Category: English

The System bonded with me just as I finished whipping Sierra Bright. A shrill, static shriek erupted in my mind. [Host, stop! She’s the female lead! The one who’s destined to kick you out of your home and leave you for dead in the streets!] My gaze drifted down to Sierra. She was kneeling at my feet, hands bound behind her back. Expanses of pale skin were bare, crisscrossed with the angry red welts I’d just left. As if sensing my eyes on her, she lifted her head. Her expression was a blank mask, her eyes as cold and empty as a winter lake. Not a flicker of emotion. The System’s voice trembled. [Host, it’s not too late! Untie her! Put some ointment on her wounds! Ask her if she’s cold, if she needs anything…] I let out a cold laugh and slapped her across the face. A dog that bites just needs to be taught its place. 1 Sierra’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. Her chest rose and fell, her legs pressed tightly together. She looked like she was at the very edge of her control. I gripped her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. Sierra’s gaze was a black, suffocating void. It had a way of making you feel pinned, even when she was the one bound and kneeling, covered in marks. There was no sense of defeat in her, only a coiled, predatory stillness. The kind that promised she would rip your throat out the second she was free. “Do you know why I hit you?” I asked. She said nothing, just stared, her eyes burning into mine. I patted her cheek. “If you don’t know, then you can stay on your knees.” “Kneel here until I wake up from my nap. Then we can go to class together. How does that sound?” I stood up and walked past her toward the bedroom. The leg of my trousers brushed against her cheek. Her dark eyes shuttered, and after a long moment, she slowly closed them. 2 Sierra was a toy I’d acquired by chance. She had the looks, the brains… it didn’t take long for her to become a campus legend after starting university. I saw her around a few times and decided I wanted her. I pursued her, but she acted as if I didn’t exist. It was the first time I’d ever been rejected, and the blow to my ego was significant. So, I had her investigated. It turned out her family was dirt-poor and her mother was gravely ill. No matter how many part-time jobs she killed herself working, she could never scrape together enough for the medical bills. Conveniently, I had more money than I knew what to do with. Our relationship was simple. I paid her bills, and she played the part of my dog. I have a vindictive streak and a long memory. The flicker of attraction I felt for her wasn’t nearly enough to erase the humiliation of being ignored. And that face of hers… every time she looked at me with those placid, emotionless eyes, I felt an overwhelming urge to make her feel something. I wanted to rip open her prim white blouses, to leave my mark on her flesh. But Sierra rarely showed any emotion. Even when I hit her hard, she would only gasp for breath, glaring at me, stubbornly refusing to make a sound. It was as if she knew exactly what I wanted to see, what I wanted to hear. And so she denied me, her face a mask, her lips sealed. 3 But now, thanks to the System, I had some new information. Apparently, the world I lived in was a novel. Sierra was the protagonist, destined to rise from the ashes and become a titan of the business world. And I was the villain. The sadistic asshole who subjected her to endless humiliation in the early chapters. The first thing Sierra did after clawing her way to the top was to eliminate me. The System also informed me that Sierra and I had, in fact, been switched at birth. My own biological mother was the one who had swapped us in the hospital nursery. So, the life of immense wealth and privilege I enjoyed was a sham. Sierra was the true heiress. I was just the impostor. One of the novel’s major “satisfying” plot points, I was told. For me, however, it was anything but satisfying. I had no desire to live Sierra’s life of miserable poverty. I couldn’t stomach a single one of the hardships she endured as a matter of course. The System was practically weeping in my head. [Then why are you still hitting the female lead, Host?! This will only make her hate you more! When the truth comes out, your fate will be even worse than what was written in the book!] [Hurry up and untie her! Apologize! Let her go!] “No,” I said, cutting it off. “Remind me, what is it you’re supposed to do?” The System sulked. [My purpose is to help you raise the female lead’s affection score, thereby changing your tragic ending.] [It’s my fault for arriving so late… you’ve already been treating her like this for a month. Forget raising her affection score, we’ll be lucky if it’s not in the negatives!] “Why don’t you check what her affection score is for me right now?” I suggested. The System muttered as it ran the scan. [I’ll eat my own code if it isn’t negative… Affection Score: 95%?!?] [That’s impossible!] [Is this a bug?!] [Something is seriously wrong! Either I’m broken, or the female lead is broken… Who gets whipped every day and falls more in love? Is she a psychopath?!] I yawned. “She is.” You can suppress your emotions. You can control your expression. But you can’t fake a physiological reaction. Every time I laid a hand on her, Sierra’s face remained a mask of cold indifference, but her body betrayed her. A flush would creep up her neck, staining her ears crimson. A sheen of moisture would film over her eyes, making them glisten. She thought she had it all under control, but every pore of her skin was screaming for me to come closer, to touch her, to punish her. But I never truly gave her what she wanted. 4 During the university’s anniversary festival, I had a run-in with an old acquaintance. Mark, my roommate from freshman orientation. Back before my family’s influence was widely known, he’d spread a rumor on the campus gossip blog that I was being kept by some rich old cougar. I confronted him directly, threw a wad of cash in his face, and publicly humiliated him. Then I had my lawyers send him a cease and desist letter. He ended up posting a tearful apology video, which made us both infamous on campus. He’d avoided me like the plague ever since. Now, for some reason, he’d found his courage again. And all because I’d sent Sierra to grab me a bubble tea from off-campus? Mark was practically vibrating with self-righteous fury. “Julian Derringer, you think you can bully people just because you have money? Why should Sierra have to go get your damn bubble tea? Don’t you have legs?” “You’ve been ordering her around like this for a month! Do you think she’s your servant? If you’re such a sick bastard, go home! Why even come to school?” One of my friends scoffed. “Who are you to Sierra, Mark? You’re acting like Julian just ordered your girlfriend around.” “Yeah, man, don’t be so possessive of someone else’s girl. Julian just finished performing; he’s exhausted. What’s the big deal about getting him a tea?” “Unless… you have a crush on Sierra, and you can’t stand seeing her be so good to Julian?” Mark’s voice rose. “She’s never publicly admitted they’re a couple!” “I just think what you’re doing is disgusting! We’re all supposed to be equals here, but you, Julian Derringer, you act so special, treating a fellow student like your personal slave…” His shouting drew a crowd. Nothing attracts college students like a bit of drama. Right on cue, Sierra returned, a single bubble tea in her hand. She seemed oblivious to the argument swirling around her, walking through the parted crowd and silently presenting the drink to me. I was still in my stage costume, slouched in a chair. “Put the straw in for me,” I said, completely ignoring Mark’s pathetic yapping. Without a word, without a change in her expression, Sierra did as she was told and handed the drink to my side. I took a sip, then sighed dramatically. “Ugh, my hands are full. And my feet are killing me in these leather shoes.” I looked at Sierra. “Be a dear and change my shoes for me, would you?” 5 The crowd gasped, their expressions a mixture of shock and thrilled excitement. Mark stared for a moment, then sputtered, “Sierra, don’t listen to him! He’s…” Before he could finish, Sierra was already moving. She sank down before me, resting on one knee, her hand closing around my ankle. A shiver went through me. The air conditioning was on high, and my feet were cold, but her hand was burning hot. Her grip was firm, leaving faint prints on my skin as she slowly eased off my leather shoe. All I could see was the top of her head, her expression hidden from view. I took another sip of my tea and glanced at Mark’s pale, horrified face. A malicious grin spread across my lips. “You know what? You’re right. I do treat her like a servant. Why don’t you ask her if she wants to go with you?” I said it casually, as if bored. “If she says yes, I’ll let her go. I promise.” “Of course she’ll say yes,” Mark declared with a bizarre confidence. He looked at her with heroic determination. “Sierra, I know you’re being forced into this. You never smile when you’re with him. You must be sick of Julian constantly harassing you.” I started to lift my foot, but before I could tap her chin, she caught my foot, holding it firmly in her grasp. My breath hitched. After a moment, I spoke. “She’s talking to you. Are you sick of me harassing you?” Sierra was tying the laces on my sneakers. Her voice was low and steady. “No.” I smiled. “Do you want to go with him?” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper. “This is your only chance to walk away, you know.” Sierra paused. The System’s voice was frantic in my head. [Host, are you really letting her go?! I know her affection score is high, but…] No sane person would endure this kind of treatment. If given a chance to escape, anyone would take it. I said nothing, just watched her. She shook her head, her voice slightly hoarse. “I’m not leaving.” 6 After getting into university, my family bought me a condo near campus. It made for a perfect little love nest. The moment we got home, I stripped off Sierra’s shirt. My thumb pressed against a whip mark that hadn’t yet faded. I traced the long, thin line, feeling the breath hitch in the body beneath me as she instinctively leaned into my touch. I shoved her away. The whip and ropes were always within arm’s reach. A month was a long time. My initial fascination with her had started to wane, but the System’s arrival had rekindled my interest. Sierra closed her eyes, probably expecting another lashing. But not this time. I stepped forward, and under her surprised gaze, I cupped her face, my other hand stroking her side. “Sierra, you made me very happy today.” She stared at me, bewildered. I met her gaze, my hand sliding down to hook a finger in the waistband of her jeans, leading her toward the bedroom. It was the first time I had ever brought her into my room. Usually, she slept on the sofa or the floor. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at her. “Kneel.” Her eyes darkened slightly, as if she suspected this was just a new form of torture. She knelt without a word, her expression unreadable. I had a new toy. A collar. I leaned forward to fasten it around her neck. Her gaze flickered to my own throat for a second before dropping again, submitting to my touch. Once it was on, I gave it a sharp tug. Sierra tumbled forward onto me. Her bare chest heaved, her breathing ragged. Her eyes were feral. “Julian, don’t push it too far.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394411”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day I flew back home, my husband, who was supposed to pick me up, sent someone else, claiming a last-minute emergency. That “someone else” blocked my path at the arrivals gate, her chin tilted in arrogant challenge. “So you’re Adrian’s so-called ‘best friend.’” I was frantic. “Crestwood Estates in Kingsbridge. I need to get there now.” The butler had called that morning. My grandfather had collapsed. I’d caught the first flight out. But she and her friends didn’t move. They formed a wall, their eyes burning with a raw, ugly hostility. “You home-wrecking, backstabbing bitch. I’m going to kill you today.” A sharp slap cracked across my face, stunning me. Then the fists and feet started flying. Thankfully, I knew enough self-defense to react, twisting and using their momentum to throw a few of them to the ground. “Are you insane? Is this how my husband told you to welcome me home?” 1 Thrown to the polished airport floor, Scarlett scrambled back up, her face contorted with rage. “You’re just the shameless friend who doesn’t know her place! How dare you call him your husband?” she spat. “Today, I’m going to teach you a lesson about boundaries with married men!” She was prepared. Her friends produced steel batons from their bags, advancing on me. I grabbed Scarlett’s arm, twisting it behind her back, my patience wearing thin. “We can’t be talking about the same person,” I ground out. “I despise infidelity. I would never, ever wreck someone’s home.” A crowd was gathering, their phones already out. The exit was becoming impassable. Panicked that I wouldn’t make it home in time, I tried to reason with her. “Ma’am, whatever your issue is, you can take it up with my lawyer. Right now, I have a family emergency. I don’t have time for this drama.” I tried to push through the gawking onlookers, but she held up a photo. It was a professional shot of me and Adrian, smiling. My first instinct was to confirm it. “Yes, that’s my husband and me.” That was the spark that lit the fuse. Scarlett exploded. “Adrian has always told me you were just his childhood friend, practically his sister! And you have the nerve to call him your husband in public?” she shrieked. “I knew it! You’ve been using the ‘best friend’ excuse to sleep with my husband behind my back, you pathetic slut!” The crowd, which had started to disperse, surged back in, their curious glances turning to judgmental stares. I felt like a criminal on display. Scarlett, reveling in her victory, swung the baton. Pinned by the crowd, I couldn’t dodge in time. The blow landed hard on my arm. A flash of white-hot pain was followed by a spreading numbness. “My grandfather is dying,” I warned, my voice low and dangerous. “I am not playing games with you. Get out of my way, or you’ll be hearing from my legal team.” I was his only grandchild. He had always doted on me, even entrusting me with the company he built from the ground up. I couldn’t be late. I just couldn’t. Scarlett’s face was a mask of righteous fury. “Let me make things crystal clear for you,” she yelled for everyone to hear. “My name is Scarlett Pierce, and I am the legally wedded wife of the man you call your husband!” “You shameless home-wrecker! Using your ‘friend’ status to fly around the world with him, taking wedding photos, meeting his family! I swear, if I don’t beat you to a pulp today, I’ll take your last name!” As she screamed, the batons rained down on my back and shoulders. I sucked in a sharp breath against the pain. I was a woman. I could understand the rage of being betrayed. But that didn’t give her the right to do this. I caught the next baton in my hand, my fingers wrapping tightly around the cold steel. I met her gaze, my eyes narrowed. “That’s enough. I got married five years ago. My marriage certificate is in my purse. My husband would never cheat on me. You’ve made a mistake.” My voice was shaking, but firm. “If you touch me again, I’m calling the police.” Scarlett just rolled her eyes, her expression curdling with contempt. She rummaged in her designer bag and triumphantly produced her own marriage certificate, a crisp, official document she waved for the crowd to see. “Adrian and I have been married for three years. He took me to the courthouse himself,” she declared. “For three years, he’s been flying overseas for ‘business.’ I saw your texts on his phone. He said you were just friends. Then I found the photos on his social media. There’s no such thing as a platonic friendship between a man and a woman. You are the other woman!” Her entourage chimed in. “She’s just been clinging to Mr. Foster, waiting for him to make it big. Now that he’s successful, she’s back to kick you out and take her place. What a schemer!” “Exactly! In the old days, they’d drown women like you for this!” My mind went blank. I snatched the red-bound certificate from her hand. The man in the photo was undeniably Adrian Foster. Before I could process it, my phone buzzed. A text from the butler. [Miss Vance, the Director is fading fast. He’s asking for you. He just wants to see you one last time.] 2 There was no more time to think. “Miss Pierce,” I said, my voice strained, “my marriage certificate is dated two years before yours. I suggest you look into whether someone impersonated my husband to scam you. My family member is dying. I’m leaving now, but my lawyer will be in touch.” I pushed my way forward, but she grabbed my wrist, her grip like a vise. “Trying to run away?” she sneered. “Afraid your little charade is over?” My patience snapped. The desperation and fear in my chest ignited into pure rage. I told her it was an emergency. Why wouldn’t she listen? Just then, a timid voice spoke up from behind me. “I… I’m an airport official. I can verify the certificate numbers for you, check which one is authentic.” As desperate as I was, refusing now would make me look guilty. I locked eyes with Scarlett. “After this, you let me go. Deal?” My hands trembled as I texted the butler, asking for an update, praying I wasn’t too late. He replied with a video. My grandfather, lying in bed, his eyes wide and unfocused, was gasping my name, a thread of life he was clinging to just for me. My vision blurred with tears. I turned to the official, my voice a choked whisper. “Are you done yet? Please, I’m in a hurry.” Even in my panic, I tried to be decent. “Scarlett, something is very wrong here. You should contact my assistant. This might be a new kind of identity fraud.” Whoever was playing this sick game with my husband’s name, I would make them pay. Adrian was the CEO of Stellar Corp, the company my grandfather had poured his life into. This had to be a setup, a corporate sabotage plot to ruin our reputation. The official examined both documents, her brow furrowed. Then her expression shifted as she looked at me. It was a look of pure disgust. She handed Scarlett’s certificate back with a polite nod. “Yours is valid, ma’am. The number is in the system.” Then she turned to me, her face a mask of scorn, and threw my certificate on the ground. “You were so confident, I almost believed you. But this? Your number doesn’t exist. It’s a fake.” She sneered. “Trying to scam a man like Mr. Foster now that he’s famous? I guess money really does attract all kinds of trash.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. “What? How is that possible?” I cried out. “Adrian and I have known each other for ten years! We’ve been married for five! How can our certificate be fake?” I bent to pick it up, to demand she check again. Scarlett’s stiletto heel slammed down on my hand, pinning it to the floor. Pain, sharp and blinding, shot up my arm. “You see?” she said, her voice dripping with triumph. “Mine is the real one. You filthy bitch, sleeping with my husband and trying to steal my identity. I’ll teach you some manners.” Her friends closed in again, their batons raised. A blow to my back sent me crumpling to the ground, the air knocked from my lungs. “Stop!” I screamed. “You have no right! This isn’t settled! I am a director on the board of Stellar Corp, and I will sue every single person who laid a hand on me today! You will all be held legally accountable!” My threat was met with a moment of silence, followed by a wave of derisive laughter. “First she’s the wife, now she’s a director? Does this woman ever stop lying?” “Stellar Corp is the biggest company in Kingsbridge! You think just any piece of trash can be on their board?” Scarlett raised an eyebrow, emboldening them. “Stellar Corp is my husband’s company, and I’ve never heard of a director named Audrey Vance. Don’t worry,” she announced to the crowd. “As the boss’s wife, I’m giving you all permission. Whoever teaches this home-wrecker the best lesson gets a job at Stellar.” The crowd went wild. “Stellar only hires Ivy League grads and overseas talent! Their starting salaries are in the millions!” “She’s just a mistress anyway. Who cares if she gets roughed up? I hate cheaters.” A hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. Nails dug into my skin. I screamed, bracing for the mob to trample me. Suddenly, a chorus of sharp whistles cut through the noise. A team of airport security guards pushed through the crowd, creating a barrier around me. “What is the meaning of this assembly? We have a VIP from Stellar Corp arriving today! Disperse immediately!” 3 They parted the sea of people, and two guards helped me to my feet. Scarlett stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. “You’re telling me to leave? Do you have any idea who I am?” The security captain stepped forward respectfully. “Ma’am, we’ve received instructions to ensure clear passage for a VIP from Stellar Corp. We need to prevent any blockages.” Scarlett scoffed, poking him in the chest with her baton. “Stellar Corp? You mean me, right? I’m Adrian Foster’s wife.” She flipped open the marriage certificate and shoved it in his face. “Open your eyes. I’m the person you’re supposed to be protecting. This airline is a subsidiary of our company, isn’t it? A dog should at least recognize its master. Be careful, or I’ll have you fired.” The captain flinched back but said nothing, his men still forming a protective circle around me. Scarlett sneered and snapped her fingers. “Fine. If you want to play hero, you can take a few hits for her.” While they were distracted, I frantically tried to call Adrian. If Scarlett’s certificate was real, it meant my entire life was a lie. The line was busy. Over and over again. Scarlett watched me, a cruel smirk on her face. “What’s the matter? Trying to call for backup? Trying to call Adrian?” She kicked my shin lightly, her eyes glittering with malice. “My husband told me he would answer my call, anytime, anywhere. Let me show you just how little you mean to him.” She pulled out her phone and dialed. It rang twice before he picked up. “Hey, babe. What’s up?” That familiar voice. My husband’s voice. And just like that, I understood. All those years I was overseas, they were together. A bitter coldness spread through my chest. I had defied my family, turned down a strategic marriage alliance, all for him. I had personally placed him in the CEO’s chair. And this is how he repaid me. “Adrian Foster,” I snarled into the phone she held out. “You have some nerve. I suggest you get your psycho girlfriend out of here right now, or you’ll regret it.” Maybe it was the venom in my voice, but he didn’t recognize me. There was a pause, then his tone turned harsh and arrogant. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m the CEO of Stellar Corp. I can make sure you never work in this city again. You’re threatening me?” Scarlett pouted into the phone. “See? And this bitch is trying to frame me as the other woman! Everyone knows you only have me!” “Don’t worry, babe,” he cooed. “I’m on my way. I’ll give you some backup.” I clenched my fists, a humorless smile on my lips. No time to pick me up from the airport, but one call from her and he comes running. She hung up, then tapped the baton against my cheek. “I thought you were such an important ‘friend,’” she taunted. “He didn’t even recognize your voice. Hahahaha.” She and her goons moved closer, their expressions hardening. “Alright, everyone. Teach this cheating whore a lesson she’ll never forget.” They all held batons. The security team was outnumbered and surrounded. The crowd surged forward again, and one of Scarlett’s friends even started a live stream, her phone pointed at me. #StellarCorpBossWifeBeatsDownHomewrecker #ExposingTheMistress I made one last desperate attempt, my eyes locked on hers. “I’m warning you, stop now. When Adrian sees what you’ve done to me, he won’t let you get away with it. He owes his entire career to me!” Scarlett just laughed. “Oh, still talking tough when you’re about to die? Let’s see if that mouth of yours still works after we’re done with you.” The baton came down, a precise, brutal strike to the back of my knee. My leg buckled. I collapsed, my face pale, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394430”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I never thought it was possible to travel through time, to leap ten years into the future. But here I am. Thirty years old, stripped of all dignity in the dead of night, clinging to my husband’s body like some shameless woman, begging him to make love to me. “Curtis, please… just give me a child.” He shoved me away, his voice cold and distant. “Not tonight, Jena. Ava is only twenty. She’s sick, and I promised her brother I’d take care of her.” The thirty-year-old me might have accepted this. But the twenty-year-old me? Never. I threw the divorce papers at him. “Let’s get a divorce. You like them young? Fine. But you don’t deserve me.” 1 The moment Curtis pushed me away, my soul was ripped from its thirty-year-old vessel and then violently shoved back in. I was twenty again, trapped in a thirty-year-old’s body. There were fine lines around my eyes, but the eyes themselves burned with the clear, bright fire of my youth. He was about to leave. My voice, as cold as ice, stopped him. “Wait.” Curtis paused, his impatience a palpable thing in the room. “Jena, are you done? Ava’s brother died for me. She’s just a kid, and she’s running a 102-degree fever. You think I shouldn’t go?” He scoffed. “There’s a limit to your jealousy, you know.” “I’m not stopping you,” I said, my voice flat and emotionless. “But let’s get a divorce.” The words came out before I could even think. I didn’t know how I’d time-traveled, but the twenty-year-old me would never tolerate a husband with such blurred boundaries. I wouldn’t swallow my pride and suffer in silence. The thirty-year-old me might have been weighed down by a decade of compromises, but the twenty-year-old me had nothing to lose and all the courage in the world to start over. Curtis’s hand, which had been adjusting his shirt, froze. A look of disbelief, then amusement, crossed his face. “Jena, have you lost your mind?” I frowned. “Why do you assume I’m throwing a tantrum? He saved your life, yes. If you feel you owe him, then pay that debt with your own life, but don’t you dare drag me into it.” He sneered. “So, just because I won’t sleep with you tonight, you want a divorce? Jena, don’t be so ungrateful.” “Ungrateful?” I stood up straighter, my voice firm and serious. “It’s precisely because I’m not content. You can’t fulfill the basic needs of a partner, so what’s wrong with me wanting a divorce?” For the twenty-year-old me, even granting him this much of an explanation was a monumental effort. The thirty-year-old Curtis demanded far too much. “A divorce?” He still didn’t believe me. “Jena, can you please be reasonable for once? Now you’re resorting to threats? I don’t want to hear this kind of talk from you ever again.” As if on cue, his phone rang again. He answered it, his voice instantly melting into a gentle murmur, a stark contrast to the harsh tone he used with me. “Ava, I’m on my way.” “You’re not going anywhere,” I said, stepping in front of him, blocking his path. “We haven’t finished talking.” The thirty-year-old me loved this man. But the twenty-year-old me? I didn’t know him at all. He glared at me, a silent warning in his eyes. “Don’t push me, Jena. If anything happens to Ava because of this delay, I swear, you and I are finished.” I met his gaze without flinching. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to her. But you’re not going to delay me, either. If you have no objections, my lawyer will be in touch tomorrow.” “Do whatever you want,” he spat, slamming the door behind him. He was so certain I wouldn’t go through with it. He thought he had clipped my wings so thoroughly that I wouldn’t dare to fly. This time, he was wrong. After he left, I stumbled to the bathroom, still reeling from the impossible reality of time travel. The woman in the mirror was both familiar and a stranger. It was me, but not me. The corners of her eyes were etched with the passage of time, her skin no longer holding the tight, radiant glow of my twenties. A thirty-year-old woman. No job. No identity of her own. Pathetically hoping a child could solidify her position and hold onto a man whose heart had long since strayed. It was laughable. Utterly, tragically laughable. 2 Ten years of memories flooded my soul, a salty, bitter torrent of pain. At twenty, Jena had just won the national collegiate photography award, the golden trophy gleaming in her hands. An offer from the Paris College of Art sat on her desk. Back then, I stood in the spotlight, radiant and confident. Curtis was just one of many admirers in the crowd. After my graduation ceremony at twenty-two, a runaway truck had barreled towards me. It was Curtis who shoved me out of the way, without a thought for his own safety. His love felt so immense, so selfless. At twenty-two, I thought I had found my salvation. I believed, for the first time, that someone in this world truly loved me. I made peace with the world, with my past. I clipped my own wings, gave up my dream of studying abroad, and at twenty-four, I became Mrs. Thorne. For the first two years of our marriage, Curtis had treated me like a precious treasure, convincing me with a thousand sweet reasons to give up my career. But slowly, that love had soured. Just as the thirty-year-old Jena had betrayed the twenty-year-old me. But when did it all change? Was it after my third miscarriage, when he brought a young woman named Ava home, introducing her as the sister of the man who had died saving him? A man who hadn’t saved him at all, but one of his close friends. With that as his excuse, he began a flirtatious, ambiguous relationship with her, and the thirty-year-old Jena was expected to just accept it. “What a joke,” I muttered, my fingers scrolling uncontrollably through the phone. My bank account balance was pitifully low; Curtis only gave me a basic living allowance. The chat history with my parents was filled with their requests for money. But what shocked me the most was the memo app, filled with pathetic little notes: “Remember Curtis hates cilantro.” “Pick up suit from dry cleaner’s.” “Mother-in-law’s birthday, prepare gift.” … Smack! I slammed my hand against the mirror. A web of cracks radiated from the point of impact, shattering the reflection of the thirty-year-old Jena into a thousand pieces. In every shard, the twenty-year-old me glared back in fury. “How could you let yourself become this?” The tears finally broke free. At twenty, I had sworn in my diary to become one of the world’s greatest architects and photographers. And now? My camera was collecting dust, my dreams were molding in a dark corner, and my self-respect was being trampled under Curtis’s feet. The thirty-year-old me had become the very person I had always despised. My heart ached for her, but I hated her even more for betraying all my hard work, all my ambition. This was not the life I was meant to live. 3 After pulling myself together, I started organizing. One pile of documents for the divorce lawyer, another for reviving my dreams. My phone screen lit up. A message from Ava. “Mrs. Thorne, looks like your husband loves me more. I win.” The twenty-year-old me had no use for the title “Mrs. Thorne.” I was all thorns and sharp edges. I would never tolerate such a provocation. I would return it, doubled. I took a screenshot and sent it directly to Curtis’s work group chat. The twenty-year-old me didn’t care about propriety. I didn’t care about consequences. I just did what I felt I had to do. As expected, the group chat exploded. The notification sounds chimed relentlessly. I watched the screen with cold eyes as new messages popped up one after another: “What’s… going on?” “Has Ms. Vance lost her mind?” “Maybe we shouldn’t get involved in Mr. Thorne’s private affairs…” Every message was hesitant, dripping with shock and gossip, but no one dared to say anything outright, all too afraid of Curtis. A few brave souls sent a facepalm emoji, then quickly retracted it. Suddenly, my phone began to vibrate violently. The name “Curtis Thorne” glared from the screen. I held down the power button and shut it off. The world went silent. Ten years ago, when Curtis was pursuing me, he would have done anything I asked. But now, he had ways of getting what he wanted. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before my mother showed up at the door. 4 “Jena, did you have a fight with Curtis?” I ignored her. The thirty-year-old me might have made peace with this woman, but the twenty-year-old me hadn’t. My mother frowned. “Listen to me. No matter what happened, you need to apologize to Curtis first.” I looked at her, my voice arctic. “What’s the matter? Afraid he’ll stop giving you money?” The color drained from her face. Her fingers nervously twisted the strap of her handbag. “How can you talk to your mother like that? I’m only trying to help you…” “Help me?” I let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Is that what you said when you and Dad divorced and dumped me at my uncle’s house?” The memories flooded back, a suffocating tide. When my parents divorced, my mother, out of love, took my older sister. My father took my younger brother, his heir. I was five years old, and I was a burden. I clung to their clothes, but they pushed me away without a second thought. “We can only take one each. We’re sorry. But don’t worry, as soon as we’re back on our feet, we’ll come for you.” I waited from the age of five until I was an adult. They never came. My sister’s words were cruel. “Jena, you’re just like your name. A wild thing nobody wants.” My brother echoed her. “Yeah, you’re as common as a weed. You’re just extra.” My childhood was filled with the harsh face of my aunt. “You useless freeloader, eating our food. Your own parents don’t want you. Why don’t you just go die?” My cousin would rip up my homework. I had to wash the whole family’s clothes in the freezing winter, my hands covered in chilblains. Back then, I envied my sister and brother. They were with our parents, eating what they wanted, getting what they wanted. I endured endless hunger. I had parents, a sister, a brother, but it was as if they were all dead. “Things were tough back then,” my mother’s voice trailed off. “I couldn’t support two children on my own.” “Tough?” I shot up from my seat. “Then where did the money for my sister’s study abroad program come from? Who bought my brother’s car? When I was at my uncle’s, so poor I couldn’t even afford sanitary pads, where were you?” Tears welled up in my mother’s eyes. “Your sister is having a hard time now. Her husband’s business failed…” “What does that have to do with me?” Her marriage failed? What about the thirty-year-old me? Was I supposed to sacrifice my dignity for this hollow semblance of family? I grabbed her purse and hurled it at the door. “Get out!” The contents spilled across the floor. A few receipts for designer handbags caught my eye. I picked one up. It was from the day before. They didn’t want me back. They just wanted my rich husband’s money to satisfy their own greed. My mother scrambled to grab the receipts. “No, that’s not…” she stammered. “Jena, Mom will make it up to you in the future.” “Take your things and get out.” The five-year-old Jena, digging through trash cans, needed a mother’s love. The twenty-year-old me had long since outgrown that need. I knew the only person who could save me was myself. Never anyone else. I tore the receipts to shreds. “From now on, whether you live or die has nothing to do with me.” Less than half an hour after my mother left, my father called. I stared at the word “Father” flashing on the screen, a knot tightening in my stomach. “Honey, your brother’s getting married. We’re still short 800,000 for the bride price…” I laughed out loud. “What? Your precious son can’t afford a wife?” “What kind of attitude is that!” he yelled. “Curtis Thorne is loaded. 800,000 is nothing to him.” “If he can’t even afford the bride price, maybe he doesn’t deserve to carry on the family name. If he’s destined to be the end of the line, why force it?” I hung up and blocked his number. The world was quiet, but the war between the twenty-year-old me and the thirty-year-old Jena raged on. I had worked so hard, pushed myself so relentlessly, never bowing my head to anyone, all to escape this life and build a better one. And the thirty-year-old her had sunk right back into the mire. How could you betray all those years of my effort? Marriage hadn’t been my salvation. It was a cage, more suffocating than the one I had escaped.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393834”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The little girl from the house at the end of the lane went missing. The killer was apprehended swiftly. But the mastermind behind it all was a man of immense power. Not only did he walk free, but he began to threaten the old couple who were the girl’s grandparents. In his despair, the old man knocked on the door of my flower shop. The next day, the police came for me. One of the masterminds, the young master of the Thorne family, was now just a severed head, carelessly discarded at the entrance of the police station. 01 I was changing the water for the flowers when the police knocked on the door of my shop. These blooms were delicate things; a moment of neglect and they would wilt completely. I plucked a browning leaf from a stem and motioned for the officers to come in. I recognized the woman in the lead. Detective Olivia Reed, if I remembered correctly. She was the one in charge of the case that had been causing such a stir recently. I had to admit, Detective Reed had a certain professional grace. She stood quietly to one side, waiting patiently for me to finish my work. “Welcome to The Acacia. A bouquet of golden acacias, Detective?” I offered an apologetic smile for my delayed hospitality, holding up the bundle of brilliant, sun-colored flowers in my hands. The golden acacias were in perfect, vibrant bloom, yet they seemed to make Detective Reed frown for some reason. Composing herself, she fixed me with an inquisitive gaze. “No need to be nervous, sir. We’re just conducting a routine inquiry. I was wondering what you know about the Baker family at the end of the lane.” The image of a bright, lively little girl flashed in my mind. She was so innocent, so full of life. There’s a mirror in the shop. So I could clearly see my own lips curl slowly into a smile, and then, just as slowly, fall. I heard my own voice, sharp with a hostility that surprised even me. “I thought the case was closed. What are you still asking questions for?” 02 A few months ago, the little girl from the house at the end of the lane went missing. Her name was Lily. Her family was poor, which had made Lily remarkably sensible for her age, yet she had miraculously held on to that vibrant, childlike energy. All the residents of Acacia Lane loved to dote on her, and adults were always pressing little treats and snacks into her hands. Each time, Lily would blush crimson, thank them politely, and then skip away, hopping with joy in a corner where she thought no one could see. In this poor, grimy lane, a place perpetually shrouded in despair and anxiety, the little girl was a rare patch of pure, untainted ground in everyone’s heart. So when we learned she was missing, everyone searched for her, anxiously and tirelessly, combing through nearly every corner of the neighborhood. At first, everything seemed to be going smoothly. Her teacher told us Lily had left school with her friends, and she had them point out the last place they saw her. There was a small noodle shop nearby, and its security camera was pointed directly at the spot. The camera had done its job. The footage clearly showed a black car pulling up. It showed them taking Lily. The license plate was perfectly visible. With the police involved, the clues unraveled quickly. When the enraged neighbors and police officers stormed the opulent suburban villa, the scene inside was enough to turn anyone’s stomach. Drunken trust-fund brats were sprawled everywhere, some muttering incoherently in their stupor. Their faces were grotesque, yet they were dressed in designer clothes, as if the beasts they suppressed in their daily lives had just been unleashed. It was sickening. And Lily… she was lying on a massive, square dining table. Her body was a canvas of purple bruises, and a foul, unidentifiable fluid trickled down her skin onto the tabletop. Lily was dead. And before she died, she had suffered inhuman torture. Everyone present saw red. The police, bound by their code, didn’t resort to vigilante justice, but the way they dragged those men from the floor to the patrol cars was anything but gentle. What followed was what everyone had hoped for. The media reported it. Society was in an uproar. Countless voices screamed for these demons to be put to death. The case was handed over to the city’s highest court, prosecuted by the state. The chain of evidence was ironclad: witnesses, physical evidence, and even the DNA of at least three individuals extracted from the residue found in Lily’s body. The verdict of the first trial: death penalty for all involved. People mourned. People cheered. They grieved for the loss of a young life but celebrated the fact that the law had prevailed. Lily had been abandoned by her parents as a baby and lived with her elderly grandparents. After the tragedy, a man in a sharp suit visited the old Bakers at the end of the lane. He offered them a huge sum of money in exchange for a letter of forgiveness. It was a fortune, enough to ensure the old couple would never have to worry again. But the old man refused without a moment’s hesitation. The old woman chased the man out of the house with a broom. Someone from a neighboring house “accidentally” splashed a bucket of dirty water; someone else “accidentally” dropped an egg. That well-dressed lawyer left the lane looking like a wreck, his expensive suit stained and filthy, yet he was still shouting threats, promising he’d make them pay. No one took him seriously. Until everything turned on a dime. 03 “What do you mean, the footage is gone?” Old Mr. Baker was well past seventy, his hair and beard completely white. He was trembling with a rage that shook his entire body. The owner of the noodle shop, a middle-aged man, nervously wiped his greasy hands on his apron, unable to meet the old man’s eyes. Mrs. Baker raised a trembling hand to strike him, but she was stopped by a police officer with an apologetic look on her face. “The security system was broken that week. All the recordings were lost…” the noodle shop owner mumbled, hiding behind the officer. Detective Reed’s face was etched with disgust. The police had no respect for people like him, but professional duty required them to stand between him and the grieving couple. Without the security footage, a crucial link in the chain of evidence was gone. And a cold feeling told them this was only the beginning. The life seemed to drain from the old couple’s faces. They gripped Detective Reed’s arm, their hold surprisingly strong in their agitation, as if desperately seeking an anchor. “Officer, those monsters… they will be punished, won’t they?” Detective Reed didn’t know how to answer. She just nodded silently, though it was unclear if she was trying to convince them or herself. But if she wouldn’t say it, someone else would. The noodle shop owner bit his lip and spoke hesitantly. “You have no idea what kind of monsters you’re dealing with. Let it go. Lily’s gone, but you’re still alive. You need to think about yourselves.” Anyone could see the man wasn’t malicious, that he was just trying to give them some well-meaning advice, but it was impossible not to glare at him with contempt. The Bakers, however, had no intention of taking his advice. They insisted on appealing, determined to get justice for Lily even if it cost them their lives. Things began to spiral downward. The physical evidence vanished. Witnesses changed their stories. The once-unbreakable chain of evidence was blurred and erased, piece by piece. Security cameras from other locations were also mysteriously damaged or lost. The black car used to abduct Lily was found as a burned-out wreck in the suburbs. The children who had walked home with Lily were silenced by their parents, too terrified to say a word. Her teacher also changed her story, now claiming Lily had left school alone, smearing her name by saying she was a “promiscuous liar who was always trying to get boys’ attention.” Overnight, public opinion was twisted. The same online warriors who had fought for the Bakers were now swayed by this so-called “truth,” led astray by a massive army of paid trolls and concern-trolling devils’ advocates. They turned on the victims with vicious vitriol. “Princesses are born, not made. Age is just a number.” “Told you all not to jump to conclusions. Look at you now, a bunch of clowns.” “Disgusting. Good thing she’s dead.” Many people in the lane received warnings. The residents of Acacia Lane were poor; losing a job was a fate worse than death. So, one by one, they began to shun the old couple, avoiding them like they were beggars or carriers of some infectious disease. Their eyes held a mixture of pity and revulsion. The final blow was a court ruling. The High Court closed the case. The second verdict: two sentenced to life, three to ten years in prison. The rest were acquitted. Among the acquitted were the men whose DNA had been found. They were the true masterminds, yet they had escaped the law’s grasp. Even those who received sentences could be released early for “good behavior,” returning to their lives of luxury and debauchery once the scandal died down. A giant, unseen hand was toying with the old couple. When the lawyer had threatened and bribed them, Mr. Baker hadn’t wavered. When the noodle shop owner had pleaded with him, he hadn’t wavered. But now, as his friends and neighbors were threatened and hurt, forced to distance themselves with looks of helpless sympathy, he began to break. Mrs. Baker received one threat after another. A car nearly ran her down on her way home from the market, leaving her in a coma. Their windows were smashed, their door was splashed with red paint, and their phone rang off the hook with harassing, abusive calls. The police were trying to help, but arresting the low-level thugs was useless. It couldn’t touch the powerful families behind it all. Mr. Baker was afraid. But he was not resigned. The old man, who had lived a simple, honest life, couldn’t understand why the wicked were not punished. “God is blind,” he said. But the mastermind, Caleb Thorne, just looked down on him with arrogant disdain, like a giant staring at a worthless ant. “She was just a little bitch. So she’s dead. Who cares? How dare you sue me?” “And it’s not just them. I’m going to crush everyone around you, one by one, until you’re on your knees, begging me for mercy.” 04 He was so close. Honestly, Mr. Baker was on the verge of giving up. But someone told him: Go to the flower shop at the entrance of the lane. Ask for a bouquet of golden acacias. Someone there will help you. And so, the old man, his hair as white as snow, stepped into a flower shop for the first time in his life. Not to buy a rose for a sweetheart. But to seek justice for a victim. I smiled and handed him the brilliant, sun-colored bouquet. Like passing a torch in the dead of night, its flame was small but steady. The next day, a piece of news sent shockwaves through the entire city. Caleb Thorne was dead. The all-powerful young master of the Thorne family, the demonic bully, the mastermind of the case—was dead. His head had been severed, wrapped in a black plastic bag, and carelessly tossed at the entrance of the police station. A sanitation worker, thinking it was trash, had tried to pick it up. The strange shape and feel of the bag made him stumble backward in fright. The bag fell, and the head rolled out. Caleb Thorne’s grotesque, wide-open eyes stared directly at the police station doors. The mouth that had spouted lies and twisted the truth at press conferences, the mouth that had viciously cursed and threatened an old couple, was now slightly agape, as if in a final, silent plea for mercy. As for the body, the police still hadn’t found it. Such a gruesome death immediately screamed of a revenge killing. And everyone knew who his greatest enemy was—old Mr. Baker from the end of the lane. And I was the only person Mr. Baker had been in contact with the day before Caleb Thorne’s death. That’s why the police came for me. But I was just a humble flower shop owner. All I did was ask an old man if he wanted a bouquet of golden acacias. What could I possibly know? I feigned confusion, a faint, unreadable smile playing on my lips as I looked at Detective Reed. “So, Detective, you suspect I killed him?” She and her partner froze for a second, seemingly taken aback by my directness. “No, of course not. We’re just required to ask some routine questions,” she replied smoothly. They had no evidence pointing to me, so their tone was, for the most part, friendly. I nodded and answered all their questions with calm composure. The shop has security cameras. They proved I was in the store the entire time Caleb Thorne was killed. So, the little interruption ended quickly. Detective Reed and her partner left. But just as she was about to leave, she seemed to sense something. She spun around, her eyes meeting mine just as I broke into a brilliant smile. After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke. “If you think of anything that might be related, please, you must tell us.” I nodded, my smile widening. “Of course.” 05 Caleb Thorne was dead, and the Thorne family was incandescent with rage. The bejeweled Mrs. Thorne stood in the police station, screaming obscenities, her well-maintained face twisted into a mask of fury. “So what if some little tramp died? Is she comparable to my son? If you can’t find the killer, you can all start looking for new jobs!” No one dared to argue with her. For a behemoth like the Thorne family, getting a low-level employee fired was child’s play, even if they worked for the justice system. In the face of people like them, the so-called law, the so-called rules, were nothing but pieces of paper, things to be trampled on and ignored at will. I saw a young officer in the corner clench his fists. I gently patted Mr. Baker’s trembling hand, trying to soothe him. It was hard to tell if he was shaking from the news of Caleb’s death or from the rage ignited by Mrs. Thorne’s words. His expression was a complex mixture of emotions. After a long moment, he let out a heavy sigh. However, two other people had a far more extreme reaction than either the Thornes or Mr. Baker. Blake Harrison and Spencer Drake, the other two masterminds. Ever since Caleb’s head was found, the two had been on the verge of a complete breakdown, even showing signs of mental illness. The two young masters were crying and begging their families to put more pressure on the police, making life a living hell for Detective Reed and her team. A few days later, she showed up at my shop with dark circles under her eyes. The usually sharp and capable woman looked haggard and worn out. She claimed she was just “browsing,” but her eyes were scanning every inch of the shop. I knew she had never let go of her suspicion of me. She was like a hunting dog that had caught the scent of blood, circling her prey, feigning nonchalance. After a while, she seemed to deflated. She started making small talk, subtly steering the conversation back to the case and the old man, complaining about the pressure the powerful families were putting on her. “We were just about to have a breakthrough, and now they’re on our backs 24/7. That’s why I look like this.” As she spoke, she was secretly watching me, not missing the slightest flicker of expression on my face. I saw right through her little act but didn’t call her out on it. I just smiled and poured her a cup of herbal tea. Flower petals swirled in the water, creating ripples as the cup trembled slightly in her hand. “This isn’t poisoned, is it?” she asked suddenly, then took a large gulp without waiting for an answer. I shook my head, putting on the face of a timid, law-abiding citizen. “I wouldn’t dare. Poison a police officer?” A half-smile played on her lips. “You wouldn’t dare touch a cop, but you’d dare to go after those rich degenerates?” It was posed as a joke, but it felt like a test. “Detective Reed,” I said, changing the subject, “do you know why this place is called Acacia Lane?” I didn’t answer her question, instead looking directly into her tired eyes. Seeing no crack in my facade, a look of disappointment crossed her face, and she lost interest in my question. Just then, her phone rang. With an apologetic glance at me, she answered and hurried away. I stood at the doorway of my shop, watching her go. A strange feeling rose in my chest. Like watching a struggling animal in a trap. Or pitying a wailing child.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393851”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The livestream battle against his childhood sweetheart was a disaster. I was losing, badly. Then, Guy Bray stormed the stream, unleashing twenty “Galaxies” in a row, single-handedly turning the tide for her. The chat exploded. “See, Chloe? I told you! The CEO only has eyes for you. Let’s see what kind of tricks that bitch Faye can pull now!” “Exactly! You should stop giving him the silent treatment. Worst case, just make him beg on his knees when he gets home!” My hand went to my pocket, to the birthday gift I’d been so excited to give him. I was about to call him. But then, Guy, who was supposed to be halfway across the world, appeared on camera. He stepped into the frame and pulled Chloe into a deep, passionate French kiss for everyone to see. Her popularity meter shot through the roof, a supernova of support that annihilated mine. I was K.O.’d. Utterly defeated. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just sent him a single text. “A week of silence means we’re done. Does that still stand?” 1 The glaring red exclamation mark next to my message felt like a punch to the gut. It was a sight I hadn’t seen in a decade. In the ten years we’d been together, Guy and I had fought, we’d screamed, we’d threatened to break up. But we always had an unspoken rule, a final lifeline to pull each other back. “Promise me,” he’d said, his pinky locked with mine. “No matter how bad a fight gets, we never delete or block each other. Cross your heart, hope to die.” A childish oath, sealed with a press of our thumbs, but it was the magic that had mended us time and time again. This time, he was the one who broke it. My finger hovered, then swiped. The contact, saved as “A_MyOneAndOnly,” vanished from my list. My assistant, Nina, slammed her hand on the table, her voice shaking with rage on my behalf. “What the hell is Chloe’s problem?! Using the CEO for a publicity stunt?! This round doesn’t count. We demand a rematch!” Nina shot nervous glances at me, ready to physically restrain me if I, as I usually would, made a move to confront Chloe. But to her surprise, I just picked up my glass of wine and downed it in one go. “A loss is a loss,” I said, my voice steady. “Let this be my parting glass, a thank you to everyone for all your years of support. Cheers.” “Faye, no! You can’t, you’re allergic to alcohol—” Her words were cut short as a bitter, burning wave surged up my throat. I clapped a hand over my mouth and ran for the restroom. Behind me, the whispers started, sharp and cruel. “So what if she had the title of Mrs. Bray? The moment the real queen came back, she was knocked right back down. What a pathetic loss.” “Totally. Guy even gave Chloe his A-team, a top-tier crew. All the company resources are flowing her way. It couldn’t be more obvious who he loves and who he doesn’t.” Tears I refused to shed in front of them now fell, hot and traitorous, onto the simple, plain band on my ring finger. It made me think of a time when his devotion was mine and mine alone. When everyone shot down my passion project, he stood against them all, a fierce defender of my dream. He even sold his family’s old summer house and pressed the money into my hands. “Faye,” he’d said, his eyes shining, “go for it. I will always, always be your rock.” When I pulled all-nighters, he’d be right there beside me, digging through research papers. When I was sick in the hospital, he stayed awake all night, holding my hand until the sun came up. But that was seven years ago. Today, all that fierce devotion belonged to his childhood sweetheart. I looked at the faint, worn inscription inside my ring—J&F—and then at the picture Chloe had just posted on her feed: a pair of million-dollar, diamond-encrusted rings on her and Guy’s hands. My simple band seemed to dim, a pale ghost of a promise. With a bitter, self-mocking laugh, I pulled the ring from my finger and tossed it into the trash can. Just then, Guy’s custom ringtone blared from someone’s phone in the hall. Normally, I’d have answered within three seconds. This time, I leaned against the cool tile of the wall, slowly pushing the door open. “Faye, it’s the boss! He’s calling to apologize, I bet…” One of the gossiping onlookers, hungry for more drama, hit the speakerphone button. “Chloe, you were amazing! That dance with Guy was so hot! You’re the only one who deserves to be by his side, not like… some people.” “I know, right? And she actually thought she could win a battle against you. She just humiliated herself. Guy totally set this whole thing up…” The taunts hung in the air, followed by a sudden, dead silence. I forced my heart to stop its frantic hammering and was about to speak. But then, Guy’s voice, raw with anger, erupted from the phone. “Who the hell told you to spread those rumors? Let me make one thing crystal clear: I have only one wife, and her name is Faye Sterling! Every single one of you who said otherwise can pack your desks and be gone by morning!” A wave of bitterness washed over me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In public, he always gave me the respect and face befitting the CEO’s wife. But in private, he repeatedly crossed every line for Chloe. “Faye, come on. You’re already mine, what’s a Director position to you? Just think of it as a training opportunity for the kid.” “It’s just one multi-million dollar contract. You’re the CEO’s wife, you need to be more magnanimous.” I tried. I tried to accept it, to be “magnanimous.” But my acceptance only fueled Chloe’s audacity. She’d alter data in my project proposals without my consent and leave me to take the fall. She’d reassign my team members behind my back, then cripple me with no resources while demanding my department meet 80% of the company’s KPIs. I’d fought him on it, screamed at him, but Guy would always brush it off with a placating murmur. “Chloe’s new to the role, she needs to establish her authority. Just be patient, I’ll have a talk with her.” But I knew he never would. Even this time, I had made it perfectly clear. If I lose this PK battle, I’m leaving. And still, when it came down to it, he chose her. The memory solidified my resolve. I cut through his frantic “Honey, are you okay?” “Guy,” I said, my voice flat. “Come home tonight. We need to talk.” 2 “That’s right, Guy, you should go home and be with Faye. I’m fine… ah!” A sharp cry of pain stabbed through the phone, and Guy’s voice instantly became distant, muffled. “Look at you, why are you even in a competition when you’re sick? Are you trying to kill yourself? I’m taking you to the hospital…” This was the seventh time this month she’d “fallen ill,” each time with surgical precision, right when I needed to talk to Guy about something important. I knew the drill. As I moved to hang up, Guy’s hurried, breathless voice came back on the line. “Look, Chloe’s having terrible cramps. I need you to bring over a warm, sweet drink. Oh, and a blanket. A new one.” His tone was clipped, commanding, as if I were Chloe’s personal assistant. Which, in a way, I had become. Chloe loved the way I cooked sea bass, so Guy would wake me in the middle of the night, regardless of the hour, to make it for her. “Sorry, babe,” he’d say, trying to placate me. “Just humor her, she’s like a kid.” I’d look at the dark circles under his eyes, the stress lines etched on his face, and my heart would soften every time. But not tonight. Tonight, I was done softening. “Sorry,” I said, the word feeling foreign. “I’m exhausted. I don’t have time.” The line went dead. A second later, a chorus of notifications pinged from the phones around me. “What the—? Why did he just dock our performance bonuses? He’s always docking our pay! Does he even want us to make a living?” A sea of resentful eyes turned on me, their expressions a mixture of pity and blame. I was the cause of their misery, another casualty in our marital war. Of course. After all these years, Guy knew exactly how to twist the knife. He knew my team was my weakness. I tried calling him back, only to find I’d been blocked. Left with no choice, I sent a message to Chloe. “Tell Guy I’ll bring what he asked for. I’m on my way.” The stomach pains I’d been ignoring for hours suddenly flared, a sharp, stabbing cramp. I fumbled through my purse, my fingers searching for my medication. Instead, they closed around a bottle of multivitamins. He must have packed them by mistake. I remembered it then. He was putting my pills in my bag when he’d gotten a call from Chloe. He’d talked to her for an hour, a soft, bashful smile on his face that I hadn’t seen since the first year we were dating. A bitter jealousy had coiled in my gut, and I’d kicked him out of the room. I assumed, like always, he’d be back within 24 hours to apologize. Instead, I got 24 hours of non-stop updates on Chloe’s social media feed. “Ice cream dates, snowball fights, watching the sunrise… everything is perfect when you’re with the right person!” I had stubbornly refused to give in, to be the first to break the silence. But now, on the seventh day, I had been about to crumble. Because of the rule he himself had made. “A week of silence means we’re done.” But now, something had shifted. I wasn’t crumbling. I was letting go. I went home and packed a bag. Then, I went to the kitchen and began preparing the sea bass. One last time. After this, our debts would be settled. It was late by the time I finished. Getting out of the car in a rush, I tripped on the curb and went down hard. “Guy, it hurts,” I cried out instinctively into the empty night. But there was no one. Only the biting wind. The man who had sworn he would never let me walk a dark street alone was gone. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I limped my way to the urgent care clinic. And there he was. In the brightly lit infusion room, Guy was holding Chloe, gently spoon-feeding her a warm drink. The look in his eyes as he gazed at her was pure, undiluted adoration, a sweetness so thick it was suffocating. I backed away, wanting to be invisible. But my injured knee buckled and I stumbled, knocking it against a chair. A fresh wave of pain shot up my leg, and I saw blood seeping through my pants. His head snapped up, and his eyes, cold and sharp, found me. “Faye,” he said, his voice laced with scorn. “I thought you were busy. What, did you have time to make a business trip to the hospital?” His gaze fell to my bleeding knee, and for a split second, I saw something flicker in his eyes—a muscle in his jaw twitched. He started to rise, but Chloe’s arm snaked around his neck, pulling him back. “Guy, I feel so dizzy…” she murmured, then her eyes met mine, a triumphant glint in them. “Oh, Faye, you’re here! Perfect timing. I just finished the drink. Thank you so much for bringing it…” I saw the malice hiding behind her saccharine smile. I knew she was setting a trap, crafting another lie where I would be the villain. I thought of all the other times, of how Guy always took her side without question, and a profound weariness washed over me. I forced myself to stand straight, placed the thermos on a nearby chair, and turned to leave. “Mr. Bray, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be heading home now.” “Wait.” He gently settled Chloe back against the pillows, then strode over to me. He pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and pressed it into my hand. “Here,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. “A little tip for your trouble.” The sharp edge of the bill cut into my palm. I took a steadying breath and finally met his gaze. “Mr. Bray,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “If you really want to thank me, could you do me a small favor?” 3 His response was to grab my arm and drag me violently into an empty examination room. He slammed me against the wall, pinning my wrists above my head. His eyes, dark and stormy, bored into mine. “Faye, do you have to be so goddamn difficult?” he seethed, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you have any idea that I haven’t slept in three days, rushing to close that overseas deal just so I could get back to you?” “I know I didn’t handle the livestream situation right. I should have told you. But this is business. As long as it boosts the company’s numbers, the methods don’t matter—” “So, would you sleep with her for the company?” I cut him off, my voice hollow. I stared at the face I had loved for a decade, the question hanging in the sterile air between us. Just moments before, Chloe had sent me a picture. The two of them, tangled together in a heated embrace, their bodies flush against each other. I needed to hear the answer from his lips. The color drained from Guy’s face. His eyes darted away, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Don’t listen to the gossip at the office,” he stammered. “There’s nothing going on between Chloe and me.” He took a shaky breath. “Besides, you know… I have issues. With my stress levels… I can’t perform.” So that was it. In his world, a “platonic” relationship involved sharing drinks from the same cup, wearing matching million-dollar rings, and walking hand-in-hand at public events. And I, his wife, had personally seen him finding release to a picture of Chloe on his phone. Now I understood. His “inability to perform” was only with me. A laugh escaped my lips, a broken, hysterical sound that quickly turned into tears. To him, it was just more drama. “Faye, that’s enough,” he snapped, his patience gone. “Just stop it. The company is already driving me insane. I don’t have the energy to deal with your theatrics.” He reached into his pocket, his hand fumbling, and pulled out a delicate, glittering bracelet. It seemed to spark a memory, and his expression softened. He bent down, picked it up from where it had fallen, and fastened it around my wrist. “I bought this for you on my trip,” he said, his voice softer now. “I thought it would suit you… and it does. It’s beautiful on you.” The fire of the diamonds reflected in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a genuine smile. But I knew he wasn’t seeing me. He was seeing her. I was just the mannequin. How many times had I been his model for gifts meant for her? Lingerie, shoes, jewelry. But this time, he’d been so careless. He’d grabbed the wrong one. Because engraved on the inside of the clasp, in elegant French script, were the words: Pour Chloé, mon seul amour. For Chloe, my only love. I yanked my hand back. The sharp edge of the clasp broke my skin, and a drop of blood welled up, staining the pristine metal. Guy’s brow furrowed in annoyance. He roughly unclasped the bracelet and began frantically wiping the blood off with his handkerchief. “Damn it, why are you so clumsy? Blood is bad luck…” Of course. His goddess hated the sight of blood. She just enjoyed seeing mine spilled. “My apologies,” I said numbly. From my pocket, I pulled out the folded document I’d prepared earlier. The Divorce Agreement. “You still haven’t signed the final papers for the B-Corp partnership,” I said, keeping my voice level. “This is a work matter, right?” “You must be mistaken. I signed those last week,” he said without even looking up, his focus entirely on cleaning the bracelet. Of course. He remembered every detail of his life, except those that involved me. I was trying to think of another excuse when he finally took the papers from my hand. “Sign it and go home,” he ordered. “And stop causing trouble.” He just wanted me gone. So he could get back to her. A familiar bitterness rose in my throat, but I just nodded. “Mm-hmm.” My lack of fight must have seemed strange to him. He stopped writing, his pen hovering over the paper. He gripped my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “Faye,” he said, his voice earnest. “You will always be number one in my heart. As soon as this crazy period is over, I’ll take you on a trip, just the two of us.” He used his thumb to push up the corner of my mouth. “Come on, give me a smile. You’re most beautiful when you smile.” I managed a weak, painful twitch of my lips. I’d been fed this empty promise a hundred times. I couldn’t chew it, couldn’t swallow it. But he seemed completely satisfied. Predictably, his phone rang. He was needed. “Don’t worry,” he cooed into the receiver. “I’m on my way.” I glanced at the agreement. He’d only signed his first name. Guy. I sighed. Suddenly, a small, colorful object appeared in my line of sight. A cartoon band-aid. A young nurse was smiling warmly at me. “Your husband asked me to give this to you,” she said, noticing my confused expression. Seeing my hesitation, she tore open the wrapper and gently applied it to the cut on my hand. “He’s so sweet and thoughtful. And he has a fun side, too, buying cartoon band-aids…” My nails dug into my palms. I couldn’t tell her that he only carried them because they were Chloe’s favorite. I was just the lucky recipient of a leftover scrap of his affection. My phone buzzed. A message from my real estate agent. Ms. Sterling, we have an offer on the house you listed, but it’s only for 70% of the asking price. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider…? I glanced at the cartoon character smiling up at me from my wounded hand and typed back without a second’s hesitation. Sell it. Please handle the closing for me. Before my finger even left the screen, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Faye,” Guy’s voice was a low growl behind me. “You just had to make a scene, didn’t you? You just couldn’t let it go. Fine. You want a war? You’ve got one.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393869”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A week before the wedding, my fiancé, Dan, abruptly changed the venue to the beach. His best friend, Leo, was teasing him about it. “You’re seriously changing the venue to the beach because Chloe likes it? And you didn’t even tell your fiancée? What if her whole family shows up at the wrong place?” “Besides,” Leo added, “will Elara even agree? I heard she was the one who insisted on the Aspen Ridge wedding.” Dan just shrugged, his voice laced with a casual indifference. “It’s fine. She’s so in love with me, she literally went blind for me. When has she ever not done what I wanted?” “She’s obsessed with this wedding,” he continued, “so she’ll check the details a hundred times. When she sees I changed the location, she’ll be the one to notify her family.” I stood frozen in the doorway, listening. After a long moment, I turned and walked away, pretending I’d heard nothing at all. On the morning of the wedding, Dan called me, his voice frantic. “Elara, where are you? The ceremony is about to start!” I gazed out the window at the soft, drifting snowflakes. “I’m already here,” I said. 1 The Aspen Ridge wedding was my idea from the very beginning. That place held a sacred meaning for Dan and me. But I never imagined he would discard it all on a whim, just for Chloe. My hand trembled as I stood in the doorway, afraid to make a sound. Leo frowned, clearly confused. “A wedding is about two people, man. You have to at least tell Elara, right? How is she supposed to prepare otherwise?” Dan waved a dismissive hand. “What’s there to prepare? Aspen Ridge is freezing. The beach is so much more comfortable.” “But this is a huge deal. To not even mention it to her… isn’t that a little disrespectful?” A flicker of irritation crossed Dan’s face. “If she knew, she’d ask a million questions, probably throw a fit, and then I’d have to waste time calming her down. It’s a hassle.” “Besides,” he said with a confident smirk, “she loves me. She’ll agree. I mean, come on, she lost her sight for me. Changing the wedding venue is nothing compared to that.” Another one of his friends chimed in with a sly grin. “We know what’s really going on. This is all for Chloe… I mean, a woman that beautiful? Who could say no?” “Haha, we all thought you’d marry Chloe back in the day. She’s gorgeous, and her family’s loaded.” At that, Dan’s expression darkened. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear that again. If Elara finds out and makes a scene, I’ll hold you all responsible.” The group just laughed. “Alright, alright, we’ll drop it. You’ve got it made. Elara would do anything for you.” Suddenly, Dan’s phone rang. The screen lit up with Chloe’s name. A wave of knowing smirks went around the room. “Speak of the devil, the real bride is calling.” Dan didn’t bother to correct them. His voice softened as he answered the phone. A playful, feminine laugh echoed from the other end. “Dan, you really ordered that gown for me? I heard there’s a six-month waiting list!” “Mmmhmm, I had a friend pull some strings and have it flown in from Milan. It’ll be here next week.” “But… wasn’t it terribly expensive?” “Only fifty thousand. If you like it, it’s worth it.” Chloe’s voice was thick with emotion. “You’re too good to me. I’ll be sure to wear it for you on the wedding day!” A gentle smile played on Dan’s lips. “Good. I’ll be waiting.” As soon as he hung up, his friends erupted in cheers. “Trying to upstage the bride, are we? Seriously, Dan, who are you marrying here, Elara or Chloe?” Dan just chuckled. “Elara and I are practically an old married couple already. It doesn’t matter what she wears… Chloe is different. She deserves something special.” I stood in the doorway, a bitter smile on my face. My wedding dress was bought off the rack, right here in the city. The day I tried it on, my vision was still blurry. I’d asked Dan to be my eyes. After the third dress, he’d sighed impatiently. “They all look fine. Just pick this one. It’s not like you can see the details anyway.” He rushed to pay. The receipt read $200. So, he was capable of planning thoughtful surprises. Just not for me. On the way home, I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, but the tears came anyway. Five years. For five whole years, I had naively believed that he understood me. When I first told him I wanted to get married at Aspen Ridge, he’d smiled and ruffled my hair. “Of course,” he’d said. In that moment, my heart had swelled. He remembers, I thought. He must remember. He had to remember that it was where we first met. Where I’d fallen and bled for him. Where I’d gripped his hand in a blizzard and whispered, “Don’t be afraid.” But he didn’t remember. Or maybe, it had never mattered to him at all. My doctor’s warning echoed in my mind: Emotional distress can hinder the recovery of your optic nerve. I tilted my head back, trying to force the tears back in, but a raw sob escaped my throat. Dan called. The background was a cacophony of loud music and shouting. “Elara, the guys are throwing me a bachelor party tonight. I won’t be home.” I paused for a beat. “Okay.” This “bachelor party” had been going on for three days now. At one in the morning, sleep was impossible. I scrolled through my social media feed. Leo had posted a nine-photo collage with the caption: One last night of freedom for the brother. The center photo was of Chloe, cheeks flushed, leaning drunkenly against Dan’s chest. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back. The comments were a flood of predictable remarks: “They look so good together. Such a shame.” “They were childhood sweethearts, you guys. Don’t be weird.” “@DanVance Better be careful, man! Don’t want Elara to get angry!” Dan himself had replied. “Elara won’t mind. If she makes a scene over something this small, we shouldn’t get married anyway.” I quietly liked his comment, turned off my phone, and went to bed. He was so certain I would tolerate it. Just like I tolerated him changing the wedding venue, tolerated the fifty-thousand-dollar dress for another woman, tolerated every single, “She’s just a friend.” But this time, I didn’t want to tolerate it anymore. I went to my follow-up appointment at the hospital alone. “I told you last time, your vision is still unstable. You need someone to accompany you,” the doctor chided gently. I offered a small smile. “I can manage.” As I left the hospital, a sudden downpour began. Through the rain-streaked window of a café, I saw them. Dan was holding up his phone, and Chloe was leaning against his shoulder, making a peace sign, their cheeks pressed together for a selfie. The designer bag sitting next to her was the one Dan had claimed last week was a “gift for a client.” I let out a humorless laugh and walked home through the storm. When Dan got back, I was just changing out of my soaked clothes. He looked up, startled. “What happened to you? You’re drenched.” “My follow-up appointment.” His expression froze. “That was today?” I laughed softly. “Yes. The third time I reminded you.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’ve just been so busy, I forgot. Anyway, your vision is better now, right? It’s not a big deal if you miss one.” I just stared at him. “The doctor said my optic nerve is still atrophying.” He was silent for a moment. When he looked up again, his eyes were hard. “Are you trying to remind me again that you went blind for my sake?” So that was it. My injury, the sacrifice I’d made, had become a tool of manipulation in his eyes. Seeing my silence, he suddenly flew into a rage. “There you go with that look again! So I forgot one time! Why do you always have to get upset over every little thing?” My gaze dropped to his collar. “You have blueberry jam on you,” I said softly. He instinctively reached up to wipe it, then froze. “You…” “Chloe’s new bag is nice,” I added, my voice calm. His face flushed a deep, angry red. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Were you following me? Seriously? She was just having a bad day and needed someone to talk to!” “You know what her family situation is like! She only has me!” “Elara, can’t you just be a little more generous? This constant scorekeeping is getting old!” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “What a coincidence. At my doctor’s appointment today, I ‘only had me’ too.” He flinched as if I’d struck him, then stammered, “It’s different… You have people who care about you…” Just then, his phone rang. It was Chloe again. He answered immediately. Her choked sobs came through the speaker. “Dan, I fell… It hurts so much…” “Don’t worry, I’m on my way!” He hung up and threw open the door. He paused, then glanced back at me. “You should take some time to reflect on your attitude. I’ll take you to the gift shop tomorrow to pick out the wedding favors.” He hesitated for a second longer. “And stop following me. It makes you look like a clown.” He was gone, but his words hung in the air. A clown? He was right. The only question was why it took me so long to see it. It seemed my blindness had started long before the accident. The drive to the gift shop was thick with an unbearable silence. I put in my earbuds and closed my eyes. Dan’s fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel. “The weather’s been great for the beach lately…” he said, his eyes darting in my direction. When I didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and spoke louder. “I heard the hotel at Golden Shores is really popular right now. A lot of celebrities have their weddings there.” I kept my eyes closed, offering only a noncommittal hum. He frowned, his voice taking on an impatient edge. “Elara, are you even listening to me?” I opened my eyes slightly. “I’m listening. So?” He was immediately at a loss for words. “…Nothing. Just making conversation.” A cool breeze drifted through the open window, clearing my head a little. “Dan,” I began, turning to face him. “About the wedding… is there anything you need to tell me?” It was the only time I would ask. And the last. He avoided my gaze, forcing a laugh. “I’m leaving it all to you. I trust your judgment.” I lowered my eyes, a wave of sadness washing over me. He was still acting. Even now, if he would just be honest, maybe I could still… No. It was too late. I clenched my fists. So this is what he did with my trust. He trampled all over it. Dan’s unease was palpable. I could practically hear his thoughts. She definitely knows. She’s just being difficult. I’ll smooth things over later. Inside the shop, I saw the mock-up for the custom pastries I’d ordered. The delicate, snow-capped mountain design was perfect. As I was about to sample one, a familiar voice chirped from behind me. “Dan? Did you come to buy me my favorite almond crisps?” I gritted my teeth. Her again? Chloe feigned surprise when she saw me, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, Elara! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there…” “Oh, are you two picking out wedding favors? The almond crisps here are to die for. Dan brings me here all the time!” My fingers tightened. He brought her here, many times. I had only found out about this place from my best friend. Chloe picked up a new item from the display. “Elara, you should try this one! It’s perfect for a beach setting, amazing with champagne!” I took a small step back. “No, thank you. I’ve already made my choice. You two enjoy yourselves.” Chloe looked taken aback, her expression shifting to one of wounded innocence. “Are you… upset because I’m here? I-I can leave.” Dan immediately grabbed her wrist. “Elara didn’t mean that. You don’t have to go.” He turned to me, his gaze intense. “Elara, Chloe is going to be your bridesmaid. Don’t be so harsh, you’ll scare her.” I blinked. When was that decided? Weren’t bridesmaids something the bride was supposed to choose? But then again, if he could change the entire wedding venue without my consent, why would he bother asking me about this? “This is who I am,” I replied, my voice flat. “Take it or leave it.” They both stared at me, clearly shocked by my bluntness. Chloe’s eyes welled up with tears. “It’s okay, I should just go. I don’t want to be in the way.” But Dan held onto her hand, his fingers now intertwined with hers. “Elara, you’re about to be a married woman. Can you stop being so childish?” “Ever since we set the date, you’ve been nothing but moody. What’s the point?” Chloe leaned closer to him, whispering, “Dan, don’t…” But he was on a roll. “Don’t try to stop me! I’ve had enough!” He glared at me, his voice rising. “Go on, Elara, just keep acting out! Don’t blame me if you cry yourself blind again!” The shop fell into a dead silence. The staff stared at the floor, mortified. An icy dread settled in my heart. So that’s what he thought. My blindness… was just me “crying myself blind” out of jealousy. And I had actually hoped he would remember the meaning of our Aspen Ridge wedding. How many times had this happened? Chloe would call with a “headache” or “low blood sugar,” and Dan would drop everything to be by her side. I once had a 102-degree fever, but he was busy shopping with Chloe. All I got was a text: Drink lots of water. I’ll check on you later. He never showed up. Whenever I complained, it was always the same response. “Why are you so immature? Chloe really needs me!” For our anniversary, he promised we would go see the sunrise over the mountains. I spent weeks planning the perfect gift. He forgot the date entirely. “It’s just a day. Why do you have to be so dramatic about it?” But for Chloe’s birthday, he booked a restaurant a month in advance, bought her extravagant gifts, and posted a photo of them together with the caption: “Happy birthday to the most important person in my life.” All those memories, coupled with the scene in front of me now… I was done. I should have walked away a long time ago. As I turned to leave, Dan’s voice followed me. “She’s probably just got pre-wedding jitters. Don’t mind her, she’s not well…” How kind of him to make excuses for me. Through the glass window, I saw him take Chloe’s hand and feed her an almond crisp. They were the ones who looked like the happy couple. That evening, I received a voice message from Dan. “Elara, stop being angry.” “I’m so busy with work, and I have to take care of both of you. Can’t you be more understanding?” “We’re going to be married soon. I need you to be more mature.” He was slightly drunk, rambling on and on. I didn’t bother listening to the rest. He had it so hard. So I decided to make it easy for him. I would remove the burden completely. 2 The day before the wedding, Dan finally broke. “Elara,” he said over the phone, his voice tight with anxiety, “you’ve… confirmed all the final arrangements, right?” I made a soft sound of agreement as I packed my suitcase for the trip to Aspen Ridge. “Yes, I’ve gone over everything.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Good… that’s good…” “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” The next morning, I put on my wedding dress. It wasn’t the one Dan had picked. I heard a car pull up outside, and then my phone rang. “Elara,” Dan said, his words rushed. “Chloe twisted her ankle. I’m taking her to the hospital now, so I can’t pick you up.” “You go on ahead to the venue. It’s just a formality, anyway. I’ll meet you there later.” “Okay,” I replied calmly. He paused, as if sensing something was wrong. “You’re… not angry, are you?” “No. You do what you need to do.” After I hung up, Dan let out a relieved breath and turned to Chloe in the passenger seat. “Does it hurt a lot? Just hold on, we’re almost there.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault, making you late to pick up your bride…” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Don’t say that. You’re hurt. Of course I’m going to take care of you.” But a seed of doubt had been planted in his mind. My calm acceptance felt… wrong. Maybe she’s finally come around, he thought. She knows she’s the one I’m marrying. I’ll make it up to her on the honeymoon. At the Golden Shores Resort, Dan’s family and friends had all arrived. But the bride’s side of the venue was completely empty. Dan arrived with Chloe on his arm. A knot of panic tightened in his stomach. No… she couldn’t have missed the change of address, could she? The thought was terrifying. He dialed my number, but it went straight to voicemail. He checked his watch again and again, his face growing paler by the minute. Finally, I picked up. “Elara, where are you?” he yelled, his voice frayed with panic. “The guests are all waiting!” I looked out the window at the swirling snow. “I’m already here.” The wedding march began to play in the chapel, signaling my entrance. Dan froze. “Where are you? I don’t see you.” I held the phone up. “Listen.” The soaring notes of the wedding hymn drifted through the line, mingled with the sound of the wind. He went rigid, his voice trembling. “You’re… you’re at Aspen Ridge?” “Are you crazy? I changed the venue!” A small smile touched my lips. “I know.” He was stunned into silence. “What do you mean, you know? You knew and you went there anyway? Why are you being so stubborn? This is our wedding, Elara! You didn’t even tell me!” “Did you tell me when you changed it?” My question left him speechless. “The beach is so romantic! I wanted it to be a surprise! Why can’t you appreciate what I was trying to do for you?” I smiled. In the distance, a man was waiting for me. “I don’t understand. And I don’t need to anymore.” “I’m getting married, Dan. Goodbye.” I hung up and handed the phone to my best friend, Tessa. Dan called again and again, but the line would never connect. A suffocating tightness gripped his chest, and tears burned his eyes. Getting married? To who? He finally understood. This time, I was truly done. His parents walked over, their faces etched with confusion. “What’s going on? Where’s Elara? Didn’t you go get her?” Tears swam in Dan’s eyes. He didn’t know how to explain. Leo, standing beside him as his best man, finally put the pieces together. “I told you not to push it this far, but you wouldn’t listen…” “It’s a wedding, man. You can’t just change the venue and not tell her. You can’t blame her for not showing up.” He paused, a look of dawning horror on his face. “I think… I saw her at a bridal shop with another guy a while back. I thought I was seeing things. But… I think she just married someone else.” Dan’s parents stared at him in disbelief, then grabbed his arm. “You foolish boy! What are you standing here for? Go get your wife back!” Dan’s eyes were red as he turned to Chloe. “Chloe, come with me to Aspen Ridge! Now!” She pulled her hand away, her expression wounded. “But my ankle still hurts… and what’s the point? She’s already…” “She’s my bride!” Dan roared. “I won’t let her marry anyone else!” “You have to be there! You have to explain to her that there’s nothing between us!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393887”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my husband’s 60th suicide attempt, he succeeded—after Isabelle sneered, “You’re revolting.” He jumped from the 33rd floor, demanding his ashes be buried beneath her window to watch her forever. I, his wife, inherited only debts and blame. “Clara, this is your fault!” His family smashed my head against the wall at the wake, forgetting it was me who dragged him from the burning wreckage, me who ruined my health reconstructing his face. Then my heart gave out. I woke up on the day of the crash. This time, when Isabelle provoked him, I didn’t intervene. I turned off my phone and entered the OR. Let them reap what they sowed. 1. “Dr. Wright. Your gloves.” My apprentice, Leo, held the sterile gloves with both hands, his eyes downcast, unable to hide the hesitation flickering within them. It was the twentieth time he’d snuck a glance at my face. I held out my hand, letting him carefully smooth the latex over my fingers. “What is it you’re trying to say?” His hand trembled, nearly knocking over a tray of instruments. “I’m sorry, Doctor. But I saw the message from your husband.” My fingers paused inside the glove. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I grew up near there. Blackwood Ridge… it’s a treacherous place. There are accidents all the time.” The operating room fell into a terrifying silence. I could feel the gazes of every assistant fixed on me, all of them holding their breath, waiting for my reaction. “He’s a famous actor. His agency has him surrounded by more bodyguards than you can imagine,” I said, pointing to the anesthetized patient on the table. “Instead of worrying about him, you should be worrying about us.” “Today, our task is to reconstruct an entirely new neural pathway inside her brain.” On the table, the young woman’s head was secured in a frame. Through the cranial window, we could see the gentle pulse of her cerebral cortex. “If we succeed, not only will she be able to play Chopin’s most difficult pieces again, but we will have proven the possibility of plastic reconstruction in the human brain. This will be a milestone in neurosurgical history.” “But if she dies on this table, every single one of us in this room can say goodbye to ever touching a scalpel again.” A fine sheen of sweat broke out on Leo’s forehead. The other assistants lowered their heads. My voice was cool and even. “If you can’t maintain your focus, you can all leave now.” At my words, every spine in the room straightened. Their gazes became sharp and focused. “Let’s begin.” The roar of an engine on Blackwood Ridge had nothing to do with me. I knew they were all worried I’d abandon the surgery and race to Gordon’s side. After all, he loved to make bets with his friends, summoning me at a moment’s notice, and I never once lost my temper. When it came to him, I would crawl, broken and bleeding, as long as I had a breath left in my body. Everyone thought I loved him to the bone. On our wedding day, he never even showed up. But I had stubbornly walked down the aisle alone, completed the ceremony alone. The socialites had a name for me after that: “The Devoted Saint.” The surgery lasted seventy-two hours straight. When I snipped the final suture, my fingers were spasming so badly they wouldn’t straighten. The moment I stepped out of the OR, the world went dark and I collapsed. I was dead to the world, buried in a deep, dreamless sleep until a thunderous pounding on my door woke me. “Clara Wright, you get out here right now!” My mother-in-law’s shrill voice pierced the door, mingling with the nurses’ attempts to placate her. “Ma’am, Dr. Wright just finished a three-day surgery. She needs to rest…” “Rest? My son is fighting for his life, and she has the nerve to rest?!” “So this is where she was hiding! Does she have any sense of duty as a wife?!” Annoyed, I got up and pulled open the door to my on-call room, only to be met with the blur of an incoming hand. SLAP! A fiery pain exploded across my left cheek. I staggered back, my body crashing into a metal locker. Stars burst behind my eyes. “Gordon’s condition is critical, and you’re in here sleeping!” my mother-in-law shrieked, her meticulously maintained face twisted into a grotesque mask. I could finally see the bodyguards standing behind her, blocking the nurses who were trying to intervene. “You’re a curse! It’s because he married you that my son got hurt!” The taste of blood bloomed on my tongue, and with it came a chilling clarity. I had truly been reborn. “Are you smiling?” Her roar made my eardrums ache. “If your family hadn’t forced this marriage on us with that old contract, I…” “Who forced whom?” I interrupted, my voice hoarse but clear. “It was the Vance family who begged me to marry him. Have you forgotten? When your company’s stock was in freefall, who was it that came knocking with a marriage contract, begging for a bailout?” Her hand froze in mid-air. Humiliation turned to rage, and she raised her hand to strike again. I caught her wrist, my smile widening. “You’re right,” I said. “I should go see Gordon.” Not to save him. But to watch, with my own two eyes, as the man who had destroyed my life once before finally destroyed himself. The VIP room reeked of antiseptic and burnt flesh. Gordon was wrapped so tightly in gauze he looked like an unfinished mummy. It seemed his injuries were far worse this time. My mother-in-law threw herself onto the bed, her cries like a funeral wail. “My boy! My Gordon! What will you do, burned like this? You’re a star!” “Not only is his face burned, but he’s lost an eye.” She whipped her head around, her nails digging into my arm. “Are you made of stone? He went street racing, and you didn’t stop him! Don’t you dare let me find out who talked him into it! I’ll make sure they have no place to be buried!” The same scene, the same lines. Last time, my mother-in-law had been just as hysterical. I had dragged Gordon from the burning tanker, suffering severe injuries myself. But from his hospital bed, he had pointed at me and said, “I wanted a divorce, but Clara refused. She lost control and crashed the car.” “I got these burns trying to save her.” His mother had lost her mind, grabbing my hair and slamming my head against the wall. “You curse! You were born and your parents died! Your grandfather takes you in and he drops dead two years later! And now you’re trying to kill my son!” She had shrieked, her hands around my neck. “You bringer of ruin! I regret the day my son ever married you!” Back then, her words had sent me into a trembling shock. The truth was that Isabelle had sent me a positive pregnancy test to taunt me. I had driven to find them, only to witness their sports car slam into the fuel tanker. I had tried to speak, but no sound came out. And then, Gordon had spoken up. “Mom, don’t be like this with her.” He had reached for me, his bandaged hand gently taking my fingertips. In that instant, all my grievances had dissolved into tears. “Clara, I’m sorry,” he’d whispered. “I just can’t accept what I’ve become…” I had squeezed his hand back, clinging to that fleeting moment of warmth, even knowing it would vanish, knowing he would be cold and distant again in the next breath. “I understand,” I had promised solemnly. “I’ll always be here for you.” I had willingly stepped back into the cycle: hurt, forgiveness, and more hurt. I convinced myself that he needed me. Until the day he snuck out to see Isabelle. He returned a hollowed-out shell of a man. “She said I’m disgusting… that the sight of me makes her sick…” From that day on, he started his cycle of suicide attempts. One moment, he’d be clinging to me, whispering, “You’re all I have.” The next, he’d have his hands around my throat, screaming, “Why wasn’t it you who was disfigured?” The hospital gave me an ultimatum: return to work or resign. I chose the latter. To fix his face, I worked day and night. I tested formulas on myself until my stomach bled, practiced new techniques on my own hands until I suffered nerve damage in my right. The day I could no longer hold a pen, Gordon had smiled, a genuine, happy smile. “Good,” he’d said. “Now we’re the same.” The last time, he slipped sleeping pills into my drink. When I woke up, he had already jumped from the rooftop, killing five pedestrians on the pavement below. The police handed me his will. It left everything he owned to Isabelle and demanded I transfer all of my company shares to her as well. Just then, on the hospital bed, Gordon’s eyes opened. A faint groan escaped from beneath the gauze. He struggled to move his right hand. His mother immediately grabbed it. “Gordon! Gordon, you’re awake? What are you trying to say?” Suddenly, the heart monitor began to shriek, his heart rate soaring to 130. “My son… my poor son…” His mother’s trembling hand hovered over him, afraid to touch the bandaged body. Gordon didn’t answer. “AHHH!” A bloodcurdling scream ripped through the room as his body began to convulse violently on the bed. A yellowish-red fluid of pus and blood seeped through the gauze. A raw, guttural moan was forced from his throat. “It hurts! It hurts so much!” His mother stumbled back and collapsed to the floor in terror. The door was thrown open and his father rushed in. “The pain! It’s too much!” Gordon screamed. “Kill me! Just kill me!” “It hurts… AHHH!” His body thrashed wildly against the restraints. His father slapped his own thighs in helpless panic. “Of course it hurts when you’re burned, son. Just try to bear with it…” Gordon forced the words through his clenched teeth. “Get… a doctor…” His father scrambled out of the room. But his mother, her face streaked with tears, suddenly glared at me, her eyes venomous. “Clara Wright! You’re a doctor! Are you just going to stand there and watch your husband suffer?” I calmly watched his heart rate spike to 140 on the monitor and took a silent step back. “I’m a neurosurgeon. The burn specialists will be here shortly.” Some pain, you just have to experience for yourself. The frantic footsteps of nurses echoed in the hallway. As the painkillers began to take effect, Gordon’s ragged breaths finally steadied. He lay limp on the bed, the bandages rising and falling faintly with his breathing. His mother held his hand, tears splashing onto the sheets. “This is a nightmare. Burned so badly… what will you do now? What will…” “Then I won’t be an actor anymore,” Gordon cut her off, his voice raspy. “Of course you can’t!” she sobbed harder. “You even hurt your eye…” “What?!” Gordon’s one good eye shot open. “That’s impossible! It was just supposed to be my face!” His father gripped the bed rail, his voice trembling. “How could it be just your face when you were in so much pain? The doctor said you have extensive burns all over your body. Son, what were you doing on Blackwood Ridge?” Gordon froze. “What happened? Who took you there?” his father pressed, shaking the rail. He began to struggle again. I slowly reached for the phone in my pocket, ready to expose the evidence of him and Isabelle street racing the moment he tried to frame me like he did last time. But Gordon closed his eye. “Stop talking. I want to be alone.” My hand froze. He didn’t blame me. He didn’t scream hysterically that it was all my fault, didn’t shift all the blame onto me. The phone slid back into my pocket, but my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. He had been reborn, too. “Mom, Dad, get the doctor to prescribe me some more painkillers,” Gordon said weakly, his voice laced with a feigned agony. His mother shot me a glare, as if blaming me for not thinking of such a simple thing. The moment the door closed, the look in Gordon’s eye changed. “I had a dream,” he said, his voice cold and sinister. “In the dream, I was in a car crash too. My face was ruined. And Isabelle… she found me disgusting.” “I tried to kill myself many times, but you… you fixed my face.” “Unfortunately, by the time I was presentable again, Isabelle had already married someone else.” My heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t a dream. It was exactly what had happened in our previous life. “I’m going to make up for the regrets in my dream. I love Isabelle. So what if she isn’t the Wright family heiress?” His expression grew more feverish. “Whether you agree to a divorce or not, I will be with her! I would die for her!” “So what if you’re the real heiress? I never loved you!” “The two old fools who arranged our marriage are dead! Why should I have to put up with the disgust of being with you any longer?” “It’s time for you to step aside,” Gordon commanded, his tone dripping with condescension, as if he were bestowing charity on a pathetic, unloved creature. “Fix my face. I know you can do it. Once my face is healed, Isabelle won’t find me disgusting anymore.” I stared at the man for whom I had once ripped out my own heart. There wasn’t a shred of guilt in his eyes, only a naked, ugly threat. “If you dare refuse, I’ll tell everyone that I was disfigured trying to save you.” “You know how crazy my fans are.” “And you’ve seen what my parents are capable of.” “No one will believe you. Just like before, everyone loved Isabelle. It’s the same now.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393903”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After my parents found a hundred different ways to kill me, I woke up with every single memory of my past lives intact. The last time, as they left me to die in a fire, I had screamed at them, asking why. Their eyes were filled with pity, but their words were a blade to the heart. “The more you suffer, Lily, the faster Aurora’s illness will fade. You won’t really die, after all. We have no other choice. Just bear with it a little longer.” Aurora was the girl they adopted after I went missing, the golden child who took my place. In terror, I dragged my broken body to my fiancé, begging him to help me escape. He agreed without hesitation, only to lead me to the ocean and watch as I was torn apart by sharks. “Can’t you stop being so selfish for once?” he’d pleaded. “Only you can save Aurora. Once she’s well, I promise I’ll make it all up to you.” They had all made a deal with the System, trading my agony for Aurora’s health. But they didn’t know that I had made a deal with the System, too. 1. “We’ve finally done it ninety-nine times. Just one more, we just have to kill Lily one more time, and our darling Aurora will be free from her sickness forever!” “Our little girl can finally have a normal life! After this is done, we have to throw a huge party for her to celebrate!” I jolted awake, the phantom sensation of drowning still clinging to me, only to hear the excited chatter of my own parents just outside my door. They were already planning a future that had no place for me in it. “Mommy, Daddy… if you keep hurting Lily, won’t she hate you when she finds out the truth? I mean… she’s your real daughter, after all.” Aurora’s voice, sweet and cloying. My fists clenched. I waited, desperate to hear my parents’ reply. After all the pain they’d put me through for her, was there even a shred of remorse? “Aurora, sweetheart, that’s not for you to worry about,” my father’s voice was a cold, smooth stone. “You just need to be happy and healthy. Your sister… even if she knew, she’d be happy to do this for you. Besides, it’s not like she really dies.” He then cooed, telling Aurora not to worry her pretty little head. His words were like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. They never once asked me what I wanted. Even though my memories were wiped each time, the agony of my body being tortured to death, over and over, was terrifyingly real. I remembered when they first found me after I’d been missing for years. My parents had clutched me, sobbing so hard they could barely breathe. They promised me a happy home. They promised I would never suffer again. They broke every single promise, all for their adopted daughter, Aurora. If Aurora shed a single tear, it was my fault. Her pathetic, clumsy acting was enough to make my parents scream at me, to lock me in the storage closet for three days and nights, to ignore me when I was burning up with a 104-degree fever. Tears soaked my pillow, hot and silent. The next moment, the door creaked open and my parents walked in. A flicker of guilt crossed their faces before being replaced by practiced, loving smiles. “I made you some soup. You need to get your strength back after… falling in the water,” my mother said. “Aurora’s birthday party is in a few days. She really wants you to be there. You know how she gets when she’s upset. That girl is impossible to soothe.” The mention of Aurora brought a wave of adoration to my mother’s eyes. She would indulge her every whim, while I was always expected to be the understanding one. “What about my birthday?” I asked, my voice small. Aurora and I were born on the same day, in the same month, of the same year. Her birthday was my birthday, too. 2. My mother froze. It was true; I’d never had a real party. She looked at me with a sigh of weary resignation. “Oh, look at my memory. I’m so sorry, Lily, darling. Your mother has just been so busy. Of course, we’ll celebrate your birthday too. It’s just… it’s too late to have a gown custom-made. You’re about Aurora’s size, so you’ll just have to make do with one of her old ones for now. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.” I’ll make it up to you. I’d heard those words a hundred times. The hope I once felt had curdled into a numb acceptance. I just nodded. My mother, relieved, brought the bowl of soup to my lips. My eyes burned as I drank it down, spoonful by spoonful. This simple act of maternal care was a scene I had replayed in my head a thousand times, and now, finally, it was real. I was about to ask them, to beg them not to kill me again, when a violent cramp seized my stomach. The world blurred. In agony, I tumbled from the bed, my body convulsing on the floor as foam frothed at my lips. Through the haze of pain, I heard my mother’s worried voice. “The poison in this soup… it seems so potent. Are you sure Lily’s body can handle it?” She looked conflicted, reaching for me, but my father pulled her hand back. “She has to die a hundredth time sooner or later,” he explained patiently. “Don’t you want Aurora to be fully recovered before her birthday? The more she suffers now, the healthier Aurora becomes.” They had reached an agreement. My mother’s face hardened. She gave me one last look before turning away. “Lily,” she said, her voice distant. “Once Aurora is well, you’ll be the hero of this family. Mom and Dad will make it all up to you.” Moments after they left, I heard Aurora’s cheerful giggles as she cuddled between them. A happy family, their joy complete now that I was gone. In the encroaching darkness, my tears ran dry. My heart was a dead, empty thing as I called out to the System. After I’d recovered my memories, it had offered me one compensation for its error. “System,” I thought, my voice a faint echo in my mind. “You said that after I died one hundred times, you would help me fake my death and escape. Does that offer still stand?” “Of course,” its disembodied voice replied. “Allowing you to regain your memories was my failure.” With that confirmation, I closed my eyes and waited for the end. But it didn’t come. The housekeeper, passing by my room, found me unconscious and called for an ambulance. My parents were furious that their plan had been disrupted, but they couldn’t risk their public image as loving, doting parents. So I woke up in a hospital, my parents standing beside my bed with red-rimmed eyes, tearfully telling a news reporter how they had failed as parents. When my mother saw I was awake, she pulled me into a tight, heart-wrenching hug. I froze. She had never held me like this. I had spent my childhood watching her embrace Aurora with that fierce, protective love, my own heart aching with a jealousy so sharp it was a physical pain. Even knowing this warmth was a lie, I desperately wanted to hold on. But the shrill ring of her phone shattered the illusion. She answered, her face immediately clouding with anxiety. Without a backward glance, she and my father rushed out of the room. “There’s an emergency at the company,” she called over her shoulder. “You be a good girl and wait here, Lily.” I was left alone with the awkward reporter. Of course, I’d overheard the call. It wasn’t the company. Aurora had twisted her ankle walking down the stairs at home and was throwing a tantrum, refusing to let anyone treat it. That was their “emergency.” A few minutes later, my phone lit up. It was a new post from Aurora, a picture of my parents kneeling at her feet, carefully tending to her ankle. The caption read: “My little tantrums can only be soothed by Mom and Dad! And thank you for the priceless necklace you gave me to cheer me up. I love it so much, especially since its meaning is ‘my one and only treasure.’” She had tagged me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I turned off my phone. 3. I was in the hospital for only a day before the family butler was sent to forcibly discharge me. I returned home, pale and weak, to find Aurora standing in the living room, preening in a magnificent gown as my parents showered her with praise. I had almost forgotten. Today was our birthday. “Aurora, darling,” my father began, “today isn’t just your birthday, it’s also…” Had they finally remembered me? A foolish flicker of hope ignited in my chest, only to be instantly extinguished. “…it’s also the day you become healthy forever! Your mother and I have waited so long for this. You’ve suffered so much because of your illness, but that’s all over now.” “That’s right,” my mother added, her eyes shining. “We’ve arranged everything. As soon as Lily dies one more time, you’ll be cured for good.” The three of them embraced, a portrait of familial bliss, while I, their flesh and blood, stood in the shadows, a ghost at their feast. So this was why I couldn’t miss the party. It was the stage for my hundredth death. The butler hustled me forward. Aurora shot me a triumphant smile. “Sister, the party’s about to start. Mommy forgot to get you a new dress, so you’ll just have to wear one of mine.” Two maids dragged me into a room, roughly stripping my clothes off, their nails deliberately scratching my skin, drawing blood. I met their contemptuous gazes and knew this was Aurora’s doing. They ignored my struggles, forcing me into an ill-fitting dress. A thousand sharp, stinging pains erupted across my body. I reached down and touched the fabric. My fingers came away dotted with blood. Hundreds of needles had been sewn into the lining. “The young miss picked this dress for you herself,” one of the maids sneered. “It’s either this, or you go downstairs naked.” They laughed, then hauled me into the grand hall. It was already filled with guests. Their curious, malicious stares felt like insects crawling on my skin. Across the room, I saw Aurora, holding my parents’ hands, surrounded by a circle of well-wishers. Did anyone here even know it was my birthday, too? Aurora’s lips curled into a smirk. With all the pain I had endured recently, her cheeks were rosier than ever, her health blooming at my expense. “Happy birthday…” A familiar voice from behind me. It was my fiancé, Ethan, his face a mask of gentle concern. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My desperate stare finally caught his attention. He saw me, and his brow furrowed in disgust. He took a deliberate step away, as if looking at something vile. He walked right past me to Aurora’s side, carefully fastening a multi-million-dollar bracelet onto her wrist. I remembered when we first got engaged. His eyes had been full of only me. He had promised to take care of me for the rest of my life. But after Aurora’s endless stream of lies and accusations, his affection had soured into revulsion. It didn’t matter anymore. After the hundredth death, I would finally be out of their way for good. As I stood there, lost in thought, one of the maids shoved me hard from behind. I stumbled, and at that exact moment, the massive crystal chandelier directly above me came crashing down. The impact was immense, but the pain was so blinding I couldn’t even scream. I looked down at my body, my limbs twisted at unnatural, horrifying angles. Blood pooled beneath me, a rapidly expanding stain on the marble floor. The guests recoiled, their faces masks of disgust. With my last ounce of strength, I lifted my head. I saw my parents and my fiancé shielding Aurora, terrified that my blood might splatter on her, that the grotesque sight of my broken body might frighten her. They were cooing at her, telling her not to look. Aurora just stuck out her tongue playfully. I could feel my consciousness fading. This, I thought, would be the last time I ever felt pain. 4. “Lily! Someone call an ambulance! Why aren’t you helping her?” As I lay dying, I heard a familiar voice cry out. But who would want to save me? It must be another hallucination. Then, a pair of hands pressed down on my wounds, and I realized it wasn’t a hallucination. I forced my blood-matted eyelids open. It took a long moment for the figures to come into focus. It was my adoptive parents. The kind, simple couple who had found me when I was lost and raised me as their own. If not for them, I wouldn’t have survived past the age of five. When my biological family found me, they were heartbroken to let me go, but happy that I would no longer have to live in poverty with them. What would they think, seeing me like this now? In their plain, worn clothes, they were starkly out of place among the wealthy guests, their frantic, desperate cries sounding almost comical in the opulent hall. My parents and Ethan glanced at my suffering form, a flicker of pity in their eyes. But then they remembered—I wouldn’t really die. Their brief concern vanished. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to save me; it was that for Aurora’s sake, they couldn’t. Terrified my adoptive parents would ruin their plan, my father ordered the security guards to throw them out. But they were stubborn. They clung to me, their bodies becoming soaked in my blood, refusing to let go. They screamed at my parents, their voices raw with disbelief. “Lily is your own daughter! Why won’t you save her? When you took her from us, you promised you would cherish her for the rest of her life! We thought she would finally be happy, and you do this to her?” My adoptive mother’s heartbroken sobs made my parents flinch with guilt. To prevent a bigger scene, my father barked at the guards. “What are you waiting for? Get them out! If they won’t leave, break their legs and throw them out. The family can afford the settlement!” “No…” I choked out, tears streaming down my face. “Please… Mom, Dad, I’m begging you… leave them alone.” I stretched a trembling hand toward them, desperate for them to look at me. My adoptive parents weren’t in good health. If their legs were broken, how would they survive? But no one listens to the pleas of a dying girl. I watched in horror as the guards took iron batons and shattered the bones in my adoptive parents’ arms and legs. Then they dragged them out and threw them into the street like trash. Of course. My parents didn’t care about me. Why would they care about the people I loved? Under their cold, indifferent gazes, I finally bled out, my last breath a shuddering gasp. The tears and blood mingled on the floor, a chilling testament to their cruelty. And then, they got the confirmation from the System. Aurora’s illness was gone. For good. They wiped away tears of joy and had my body carried up to my room. After all, for the last ninety-nine times, I had always woken up, my memory wiped clean. But not this time. This time, the torture was finally over.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393920”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Married for three years, and my husband, Owen Vanderbilt, had never once touched me. So I slipped into a lace nightgown, painted convincing bruises onto my skin, and sent him a carefully staged photo of myself asleep in bed, taken from the perspective of a lover. The text was simple: “She’s incredible, man. You should divorce her. Give her to me.” I imagined Owen would be disgusted, furious. He would cast me aside like the cheap imitation of my sister he’d always treated me as. I thought, finally, this would be the end. 1 My older sister, Amelia, was in Europe, celebrating her own third wedding anniversary. When she asked what gift I wanted, I asked for an untraceable, prepaid SIM card from overseas. Holding that small piece of plastic in an empty, anonymous hotel room, I let out a long, tired breath. Then I changed into the delicate lace nightgown I’d bought specifically for this purpose. In the mirror, I carefully created a constellation of love bites across my collarbone and neck—the angry, possessive marks of a man lost to passion. I tore one of the thin straps of the nightgown, as if it had been ripped in a moment of frantic desire. Finally, I smeared my perfectly applied lipstick, giving it a just-kissed, blurry edge. I mussed up the other side of the bed to make it look slept in, then lay down and closed my eyes. The camera was on a timer, positioned to look like someone else was taking the picture. Three… two… one. The woman in the photo looked blissfully unguarded, lost in a deep, satisfied sleep after a night of passion. I stared at the image for a long time, my mind conjuring Owen’s reputation in the business world. They called him the smiling tiger, a ruthless capitalist who devoured his competition without a second thought. All I knew was the cold, indifferent mask he wore for me. His warmth, his affection—all of it was reserved for my sister. I was prepared for the worst. Even if he felt nothing for me, no man could tolerate such a blatant betrayal. He would retaliate, of course. But in the end, he would be so disgusted he would have no choice but to divorce me. And a divorce was all I wanted. I closed my eyes and hit send. The taunting message—“She’s incredible, man. You should divorce her. Give her to me.”—appeared on his screen, along with the photo. Delivered. 2 Two seconds later, a reply came. Owen: Who is this? I took my time changing, stretching out the silence, savoring the moment. Was he losing his mind? The golden boy, the man who had been perfect his entire life, was now at the mercy of an anonymous tormentor. At the mercy of me, the woman he’d held in the palm of his hand like a powerless doll for three years. It was a small, sweet taste of victory after an eternity of suffocation. As I slipped into my normal clothes, two more messages came through. Owen: Don’t bother with a cheap AI face swap. State your purpose. Owen: I suggest you tell me everything right now. If you do, I might leave your body in one piece. I chuckled. Me: Not sure if it’s AI, Mr. Vanderbilt? Why don’t you ask your wife? The marks on my baby’s neck won’t fade that quickly. (＾ｖ＾) I was bold because I knew he was in the middle of a crucial business negotiation overseas. He wouldn’t be back for at least two weeks. Suddenly, my personal phone rang, jolting me. It was Owen. The ringing was frantic, insistent. I stared at the screen, letting it go to voicemail. It immediately started ringing again. He was truly furious. My heart hammered against my ribs. I was walking a tightrope over a canyon. Me: Stop calling, Mr. Vanderbilt. We went five rounds. Your wife is exhausted. The calls stopped. My phone fell into a dead, ominous silence. I switched back to the burner phone. Me: I’m not trying to break you up, Mr. Vanderbilt. Your wife and I are in love. Be a gentleman and let her go. It’s not a good look for a man like you to be cheated on so publicly. No reply. My hands trembled as I threw the torn nightgown into the trash can. I checked out of the hotel and drove back to our sterile, modernist mansion. The maids were cleaning, the house was quiet—as if nothing had happened. I showered and went to sleep. In the pale light of dawn, I was woken by the roar of an engine and the screech of tires outside my window. Before I could fully process it, there was a knock on my bedroom door. “Beth, open the door.” His voice was deep and controlled, but a raw, frantic edge bled through. A bucket of ice water seemed to dump over my head. I was wide awake and freezing. It was Owen. 3 My mind raced. How could he be back? I was just a stand-in, a tool. Why would he drop everything for me? Another knock, three sharp raps, the sound of a man exercising immense self-control. “Beth,” he said, his voice faster now. “I need to see you.” I sat up, my mind a blank slate of panic. I had to be convincing. I took a deep breath, forcing a sleepy, annoyed tone into my voice. “Owen? I… I need to use the bathroom. I’ll be out in a minute.” I scrambled into the en-suite, turned on the shower, and stared at my neck in the mirror. The marks I’d made with the rim of a bottle were a deep, angry purple. I had been too thorough. There was no way foundation could cover this. But I had to try. A guilty person’s first instinct is to hide the evidence. Owen was no fool; I had to play my part perfectly. I wet my hair to look like I’d just showered, then pulled on a black, high-necked dress that covered me from my wrists to my chin. I placed a small bandage over the one visible mark peeking above the collar. I practiced a look in the mirror: guilty, but trying desperately to appear nonchalant. It was perfect. He would be disgusted. He would demand a divorce and tell me to get out. I opened the door. He was sitting on the sofa, his brow furrowed, his eyes closed. He was pale, a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. His expensive watch was missing, as were his cufflinks. One hand clutched his phone, the other rested on the armrest, the knuckles raw and bleeding from four deep gashes. It looked like he’d punched something. Repeatedly. He hadn’t even bothered to bandage them. “Owen,” I said. “What are you doing back so soon?” He opened his eyes. His pupils were black holes. He rose from the sofa and walked toward me, his movements unnaturally slow for a man who had just flown across the world in a blind panic. I instinctively took a step back, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. His eyes locked onto the bandage on my neck, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. “Did something happen?” I asked, my voice tight. He didn’t answer. His fingers, cold as ice, hovered over the bandage. I braced myself for him to rip it off, to expose my lie and then, in a fury of humiliation, to tear up our sham of a marriage contract. I trembled, closing my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. But his fingers only rested gently on the bandage. “How did this happen?” he asked, his voice strangely calm. I feigned a flustered look. “I… I cut myself on a piece of paper last night.” “A piece of paper,” he repeated slowly, blinking. “What were you doing last night?” His fingertips slipped under the collar of my dress. One sharp tug and he would see everything. I swallowed hard. “I went out. For a deep conditioning treatment for my hair.” His breathing grew heavy. He stared at me, and for a terrifying second, I thought he was going to devour me whole. His hand tightened on my collar, pulling me off balance until I was stumbling into his chest. I threw my hands up to stop him, but his other arm snaked around my waist, a band of steel, squeezing tighter and tighter, as if trying to crush the anger out of his system. My strength failed, my arms going limp against his chest. He moved closer, inch by agonizing inch. “Owen, no,” I whispered, not knowing what he intended, only that it felt dangerous. My mind was white noise, my voice a pathetic, shaky plea. “Please, don’t touch me.” He froze. After a few seconds, he slowly withdrew his hand, clenching it into a fist. His face was a mask of grim fury. It was only then that I realized what I had said, what it must have sounded like to him: I’m scared of you. Don’t touch me. Please. “I’m assigning you two bodyguards,” he announced, his voice flat and detached. “They will accompany you whenever you leave the house. For your safety.” Then he turned and walked away without another word. As the sound of his car engine faded, I stood in the silent room, completely bewildered. He wasn’t going to punish me? How was that possible? 4 I was under constant surveillance. For five days, I couldn’t get near the burner phone. Owen, for some inexplicable reason, wrapped up his overseas business in record time and returned. Once he was back, the security eased slightly. I finally had my chance. I sent a message from the burner. Me: A bit of an overreaction, isn’t it? So she cheated. Just get a divorce. You don’t have to lock her up. He replied almost instantly. Owen: She didn’t cheat. I trust her. Beth isn’t the kind of person who would do something like that. I stared at the screen, dumbfounded. How could he possibly know what kind of person I was? He had never shown an ounce of interest in me. I pushed forward, adding fuel to the fire. Me: You don’t know your wife as well as I do, Mr. Vanderbilt. Me: She has three moles. One on her ribs, one next to her navel, and one… lower. When I connect them with my finger, tracing a line down her skin, she shivers uncontrollably. Me: But you’re her husband. You must have known that already, right? After three years of marriage? The last line was pure venom. He had never touched me. CRASH! A loud bang echoed from upstairs. From his study. I flinched, quickly hiding the phone. The crashing sound came again, several more times. Then I heard his footsteps on the stairs. “Have someone clean that up,” he told the butler, his voice strained. “And order a new computer.” His footsteps grew closer. I was certain he was coming to tear me apart. I dove under the covers, pretending to be asleep. The lock on my bedroom door had mysteriously broken after his return. He turned the handle. Seeing the dark room, he remained silent. But in the stillness, I could hear his ragged breathing, his frantic, uneven heartbeat. I wondered if he could hear mine. He walked to my bedside. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel his gaze, sharp and hot, fixed on my stomach, as if he were debating whether to confirm his suspicions. Don’t move. Breathe steadily. Keep acting. I remained perfectly still. Suddenly, the mattress dipped beside me. He lay down on the bed. That cold, burning gaze never left me. I clenched my jaw. In for a penny, in for a pound. I had to push him further. As if in a pleasant dream, I turned over, snuggling into his side. He stiffened. The intense gaze on me softened. “Honey…” I murmured, as if talking in my sleep. Owen went completely rigid. I pressed my advantage, wrapping my arms around him, my voice a syrupy sweet whisper. “Honey, hold me.” I expected him to be furious, to shake me awake. I had never called him that. He knew I was talking to someone else. But he didn’t. He stared at me, his grip on my arm tightening until I was sure he would break it, his whole body trembling with rage. But when I let out a soft whimper of pain, he forced himself to relax his hold. He cupped the back of my head, pulling me closer. He kissed my hair. Then, his hand began to stroke my back, a clumsy, gentle gesture meant to soothe me back to sleep. “I’m here,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Honey’s holding you.” I froze. This bizarre calm was a new level of insanity. Owen was a brilliant, logical man. He should have known from the first text that I was having an affair. He should have drafted divorce papers to avoid a scandal, forced me out with nothing. Instead, he denied it, again and again, with a frantic, stubborn desperation. And now he was trying to steal the sweet nothings meant for another man. What was he doing? Thinking I was asleep, he gently lifted the blanket. His finger traced a line along my ribs, searching for the moles. He found them, his fingertip cool against my skin. The touch was light, feather-soft, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me. I hadn’t known—I had made it all up—that being touched there would feel like that. I shuddered violently, the pretense almost impossible to maintain. I tried to pull away, but he stopped, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me flush against his body. He held me so tightly I could feel the frantic, powerful thrum of his heart against my own ribs. “You’re mine,” he whispered into the darkness. “And I am yours.” He was completely unhinged. He had abandoned all logic, all reason, and become something primal. A possessive beast. It was as if he believed that by trapping me in his den, he could make me his property. He had objectified me, objectified himself. We weren’t two humans with fragile souls; we were two iron locks. And with a ‘click,’ we were bound together. In the darkness, I opened my eyes, staring at his face in the sliver of moonlight filtering through the window. He was truly, terrifyingly insane. I finally drifted off, my dreams filled with the memory of three years ago, of me begging him to let me go. “I don’t owe you anything!” I had screamed. He had looked at me with those cold eyes and said, “Yes, you do. Your sister ran out on our wedding. You will spend the rest of your life paying her debt. I will never let you go.” I woke up, and he was gone. The bed beside me was neat and cool, as if he had never been there at all.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393937”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was with Noah when he had nothing, building his company from the ground up. Five years into our marriage, he cheated on me with an intern. When we met again, two years later, a deep, knowing smile spread across his face. “It’s been a rough couple of years for you, hasn’t it? If only you had been a little more obedient back then.” “Come back,” he said, his voice soft. “I told you, the title of Mrs. Peterson will always be yours.” Just then, a man who radiated the effortless grace of a genius investor wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. “Babe,” he murmured, “who’s this old guy?” The wine glass in Noah’s hand shattered. His voice trembled as he begged me to come back to him. 1 The day I found out Noah was cheating was painfully ordinary. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon. On a whim, I decided to make lunch and bring it to his office. When I arrived, a young woman was fast asleep, her head pillowed on his desk. The framed photo of us that usually sat beside his computer was now lying face down in a messy pile of documents, like a piece of trash. I tapped lightly on the desk. The girl frowned, letting out a soft, sleepy groan. “Stop it, old man. I’m tired.” I paused, then tapped again. She finally lifted her head, her eyes still clouded with sleep. “You must be Mr. Peterson’s maid, right?” “Maid?” She ignored my confusion, her gaze landing on the lunchbox in my hands. “Mr. Peterson’s in a meeting. Just leave it on the coffee table.” I placed the lunchbox on the table and sat down on the sofa. She stretched languidly, then casually opened the lunchbox and popped a piece of chicken into her mouth. She looked up at me again. “Why are you still here?” I watched her stuff her face, a faint smile on my lips. “I’m waiting for Noah.” … She ignored me again, turning her attention to the shredded potatoes in the container. After a few bites, she took out her phone, snapped a picture, and sent a voice message. “Old man, your maid brought you lunch. I tried some for you—it’s way too spicy. Doesn’t she know you have a sensitive stomach?” Noah returned shortly after, looking flustered and out of breath. “What are you doing here?” Before I could answer, the girl piped up, “She brought you lunch.” She stuck her tongue out at Noah, her face a mask of innocent charm. “I saved half for you, but honestly, your maid’s cooking isn’t that great. That place we went to the other day was so much better.” “What are you talking about?” Noah snapped. “She’s your sister-in-law.” Her mouth fell open in feigned surprise. “Sister-in-law? Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I just saw what you were wearing and thought you were the help.” I glanced down at my clothes—a simple white T-shirt and jeans, my hair tied back casually. It was true, I hadn’t put much effort into my appearance. She then extended a hand toward me, introducing herself as if nothing had happened. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. My name is Skylar, I’m a new intern here.” I had no intention of shaking her hand. Noah’s voice was sharp with impatience. “You talk too much. Get out.” She pouted, feigning hurt, and waved at me. “Bye, ma’am.” After Skylar left, the air in the room grew heavy. Noah was the first to break the silence. “She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Don’t mind her.” He sat down in the spot Skylar had just vacated and shoveled a mouthful of rice into his mouth. “This is delicious. My wife’s cooking is getting better and better.” I sat there for a moment, thinking. Then I said, “Fire her.” “What?” “An intern who calls you ‘old man’ and sleeps in your office is disrespectful. Fire her.” “And,” I added, watching him use the same chopsticks Skylar had just used, a wave of nausea rising in my throat, “isn’t that… dirty?” Noah’s expression changed. He slammed the chopsticks down on the table. “I told you, she’s just a kid! Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” “Do you have any idea that she needs this internship for her degree? What’s she supposed to do if you get her fired? Can’t you be a little more forgiving?” Noah rarely lost his composure like this. In five years of marriage, he had always been so agreeable. We almost never had arguments this ugly. I was stunned into silence. His defense of Skylar was a sharp knife twisting in my gut. A sour, bitter feeling clogged my throat, the pain spreading through every nerve. I couldn’t say a word. After a long moment, I flexed my numb fingers, then swept the lunchbox off the table. I stood up and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. Outside, Skylar leaned against the wall, a triumphant, mocking smile on her face. 2 As the elevator doors closed, I stared at my reflection, a heavy feeling settling in my chest. Trapped at home all these years, I really had let myself go. Back when I was helping Noah scout locations and meet with clients, I used to put effort into my makeup and clothes. But once the company stabilized and I didn’t need to be out in the field anymore, I took a step back, content to be a homebody. On the rare occasions I went out, a quick swipe of sunscreen and lipstick was all I bothered with. I looked at my face in the mirror, at the tired, defeated woman staring back. I was no longer at an age where I could get by on natural beauty alone. The sun beat down on me, but it couldn’t burn away the frustration building inside. I took a deep breath, counted to three, and decided to do some damage with Noah’s credit card. I called my best friend, Ava, as I walked toward the mall. “A maid?” Ava was laughing so hard she could barely stand, leaning against the makeup counter where I was getting a makeover. “Is that girl blind? Seriously, if she doesn’t want her eyes, she should donate them. Rebecca, you were the campus beauty queen! Your skin is flawless. Even in a T-shirt and jeans, you’re miles ahead of her.” I let the makeup artist work her magic, brushing and blending powders on my face. The woman in the mirror was starting to look a little less pathetic. “It’s not what she said that bothers me,” I explained. “It’s just… a wake-up call. I need to make some changes.” I thought about Noah, eating the food I made for him while defending Skylar. He had always been so particular about boundaries, so clean. Yet he had used her chopsticks without a second thought. He was a neat freak, yet he had allowed her to turn his desk into a chaotic mess. In the places I couldn’t see, he had already changed so much. Halfway through our shopping spree, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Noah. A screenshot of a termination notice. [My dearest wife, I have followed your command and dismissed the irrelevant person. I was out of line earlier. I’m on my way home to kneel on a keyboard as penance.] 3 That evening, I returned home laden with shopping bags to find Noah busy in the kitchen. The dining table was pretentiously set with a few candles and two glasses of red wine. Hearing the door open, he peeked out. “You’re home, honey. Just a minute, your favorite tomato beef stew is almost ready.” I sat down on the sofa. He presented me with a beautiful box. Inside was a glittering diamond necklace. “Honey, I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you over someone so unimportant. I’m ready for my punishment.” I raised an eyebrow. “Any punishment?” “Any punishment.” I thought for a moment. “Transfer me fifty million.” He froze. In five years of marriage, this was the first time I had ever asked him for money. “What, you can’t?” If the man I had given my heart and soul to had a change of heart, I thought, then getting his money was the next best thing. He quickly denied it. “Of course I can. What’s mine is yours, right?” I just smiled, not answering. He was true to his word. After a quick call to his assistant, the fifty million was in my account. Earlier, while shopping with Ava, she had mentioned a student’s startup project at our old university. It had potential but lacked funding. I got the account information from her and transferred the money over. Better for me to fund a charity than for Noah to use it to support his new pet project. The food was served. As usual, Noah chattered on about his day at work. I chewed the beef in my mouth. It was tasteless. He had made this dish countless times, and I always cleaned my plate. Now, it was bland. Food, I realized, was like people. It could lose its flavor. We both tacitly avoided mentioning Skylar. After that day, he started coming home on time every evening, bringing me a bouquet of fresh flowers without fail. He would ask if I wanted to eat at home or go out. On weekends, we’d watch TV and play video games. He was spending more time with me than ever before. Everything seemed to be back to normal. Ava tried to reassure me. “Maybe it was nothing. The girl was just an opportunist trying to stir up trouble. If you let it get to you, you’re just falling into her trap.” I considered it. It was normal for a successful man like Noah to attract attention. Besides, Skylar was gone. We would probably never see her again. But I was wrong. … I was woken from my afternoon nap by a series of sharp, urgent knocks on the door. I opened it to find Skylar standing there, holding Noah’s jacket. “Noah forgot his jacket. It looks like it’s going to rain, so I brought it over for him.” I stared at her slightly rounded belly, a loud ringing in my ears. The world went blank, and I felt myself falling, falling into a bottomless pit. Outside, lightning flashed across the sky. The clouds had turned a dark, bruised purple. A storm was coming. It took me a long moment to find my voice. “What do you mean?” She cradled her stomach. “I’m pregnant. It’s Noah’s. He didn’t come home for our prenatal routine at lunch today, and the baby must have missed him. It’s been kicking me all afternoon, so I came to check on him.” My gaze traveled from her belly to her face. “You’re saying he sees you every day?” She looked at me with exaggerated surprise. “The man you share a bed with isn’t home at night, and you don’t even know?” “He’s always so busy with work, and then he has to run back and forth to take care of me and the baby. Sometimes I get hungry in the middle of the night, and he brings me food. He’s so nervous about every little thing the baby does.” She then looked me up and down with disdain. “Oh, why am I even telling you this? The joy of creating a new life with the person you love… a barren woman like you would never understand.” My heart seized. Pain and dizziness swirled together. I gripped the doorframe to keep from collapsing, my stomach churning. Images of Noah’s recent attentiveness flashed through my mind. What I had thought was a return to normal, a rekindling of our love, was just a carefully orchestrated performance by a master of time management. While I was angry and sleeping in the guest room, he was putting on a show of reconciliation while secretly running to Skylar’s apartment night after night. And I had almost, almost forgiven him. I heard my own voice, trembling uncontrollably. “Skylar, what are you trying to say?” A slow, cruel smile spread across her face. She leaned in, looking down at me. “What, am I wrong? Noah told me himself. You’re just a hen that can’t lay eggs.” Ignoring my shattered expression, she eagerly stepped inside. “The mistress of this house will be me soon. Your taste in decor is terrible. It looks like the baby and I will have to redecorate when we move in.” I fought back the nausea, watching her feet tread across the living room floor, each step feeling like it was on my face. “Get out of my house.” She ignored my rage, glancing outside as if just noticing the weather. Then, surprisingly, she complied. As she reached the doorway, she suddenly rushed toward me, grabbing my hand and screaming, “Don’t hit me! Don’t hurt my baby!” Then, she threw herself down the front steps. My hand was still outstretched, my body trembling uncontrollably. The steps weren’t high, but Skylar lay on the ground, screaming in agony. A dark, crimson stain was spreading from beneath her dress. I instinctively moved to help her, but Noah, who had just run up from outside, shoved me aside. I stumbled back, my voice a pale, desperate whisper. “Noah, it wasn’t me…” He was already cradling Skylar, his bloodshot eyes filled with a hatred and rage I had never seen before. “You vicious woman! How could you? It’s just a child!” “Noah.” I ran after him. He turned and glared at me, his eyes like daggers, ready to tear me apart. I froze. He didn’t look at me again. He settled Skylar in the back seat, murmuring reassurances, and then sped away without another word. 4 A clap of thunder, and then the rain finally came, in huge, heavy drops. I don’t know how long I sat there, on the wet steps, before Ava rushed over as night fell, draping her coat over my shoulders. When Ava and I arrived at the hospital, Noah was at Skylar’s bedside, his eyes red-rimmed. Skylar was hysterical, throwing the bowl in her hands and screaming at me to get out. Noah pulled us into the hallway, his eyes cold and unfamiliar. “Rebecca, no matter what, the baby is innocent! How could you do that? If something happens to the baby, I’ll…” “You’ll what?” Ava’s voice was like ice, cutting him off. “What does the baby have to do with Rebecca?” “You shut your mouth.” Noah’s temper flared, and he yelled at Ava. “This is our family’s business! What right do you, an outsider, have to interfere?” He then sneered at me. “I told you not to hang around with her. She’s the one who corrupted you with her shameless, manipulative ways.” Slap. I hit him across the face, cutting off his vile words. “You don’t get to talk about my friends. Why don’t you explain why a fired intern is pregnant with your child, instead of lecturing me and my friend? Noah, how dare you be so brazen about your affair?” Noah’s face turned shades of purple and white, the fury in his eyes intensifying. “We’ll talk about this later. But I’m telling you, Rebecca, if anything happens to that baby, you’re a murderer!” He said it so loudly, so fluently, as if he had already condemned me a thousand times in his mind. My palm stung, but my heart felt like it had been squeezed, crushed, and then ground into the floor. Even breathing was an agony. Trying to clear up the misunderstanding, I forced myself to calm down and looked him in the eye. “I didn’t push her. She fell on her own.” He stared at me for a second, then laughed, his eyes filled with scorn. “Are you saying Skylar used her own unborn child as a pawn just to frame you? That she threw herself down the stairs?” “Yes.” “You’re still lying!” His tone shifted instantly. He grabbed my chin, his voice laced with fury. “Why would she pay such a high price just to frame you? Do you think everyone is a fool?” He was using considerable force, my jaw felt like it was about to break, but the pain in my heart was far worse. I closed my eyes in despair, tears of pain streaming down my face. They fell onto his hand, and he let go as if he’d been burned. Ava quickly pulled me into her arms. “You monster, Noah!” “Honey,” he said, his voice calmer now. “I already made an arrangement with Skylar. After the baby is born, we’ll raise it. I’ll give her ten million and send her abroad. We’ll cut all ties.” He slumped to the floor, his voice full of blame. “You’ll be the baby’s mother. You get to have a child without going through the pain of pregnancy. What more could you want? Why can’t you just be a little more patient, a little more tolerant?” It was a joke of epic proportions. My husband wanted me to be a mother to his and his mistress’s child, and he expected me to be grateful. What a magnificent gift. I leaned on Ava for support and looked down at him, my voice surprisingly calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” He looked up, shocked. After a moment, a small laugh escaped him. “A divorce? Have you forgotten you’re barren? Who do you think would want a woman who can’t have children?” I exhaled, my heart dead. “If you don’t agree, I’ll sue.” He was about to say more, but Skylar called for him from the room. He turned quickly. “Fine, if you want a divorce, you’ll get it. But don’t you regret it.” 5 Because she was brought to the hospital in time, Skylar’s baby was saved. The day I went to deliver the divorce papers, Noah was handling her discharge. “My ten percent stake in the company, sold to you at market value. We split the savings. I get the house, you get the cars.” Skylar, her face pale, muttered beside him, “She doesn’t even work, just sits at home all day. Can’t even have a kid. Why should she get half…” I looked at her like she was an idiot. “Why don’t you consult a lawyer about the legal consequences of adultery during a marriage?” Skylar shut her mouth, looking at Noah with a wounded expression. Noah looked down at the divorce papers on the table, his expression shifting through a range of emotions before he finally spoke. “Are you sure about this? You sell me your shares, and you lose your annual dividends.” “Rebecca, are you being naive? Even with half the savings, you’ll just burn through it. Without me, you’re nothing.” I stood there stubbornly, as if I hadn’t heard him, and held out the pen. “Sign it.” He stared at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and a strange, inexplicable pain. Skylar bit her lip and nudged him. “Noah…” He snapped back to reality and quickly signed his name. … Walking out of the hospital with the papers, I felt a sense of disorientation. Noah and I had been through so much, from college to our careers. Everyone had said we weren’t a good match, that I was marrying down and would regret it. Every time I wanted to give up, he would beg me, his eyes red, to just hold on a little longer, to wait for him. So I used all my resources, threw caution to the wind, and helped him build his business. When he finally made it, he treated me just as well as he always had. Everyone then said my gamble had paid off. It took us seven years to go from dating to marriage. It took him seven seconds to sign the divorce papers. My persistence had become a joke. My heart felt heavy, suffocated by the shards of my memories. I walked out of the hospital like a zombie. The sun was bright, but my fingertips were ice cold. “Rebecca!” I looked up numbly. Ava was standing in the sunlight, waiting for me. Behind her stood a handsome, charismatic young man. When he saw me, he spoke first. “Sister.” I was taken aback. The young man walked toward me. “Sister, I’m Sergio. Do you remember me?” I nodded numbly. Of course I remembered that captivating face.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393953”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel