Category: English

When my mother asked which man I wanted to marry into the Sterling family, I didn’t choose Julian this time. Instead, I chose his uncle, Sam Sterling. My mother looked at me, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. After all, everyone in the elite circles of North Heights knew that Julian and I were childhood sweethearts. I had spent ten years following him like a shadow, loudly proclaiming to anyone who would listen that I wouldn’t marry anyone else. I offered her a bitter, weary smile. My mind drifted to my previous life—the years spent in a hollow marriage where Julian never touched me. I had spent those years convinced he suffered from some secret, shameful illness, going to great lengths to protect his dignity. It wasn’t until our golden wedding anniversary that I accidentally stumbled into the basement vault he had forbidden everyone to enter. The walls were covered, floor to ceiling, with thousands of candid photographs of my cousin, Stephanie. In that moment, the truth shattered me. He wasn’t cold; he just didn’t love me. He never had. Since the universe had seen fit to give me a second chance, I decided to step aside and let them have each other. But later, when I walked toward his uncle in a Vera Wang gown, Julian’s face turned deathly pale. And then, he lost his mind. … Three days after the engagement was finalized, I ran into Julian at an upscale lounge. His friends saw me walk in and immediately began to snicker, their eyes gleaming with mockery. “Look, Julian, your little shadow is back!” “Hey, Nancy, the contract is signed, isn’t it? Do you really need to keep him on such a short leash? Can’t the guy even grab a drink with the boys?” When Julian saw me, his irritation was palpable. He looked at me as if I were a stain on his expensive suit. “Nancy, are you really that desperate?” he hissed, stepping close enough for me to smell the bourbon on his breath. “Going behind my back to get our families to settle the contract? Now everyone in the city thinks we’re engaged. You really outdid yourself this time.” The disdain in his eyes used to make my heart ache. Now, it just felt like a dull, distant noise. I took a slow breath and spoke calmly. “I didn’t need your permission. Because the man I’m marrying isn’t you.” The room went dead silent for a heartbeat before erupting into laughter. Julian’s friends were practically doubled over. “Julian, man, go comfort your little fiancée!” one of them wheezed. “Or she’s going to find an even crazier way to get your attention!” Julian frowned, his ego clearly bruised by my lack of tears. “Nancy, is this a new game? Playing hard to get?” He scoffed, stepping into my personal space. “Marrying into the Sterlings? If it’s not me, who else could it be? You’ve been screaming about being my wife since you were in pigtails. Everyone already considers you my property.” He leaned down, whispering harshly into my ear: “I’ll let the engagement thing slide. But remember this—I’ll give you a grand wedding to keep the families happy. But the legal papers? The actual marriage license? I’m saving that for the woman I actually want.” I looked up at him, stunned. In my last life, Julian had followed his family’s orders perfectly. We had signed the papers and married almost immediately. Did he… remember? Was he reborn, too? Before I could read the expression on his face, Stephanie arrived. The moment she saw Julian and me standing together, her eyes welled up with practiced precision. “Nancy… Julian…” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “I heard you’re… you’re getting married soon. I didn’t bring a gift, but I just wanted to wish you… wish you both a lifetime of happiness.” Before she could finish, she turned and ran out of the lounge, crying. “Look what you did!” Julian snarled at me. He didn’t spare me another glance before charging out after her. When they finally returned, they were holding hands, fingers interlaced. Stephanie’s lips were swollen and red, and there was a very deliberate, dark hickey on Julian’s throat. The crowd watched me with hungry eyes, waiting for the explosion. In the past, if I saw another woman so much as breathe near Julian, I would have caused a scene, screaming and crying until he looked at me. Julian stepped in front of Stephanie, shielding her, his face set in a look of defiant anticipation. He was waiting for me to break. But minutes passed, and I just sipped my sparkling water. Julian looked surprised, then let out a cold, mocking laugh. “I see you’ve finally grown some sense. At least you aren’t making a fool of yourself tonight.” When the party ended, Julian caught me by the arm. “It’s late. It’s not safe. I’ll drive you.” I didn’t decline. A free ride was a free ride. As I walked toward the car, I moved for the front passenger door, but Julian blocked me, his body a solid wall. “Sit in the back,” he said curtly. He then held the front door open for Stephanie, ushering her in with a gentleness he had never shown me. “I’m so sorry, Nancy,” Stephanie chirped from the front seat, looking back with a faux-pitying smile. “Julian is just so worried about me. He knows I get car sick if I’m not in the front.” I said nothing and climbed into the back seat—exactly where I had intended to sit anyway. The entire drive was filled with their hushed giggles and whispered inside jokes. At a red light, Stephanie leaned over, pouting, asking Julian to help her apply lip gloss. They lingered, their faces inches apart, their breathing becoming heavy and synchronized in the quiet cabin of the car. Suddenly, Julian glanced in the rearview mirror, as if remembering I was there. When he saw me staring blankly out the window, completely indifferent, his expression shifted. His jaw tightened, and he slammed the car into gear, his mood turning inexplicably foul. When we reached my house, I moved to get out, but Julian caught my wrist again. He shoved a small jewelry box into my hand, his tone condescending. “Fine. Stop with this ‘indifferent’ act. It’s beneath you.” He sighed. “This bracelet is your engagement gift. Just be a good girl, and I’ll give you the wedding. At least in the eyes of the city, you’ll be my wife.” I looked at the box, then at him. “And the marriage license? Who are you signing that with? Stephanie?” Julian’s temper flared, though there was a flicker of smug satisfaction in his eyes. “I knew you were faking. I’m warning you, Nancy—don’t you dare say a word of this to our parents. What Stephanie and I have is beyond your understanding. She’s fragile, she’s kind, and she doesn’t have a manipulative bone in her body. If you hurt her, don’t blame me if I call off the wedding entirely.” I almost laughed. He was so cowardly, so afraid to stand up to the Sterling patriarchs, yet he framed it as if I were the villain in his tragic romance. I didn’t answer. I simply turned and walked into my house. The second I closed the door, my phone buzzed. It was a video from Stephanie. In the video, Julian was carefully fastening a diamond necklace around her neck. I recognized the brand—a luxury boutique. I realized then that the bracelet Julian had shoved at me was likely a “gift with purchase” from that very necklace. The camera tilted. Their lips met, and the wet, rhythmic sound of their kissing filled my quiet hallway. “Nancy,” Stephanie’s text followed. “Julian told you, right? After the wedding, he’s signing the papers with me.” “Think about it—a marriage that isn’t legally recognized means no inheritance. No rights. I think it’s my turn to be the billionaire’s wife this time around, don’t you?” My blood ran cold. Stephanie had been reborn, too. No wonder they were moving so fast. In the previous life, they had hidden their affair for decades. Now, they were trying to rewrite history together. I looked down at my phone, remembering the business trends from my past life. After Julian and I “married,” the Sterling Group had suddenly exploded with new contracts and unprecedented growth. Everyone said I was his lucky charm. I had lived in that lie for fifty years before seeing those photos. My mother came into my room then, her voice soft. “Sam is coming back from London in five days.” I felt a spark of genuine hope. In my last life, Sam Sterling—Julian’s uncle—had never married. He was the ghost of the family, a powerful, silent figure who lived mostly abroad. I remembered him as a kind, older-brother figure from my childhood. Marrying him felt like finding a safe harbor in a storm. The next day, I went to my “secret garden”—a private glass conservatory on the rooftop of my family’s office building. I had spent years filling it with exotic blooms, all of them Julian’s favorites, in a desperate attempt to please him. Now that my future husband had changed, the garden needed to change, too. I spent the next few days clearing out the old and planting the flowers Sam preferred—deep blue hydrangeas and white lilies. I stepped away to the breakroom for a coffee, and my phone pinged. I opened Instagram to see Stephanie’s latest post. My heart stopped. The photos showed my conservatory in ruins. My carefully tended flowers were snapped at the stems, petals scattered like blood across the floor. In the center of the carnage, Julian was holding Stephanie, both of them beaming at the camera. “Julian knew I needed a place for my photoshoot, so he found this hidden gem for me! It feels so good to be loved!” I sprinted back to the roof. Inside, Julian was plucking a stray jasmine bloom—one of the few left—and tucking it behind Stephanie’s ear. “This is my private space!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “How dare you bring her here? How dare you destroy my garden!” Stephanie flinched, her eyes instantly brimming with tears. “Julian… did I do something wrong? Why is she so angry? I’m so scared…” Julian stepped in front of her, his face darkening. “Nancy, quit the theatrics. You grew these flowers for me anyway, didn’t you?” He gestured vaguely at the wreckage. “I was bored of your little obsession with this place. What does it matter if Stephanie uses it for a few photos? Stop making everything about you.” I looked at the crushed lilies on the floor, my eyes stinging. “Who said these were for you? I was preparing this for my future husband!” Julian let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter. “Give it a rest, Nancy. We all know I’m the only man you’ve ever wanted. I’ve already agreed to marry you—stop acting like a brat.” I looked at the broken petals and began to cry. Just then, a crew of workers began hauling in massive crates of sunflowers—Stephanie’s favorite. As they began to unpack them, the air became thick with yellow pollen. My throat tightened instantly. My skin began to flush a violent red. Julian knew. He had known since we were ten years old that I was deathly allergic to sunflower pollen. But his eyes weren’t on me. He was busy directing the workers, his face lit up as he watched Stephanie twirl among the bright yellow blooms. Suddenly, Stephanie let out a small gasp. “Julian… I think I scratched my finger on one of Nancy’s roses. It hurts…” Julian’s face twisted into a mask of maternal worry. He swept her up into his arms, then turned to me, his voice a roar of fury. “Nancy! Even your flowers are as spiteful and vicious as you are! If Stephanie gets an infection from this, I swear to God, you’ll pay for it!” He turned and carried her out, ignoring the way I was clutching my throat, my face turning purple, my hand reaching out to him in a desperate plea for help. I don’t know how long it took me to crawl out of that room. Every breath felt like swallowing glass. When I finally reached my medication in the office below and the air began to return to my lungs, the cold truth settled in my gut. In the past, I thought Julian just didn’t love me. I never realized he was capable of watching me die for the sake of a scratch on Stephanie’s finger. I leaned against the wall, shaking. Thank God. Thank God I wasn’t marrying him. I took several hours to compose myself. Tonight was the formal family dinner to welcome Sam back. I needed to look perfect. I needed to make a good impression. When I reached the underground parking garage, I saw a car rocking rhythmically in the distance. As I got closer, I recognized Julian’s silver Maserati. The driver’s side window was half-down. Julian had Stephanie draped over his lap. Her eyes were glazed, her body moving in a slow, steady rhythm. Even though I no longer loved him, the sheer audacity of it—doing this in the family garage before a formal dinner—made my chest tighten. Julian opened his eyes and locked onto mine. A flicker of panic crossed his face, but it was gone in a second. Instead of stopping, he reached up, brushed a strand of hair from Stephanie’s face, and kissed her deeply, moaning loudly enough for the sound to echo off the concrete walls. He was doing it on purpose. He wanted to break me. I looked away, climbed into my own car, and drove toward the Sterling estate. On the way, I stopped to pick up a silk tie I had ordered for Sam. I arrived at the mansion at the same time as Julian. As he stepped out of his car, I could see discarded wrappers on the floor of his passenger seat. He saw the gift bag in my hand and his smirk returned, full of smug entitlement. “Bought me a gift? Let me see.” I pulled the bag behind my back, my pulse racing. “It’s not for you.” He chuckled, lighting a cigarette and blowing a cloud of smoke toward me. “I saw you in the garage, Nancy. I know you’re dying inside.” He leaned against his car. “I told you already. You get the wedding. Stephanie gets the license. She’s the one making the sacrifice here, really.” He flicked ash onto the pavement. “She’ll be my legal wife. What we do is natural. She’ll probably stay at our house sometimes. You’ll have to get used to it. It’s for your own good, really—keeps the family name intact.” The level of his delusion was staggering. I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my arm. “Listen. My uncle Sam is going to be there tonight. The whole family answers to him. This dinner is serious.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low warning. “I’m giving you enough face by showing up. If the elders ask about the marriage license, you tell them we’ve already signed it. Understand?” “Also, Stephanie’s finger is still sore. After dinner, you’re going to apologize to her. If you don’t… well, I can always call off the wedding before it’s official.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394630”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

To celebrate my promotion, my boyfriend, Asher, insisted on treating me to dinner. He also invited his childhood friend, a woman who allegedly worked in the police force. Throughout the meal, this friend, Audrey, didn’t stop lecturing me. “With your profile,” she said, tapping a manicured fingernail on the table, “at the Fraud Division, we’d classify you as a classic high-risk case.” Asher sat beside her, nodding enthusiastically like a bobblehead. “Audrey sees this stuff every day. If she says something’s off, it’s off.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I excused myself to use the restroom, but as I walked down the corridor, their hushed voices drifted from the slightly open door of our private booth. I stopped, the silence of the hallway amplifying their words. “Ash, seriously, your girlfriend is suspicious,” Audrey’s voice was sharp, clinical. “I just ran a background check. Three properties in her name, two luxury cars. She’s a mid-level corporate manager; where does she get that kind of liquidity?” “She’s definitely a ‘Pig Butchering’ scammer,” she continued, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The ‘fattening’ phase. She packages herself as a wealthy socialite to lure you in, makes you feel secure, and then—bam. She gets you to invest, and you lose everything.” “I’ve worked cases like this for years. These women are ruthless. You need to cut her off immediately. Push her WeChat… I mean, give me her number. I’ll go undercover. I guarantee I’ll leave her with nothing.” My grip tightened around my phone until my knuckles turned white. A cold fury, distinct and sharp, settled in my chest. I turned on my heel and walked to a quiet corner of the lobby, dialing my father. “Dad,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “Call Uncle Grant at the precinct. Tell him I think there’s a mole—or an imposter—in his Financial Crimes Unit.” … When I returned to the booth, Asher and Audrey were laughing, a picture of old friends reconnecting. The moment I stepped in, the smile vanished from Audrey’s face, replaced by a mask of professional severity. “Sloane,” she began, clasping her hands on the table. “Asher and I were just discussing your situation. I think a warning is necessary.” “Someone like you—young, no obvious family wealth, yet spending far beyond your tax bracket—you’re a magnet for criminals. Or, you are the criminal.” Asher shifted closer to me, taking my hand. His palm felt clammy. “Audrey is an elite officer, Sloane. She’s doing this for your own good. She’s worried you’re getting mixed up in something.” I pulled my hand away, a cold sneer forming internally. Worried I’m getting scammed? The biggest scam is sitting right across from me. “Thank you for the concern, Officer,” I said, my voice dropping to a temperature that could freeze vodka. “I’ll be careful.” My indifference clearly annoyed her. She glanced at the Patek Philippe on my wrist—a gift to myself for the promotion—and let out a scoff of disbelief. “Careful? How? That watch alone costs more than your annual salary,” she said, leaning back. “Don’t take this the wrong way, honey, but vanity is a slippery slope. It leads girls like you down dark paths.” Asher looked uncomfortable now, caught in the crossfire. He tugged at my sleeve. “Sloane, come on. Audrey means well. Don’t be stubborn.” “Just tell us where the money comes from,” he pleaded, his eyes wide and earnest. “We can analyze it for you. Make sure you aren’t inadvertently laundering money for someone.” I trembled, not from fear, but from a rage so pure it felt like adrenaline. I whipped my head toward Asher. “What is that supposed to mean? You suspect me, too?” I had always thought he was just easily influenced, a bit soft. But looking at him now, I realized the rot went deeper. He actually agreed with her. He bought into this absurd, fabricated narrative. Under my questioning gaze, Asher flinched, but he doubled down. “I’m not suspecting you, I’m worried about you,” he insisted, though his voice wavered. “You come from a normal family, Sloane. Where did you get the money? Audrey’s right. It doesn’t add up.” Audrey seized the momentum. “Asher, you’re too naive. In my line of work, we see this all the time. Victims think they’re wealthy, only to realize they’re just mules for a cartel. Or worse, they’re part of the scam.” Her eyes narrowed, fixing me with a predator’s stare. “Sloane, I’m asking you one more time. Is your source of funds legitimate? If you confess now and cooperate, I might be able to pull some strings for leniency.” The other diners in the open area nearby began to whisper. “She’s a cop, she must know what she’s talking about.” “Yeah, you see it on the news all the time. Fake heiresses laundering crypto.” The humiliation pricked my skin like needles. I forced myself to breathe, to find that quiet center my father always talked about. “Every cent I have is clean,” I said, my voice low and controlled. “But you, ‘Officer’—abusing your alleged authority to investigate a private citizen’s finances without a warrant and discussing it in public? I’m pretty sure that violates about a dozen departmental protocols.” Audrey’s face stiffened. She hadn’t expected the pushback. Asher immediately jumped to her defense, his tone sharp. “Sloane! Watch your tone! She’s trying to save us! If you have nothing to hide, why are you scared of an investigation? Show us your bank statements. Prove us wrong.” My heart turned to ash. This was the man I had loved for three years. Faced with baseless accusations, he didn’t stand in front of me; he stood with my accuser, demanding I strip myself bare to prove my innocence. I stood up, grabbing my purse. The leather felt cool and grounding against my palm. “I’ve lost my appetite,” I said. “Asher, I’m leaving.” I turned to go, but Asher lunged, gripping my wrist hard enough to bruise. His face was flushed, eyes red with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “Sloane, if you walk out that door right now, don’t expect me to come begging for you back!” Audrey chimed in, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Oh, Asher, calm down. She’s just embarrassed. Girls have thin skin when they’re caught.” She draped a hand on his arm, practically gluing herself to his side. “Sloane, don’t be mad. It’s an occupational hazard. I just want what’s best for you.” I looked at her—at the smugness barely concealed behind her concern—and felt a wave of nausea. “Don’t bother,” I said, ripping my arm from Asher’s grasp. “My affairs are none of your business, Officer.” I looked at Asher one last time. “As for you… I hope you don’t regret this.” I walked out without looking back. Behind me, I heard Audrey’s triumphant voice. “See, Ash? She ran. Guilty conscience. Women like that… you can’t be too nice to them.” I had barely stepped into my apartment when my phone buzzed. It was Chloe, my best friend. “Sloane, what the hell is going on with Asher?” Chloe practically screamed into the phone. “He just posted a status saying he ‘finally saw someone’s true colors’ and thanked his ‘brother in arms’ for the wake-up call. And there’s a picture of him and that Audrey girl!” I collapsed onto the sofa, the silence of the empty apartment wrapping around me. I gave her the short version. “Are you kidding me?” Chloe yelled. “Is he blind? He throws away a diamond to pick up a rock? A fake rock, at that?” My nose stung, tears threatening to spill. “I’m done, Chloe. I want to break up.” “Break up? You need to destroy him! Stay there, I’m coming over.” A few minutes after hanging up, my phone rang again. Asher. I picked up, and his voice assaulted my ear immediately. “Sloane, you’ve got some nerve. Tattling to my mother?” I blinked, confused. “I didn’t call your mother.” “Don’t lie! She just called and chewed me out, told me I should apologize to you. If it wasn’t you, was it Audrey?” He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Trying to use my mom to pressure me? I didn’t realize you were this manipulative.” I actually laughed. “Asher, are you delusional? I only called my dad. If your mom is yelling at you, it’s because she has more sense than you do. And for the record, we are done. Do not contact me again.” He paused, stunned by the breakup, before his anger surged back twofold. “Done? You’re dumping me? Stop playing hard to get, Sloane! Audrey analyzed this—it’s a classic manipulation tactic. You think if you throw a tantrum, I’ll come running?” “I haven’t even started counting your shady assets yet, and you’re acting like the victim?” In the background, I heard Audrey’s voice, sweet and poisonous. “Ash, don’t fight with her. She’s just spiraling. Give her time to cool off. She’s scared. If she’s really innocent, she’ll cooperate with the investigation. Acting like this just proves she’s guilty.” That was the spark Asher needed. “Did you hear that? Even Audrey is more mature than you! I’m giving you three days, Sloane. Think it over, then come apologize to Audrey. Otherwise, we are officially over!” He hung up. A second later, a photo landed in my WeChat. It was a selfie of Audrey leaning intimately on Asher’s shoulder. The background was Asher’s bedroom. The caption read: Don’t say I didn’t warn you, sis. Men like women who are compliant. Your little games don’t work on an expert like me. The doorbell rang. Chloe. She took one look at my face, grabbed the phone, saw the photo, and exploded. “Oh, absolutely not. This bitch is dead.” She hit the dial button on my phone. Audrey picked up. “Hello? Sloane? Ready to apologize?” Chloe didn’t hold back. “Apologize my ass! You homewrecking, fake-badge-wearing psychopath! You think you can steal a man and act tough? I will rip that weave right off your head!” Silence for two seconds, then Audrey let out a pitiful, trembling sob. “Why… why are you yelling at me? I was just trying to help Asher avoid being scammed…” Then Asher’s voice, thundering. “Sloane! You got someone to harass Audrey? You have no class! She’s trying to help, and you treat her like this? You are venomous! I was blind to ever date you!” “We are done! Do you hear me? Done!” I took the phone back from Chloe. My voice was eerily calm. “Asher, relax.” “From this moment on, we are strangers.” “I hope you and your bitch live happily ever after.” I thought the breakup would be the end of it. But when I returned to the office on Monday, the internal announcement for my promotion had been pulled. Colleagues I usually lunched with averted their eyes, scattering like roaches when I walked down the hall. I was blindsided. Before I could process the atmosphere, the Department Director called me into his office and slammed a stack of printed screenshots onto his desk. “Sloane, look at this mess! The whole company is talking about how my department is harboring a scam artist. You’re embarrassing me!” I picked up the papers. My pupils constricted. It was a thread on the company’s anonymous forum: Exposing the “Heiress” Supervisor: Is she running a Pig Butchering Scam? The post was a masterpiece of slander. It listed my job title, my recent purchases, my car model—details only someone close to me would know. “…Her assets are totally disproportionate to her income. Large, unexplained transfers. Typical money laundering profile.” “A friend in the PD told me this is a new type of romance scam. They package themselves as rich, bait executives or trust fund kids, and drain them dry.” The dagger was at the end. The author had tagged Asher’s corporate account. “Rumor has it her latest target was Asher. Luckily, his friend in the force exposed her just in time. She’s been dumped, so watch out—she’s hunting for a new victim in the office.” The comments section was on fire. And there, in the middle of it, was a reply from Asher’s verified account: Thanks for the heads up. Eyes wide open now. Consider it a lesson learned in fraud prevention. His comment felt like a physical slap. The Director tapped the desk impatiently. “HR and Legal are taking this very seriously. Your promotion is frozen. Until this is cleared up and the reputation damage is fixed, don’t expect to move up.” As I walked out of the office, dazed, a commotion erupted at the main entrance. Audrey walked in, arm-in-arm with Asher. She looked victorious. She scanned the room, locked eyes on me, and smirked. She marched up to me, pulled a laminate ID card from her purse, flashed it quickly, and adopted her ‘official’ voice. “Sloane Sterling, in light of the public outcry and significant discrepancies in your asset origin, I am formally requesting you accompany me to the station for an investigation. This is official police business.” Asher stood beside her, looking at me with a mix of pity and self-righteousness. “Sloane, I told you to come clean. Audrey can help you. Why did you let it get this far?” Colleagues gathered around, whispering, pointing phones. I felt like a prisoner being paraded before execution. Just as Audrey puffed out her chest, convinced she had me cornered, my phone rang. It was Dad. Audrey frowned. “No calls during an investigation!” I ignored her and answered. My palms were sweating, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Dad…” My father’s voice came through, steady as a mountain, calm as deep water. “Sloane, I spoke to Captain Grant. He ran the roster for the entire precinct and the city’s Fraud Division. There is no officer named Audrey on the payroll.” In a split second, the fear, the confusion, the humiliation—it all evaporated. So that’s it. I looked at Audrey, tapping her foot impatiently, and the foolish man standing next to her. The corner of my mouth quirked up. I hung up the phone without saying another word to my father. I looked Audrey dead in the eye. “Okay,” I said, my voice smooth. “I’ll go with you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394647”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It started with a dare. A stupid, drunken game that ended with my boyfriend’s mouth on another woman’s. Bennett and I hadn’t even shared a kiss that night before Tina lunged forward, pushing me aside to claim his lips for herself. “Stop messing around, Tess. It’s Claire’s birthday,” Bennett said, his voice laced with that infuriatingly indulgent tone as he pinched her cheek. The room went deathly silent. My friends sat frozen on the velvet sofas of the lounge, eyes darting between me and the girl currently preening under my fiancé’s touch. Tina giggled, a sharp, girlish sound. “Don’t be mad, Claire. Bennett doesn’t even see me as a girl. Right, Ben?” Bennett looked at me, his expression shifting into that familiar mask of weary patience. “It was just a dare, Claire. Don’t be so sensitive. Don’t ruin the night.” … Everyone expected me to explode. They were waiting for the tears, the screaming match, the usual dramatics that defined our three-year cycle of “Bennett and Tina vs. Me.” Instead, I felt a strange, hollow calm. I reached down, slid the engagement ring off my finger, and took Tina’s hand. I slipped the diamond onto her ring finger. It glided on perfectly. “Let me know when the wedding is,” I said quietly. “Oh my God, Bennett! You’re so sweet. What have you been eating? Honey?” Tina’s voice was a saccharine coo that filled the private booth. Bennett had been looking at her with a soft, reminiscent smile, but as the silence of the room finally registered, he noticed me—standing there, having been shoved onto the edge of the sofa. He let go of Tina’s face and gave her a playful swat on the back of her head. “Alright, enough. It’s Claire’s birthday.” Tina pouted, her lower lip trembling with practiced precision. “Ugh… Claire isn’t going to be that girl, is she? It was just a dare.” The air in the room felt thick. This wasn’t a harmless slap on the wrist or a shot of tequila. This was a kiss. A real one. I saw a few of our friends pull their shoulders in, bracing for the impact. They knew my history. They knew I usually fought for him until I was breathless. But I just looked at the ring. Then I looked at Tina. I walked over and slid it onto her finger. It was a perfect fit. Eerily so. I forced a smile. “Invite me to the wedding.” The room gasped. Even Tina looked stunned, her eyes wide as she stared at the rock on her hand. “Claire, it’s a game. Are you seriously doing this right now?” Bennett’s voice had turned icy. “I know it’s a game,” I replied, my voice steady. “I’m just helping you guys win.” Bennett’s face darkened, a muscle leaping in his jaw. Tina tugged at his sleeve, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Fine, Bennett. It’s my fault. I didn’t realize she’d be so… fragile about it.” She slipped the ring off and tossed it toward me with a careless flick of her wrist. “Here. Stop being mad. I didn’t mean anything by it.” The ring hit me square in the cheek before clattering onto the floor. Clink. The silence was absolute. My cheek stung, but my heart felt nothing. I bent down, picked up the ring, and looked at it one last time. “If you don’t want it, then it’s useless,” I said. I tossed it into the tall trash can by the door. “Claire, are you insane?” one of our friends yelled. “That’s your engagement ring! Bennett spent a fortune on that!” “Quick! Get it out!” “Where did it go? I can’t see it!” Suddenly, half the party was scavenging through the trash, hands diving past discarded watermelon rinds, beer cans, and someone’s half-eaten burger. But the ring was small, and the trash was deep. Tina looked panicked now, clutching Bennett’s arm. Her eyes welled with tears. “Bennett, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think she’d react like this. Is it me? Am I the problem? We’ve just always been so close, I forgot…” Bennett stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. “Stop! Everyone, stop looking!” They froze, looking up at him from the trash can. His eyes pierced through me, cold and judgmental. “If you can’t handle the game, why did you play?” he spat. “Now everyone is miserable because of you. Are you happy now?” A lump formed in my throat, but I refused to let it break. Tina was the one who kissed my fiancé. I was the one being “flexible.” And somehow, I was the villain who ruined the party. In the past, I would have sobbed. I would have pointed at Tina and listed every boundary she’d crossed since we started dating. But looking at them now, I just felt… finished. I picked up my purse. “Then I’ll leave. Enjoy the rest of the night.” As the heavy door swung shut behind me, I heard someone whisper, “Wait… it’s Claire’s birthday. It’s kind of messed up that she’s leaving, right?” Bennett’s voice was sharp, impatient. “Let her go. She needs to grow up. Anyway, Tina just got that faculty position at the university. Since the cake is already here, let’s celebrate her instead.” The room erupted into cheers again. “Congrats, Tina! To a brilliant career!” I felt something cold on my cheek. I wiped it away. I was crying. But I wasn’t sad. I was just… empty. I grew up in the faculty housing of a prestigious university, always the quiet girl in the shadow of the golden boy, Bennett. He was the star, the genius, and I was the one who studied until my eyes bled just to see my name next to his on the Dean’s List. I never had Tina’s spark. I was the polite stranger in his life until we got to college. When Tina went to a local state school and got a boyfriend, I finally found the courage to tell him how I felt. And by some miracle, he said yes. From that moment on, every choice I made was for him. He wanted to stay and teach, so I turned down a fellowship in Europe. My advisor begged me to go, citing all the brilliant researchers who had gone on to become department heads before thirty. I just blushed and told her, “A quiet life with him is enough for me.” I gave him everything. And he never even considered me. Standing in the freezing night air, I took a long, shaky breath and dialed my old mentor. “Professor? Is that spot on the Dublin project still open?” There was a pause, then a surprised laugh. “Claire? Did you finally come to your senses?” “I think I did.” “Of course it’s open! I’ve been fending off interns for weeks hoping you’d call. When can you be here?” I smiled. “Give me two weeks. I need to get my affairs in order.” I spent the next few hours deep-diving into the project details. Dublin was hours ahead. By the time I finished the call, the sun was starting to peek through the clouds in Ireland. Here, it was nearly 3:00 AM. My head throbbed. I ran a hot bath and sank into it, letting the steam coat my skin. The exhaustion hit me like a wave. I put on some ambient music and drifted off right there in the tub. I woke to the sound of the front door slamming. “Claire?” It was Bennett. His voice echoed through the apartment, growing more agitated as he moved through the rooms. When he finally shoved open the bathroom door, his expression was dark. “Claire.” He looked at me with genuine reproach. I didn’t understand what he was angry about. Was he mad I wasn’t waiting on the sofa to scream at him? Mad I didn’t ask where he’d been for the last four hours? “You’re back,” I said, my voice raspy. “Sorry, I fell asleep. I didn’t hear you.” I gripped the edge of the tub and looked at him. “Could you please step out?” My tone was polite, distant. Like I was talking to a landlord. He frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted. “I’m late because Tina was wasted. Her ex has been stalking her again, and I couldn’t just leave a girl alone in that state…” “I get it. Safety first,” I said. He froze. I gave him a small, tight smile. “You’re… not mad?” I actually laughed. “Why would I be mad? You’ve been best friends since you were in diapers. Of course you’d see her home. Especially since she lives alone.” For a second, Bennett looked at me like I was a stranger. I waited for him to move, but when he didn’t, I simply stood up and reached for my towel. We lived together; he’d seen it all before, but suddenly, the familiarity felt wrong. I wrapped the towel around myself and walked past him. He grabbed my wrist. “Claire, just say it. Whatever you’re thinking, just spit it out.” I blinked. “Say what?” “You… you usually have a lot to say,” he muttered, his grip loosening. I thought about it. In the past, every fight involving Tina was a marathon of me trying to explain why his “friendship” felt like a betrayal. But I realized then that you only go crazy when you’re still trying to save something. I didn’t feel the need to save anything anymore. I gently pried his hand off. “Don’t be silly. It’s after 2:00 AM and I have lab work tomorrow. Let’s just go to sleep.” His hand stayed suspended in mid-air. I yawned. “Don’t stay up too late. Goodnight.” I climbed into bed and closed my eyes. A moment later, a thunderous BANG shook the walls. Bennett had slammed the bedroom door from the outside. I knew why he was angry. He had offered me a “truce”—a chance to play my part in our usual drama—and I had refused to take the bait. I slept better than I had in years. The next morning, I was ordering takeout when the door opened. A small, elegant cake was placed on the table. Bennett sat behind it. “Late birthday wish. Happy birthday, Claire.” I paused, my thumb hovering over the ‘pay’ button on my phone. “I know yesterday was a mess,” he said, his long, pale fingers sliding his phone toward me. “And I know the ring is gone. It was an old style anyway. Pick a new one. Tina… she’s a child, Claire. Don’t take her seriously. That kiss meant nothing to her. She’s just impulsive, you know how she is—” “You got me a custom cake? Thank you, Bennett. That’s so sweet.” The sudden interruption cut him off mid-sentence. He stared at me, dumbfounded. “Claire?” I leaned over the cake, reading the inscription: To my girl, eighteen forever. “What a lovely sentiment,” I said brightly. “I love it.” He scowled. “Claire…” I started grabbing plates and forks. “What?” He looked down. “Nothing.” “This bakery has the best buttercream in the city,” I chirped. “I can never get a reservation. You really put effort into this.” He gave a noncommittal grunt, looking unsettled. “Claire… the ring. Look, this one is the biggest they have. You can’t waste this one.” I slid the largest slice of cake onto a plate for him. “Here. You can’t let this go to waste.” I took a small bite of my own. “Is this a new flavor? It’s delicious.” “Claire.” His voice was tight. “Will you please look at what I’m showing you?” I looked down at his phone. It was an order page for a Tiffany & Co. True Love setting. The kind of ring that’s marketed as a once-in-a-lifetime promise. My hand trembled slightly. If he had shown me this twenty-four hours ago, I would have burst into tears of joy. Now? It just looked like an expensive piece of carbon. “No, thank you,” I said, chewing slowly. “It’s a lot of money for something so symbolic. It’s fine.” “Claire?” He looked at me like I’d grown a second head. I smiled. “Really. I’m just over that kind of thing. Don’t waste the money. The cake is more than enough.” I set my empty plate down. “I have a meeting, so I have to run. Put the dishes in the dishwasher, okay?” I turned to go to the bedroom to change. Creeeeeak—thud! The sound of his chair being shoved back. I turned around. Bennett was pocketing his phone, his face a mask of cold fury. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll give it to Tina. She actually appreciates nice things.” He slammed the door on his way out. He hadn’t touched a single bite of the cake. A few days later, I was walking past the faculty lounge when I heard the squeals. “Oh my God, it’s stunning! Look at that pavé work!” “Who bought this for our girl Tina? If a man buys you this, you marry him on the spot!” I glanced through the glass. Tina was surrounded by a gaggle of admiring TAs. On her finger sat the very ring I had seen on Bennett’s phone. The “True Love” setting. They say the meaning behind that specific cut is Love Until Death. “Oh, stop it! It’s just a gift from a friend,” Tina giggled, her eyes darting toward Bennett, who was sitting at a nearby desk. When she saw me, she feigned a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh! Claire! I didn’t see you there.” She lowered her voice, though not enough. “This isn’t from Bennett, I swear! Don’t get the wrong idea!” She had made eye contact with me the second I walked in. She had been flaunting that hand the entire time. The room went quiet. Everyone remember the “incident” at the birthday party. They all looked at me, waiting for the explosion. Bennett looked at me, too, his expression unreadable. I walked right up to Tina and took her hand, lifting it to the light. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Your boyfriend has excellent taste.” Tina froze. Bennett’s hand, holding a coffee cup, tensed. The silence stretched until someone nervously laughed. “Well, Claire knows her jewelry. If she says it’s good, it’s good! Tina, your mystery man really pulled through.” Someone whispered loudly, “See? If it were Bennett’s, Claire would be screaming. It must be someone new.” The tension broke. “Tina, who is he? Don’t keep us in suspense!” “When’s the wedding?” Tina’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, then she looked at me, her voice trembling with a hint of malice. “Well, I don’t know how he chose it. I just said I liked it, and he bought it for me. I didn’t think he had such… sophisticated taste.” “Take it off.” The voice was sharp. Sudden. Tina blinked, looking at Bennett.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394631”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Everything changed the day my parents brought Daisy home. My parents, my older brother, my fiancé—the entire axis of my world tilted in her favor. I went from being the Huntington family’s crown jewel to a pariah, unwanted and unseen. Every scream, every tear, every desperate clawing for attention was just an attempt to reclaim a fraction of the love I’d lost, but it was all futile. Then, just as I decided to let go of everything, my mind shattered. I developed dissociative amnesia. The doctor called it a defense mechanism; my brain simply chose to delete the people and memories that caused me pain. At Daisy’s engagement party to my fiancé, I looked at him and saw a stranger. On my birthday, which I spent entirely alone, I forgot the brother who once swore to protect me forever. And on the day my parents threatened to disown me for Daisy’s sake, I forgot I even had parents. In the end, I left the city without a backward glance, unburdened and free. And that was when they all began to regret. 01 “Blair, are you done making a scene yet?” Harrison’s voice drifted up from the living room, dripping with disgust. I stood at the top of the grand staircase, looking down at the tableau below. My parents, Archer, and Harrison were all clustered around Daisy, seated on the plush velvet sofa. When they looked up at me, their eyes held nothing but estrangement and loathing. It felt as though the marble steps beneath my feet had physically cleaved the world in two. In their world, Daisy was the fragile princess, the celestial body around which they all orbited. I was the villain in her story, the malicious stepsister whose every breath was met with impatience and defensiveness. But in my world, it felt like standing in a freezing, ceaseless downpour. I was running aimlessly, soaked to the bone, unable to find a single overhang to shelter me. It wasn’t always like this. I forced my face into a mask of indifference, though my eyes betrayed a hollow confusion. Before Daisy arrived, I was the cherished daughter. I was spoiled, yes, but I was loved. My parents were busy, high-powered executives constantly flying between New York and London, but whenever my father came home, he would catch me as I launched myself into his arms, lifting me high into the air. “Did my little Blair Bear miss her daddy?” he’d ask, his voice thick with indulgence. And if I screamed, “Yes!” he would laugh, rubbing his stubbled cheek against mine until I shrieked with giggles. The gifts they brought back would practically bury me. Even when they were away, I was never lonely. I had the best big brother in the world, and the gentlest boy next door. Archer and Harrison filled the silence of the big house. Even though Archer was five years older, neither of them ever treated me like a nuisance. They played my childish games with infinite patience. I basked in that golden glow until I was seventeen. That was the year my parents brought home a girl my age. Daisy. And the lights went out. Daisy was the daughter of my mother’s college roommate, a woman named Florence. They had stayed in touch over the years, though Florence, proud and middle-class, refused to take handouts from the wealthy Huntingtons. Their friendship lived mostly in emails and holiday cards. Then came the car accident that killed Daisy’s parents. My mother, heartbroken for the girl and furious at relatives who were tossing Daisy around like a hot potato, decided to take her in. “Blair,” my mother had said, her hands on my shoulders, “Daisy is tragic and fragile. You need to yield to her. Make space.” I made space. And in doing so, I lost my place entirely. 02 Daisy and I were nothing alike. She was delicate, ethereal, with eyes that always seemed to be brimming with unshed tears. If anyone raised their voice a decibel above a whisper, she would crumble. On the very first day, I made her cry. All I did was call out “Mom.” The word apparently triggered Daisy’s grief for her deceased parents. I stood there, stunned, as my mother shot me a look of sharp reprimand, forcing me to take a stumbling step back. In the first month, I was accused of pushing her into the lake. Behind the Huntington estate lies a sprawling garden centered around a private lake. Near the water stands a treehouse my father commissioned for me when I was six. It was my sanctuary. Daisy was always crying. Mom said she missed her parents. Mom insisted I take Daisy to the treehouse. I refused. The treehouse was mine. It was the repository of my secrets, the place where I watched the stars when I was sad, the place where Archer would always find me to wipe away my tears. “Can’t we go somewhere else?” I asked, reluctant. “It’s okay, Auntie,” Daisy said, her voice thin and trembling. “If Blair doesn’t like it, I won’t go.” My mother’s voice sharpened, leaving no room for argument. “Blair Huntington, is this how I raised you?” Defeated, I led Daisy to the garden. Standing by the lake, looking at my sanctuary, I felt a sullen heaviness. But I swallowed it, ready to play the good hostess. That was when Daisy stumbled. She collided with me, and we both toppled into the dark water. By the time they found us, the cold had seeped into my bones, sapping my strength. Through the hazy, waterlogged blur, I saw Archer swimming toward me. My heart screamed, Archer, save me, please save me. But from the shore, my mother’s voice pierced the air like a hammer, shattering my hope. “Archer! Get Daisy first! She’s weak! If anything happens to her, how will I explain it to the dead?” In my despair, I saw Archer hesitate. He looked at me—a look of agonizing guilt—and then turned his back on me, swimming toward Daisy. I opened my mouth to scream his name, but the bitter lake water rushed in, filling me up like the grief that would soon drown my life. I was eventually hauled out by security. Daisy recovered quickly. I, however, had inhaled too much water and lay in a coma for three days. When I woke up, the world had rewritten itself. My mother looked at me with pure disgust. “I can’t believe I raised such a vicious daughter.” My father shook his head, disappointment etched into his features. “Blair, we taught you to be kind.” Archer looked at me with a mix of guilt and confusion. “She wasn’t a threat to you, Blair. Why did you try to drown her?” That’s when I learned that Daisy had woken up three days prior. She had spun a tale through her tears: I had pushed her. I had told her I would only be happy if she disappeared. “That’s not true!” I screamed, my throat raw. “I didn’t push her! She fell into me!” But truth is a currency, and I was bankrupt. The more I explained, the more guilty I looked. From that day on, the pampered princess became the villain. I couldn’t do anything right. If I crossed paths with Daisy, I was accused of bullying her. When my parents returned from business trips, they brought gifts only for Daisy. I was forgotten. After six months, I finally exploded. “Mom, Dad, who is your actual daughter? This is cruel!” I saw a flicker of guilt in my mother’s eyes, but she quickly armored herself in self-righteousness. “Daisy has no one. We have to care for her more. Why are you so petty? You’re nothing like me.” My father sighed, reaching for his wallet. “Here’s a card, Blair. Go buy yourself something nice, okay?” But Daisy was crying again. That soft, inescapable sound. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, ensuring everyone heard. “It’s my fault. I don’t want the gifts. Give them to Blair.” My mother’s face hardened. “Blair, look at yourself. We are so disappointed in you.” I watched Archer wipe Daisy’s tears and felt a chasm open up between us. I was terrified. I was insecure. I was heartbroken. But I only knew how to be proud. I bit my lip and shouted, “I don’t want your charity!” before running to my room. I refused to cry. Dad used to say, Blair is a princess, and a princess’s tears are diamonds. You can’t waste them. I tossed and turned that night, agonizing over the why. Was Daisy simply more lovable? The acid of jealousy burned in my chest, making it hard to breathe. But I wouldn’t lose. My pride wouldn’t let me bow. I decided that if Daisy had stolen everything, I would simply steal it back. 03 From seventeen to twenty-three. I spent six years learning a brutal lesson: The tighter you try to grasp sand, the faster it slips through your fingers. I became a complete failure. Family, love, career—I had nothing. All I possessed was my parents’ irritation, Archer’s cold indifference, and Harrison’s resentment. I lifted my chin, mimicking the posture of the princesses in the stories Harrison used to read to me. A princess never bows her head. “I’m done making scenes,” I said, my voice steady. I looked down at the group in the living room—the people I once thought were my eternal safety net. My family. My lips curved into a faint, ironic smile. “You’re all a happy family now. What reason do I have to cause trouble?” Archer looked up at me. His finger twitched. He knew me best; he had watched me grow from a newborn into a woman. Something in my tone made him flinch, a sudden, inexplicable panic rising in his chest. But before he could grasp that feeling, Mom spoke, shattering the moment. “Blair, I don’t care what game you’re playing. Tomorrow is Daisy’s engagement party, and you will be there.” Tomorrow. Daisy and Harrison. It had taken me a month to process the reality of it. Or rather, to be forced to swallow it. I tilted my head, my hand instinctively brushing the fresh bandage on my arm beneath my sleeve. Mom must have forgotten. When I was seven, Harrison had stripped the thorns off a rose from his mother’s garden with his clumsy little fingers and brought it to me. “Blair,” he had whispered, “when we grow up, can I marry you?” Our parents and Archer had laughed at the two toddlers making life plans. But Harrison hadn’t laughed. He stood there, blushing and earnest. “Harrison,” my mom had teased, “do you know what marriage means?” “It means protecting Blair forever,” he had said solemnly. “She’s so delicate, Auntie. No one else will take care of her properly.” Every year on that day, he would ask the room, “Am I big enough yet? Can I marry Blair now?” It wasn’t until middle school that he realized how silly he’d been, but he still took my hand that year and said, “Blair, I promise. I’ll make you my wife one day.” The boy who promised to protect me forever was now standing in front of Daisy, looking at me with hatred, as if I were a monster about to strike. I felt suddenly exhausted. I had wasted my life in this house, tallying up moments of affection like a miser, comparing my share to Daisy’s. If I got a scrap more, I was happy. If I got a scrap less, I crumbled. Somewhere along the way, I had lost myself. And for what? To be branded the villain? These people downstairs were my blood, my heart. If they didn’t love me, who ever would? I had tried. God, I had tried. Maybe my childhood had been too happy, and now the universe was balancing the ledger. Since seventeen, I had been paying off a debt I didn’t know I owed. I nodded. “Understood. I’ll be there.” I didn’t have the energy to decipher their expressions—shock, relief, suspicion—as I turned and walked back to my room. 04 The moment the door clicked shut, the steel rod in my spine dissolved. I slid down the wood to the floor. My mind was a blur of everything and nothing, the world feeling distant, as if wrapped in gauze. My fingers absently traced the scab on my arm. I had used a razor blade a few days ago. For the last year, the desire to leave this world had grown from a whisper to a roar. With Daisy here, my death wouldn’t leave a ripple in their lives. Yet, I kept struggling to breathe. Every time I held the blade, memories of childhood warmth would flood in—unwanted, uninvited—weakening my grip. I unlocked my phone. My contacts list was a wasteland. Since Daisy arrived, I had been tethered to her. I got into an Ivy League school; Daisy didn’t. Mom donated a new library wing to force her in. After graduation, I joined the family business. Daisy was immediately placed in my department. Thanks to her performance, everyone saw me as the high-handed, temperamental heiress. No one wanted to get close to me. Daisy was the trembling victim, easily winning hearts and buying “friends” with Huntington money. I had nowhere to vent. Resentment, numbness, and agony bounced around inside my ribcage, threatening to tear me apart from the inside out. I curled into a ball on the plush carpet. After a long silence, a single tear escaped. Dad, you lied. My tears aren’t diamonds. No one cares if I cry. I wanted to scream, to run downstairs and shake them. Tell me! What do you want me to do? But instead, I pulled my knees tighter to my chest. Sleep, Blair. Just sleep. When you close your eyes, the day ends. My sleep was jagged, eyes darting beneath lids, breathing shallow and fast. But as dawn approached, a strange calm settled over me. My breathing steadied. I woke to a pounding on the door. I pushed my aching body off the floor and opened it. Archer stood there, cold and impatient. “Why aren’t you ready? It’s Daisy’s engagement party. Don’t tell me your princess syndrome is flaring up again?” My head throbbed. I ignored his taunt. Perhaps seeing how pale I was, his voice softened imperceptibly. “What’s wrong with you?” I took a step back. “Nothing.” He looked offended by my distance. “Blair, you used to be so sweet. You used to—” “I’m tired of hearing about what I used to be. Go be with your favorite sister. If you keep talking, I really will miss the party.” I shut the door in his shocked face. As the warm water of the shower hit my skin, I frowned. Engagement party? Daisy and… who? 05 It wasn’t until I was dressed, seated in the car, and arriving at the luxury hotel that I saw the photo outside. I read the names on the welcome board. “Daisy… Harrison.” When I said the second name, a faint confusion floated in my voice. Harrison. It sounded familiar. But when I searched the archives of my mind, the file was missing. I followed the guests into the banquet hall, moving like a ghost. Everyone was terrified I would cause a scene, so I had been essentially banished to the foyer, mingling with distant acquaintances rather than family. Cause a scene? Why would I do that? “Well, well. If it isn’t the difficult Miss Huntington.” A shrill voice grated on my ears. I looked over. Harper. Daisy’s attack dog. For years, she had been Daisy’s loyal shadow, taking every opportunity to mock me. Usually, I would bite back. I lifted my chin. “Still auditioning for the role of family servant? Being Daisy’s lackey isn’t enough?” Harper eyed my custom couture gown with envy before sneering. “You’ve only got your mouth left. Everyone knows today is Daisy and Harrison’s day. Even your parents can’t stand you. Maybe you should reflect on why.” Usually, these words would sting. I would yell, causing a commotion. But strangely, clarity washed over me. To the outside world, I was pathetic. Why was I holding on? “So?” I asked, my voice flat. “Even if you fight Daisy’s battles, my parents aren’t going to adopt you too.” Harper blinked, surprised I hadn’t taken the bait. Usually, Daisy would swoop in about now, crying and hiding behind Archer until Mom scolded me. “Harrison and Daisy are getting engaged,” Harper pressed. “They’re soulmates.” I nodded agreeably. “Sure. Soulmates.” “He doesn’t love you anymore, Blair. Pretending to be calm won’t bring him back.” With a sneer, she “accidentally” tipped her glass of red wine. The crimson liquid splashed across the front of my dress. “Blair! What are you doing?!” she shrieked. Heads turned. The ceremony was about to begin. Harrison and Daisy were walking toward the stage. Whispers crawled into my ears. “That’s the biological daughter. The black sheep.” “The Huntingtons prefer the adopted girl.” “Imagine being so toxic your own parents choose a stranger over you.” “She’s lucky they haven’t disowned her.” “Marrying the adopted daughter is the same for the business merger, anyway.” My hand clenched the fabric of my dress. “Blair, not again!” Archer marched over, brows furrowed. “Sorry everyone, please continue.” I looked at him calmly. “Harper threw the wine on me.” Archer scoffed. “Always the victim. You just want to ruin this for Harrison, don’t you? You need to grow up. Feelings change. Harrison loves Daisy. Why can’t you accept that?” His voice was drowned out by the officiant. “Two hearts, one vow…” I heard something snap in my mind. A clean, sharp break. I looked at Archer. “Why can’t I accept it?” He sighed. “Blair, if Daisy hadn’t insisted, you wouldn’t even be allowed here. She treats you like a sister. She wanted you to witness her happiness. Just be good, okay?” 06 As Archer dragged me out of the banquet hall, I wondered: Was I really not good? He stopped a few feet away from the doors. “Let go of your obsession with Harrison. The childhood stuff was just a joke. Don’t take it seriously.” He shoved a credit card into my hand, dismissing me. “Go buy a new dress. Change. We have a family dinner tonight. Don’t be rude.” I looked at him and finally asked the question that had plagued me all morning. “Who is Harrison?” Archer’s face contorted. “Blair, stop it.” He rubbed his face in frustration. “Who am I?” “Archer,” I said lightly. “And who am I to you?” “My brother.” “See? You remember. You’re terrible at faking amnesia. I have a speech to give. If you cause one more problem, I really won’t defend you anymore.” He glared at me. “It’s been six years. Stop being selfish. Just be a sister to Daisy, alright?” I didn’t answer. I just held the card. The heavy doors of the banquet hall swung shut, sealing my past inside. I walked slowly out of the hotel. The red wine stain looked like a gaping wound on my chest. I used to panic if there was a single wrinkle in my clothes. Now, after years of emotional battering, I didn’t care. I walked until I reached the bridge overlooking the river. I stood on my toes, peering over the railing at the dark water. I heard that when you die, you get a next life. Would my next parents love me? Hope flickered in my chest. Maybe next time, I’d get to be the happy one. Without thinking, I reached out, struggling to hoist myself over the cold metal railing. “Excuse me.” A deep, magnetic voice spoke from behind me. 07 A suit jacket, still warm from body heat, was wrapped around my waist. Strong hands gripped me, lifting me effortlessly back onto the pavement. I turned around. First impression: A man. Second impression: Old money. He was wearing a black shirt, buttoned all the way to the top—repressed, austere. I couldn’t guess his age, but his aura was terrifyingly calm. His eyes were like the deep ocean, steady and unreadable. He stepped back politely. “What are you doing?” I snapped. Old habits die hard; defensiveness was my armor. He didn’t frown. He just tilted his head. “You were flashing the traffic.” I almost laughed. I wanted to die, and he was worried about my modesty? I thought he was going to give me a “life is worth living” speech. I pursed my lips, the suicidal impulse fading. I wasn’t that fragile. “Thank you,” I mumbled, looking down. “Mr. Roman, it’s 2:10,” a man said, stepping out of a black Maybach parked nearby. The man—Roman—looked at me. I moved to hand the jacket back. “Keep it,” he said, his voice cool. “Your dress is ruined.” He got in the car without another word. I stood there holding the jacket, and found a business card in the pocket. Roman. I had heard Archer mention him. The head of one of the city’s oldest dynasties. A shark in the business world, barely thirty but feared by men twice his age. Archer worshiped him. On the back was a private number. It was probably an accident. I didn’t want to owe a man like that anything. I tore the card into confetti and tossed it into the river. Before I went home, I threw the jacket in a dumpster. By the time I walked back to the villa, it was dark. My parents and Archer were in the living room. Daisy was sobbing softly. As soon as I entered, my mother stood up and swept a crystal fruit bowl off the coffee table. Crash. “Blair! You didn’t come back to the dinner! Harrison’s parents think you disapprove of the marriage! They’re looking at Daisy differently now!” My feet were bleeding from walking miles in heels, but no one looked down. I looked at the scene I had lived a thousand times. “Daisy,” I asked, “aren’t you tired of crying for six years?” Daisy froze, then wailed louder. “I know you hate me, Blair! I’m sorry! I just wanted a family! I’m sorry I’m so greedy for Mom and Dad and Archer’s love…” Mom pulled her into a hug, glaring at me. “Blair, you have turned this house into a war zone. If you can’t behave, I’m cutting you off.” I stood straight. It had never been about the money. It was about the love. “Mom,” I said, the word fragile on my tongue, “why does her need for a family mean destroying mine?” 08 For a second, my mother faltered. But then Daisy whimpered, looking like a wilted white flower. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll leave so Blair isn’t angry.” Mom’s face hardened into stone. “Don’t think a few pathetic words will fix this. Blair, until you genuinely accept Daisy as your sister, you don’t get a dime.” I looked at my father. He looked away. I looked at Archer. He was handing Daisy a tissue. “Okay,” I nodded. “I understand.” If I fought, I lost. If I surrendered, I lost. “Since you’re so stubborn,” Mom said coldly, “don’t bother sleeping here tonight. Pack your bags.” I stiffened, then nodded. No one remembered that tomorrow was my birthday. I went to my room, dragged out a suitcase, and threw in some clothes. I sat in the dark, waiting for dawn. Before Daisy, the night before my birthday was magical. I would go to sleep buzzing with excitement. I would wake up to Archer waiting at my door to lead me to the “Gift Room.” He would spend the whole day with me. At midnight, he would give me a necklace. “Our little princess is a year older.” After Daisy arrived, she watched my birthday celebration and then swallowed a handful of sleeping pills. After that, no one celebrated my birthday. Only Archer would remember to buy a small cake. I waited all day. Archer didn’t come with a cake. I dragged my suitcase to the front door just as Archer and Daisy walked in. “Why are you still here?” Archer frowned. “Mom told you to leave.” I walked past him without a word. I caught Daisy’s triumphant smirk in my peripheral vision. I wasn’t a princess. Princesses are brave. I just wanted to run and forget. I couldn’t beat Daisy. So I surrendered. Walking out of the gates, I felt strangely light. I had no money, just a suitcase, walking until the world spun. Blackness took me. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital room. A man was sitting there. The guy who got engaged to Daisy. I searched the depths of my mind for his name. “Harrison?” It felt foreign on my tongue. “What did you call me?” He looked angry. Was that wrong? Maybe he preferred a title. “Brother-in-law?” I tried. Harrison looked agitated. “Call me what you used to call me. I’m just engaged to Daisy. Our feelings haven’t changed.” I propped myself up. “Used to?” “Did we know each other before?” 09 Harrison stood frozen, staring at me with horror. He slammed his hand on the nurse call button. His fingers were trembling. Weird. Isn’t he Daisy’s fiancé? Why is he panicking because I forgot him? Doctors and nurses swarmed in. “We need a psych consult,” one said. “No head trauma. She fainted from exhaustion.” I thought about it. Why didn’t I sleep? I couldn’t remember. So I lay back. My parents kicked me out because of Daisy. I accepted that. But the years before that… Huh? The memories were foggy, chopped up, missing key frames. The psychiatrist arrived. “Dissociative Amnesia,” he concluded. “The patient has undergone severe stress and has subconsciously chosen to block out painful memories. Recovery depends on her willingness to remember. There is no pill for this.” I smiled at the doctor. “Thank you. I don’t need treatment. If the memories hurt, I’m better off without them.” Behind the doctor, a glass crashed to the floor.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394648”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The holidays were screaming toward us—that frantic, tinsel-draped stretch between Christmas and New Year—when my parents dropped the bomb. They were leaving. Not for a vacation, but for good. “Tyler and Madison said things are too crazy at work,” my father announced, not looking me in the eye as he packed a crate of old records. “They can’t get the time off to fly back here. It’s too much of a hassle.” “So your father and I decided we’ll just go to them,” my mother added, her face lit with a glow I hadn’t seen in years. She looked twenty years younger just talking about it. “If Madison and I hit it off, we might just stay through the spring. Maybe longer.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re going to start trying for a baby soon. They’ll need me there. A grandmother’s touch, you know? It’s different from hiring help.” They kept talking, their voices overlapping in a frantic, joyful duet. They were already mapping out a new life in a city halfway across the country, a place where my brother Tyler had built a life they actually wanted to be part of. I felt a coldness settle in my chest. “And me?” I asked, my voice cutting through their excitement. “Where am I supposed to go for the holidays?” My mother paused, a look of genuine confusion flickering across her features. “Don’t you have Mark’s family? You’re married, Nora.” … “You’re one of them now,” she continued, patting my hand as if she were comforting a distant cousin. “Spend the New Year with the in-laws. When you have a long weekend, you can fly down and visit us. You’ll be our guest.” A guest. The word tasted like ash. My brother gets married, and suddenly my childhood home—the very concept of ‘home’—migrates to whatever city he happens to live in? I looked at her, my mind racing back to three years ago. Back to the reason I was even standing in this kitchen in suburban Ohio. I had been in love with Simon. We had been together for eight years, a lifetime of shared jokes and Sunday mornings. He was perfect—or as close to it as a human can get. His family was the kind you see in Hallmark movies, and more importantly, his city was the hub for my industry. Moving there wouldn’t have just been a romantic choice; it would have been a career leap. My salary would have tripled overnight. But my mother had spent every night for a month weeping. She’d sit at the edge of my bed, her eyes red-rimmed, clutching my hand. “They say travel is easy now,” she’d sob. “A three-hour flight, they say. But you’ll have a life, Nora. You’ll have a job. You won’t have two days to waste on airports just to sit in this living room for a few hours. You’ll make excuses. You’ll stay away.” She’d bring up the neighbors. “Look at Sarah. She moved to Seattle and we haven’t seen her in three years. There’s always a sick kid or a deadline. I only have maybe thirty years left, Nora. Am I only going to see you thirty more times before I die?” That was the line that broke me. It was the ultimate emotional ransom. I chose my mother over my soulmate. I walked away from Simon and the high-paying career, moved back to this sleepy town, and married Mark—a “stable” local guy I met through a family friend—just to be near her. I wanted to be the daughter who took her for walks when her knees gave out, the one who brought her favorite pastries on a Tuesday just because. And now, the moment Tyler—the golden son—called from the sun-drenched coast, her “thirty years” didn’t seem to matter. Her proximity to me was suddenly a disposable luxury. It was a masterclass in hypocrisy. “But Tyler’s city is thousands of miles away,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “If you and Dad move there, you won’t be coming back here much, will you?” My mother laughed, a light, airy sound. “Why would we come back? My son is there. My grandson will be there. That’s where the roots are now. I suppose they’ll fly us back in boxes when we’re gone, but until then? We’re looking forward, Nora.” She didn’t even look sad. She was vibrating with the thrill of a fresh start, one that didn’t include me. “But I’m still here,” I whispered. “I married a local man. It’s going to be hard for me to just drop everything to see you.” She didn’t even register the hurt in my voice. “Oh, honey, you need to focus on your own little family. Build a good relationship with your mother-in-law. Be a good wife so Mark doesn’t have a hard time. And really, you two should start thinking about kids. It’s time.” She kept preaching about how I belonged to Mark’s family now, how my duty was to them. If that was the case, why did she chain me here three years ago? I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw a fit. What would be the point? To force a hollow apology? To make her stay and resent me the way I secretly resented her? I wasn’t going to beg for a place in a heart that clearly had no room for me. I numbly helped her pack. I drove them to the airport. I watched them disappear through security without a single backward glance. A week later, she called. “Madison’s pregnant! It’s happening, Nora! We’re selling the house here—we need the cash to help them put a down payment on a bigger place with an in-law suite. If anyone wants to tour the house, I told the realtor you’d have the keys.” Even the house wasn’t mine to return to. The last physical tether was being severed for a down payment in a city I’d never been to. On the second day of the New Year, I was at Mark’s parents’ house, doing exactly what was expected of me. I was the “good wife,” hosting his sisters and their families, managing a mountain of laundry and a twelve-person dinner by myself. I didn’t mind the work. The busyness kept the silence in my head from getting too loud. I told myself I could handle this. People move on. Families change. But then, the doorbell rang. Standing on the porch was a woman I recognized from old photos on Mark’s phone. It was Becca, his ex. She was holding a toddler who looked to be about two years old. “He’s Mark’s,” she said, her voice trembling but defiant. “And Mark needs to step up.” I froze. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Mark walked up behind me, his face turning a sickly shade of gray. “Becca? If you were pregnant when we broke up, why the hell didn’t you tell me?” She let out a harsh, jagged laugh. “Your mother hated me, Mark. She made it clear I wasn’t ‘good enough’ for this family. If she knew I was pregnant, she would have shredded me. I wasn’t going to let her touch my baby.” I knew their story. They had been “the” couple in high school. Madly in love, until Mark’s mother decided Becca’s family background wasn’t prestigious enough. She had used every guilt trip in the book—the tears, the “heart palpitations”—to force them apart. It was a mirror of my own story, only Mark had folded even faster than I had. “Why now?” I asked, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. If she had come forward sooner, I never would have married him. Becca looked at me with bored eyes. “I’m young. I want a life. I found someone—a guy with money—and he doesn’t want another man’s baggage. This kid is a Miller. He belongs to you people.” She practically pushed the boy into Mark’s arms and walked away. Mark didn’t stop her. He just stood there, holding a child that was a living testament to a life he’d lived before me. Inside, the house erupted. Mark’s mother and sisters were already hovering, cooing over the boy. “Look at his eyes,” his sister whispered. “He’s the spitting image of Mark at that age.” The joy in the room was suffocating. They had a new toy, a new legacy. No one looked at me. No one asked how I felt about my marriage being firebombed on a Tuesday afternoon. That night, Mark sat on the edge of our bed, his head in his hands. “The timeline works out,” he said. “I’ll do a DNA test tomorrow, but… if he’s mine, Nora…” He looked at me, and I saw the resolve in his eyes. “I can’t turn my back on my own blood.” “So I’m just supposed to be a stepmother?” I asked. “Just like that? Overnight?” I started shoving clothes into a suitcase. He jumped up, trying to grab my arm. “Where are you going? Your parents sold the house, Nora. You have nowhere to go.” It’s the classic line from a bad movie. Where will you go? You have no one. I lived ten minutes from the street where I grew up, and my husband was telling me I was homeless. “There are hotels, Mark. We need space. I need a plan. Because I’m telling you now: I didn’t sign up for this. If this is the new reality, I want a divorce.” I wasn’t being cruel; I was being honest. I had spent my life being the “sensible” one, the one who sacrificed. I wasn’t going to sacrifice my future for a child that was a product of a lie by omission. But as I tried to leave, his mother and sisters blocked the hallway. They took my suitcase out of my hands. They swarmed me like a hive of angry bees. “The baby is here, Nora. You can’t just put him back!” “Even if you leave, who are you going to find? A thirty-year-old divorcee? You’ll just end up with some other guy’s kid anyway. At least this one is family.” “Don’t be so selfish. This is a blessing for the Miller family.” I couldn’t even finish a sentence before they drowned me out. I was trapped. I had a phone, but who was I going to call? My parents were three time zones away, busy playing house with Tyler. I had stayed for them, but when the storm hit, I realized I was standing in an open field alone. I locked myself in the guest room and cried until my throat burned. When Mark eventually came in, he didn’t apologize. He didn’t hold me. He just got into bed and turned his back to me. “He’s my son,” he said into the darkness. “I’m not giving him up.” The betrayal felt like a physical weight. I had tried so hard to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife. And in the end, I was just a placeholder. I thought about Simon. I wondered if he was happy. I wondered if he had a wife who didn’t have to fight for her right to exist in her own home. For the first time since I said goodbye to him, I felt the sharp, agonizing sting of regret. The next morning, I woke up with a fever that made my bones ache. My throat was so swollen I could barely swallow. But the house was empty. They had all gone to the clinic for the DNA test, then to look at preschools. They had started their new life without me. I needed help, but it was the holidays. Every friend I had was busy with their own families. I lay there, shivering, the silence of the house mocking me. Eventually, I had to crawl—literally crawl—to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of lukewarm water from the tap. The DNA results came back a few days later. 99.9%. When they gathered in the living room, glowing with the news, I handed Mark the papers. “I want a divorce.” The insults started immediately. They called me heartless. They called me “less of a woman” for not having an instinctual love for the boy. “You think you’re so special?” Mark’s mother hissed. “Go ahead. Leave. See where you end up. Your brother won’t want you cluttering up his new guest room.” Mark didn’t defend me. He just watched me walk out the door. The only stroke of luck I had was a single cancelled ticket on a train heading east. As I sat in the quiet car, watching the Ohio landscape blur into a grey smudge, I sent Mark a draft of a settlement. I told him I’d let the lawyers handle the rest. I was going to a city where I knew no one. I was starting over with a bruised heart and a resume that was three years out of date. But as the train picked up speed, I felt a strange, terrifying lightness. I was finally, for the better or worse, on my own.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394632”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was moving to London to teach, and Declan was my biggest cheerleader. Everyone told me I’d hit the jackpot with him. They whispered that he was secretly planning a wedding, a grand romantic gesture to surprise me before I left. But then I found the files. Hundreds of emails and formal requests saved on his laptop, all petitioning the department head for one specific transfer. He wasn’t just sending me away; he was trading me. He was bringing a girl named Lacey back to the States. And the wedding files in the hidden folder? The bride wasn’t me. I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw things. I didn’t even cry. I actually found myself wishing them well. Because, honestly? I just didn’t care anymore. I only felt bad for the Declan who would look for me later, the one who would eventually lose his mind when he realized I was gone for good. 1 “Nora, are you absolutely sure about this? You know checking this box makes the transfer indefinite, right?” The department secretary lowered her voice. “And… shouldn’t you check with Declan about the date? This clashes directly with that ‘big event’ he’s planning.” I stared at the screen of Declan’s open laptop, my eyes unfocused on the rows of pdfs. My colleagues had been winking at me all week, telling me to act surprised, that Declan was in full groom-mode. Declan himself had been tight-lipped, vibrating with a nervous energy I had foolishly mistaken for romance. I thought, Finally. After eight years, he’s trying. But every vendor contract, every venue inquiry, every draft invitation on this screen bore the names Declan & Lacey. Not Nora. It all made sense now. The way he’d practically packed my bags for London. He wasn’t supporting my career; he was clearing the board. My departure was the condition for her return. A one-for-one swap. I bit down on my lip until I tasted copper, then looked the secretary in the eye. “The wedding… it doesn’t concern me. Keep the flight date as is.” Eight years of devotion, and this was the severance package. If that was the price of his love, I couldn’t afford it anymore. The moment the ticket confirmation landed in my inbox, Declan’s ringtone cut through the air. “How long are you going to make everyone wait?” His voice was sharp, impatient. “I know it’s your going-away party, Nora, but do you have to act like a princess and show up late?” I glanced at the clock. The reservation wasn’t for another thirty minutes. His irritation had arrived ahead of schedule. I mumbled a non-committal excuse and hung up. My eyes fell on his phone case—a custom one I’d bought us as a joke for our anniversary. He hated it. Called it tacky. Said it made him look unprofessional at the university. He’d promised to only wear it at home, to humor me. Looking at it now, a wave of nausea rolled through me. I tossed it into the nearest trash can and headed for the restaurant. The moment I walked in, a colleague shoved a massive bouquet of red roses into my arms, winking frantically toward Declan. “You sure know how to pick ’em, Nora! Look at this!” Usually, when I upset Declan, he bought flowers to apologize. But never roses. It was always carnations—cheap, supermarket filler. My colleague, caught up in the excitement, snatched the small card from the bouquet and read it aloud before I could stop her. “To my dearest Lacey. You are as timeless as a rose, and I will always protect you. Love, Declan.” The room went dead silent. I dug my fingernails into my palms, letting the sharp pain tether me to my dignity. I forced a smile. “Oh! Right. These… aren’t for me.” Footsteps clicked on the hardwood floor behind me. A petite woman in a pale dress stopped at my side. She reached out, took the heavy bouquet from my hands, and buried her face in the blooms, inhaling deeply. “Declan hasn’t changed a bit,” she sighed, her voice sugary and light. “He always sends me roses.” She turned to me, beaming. “You must be the ‘bro’ Declan talks about! Thank you so much for agreeing to the swap so I could come home from London.” 2 I looked at the roses in her arms and let out a soft, dry laugh. I remembered a night years ago. Declan had smashed a set of dishes in a temper tantrum. He hadn’t replaced them. When I came home late from work, hungry and tired, there were no plates. He felt guilty, so he ran out into a pouring rainstorm. He came back soaking wet, holding a bundle of white carnations. At the time, I had laughed, calling him hopeless. “Who buys carnations for an apology? They look like funeral flowers.” Seeing Lacey holding those deep red roses, I realized he wasn’t hopeless. He wasn’t lacking in romance. He just didn’t want to waste it on me. That was why, for eight years, I only ever got the cheap stuff. “Right,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m Declan’s ‘bro.’ Let me show you to the table.” When Declan saw Lacey walk in, he shot out of his chair, his eyes glued to her. Carter, Declan’s best friend, slid into the seat next to me. “Nora, look, don’t read into it. He just hasn’t seen Lacey in a long time. Don’t be that jealous girlfriend.” I waved a hand dismissively. “Who’s jealous? Don’t they look good together?” Carter frowned. This was the same man who had watched me drag myself out of bed with a 102-degree fever to bring Declan hangover meds. The man who had answered my 3:00 AM calls when Declan didn’t come home. To Carter, and probably to Declan, I wasn’t a partner. I was a placeholder. A warm body. That’s why he felt comfortable coordinating Lacey’s arrival. Carter didn’t know what to say, so he drifted away. Declan had left his phone on the table. I flipped it over. The case was gone—the one I bought him. In its place was a clear case, displaying a passport-style photo of him and Lacey, heads leaning together. I picked it up, my hands trembling. In eight years, Declan didn’t have a single photo of me on his phone. “We see each other every day,” he’d say. “Why do we need photos?” I believed him. Like an idiot, I believed him. But his laptop was a shrine to Lacey. Thousands of photos. Every angle. Every smile. The party that was supposed to be my farewell turned into Lacey’s homecoming. Declan didn’t leave her side. He blocked every glass of wine offered to her. When I kept a polite, frozen smile on my face, Declan leaned over and hissed, “Stop looking at her like that. Can’t you be generous for once? What is wrong with you?” My head pounded. The acid in my stomach rose. He had traded my life for hers, and I was the one being selfish? I grabbed a margarita from a passing tray, needing something to dull the edge. Declan’s hand shot out, knocking the glass from my grip. It shattered. Red liquid splashed everywhere. His other hand immediately clamped over Lacey’s eyes. “Lacey, don’t look! You know you faint at the sight of blood.” Lacey giggled, peeling his fingers away. She pinched his cheek. “Oh my god, Declan. That was a lie I told during Truth or Dare in high school. You still remember that? You dork.” Tears finally pricked my eyes. Not because of the wasted drink. But because Declan remembered a throwaway lie from high school, yet he couldn’t remember a single thing about me. I hated the color blue. I’d told him a hundred times. Yet when we moved in together, he painted the living room navy. “I thought you liked blue,” he’d said, looking genuinely confused. I used to tell myself he just had a bad memory. I was too afraid to admit the truth: he didn’t want to remember. Eight years is a long time to leave no trace. Lacey walked over, patting Declan’s chest soothingly. “Nora, don’t be mad. He gets intense when he drinks. I used to make him hot water with honey, and he’d settle right down.” 3 I didn’t answer. I just watched Declan lean into her touch, like a plant turning toward the sun. “Nora,” Lacey chirped. “Do you have honey at your place? I can text you the recipe. You should make him some.” She was the childhood sweetheart. The one who got away. How could I compete with that mythology? I couldn’t. It was better to just fold. “Why don’t you come back to our place and make it for him?” I said. Declan’s head snapped up. He looked shocked, then panicked. We hailed a cab. There was only one. Declan opened the back door for Lacey, ushering her in. He started to hold it for me, but I stepped back. “No thanks,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on a reunion ten years in the making.” Declan ducked his head, refusing to meet my eyes. Inside the cab, I watched them. Declan rested his head on her shoulder. When he felt sick, he sat up and breathed through the window. I laughed out loud. “What, you aren’t going to puke on her?” When I used to pick him up, he’d vomit all over the upholstery. I was the one who had to apologize to the driver and pay the cleaning fee. He respected her too much to ruin her dress. He caught my eye in the rearview mirror and looked away after two seconds. But he stayed upright. When we got to the apartment, the honey water worked its magic. “Declan,” Lacey said, looking around with wide eyes. “I just got back and… I haven’t found a place yet. Can I crash here?” Declan agreed before she finished the sentence. He grabbed her luggage and carried it straight into the master bedroom. “Declan,” I asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you sleeping in there with her tonight?” He stopped. His voice was ice cold. “That’s none of your business.” I chuckled. Why did I even ask? I went to the guest room. To my surprise, Declan followed me in a few minutes later. “Nora, look. It’s not what you think.” I almost applauded the audacity. “I know,” I said. “I get it.” “But, Declan… we’re breaking up.” He frowned, opening his mouth to argue, but Lacey burst into the room, tears streaming down her face. “Declan! I’m scared! I feel like someone is watching me through the window!” We lived on the 28th floor. Unless Spiderman was a peeping tom, nobody was watching her. But Declan didn’t hesitate. He rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her trembling shoulders. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared. I’ll stay with you.” I watched him make a pallet on the floor of the master bedroom. Fine by me. Let them have the bed I paid for. Back in the guest room, I knocked over a lamp in the dark. It shattered, slicing a deep gash into my palm. Blood welled up immediately. I had to go to the ER. Declan saw me in the hallway, holding a towel to my hand. He frowned. “I’ll drive you.” Old Nora would have been grateful. New Nora just shook her head. “No.” His face darkened. He walked me to the door, his hand on the knob. “Nora,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t do unnecessary things to get attention.” There it was. When you don’t love someone, even their pain is an inconvenience. The last flickering ember of my love for him finally went out. 4 I dragged myself home at dawn. Declan was in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. In eight years, he had never cooked for me. Not once. Even when I was pulling double shifts, he’d call me to ask when I was coming home to make dinner. The smell of bacon and eggs made my stomach turn. I wasn’t qualified to eat his cooking. That was a premium subscription feature reserved for Lacey. I ignored the bowl of porridge he’d set out for me and grabbed a packet of instant oatmeal. Declan snatched the packet from my hand. “You just got back from the hospital—” “Declan!” Lacey’s voice drifted from the bedroom. “Come read to me! I want to sleep in a bit longer!” She poked her head out, looking at me with big, innocent doe eyes. “Sorry, Nora. He’s just so used to babying me. You don’t mind, do you?” Declan dropped the oatmeal packet. “Ignore her,” he muttered to me, and walked away. My phone didn’t ring, but his did. Over and over. “Hello, sir. Regarding the wedding venue… any other specific requests?” To ensure this bridge was thoroughly burned, I decided to leave them a parting gift. I sat at the table eating my dry toast. Declan walked in, holding Lacey’s hand. When he saw me, he dropped her hand like it was hot iron. “She… she gets dizzy in the mornings. I didn’t want her to walk into a wall.” I smiled pleasantly. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want her to bruise before the big day.” Declan stared at me, stunned. Usually, I fought for every scrap of affection. I used to start a war if I caught him texting another girl. Now? I was Zen. “Nora,” Lacey said, buttering a piece of toast. “Declan booked a bridal fitting for me this afternoon. It’s a surprise for… well, just for fun. You should come help me choose!” “Declan, you’re crazy,” she giggled, hitting his arm. “Making me wear a wedding dress right after I land!” I shook my head. “Can’t. Haven’t finished packing for London.” Declan slammed his fork down. “What is wrong with you? She doesn’t know anyone here. Would it kill you to be nice for one afternoon?” I set my spoon down gently. “I am moving to another continent. My flight is next week. I need to pack. Is that valid enough for you?” Declan deflated slightly. He looked down at his plate. “The flight isn’t until next week?” He was pushing me out the door, yet didn’t even know when I was leaving. When I didn’t apologize, his temper flared again. “Nora, you think I’m going to beg you to stay? You think that little breakup speech last night means anything?” He laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. “Fine! We’re done! Happy?” He grabbed Lacey’s hand and stormed out. I finished packing. I looked around the apartment and realized there was almost nothing of me here. I checked Declan’s social media. His pinned post was an announcement for a “Welcome Home” party tonight. A wedding reception in all but name. My flight was actually today. I’d lied about the date. I recorded a video message for the happy couple, scheduled it to send, and headed to the airport. As I sat on the tarmac, my phone began to buzz. Once. Twice. Then a continuous vibration. “Where are you?! Why did you post that video?” “It’s not what you think!” “Come back right now!” I declined the call and powered off the phone. The engines roared to life.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394649”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

All because I refused to cook a goddamn meal for the man Victoria had spent her whole life loving. That was why she pulled the plug on my mother’s treatment. I was burning up with a hundred-and-three-degree fever, kneeling in the freezing sleet outside her townhouse for an entire night, begging her. I called her phone over and over, my fingers numb and bleeding from the cold, until the line finally went dead. She had blocked me. By the time I dragged myself back to the oncology ward, my mother was already gone. She died in agonizing pain. And Victoria’s golden boy? He was posting a photo of the two of them on Instagram. In the picture, they were smiling, flushed with wine and the thrill of being together. The caption read: “If you’re the one waiting at the end of it all, I don’t mind that it took this long.” I went numb. I handled my mother’s cremation with hollowed-out efficiency, sent Victoria a text saying we were done, and tried to disappear. But she wouldn’t let me go. 1 “Victoria. We’re done.” I could endure the neglect. I could stomach the countless times Victoria cast me aside the second Spencer snapped his fingers. I could even swallow my pride and play the role of the dutiful, invisible boyfriend while she chased the ghost of her childhood sweetheart. But I would never—could never—forgive her for treating my mother’s life as collateral damage. She had cut off the funding and revoked the specialist care for my mom’s stage-four cancer without a second thought. She knew. She knew better than anyone that time was the only thing keeping my mother breathing, that every delayed hour was a death sentence. And she signed the order anyway. All because I wouldn’t play private chef for the man she was having an emotional affair with. It was absurd. It was so profoundly sick. In her eyes, a living, breathing human being was worth less than a moment of her lover’s fleeting comfort. My mother’s life weighed less than a plate of food. After the funeral, I went back to the house to pack the last of my things. It wasn’t until I was sitting in my cramped, temporary studio apartment that I realized I had left the locket behind. It was a delicate silver thing, hand-crafted for my eighteenth birthday. Mom had taken it to Father Thomas at our old parish to have it blessed. I had left it on the dresser in Victoria’s master bedroom. I had no choice. I had to go back to the estate. I thought the house would be empty. But the moment I pushed open the heavy oak doors, I found myself staring dead at Victoria and Spencer. They looked exhausted but glowing, designer luggage scattered across the marble foyer. God knows where they had just flown in from. Victoria caught sight of me, a cynical, mocking smirk twisting her lips. “So, you finally decided to crawl back?” “Spencer is going to crash here for a few days,” she ordered, tossing her coat onto a chair. “Go upstairs and get the guest suite ready.” I stared at her, genuinely marveling at the sheer audacity of her mind. Why was it that every time Spencer graced us with his presence, I was expected to play the help? Looking at them now, it felt like I was the beaten-down spouse being forced to fluff the pillows for the mistress. Before I could even formulate a rejection, Spencer flashed me a practiced, apologetic smile. He casually, almost territorially, draped his arm over Victoria’s shoulder. “Cole, man, I’m so sorry. Vic and I just got back from Gstaad, and the jet lag is brutal. We’re just too wiped to deal with hotels right now. You don’t mind taking care of us for a couple of days, do you?” “You’re cool with that, right?” A laugh tore out of my throat. It was jagged and ugly. So that was it. While my mother was suffocating in a hospital bed, they were skiing in the Swiss Alps. A week ago, Spencer had a sudden craving. He mentioned to Victoria that he wanted to try “Cole’s famous home cooking.” He wanted me to make him dinner. I had a fever that was cooking my brain, and I was terrified for my mother whose vitals were dropping. I politely declined. Spencer threw a subtle, passive-aggressive fit. I have no idea what he whispered to Victoria behind closed doors. But the next morning, I got the call from the hospital administrators. Victoria had revoked the medical mandate. The hospital was part of the Kensington Medical Group. Her family owned the board. They had the best oncologists in the country on payroll. Without Victoria’s explicit authorization, no one there would touch my mother. I called her until my phone battery died. I got nothing. Two days later, the delay in treatment caused massive organ failure. My mom died screaming. And Victoria? She was flying across the Atlantic with the love of her life. When my world was ending, she didn’t even bother to look back. While my mother was howling in the ICU, while I was freezing my knees off in the snow—what was she doing? She was curled up in his arms. My entire body was vibrating. I had to curl my hands into fists so tight my nails cut into my palms, just to keep myself from doing something I couldn’t undo. “Victoria, we are broken up.” My voice was eerily calm. “From this second forward, your life is none of my fucking business. And do not ever ask me to do another goddamn thing for Spencer.” 2 I bypassed them entirely, walking straight toward the master closet to retrieve the locket from the jewelry stand. When I crossed back through the living room, Victoria and Spencer were sitting thigh-to-thigh on the sofa. Victoria was swirling a glass of Cabernet. She fixed me with a dark, glacial stare. “Stop right there. Did I say you were dismissed?” “Do you think my house is a revolving door? You walk out when you throw a tantrum and waltz back in when it suits you?” “Cole, if you take one step out that door today, you can go ahead and plan your mother’s funeral.” I froze. My foot hovered over the carpet. She was… she was holding my mother hostage? Victoria knew exactly how much my mother meant to me. She was the center of my universe. And Victoria leveraged that. She knew that as long as my mom was sick, I couldn’t afford to leave. I was trapped. I had to be her obedient little dog, taking every ounce of disrespect, every blatant betrayal involving Spencer, because I needed her money to keep my mom alive. But she didn’t know the game was already over. I had buried my mother yesterday. There was nothing left keeping me here. Any thread tying me to Victoria Kensington had been incinerated in that crematorium. Misinterpreting my silence as surrender, Victoria lifted her chin, her tone dripping with arrogant triumph. “I’m starving. Go make dinner for me and Spencer. Do that, and I’ll pretend this little rebellion of yours never happened.” God. Who the hell did she think she was? I looked at her, my eyes entirely dead. “Are you deaf, Victoria? I said we are done. You want me to cook for you and your little side piece? You aren’t worth the dirt on my shoes.” I had never spoken to her like that. For years, I was the peacemaker. I smoothed out the rough edges. I swallowed my pride. But standing there, knowing my mother was in an urn on my cheap apartment counter, Victoria Kensington meant absolutely nothing to me. She was just a stranger in an expensive suit. Her face darkened instantly, a storm brewing behind her eyes. “Watch your mouth, Cole. My patience has limits.” I knew that. God, I knew that better than anyone. In six years, every fight ended with me apologizing. She never once tried to comfort me. Every dinner date, I arrived thirty minutes early because Victoria didn’t wait for people. I remembered our first hiking trip, back when things were new. I asked her to wait ten minutes while I grabbed us water from a crowded kiosk. When I got back, she was gone. She had just started the trail without me, leaving me in the dust without a text. From that day on, my eyes were glued to my watch. Victoria only had patience for Spencer. It didn’t matter if it was 3:00 AM; if Spencer called, she was in her car, speeding through the rain. If Spencer kept her waiting for hours, she sat there with a smile. Never a complaint. Never a sigh. Everyone in our social circle knew the truth: Victoria Kensington had been waiting for Spencer for six years. They met in prep school. They were the golden couple. Then Spencer took off for Europe, chasing art or business or whatever excuse he used to avoid settling down. And Victoria waited. And then… she bumped into me. I was just the placeholder. The understudy. I met her in my senior year of college. She was brilliant, radiant, untouchable. In a crowded room, she was the only thing I saw. I fell for her, hard and fast. But I was drowning. My mom had just gotten her diagnosis. I was working three jobs, trying to scrape together enough money for chemo. That was when Victoria swooped in. She paid the bills. She saved us. I thought it was fate. I thought we were soulmates, drawn together by tragedy and love. I didn’t know her heart was already occupied by a ghost everyone else seemed to know about. None of her friends told me. None of our mutuals warned me. I played the happy idiot for three years, convinced I was the love of her life. I even proposed. I bought a ring. I thought I was the luckiest man alive. Then, six months ago, Spencer moved back to the States. The day he landed was the day of my mom’s high-risk surgery. Victoria and I were in the car, heading to the hospital. Her phone rang. She took the call, pulled the car over, got out, and hailed a cab. She didn’t show up for the surgery. Because Spencer’s flight had touched down at JFK. Since that day, Victoria morphed into someone else. The canceled dates turned into blatant, unapologetic abandonments. Spencer started showing up at our house, claiming his territory, taking what he wanted. She couldn’t spare ten minutes to sit with me in the oncology waiting room. She couldn’t wait two minutes for me at a restaurant. On our anniversary, I woke up violently ill. I popped ibuprofen, praying the fever would break. Victoria hadn’t even come home the night before. I was so dizzy I couldn’t stand. The migraine was blinding. I couldn’t even see the screen of my phone to call for help. Victoria went to the restaurant I had booked. She sat there for exactly ten minutes before calling me. “You’re two minutes late. Where the hell are you?” I tried to ask her to call me an ambulance. She scoffed, called me pathetic, and hung up. Leaving me alone on the bathroom floor, too weak to dial 911. That night, my fever finally broke. I opened Instagram. The first thing on my feed was a photo of her and Spencer, shopping on Fifth Avenue. She was smiling a smile I hadn’t seen in years. She couldn’t wait two minutes for me. She abandoned me when I was half-dead on our floor. But she was perfectly happy waiting three hours for Spencer to try on watches. The memory fractured as Spencer stepped in front of Victoria, looking at me with feigned disappointment. “Cole, listen. Even if you don’t want to cook for us, there’s no need to talk to Vic like that. Throwing around the word ‘breakup’ every time you throw a tantrum… it’s toxic, man.” I let out a harsh breath, shaking my head. “Who the fuck do you think you are? This is between her and me. Keep your mouth shut.” Spencer’s smile faltered. He immediately dropped his gaze, playing the victim perfectly. “Cole… I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just…” As he spoke, he took a clumsy, theatrical step forward. He “tripped,” his hand jerking out. The full glass of red wine splashed directly onto the silver locket in my hand. Spencer let out an exaggerated gasp, grabbing his sleeve to frantically dab at the metal. In the chaos, his hand shoved mine. The locket slipped. It hit the marble floor. The clasp snapped. The delicate silver chain broke apart, the tiny beads and religious medals scattering across the stone with a sickening, chaotic clatter. The jade cross my mother had worn around her neck for twenty years—the one housed inside the locket—shattered right down the middle. I snapped my head up. Through the mess of apologies, I caught the fleeting, venomous smirk in Spencer’s eyes. He did it on purpose. Something inside me—the last remaining thread of my sanity—snapped. Before I even realized my feet were moving, my fist was already connecting with his jaw. 3 Neither of them expected the violence. The room plunged into a suffocating, echoing silence. The smack of bone on bone seemed to ring off the high ceilings. It took a few seconds for reality to set in. Victoria lunged forward, grabbing Spencer’s arm to steady him. When she looked at me, her eyes were absolute murder. “Cole! Have you lost your damn mind?! Who gave you the right to touch him?!” Spencer cradled his cheek, his voice trembling perfectly. “Cole, man, I swear it was an accident. I’ll pay for the necklace, whatever it costs…” “Heh… hahahaha…” The laughter bubbled up from my chest, raw and hysterical. Tears blurred my vision, threatening to spill over, but I forced my eyes wide, glaring at Spencer with pure, unadulterated hatred. “Pay? Pay for it?!” My voice cracked, echoing in the massive room. “With what, Spencer? Are you going to give me a life for a life?!” My mother was dead. This was the only thing I had left of her. And now it was ruined. Just like everything else. Victoria scoffed. The sound was so cold it chilled the blood in my veins. “It’s a cheap piece of junk, Cole. It broke. Get over it. I’ll buy you a thousand of them.” Before I could react, she reached down, snatched the broken half of the locket from the floor, and threw it hard against the marble. But that wasn’t enough. In her designer heels, she brought her foot down. The stiletto heel dug into the fragile silver casing, crushing it completely flat. I stared at the mangled metal, my brain misfiring. The grief, the rage, the profound exhaustion of the last six years surged up, threatening to blow my skull apart. I threw myself toward her, my voice tearing from my throat. “Stop! Get off of it!” Victoria didn’t even flinch. She just kicked me back, a sharp thrust of her heel into my shin. Then, right in front of my eyes, she ground her heel in again, twisting it until the silver was nothing but a deformed piece of scrap. When she was finished, she looked down at me, her expression completely detached. “Apologize to Spencer.” I collapsed onto my knees. My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I reached out to gather the jagged shards of the locket and the shattered jade. The sharp edges sliced into my fingertips. Blood beaded up, mixing with the tears falling from my chin, but I couldn’t feel the pain. I just tried, frantically, to piece it back together. When I didn’t answer, Victoria’s jaw clenched. She reached down to grab my collar. I whipped my head around. The look I gave her—the absolute, soul-deep revulsion radiating from my eyes—made her hand stop in mid-air. She instinctively pulled back. “I won’t say it again, Cole.” In that moment, I hated myself more than I hated her. Mom, I’m so useless. I couldn’t even protect the last thing you gave me. Victoria seemed to register the shift in me. She opened her mouth, the anger faltering slightly, but Spencer cut her off. He tugged on her sleeve, whimpering. “Vic, my jaw is killing me. Can you look at it?” A bruise was already forming, angry and purple, where my knuckles had connected. Victoria’s eyes darted to his face, softening for a fraction of a second, before snapping back to me, the fury returning tenfold. “Cole, I have been way too lenient with you. I am giving you one last chance. Apologize to Spencer. Now.” It was an ultimatum, heavy with threat. “And if I don’t?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, holding her gaze. She narrowed her eyes, delivering the killing blow. “Do you just not care if your mother lives or dies anymore?” I let out a breath. And then, I smiled. It was a broken, tired smile. “I’m laughing at how stupid you are, Victoria. Do you really think I’m the same guy you can just push around? You think you can just snap your fingers and I’ll drop to my knees? If you had bothered to make a single phone call, you wouldn’t be standing there making threats you can’t cash.” If my mother were still breathing, I wouldn’t just apologize to Spencer. I would wash his feet if it meant keeping her safe. But she was gone. Victoria had no leverage left. She had nothing. Spencer stepped forward, his voice rising in panic. “Vic, I told you! I told you guys like him are manipulative liars!” “If his mom was really that sick, why is he acting so calm right now? I bet he’s been faking the whole thing just to drain your bank account!” “Shut your fucking mouth!” I roared, the sound ripping from my chest, cutting his slander dead. “You parasitic piece of shit!” Victoria had seen the reality of my mother’s illness. She had been there when the chemotherapy made her vomit blood. She knew the sacrifices I made. But as Spencer called me a liar, she stood there. Silent. Complicit. And then, she delivered the final verdict. “Cole, this is the last time. Say you’re sorry to Spencer, and I will pretend none of this happened. Your mother keeps her doctors.” 4 “Go to hell.” That did it. The ice in her eyes shattered. She let out a harsh, incredulous laugh, still fully believing she held all the cards. “I got your mother the best oncologist on the East Coast. If you swallow your pride right now, I’ll make sure the treatments continue.” “But you’re really pushing it, Cole. It seems like you need to learn the hard way.” She pulled out her phone, her manicured thumb tapping aggressively at the screen. I watched her with a dead, hollowed-out expression. There was a sick part of me that wanted her to press call. I wanted her to realize how monumentally stupid she was. I wanted her to feel the floor drop out from under her. When I didn’t drop to the floor and beg, her finger trembled slightly. But her pride won. She hit the dial button, calling her executive assistant. The phone was on speaker. The assistant’s voice came through, frantic and confused. “Ms. Kensington? Mr. Cole’s mother… wait, did you not know? She passed away.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394633”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was caught red-handed by the owner of a Rolls-Royce in the parking lot while trying to slip him flyers. What’s even more embarrassing is that the owner turned out to be my ex-boyfriend from five years ago, the one I dumped because he was poor. What’s that saying again? It’s not that I’m afraid of exes being awful, it’s that I’m afraid of exes who are successful! My ex smiled and said, “Now that I’m rich, you have no reason to dump me again, right?” 1 The rain was a fine, freezing mist, slicking the pavement of the private parking garage. I shoved another flyer under the windshield wiper of the idling Rolls-Royce Phantom, tugging the hood of my cheap plastic poncho down to shield my face. Even the bodyguard holding an umbrella near the driver’s door was wearing a suit that cost more than my life’s net worth. I awkwardly shifted the canvas bag full of flyers behind my back, calculating the exact angle required to snatch the neon paper back and vanish into the concrete labyrinth without being noticed. But I was too slow. A hand, pale and elegant, reached out from the cracked window and slid the flyer out from under the wiper blade. “’Lonely? Need a listener? Voice companionship, ten dollars for thirty minutes.’” A short, derisive scoff cut through the damp air. “Harper. Is this really what you’ve been reduced to?” Oh, God. I wanted to know the answer to that question myself. Harper, the brilliant overachiever in college. Harper, the cold, pragmatic realist who dumped her dirt-poor boyfriend without a second thought to throw herself into the arms of a trust-fund heir. By all accounts, my future was supposed to be bright and lined with silk. How the hell had I ended up at the bottom of the barrel? And as if my spectacular failure wasn’t tragic enough, why did the ex-boyfriend I ruthlessly discarded have to suddenly be filthy rich? I kept my chin tucked to my chest, my voice muffled by the plastic collar of my poncho. “Sorry, man. You’ve got the wrong girl.” I spun on my heel to bolt, but a long arm shot out, blocking my path. The black umbrella didn’t quite cover his outstretched arm. I watched the freezing rain bloom into tiny, dark flowers against the fabric of his sleeve, disappearing instantly into the expensive, non-waterproof wool. Then, Cole’s voice drifted over, cool and detached. “Harper. I’ll pay ten times that. I’m buying an hour.” Look at this. A plot straight out of a trashy soap opera. The destitute boy, ruthlessly abandoned in his youth, returns as a billionaire, eager to use his newfound wealth to humiliate the wicked woman who broke his heart. “Not for sale,” I muttered. I might be desperate for cash, but I wasn’t an idiot. “Are you sure?” Cole’s tone was dangerously slow. “This is a private garage. The fine for soliciting and distributing flyers is five hundred dollars. Do you want me to call security?” My neck stayed rigidly locked, staring at the concrete until I thought my cervical spine might snap. “Your time starts now. You have fifty-nine minutes.” Cole gave a microscopic nod to his bodyguard. The heavy door swung open. “Get in.” 2 I climbed into Cole’s car. Years ago, I had been the girl who callously declared, I’d rather cry in a Porsche than be happy on the bus. Now, thanks to peddling cheap flyers, I was sitting in a car that made a Porsche look like a toy. But the owner of this car was the ex-boyfriend who hated me down to his marrow. The social mortification was a physical weight on my chest. How was he going to tear me apart? Would he call me a gold digger? Tell me I got exactly what I deserved? As my mind spun, vividly imagining Cole stepping all over my remaining dignity, my nose tickled. I couldn’t stop it. A violent sneeze ripped through me. A thick, blindingly white towel immediately hit me square in the face. “Dry yourself off. Don’t ruin my leather.” Fierce. I rubbed the dampness from my face and hair, noticing that the heat was already blasting. The biting cold of the garage melted away. He leaned back in the seat next to me, eyes closed, silent. For a long stretch, I wondered if he had actually fallen asleep. I glanced at my cheap wristwatch. He had the perfect opportunity to stand on the moral high ground and verbally eviscerate his heartless ex, and he was sleeping through it? His brain must be short-circuiting. I decided to quietly excuse myself. But the moment my weight shifted to rise, the man beside me opened his eyes. His voice was colder than the rain outside. “You have thirty-five minutes left.” Jumpscare. He wasn’t asleep. I sank back into the plush leather, unable to hold back anymore. “Cole, what exactly do you want from me?” If he wanted revenge, couldn’t he just make it quick? He didn’t even bother to fully raise his eyelids. “Just shut up.” I snapped my mouth shut, but my eyes betrayed me, drifting over to his face. The boyish softness was gone, replaced by sharp, unforgiving angles. His skin was paler, the chest beneath his tailored shirt looked solid and tense, and I swear his legs were inches longer than I remembered. Damn it. How was this bastard still so gorgeous? “Harper.” The man with his eyes closed suddenly spoke, the tips of his ears flushing a suspicious shade of pink. “Turn your head around.” I whipped my gaze toward the window. “How do you know I’m looking at you?” “Because your hot breath is blasting directly onto my forehead. Obviously.” I swallowed hard. “Sorry.” A few minutes later, the car rolled to a smooth stop. The window hummed down. Cole, who had been perfectly still, suddenly sat up straight, pointing a long finger at a bustling, high-end retail street outside. “See that? My commercial real estate.” He waved his hand. The car glided forward, stopping a few blocks later outside a towering, ultra-luxury residential high-rise. “The development I built.” Down into another subterranean garage. “My car collection.” Finally, we drove out to the edge of the city, stopping near a sprawling, meticulously kept orchard in the valley. “My hundred-acre cherry orchard.” Cole arched an eyebrow, his voice dripping with venomous satisfaction. “I can juice them, I can dry them, or I can let them rot on the branches. I do whatever I want with them.” I stared at the endless rows of trees. “Why are you showing me this?” “Pure spite,” Cole answered, clean and sharp. “When you dumped me for Brooks, I thought you were at least stepping up in the world. Looks like I overestimated you.” “I doubt you ever imagined the broke kid you couldn’t stand the sight of would be sitting where I am today.” His dark eyes locked onto mine. “Harper, this is your karma.” 3 Dammit. He really nailed the delivery. When he finally let me out near my neighborhood, I furiously plucked two massive handfuls of cherries from the branches near the gate and stuffed them into my coat pockets, just to feel a shred of vindication. I finished handing out the rest of my flyers and trudged back to my apartment building, only to freeze. Smeared across the brick exterior in glaring red spray paint was a single word: CONDEMNED. Eviction. I slapped a hand over my mouth. Tears, hot and heavy, spilled over my lashes, my shoulders shaking as a sob trapped itself in my throat. My landlord, a burly guy in a stained undershirt, clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “What the hell are you crying for? It’s my building getting torn down. Pack your crap and get out. And when are you paying the three months of rent you owe me?” I wiped my face, sniffing aggressively. “Look, since I’ve rented this place for so long, don’t I technically get a cut of the developer’s buyout money?” He smiled. He told me to go to hell. Beautiful, poetic English. Thirty minutes later, because I was flat broke and refusing to leave, my landlord dragged me to the local police precinct. Thirty minutes after that, Cole walked into the exact same precinct to file a report because my cheap paper flyer had jammed the window motor of his Rolls-Royce. Cole and I stared at each other from across the fluorescent-lit room. Even the desk sergeant looked confused. “Harper,” Cole said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t need to go to these extremes just to try and get me back.” Good God. Kill me now. It was literally my first day handing out flyers! I didn’t know the paper was that thick! 4 Cole bailed me out anyway. And, for some inexplicable reason, he paid off my back rent. “You’re going to be in debt either way. Might as well be in debt to me,” he said. The city neon blurred into streaks of light outside the passenger window. The scent of cedarwood—so familiar, so maddening—filled the enclosed space. His voice was buried in the dark, stripped of any readable emotion. “I’ll pay you back.” “Pay me back?” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over me in the dim light. “How?” I immediately crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly hyper-aware of my surroundings. I might be desperately poor, but I had boundaries! He let out a dry, disgusted laugh and turned his eyes back to the road. “In your dreams.” “The window repair, the rent—every single cent goes on your tab.” Right. Of course. With his current net worth and that face, he could have any woman in the city. There was absolutely no reason for him to pick up the trash he threw away five years ago. When we pulled up to the curb outside my condemned building, I quietly thanked him for the ride. He held out a hand, palm up. “Uber fare for this distance is thirty-two bucks.” I stared at him, aghast. “Did you think your ‘thank you’ was legal tender?” His face was stone. When he saw my freezing, trembling hands fail to produce even a few quarters from my pockets, he waved me off. “Forget it. Add it to the tab.” He rattled off a string of ten digits. “My number. You transfer the installment on the first of every month, and you send me a screenshot.” I nodded. “Did you memorize it?” I nodded again. It was the same number he had in college. I knew it by heart. The tension in his jaw seemed to soften for a fraction of a second before the window rolled up, severing us. I watched his taillights disappear into the mist before turning toward the stairwell. Just then, something massive hurled out of a second-story window. It hit the overgrown bushes with a sickening thud. I ran over. It was my duffel bag. My landlord leaned out the window above. “Your rent’s paid, my building’s getting leveled. We’re square. Get out tonight.” Before I could speak, a cascade of my meager belongings rained down on me, scattering across the wet grass. “Hey! At least let me come up and pack properly!” I yelled into the dark. “Yeah right, so you can squat in the bathroom? I changed the locks! Don’t make me call the cops again!” The window slammed shut. The blinds snapped down, and the lights clicked off. I was left standing in the mud, picking up the pieces of my life. There wasn’t much. A few worn-out clothes, some cheap toiletries, and a photograph from years ago—Cole and me. Faded t-shirts, bright, unburdened smiles. My hands shaking from the cold, I quickly slid the photo behind a picture of just myself, hiding it inside a wooden frame with cracked glass. Once everything was shoved back into the bag, I sat down on the concrete steps of the open-air stairwell. The streetlights flickered with an ugly yellow glow. I could barely make out a few stars through the overcast sky. I tried to hype myself up, making mental plans of where I could sleep, what I could do. But the bone-deep exhaustion pulled me under, and I fell asleep sitting against the brick wall. The next morning, the world came into focus as two incredibly long legs in tailored trousers planted themselves in front of me. I blinked through the haze and mumbled, “Cole?” “Yeah.” The adrenaline spiked, and I shot up straight. It wasn’t a dream. “What are you doing here?” “You didn’t add me on iMessage,” he said, staring down at me. His eyes were pitch-black and unreadable. “Reason?” “Oh.” My brain was running on a delay. “My phone died. Sorry. On the first of the month, I’ll send the money, I promise.” He ignored the apology, his gaze drifting from my shivering frame to the bulging duffel bag beside me. “What’s this?” “Ah.” I rolled my deadened shoulder. “I’m moving.” His lips pressed into a harsh, thin line. His brows snapped together, and it took him a long moment to force out the words. “Running away?” “What? No.” I shook my head frantically. “I’m just moving.” “Where?” “I… haven’t figured that out yet.” “So, you’re running. Where’s Brooks? Is he just leaving you out on the street?” “We broke up a long time ago.” Cole stared at me, his eyes heavy and dark. Without another word, he reached down, grabbed the strap of my duffel bag, and started walking toward his car. “Cole!” I scrambled after him, my legs numb and uncooperative. “My stuff is garbage! It’s not worth anything, it won’t cover my debt!” He didn’t answer. “I swear on my life I’ll pay you back!” But my short legs were no match for his stride. By the time I reached the curb, my bag was already in the trunk of the Rolls-Royce. “Look, man, that’s everything I own in the world. Please don’t throw it away.” I stood by the door, hobbling slightly, pressing my palms together in prayer. He popped the passenger door open. “Get in.” Huh? He looked at me over the roof of the car. “If you want your stuff, get in.” I numbly climbed into the leather seat. He didn’t speak to me for the entire drive, not until we pulled through the gates of an aggressively modern, stunningly expensive piece of architecture. “Where are we?” “My house.” His voice was his usual brand of cold detachment. “Harper, your moral compass is practically nonexistent. I don’t trust you. To make sure my money doesn’t vanish into thin air, you’re staying where I can keep an eye on you until the debt is paid.” What? “Live… here?” “Rent is two grand a month. Added to your tab.” “No, stop, I can’t afford that!” I lunged for my duffel bag in his hand. My crappy apartment had been eight hundred dollars! He lifted the bag effortlessly out of my reach. “If you agree to do some light housekeeping, we might be able to negotiate.” “But—” “If you cook, we can knock off a little more.” “Look, I—” “If you feed the cat and walk the dog, I might even end up owing you money.” I stared at him. “Deal.” 5 By some cosmic joke, I was living with my ex-boyfriend. Five years ago, he was penniless, and I kicked him to the curb. Five years later, he was drowning in money, and I was his indentured servant. Life comes at you fast. Cole showed me to my room. It was sprawling, flooded with natural light. Central heating, an en-suite bathroom, endless hot water. No roaches, no fear of rats chewing through my bags in the middle of the night. “The sheets and duvet are brand new,” Cole said, dropping my bag on the floor. His phone buzzed. He took the call, speaking in low, rapid business jargon for a few minutes before hanging up and looking at me. “I have to head to the office.” I nodded, watching him walk toward the door. At the entryway, he programmed my fingerprint into the smart lock. “I’ll be back for dinner around seven.” He paused, his hand on the handle. “You can clear your schedule for that, right?” I nodded again. Once he was gone, I unpacked my few things and immediately opened my gig-economy apps. I picked up a promo shift at a nearby grocery store handing out milk samples. The pay was daily. I spent eight hours in a suffocatingly hot, plush cow costume. By the time I stripped it off, I was dizzy and on the verge of a heatstroke. But I had a crisp hundred-dollar bill. I bought groceries on the way back, took a scalding shower, and got to work in his massive, stainless-steel kitchen. Just as the chicken soup started to simmer, the electronic chime of the front door echoed through the house. I glanced at the clock on the stove. It wasn’t even close to seven. Assuming Cole was home early, I popped my head around the corner to say hi. Instead, I froze. There was a woman slipping off her heels in the foyer. Jesus. Cole hadn’t mentioned he was having company. As she straightened up, the blood drained from my face. It wasn’t just any woman. It was Vanessa. Beautiful, polished Vanessa. The girl from our university who had thrown herself at Cole relentlessly, even when she knew perfectly well that he and I were together. She jumped when she saw me, her perfectly manicured hand flying to her chest. As her eyes adjusted and recognition set in, her expression morphed into pure, unadulterated disgust. “Harper?” I forced a polite, dead-eyed smile. “Hi, Vanessa.” She looked me up and down, taking in my wet hair and oversized t-shirt. Her brow furrowed into a tight knot. “What the hell are you doing here?” The tone was venomous. As far as she was concerned, I was a rat in her kitchen. “I owe Cole some money, so I’m staying here temporarily to pay off the debt.” I figured if she had the passcode to his house, they were deeply involved. I needed to de-escalate immediately. “Owe Cole money?” She repeated the words slowly, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “You? The girl who practically tripped over herself to leave him for Brooks because Cole’s wallet wasn’t thick enough?” She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “Let me guess. You saw he made it big, got jealous, and now you’re trying to claw your way back into his bed?” I kept my face perfectly blank. “No.” “No? It’s been five years. Why on earth would you suddenly owe him money? Did you track him down, cry about how pathetic your life is, and use this little ‘debt’ scheme to squat in his house?” She scoffed. “God, you are so repulsive.” I took a slow breath. “This is between Cole and me. If you have an issue with it, take it up with him.” I turned on my heel to walk back to the stove. The soup was going to boil over. Before I could take three steps, a freezing wall of water slammed into the back of my head, soaking my shirt and dripping down my spine. “Have some dignity, Harper!” Vanessa screamed, holding an empty crystal vase. “Cole hates you. He told me he despises traitors, and he will never forgive what you did. The only reason he’s letting you stay here is to watch you humiliate yourself. He wants to see the pathetic little gold-digger grovel. Do you really want to stay here and play the clown?” She dropped the vase onto a rug with a muffled thud. “If I were you, I’d crawl back into whatever hole you came out of so you stop making the rest of us sick!” The cold water dripped steadily off my nose and chin. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, calmly picked up a half-full glass of water from the island, and chucked the contents directly into her face. Vanessa shrieked, stumbling backward in pure shock. She clearly hadn’t expected the rat to bite back. She cursed violently, frantically wiping at her face. In her panic, one of her false eyelashes peeled off, hanging precariously from her eyelid. My eyes were dead. “Like I said, this is between me and him. I don’t owe you an explanation.” “Fine! You want to play it like that?” Furious, she ripped open her designer purse and pulled out a platinum credit card, hurling it at my chest. “You owe him? This has ten grand on it. Is that enough? I’ll pay him for you!” When I didn’t react, she started pulling out card after card, snapping them at me like throwing stars. One clipped my cheekbone. “I don’t care what sick game you’re playing, Harper. You walked away five years ago. Do not come back and try to ruin us!” Her voice was shrill, echoing off the high ceilings. “He is my boyfriend!” Boyfriend. The word stung, just a little. It had been five years. I didn’t expect him to live like a monk. But if he had a girlfriend, what the hell was he doing locking me in his house just to set me up for this kind of humiliation? “Harper, I brought the Rainier cherries you like. Try not to embarrass yourself.” The front door clicked shut. The orchestrator of this little domestic nightmare had arrived. Cole walked in, slipping his shoes off, looking perfectly at ease with a brown paper bag in his hands. He looked up, finally taking in the scene: Vanessa and me, both dripping wet, standing in the middle of his living room like drowned rats. His brows snapped together. He dropped the bag on the console and crossed the room in three long strides. “Cole,” Vanessa started, her voice suddenly trembling and fragile, a masterclass in playing the victim. Cole didn’t even look at her. He bypassed her completely, coming straight to me. His large hands came up, framing my face, his thumbs brushing over my wet cheeks, his eyes scanning every inch of my features. His voice was tight, laced with an urgency I hadn’t heard in years. “What happened to your face? Why are you soaking wet?” I pushed his hands away. My spine was rigid, my smile perfectly polite and entirely hollow. “There’s chicken soup on the stove. You and your girlfriend enjoy it. Consider it interest on the loan. No need to thank me.” I turned, walked into my bedroom, grabbed my duffel bag, and marched straight out the front door. 6 I ran until my lungs burned. The early spring wind cut through my wet clothes like glass. The streetlamps flickered overhead, blurring together into streaks of yellow. Crap. I had been running blind. I stopped, spinning around on the empty pavement. I had no idea where I was. Panic flared in my chest for a second before a voice drifted through the dark. “Lost?” I whipped around. Cole was standing at the end of the block, wearing a heavy camel-hair coat. The tips of his ears were red from the cold. Before I could run again, he closed the distance between us, shrugging off his heavy coat and aggressively wrapping it around me, swaddling me like a burrito. Then, he lifted a hand and flicked me hard on the forehead. “I knew it. Harper, your character is fundamentally flawed. You’re entirely untrustworthy. Trying to skip town before the debt is paid.” He flicked me again for good measure. “Little liar.” I rubbed my forehead, furious but genuinely shocked that he had run after me instead of comforting his girlfriend. Was he really that desperate for my two thousand dollars? Cole sighed, crouching down in front of me. He unlaced his impeccably polished leather oxfords and placed them by my feet. “Not only do you try to skip out on a debt, you try to steal my slippers while doing it.” I looked down. I was wearing his oversized, open-toed house slides. My ten toes were bright cherry-red from the freezing asphalt. Honestly, the adrenaline had been pumping so hard I hadn’t even realized I left the house in them. “Let’s go.” When I didn’t move, he literally picked up my foot and shoved it into his massive, warm leather shoe. He stood up, looking down at me. “Pay your debts. Come home for dinner.” I stared at his feet, now shoved into the flimsy house slides. It was objectively ridiculous, but I couldn’t find it in me to laugh. “Cole, your girlfriend said she’d pay off my debt.” “Girlfriend? Who? Vanessa?” He let out a dark, mocking laugh. “She’s not.” He paused, looking away. “I’ve been single.” What? Cole? Single? With that face, that body, and that bank account? Cole reached out and gently pushed my jaw up, closing my gaping mouth. “If I wasn’t single, do you think I’d be insane enough to move you into my house? Am I suicidal?” His thumb brushed my cheekbone again, lingering this time. “And for the record, if someone throws something at your face, throw something back. Don’t just stand there and take it. Are you stupid?” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a massive, flawless cherry, and popped it past my lips like he was pacifying a toddler. “It’s sweet. Eat it and you won’t hurt as much.” I chewed stubbornly, my voice muffled. “I didn’t throw anything at her face. I threw water at her.” I thought I’d see a flash of pity for Vanessa in his eyes, something to prove he was lying. But there was none. If anything, he looked profoundly satisfied. “Good. If I’m not around, I can’t have people bullying you.” He grabbed my duffel bag and started walking. I had no choice but to follow, shuffling clumsily in his massive shoes. “But she had the code to your house. Girls don’t just walk into guys’ houses.” “That’s because my passcode is incredibly stupid.” “What is it? 1-1-1-1-1-1?” “No.” Cole looked back at me over his shoulder. In the dim light, his dark eyes lost that icy, untouchable edge. “My childhood pig’s birthday.” Excuse me? He raised pigs? “She still called herself your girlfriend!” “A lot of people call themselves that. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m still…” He trailed off, the words dying in his throat. We walked in silence for a long time before he finally spoke again. “Harper, you just have terrible taste.” I didn’t know how to respond.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394650”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The first time I took a boyfriend home, the road grew narrower, the trees grew thicker, and the air grew heavy with the smell of damp earth and isolation. He grew terrified. As we approached the Border Patrol checkpoint near the jagged edge of the South Texas brush, he did something I never expected: he leaped out of the moving truck. He scrambled toward the officers, sobbing, clutching a bewildered agent’s tactical vest, screaming that I was trying to sell him into a cartel labor camp. After that, I stopped telling people where I grew up. Then came the new guy. Three months in, he told me he wanted to take me to his hometown. I handed him my ID, my phone, and a smile of twenty-four-karat trust. When I opened my eyes and saw the sun-bleached, lawless cluster of shacks near the Mexican border—a place where the law ends and the “disappeared” begin—I didn’t scream. I smiled. If you don’t hunt me, I won’t hunt you. But if you try to sell me? I’ll sell you back to the devil ten thousand times over. 1. After we hopped off the cross-country bus, I told him the itinerary: a Greyhound, a local shuttle, a rusted-out van, a couple of dirt bikes, and finally, a literal horse-drawn cart. If we timed it right, we’d hit his “home” by 9:00 PM. My boyfriend’s face was ashen, a sickly shade of gray beneath his designer stubble, but he managed a weary, trembling smile. “Babe,” he whispered. “We’re serious about each other, right? This is… this is really your family’s place?” “Of course,” I said, patting his hand. “You’ll see when we get there.” He seemed even more terrified now. Maybe it was the sheer scale of the mountains, the way they loomed over us like silent judges. It was a little bit overwhelming, I suppose. The van was nearly empty, bouncing violently over the unpaved ruts. A few locals sat in the back, speaking a thick, melodic Tex-Mex dialect that tasted of dust and tequila. One guy with a full sleeve of tattoos—let’s call him Big Rick—started chatting with his buddy. Thinking my city-boy boyfriend couldn’t understand a word, they began openly mocking his thin frame and soft hands. Rick even reached out and squeezed my boyfriend’s bicep, tsk-tsking with a patronizing smirk. You don’t need a translator to know what a “tsk” means. It’s the universal sound for pathetic. I glared at the man, snapping a warning in the same sharp, local dialect. Rick grunted and went silent, looking out the window. I slept through the next leg of the trip. My boyfriend, however, couldn’t even blink. He stared out the window as if he were looking for a sniper. When I finally drifted awake, I saw him frantically sending his GPS location to his mother. Probably describing the “rustic charm” of the wilderness. It was the hottest part of the afternoon. Not a single living thing moved in the brush. The road was a mess of jagged limestone and red clay—our local specialty—so the van couldn’t go more than twenty miles per hour. Through the cracked windshield, I saw a tattered American flag snapping in the wind ahead. My boyfriend suddenly nudged me. “Hey, Nora… give me your ID. I’ll keep it for you.” “You lose everything, babe. It’s safer in my bag.” He insisted, his voice tight. “No, really. Let me hold onto it. For safekeeping.” I dug through my messy tote bag, grumbling about how hard it was to find. “Just let me keep it, okay? It’s buried in here.” “Babe, just find it. We have so much gear; I don’t want it getting crushed or lost in the shuffle.” After a minute of digging, I fished it out and handed it over. His voice instantly loosened. “It’s so stifling in here. I’m going to crack the window… I feel a bit carsick.” My heart went out to him. I reached over and helped him slide the heavy glass pane all the way back. The next second, he moved like a panicked animal. He gripped the frame, swung his legs out, and threw himself out of the moving van. Good God! The mountain road was a jagged mess of rocks. One wrong move and he’d be a collection of broken bones. “Stop! Stop the car!” I screamed at the driver. “My guy just jumped out!” “Don’t run!” I shrieked at my limping boyfriend, who was already scrambling into the brush. “Come back!” The more I called out to him with genuine concern, the faster he ran on that twisted ankle. Honestly, I hadn’t seen him move that fast when we were training for a 5K last spring. Luckily, he ran straight toward a Border Patrol station. I caught up to him, breathless, only to find him clutching a burly, confused agent. He was practically buried in the man’s chest, refusing to let go. “Officer, you have to save me! It’s her! They… they’re human traffickers! All of them!” I stood there, stunned. My house was a little remote, sure. And yes, it was uncomfortably close to the lawless border zones. But how did he manage to hallucinate a quiet Ivy League grad like me into a cartel boss? The agents checked our IDs. They checked the van. They even knew the driver—he’d lived there for forty years. But it didn’t matter. My boyfriend insisted on staying at the station. He called his parents to come drive twelve hours to “rescue” him. I looked at him, disgusted. “You’re a grown man. Have some backbone!” He wouldn’t even meet my eye. He just kept muttering the same thing: “The mountains are too scary. I want to go home.” That night, I walked into my house empty-handed. My parents looked up from the table. “Where’s the boy?” I sighed. “He jumped out of a window and ran away.” They didn’t say anything. They just piled an extra mountain of brisket onto my plate. After dinner, my older brother, Silas, stared out at the dark, looming silhouettes of the peaks. “Don’t sweat it, Nora,” he said. “That’s only your first one. I’ve had three girlfriends ditch me before we even hit the county line.” Well, at least I wasn’t the only one. When the holidays ended, I went back to the city. I planned to lock my heart away forever. But, being the fool I am, I fell in love again. Three months in, my new boyfriend, Lucas, suggested we go to his hometown. “Babe, you really don’t mind that I’m from the middle of nowhere? You’re willing to go back there with me?” “Of course I don’t mind,” I said, showing him my 24K trust. “Let’s buy the tickets today. We leave tomorrow!” I made sure he knew I had absolute faith in him. After all, it’s a civilized country. How many criminals could there really be? “Here,” I said, handing him everything. “My ID, my ticket, my phone. You keep them all. I trust you completely.” 2. After we got off the bus, Lucas repeated the same grueling itinerary: shuttle, van, dirt bike, horse-cart. He told me we’d arrive around 9:00 PM. I nodded obediently. “Sure. I’m going to sleep in the van. Don’t wake me up.” He saw how chill I was and rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Don’t worry, babe. Get some rest. I’ve got everything handled.” Ever since the last heartbreak, I’d been playing a part. I didn’t use my local slang; I spoke with the polished, neutral accent of a news anchor. I even took a speech elective to perfect it. I was committed to being a “city girl.” Lucas thought I grew up in some cookie-cutter suburb. I used that persona to prove I was “open-minded” and “didn’t look down on rural folks.” I figured I’d wait to see just how remote his place was before I told him I was basically his neighbor. The van jolted over the rugged mountain passes. I leaned my head on Lucas’s shoulder and pretended to snore. Besides the driver, a guy named Bo, we’d picked up another couple. The guy mentioned his family lived somewhere out in the sticks, too. As we drove, the landscape began to look familiar. My heart started racing with excitement. This was my town! Wait… was Lucas a scholarship kid from the next valley over? I remembered hearing about a guy who’d gotten into a top-tier school a year before me. No way. Could it be? He was the “golden boy” from Cattle Creek. I was the “smart girl” from Devil’s Ridge. It was destiny! My mother would never have to worry about a boyfriend looking down on our dusty little corner of the world again. I couldn’t stop grinning. The other girl in the van, Sadie, looked miserable. From the moment she boarded, she’d been white-knuckling her backpack, her face pale and drawn. She reminded me of my ex. To lighten the mood, I looked out at the rolling blue ridges. “Lucas, growing up here must have been amazing. I’m so jealous.” Lucas’s jaw twitched. He didn’t answer. Bo, the driver with the blurred tattoos, caught my eye in the rearview mirror. He and Lucas exchanged a look—a silent, confused question: Does this girl seriously like this hellhole? “How much longer?” Sadie’s voice was brittle. “Almost there,” her boyfriend, Cody, said. “Just over the next ridge. Then we switch to the cart for the final stretch.” “A cart?” Sadie’s voice spiked. “You said your family lived right outside the city!” The air in the van turned to ice. I tried to play peacemaker. “Hey, the country is great! Fresh air, honest people. Don’t worry, Sadie. It’s not like both our boyfriends are secretly human traffickers, right?” 3. Across the valley, past the river that marked the border, you could see the flickering lights of the “no-man’s-land” villages. The van we were in even had some faded Spanish lettering on the dashboard that looked like it belonged to a cartel transport. As soon as the words left my mouth, the temperature in the van dropped another ten degrees. Sadie went ghost-white. She stared at Cody. “Give me my ID. Now.” “Stop being dramatic,” Cody said, trying to grab her hand. She shoved him away. “Give it to me!” Bo slammed on the brakes. Everyone lurched forward. “We’re here.” We were in a clearing halfway up a ridge. A battered old horse-cart sat there, an old man with a hunched back holding the reins. Usually, these carts were for farmers selling produce, gathered under the giant oak tree in town where everyone shared news. But this was isolated. Just one cart. Waiting. “I’m not going,” Sadie said, backing away. “I want to go home.” The smile vanished from Cody’s face. “Don’t be difficult.” “There are no road signs,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “And now a horse-cart? Nora, don’t you think this is weird?” I tried to soothe her. “Well… some of these mountain hollers are really deep in. We’re still on the US side of the river, Sadie. It’s okay!” When she heard that, her eyes filled with pure despair. She turned to run back toward the main road. Cody lunged, grabbing her around the waist. She started screaming. Bo cursed and reached under his seat for a tattered rag. The next thing I knew, Lucas caught the rag Bo tossed and pressed it hard over my nose and mouth. It happened so fast. Before the darkness took me, I saw Bo and Cody hoisting a limp Sadie onto the cart. Damn it. This was embarrassing. I was being kidnapped in my own backyard. My Ivy League degree was about to be canceled out by the sheer humiliation of being sold three miles from my uncle’s house. Right before I went under, I heard Lucas mutter: “This one’s a college grad. We can get fifteen grand for her, easy.” 4. When I opened my eyes, I was in Cattle Creek. Well, at least I wasn’t being sold in my own village. I was being sold right in front of my uncle’s place instead. Sadie was gone—taken somewhere else. Lucas and Bo had me tied up, and they dumped me unceremoniously onto the dirt from the cart. It was pitch black, but I recognized the stone marker at the edge of the village. Bo was itching for a cigarette. “Go ahead,” he told Lucas. “I’m gonna go see my girl for a few days. Catch up with me when the deal’s done.” Lucas nodded. “Don’t get yourself killed over some woman.” Bo grinned, looking me up and down. “You’re the one who’s always so disciplined. Why not have some fun before we ship her off? Look at Cody and the other girl…” “Forget it,” Lucas snapped. “His girl is worth five grand. Mine is worth fifteen. No comparison.” Bo left, and Lucas dragged me toward a small shack. “Don’t even think about running,” he hissed. “These mountains are a maze. You’ll never find your way out without me. If you want to make this easy on yourself, do what the buyer says. You’ll get beaten less that way.” “Is Lucas even your real name? Was our whole relationship just a long con to sell me?” I asked, giving him the ‘soul-searching’ triple question. He ignored me. “You know you’re breaking the law, right? If I keep my job in the city, I can make eighty thousand a year. You’re selling me for fifteen? You’re a terrible businessman.” He laughed. “You’d give me eighty thousand? I can make fifteen in a day. You’re the college grad—do the math.” I nodded slowly. “Got it. You’re right.” Since he’d made up his mind to sell me, I didn’t need to be polite anymore. He looked at me suspiciously. He couldn’t understand why I wasn’t sobbing or screaming. “Why aren’t you scared?” “I’ve always loved the mountains,” I said calmly. “Being here… it feels like coming home. Like I finally belong.” He stared at me, looking like he’d just swallowed a fly. I could see the thought crossing his mind: Is she brain-damaged? We walked a bit further, and I saw a familiar wooden flagpole by the road. As a kid, I’d spent every summer terrorizing this village with my cousins. Cattle Creek still whispered legends about me—the girl who climbed onto the roof of the general store to catch the mayor cheating with a local widow. The boy who’d climbed up there with me was my loyal sidekick—Josh.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394634”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At the company holiday gala, my name was pulled for the grand prize: a Hermès Kelly bag with a market value of around forty-five thousand dollars. Thrilled, I had rushed out to get it authenticated so I could sell it and finally have some breathing room. Instead, the appraiser looked at me with pity and told me it was a cheap knockoff. After the holidays, I went straight to the office to report it to our CEO. But I was intercepted by our Head of Operations. “Don’t bother Valerie with trivial things,” she had said, her voice smooth and dismissive. “Bring the bag to me. I’ll handle the feedback process.” That same afternoon, I was handed a termination notice and a lawsuit. The Operations Manager’s face twisted into a victorious sneer. “The seal on the box was broken. You expect us to believe your ridiculous story? You obviously sold the real bag, bought a counterfeit, and now you’re trying to extort the company!” I was buried under a mountain of legal fees and debt. Crushed by the suffocating weight of it all, I stepped off the roof of my apartment building. Then, I blinked. The heavy bass of the holiday gala’s DJ filled my ears. I was back. Gemma, the Operations Manager, was standing right in front of me, handing me a pristine, shrink-wrapped orange box with a strange, calculating glint in her eyes. I took a breath, letting the phantom feeling of the wind whipping past my falling body fade away. I turned on my heel, walked straight up to our CEO in front of a dozen colleagues, and held the box out to her. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us, Valerie,” I said, pitching my voice bright and loud. “A gift this exquisite really belongs to you.” 1 Valerie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Harper, that’s… I couldn’t possibly,” she murmured. But her hand was already lifting, reaching for the iconic orange packaging. This was exactly why I chose her. Valerie was a woman obsessed with status symbols. In my past life, I’d heard rumors that she had been aggressively hunting for a Kelly bag to complete her collection. If she was the one who received the fake bag, what would happen? Would a wealthy, fierce executive with zero tolerance for embarrassment be more capable of unearthing the rot in this company than a powerless junior employee like me? “Wait!” Gemma practically sprinted over, her heels clicking frantically against the marble floor. Panic flared in her eyes. “Harper, company policy strictly states that gala prizes are registered to the winner. They are non-transferable.” She positioned herself between the box and Valerie. “Operations is about to log all the winning serial numbers. If you just give it away, it throws the entire inventory process into chaos.” Valerie’s hand froze mid-air. The warm smile on her face iced over. I sneered internally, but kept my face a mask of wide-eyed confusion. “But it hasn’t been logged yet, right?” I asked innocently. “Gemma, couldn’t you just write Valerie’s name down instead of mine? The raffle ticket was blank anyway. It’s just whoever holds the prize.” Gemma flinched. She clearly hadn’t expected me to push back so directly. She darted a nervous glance at Valerie and realized the CEO was staring at her, eyes narrowed in sharp displeasure. Desperation made Gemma’s voice sharp. “Corporate benefits are meant for the employees, Harper. Using a company prize to kiss up to your boss? How does that look? What will the rest of the team think?” The room went dead silent. That crossed a line. Heads turned. People at the nearby tables were blatantly eavesdropping now. The implication was ugly enough to make Valerie flush. Her pride couldn’t take the public hit. She withdrew her hand, her tone turning clipped and distant. “It’s a sweet thought, Harper, but we do need to follow policy. Gemma is right. Keep your prize.” She didn’t look at the orange box again. My heart sank. I awkwardly pulled the box back to my chest, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Valerie. I wasn’t thinking.” Gemma let out an audible breath of relief and patted my shoulder, her grip a little too tight. “Just remember to come over to the registration desk before you leave, Harper. Don’t hold up the line.” My mind was a chaotic blur. I set the box down at my assigned table and headed straight for the restroom. I knew one thing for sure: the ballroom was heavily surveilled. As long as I didn’t leave the building with the bag, no one could accuse me of swapping it. I had just locked myself in a stall and sat down on the closed toilet lid when I heard the click-clack of Gemma’s heels storming into the bathroom. 2 “…I know! I told you I’ll have the money soon! It’s forty-five grand, right? …Let them threaten me! So what if they call my family? Stop harassing me!” A pause. Then a harsh, breathless laugh. “Find out? How could they possibly find out? As long as that idiot takes the bag out of the building tonight, she can scream until she’s blue in the face. Everyone will just assume she pocketed the forty-five grand herself. Who’s going to believe a junior copywriter over the Operations Manager?” I stopped breathing. The cold porcelain chilled the back of my legs. “Valerie was practically drooling over it today… Next week, I’ll pitch a ‘policy update’ to her. I’ll suggest that for any physical prize valued over ten thousand dollars, the company reserves the right to recall it and issue a cash bonus instead. When we do that, I’ll force Harper to pay back the market difference! I get my debt cleared, buy a real bag to kiss up to Valerie, and I’m totally in the clear.” Another pause as the person on the other end spoke. “And if she can’t pay it back?” Gemma hissed viciously. “Then the company sues her for embezzlement of corporate assets!” The voice on the phone muttered something else. “Shut up!” Gemma barked, her voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. “Why do you think I took such a massive risk? You think I like having those loan sharks breathing down my neck? Just get through tonight, and we’re fine.” The call ended. The heels clicked rapidly away, stopping briefly near the door. “Where the hell is that stupid girl? Why hasn’t she come to register yet…” The bathroom door swung shut. Inside the stall, I was trembling. A profound, bone-deep ice spread through my veins. So that was it. It wasn’t a simple mistake. Gemma had drowned herself in predatory online debt. She had swapped the real prize for a fake, sold the genuine Kelly bag for forty-five thousand dollars to cover her loans, and needed a fall guy. I was the chosen sacrifice. The moment I walked out of this hotel with that box, the stain on my name would become permanent. Even if I didn’t try to sell it tomorrow, she already had a plan to legally corner me into coughing up money I didn’t have. I could not leave this party with that bag. There were two hours left before the gala ended. Before then, I had to get this counterfeit out of my hands. 3 The second I sat back down in the ballroom, my phone started vibrating furiously. Gemma was blowing up the company Slack channel. @here Attention everyone. All physical prizes MUST be registered at the Operations desk before you leave the venue. Employees with unregistered prizes are not permitted to exit. Please cooperate. We are currently waiting on exactly ONE employee to register. Please come to the desk immediately so we can wrap up. People at the tables around me were already packing up their coats. They turned to look at me, irritation plain on their faces. “Harper, are you the holdup?” “Just go sign the paper, come on. We want to go home.” Before I could deflect, a couple of coworkers practically herded me over to the Operations desk. Gemma sat behind it, the registration ledger spread out in front of her. She looked up at me, her chin tilted in smug triumph. I stood there, motionless. Next to the desk stood Kelsey, a loudmouth from the marketing team who was tight with Gemma. She had a habit of making my life difficult. “Look at her,” Kelsey projected her voice so everyone could hear. “Wins the grand prize and suddenly she thinks she’s royalty.” Kelsey had been glaring daggers at me all night; she was deeply, toxically jealous of the bag. “Some people get the luckiest break of their lives and just want to play hard to get. If you don’t want it, Harper, I’ll take it! God knows I wouldn’t act like a snob about it.” A few people chuckled, eager for the drama. I let my face flush, pretending her words had pushed me over the edge. I shoved the heavy orange box right into Kelsey’s chest. “Fine! Take it! You act like I’m begging to keep it!” Kelsey let out a startled gasp, instinctively wrapping her arms around the box. Her shock instantly melted into wild ecstasy. She hugged it tight, as if terrified I would snatch it back. She whipped around to Gemma. “Gemma! Quick, put it under my name! Harper voluntarily surrendered it to me! Ha! Some people just can’t handle nice things.” But Gemma’s face had drained of color. Her voice cracked, shrill and panicked. “No!” Kelsey froze, her triumphant smile faltering. “…What do you mean, no?” I mirrored Kelsey’s confusion. “Yeah, Gemma. I’m willingly giving it to her. Aren’t you two close anyway? Just make an exception for her.” Gemma shot me a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. She choked on her words for a second before snapping, “No means no! I am following protocol! The prize must be registered under the original winner’s name. It has to be Harper!” Kelsey looked like a kid who just watched her balloon float away. Her face turned violently red, and she pointed a manicured finger right in Gemma’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me, Gemma?! Protocol? Since when do you care about protocol unless it’s to kiss executive ass? Don’t pull this bureaucratic bullshit with me! I’m keeping this bag!” 4 Kelsey’s voice was piercing. It immediately drew the attention of the stragglers who hadn’t left the ballroom yet. Gemma, sweating and desperate to contain the scene, grabbed Kelsey’s arm and hissed, “Come here! Let me explain it to you!” She practically dragged Kelsey into a quiet corner. I watched them whisper furiously. Kelsey’s expression morphed from outrage to deep suspicion, her eyes darting over to me every few seconds. Just then, a small group of senior management strolled over, clearly lured by Kelsey’s screaming match. Leading the pack was Monica, the VP of Marketing. She was famously at war with Valerie over department budgets. Monica’s sharp eyes landed on the bright orange box resting on my chair. She let out a low, amused laugh. “Well, well. Is that the infamous Hermès everyone’s whispering about?” She looked over her shoulder at Valerie, who was trailing slightly behind. “Valerie, isn’t this the exact Kelly bag you’ve been obsessing over? I swear I saw on your Instagram that you were begging your personal shopper in Paris for this exact model.” Valerie’s face tightened. She didn’t say a word. Monica, sensing blood in the water, wasn’t about to let it go. She looked Valerie up and down, feigning sudden realization. “Oh, that explains why you’ve been glaring at this table all night. You want it. It must be agonizing, watching an entry-level employee walk away with your dream bag while you just have to sit there.” “Watch your mouth, Monica,” Valerie snapped, her voice like cracking ice. Monica just smirked and turned to me. “Harper, honey. Didn’t you try to give this to Valerie earlier? Whatever happened to that?” Suddenly, every eye in the vicinity was pinned on me. I ducked my head, hunching my shoulders into a posture of perfect, trembling anxiety. “I… I did want to give it to her. But Gemma told me company policy explicitly forbids it. She said I wasn’t allowed to transfer it to an executive.” “Oh!” Monica drew out the syllable, her eyes gleaming with malice. “So it’s a policy issue. How fascinating.” She pivoted fully to face Valerie, her tone dripping with condescension. “Since when does Operations dictate what our CEO can and cannot accept? Valerie, you’re telling me you let an admin manager police your gifts? You’re really that toothless? Taking orders from the party planner?” 5 Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger. Monica was pretending to praise Valerie’s ethics while publicly emasculating her. She was calling her weak. Valerie’s chest heaved. She shot a venomous glare across the room at Gemma, who was still oblivious, whispering frantically into Kelsey’s ear. Valerie snapped. She lunged forward and slammed her hand on my table. “Harper! I’m buying the bag. Right now. Market value is forty-five thousand. I am transferring it to you this second.” The entire room seemed to stop breathing. Playing the terrified, overwhelmed subordinate, I fumbled with the lid, hastily pulling the bright orange leather bag out of its dust bag. Valerie snatched it from my hands. She didn’t even bother to look at the stitching. She just whipped out her phone. “Zelle. Now.” I gave her the email tied to my account. Three seconds later, my phone buzzed. Transfer Received: $45,000.00. Valerie gripped the handle of the fake bag, shot Monica a look that could kill, and marched out of the ballroom, her heels echoing like gunshots. Monica chuckled softly, adjusted her blazer, and led her team away. I immediately turned back to the registration desk. The last line on the ledger was completely blank. I picked up the pen and, under ‘Prize Description’, I wrote in neat, block letters: Hermès Kelly Bag (Est. Value $45,000). I signed my name. Then, in the large ‘Notes/Exceptions’ column, I wrote: Liquidated on site. Sold directly to CEO Valerie Mercer for cash. Transaction finalized and cleared. I capped the pen, closed the empty box, and stepped back. Just in time. Gemma and Kelsey had finally finished their little huddle and were walking back over. Kelsey’s face had softened, though she still looked at me with a heavy dose of schadenfreude. “So, Harper,” Kelsey drawled. “Are you giving me the bag or not? Because I already texted my friend at the consignment shop. I’m banking on that cash for my trip to Tulum next month.” Gemma stepped behind the desk, her mask of professional authority firmly back in place. “If you’re going to transfer it, do it now. I’m only making this exception once, and it’s irreversible.” They had clearly struck a deal in that corner. I looked down, rubbing my arms, projecting deep regret. “Um… I changed my mind.” “What?” Kelsey barked. I lifted my chin, playing the part of a defensive, greedy girl perfectly. “I said I changed my mind! I already signed the registry. I’m keeping it for myself!” Kelsey looked furious, turning her glare onto Gemma. “Are you kidding me? If I hadn’t listened to your stupid gossiping, I would have had it!” Gemma looked like she was struggling not to laugh, her face twitching as she maintained her stern facade. “Well, you should have decided earlier. Stop wasting my time.” 6 I clutched the empty box to my chest like a paranoid thief and turned to leave. “Not so fast, Harper,” Gemma called out, stepping out from behind the desk. “Since you registered it, standard protocol requires a photograph of the physical prize for the inventory archive. Open the box.” She was careful. I’ll give her that. I let my face contort into defensive hesitation. I pulled out my phone, pretending to open my camera app. In reality, I hit Record on my voice memos. “Pictures? Sure… actually, Gemma, do you mind if I take a bunch of close-ups too? Like, of the hardware, the date stamps, the stitching… I heard super-fakes are getting insanely good lately. If the company accidentally bought a counterfeit, I need to know so I can file a police report right now.” Gemma’s face instantly drained of all color. She backpedaled so fast she nearly tripped. “Never mind! Forget it!” she sputtered. “We don’t need an unboxing. Do you really think corporate procurement would buy a fake? Just… take a picture of the outside of the box! That’s fine!” I smiled, finally compliant. I snapped a useless picture of the cardboard. Then, right in front of them, I casually tore off the carbon-copy receipt from the registry ledger. “I’ll just keep the yellow copy for my records. Have a good night, ladies.” I walked out of the ballroom, clutching the empty box. Behind me, I could faintly hear Kelsey’s mocking laughter. “God, look at her. She actually thinks she won the lottery…” On the first day of our holiday break, I posted a story to my Instagram. No photo. Just text on a plain black background. Took my new baby out to brunch with the girls today. Finally get to see how the other half lives! ✨ I set the privacy settings so it was only visible to my ‘Close Friends’ list—which, for this account, was strictly company coworkers. Sure enough, ten minutes later, Gemma posted a vague-booking status on her own feed. No names mentioned, but the venom was palpable. Pro tip: if you’re carrying a cheap knockoff, don’t try to mingle with the big leagues. Real recognizes real. Don’t wait until you embarrass yourself in public to realize you’re a fraud. She was trying to bait me. She wanted me to panic, realize the bag was fake, and come crying to the company, right into her trap. Right after she posted that, I watched her ‘Like’ and comment on Valerie’s latest post. Valerie had posted an immaculate flat-lay of an invitation to a high-society charity gala. The caption read: Decided the new Kelly is making her debut tomorrow night. Gemma, assuming Valerie had gone to a boutique to buy a real one, had commented: Congratulations, Valerie! Gorgeous piece. It completely suits you! I locked my phone screen and let out a long, slow breath in the quiet of my living room. The bait was set. Now, we wait for the blood in the water. 7 First day back in the office after the holidays. Gemma practically kicked the door to the bullpen open, clutching a stack of freshly printed memos. “Listen up, everyone!” she shouted over the hum of the computers. “Per emergency executive orders, an audit revealed a compliance issue with all high-value physical prizes from the holiday party. We are recalling them immediately. Operations will appraise them and issue cash bonuses in their place!” The office erupted into groans and complaints. “Are you serious? I already opened my espresso machine!” “Why wasn’t this announced at the party?” “Cash bonus? Based on retail or what you think it’s worth?” Gemma clapped her hands loudly, silencing the room. Her eyes cut through the crowd and locked onto me like a laser. “This is mandatory policy. It is to protect the company from unauthorized reselling of corporate assets.” She marched straight to my cubicle and held her hand out. “Harper. The bag. Hand it over.” I looked up at her, perfectly blank. “Bag? What bag?” Gemma let out a theatrical scoff, loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “Oh, don’t play stupid with me, Harper. You think you can just keep the Hermès and play dumb? The entire company saw you win it.” “I did win it. But I didn’t take it home.” Gemma looked at me like I was the most pathetic liar on earth. Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. “You didn’t take it home? You walked out holding the box! It’s on the security footage! If you’re trying to fence company property, Harper, legal will have you arrested by lunch!” People were standing up from their desks now, openly staring. I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, the heavy glass doors to the department violently swung open. Valerie stormed in. She radiated a dark, suffocating fury. In her right hand, she was white-knuckling the bright orange Kelly bag. Gemma saw her and instantly dropped her aggressive posture, slipping back into a sycophantic smile. “Valerie! Good morning! Oh, you brought the bag, it looks so stunning on you—” Before Gemma could finish her sentence, Valerie whipped her arm forward and hurled the bag directly into Gemma’s face. The heavy hardware smacked against Gemma’s cheekbone with a sickening thud. “Do I look like a woman who carries a fucking counterfeit?!” Valerie screamed, her voice tearing through the silent office. “Gemma! You are going to explain this right now!” “Why did you use company funds to purchase a forty-five-thousand-dollar piece of garbage?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394651”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel