authentic, autographed Lionel Messi soccer ball and listed it on eBay. I had gone to great lengths and paid a hefty premium to secure it for him. It was a shame about the custom-engraved leather shin guards I had made for him; because they had his name on them, I couldn’t resell them. I swept them into a trash bag and threw them down the chute. Taking one last look at the place we spent years building together, I opened my chat with Andrew. I focused on keeping my fingers steady as I typed: “Andrew, we don’t share the same tastes, we don’t share the same interests, and we shouldn’t force this anymore.” “Let’s end it.” As the flight attendant’s soothing voice echoed through the cabin, his name flashed across my screen. A second later, the screen went dark. I turned off my phone. The plane took off.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537533”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve always been my brother’s biggest fan. Since we were kids, my favorite thing in the world was taking care of him—bringing him coffee, carrying his gym bag, picking up his takeout. I did it all with a smile. When Charlie got into Columbia, I practically killed myself academically, skipping a grade just so I could catch up and get in too. On move-in day, Charlie showed up at the dorms with a literal entourage of six security guards. While our roommates were practically kissing the ground he walked on, calling him a legend, I was quietly tucking in the hospital corners of his fitted sheet. Only Devin watched me with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t look like his roommate,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “You look like his personal valet.” I just smiled and kept tucking. Later that afternoon, Charlie casually unclasped his brand-new Patek Philippe and tossed it onto my mattress. “This face is too small for me anyway. It’s more your style. Keep it.” As I caught it, smiling, I noticed Devin staring from the doorway. A few weeks later, Charlie flew to Paris for the weekend, leaving just Devin and me in the dorm. “Hey, Troy,” Devin said, not looking up from his laptop. “Do you have any idea what people call you behind your back?” “Charlie Chapman’s lapdog.” The next morning, my girlfriend, Gina—the campus sweetheart everyone swore was out of my league—asked to meet me at the running track. Devin was already standing beside her, his eyes suspiciously red, looking small and fragile. The moment she saw me, her face hardened into a scowl. “Troy, can you seriously have some self-respect for once?” “You let him treat you like a servant just because he throws an expensive watch your way?” “Devin comes from nothing, and even he has more backbone than you.” Devin tugged gently at her sleeve, his voice barely a whisper. “Gina, please don’t say that. I’m not worth you getting upset over.” I looked at their hands, fingers intertwined, and a laugh bubbled up in my throat. Seriously? Did absolutely no one realize that Charlie and I have the exact same last name? … I rolled my wrist, letting out a soft laugh. “You’ve been holding that in for a while, haven’t you, Devin?” I said. “What’s the matter? Did you want the watch too? Too bad you could never afford it.” Devin’s face instantly flushed crimson. His lips trembled, and he took a half-step back as if struck. Gina’s brow furrowed into a tight knot, and she immediately stepped forward, shielding Devin with her body. The disappointment in her voice was palpable. “Troy! I had no idea you were this kind of person.” I tilted my head. “What kind of person is that?” She paused, letting every word land. “Since when did you become so incredibly arrogant? Devin doesn’t have the kind of money you do, and you’re using luxury items to mock him? Have you lost your mind?” She looked at me with pure disgust. I froze. Arrogant? Suddenly, a memory flashed through my mind—a year ago, when Gina had stopped me outside the library. The summer sun had caught her hair, her smile radiant and warm. “Troy, you’re the brightest, most genuine guy I’ve ever met. You’re like sunshine,” she’d said, her ears turning a deep, blushing pink. “Will you be my boyfriend? I want to see you smile like that every day.” I guess when the love fades, “sunny” becomes “arrogant,” and “warmth” is just blinding. My chest tightened, a dull, aching throb pulsing through me. Devin tugged at Gina’s sleeve again, looking like a martyr. His voice was soft, tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to spill over. “Gina, please don’t blame Troy. It’s my fault. I only asked you to talk to him because I didn’t want him to be Charlie’s… well, you know.” He bit his lower lip, playing the part of the wounded soul perfectly. “But he wouldn’t listen. He just used his money to humiliate me.” His voice grew fainter, his eyes red like a frightened rabbit’s. Gina’s expression softened into deep, protective pity. The commotion had started to draw a crowd. Students on their way to class began circling us, whispering. Some recognized the Patek Philippe on my wrist; others recognized Devin. “Isn’t that Charlie Chapman’s shadow? Where did he get a Patek?” “Please, the master gave the servant a little treat, and now the dog thinks he’s royalty.” “Keep it down. You have to respect the owner before you kick the dog.” “Hahaha, his owner is in Europe. Right now, he’s just a stray.” Their words drifted over, perfectly pitched to ensure I heard every syllable. Some covered their mouths, snickering. Others looked me up and down like I was some cheap knockoff on display. And Gina just stood there. She listened to every cruel word, and she didn’t offer a single word of defense. Her eyes held the exact same cold contempt as the rest of them. Devin buried his face slightly behind Gina’s arm, his shoulders shaking. But I saw it. Just for a fraction of a second, the corner of his mouth curved upward. I wanted to laugh. A Patek Philippe? I had a drawer full of them back home. I just hated the attention, so I never talked about my family. But because of that, everyone assumed I was my brother’s lapdog. Charlie had only insisted on sharing a dorm with me because he worried about me and wanted to look out for his younger brother. I took a deep breath, steadying my voice. “I’ll wear whatever watch I want,” I said, looking around the circle. “What does that have to do with any of you?” But that seemed to push Devin over the edge. He suddenly raised his voice, his posture stiffening. “Troy, who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” His eyes were brimming with tears, but he kept his chin high, playing the defiant underdog. “Yes, I’m poor! My family has nothing, and I’ve never owned a luxury watch in my life! But you? You couldn’t afford any of this either without selling your dignity. What right do you have to show off in front of me?” The crowd’s gaze sharpened, pinning me in place. I was so angry I nearly laughed out loud. I hadn’t even started on him, and yet his fragile ego was already shattered. I took a step closer, looking down at him. “Devin, which of your eyes saw that I couldn’t afford this?” Before Devin could respond, Gina let out a cold, sharp laugh. Her face was a mask of utter impatience. “Troy, stop pretending,” she said, her voice dripping with exhaustion. “Maybe the rest of the school doesn’t know your situation, but do you think you can lie to me? You wear the same three faded hoodies every week. You order the cheapest combo at the diner. Last month, you spent twenty minutes calculating how to save five dollars on your phone bill. Devin is at least honest about who he is. What do you actually have?” She gestured vaguely at me, her disappointment turning to mockery. “Even if you wore a real designer bag, it would look like a fake on you. You’re using someone else’s charity to humiliate Devin. Don’t you feel any shame?” A low wave of chuckles rippled through the crowd. I felt a sharp, twisting pain in my chest. Last month had been Gina’s birthday. I remembered her forwarding me a post of a Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet a friend’s boyfriend had bought, accompanied by a wistful emoji. I wanted to give her something beautiful. But I wanted it to come from my own hard work, not my father’s checkbook. So, I took a job at a boba shop near campus. I stood for eight hours a day until my feet were too swollen to fit into my shoes. I tutored high school students, spending two hours on a hot, cramped bus each way, talking until my voice was raspy. I had finally saved enough to buy it for her. But on the day she opened it, she barely glanced at the bracelet before rushing out to go shopping with her friends. She probably didn’t even remember. I took a slow, deep breath, pushing the bitterness down into the pit of my stomach. “Are you done?” I asked, staring directly into Gina’s eyes. “Whether I can afford it or not is my business. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. Excuse me.” I turned to walk away. The crowd parted instinctively, giving me space. But I had only taken two steps when Gina’s voice flared up behind me, sharp and venomous. “Troy, stop right there!” She rushed forward, her heels clicking against the pavement, and grabbed my arm. “Devin was only trying to look out for you. If you don’t want to hear it, fine, but who gave you the right to walk away like this?” I ripped my arm out of her grip. Her anger boiled over. “You are going to apologize to Devin right now, and then you’re going to give that watch back to Charlie.” Give it back? It belonged to my family. Who exactly was I supposed to give it back to? Without a word, I turned and kept walking. Behind me, Gina’s voice pitched higher, cracking with humiliation. “Troy! If you walk away today, we are done!” The whispers in the crowd died down instantly. Everyone was waiting for me to turn around, to beg for her forgiveness. My feet paused for a fraction of a second. Then, without looking back, I took another step forward. When I got back to the dorm, I pulled my laundry bin out from under my bed. Charlie was coming back the day after tomorrow, and his sheets needed to be washed. I stripped his bed, threw the linens into the bin, poured in the detergent, and knelt on the bathroom floor to scrub them. The cool suds ran over the backs of my hands. The bathroom door creaked open. Devin walked in, carrying a bundle of dark sheets. When he saw me scrubbing on the floor, a smug little smile played on his lips. He took a few steps, stopped directly in front of me, and let the sheets fall straight into my soapy water. Dirty water splashed across my face. I looked down. A massive, greasy patch of vomit was smeared across his sheets, sticking directly to my brother’s clean laundry. I snapped my head up. “What do you think you’re doing?” Devin crossed his arms, tilting his chin up. “My stomach hurts, and I threw up. I don’t have the energy to wash this.” He smirked. “Since you’re already doing laundry, do mine too. You’re so good at serving people anyway, aren’t you? We’re roommates, Troy. You shouldn’t play favorites.” His eyes glinted with triumph. I slowly stood up, wiping the soap from my hands onto my apron. I looked down at the disgusting mess in the tub. Reaching down, I grabbed the clean edge of his sheets, pulled them out of the water, and shoved the soaking, heavy mass directly into his chest. “Wash your own garbage.” I knelt back down and went back to scrubbing Charlie’s sheets. The wet, dirty fabric soaked through Devin’s shirt. He stood frozen for a second, stunned. Then, his voice exploded. “Troy! What is your problem? I literally just told you I’m sick! Can’t you have some basic empathy?” I ignored him. Our other roommates, who had just walked in, spoke up: “Devin, you have a stomach ache, not broken arms. How hard is it to wash a sheet? Troy isn’t your maid.” “Seriously, man. Why should he wash your mess?” Devin’s face flushed a blotchy, angry red. He bit his lip, tears springing to his eyes. He threw the sheets violently into his own basket and slammed his way out of the room. The door rattled on its hinges. About twenty minutes later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from an unknown number. “Troy, do you have to be such a bully?” “Would it have killed you to help him? He’s so sick he’s throwing up, and you just don’t care?” “He’s crying out on the campus green right now. How can you sit there with a clean conscience?” Another buzz. “I never realized you were this cold-blooded.” “You won’t even help with a small favor like this. I’m so incredibly disappointed in you.” I stared at the screen and let out a dry laugh. I tapped the notification and typed out a reply. “If you want to wash his vomit-stained sheets so badly, go right ahead. Lick them clean for all I care.” “And by the way, we’re broken up. You don’t have the right to be disappointed in me.” I hit send. Then I opened my contacts and blocked the number. The screen went dark. I went back to scrubbing the laundry. The next morning, I was jolted awake by my phone buzzing repeatedly. Groggily, I unlocked it to find a dozen messages from one of my roommates, topped by a link. The headline read: “Exposed! The True Identity of Columbia’s High-Society Lackey: Is Charlie Chapman’s shadow actually a fraud?” I was instantly awake. I clicked the link. The post had been uploaded to the university forum at three in the morning. “Everyone remembers Troy, right? The guy who clings to Charlie Chapman’s shadow and was literally tucking in his bedsheets on day one?” “You all thought they were roommates? Too naive.” “His father is actually a driver for the Chapman family. In other words, he’s a servant.” “So he really is just the Chapmans’ dog. The truth finally comes out~” The post went on to list my various “crimes” since the semester started. “This guy only cares about sucking up to the rich and looks down on the rest of us from normal backgrounds. Honestly, sharing a classroom with someone this pathetic makes me sick.” At the very bottom, an anonymous comment had been pinned: “I’m his roommate. He never speaks to any of us in the dorm because he thinks we’re beneath him. With the great Charlie Chapman backing him, why would he care about us?” The tone, the phrasing—I could recognize his writing anywhere. The post was already trending, with hundreds of comments piling up. “No wonder he was so eager to serve. I guess he’s been trained to do it since he was a kid.” “People like him are the worst. Imagine being a servant and still acting superior.” “I heard he was dating Gina. How did she ever end up with a loser like him?” Someone had tagged Gina’s account. I clicked on her profile and saw her reply. “We broke up. Thank god.” “He was always the one clinging to me.” The reply had dozens of likes, with people praising her for “dodging a bullet.” Clinging to her? I guess she had completely forgotten how she used to wait outside my lectures for hours just to get my attention. I turned off the phone and sat on the edge of my bed, staring out at the grey, overcast morning. Before I could even process it, my advisor’s assistant called: “Troy, Ms. Weaver wants to see you in her office immediately.” Ms. Weaver pushed a stack of papers across her desk. They were printed pages of the forum post, with several comments highlighted in bright yellow ink. She frowned, tapping her pen against the desk. “The entire department is talking about this, Troy.” “Boasting about wealth, mistreating students from lower-income backgrounds… this is reflecting very poorly on the university. The dean’s office is already asking questions.” “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to write a formal apology to Devin, and we’ll put this behind us.” I let the word settle on my tongue. “An apology?” “He threw vomit-stained sheets into my laundry bin, posted lies on the school forum claiming my father is a servant, and incited a campus-wide harassment campaign against me.” “And you want “me” to apologize to “him”?” Ms. Weaver’s face darkened. “With that attitude, are you trying to make this worse?” I stood up, my chair scraping sharply against the linoleum floor. “Ms. Weaver, you don’t need to worry about this.” “My parents will be back in the city tomorrow. You can discuss it with them directly.” Ms. Weaver’s frown deepened. “Then bring them in!” “I’d love to see what kind of parents raise a child to be this entitled!” I looked her dead in the eye, keeping my voice perfectly calm. “Charles Chapman. Ms. Weaver, would you like me to dial his number for you?” The pen slipped from Ms. Weaver’s fingers, clattering onto the desk. Her lips parted, and she hurriedly scrambled to open the university registry on her computer, scrolling until she hit the name. Her face turned from a flush of anger to a pale, stony white, before settling into an expression of utter horror.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537549”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My mother was trapped in the center of a horrific multi-car pileup on the interstate, her body crushed beneath twisted metal, hovering between life and death. In a blind panic, I immediately called my husband, Derek, the chief of surgery at the city’s top hospital. He refused to help, his voice dripping with cold indifference. “We agreed to go fifty-fifty when we got married. Your parents are your responsibility.” “If you couldn’t handle the prenuptial agreement, you shouldn’t have signed it.” Desperate, I turned to my best friend, Christine, a prominent cardiologist at the same hospital. She gave me a strained, evasive excuse. “It’s not that I don’t want to save your mom, Ashley.” “I’m in the middle of saving a life right now. I literally can’t step away.” In my frantic state, my finger accidentally swiped open her Instagram feed. Her latest post had been uploaded just minutes ago. It was a picture of her and Derek standing side-by-side, operating on a stray dog. The caption read: “Thanks to our big-hearted chief of surgery for personally performing this procedure. Another innocent life saved.” Swallowing the bitter taste of betrayal, I could only fall to my knees in the emergency bay, begging the paramedics to prioritize my mother. But with so many casualties arriving at once, the delay was fatal. By the time my mother finally reached an operating room, she had slipped into a deep coma. Faced with the staggering medical bills, I had nowhere else to turn. I sent Derek a text, my hands shaking. “I just need $50,000. Please. Consider it a loan. It’s the only way to save my mom’s life.” The message went unanswered, vanishing into a black hole of silence. Moments later, I overheard two passing nurses gossiping, their voices tinged with envy as they talked about Christine. “Did you see? Dr. Collins just bought Dr. Christine another designer bag. Easily worth ten grand.” “Well, his family practically owns the hospital board. Money is the last thing he’s short on.” I stood there, frozen, staring at their retreating backs. I couldn’t wrap my mind around what I had just heard. So Derek—the man who had always claimed we had to struggle independently, the man who insisted on strict financial boundaries—wasn’t broke. He just didn’t want to waste his money on someone he deemed worthless. As I collapsed onto the cold hospital floor, shivering with absolute despair, a deep, resonant voice sounded right beside my ear. “Do you need the money?” “I’ll give you the fifty thousand. But you have to come with me.” … The man standing before me had sharp, striking features. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, radiating an effortless authority that demanded attention. He slipped a sleek black business card into my trembling hand. I stared at the name on the card, waging a long, silent war with myself. In the end, my pride—or what was left of it—won out. I handed it back to him and shook my head. Mustering what little strength I had left, I dragged myself back to the billing window. I emptied my bank account, depositing every single cent I owned. Exactly five thousand, six hundred and seventy-one dollars and ten cents. The clerk looked at the receipt, then gave me a look of deep, sorrowful pity. “We’ll begin the emergency surgery for your mother, but this won’t cover the subsequent ICU care. Not even close.” I kept my spine perfectly straight, though I felt like I was breaking inside. “I’ll find a way,” I whispered. “Please, just save her.” I waited outside the operating room. When the red light finally flickered off and the surgeon stepped out to tell me she was stable for now, the sheer tension holding me together snapped. I slumped against the wall, cold sweat drenching my clothes. It was only then that Derek’s reply finally popped up on my screen. “So you only think of me when you need cash?” “If you had worked half as hard as Christine back in high school, you wouldn’t still be scraping by on a nurse’s assistant salary.” “I insist on our fifty-fifty arrangement to build your character, Ashley. To give you some ambition.” My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles turned white. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. How could he say I hadn’t worked hard? Back in high school, when I had brought him complex math problems, hoping he would explain them to me, he had been too busy drafting study guides for Christine. When they both received their acceptance letters to the prestigious medical school, I pushed myself to the absolute limit just to stay in their orbit, enrolling in a nursing program at a nearby college. After graduation, they quickly rose to become the star surgeons of the main hospital network. I quietly took a job at a small, underfunded community clinic under their system’s umbrella. I had been running a marathon, throwing my entire soul into catching up to them. But he never saw it. His eyes were only ever on Christine, the woman running beside him at the front of the pack. My eyes burned with unshed tears. I sniffled, blinking back the dampness, only to see a notification for a twenty-dollar Venmo transfer from him. “Your mother always insisted on staying back in her small town. She refused to move here. Why would she suddenly be in a pileup in the city?” “Ashley, next time you try to hustle me, use your brain.” “Take the twenty dollars. Go buy yourself some common sense.” The twenty dollars felt like a hot iron branded straight into my chest. He had forgotten. He had entirely forgotten that my mother “had” come to the city once—right after we got married. But on our wedding night, Derek had locked her out of our apartment. “Ashley, Christine’s mom is already staying in our guest suite, and she values her privacy. She doesn’t like strangers around.” “Just book your mom a motel.” Our apartment had four bedrooms. Christine’s family occupied three of them. There wasn’t a single corner left for my mother. After that night, to spare me the embarrassment and conflict, my mother never visited again. She had only made the trip this time because she had heard through the grapevine that my morning sickness was tearing me apart. She was bringing a jar of the homemade dill pickles I loved, rushing to my side, only to be crushed in that twisted metal on the interstate. I opened the chat to explain, but before I could type a word, a text from Christine flashed across the screen. “I’m finally off shift. Do you still need help?” “As your best friend, I just wanted to remind you—in my eyes, every life is equal, whether it’s a stray or a human.” A hollow laugh caught in my throat. In high school, when Christine’s stepfather had attacked her, leaving her bleeding out, it was my mother who had ignored her own fragile health to donate blood. My mother had stayed by her bedside until Christine was safe, only to collapse from exhaustion herself. My mother had welcomed Christine into our home, nursing her back to health. And now, Christine was a world-class cardiologist. She had time to perform surgery on a stray dog, but she couldn’t spare a single minute to save the woman who had literally given blood to keep her alive. I declined the Venmo transfer from Derek. Then I typed a reply to Christine: “No need.” I locked my phone and stared at the floor, the weight of the remaining thirty thousand dollars pressing down on my chest like lead. Derek wouldn’t pay a dime. So when I saw an online listing for a temporary mascot gig at City Hall paying five hundred dollars a day, I didn’t hesitate. I signed up immediately. The next morning, suffocating inside a giant, heavy plush heart costume, handing out marriage brochures, I watched a familiar couple walk through the heavy glass doors of City Hall. It was Derek and Christine. Christine held Derek’s arm, her steps slowing as she looked around nervously. “Derek, it was bad enough that you signed that fake marriage certificate with Ashley just to appease her. Now that I’m pregnant, we’re actually getting legally married… if she ever finds out, it will destroy her.” Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulders, whispering sweet, comforting words. “It’s because of the baby that we have to do this. I’m not letting the heir to the Collins family be born a bastard.” “Besides, Ashley isn’t exactly a genius. Any kid she had would’ve struggled. That’s why I’ve been slipping birth control into her daily vitamin organizer for years.” “Once you have the baby, I’ll just draft a fake fertility report showing she can’t conceive, and convince her to adopt ours.” Inside the heavy, dark mascot suit, sweat poured down my face, freezing against my skin. I stood entirely rigid, paralyzed by the sheer horror of his words. I had always assumed they were close because of their shared profession, a mutual respect between brilliant minds. I never imagined that their connection was physical, born of betrayal and lies. Instinctively, my hand drifted down to press against my lower abdomen. I had spent the last week dreaming of the moment I would surprise him with the news of my pregnancy. I had no idea he had been actively sterilizing me behind my back. I stood there like a statue until the site coordinator shoved my shoulder. “Hey! We’re paying you five hundred bucks a day, not to stand there like a corpse. Get moving!” The sudden bark snapped me back to reality. Perhaps my clumsy, startled jump looked amusing, because it caught Christine’s attention as they walked back out. She giggled, tugging on Derek’s sleeve as she pointing at me. “Look at this mascot, Derek! Isn’t it adorable? It reminds me of how Ashley looks when she’s confused.” Derek stared directly into the mesh screen of my mask. For a terrifying second, I thought he recognized me. Then, a soft, dismissive chuckle escaped him. “This thing looks a lot smarter than Ashley.” A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision. I remembered high school. I remembered staring at a blank calculus sheet, completely lost, and Derek gently patting my head. “It’s okay to be a little slow. It’s cute.” I remembered working late nights, trying to memorize advanced pharmacology. He would turn off my desk lamp and pull me into his arms. “You have me and Christine. We’re the top surgeons in the city. You don’t need to worry about medicine.” I had thought it was love. I had thought it was protection. But it was just condescension. He had written me off a long time ago. Christine waved a bright red marriage folder in front of my face, her smile radiant. “We just tied the knot! Can we get a quick blessing for our marriage? We’ll give you a tip!” Through the clear plastic sleeve, I could see their legal certificate. Their faces were pressed together, glowing with happiness. They looked perfect. But it was the twenty-dollar bill sticking out of her purse that caught my eye. I needed every cent. I forced my jaw open, my voice muffled and deep through the thick foam of the mask. “May you grow old together. May your child bring you everything you deserve.” I snatched the tip, trying to tuck it into my costume pocket. “Wait,” Derek said suddenly, his voice tightening with suspicion. “Why does that voice sound so familiar?” He stepped closer, his tone turning cold and commanding. “Take off the headpiece.” I clutched the heavy foam neck, terror seizing my chest. “Oh, babe, I think the baby just kicked!” Christine suddenly gasped, rubbing her stomach and leaning into him. “I’m so hungry, we need to eat right now.” The distraction worked. Derek’s attention snapped back to her instantly, his eyes softening with adoration. “He’s barely a month old, sweetheart. There’s no way he’s kicking yet.” Christine arched her back slightly, pouting. “Well, that just proves he has our superior genes. He’s already ahead of the curve.” Derek pinched her nose playfully. “Or maybe his mother is just starving. Come on, let’s get you some lunch.” I watched them walk away, their fingers intertwined, leaving me gasping for air inside the suffocating costume. When I finally dragged myself back to our apartment that evening, exhausted and hollow, I was shocked to find Derek sitting on the couch. He hadn’t been home in weeks, always claiming he was pulling double shifts. As I walked through the door, his brow immediately furrowed in disgust. “What is that smell? Ashley, when was the last time you actually took a shower?” Looking at his sneering face, a tired, empty smile touched my lips. Ever since my mother went into the ICU, I had been splitting my life into three agonizing parts: my shifts at the community clinic, sitting by her bedside, and doing back-breaking odd jobs. I barely had time to sleep, let alone worry about how I smelled. My body ached in places I didn’t know could hurt. Without saying a word, I turned toward the bedroom. “Stop,” Derek called out, his voice sharp. I paused, looking back over my shoulder. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, his gaze shifting uncomfortably. “There’s a nursing opening at the main hospital. I submitted your name. You’ll start tomorrow.” “That way, you’ll be working under my roof.” I stared at him, stunned. A year ago, when I had asked him if there were any openings at his hospital, he had shut me down immediately. He had fought tooth and nail to secure Christine’s position in cardiology, but when it came to me, his excuses were endless. “Christine has actual talent, Ashley. We can’t let her waste away. But you’re just a nurse. If I bring my own wife in, people will accuse me of favoritism.” I didn’t understand why he had suddenly changed his mind. And frankly, I didn’t care anymore. “No, thank you,” I said quietly. His temper flared, his voice rising. “It pays two thousand dollars more a month than that rundown clinic of yours! I know you’ve been working yourself to the bone doing weird side gigs. Are you seriously going to turn this down?” Two thousand dollars. My mother’s face flashed in my mind—the machines, the rising cost of the ICU. My pride crumbled. “Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll take it.” He let out a breath, looking visibly relieved. “Good. I’ll take you in to sign the paperwork tomorrow morning.” The next day, my transition to the main hospital was handled with bizarre, alarming speed. Derek dropped me off at the fourth-floor nurse’s station and disappeared without a word. Before I could even log into the system, a man stormed through the double doors, his eyes bloodshot and wild with rage. Before I could react, he lunged across the counter and slapped me across the face, hard. My head slammed against the partition, my ears ringing as a high-pitched hum filled my brain. “You murderer!” the man screamed, his voice raw with grief and hatred. “You handed the surgeon the wrong scalpel! You caused my mother to bleed out on the table! You killed her!” He began grabbing everything on the desk—folders, heavy staplers, metal trays—and hurling them at me. My face was already swelling, blood dripping from a cut on my forehead. I raised my arms to shield myself, crying out in confusion. “It wasn’t me! Today is my first day—I haven’t even touched a patient!” “Don’t lie to me!” the man roared, vaulting over the desk. “Dr. Collins told me himself! He said the new nurse, Ashley, made a critical error in the prep room!” My hands fell. My eyes went wide. The realization hit me like a physical blow, freezing the blood in my veins. I stopped fighting. I let him kick me, let his fists rain down on my shoulders and chest. He kicked me squarely in the stomach, and a sharp, agonizing pain bloomed in my lower abdomen. I curled into a ball on the linoleum floor, feeling a warm, terrifying dampness begin to spread down my thighs. As darkness began to pull me under, the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. Why Derek had rushed my transfer. Why he had been so eager to get me onto the payroll. He needed a scapegoat. He needed someone to take the fall for Christine’s fatal mistake. Before I blacked out, I heard the chaotic shouting of security guards. “Get him off her! You’re going to kill her!” When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital ward burned my retinas. Derek was sitting by my bedside, a rare flicker of genuine guilt shadowing his eyes. “Ashley… I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were pregnant.” My voice was barely a whisper, dry as paper. “If you had known, would it have changed anything?” He looked away, his jaw tightening. “We can always have another baby, Ashley. But Christine’s career would be completely over if this went on her record. It was a simple, tragic mistake.” “So you murdered my child to protect her future?” His guilt quickly hardened back into irritation. “I told you, I had no idea you were pregnant—” The dam broke. Every ounce of pain, betrayal, and grief exploded out of me, and I screamed at him. “Why are you still lying to me, Derek? Why won’t you just tell me the truth?” “You never wanted a child with me! You and Christine have been sleeping together for years, and now she’s pregnant with your baby!” Derek’s expression turned utterly cold. The mask of the loving husband slipped away completely. “Fine. Since you already know, I won’t waste my breath denying it.” “It was a drunken mistake. But Christine never tried to break up our marriage, and I never planned on leaving you.” “Let’s be real, Ashley. Your genetics aren’t exactly premium. You wouldn’t want a child who struggled through life, failing at everything just like you did, would you?” A blinding rage took over. I grabbed the heavy medical monitor from the bedside table and threw it at him with everything I had left. “Get out! Get the hell out of here!” The heavy plastic casing flew through the air just as the door swung open. It struck Christine squarely in the chest. She stumbled backward, crashing heavily onto the tiled floor, her hands immediately flying to her abdomen. “My baby…” she whimpered, her face twisting in pain. Derek’s eyes flared with a murderous fury. He glared at me as if he wanted to tear me apart limb from limb. “You’ve done it now, Ashley. You better pray to God that my baby is okay.” He scooped Christine into his arms and sprinted down the hallway, leaving me alone in the quiet, sterile room, trembling and utterly empty. A moment later, my mother’s primary physician walked in, his face pale and grim. “Ashley, your mother just had a massive relapse. She needs a secondary emergency procedure immediately.” “But the automated charity care system requires a nominal processing co-pay of at least fifty dollars from your account to authorize the emergency grant. Otherwise, the system locks us out of the surgical queue.” The blood drained from my face. I had drained every single bank account. My cards were maxed. I didn’t have fifty dollars. I didn’t even have fifty cents. With trembling hands, I dialed Derek. “Derek, please… I need fifty dollars. Just fifty dollars to authorize my mom’s emergency surgery. I’m begging you!” He let out a cold, dismissive sneer. “Still playing games, Ashley? Grow up.” The line went dead. I stared at the black screen, my mind spinning into a void of pure panic. Then, a memory flashed in my mind. I reached into my bag and pulled out the sleek black business card I had rejected days ago. I dialed the number, my voice cracking as soon as a deep voice answered. “I don’t need the fifty thousand anymore. I just need fifty dollars. Please… give me fifty dollars, and I will sell myself to you.” Down in the OB-GYN wing, Derek waited anxiously as the doctors examined Christine. Once they confirmed she and the baby were perfectly fine, his mind drifted back to my desperate phone call. Fifty dollars? He let out a dry, mocking laugh. I was getting worse at lying. Who in the world didn’t have fifty dollars? But as he stepped out of the ward, he passed a couple of nurses whispering near the water cooler. “Did you hear about Ashley? That poor girl. It was her very first day on staff, and she got beaten so badly she miscarried. And now her mom is dying.” “I know. Someone said she was crying in her room, trying to beg for fifty dollars just to authorize the charity care system for her mom’s surgery. She apparently sold herself to some wealthy businessman just to get the cash.” Derek stopped dead in his tracks, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537534”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For the eleventh time, I had to call my fiancé, Wayne, to cancel our appointment at City Hall. He sighed, his voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and resignation. “What is it this time with Phoebe?” It was almost comedic, if it wasn’t so systematic. Every single time Wayne and I scheduled our marriage license appointment, Phoebe had an emergency. The first time, she had a sudden, violent bout of food poisoning that left her semi-conscious. The second time, she ate something she was allergic to and ended up in the ER in the middle of the night. I could only offer Wayne my deepest apologies, trying to soothe him. “Phoebe broke her leg and has literally no one else to look after her. I just need to stay with her for a week to help her out.” “She spent an entire semester getting bullied in high school just because she stood up for me. She’s my sister, Wayne. I can’t just abandon her.” “Please, Wayne. Just wait for me one more time. Okay?” Wayne sounded incredibly hurt, almost petulant. “Maeve, you’re really testing my patience here. This is the absolute last time. I won’t wait forever.” I finally breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the sterile wall of the hospital corridor, waiting for the nurse to finish changing Phoebe’s dressings. I idly opened Instagram. And that’s when I saw the post she had forgotten to hide from me. “Fake-sick for the eleventh time to secure my girl’s happily ever after! So glad they finally tied the knot!” The attached photo was a screenshot of a City Hall marriage license reservation. The groom’s name was Wayne. But the bride was Amber. Amber. The girl who had made my life a living hell for three years. … The phone felt like ice against my palm, the screen still glowing, but my vision went completely white. How could Wayne be marrying Amber? And Phoebe—my best friend, my protector—knew about it. She helped him. She kept me in the dark. No. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. My fingers shook so violently I could barely swipe the screen. After a two-second delay, I tapped on the post again, but it was already gone. Deleted. It was as if the news that had just shattered my world had never existed. I sat frozen in the hard plastic hospital chair, so numb I didn’t even hear Phoebe calling my name. “Maeve? Hello? Is this how you take care of a patient?” Phoebe waved her hand in front of my face, her brow furrowed in annoyance as she gestured to her heavy plaster cast. “Look at me. I’m a mess. Getting these dressings changed hurts like hell.” Instinctively, I stood up and helped her ease into her wheelchair. She glanced at the phone still clutched in my white-knuckled grip. “What are you staring at? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” My throat dry, my lips parted, but no sound came out. How could I even ask? What if I had just misread it? What if it was a mistake? Phoebe and Wayne had been my anchors during the darkest chapters of my life. When my depression got so bad that I tried to end things, it was Phoebe who held my bleeding wrists, crying, begging me to stay alive. And whenever I woke up screaming from nightmares, Wayne was always there, wrapping his arms around me, whispering that it was over, that I was safe now. These two people. The ones who had kept me afloat for so long. They were the most important people in my world. They wouldn’t hurt me. I took a deep, shaky breath and shook my head. “Nothing. Let’s get you back to the room.” While I was running a bath for Phoebe, she picked up my phone to play a game. When Wayne called, she answered it without a second thought. “State your business, husband-to-be. Otherwise, stop interrupting my quality time with my girl.” Wayne replied, sounding amused. “Excuse me, you’re the third wheel here.” Phoebe laughed. “Well, look at you, Mr. Grumpy. Someone’s eager to be a married man. So defensive.” The sound of rushing water suddenly felt deafening. The bathroom went dead silent, save for the heavy sound of my own breathing. Phoebe caught my eye from the doorway, her smile faltering for a split second before she smoothly recovered. “Alright, alright. I know you can’t wait to put a ring on our Maeve. Here, I’ll let you talk to your future wife.” I took the phone, my throat tight as I swallowed hard. “What time are you getting in next week? I’ll come pick you up at the station.” My heart sank, heavy and cold. “Seven in the morning.” Wayne paused, sounding genuinely surprised. “That early?” “Yeah,” I murmured. “City Hall opens at eight.” He chuckled softly. “There’s no rush, honey. Go home, get some sleep first. We’ve got all the time in the world. We don’t need to rush this.” I had booked the earliest train just so I could marry him the second I got back. But standing in that bathroom, I realized I was the only one running. A dull, suffocating ache bloomed in my chest. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t even breathe properly. “Sure,” I said. “Whatever you want.” After hanging up, I buried my face in the pillows. Through the fog of my spinning mind, a series of rapid-fire text alerts broke the silence. Phoebe’s phone was charging on the nightstand, the screen lighting up repeatedly. Compelled by some dark, instinctual urge, I walked over and picked it up. The passcode was still my birthday. The lock screen was still a goofy selfie of us. But what was foreign was the burner Instagram account she had logged into, and a group chat I had never seen before. The group was titled: “Operation: Save True Love”. There were only three members: Phoebe, Wayne, and Amber. The chat was a meticulous record of Phoebe’s fabricated emergencies, designed specifically to keep me away. While I was worrying myself sick about her health, Phoebe was actively advising Wayne on how to keep the lie going. “Maeve is clueless,” one message from Phoebe read. “Just tell her you have a last-minute business trip. She won’t nag you. Then you and your girl Amber can go wherever you want. Leave the cover-up to me.” Under Phoebe’s careful shielding, Wayne and Amber had traveled the country. They had chased the Northern Lights in Alaska, where he proposed to her. They had taken engagement photos in fields of wildflowers. And today, they had gotten married. I stared at the image of the marriage certificate posted in the chat, a physical, searing pain tearing through my chest. Pale and hollow, I walked back into the hospital room and confronted Phoebe. I asked the dumbest, most useless question in the world. “Why?” Phoebe froze, her eyes darting to her phone in my hand. “You went through my phone?” Then, she let out a soft, dismissive laugh. “Well, I guess it’s good you found out. Saves me the trouble of walking on eggshells.” “Honestly, lying to you was exhausting. I had to fake an injury just to get you out of the city. At least now the pressure’s off.” My eyes burned, tears finally spilling over as I screamed at her. “Why?” “Why did you lie to me? Why did you hide this? Was making a fool out of me really that fun for you?” Phoebe just stared at me, her expression entirely flat. After a long, agonizing silence, she said calmly, “Because you and Wayne aren’t right for each other, Maeve. You never were. It would have ended in disaster anyway.” A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. “But he’s right for “Amber”? Is that it?” “You guys are sick. Honestly, you make me sick.” I turned and bolted for the door, desperate to escape the suffocating room, only to collide with a person whose face was etched permanently into my worst nightmares. Amber arched an eyebrow, offering a cool, effortless smile. “Long time no see, old friend.” Just hearing Amber’s voice triggered an involuntary tremor in my limbs. Phoebe rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with irritation. “Oh, come on, Maeve. Is the drama really necessary?” Behind Amber, Wayne appeared, holding a gift basket of fruit. When his eyes met mine, he froze, turning pale. He began to stammer, his words tripping over themselves. “I—I just ran into her. She was in the area and wanted to drop by and see how Phoebe was doing.” Wayne seemed to forget that Chicago and Detroit weren’t exactly “in the neighborhood.” It was such a flimsy, pathetic excuse it barely qualified as a lie. I dug my fingernails deep into the meat of my thumb, squeezing until the skin bruised, using the physical pain to anchor myself. Wayne took a tentative step toward me, his brow furrowing with concern. “Maeve? Are you okay? Have you been pushing yourself too hard taking care of Phoebe?” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Not as hard as you two have been pushing yourselves to put on this little show.” “I suppose I should say congratulations. Happy wedding day.” The reality finally clicked for Wayne, and he instantly stepped in front of Amber, shielding her from me. “Don’t blame anyone else,” he said, his voice dropping. “It was my decision to marry Amber.” I looked at him, my mind sluggish, trying to process the betrayal. “Did you both just… forget? Did you forget what Amber did to me?” In high school, Amber and I were polar opposites—I was the straight-A student, she was at the bottom of the class. She hated me for it, convinced that my academic success was some personal slight against her. She wrote vile, hateful slurs on my desk. She stuffed dead birds into my backpack. She once held my head down in a toilet until I couldn’t breathe. Phoebe had transferred to our school during our senior year and became the first person to ever stand up for me. Because of that, she endured an entire semester of Amber’s wrath alongside me. And Wayne… when I finally opened up to him about my past, he had wept, holding me tightly, promising he would protect me. I thought we all shared the same moral compass. I thought we agreed that some things were unforgivable. Phoebe tilted her head, her smile sharp and cruel. “God, you really are naive, aren’t you? You actually thought Amber and I were enemies?” “I knew Amber long before I ever met you, Maeve. She only targeted you because she was jealous of how much time I was spending with you. It was all a misunderstanding.” Wayne chimed in, his voice heavy with self-righteous reason. “I talked to Amber about it, Maeve. She just wanted to be friends with you back then. She didn’t know how to express it. She didn’t mean to hurt you.” “It was just high school drama. Kids being kids. You need to let it go.” I have over a dozen scars tracing the inside of my wrists. Each one represents a night I begged for the pain to stop. The two people who had literally begged me to choose life were now standing in front of me, telling me to “let it go”. The sheer weight of the betrayal crashed over me in a suffocating wave. I clutched my chest, struggling to draw oxygen into my lungs. Wayne watched me, a flicker of genuine worry in his eyes, but I managed to force a small, empty smile. “Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll let it go.” I don’t even remember how I made it back to my hotel room. With trembling fingers, I tore through my purse, searching for the small plastic bottle hidden in the lining. My antidepressants. I hadn’t needed them in over a year. I swallowed the dry pills, the rough coating scraping painfully down my throat. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. A chime at the door broke the silence. I assumed it was the room service I had ordered. But the moment I unlocked the door, Wayne pushed his way inside. He reached out, his hand warm against my cold forehead, his face twisted with worry. “Are you having an episode? Where are your pills? Let me get you some water.” I flinched away from his touch, my expression freezing over. “You are another woman’s husband now, Wayne. Learn some boundaries.” Wayne chuckled, reaching out to playfully pinch my nose—a gesture that used to make my heart melt. “Are you jealous, honey?” “Amber and I only got married for our graduate research project. It’s a sociological study on marital structures. The moment the study is over, we’re getting a divorce.” “I’m still going to marry you, Maeve. You promised me you’d wait. Did you forget?” As if to prove his point, he pulled out his phone and played a voice recording. “Wayne, please. Just wait for me one more time, okay?” Hearing my own desperate, begging voice play back to me made my stomach turn. “To be fair, you made me wait eleven times. It’s only fair you wait for me once, right?” Wayne held out his pinky finger, waiting for me to lock mine with his. It was our thing. We pinky-promised on everything, big or small. In college, we pinky-promised to move in together and adopt a cat. When we started working, we pinky-promised to save every penny for our future home. And now, he wanted me to pinky-promise to wait until he divorced my childhood abuser. The sheer absurdity of it made me laugh. And then, I swung my hand and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. “Who do you think I am, Wayne? Your mistress?” “We are done. We were done the second you and Phoebe decided to make a joke out of my life.” Wayne wiped a bead of blood from the corner of his lip, shrugging as if the blow meant nothing to him. “If hitting me makes you feel better, go ahead. But I’m not letting you go.” “I love you, Maeve. And you love me. You’re really going to throw away seven years of history over this?” Seven years. He knew exactly how long we had been together. Yet he still chose Amber, a girl he had only worked with on a project for three months. Over the last few months, his occasional late nights had turned into constant business trips. Even when he was with me, his eyes were glued to his phone, a stupid, private smile on his face. I hadn’t been completely blind. I had suspected something. But whenever I vented to Phoebe, she would always shoot it down. “You’re overthinking it, babe. Honestly, Wayne doesn’t deserve you anyway. If he’s cheating, good riddance. I’ll find you someone a million times better.” Only now did I realize the sick double-meaning behind her words. I let my head fall, completely drained. “You really think Amber is better than me, don’t you?” Wayne’s expression softened, and he sighed. “You both have your strengths.” “But Amber isn’t the monster you made her out to be, Maeve. She’s incredibly capable, smart, and driven. Working with her has been incredibly seamless.” “Are you sure you didn’t just misinterpret what happened back in high school?” Of course Amber was smart. Smart enough to torture me for years and still go on to lead a perfectly successful, unbothered life. I instinctively pressed my hand against my tenth rib. The rib Amber had broken with a kick when I was sixteen. Even after seven years, the bone still throbbed with a dull, phantom ache whenever the weather turned cold. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. I didn’t have the strength to bare my scars to someone who had already decided they didn’t care. I blinked back the hot tears stinging my eyes and shoved him toward the door. “Believe whatever you want. Just get out.” Once she realized I knew, Phoebe didn’t bother hiding her social media anymore. She unblocked her main account, making all her posts public. Like a masochist, I scrolled through her feed, searching for any sign of hesitation or guilt on their faces. There was none. Just pure, unadulterated bliss radiating from every photo. My tears fell hot and fast onto the screen as I scrolled to the most recent post. No photo. Just a single line of text: “To true love, and leaving the dead weight behind.” Wayne had liked the post. Amber had commented underneath: “Careful, or your little shadow is going to start crying again.” Phoebe replied with a rolling-eyes emoji. “Just enjoy your honeymoon, you two!” I paused on the screen, taking careful screenshots of every single post, ensuring I didn’t miss a single comment or detail. Then, I shut down my phone. I booked a ticket, checked out of the hotel, and called a cab to the train station. When I stood in front of the apartment we had shared, a wave of vertigo hit me. The fingerprint lock chimed, recognizing my hand. In the entryway, our matching house slippers sat side-by-side. The air still smelled of the white tea diffuser I loved. Our cat, Barnaby, trotted over and rubbed his head affectionately against my shin. Everything was exactly as I had left it. Except for the constant stream of honeymoon photos on my feed, reminding me that it was all an illusion. The love was fake. The comfort was fake. I systematically packed up my life, throwing away everything I couldn’t carry. I found a thick stack of Polaroids of Wayne and me. We had decorated them with metallic markers, attaching little NFC audio tags to record our daily memories. My thumb brushed against one, and Wayne’s voice filled the quiet room. “I love you, Maeve. Forever and ever.” I stood there, my heart feeling like a hollow, dried-out shell. My phone vibrated. A text from Wayne, sharing his research progress. “Just two more days and the project is officially wrapped. Then I can finally call you my wife. I can’t wait.” Phoebe’s voice messages also popped up, a barrage of casual dismissals. “Look, Amber is my friend, but you are too. Don’t be mad at me, okay? Tell you what, when you and Wayne finally make it official, I’ll write you a massive check to make up for it.” Barnaby let out a soft meow, nudging my hand as if trying to soothe me. I gently scratched the soft spot behind his ears, then tossed the stack of Polaroids into the trash. “It’s too dirty here, sweet boy,” I whispered. “Let’s go.” Once I settled my affairs in Chicago, I blocked every single one of them. I packed Barnaby into his carrier and boarded a flight to Asheville, North Carolina. At O’Hare, Wayne and Phoebe were seeing Amber off for her flight. Through the bustling crowd, they waved enthusiastically at a figure they thought was Amber, watching her disappear down the jet bridge with lingering affection. Only when the final boarding call echoed through the terminal did they turn back. Wayne smiled, a sense of pride in his voice. “The project went beautifully. A prestigious lab in Zurich just offered Amber a fellowship.” “It makes sense for her to go, but I don’t know if I’ll ever find another research partner as brilliant as her.” Phoebe nodded proudly. “Of course she is. She’s my girl, after all.” A brief silence fell over them as they walked toward the exit, both letting out a soft sigh. “Well, the project is done. Let’s not bring it up again.” “Yeah. Maeve is so sensitive. She holds onto grudges forever.” “Speaking of, I’ve sent her a dozen texts and she hasn’t replied to a single one.” They exchanged a glance, a sudden, inexplicable wave of panic washing over them. “She hasn’t texted you either? Do you think… something happened?” Just then, a hand tapped Phoebe on the shoulder. They both spun around. Standing right behind them, smiling, was Amber—who was supposed to be on the plane. “I decided not to go,” Amber announced, grinning. “I’m staying in Chicago with you guys.” Wayne’s smile froze on his face. He and Phoebe stared at her, their expressions turning ash-gray. “Then… who just got on that plane?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537550”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Ten years. That was the length of the marathon Galen and I had been running. For as long as I could remember, my family had been dropping hints, then outright begging, to finally meet the man I’d built my life around. But Galen always had an excuse. A high-profile case, a critical deposition, a late-night strategy meeting. Nine family dinners. Nine times he had promised to show, and nine times his chair had remained empty. The tenth time was different. My mother was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. Her doctor told us we were looking at weeks, maybe days. All she wanted—her final, desperate wish—was to look into the eyes of the man who would take care of me when she was gone. I stood in Galen’s sleek office, holding her critical condition notice in my trembling hands, practically begging him. Galen didn’t even look up from the thick legal brief in front of him. The scratch of his fountain pen on expensive paper was the only sound in the room. “This weekend is impossible,” he said, his voice smooth, professional, and entirely detached. “Helena’s divorce hearing is coming up. Her ex has been harassing her, and she’s a psychological wreck. I need to be there for her.” “Tell your mother to rest. She shouldn’t be wasting her energy stressing over things like this.” I stared at him, the silence stretching between us until it felt physical. “Galen,” I said, his name tasting like ash on my tongue. He offered a distracted, humoring murmur. “My mother might not survive the month,” I said, keeping my voice dead level. “I am bringing my future husband home this weekend. With or without you.” He finally put his pen down. A thin, patronizing smile touched his lips. “If I don’t go, Monica, who exactly are you bringing home? A ghost?” He leaned back, his tone shifting into that practiced, patronizing warmth he used to placate difficult clients. “Be good. We’ll talk about this after Helena’s trial is wrapped up.” I looked at him—really looked at him—and found myself smiling. A quiet, hollow sensation opened up in my chest. Ten times I had begged. Ten times he had decided my life, my grief, and my family were nothing more than an inconvenient distraction. I wasn’t going to beg an eleventh. I looked down at my phone and opened a chat thread that had been sitting quietly for three years. It was with my mother’s primary oncologist—a man who had patiently, respectfully waited in the margins of my life. I typed out a single sentence: “Dr. Ward, my mother wants to meet the man I’m going to marry. Let’s get married.” … “Monica, stop acting like a child.” Galen glanced at his Rolex, his brow furrowing with a hint of genuine irritation. “Helena’s ex-husband was lurking outside her building again yesterday. She’s a single mother, completely isolated. If something happens to her or the kid because I wasn’t reachable, who takes the fall?” “Your mother’s stomach issues are chronic. She’s in a state-of-the-art facility surrounded by specialists. What difference does it make if I’m standing by her bed?” “Can you please, just once, not use your family to emotionally hijack me when I’m in the middle of a career-defining case?” Ten years of devotion. Ten years of building my universe around his orbit. To him, my mother’s dying days were nothing but a cheap negotiation tactic. A hostage situation. I didn’t argue. I didn’t even sigh. Sensing my silence as submission, his features softened. He reached out, his hand moving toward my shoulder with the easy, familiar confidence of a man who knew exactly how to quiet me. “Come on, sweetheart. Be reasonable.” “Once we get Helena’s verdict, I swear I’ll block out an entire Saturday.” “We’ll go down to the hospital, have a nice lunch with your mom, and do the whole formal introduction. Okay?” I took a half-step back, letting his hand fall through the empty air. His hand hovered there for a second before dropping to his side. The warmth drained from his eyes, replaced by a cold, sharp anger. “Monica, are we really doing this again?” “Every time things don’t go exactly your way, you retreat into this childish silent treatment.” “Do you honestly think I have the luxury of revolving my life around your whims? That I have nothing better to do than cater to your insecurities?” A soft vibration hummed against my thigh. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. It was a text from Simon Ward. “Alright. I have tomorrow off. I’ll make the arrangements.” A weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying suddenly lifted, leaving me light, almost dizzy. I looked up, locking my gaze with Galen’s stormy eyes. My voice was quiet, steady, and entirely free of anger. “Galen, from now on, you don’t have to worry about making time for me ever again.” He blinked, caught off guard by the lack of tears, the lack of screaming. Then, a harsh, dismissive chuckle escaped him. “Right. Sure, Monica. You write that down and remember it.” “Because the next time you come crying, begging me to fix things, I won’t be here to play therapist.” Before he could continue his lecture, his phone on the desk lit up. The screen vibrated with a single contact name: Helena. Galen snatched it up instantly. The harshness in his voice melted away, replaced by a tender, frantic concern. “Hey. What’s going on? Is he there?” Helena’s voice bled through the receiver, high-pitched and trembling with tears. Even without speakerphone, her whimpers filled the quiet of the office. “Galen… the storm knocked out the power in my building. It’s pitch black. I’m so scared… I can’t breathe. My chest is so tight, Galen. Please, I feel like I’m dying…” Galen was already on his feet, knocking his chair back. He didn’t even reach for his coat. “Don’t panic, Helena. Breathe. I’m leaving right now. Just stay where you are, okay?” He ended the call and threw a fleeting, defensive look in my direction. “Helena’s having a severe panic attack. Her claustrophobia is flaring up. I have to go.” “As for your mother, like I said—once the judge signs off on Helena’s settlement, I’ll find a window to go over and get the introduction out of the way.” I remained seated, watching his frantic movements as he grabbed his car keys. “Galen,” I said. He paused at the door, his hand on the brass knob, looking back with a heavy, impatient sigh. “What is it now, Monica? A panic attack can lead to cardiac arrest. This is a medical emergency.” I looked at the face of the man I had loved for a third of my life. “We’re done, Galen. Let’s end this.” He let out a sharp, mocking scoff. “Monica, you’re thirty years old. Stop playing these pathetic, melodramatic games. I don’t have time for your hard-to-get acts.” He threw the door open and strode out, slamming it behind him. The lock clicked, and for the first time in ten years, I breathed in air that didn’t feel heavy. I walked back to our bedroom—no, his bedroom. I pulled my old suitcase from the top shelf of the closet and began packing my life away, piece by piece. There wasn’t much. Galen had bought this townhouse three years ago, but every square inch of it had been decorated according to Helena’s specifications. She had chosen the cream linens, the minimalist light fixtures, the cold marble countertops. I remembered asking him, back when we moved in, why our home had to look like a gallery of another woman’s mind. “Helena has a degree in interior design,” he had snapped, dismissive as always. “She has actual taste. Don’t be so petty, Monica. It’s exhausting.” I smiled a quiet, bitter smile as I folded my sweaters into the suitcase. Thirty minutes later, I closed the zipper, dragged my bag down the steps, and hailed a cab to the hospital. In the oncology ward, the air was thick with the sterile scent of bleach and impending grief. My mother lay beneath a thin hospital blanket, her face gray, her breathing shallow beneath the clear plastic of her oxygen mask. Hearing my footsteps, she struggled to open her eyes. “Monica… sweetie… where’s Galen? Is he still working?” I knelt beside her bed, taking her cold, frail hand in both of mine. “He’s not coming, Mom.” Her chest sputtered, and the faint light in her eyes flickered. “Did I… did I make things difficult for you? Is he angry with me? Does he think we’re a burden?” “No, Mom,” I said quickly, my voice remarkably steady. “It’s not that at all.” “I broke up with him.” “I have a new boyfriend now.” “His name is Simon. Simon Ward. He’s your doctor.” My mother stared at me, her dry lips parting slightly. “Monica… don’t lie to me just to make me feel better. You’ve been with Galen for ten years. You don’t just… change your mind overnight.” I gently pulled the blanket up to her chin, my eyes clear. “I’m not lying, Mom. Ten years of a mistake is enough. I’d rather lose ten years than give him the rest of my life.” Just then, the heavy oak door to the private room clicked open. Simon walked in, wearing his white lab coat over a crisp blue shirt. He was tall, with sharp, elegant features behind his wire-rimmed glasses, and a quiet confidence that seemed to settle the frantic energy of the room. “Good evening, Helena,” he said, his voice a warm, soothing baritone. “Just doing my rounds. How are we feeling tonight?” He walked over to my side of the bed, his movements natural, and placed a gentle, supportive hand on my shoulder. My mother’s eyes darted between the two of us, wide with confusion and a sudden, fragile hope. “Dr. Ward… you and my Monica…” Simon smiled down at her. He reached down and took my hand, sliding his fingers between mine, locking them tightly. “I wanted to introduce myself formally, Helena. I’m Monica’s boyfriend, Simon.” “I apologize for keeping it from you. I wanted to wait until Monica had completely closed the door on her past so I could step forward and ask for your blessing properly.” A tear slipped down my mother’s hollow cheek. She reached out, her trembling fingers wrapping around our joined hands. “Thank God… thank God. If Monica is with you, I can rest easy.” Simon sat on the edge of her bed, talking with her for nearly an hour. He explained her lab results, answered her questions about pain management, and listened to her stories about my childhood. He had none of the cold, clinical distance you’d expect from the chief of surgery. He was just… there. Fully present. When the head nurse finally tapped on the glass to call him away for an emergency consult, he stood up reluctantly. “I’m on call tonight,” he murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed my temple. The gesture was so tender, so effortless, it felt as though we had been doing this for a lifetime. “My shift ends at eight tomorrow. Meet me at the county clerk’s office at nine?” I nodded. “Nine o’clock.” Late that night, around 2:00 AM, I walked down the hall to the hospital’s break room to fill a pitcher with fresh ice water. As I rounded the corner near the elevators, I heard a familiar, delicate voice. “Galen, really, I’m fine. It was just a little slip with the paring knife. I didn’t need to drag you to the ER for a tiny cut.” Then came Galen’s deep, protective rumble. “Tetanus isn’t a joke, Helena. And given your emotional state right now, I wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing you were alone in that dark apartment.” I walked out from the shadow of the corridor. There they were. Galen’s arm was wrapped firmly around Helena’s waist, pulling her close against his side in a gesture that was intimately possessive. Helena’s finger was wrapped in a tiny, ridiculous cartoon Band-Aid. When Galen’s eyes met mine, his entire body went rigid. He instinctively pulled his arm back, clearing his throat. Helena shrank back, her eyes wide and watery. “Monica… please don’t be mad. I really didn’t want to bother him, but my finger was bleeding so much, and Galen insisted…” She held up her index finger like a trophy of her victimhood. I didn’t say a word. I kept my face blank and started to walk past them toward the water dispenser. Galen stepped into my path, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before his usual defensive mask slid back on. “How’s your mother?” he asked, his voice stiff. “I’ve been buried under paperwork the last forty-eight hours. I haven’t had a second to check in.” I ignored him, pushing past his shoulder. Galen grabbed my forearm, his grip tight and angry. “Do you have to act so incredibly petty right now? I told you, Helena’s mental state is fragile. Are you seriously going to throw a tantrum over a medical emergency?” I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, turning on him with a coldness that made him blink. “Are you delusional, Galen?” “You think I’m jealous? You actually believe you’re worth that kind of energy?” Helena’s eyes flooded with tears on cue. “Galen, please don’t fight because of me. It’s all my fault. Monica, you can scream at me, you can hit me, just don’t be mad at him.” Galen immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. “Monica, you are being utterly irrational!” he hissed. “You’re acting like a hysterical shrew. I’m warning you—if you keep behaving like this, we are not getting married.” I let out a soft, genuine laugh. “Good. We’re not.” Galen’s jaw went slack. “What?” “I said we’re done, Galen. The wedding is off. We are finished.” The color drained from his face for a split second, but he quickly recovered, his lips curling into a cruel, arrogant sneer. “Please, Monica. You’re thirty years old. If you don’t marry me, who else do you think is going to take you?” I didn’t waste another breath. I walked away, the sound of my sneakers clicking softly against the linoleum floor. The next morning, the winter sun was just beginning to break through the gray clouds when I arrived at the city hall. Simon was already waiting on the steps. He wore a tailored charcoal wool suit, his dark hair neatly styled, his eyes warm and focused behind his glasses. The moment he saw me, his expression softened. He walked down the steps to meet me, naturally taking the heavy shoulder bag from my hand. “Did you eat?” he asked. I shook my head, my throat tight. “It was a bit of a rush getting out of the hospital.” He smiled, reaching into his pocket and producing a small, insulated container. “I had a feeling. It’s warm chicken and wild rice soup. Just to coat your stomach.” I stared at the warm metal container in my hands, a sudden prickle of tears stinging my eyes. “Simon… you don’t have to do all this.” “Call me Simon,” he corrected softly, his voice gentle but firm. “And yes, I do. We’re getting married, Monica. We should start getting used to looking after each other, shouldn’t we?” I swallowed the lump in my throat and managed a small smile. “Okay. Simon.” The process inside was incredibly simple. There were no endless discussions about guest lists, no tense negotiations over prenuptial agreements, no last-minute cancellations. When the clerk pressed the heavy gold seal onto our marriage certificate, a strange, beautiful sense of peace washed over me. Simon picked up his copy and slid it into his breast pocket, then turned to me, holding out my copy. “Congratulations, Mrs. Ward.” I looked at our names printed side-by-side on the crisp white paper and let out a long, shuddering breath of pure relief. “Thank you, Simon.” The moment we stepped back out into the crisp morning air, my phone began to vibrate violently in my purse. It was Galen. I hesitated for a second before pressing answer. “Monica, where did you put the blue litigation folder for the corporate acquisition?” His voice was frantic, demanding, and entirely devoid of a greeting. “Helena’s preliminary mediation is this afternoon, and those documents are critical.” “I don’t know,” I said, my voice deadpan. “How could you not know? You’re the only one who touches the files in the study!” he barked. “Did you hide them to punish me for yesterday? Are you really that vindictive, Monica? This is my career. This is Helena’s entire future on the line!” I found myself shaking my head at the sheer, unadulterated narcissism of his mind. For ten years, if anything went missing, it was my fault. If his day went wrong, it was my fault. If Helena sneezed, it was my fault. “Galen,” I interrupted, my voice perfectly calm. “First, I packed my things and moved out of your house last night. I didn’t touch your files.” “Second, Helena’s future is no longer my concern, and neither is your career.” “Third, do not call this number again.” There was a heavy, stunned silence on the other end of the line. Then, Galen let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Moved out? Really, Monica? We’re playing the dramatic runaway bride now? You think this little stunt is going to make me chase after you?” “I’m telling you right now, I won’t. You have exactly one hour to get your head straight, get back to the house, and find that folder, or else—” “Or else what, Mr. Philips?” Simon had quietly stepped up beside me. He took the phone from my hand, his voice cool, level, and utterly commanding. “Who is this?” Galen demanded, his voice instantly turning hostile. “My name is Simon Ward. I’m Monica’s husband,” Simon said, his tone as smooth and constant as a scalpel. “My wife is currently celebrating our wedding with me, and she doesn’t have the time or the inclination to play hide-and-seek with your paperwork.” “If your basic organizational skills are this deficient, I suggest you hire an administrative assistant rather than harassing another man’s wife.” Without waiting for a response, Simon hung up, opened my settings, and added Galen’s number to the block list. He handed the phone back to me with a reassuring smile. “Let’s go see our mother, shall we?” In the hospital room, my mother stared at the gold-embossed seal on the marriage certificate, then up at Simon, her eyes swimming with tears. “Dr. Ward… I don’t know how to thank you…” Simon walked over and knelt beside the low bed, gently wrapping his fingers around hers. “Mom, please. Call me Simon. To be honest, I’ve been in love with Monica for a very long time. I was just waiting for the right moment to show her.” “I promise you, I will cherish her for the rest of my life. She will never have to face anything alone again.” My mother nodded weakly, tears spilling over her pale cheeks. “Good… that’s all I wanted. To see my little girl in her white dress, safe.” “I can go now… I can close my eyes in peace.” “Mom, don’t talk like that,” I whispered, my voice breaking as I tried to hold back my tears. Simon stood up, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me close against his chest. “She’s right, Monica. You need to wear the dress.” “I had a few designers send some pieces over this morning. They’re set up in the private lounge next door. Go try them on, sweetheart. Let your mother see you.” I looked at him in shock, but he only gave me a gentle, encouraging nudge. “Go on.” Ten minutes later, I pushed open the door to my mother’s hospital room. The silk of the ivory gown swept softly against the floor, the delicate lace sleeves framing my shoulders. My mother’s eyes went wide, reflecting a sudden, brilliant light. “Oh, Monica…” she whispered, her hand trembling as she reached toward the fabric. “You look so beautiful… my beautiful girl…” Suddenly, the heavy door was slammed open, banging violently against the wall. “Monica! What the hell are you doing?” Galen stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his tie crooked, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He looked like a man unraveling. His eyes swept across the room, landing on the ivory gown, and he let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Are you out of your mind? Just because I wouldn’t give you the wedding you wanted today, you rent some cheap dress and hire a local doctor to play-act a marriage in a cancer ward?” “Do you honestly think I’m that easily manipulated?” He stormed forward, his hand snapping out to grab my wrist. “Stop this ridiculous theater and come home. Helena’s mediation starts in two hours and I need those files.” I struggled against his grip, my heart pounding with a sudden surge of adrenaline. “Let go of me, Galen! Don’t touch me!” “Let go?” he sneered, his fingers tightening. “You’ve spent ten years living in my house, eating my food, spending my money. You don’t get to play the victim now!” Before he could drag me a step closer, a pale, strong hand clamped down on his wrist. Simon stood there, his face completely expressionless, but the grip he had on Galen’s arm was so tight the bones in Galen’s wrist audibly groaned. “Mr. Philips,” Simon said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet register. “Your memory seems exceptionally selective.” “For the past decade, Monica not only managed your household and cooked your meals, but she also used her entire salary as a senior copywriter to cover your firm’s early rent and overhead.” “Living off a woman’s labor while calling yourself her savior is a rather pathetic display.” Galen gasped, the pain forcing him to loosen his grip on my wrist. He stumbled back, nursing his arm, his eyes dark with fury. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Galen snarled. “This is family business. Stay out of it.” “Family?” Simon reached into his suit jacket, pulled out the red leather marriage certificate, and held it inches from Galen’s face. “Look closely, Mr. Philips.” “Monica is my legal wife.” “And you are nothing but an intruder trespassing in my patient’s room, harassing my wife.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537535”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel