Category: English

It was in the seventh year of our marriage that I learned my husband had a six-year-old son. I was hiding behind a bright yellow slide at a ridiculously expensive Manhattan preschool, my breath catching in my throat. I watched Julian, my Julian, crouch down and swing a little boy into his arms. The laughter that echoed across the playground was so familiar, yet it struck me like a physical blow. “Daddy, you haven’t visited in so long,” the little boy chirped, his arms wrapped tightly around Julian’s neck. My husband, the man who had sworn his life to me, smoothed the boy’s hair. “Daddy’s been busy with work, Ethan. You be a good boy for Mommy, okay?” A roar filled my ears, and the world went white. Daddy? Mommy? The two of them, the man and the boy, stood there like a perfect picture. The same dark hair, the same sharp line of their jaws. It was a resemblance so stark, so undeniable, it screamed a truth I couldn’t escape: the man who promised to love me for a lifetime was a liar. He had already built another life, another family, behind my back. We were supposed to be one of those epic love stories. The kind that starts in childhood and lasts forever. I once took a knife for him. A single, brutal thrust that pierced my abdomen, stealing not only the child I was carrying but also my ability to ever have another. I remember Julian kneeling beside me on the cold pavement, his eyes red-rimmed and frantic. “I don’t want any other kids, Elara,” he’d choked out, his voice cracking. “I just want you. Only you is enough!” The tremor in his voice from that day was still a phantom vibration in my soul. But the scene in front of me now—this man, this child—it ground that sacred vow into dust. I stumbled backward, my heart feeling as if it had been carved into a thousand bloody pieces. The pain was a living thing, sharp and relentless. I couldn’t watch anymore. I was terrified I’d march over there and demand an answer, even more terrified that I’d dissolve into a pathetic, weeping mess, another scorned woman for the world to pity. So I turned, and I ran. Outside the preschool gates, my best friend, Chloe, was waiting. She saw my face and was out of her car in a flash. “Elara? What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her son, Leo, had said I’d just forgotten something and run back inside. It was Chloe who had dragged me along to this parent-teacher conference in the first place, a cruel twist of fate. My face was a pale, tear-streaked mask. “Chloe,” I managed, my voice a raw whisper. “I need you to run a check on someone.” “Who?” “Julian…” I swallowed, the name like acid in my throat. “He has a son.” Later that night, a message lit up my phone. [Julian]: Baby, I’ve got one more week here. Miss me yet? Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent, dripping onto the cold screen. Every July, for the past six years, he’d had a “business trip.” A two-week inspection of our company’s overseas branches. Six years, and I had never once suspected a thing. Reality had just delivered a brutal slap across my face, its laughter echoing in the empty rooms of our home, mocking my idiocy. There was no business trip. There was only his mistress and their illegitimate son. If it hadn’t been for Chloe begging me to come with her today, I might have remained in the dark forever, the perfect, clueless wife. I tortured myself, swiping through the pictures Chloe’s private investigator had sent over. Outside, a torrential downpour lashed against the windows. Lightning split the sky, illuminating my paper-white face in stark, terrifying flashes. Maybe I should have seen this coming. The Astors were old money, steeped in tradition. How could they ever truly accept a barren woman as the matriarch of their dynasty? Unless… unless they had already arranged for a solution. And the man who loved me so deeply, my Julian… what part did he play in all of this? The pain was a physical ache in my chest. We’d grown up together. Everyone always said Elara and Julian were inevitable, a permanent constellation in the sky. When I was eight, I fell out of a treehouse, and he threw himself underneath me without a second thought. He broke his arm and just grinned up at me through the pain, saying it didn’t hurt a bit. When I was twelve, I got my first period at a school dance and ruined my dress. He was just a boy, terrified and clueless, but he saw my tears and swore he’d die with me right there in the gym. The night of my eighteenth birthday, he snuck out to compete in an illegal street race, a dangerous gamble to win the prize money. He came back, bruised but victorious, with a simple, perfect ring. “Elara,” he’d said, his voice full of the pure, fierce passion of youth, “I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.” My heart had been his long before that. Years later, just before our wedding, I was kidnapped by one of his business rivals. They held me for three days. By the time Julian found me, I was barely breathing. In the fight to get me back, they broke three of his ribs. And in the final, chaotic moments, I took a knife meant for his heart. That was the moment I lost our baby, and with it, my right to ever be a mother. His mother, Eleanor, tried to break us up after that. But Julian, his body still a canvas of bruises and bandages, knelt for three days in the old family estate’s private chapel, refusing food and water. “I’d rather lose the Astor name than lose Elara,” he declared. His mother was forced to yield. We were married as soon as we recovered. The entire city had witnessed our epic, almost tragic, love story. And in the end, he betrayed me anyway. My phone rang, the screen glowing with two words that now felt like a cruel joke: My Husband. I answered, my movements numb. His voice, warm and gentle, wrapped around me. “Baby, are you eating properly at home by yourself? Are you missing me?” Any other time, I would have melted, my own loving words tumbling out in a rush. But now… I was afraid if I opened my mouth, a sob would be the only thing to come out. “Baby? Is something wrong? Don’t be scared, whatever it is. I’ll come home right now.” The concern in his voice was so real, so convincing, he was already making moves to leave. But seeing him now was the last thing I wanted. “I’m fine,” I forced out, my voice raspy and unrecognizable. “Just… a bit of a cold. Don’t come back, work is more important.” It was the first lie I had ever told him. He didn’t seem to notice. His attention was clearly divided, but he still fussed over me for another moment. “Okay, get some rest. Promise you’ll call me if you need anything. Don’t make me worry.” “Mmm,” I managed. Just as I was about to hang up, I heard it. A woman’s voice in the background, low and intimate. “Julian, Ethan’s asleep. We can…” I heard a sharp, ragged intake of breath on his end. The line went dead. My hand clenched around the phone, my knuckles turning white, but the grip couldn’t contain the icy dread flooding my soul. He was with her. Right now. The thought was a venomous serpent, coiling in my gut. A choked, guttural sob escaped my lips, a sound I couldn’t control. A giant hand was squeezing my heart, a fatal, crushing pressure. I had tried to tell myself, for a fleeting, desperate moment, that maybe he was forced into this because of the child. But the evidence was clear. He wasn’t a victim. He was a willing participant. The bedroom door creaked open. Chloe rushed in, her face a mask of concern. She saw the dead look in my eyes and froze. “Elara… he’s not worth this.” My tears dripped onto the photograph in my hand, a picture of Julian and the boy, smiling. Chloe’s heart broke for me. She wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight as I fell apart. “That bastard,” she seethed, her voice a low growl. “He fed you all those sweet lines when he proposed, and this whole time he’s been keeping another woman and child on the side.” I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall freely. My heart was shattered, but in the ruins, a decision was already taking root.

The next morning, the storm had passed, leaving the city washed clean. I hadn’t slept. I’d spent the entire night staring into the darkness, replaying every moment of our lives. I had known love in its purest form. How could I ever accept this tainted, broken version of it? I was Elara, the woman who loved Julian Astor with every fiber of her being. But I was also Elara Vance, heir to the Vance fortune. And my world had no room for this kind of betrayal. I picked up my phone and dialed my father. “Dad, wasn’t the company looking to expand our operations in the UK? Chloe’s husband is from a British aristocratic family, and she’s taking Leo back to visit in two weeks. I was thinking of going with them to scout things out.” My father sounded puzzled. “Is this Julian’s idea?” “No,” I said, a bitter smile touching my lips. “This one is all mine.” Everyone, even my own father, saw us as a single entity. JulianandElara. “Ellie, what’s going on?” his tone sharpened. “Did that boy do something to hurt you?” I bit my lip, choosing to deflect for now. “Dad, please don’t ask. I’ll explain everything once I get to London.” The Astor and Vance families were old allies, their ties strengthened by our marriage. I wouldn’t let my personal tragedy cause collateral damage to my family’s business. My father, unable to refuse me anything, relented. “Alright. Then come by the office today. I’ll have the London team brief you.” After hanging up, I dragged myself to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror stared back, her eyes swollen into puffy, bruised almonds. The ache in my chest was a dull, constant throb. The divorce papers, already drafted by my lawyer, sat on my nightstand. I still hadn’t figured out how to bring it up to Julian. So many years… how do you just sever a part of your own soul? I skillfully concealed the evidence of my grief with makeup, trading my sorrow for a mask of professionalism. Dressed in a sharp power suit, I left my room. Downstairs, Chloe was having breakfast with her son, Leo. He must have been frightened by my state yesterday. “Auntie Elara!” Leo scrambled off his chair and ran to me, his little legs pumping. He took my hand and blew on it gently. “Mommy said your heart was hurting yesterday. I’ll blow on it so it feels better.” The pure, innocent sweetness of a six-year-old. I stroked his cheek. “Thank you, sweetie. Auntie’s all better now. Go on, back to your mom.” He nodded, still a little confused, and scurried back to the safety of Chloe’s arms. A pang of longing shot through me. I thought of Julian laughing with that other boy. If our child had lived… he would have been a little older than him. I took a deep breath, pushing down the bitterness, and after a quick word with Chloe, I headed out. But as I stepped out of the villa’s gate, I froze. A sleek Maybach was parked down the street. Leaning against it, wreathed in a cloud of smoke, was Julian. He looked exhausted, a cigarette dangling from his lips. I was stunned. According to the PI’s report, both Isabelle and her son’s birthdays were in July. Hers had just passed, but the boy’s hadn’t. Why was he back so soon? My stare must have been intense, because he looked up. The moment his eyes locked on mine, the weariness vanished, replaced by a sudden, brilliant light. He strode towards me, closing the distance in three long steps, and pulled me into his arms. His embrace was as warm as I remembered, but this time, it felt like a brand, searing my skin. “Is your cold any better?” he murmured into my hair, his voice laced with genuine worry. “Your voice on the phone… I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I took the first flight back.” “I went to our place and you weren’t there. I figured you must be with Chloe.” His concern was so palpable, it felt real. I still couldn’t understand it. How could a man who loved me this much live with himself, sharing his life, his body, with another woman? My lips trembled. I swallowed the lump in my throat, fighting the urge to scream at him. Instead, a weak, pathetic sentence came out. “I’m fine. I was just heading home.” Julian let out a breath of relief. “Next time you’re sick, you have to tell me. You’ll worry me to death.” His voice was a low, tender murmur, and for a split second, everything felt normal, as if the last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her. A slender figure standing under a nearby tree, phone pressed to her ear. The next second, Julian’s phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen, and a flicker of conflict crossed his face. “Something urgent came up at the office. I have to go.” My breath hitched. I’m not blind. I saw the name flash on his screen for a fraction of a second. Isabelle. The bitterness threatened to choke me. I forced my voice to remain steady. “Okay. Go on, then. The company is important.” Guilt flickered in his eyes. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before getting into his car and speeding away. The moment he was gone, Isabelle hung up her phone. She sauntered over, her hips swaying. “Miss Vance. Hello. My name is Isabelle. I’m…” She trailed off, her eyes landing on my tightly pressed lips. A knowing smile spread across her face. “Ah. It seems you already know about Ethan and me. Well then,” she purred, “let the games begin.”

I hailed a cab and followed her. At the hospital, I stood outside the private room, a silent observer to the scene unfolding within. A sharp, piercing pain lanced through my heart. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, willing myself not to make a sound. Julian’s son—their son—was on an IV drip, his small face pale and listless. He looked so fragile. Julian was pacing the room like a caged animal, his voice a low growl of fury. “What the hell am I paying you people for? You can’t even treat a simple fever!” The doctor trying to calm him was a man I recognized. Marcus Thorne, one of Julian’s oldest and closest friends. “He has a cold, Julian, probably from getting chilled. It’s not your staff’s fault if you can’t take proper care of him,” Marcus shot back, his tone sharp. “I don’t know what you’re thinking. You said you were going to pay the woman off after the baby was born and send her away. Now you’re dragging me into this for a common cold? What if Elara finds out?” There was a long silence. Then Julian’s voice, heavy with exhaustion and resignation. “What choice do I have? Every time I try to send Isabelle away, Ethan has a meltdown. They have a bond. I can’t just let my son cry himself sick.” “Right,” Marcus scoffed. “Is it the kid who can’t let go, or is it you? You know the answer to that.” Julian’s frustration boiled over. He rubbed his temples, a vein throbbing. “Don’t be ridiculous. The only woman I will ever love is Elara. But the Astors need an heir. You have to help me keep this from her. It would destroy her.” He paused, his voice softening just a fraction. “And as for Isabelle… she gave me a son. I can’t just cast her aside.” As if on cue, Isabelle chose that moment to enter, her face a mask of tear-streaked tragedy. “Julian, it’s all my fault. I didn’t take good care of Ethan. He started running a fever right after you left last night, and he was crying for you… I didn’t want to bother you and Mrs. Astor, so I waited…” Julian’s anger melted away as he touched the boy’s hot cheek. His heart softened. He pulled Isabelle into his arms, comforting her. “Don’t cry, Isabelle. I’m not blaming you. He’s our son. If anyone’s failed, it’s me, for not being a better father.” She clung to his shirt, her fingers tracing a line over his heart. “Julian, I know I can never compare to Miss Vance, but I just can’t bear to see our child suffer…” Julian’s expression hardened. “No one will ever make my son suffer. But you need to take care of yourself, too. Look at you, your makeup is a mess from all the crying.” He gently raised a hand and brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. The intimacy of the gesture was a dagger to my heart. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms, leaving bloody crescent moons. I felt nothing. No pain could compare to the agony ripping through my soul. The heavens opened up again, and a cold, relentless rain began to fall. I walked away from the hospital, letting the downpour soak me to the bone. Rain streamed down my face, blurring the world around me, but it couldn’t wash away the filth and shame I felt. By the time I reached the Vance Corporation headquarters, my ankles were raw and bleeding from my heels. The receptionist gasped when she saw me, rushing forward to help. “Miss Vance! What happened to you? Should I call Mr. Astor? He’ll be so worried if he sees you like this.” My heart was numb. Yes, of course. The whole world believed in Julian’s perfect love for me. They had no idea that love was poisoned with lies and betrayal. I gently pushed her away. “I’m fine,” I rasped. “It started raining unexpectedly. Could you just have a change of clothes sent to the nearest conference room for me?” I handed her my black card and locked myself inside the room. The moment the door clicked shut, the dam broke. I had thought seeing the photos had immunized me, that I had already faced the worst. But seeing them together—a perfect little family—had ripped open the deepest scar in my soul, leaving it raw and bleeding. My ragged, heartbroken sobs echoed in the vast, empty room. I wanted to scream at Julian. Why? Why was it you who made all the promises, and why is it you who is living a second life with someone else? A soft knock on the door pulled me from my despair. The person was already gone, but a fresh set of clothes, my black card, and a glass of warm water were waiting for me. Tucked under the glass was a handwritten note: Don’t worry, Miss Vance. I didn’t call Mr. Astor. I know you wouldn’t want him to worry. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. I tore the note to shreds and threw it away. I changed in the restroom. A few minutes later, I emerged, once again the proud, untouchable Elara Vance. Nothing could break me. I spent the rest of the day buried in work, my heels clicking purposefully on the marble floors of the executive suite. Julian sent a barrage of texts. I didn’t read a single one. It was late evening when I finally dragged my exhausted body back to the villa, intending to pack my bags and leave for good in the morning. But when I opened the door, the sound of a child’s laughter filled the air. And there, in my living room, stood Isabelle.

She was wearing the standard uniform of the staff from the Astor family’s main estate. Across the room, a little boy was gleefully making a mess of my immaculate living room. When Isabelle saw me, she stepped away from Julian’s side, a picture of demure grace. “Madam, you’re home. The main estate sent me over to look after the young master.” My jaw tightened. Breathing suddenly became a monumental effort. How dare he? How dare he bring them here, into our home? Julian saw the look on my face and rushed to explain. “Baby, I sent you a text this afternoon, you must not have seen it. This is Ethan Astor. Mom brought him home from an orphanage, said she felt an instant connection with him.” All the pain I had felt, all the tears I had shed in that empty conference room, had burned away, leaving behind only cold, white-hot fury. They were treating me like an absolute fool. “Julian, are you deliberately trying to rip my heart out?” My voice trembled with rage. He frowned, genuinely surprised by my hostility. “Baby, don’t be angry,” he pleaded, his voice laced with confusion. “You know the family needs an heir, and I know how much you’ve grieved for… for our baby. I thought… I agreed to Mom’s request for you.” “If you don’t like him, I’ll have him sent back right now!” Everyone knew Julian Astor’s golden rule: Elara came first. Always. And here he was, proving it again, willing to send away his own son if I just said the word. But this time, his devotion just made me feel sick. I was about to blow the whole thing wide open when the child, Ethan, scrunched up his face and began to wail. “You’re a mean lady!” he shrieked, pointing a finger at me. “Daddy, why are you with this mean lady? Don’t you want me anymore?” The child’s piercing cries grated on Julian’s nerves. He snapped, “Ethan, who taught you to speak like that!” He turned to the household staff. “Are you all deaf? Get the young master to his room, now!” Several maids rushed forward, clumsily trying to placate the screaming child as they led him away. Isabelle looked panicked. “Mr. Astor, it’s all my fault. Please don’t be angry with the young master.” As she spoke, she cast a look at Julian, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, a look designed to melt any man’s heart. Julian sighed, his tone softening. “I’m not angry with him. He’s just a child, he doesn’t know any better. Go on, go look after him.” I watched the entire exchange, the ice around my heart growing thicker. I pulled away from Julian’s touch and went straight upstairs, shutting the bedroom door in his face. He stood outside, his voice muffled by the wood, full of frustration and pleading. “Baby, it’s my fault. I’ll send him away first thing in the morning, I promise.” “I know you don’t want me around right now, and that’s okay. Just get some rest. We can talk about this tomorrow.” I slid down the door, my back pressed against the cold wood, and listened to his footsteps retreat. My heart was so numb I couldn’t feel a thing. What good would sending the boy away do? Blood is blood. A bond that can never be broken. The one who needed to leave was me. I didn’t answer. I just turned the lock. Alone in the dark, I finally let myself collapse. I was so tired. Bone-tired, soul-tired. I don’t know how long I sat there before my phone buzzed. A new friend request. It was Isabelle. [Isabelle]: Mrs. Astor, since you’ve kicked your husband out of your room, I suppose you won’t mind if he comes to mine. My pupils contracted. I shot to my feet and threw open the bedroom door. Down the hall, a faint light seeped from under the door of Julian’s study. The door was slightly ajar. I could hear a woman’s sultry voice from within. “Julian, you’re hurting me…” A man’s low grunt, his voice rough with something primal. “You’re the one who lured me in here. A little pain is what you wanted, isn’t it? You’re trouble, you know that? Even with a kid, you can’t keep still.” The world tilted on its axis. I was plunged into an icy abyss, the blood freezing in my veins. He couldn’t even wait one night. The sounds from within continued. Isabelle’s suppressed moan. “Julian… I just saw how upset the madam made you. I thought I could… help you feel better.” “Don’t make excuses for your own desires. And remember, if you want Ethan to stay in this house, you will not cause trouble for my wife.” I couldn’t listen anymore. I don’t even know how I made it back to my room. I stumbled into the bathroom and retched into the sink, my body convulsing with disgust. I heaved until my stomach was empty and cramping, then I slowly straightened up, looking at the pathetic, hollowed-out woman in the mirror. My tears were gone. I was Elara Vance. Pride was in my blood. This was beneath me. I don’t know how long I stayed in that bathroom. The sky was beginning to lighten when I finally crawled into bed. This time, I was the one leaving him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393914”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Browsing my phone at work, I stumbled upon a forum post: [“Accidentally pregnant but not done partying. How to abort AND make my husband love me more?!”] The top reply chilled me: [“Frame an intern—preferably one with a new car (money + naivety). ‘Borrow’ it during lunch, take the pill in her car, then blame her. Guaranteed compensation + husband’s sympathy.”] OP liked this. I scoffed. Use protection if you’re not ready! But ruining an innocent life? Pathetic. As I went to report it, my coworker suddenly asked: “Ashley… your new car’s in the underground garage, right?” 1 I looked up instinctively. “Oh, yeah, Brenda. It’s in our company’s designated parking area.” Brenda smiled sweetly. “You’re so lucky. All our company spots were taken, and the last one was actually reserved for me. But I decided not to buy a car for now, so I let them give the spot to you.” “Oh, wow, thanks so much for that! But isn’t it inconvenient for you not to have a car?” Brenda covered her mouth with her hand, letting out a delicate laugh. “My husband drops me off and picks me up every single day. It’s not inconvenient at all!” “I see. You two must have a great relationship!” At my words, Brenda let out another one of her signature dainty giggles. I kept a fake smile plastered on my face, but a layer of goosebumps had already broken out on my arms. I’d only been an intern here for a week, but I’d already gotten a read on everyone’s personalities. Brenda was the office’s resident “spoiled wife.” She couldn’t go three sentences without mentioning her husband. I had no interest in continuing the conversation. I glanced at the time, grabbed my phone, and headed for the elevator. But as soon as the doors opened, I saw Brenda standing inside, clutching a pillow and a small blanket, a wide smile on her face. “Perfect timing. I was just waiting for you!” I was confused. “What? Waiting for me? Do you need something?” She just gave me a mysterious smile and said nothing. I was baffled but didn’t press the issue. My mind, however, couldn’t stop replaying the forum post from this morning. No way. It can’t be. Am I really that unlucky? Did I stumble upon the real-life version of that toxic poster? Just then, the elevator dinged. “First floor.” Brenda walked out, still holding her things. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. I was just overthinking it. But just as I relaxed and started scrolling through my phone again, a foot suddenly jammed into the gap of the closing elevator doors. “Wait, wait!” I flinched, and my head snapped up to see the doors slide open again, revealing Brenda’s face. She was holding the pillow and blanket in one arm and a bag of takeout in the other. “That delivery took forever!” she complained. I eyed her cautiously. “Brenda, where are you going with all that?” She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to take my lunch nap.” “But…” I started, but was cut off by another ding. The doors opened. “Basement Level 1.” Brenda immediately stepped out. “Come on!” I couldn’t help but ask, “Brenda, I thought you didn’t have a car. Where are you going to nap?” She turned around and gave me a look like I was the stupidest person on earth. “In your car, of course! Now hurry up, it’s boiling down here. Go turn on the A/C.” I stopped in my tracks. “My car?” 2 Brenda didn’t stop walking, heading straight for my EV. “Yes, your car.” I hesitated for a moment before speaking, putting extra emphasis on my words. “Right. So, this is my car.” She slapped the takeout bag onto the hood of my car. “Yes, yes, I know it’s your car. Just open it!” I frowned. Remembering I was just an intern, I took a deep breath and tried to be patient. “Brenda, doesn’t everyone usually nap in the office breakroom? Besides, my car can’t fit two people.” Brenda pouted. “The breakroom is so loud and uncomfortable. You’re the only one in the office with an EV. They’re perfect for sleeping in!” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “If you sleep in my car, where do I sleep?” “You can sleep in the breakroom. You’re an intern! It’s a great chance to bond with everyone!” she said, as if she were doing me a favor. “I’m only telling you this because I feel sorry for you. You don’t have to thank me too much. Just buy me lunch tomorrow.” Before I could protest, she snatched the key card from my hand and unlocked the car. She plopped herself into the passenger seat, takeout in hand. “Ugh, how do you adjust this seat?” she muttered, her fingers poking and prodding randomly at my center console. The screen flickered on and off as she mashed the buttons. Defeated, I got into the driver’s seat and adjusted the seat for her. Once she was comfortable, Brenda placed the container of spicy, garlicky noodle soup directly on my center console. “You need to get one of those little tray tables for tomorrow. This is so inconvenient for eating!” The moment she opened the container, a thick, pungent cloud of chili oil and garlic filled the entire car. I immediately snatched the lid and put it back on. “Brenda, this is a small space for sleeping. Eating something with such a strong smell isn’t really… appropriate, is it?” Brenda glanced around, thought for a second, and nodded. “You’re right. It is a bit inappropriate.” Hearing that, I relaxed slightly. At least she was capable of reason. But just as I was about to speak again, Brenda cut me off. “This car of yours is just not set up right. No tray table, no proper drink holders… and I need to watch my shows when I eat. You have hardly any apps on this giant screen. Do you have memberships for Netflix, Hulu, and Max?” “The show I’m watching now requires the premium tier. Here,” she said, holding up her phone with a QR code displayed. “Scan this and sign me up for the yearly plan. It’ll be more convenient for me.” I almost laughed out loud from sheer disbelief. “Only your husband would tolerate you eating, sleeping, and watching TV in his car. And newsflash, I’m not your husband.” Brenda seemed completely oblivious to my sarcasm. Instead, she gave me a bashful smile. “Oh, you could never compare to my husband. He’s the best, best, best person in the world!” “But, even though you’re not as good as him, I’m willing to give you a chance. A chance to upgrade your car. I’ll come back tomorrow to check on your progress!” With that, she slurped up a mouthful of noodles from the container. I watched in horror as a splash of oily broth flew out and landed squarely on my center console. I was at my breaking point, ready to explode, when Brenda suddenly clutched her stomach. 3 I froze. The forum post from that morning flashed through my mind. A knot of anxiety tightened in my gut. “What’s wrong?” I blurted out. “Are you feeling sick?” Brenda just rubbed her stomach and smiled. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing. I probably just ate too fast.” She went back to shoveling food into her mouth. But when she glanced up a moment later, I caught a fleeting, smug smirk on her face. What is she smiling about? A strange, unsettling feeling crept over me. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I could not let her sleep in my car. So, I waited. When she finished eating, she’d have to get out to throw away the trash, right? The moment she stepped out, I’d lock the doors. That would solve the problem. Her table manners were atrocious, but she was a fast eater. In no time, the container was empty. I watched her drink the last of the broth and start packing up the trash, my hand poised over the lock button on my key card. She wiped her mouth, let out a loud burp, and picked up the bag. My finger was literally on the button. But instead of getting out, she held the bag of trash out to me. It took me a second to process. “…What’s this for?” “Throw it out,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Don’t you have any common sense?” “…You want me to throw it out?” “Duh. Should I do it?” Brenda said incredulously. “When I’m in my husband’s car, I never have to throw out the trash. He always does it for me.” I was genuinely flabbergasted. “Brenda, I’m not your husband.” “I know that. And even if you wanted to be, I wouldn’t give you the chance. My husband would go crazy, hehe!” I had never felt so exhausted trying to communicate with another human being. So this was the infamous “spoiled wife.” It was clear she had no intention of leaving the car. My brain kicked into gear. I started the car. “Brenda, I just remembered I have to run an errand. The sun is blazing out there, and it’ll take me at least an hour. You should probably just go back to the office to sleep.” Brenda was completely unbothered. “I’ll just sleep here. You drive, I’ll sleep.” She slipped on an eye mask and immediately lay back. Fine. If she wouldn’t listen to reason, I’d have to take matters into my own hands. I slammed my foot on the accelerator and shot out of the underground garage. It was a sweltering August afternoon, hot as a furnace outside. I pulled up a map and found a shopping plaza with only outdoor parking. I chose a spot with zero shade, directly under the scorching sun, and got out. Sure enough, ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was Brenda. “When are you coming back? It’s an oven in here!” I took a long, cool sip of my iced tea. “Oh, sorry, Brenda,” I said, my voice dripping with fake apology. “It’s going to be at least another half hour over here. Maybe you should just head back on your own!” I heard her hang up with an angry huff, and a smile tugged at my lips. That should get rid of her for good. But when I got back to the office, my coworkers were giving me strange looks. Before I could figure out why, my phone buzzed. I looked down. The forum post had been updated.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393930”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I sat in a corner of the library, my eyes fixed on the two figures not far away, sharing a pair of earbuds. A familiar stream of comments scrolled past the edge of my vision: [Chill, guys, Leo’s just helping her adjust the volume. He’s not even listening!] [That’s his childhood friend, Stella. They grew up together. He can’t just embarrass her!] I offered a faint smile, my gaze dropping back to the book in my lap. I didn’t stop turning the pages. Every time Leo was with another girl, the comments would instantly pop up, a ghostly chorus rushing to explain away the misunderstanding. They told me he was just a man of few words. That his unreturned messages and cold silences were all just part of his way of loving me. But I’ve decided I don’t want a man of few words anymore. … 1 We’d been dating for two years, and we didn’t have a single photo together. Every time I suggested taking one, he’d say he didn’t like putting his private life on display. And I believed him. After all, the comments were always there to back him up: [Leo’s the quiet, low-key type. It’s true he hates photos, it’s not because he doesn’t care about our girl!] [The reason he never posts on his feed is because he has over a hundred candid photos of her saved on his phone!] Time and time again, I let those disembodied reassurances convince me to keep loving him. Until today. I watched with my own eyes as Leo took off his varsity jacket and draped it over Stella’s shoulders. Stella beamed. “Won’t your girlfriend get jealous?” Leo lit a cigarette, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “She won’t.” I was standing just around the corner, and I heard every word, crystal clear. The comments dutifully scrolled by, as if offering a comforting pat on the back. [He’s doing this for our girl’s own good! If he rejected Stella outright, she’d get suspicious about their relationship and ruin his plan to secretly protect Mia!] [He’s all bark and no bite! He just doesn’t want Mia to get a reputation for being petty and jealous!] I stepped out from my hiding spot. When Stella saw me, a flicker of mischief lit up her eyes. “Mia! You’re here! Want to grab dinner with us?” I shook my head, my voice flat. “No, thanks. I’m busy.” Leo glanced at me but said nothing. My hands were trembling as I walked out of the building, but the comments kept rolling. [Don’t go, sweetie! Leo was waiting for you to say something!] [Did you see the look in his eyes? He’s so heartbroken!] [I bet you anything he’s going to come and apologize tonight!] But I waited all night, and he said nothing. Instead, he reposted the voting link for Stella’s dance competition, complete with three little “Go for it!” emojis. In that instant, I felt like I had been demoted from his girlfriend to just another random follower on his feed. That night, I posted something on my own story. No words. Just a single photo. It was his varsity jacket, draped over the back of a chair in a deserted corner of the library. The comments on the post started pouring in. “Isn’t that Leo’s jacket? What’s it doing there?” But when I returned to the library the next morning, the jacket was still there, untouched. I almost laughed. The comments flickered to life again: [Leo was a wreck last night! He didn’t sleep a wink!] [He didn’t get the jacket on purpose! He wants our girl to realize he’s upset so she’ll come find him!] I sat down, carefully folded the jacket, and placed it in a paper bag. I stuck a sticky note on top: Here’s your stuff back. Don’t leave it with me again. The comments went berserk. [NO!!! MIA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!] [Don’t be mad anymore, he really, really loves you!!! AHHHHH—] I didn’t look back. This time, I was betting on myself. Not the comments, not Leo. Just me. 2 That afternoon, I didn’t go to the restaurant he always took me to. I didn’t order his favorite spicy chicken ahead of time, like I usually did. I just went to the library by myself and studied all afternoon. It wasn’t until dusk that my phone screen lit up. It was the first message from Leo all day. [Dinner tonight?] I glanced at it and didn’t reply. The comments immediately flooded my vision: [Answer him, sweetie! Leo’s already backing down!] [Why are you playing hard to get now? It’s a huge deal for Leo to message first!] [That’s just how guys are! They’re too proud to apologize, but this is his way of making up!] I turned off my phone screen and went back to my book. Not five minutes later, another message came in. [Where are you? I’ll pick you up.] I didn’t reply. I didn’t even open it. The notification light blinked for a while before finally going dark. That evening, I went for a run on the campus track. It was the first time I hadn’t told him where I was going. I had just finished one lap when I heard someone call my name. “Mia.” I stopped and turned. Leo was standing on the edge of the track, wearing that familiar black windbreaker. He walked toward me, a bottle of water in his hand. “I thought you said your cold wasn’t better yet, that you weren’t going to run?” “I’m in a good mood today. Felt like a walk.” He frowned, handing me the water. “Is your throat still sore?” I took the bottle but didn’t open it. The comments popped up again: [He won’t say it, but he’s worried sick! He searched the entire campus just to find you!] [He’s afraid to admit he’s worried you’ll think he’s being too emotional. Ugh, why does Leo always live by these stupid, unspoken rules?] [Sweetie, don’t be so cold to him. What if you break his heart…] I took a sip of water, my voice calm. “Did you need something?” He stared at me for a few seconds before asking, “Are you mad?” I didn’t answer. “Is it because of Stella?” I met his gaze. “Isn’t she your friend from childhood? What right do I have to be mad?” Leo was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, “She’s not my type.” I let out a small, humorless laugh. “Then what is your type?” His eyes darted away. He didn’t answer. I didn’t press him. I just said softly, “If you don’t like her, then keep your distance. Don’t give people the wrong idea, and don’t embarrass me.” “You’ve always known we’re just friends,” he said, his voice stiff. “I haven’t done anything to cross the line.” “But it makes me uncomfortable,” I said, looking right at him. “Do you get that? It doesn’t matter if you cross a line. Just the sight of you standing next to her is enough to make me miserable.” A heavy silence fell between us. The comments were in a frenzy: [Leo, say something! Our girl has spelled it out for you!] [Holy crap, Leo, if you don’t explain yourself now, it’s going to be too late!] [He’s totally panicking inside, but he doesn’t know how to express it… Just give him a little more time!] I waited. But no response came. Leo just stood there, his expression a mask of restraint, as if he were fighting a battle with himself, or maybe just completely lost. And I suddenly realized, that was the problem between us. He was always used to silence, and I was always used to speaking for him. Used to believing the voices of the comments, instead of the truth of his silence. I didn’t reply to any more of his messages that night. And he didn’t try to contact me again. Until two in the morning, when I saw her new post. It was a selfie from Stella. She was on the outdoor patio of a quiet, off-campus bar. Candlelight flickered in the photo as she flashed a peace sign at the camera. The top comment was glowing: [The person taking the pic is Leo, right? I get it, I get it~] I stared at it for a few seconds, then tossed my phone aside. The comments were still there, working overtime to explain it all away: [Leo wasn’t even looking at Stella! He’s just using her to make you jealous!] [Don’t believe the picture, he didn’t even take it! He was just passing by!] [He was sitting there thinking about you! He’s still waiting for you to back down first!] I stared up at the ceiling and slowly closed my eyes. After a while, you hear so many excuses that you just go numb. No matter how real they sound, they lose all their power. 3 The day after the exam, I was summoned by the dean’s office. They said my test paper had an unusually high similarity rate with Stella’s and required further investigation. In that moment, all I could feel was the biting irony. I was top of my class in every single one of my major courses. Why on earth would I need to copy from a girl who spent all her time filming dance videos and had never once shown up to an 8 a.m. lecture? When the day of the meeting came, I went alone. As soon as I pushed open the door, I saw Leo sitting inside, right next to Stella. The professor looked at me, his tone sharp. “Mia, have a seat. We’ve called you here today because Ms. Vance has reported you for cheating on the exam.” My world shrank. I looked at Stella. She had an expression of pure, innocent distress, but her voice was firm. “I’m not trying to target her, but I noticed her paper was just like mine. It could be a coincidence, or… she could have looked.” I scoffed. “Are you sure you weren’t the one looking at my paper?” Stella flinched as if I’d struck her. “That’s not what I meant… How can you be so vicious?” I turned to Leo. He said nothing. His eyes were downcast, as if he were deep in thought, or maybe just trying to escape. The comments materialized on cue: [Don’t blame him! Leo’s holding back so he doesn’t make Stella resent you more!] [He’s waiting for everyone to leave so he can comfort our girl in private!] [Mia, don’t misunderstand! If he spoke up now, it would only make your situation more awkward!] I stared at his face for a long time, until the professor asked, “Do you have anything to add?” Leo spoke slowly, his voice measured. “…I didn’t see Mia cheat. But I can’t rule out the possibility that the high similarity score is her own responsibility.” The room fell silent. My ears rang as if I’d been struck by lightning. Stella lowered her head, hiding a triumphant little smile. The professor nodded. “For now, we’ll record this as ‘suspected academic dishonesty.’ You’ll submit a written self-criticism, and your next exam will be proctored under full surveillance. If a similar issue arises, it will be permanently noted on your academic record.” My fingertips were ice-cold as I walked out of that office. The comments scrolled past my ears, one after another: [Leo didn’t mean it! They forced him to say it!] [He would never hurt you! This is all part of his strategy!] [He’s sacrificing you this one time so you won’t be truly suspected later! It’s for your own good!] What I didn’t know was that after I left, Stella tugged on Leo’s sleeve, feigning distress. “The way you spoke just now… she’s definitely going to misunderstand you.” Leo didn’t say a word. Stella leaned in closer, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “If she dares to pick a fight with you over this, I’ll be the first to say you deserve better.” “You deserve so much better.” He didn’t push her away. And I, through the glass wall of the dean’s office, saw her hand rest on his shoulder. That night, I posted again. No words. Just a picture of a sheet of paper, filled with my handwritten apology. Someone asked in the comments if I’d been set up. Someone else shared it, saying, “Even the top students stumble sometimes.” Only Leo… He liked the post, then quickly unliked it. As always, the comments rushed to his defense: [Leo was just afraid that liking it would be seen as taking sides! He totally screenshotted it and looks at it every day!] [He liked and then unliked it so you wouldn’t get cyberbullied! He’s just pretending to be cold to protect you!] I put my phone on silent and turned off all notifications. I knew then that some things weren’t worth waiting for an explanation. The next morning, Leo found me and said he wanted to have breakfast with me. I told him no, I was going to the library to study. “I’ll walk you.” “No, thanks. I want to be alone.” He frowned, watching me for a long time, but in the end, he didn’t press. He just turned and walked away. But as I watched him go, I saw that his shoulders were relaxed. As if he’d finally been freed from the burden of performing an emotional role he never wanted. That night, Stella posted a photo from a trendy Japanese restaurant near campus. She was wearing new earrings, and the caption read: “Thanks for celebrating with me, Leo.” The comments were a flood of “Get together!” and “You two are so cute!” I stared at the picture for a long time, my phone growing hot in my hand, my fingertips cold. The comments were still there: [Don’t believe her post! Leo didn’t even eat anything, he was just passing by!] [He was only with her as a favor! He only has eyes for you!] [Mia, don’t be rash! Don’t misunderstand Leo again…] This time, I didn’t even look at the comments. I just quietly deleted the post he had never truly liked. And cleared the chat history he had never truly answered. It was time he got a taste of what it felt like to be completely erased.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393947”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day a billionaire walked into the orphanage and told me I was his long-lost daughter, a stream of text flickered into existence in the air before my eyes. [So naive! The richest man in the city says you’re his daughter, and you just believe him? If it weren’t for your good luck charm vibes, who’d even want you?] [But you have to admit, the side character’s luck is potent. The moment she settles into her new life, not only does the real heiress get found, but the billionaire’s bankruptcy crisis is magically solved.] [Just wait. As soon as the real heiress figures out how to steal that good luck for herself, this useless side character will be thrown out on the street to freeze to death.] [The real heiress is the star of the show for a reason. I’m totally hooked on this story!] A violent shiver racked my body. On pure instinct, I scrambled away from the billionaire and launched myself toward a different couple, a man and woman whose eyes were red-rimmed with a soul-crushing despair. The live-stream commentators were stunned. [Wait, isn’t she supposed to be a human lucky charm? Why did she pick the real heiress’s adoptive parents? That family is drowning in debt! The loan sharks are literally going to kill them!] 1 Staring at the translucent words floating in my vision, I felt a dizzying wave of disbelief. Me? A lucky charm? If I was so lucky, why had I spent my entire life in an orphanage? Mrs. Gable, the director, was nudging me toward the billionaire and his wife, her voice a low, persuasive hum. “Luna, this kind man and woman have come specifically to adopt you. Would you like to go home with them?” she said, her smile warm. “You’d have a beautiful room of your own, all the books and gadgets you could ever want. You’d never have to walk to school again.” [The director isn’t wrong, technically. But that’s only for the first two months.] [Once the real heiress is found and figures out how to steal the luck, Luna’s out on her ear.] [It’s actually kind of tragic. On a snowy night, she tries to walk back to the orphanage in just a thin dress. The mansion’s estate is so huge, she never even makes it out of the gated community before she freezes to death.] [Well, what can you do? She’s a side character. All side characters exist to serve the protagonist! And our protagonist is the one and only Princess Sera! Hey, wait a second… are those people behind her? Aren’t they Sera’s adoptive parents? What are they doing at the orphanage?] The real heiress’s adoptive parents were here? Mrs. Gable wanted the best for all of us, but the billionaire couple’s interest felt unnervingly predatory. Their eyes gleamed with a strange light, and I felt like a lamb being sized up for slaughter. I shrank back, silent, my gaze shifting to the other couple. Their shoulders were slumped, their faces etched with hopelessness. The woman was gripping Mrs. Gable’s hand, her voice trembling. “Mrs. Gable, do you have any leads on our Sera’s birth parents? We… we’re about to lose everything. She’ll only suffer if she stays with us.” “We just can’t bear to see her dragged down with us,” the man added, his voice thick with pain. [The side character’s luck is no joke. That’s the main character they’re talking about! Seraphina is the billionaire’s daughter!] [The adoptive parents are genuinely good people. It’s a shame they’re about to be killed off by debt collectors.] [It’s all part of the plot, to push the heroine back to her birth parents.] A jolt, sharp as electricity, shot through me. I finally understood. We were all just characters living inside a book. But why did we have to die just for the sake of some so-called heroine? The billionaire’s wife, Mrs. Harrison, placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Luna, honey. Won’t you come home with us?” Without a second thought, I dodged her touch and threw myself into the arms of the other, heartbroken couple. “Please,” I begged, looking up at them. “I’m not afraid of hard times. I can help with chores. Please, can you adopt me?” The moment the words left my mouth, the comment stream exploded. [What is she doing?! She’s a lucky charm! Why would she choose the family that’s about to be murdered by loan sharks?] [The crazy thing is, because she’s a lucky charm, almost no one can refuse her requests. Are they really going to adopt her?!] [This isn’t how the story is supposed to go! Are the heroine and the side character going to meet at the adoptive parents’ house now?] I latched onto the key information in the comments and pleaded again, my voice ringing with sincerity. “Please, take me with you. I like you so, so much.” The rejected Harrisons looked mortified, but beneath that was a clear, rising panic. Mrs. Harrison, the billionaire’s wife, actually knelt before me, her expensive perfume washing over me. “Luna, darling,” she cooed, her voice strained. “We have a very big house. We can give you anything you’ve ever dreamed of. Please, just think about it?” I said nothing, only pressing myself tighter against the other couple, hiding behind them. Mrs. Gable managed a polite, if strained, smile. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Harrison. It seems the child has made her choice.” Then, she stroked my hair, her voice a low whisper. “Luna, that couple… they aren’t here to adopt a child.” They looked so utterly defeated that my heart ached for them. If we were both just disposable side characters, destined for a tragic end, shouldn’t we stick together? I knew they were in crisis. I knew they wouldn’t easily agree to take on another burden. They were afraid they couldn’t provide for me. “Please, just give me a home,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m ready to share whatever comes, good or bad. And if… if things go wrong, the worst that can happen is I come back here, to the orphanage. I have nothing to lose.” Just as Mrs. Gable started to pull me back, the woman’s eyes welled up with fresh tears. “You’re really not afraid? Of how poor we are?” My face lit up, and I nodded without a shred of hesitation. “Then… alright,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “Come home with us.” The Harrisons exchanged a dark look, their faces sinking. As I joyfully went with my new parents to sign the papers, a thought sparked in my mind. The comments said I could solve the Harrisons’ bankruptcy. Did that mean I could solve my new family’s problems, too? 2 Even as my new parents, the Millers, led me away, the Harrisons trailed behind, refusing to give up. “Wait!” Mr. Harrison called out, jogging to catch up, slightly out of breath. He pressed a business card into my new mother’s hand. “If, for any reason, you change your minds about the child… please, call me. My wife and I are truly fond of her.” My new mother, Sarah, glanced at the card, then at him. She took it but said firmly, “We’ll do our very best for her.” [The adoptive parents are such decent people. It makes it even harder to know they’re about to be written out of the story.] [In the original plot, the debt collectors show up in three days and murder them. The heroine, Sera, is devastated, which is when she conveniently runs into the Harrisons and is reunited with her birth family. It’s the first major tear-jerker of the book.] I stared out the car window, my small hands clenched into tight fists. They were reading a story, but this was our life. Why should we be sacrificed just to create a tear-jerking moment for their entertainment? Half an hour later, the car pulled up to a massive, sprawling mansion. The exterior was magnificent, but as we stepped inside, my new parents, John and Sarah, let out weary, bitter sighs. “We’re so sorry, Luna,” John said, gesturing around the cavernous, echoing space. “The bailiffs took almost everything. This house is just an empty shell now.” I shook my head, a genuine smile on my face. “It’s okay, Dad. It’s okay, Mom.” Just then, a girl in expensive-looking loungewear appeared at the top of the grand staircase. She stood on the second-floor landing, staring down at me with open disdain. [Aah, there she is! The heroine, Seraphina! She’s gorgeous! Just what you’d expect from a billionaire’s real daughter.] [A true main character. She’s never really suffered a day in her life. The moment her adoptive family’s fortune collapses, her real parents show up to rescue her.] “Mom? Dad? Who is she?” Seraphina demanded. The Millers exchanged a pained look. “Sera, honey, this is Luna. We’ve just adopted her.” “She’s part of our family now,” Sarah added softly. “What?!” Seraphina shrieked, clattering down the stairs. “We’re already broke! You just cut my allowance, and now you’re bringing home another mouth to feed?!” Tears welled in her eyes, a perfect picture of wounded pride. “I know I’m not your real daughter,” she sobbed. “You don’t have to rub it in by showing how little you care about me.” She sniffled dramatically. “Even if you wanted another child, you should have at least considered our financial situation! Have you found my birth parents yet? Just find them, and I’ll go back to them! I don’t want to be a burden on you any longer.” The commenters in the stream were somehow cooing over how “cute” and “considerate” she was. I stared, baffled. Her family hits a rough patch and her first instinct is to bail. How was that not the definition of an ungrateful brat? My new parents just looked at her with guilt-ridden faces. “We’re sorry, Sera,” John said quietly. “We haven’t been able to find your birth parents.” The comments said the Millers had to die to give Seraphina a reason to leave. An idea, sharp and clear, cut through my thoughts. I tugged on my new mother’s sleeve. “Mom?” I said, my voice small and innocent. “That girl… she looks a lot like that rich man and woman we saw at the orphanage today.” 3 My new parents froze. John pulled the business card from his pocket. He typed the name “Harrison” into his phone, and a picture of the billionaire popped up. He held the phone next to Seraphina’s face. Mr. Harrison was a bit heavier now, but the eyes, the nose, the shape of his face… the resemblance was undeniable. Their mouths fell open. “My God,” Sarah whispered. “He… he really does look like you.” Seraphina craned her neck to see the phone screen. When her eyes landed on the word “billionaire,” they lit up like a Christmas tree. The Millers almost called the number on the card right then and there, but they hesitated. This was too important to rush. They couldn’t just hand Seraphina over without being sure. They set me up in a room. It was bare except for a bed. Sarah looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry you have to go through this, Luna.” I shook my head, my voice filled with genuine gratitude. “This is a hundred times better than the orphanage.” To prove it, I plopped down on the bed and snuggled into the mattress. “It’s so comfortable. Thank you, Mom. I love it.” A small, fragile smile finally touched her lips. She was worried I wouldn’t adjust, so she sat with me for a long time, talking quietly. “We used to be quite well-off, you know,” she said, her voice soft with memory. “Besides Sera, we have a son. Leo.” Her expression clouded over. “A little while ago, he just… up and left. Said he was heading to some lawless zone across the border. We haven’t heard from him since.” I looked up, shocked. Even a kid from an orphanage like me knew those places were black holes that swallowed people whole. You didn’t go there unless you had a death wish. What would a rich kid, who’d seen the world, be doing in a place like that? As she spoke, tears began to slide down her cheeks. “We spent over a million dollars trying to find him, but it’s like he just vanished off the face of the earth. Then, right after that, there was a terrible accident at one of our construction sites. Several workers fell from the 17th floor. We had to pay massive settlements, the project was shut down, and suddenly, our entire line of credit was frozen…” I frowned, my brow furrowed. “Mom, how could so many bad things happen all at once?” It was like they were cursed. Sarah sighed, her hand gently stroking my hair. “It’s not us adults I worry about. It’s you kids who are suffering.” Having grown up without parents, her simple, heartfelt kindness moved me deeply. In just one day, it was clear that she and John were good, loving people. That night, as I lay in bed, replaying the day’s events, another comment flickered into view. [Aww, the adoptive brother, Leo, really doted on the heroine. She once made a stupid bet with a friend, and he actually believed her when she said she was going to that dangerous border region by herself. He panicked and ran off to ‘save’ her that very night.] What?! I was so stunned I couldn’t breathe. Was she a heroine or a walking disaster? A life-ruiner? [Hey, cut her some slack. She felt super guilty about it later. How was she supposed to know her adoptive brother would take a joke so seriously?] “Ungrateful brat,” I muttered under my breath. [??? Who did she just call a brat?] [Did I hear her cuss someone out?] 4 The next morning, the Millers were on the phone, calling old friends and business associates to ask about the Harrisons. They were terrified of sending Seraphina into a bad situation, patiently enduring the scorn and pity of people who had once been their peers. Meanwhile, Seraphina, the subject of all this concern, couldn’t have cared less. She meticulously applied her makeup, dressed herself in an absurdly expensive outfit, and sat primly on the sofa, waiting to be collected like a prize. I watched her, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach. Something felt off. Sure enough, half an hour later, a sleek black Lincoln town car purred to a stop outside. The doorbell chimed. When my adoptive parents opened the door and saw the Harrisons standing there, they froze. They exchanged a look, their faces instantly guarded. “You’re here to…?” John started. Before he could finish, Seraphina pushed past us, her eyes already brimming with tears as she threw herself into her birth parents’ arms. “It was me,” she announced. “I called them.” The Millers fell silent, a profound sadness shadowing their faces. The Harrisons and Seraphina had their tearful reunion, followed by a flood of flowery thank-you’s from the billionaire. John and Sarah forced strained smiles. “We rescued Sera from a trafficker all those years ago,” John said, his voice heavy. “It seems she was always destined for a life better than one we could give.” I let out a small, silent, bitter laugh. It wasn’t that she was destined for a better life. It was that everyone else had to suffer to pave her way. Seraphina twisted a lock of her hair, her voice a picture of innocence. “You’re not mad at me, are you? I know I should have stayed to help you through this, but I just… I really wanted to meet my real parents. No matter who they were, they’re the ones who gave me life.” At her words, Sarah’s eyes filled with tears, but Mr. Harrison’s shrewd gaze kept darting over to me. His small, clever eyes were filled with cold calculation. He scanned the empty, cavernous room, and then made his move. “Luna,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “It seems you and our Sera were fated to be sisters.” “Now that Sera is coming home with us, why don’t you come too? We may not be related by blood, but we would treat you as our own.” Every eye in the room turned to me. Seraphina’s hand tightened on her dress, wrinkling the expensive fabric, but no one noticed. She shot me a look that was pure venom, even as her words dripped with saccharine sweetness. “Yes, Luna. It really is fate, isn’t it?” I shook my head firmly. “Mom and Dad gave me a home when no one else would. I’m not leaving them.” Sarah’s eyes reddened, and she reached out to grip my hand. She gave Seraphina a final, pained wave, unable to look at her any longer. “Go on,” she said, her voice choked. “Go on, and be good to your real parents.” As Seraphina walked away, she shot me one last look over her shoulder, her face twisted with a jealousy so raw it was almost ugly. [This side character is the worst! Is she doing this on purpose, trying to steal the heroine’s adoptive parents?] [Yeah, because she changed her mind, the whole plot is going off the rails! The Harrisons were supposed to find her *after* the Millers died.] [Her one seemingly small decision is causing a butterfly effect throughout the entire book…] I almost laughed out loud. Seraphina was a vain, selfish user, but somehow I was the bad guy? Fine. If I could cause a butterfly effect, then let’s see if I could rewrite the whole damn story. 5 After Seraphina left, my new parents grieved for a while. But I knew we didn’t have time for sadness. The debt collectors were coming. After a moment’s hesitation, I approached them cautiously. “Mom, Dad?” I began. “Sera told me before she left that you have a lot of debt. What… what happens if we can’t pay it back?” John went to the sink and splashed his face with water, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll go borrow the money.” “I’ll go with you!” I declared. He looked startled. “You should stay here with your mom. Borrowing money isn’t fun, Luna. I don’t want you to be scared.” For the first time, I disobeyed. “Please, Dad. Let me come. Maybe they’ll take pity on you if they see you have a little girl to take care of.” He couldn’t argue with that. We went to four different places. Three slammed the door in our faces. The last one threw a bucket of dirty water at us. “Listen, Miller, just give it up!” a man yelled from his doorway. “You think anyone’s going to lend you money now? Everyone knows you’re finished! It’d be like throwing cash into a bonfire. Get lost, and don’t come back!” My father’s hand trembled slightly. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He just nodded, his shoulders slumped in defeat, and pulled me away. He looked so broken. As we walked, my eyes scanned the street, and then they lit up. A lottery kiosk. If my “lucky charm” powers could solve a billionaire’s bankruptcy crisis, surely they could handle a lottery ticket. I tugged on his hand. “Dad, can I have twenty dollars?” He had only a hundred and seventy dollars left in his pocket, but he pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and gave it to me without a word. He sank onto a nearby bench, the picture of despair. I took the money, my heart aching for him, and bought a twenty-dollar scratch-off ticket. Clutching the small piece of cardboard, I closed my eyes and prayed. If this lucky charm thing is real, please, let me win. Let me help them. I held my breath and carefully scratched off the silver coating. When I saw the prize amount, my entire body went rigid. I wanted to scream with joy, but I clamped my mouth shut, looking at the people around me. “Dad!” I sprinted back to the bench, shoving the ticket in his face. “I won! Eight hundred thousand dollars!” He managed a weak, tired smile. “That’s great, honey. You’re a real winner.” “No, Dad, it’s real! Look!” I pointed at the numbers. He finally glanced down, his weary expression instantly replaced by sheer, unadulterated shock. He shot to his feet. “You… you really won?” I nodded, my heart pounding. We rushed to the lottery office to cash it in. After taxes, we were left with $640,000. Even as the money was being transferred to his account, my father was in a daze, staring into space. “Dad, let’s go home!” I urged, bouncing on my toes. “Let’s tell Mom the good news!” His eyes were red with unshed tears of relief. “Luna,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re our little lucky star.” [The side character’s luck really kicked in… I’m so jealous! No wonder the heroine is so obsessed with stealing it. Who could resist that kind of power?] [$640,000 won’t solve their ten-million-dollar problem, but it’s a start.] [I have a weird feeling that ever since the side character chose this family, the whole plot has started to shift…] [Tomorrow is the day the loan sharks are supposed to… you know. I wonder if her being there will change anything.]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393963”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d been married to the man I’d secretly crushed on since I was a teenager for two years, and he’d never once touched me. I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why. Until the day I overheard him outside his office. “The only one I love is Dahlia. I only married her for the business merger.” A cold, bitter laugh escaped me. It all made sense now. I immediately sent him the divorce papers. But he insisted on seeing me one last time. On his way to meet me, he got into a car accident. When he woke up, he had amnesia. His memory was stuck back in high school. He saw the wedding ring on my finger, his handsome face falling. “You’re married?” he asked, his voice laced with disappointment. “…” Later, I stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw his latest post. “My wife wants to divorce me. How do I save our marriage?” Top comment: “Just have lots and lots of sex.” Second comment: “Or you could fake amnesia, then have lots and lots of sex.” 1 After my shower, I slipped into the “battle armor” my best friend had given me. “Trust me,” she’d said, “no man can resist you in this.” Taking a deep breath, I walked out of the bathroom and into Milo Brown’s bedroom. Ever since we got married two years ago, he’d moved into the guest room. He claimed he was too busy with work, that he was out entertaining clients until all hours and didn’t want the smell of alcohol to bother me. I’d thought he was being a gentleman. Now I realized we’d just been sleeping in separate rooms for two years. He’d buy me little trinkets and gifts to make up for not spending time with me. But seeing his gorgeous face and that incredible body every day… how was I supposed to just sit still? Milo opened the door, and the hand rubbing a towel through his wet hair paused. He raised an eyebrow. Droplets of water traced paths down the sharp ravines of his abs, disappearing into the crisp white towel slung low on his hips. It clung to him perfectly, outlining everything. Why is that towel so well-behaved? I thought. Why won’t it just fall off? I swallowed hard, a bold idea taking root. “Need something?” he asked. His words were always concise, his tone perpetually lukewarm. Remembering my mission, I cut to the chase. “I want to sleep with you.” No matter what excuse he came up with, I was determined to sleep in his bed tonight. Besides, the battle armor was on. There was no way he could resist. Milo’s eyes roamed over my “outfit.” He raised an eyebrow again, but his expression remained blank. “Okay.” He was surprisingly agreeable tonight. I was a little shocked. I’d tried every trick in the book before, and he’d never budged. I lay down on his bed, my heart pounding as he moved closer. His warm breath ghosted across my ear. But the next second… “Go to sleep.” He tucked the covers around me. The mattress dipped beside me as he lay down, his back to me. The guest room was peaceful. Serene. So this was just “sleeping.” Not the “sleeping together” I had in mind. A wave of frustration washed over me. He always did this. Every time I came to him, he would just lie beside me and sleep. He never crossed the line. I couldn’t help but question myself. Was I not attractive to him? Was my body not good enough? Was I ugly? I was throwing myself at him, and he was still completely unmoved. I couldn’t understand it. Eventually, I chalked it up to us having no emotional foundation. We’d been married two years ago for a business alliance, a merger between our families. We’d gotten married less than ten days after our first meeting. We knew nothing about each other. No emotional connection whatsoever. I knew that’s what he thought of me. But for me, this marriage was a dream come true. I’d had a massive crush on him since high school. That aloof, unapproachable aura, that cool demeanor, that devastatingly handsome face… the impression he made on my teenage heart had lasted for years. I’d met plenty of men since, but none of them gave me the same feeling. My plan had been to finish my degree abroad, come back, and apply for a job at his company. But the very first day I returned, my mother dragged me to a blind date. I never imagined the blind date would be him. I agreed on the spot. But I never could have predicted that this would be our married life. A bitter taste filled my mouth. The sadness and frustration swirled inside me. I looked at the man beside me, his breathing even and steady, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved him. “I’m right here next to you, and all you want to do is sleep?” I yelled. “Am I that unattractive to you? Do you hate me that much?” Jolted awake, he stared at me, his eyes bleary with sleep. When he finally processed my words, he just… said nothing. That same infuriating, detached look. I pressed on. “We’ve been married for two years, and you’ve never touched me! If you hate me so much, why did you agree to this marriage in the first place?” “It was just for the benefit of our companies, right?” “Ha, of course. Milo Brown only cares about his career. Why would he give a damn about what some insignificant person like me thinks?” His mouth opened, but no words came out. I laughed, a cold, empty sound. “There are plenty of men out there. Why should I waste my time on you?” He frowned, his voice raspy. “You’re not insignificant.” “And I didn’t mean it like that.” I stared at him, my face a blank mask. “Whatever.” With that, I stormed out of his room. “At this time of night, shouldn’t you two be tearing each other’s clothes off? What are you doing here?” I slumped into my best friend Mia’s apartment, my shoulders drooping. I pouted. “What do you think?” “Failed again?” Mia pursed her lips. “Don’t worry about it. There are so many men in the world. Who needs him and his lack of passion?” She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pushed me onto the sofa, and returned from the kitchen with an armful of snacks. I bit into a potato chip with a satisfying crunch. A daring thought began to sprout in my mind. “What if… he has someone else? Is that why he won’t touch me?” I said it with conviction. “That has to be it!” Mia handed me a soda. “Do you have anyone in mind?” I shook my head. I had no idea who he could possibly like. His reputation for being clean and self-disciplined was famous, splashed across every media outlet. Combined with his looks and physique, he’d been voted #1 on the “Financial World’s Most Eligible” list last year. And going all the way back to high school, there were never any rumors about him and a girl. Mia and I looked at each other, frowning. Almost at the same time, we blurted it out. “Is he gay?” I blinked, stroking my chin in disbelief. Mia shook her head. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t give off that vibe, but…” She trailed off, clearing her throat. “But if it’s not that, I can’t think of any other reason.” I wracked my brain. Loves cleanliness, borderline OCD. Compulsive. No ex-girlfriends or romantic scandals. And… won’t touch me. It was hard not to suspect he was gay. Unable to figure it out, I posted online: My husband and I have been married for two years, and he’s never touched me. He has no female friends, no romantic rumors, not even an ex-girlfriend. Help me figure out why. Top comment: Is he obsessed with cleanliness? Like, extremely so? Does he wear white socks? I replied: Yes, he’s a clean freak. He has OCD. And all his socks are white. Top comment: Definitely gay. Second comment: No ex-girlfriend means he has an ex-boyfriend, duh~ I frowned. The internet’s consensus matched my own. To test this theory, I decided to gather evidence. If he really was gay, I would divorce him! I was standing outside Milo’s office, my hand raised to knock. “Is it Dahlia you love, or your current wife?” A familiar voice drifted through the door. “The only one I love is Dahlia. I only married her for the money.” In that instant, the sound of my heart shattering was deafening. I pulled my hand back from the door. My chest felt like it was being squeezed by an airtight net. I couldn’t breathe. So, not gay. He wouldn’t touch me simply because he didn’t like me. The one he loved was a woman named Dahlia. I’d never even heard that name in our social circle, which meant Milo had protected her very, very well. I immediately found a lawyer, drafted a divorce agreement, and sent it to him with a message: “I’ve already signed. There’s no reason for us to continue this.” I expected him to sign it right away. Instead, I got a reply: “Can we meet and talk?” I could almost hear his voice, see his expression—that same cool, detached manner. “My time is valuable. You have ten minutes.” I sighed, giving in one last time. But after two hours, he still hadn’t shown up. Just as I was about to leave, I got a call from the hospital. “Excuse me, are you Mrs. Brown, Milo Brown’s wife?” “He’s been in a car accident. He’s awake now, but he doesn’t remember anything.” “You’re married?” Those beautiful eyes flickered between my wedding ring and my face. I nodded. For some reason, a look of disappointment crossed his handsome face. “When?” “Two years ago.” “So… I didn’t do anything?” I raised an eyebrow, a lie forming on my lips. “You… you came to the reception.” “That’s it?” “Yeah. What else did you want to do?” He didn’t answer, looking dejected. I inwardly smirked. Finally, I had the upper hand. After all, when we got married, there was a reception. He just happened to be the groom. “Come on, I’ll take you home,” I said, tilting my head. “You’ll take me? Won’t your husband get jealous?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes I’d never seen before. I blinked, feeling a little guilty. “Nah, he works at the international headquarters. He never bothers with me.” “Wow, what kind of guy is he?” he said, sounding indignant on my behalf. But there was a hint of glee in his expression. On the way, he peppered me with questions about me and my “husband.” “Why did you marry him?” “Do you love him?” “You guys don’t see each other often?” “…” He was usually so quiet. Amnesia had made him chatty. It wasn’t until I brought him back to our house that he realized something was off. “This is your place?” “Why did you bring me here?” Before I could answer, he saw the enormous wedding portrait hanging in the center of the living room. He looked at me, confused. “Why is there a wedding photo of us?” I quickly invented a reason. “Because… because you’re my… lover.” “I’m keeping you.” He pointed at himself in disbelief, then seemed to accept it. “Well, if it’s you, I guess being the other man is understandable.” I struggled to hold back a laugh. He suddenly got a serious look on his face, and I wasn’t sure what he was about to say. Cold sweat trickled down my back. Then, he said with a playful smirk: “Your husband is pretty generous, letting me take wedding photos with you and hang them in your living room.” I nodded, dying of laughter on the inside. When had the great Milo Brown ever been so talkative and so… ridiculous? The next second, he didn’t disappoint. “So, am I sleeping with you tonight? Do you need my… services?” A text from Mia popped up: Did he sign? Do you need me to find you a better lawyer? I took a deep breath, looked into his earnest eyes, and, as if possessed, nodded. “Of course.” I hadn’t heard him say anything like that in the past two years. Just a little teasing, and my heart was already fluttering like a trapped bird. Pathetic. I glanced at the bandage on his head and had a sudden pang of conscience. “No services tonight. We’ll wait until you’re better.” “Then I’ll try to get better quickly!” I choked on the orange juice I was drinking. This amnesiac version of him was surprisingly bold. That night, at Mia’s. “He didn’t sign. And he has amnesia. I’m telling him he’s my kept man now.” “Pffft-hahahaha! You go, girl! That’s brilliant!” Mia burst out laughing, then gave me a suggestive look, biting her lip. “So, when he’s all healed up, you two can get down to some… strenuous exercise~” A slow smile spread across my face. “I’m going to get back every bit of what I suffered these past two years. Especially since he has someone else in his heart!” Mia’s expression turned serious. “He has someone else?” I nodded and told her what I’d overheard. Mia frowned, her words a little hesitant. “That name… Dahlia… it sounds really familiar.” “But I can’t remember where I’ve heard it.” I patted her shoulder. “It’s fine. Just tell me whenever you remember.” “Once Milo is better, I’m definitely getting my revenge!” I didn’t care if he hated me when his memory came back. If he had someone else, he never should have agreed to the marriage in the first place. And he’d agreed so quickly, it had even made me think he might be interested in me. Anyway, we weren’t divorced yet. It was his duty as a husband to perform. I fumed silently, Milo’s perfect body flashing in my mind. “Alright, alright, my new nail gels are here. Let me give you a new manicure.” Mia comforted me. I nodded, pushing the thoughts away. She applied long nail extensions. I rarely got my nails done, so they felt a little strange. A mosquito bit me on the neck. It was a small bite, but incredibly itchy. I used the new nail to scratch it, and it was surprisingly effective. By the time the itching stopped, I had a large red patch on my neck. A few angry red lines were clearly visible. When I got home that night, Milo was shirtless in the kitchen, a whirlwind of activity. Those abs looked delicious… I mean, the food looked delicious. Hearing my footsteps, he turned with a bright, excited smile. “You’re back!” But the moment his eyes landed on the red marks on my neck, his expression fell. He looked like a golden retriever who’d just been denied a treat. I’d had a long day with Mia and was exhausted. I took a bite of the food he’d made and gave him a thumbs-up. “Delicious!” “I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to bed. You can eat by yourself.” The “golden retriever’s” eyes grew even dimmer. If he had a tail, it would be drooping sadly. But I ignored him. I was genuinely tired. And my plan was just to enjoy him, not to give him my heart again. The whole “Dahlia” thing wasn’t over yet. Later that night, a knock on the door. “It’s not locked. Come in.” The handle turned, and Milo slowly pushed the door open and walked in. “I’m in here,” I called out lazily from the bathtub, enjoying a hot soak. Besides, it was my own house. No need to lock the bathroom door. So when Milo turned at the sound of my voice, his eyes met mine as I lay in the tub. Those beautiful eyes instantly lit up, his pupils dilating. The look he gave me was… hot. “Need something?” I mimicked his usual cool, detached tone. He blinked, his gaze dropping to my exposed collarbone and neck. “No, just… heard you were tired. Came to check on you.” His voice was a little hoarse, dry. A faint smell of tobacco drifted towards me. I raised an eyebrow. “You smoked?” “Yeah.” He only ever smoked when he was stressed with work. What was it today? I wagged my index finger at him. “Don’t do that again. It’s bad for you, especially with the injury on your head.” He smiled, agreeing readily. “Okay~” The “tail” seemed to be wagging again. The water in the tub was getting cold, but Milo still didn’t leave. I smirked, a wicked idea forming. “Not leaving? Are you planning to carry me out?” A blush spread across his ears. After a moment, he looked at me, his eyes burning. “Okay.” Splash. He lifted me out of the tub and carried me to the bed. He worked out regularly, so he was strong. The veins that popped out on his arms as he carried me only added to his sex appeal. He immediately covered me with the duvet. “Don’t catch a cold.” I had to admit, the amnesia made him quite thoughtful. I patted the space next to me on the bed. “Come on, sleep with me.” “Okay.” The joy in his eyes was impossible to hide. He was very well-behaved when he lay down next to me, but it was different from our usual “sleeping.” He placed my hand on his abs. “This is part of my ‘service.’ I’m injured, so I can’t do much. You’ll have to make do with this for now, okay?” I suppressed my excitement, feeling the hard muscles under my hand. “Okay.” Amnesia wasn’t a good thing for him, but for me, it was fantastic. Before, our “sleeping” sessions were filled with my resentment. But this time, I was calm. But in the middle of the night, I started running a fever. My body was burning up, and I felt weak. My head was foggy. “You have a fever?” He leaned over, placing his hand on my forehead. I frowned, pushing him away. “It’s nothing. Go to sleep. I’ll be fine in the morning.” He got up and left the room. I was too tired to open my eyes and see where he went. A moment later, he returned. His thumb pressed against my lips, his voice a gentle coaxing. “Come on, be good. Take some medicine, and you’ll feel better.” “You can’t wait until morning.” I turned my head away, ignoring him. His body tensed, and he didn’t press me further. …

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393979”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

During a white-water rafting trip, my daughter and I were thrown into the rapids. Without hesitation, my husband, Craig, saved her first. At home, I handed him divorce papers. “Just because I saved her first?” he asked, stunned. “Yes,” I replied coldly. Our daughter Anna fell to her knees, sobbing. “Mommy, please don’t leave Daddy! It’s my fault!” She banged her head on the floor until she passed out, blood blooming on her forehead. I kicked her aside, disgusted by the dirt on my pants. Craig, enraged, tore up the papers. “Have you no heart?” he shouted before rushing her to the hospital. Unmoved, I called my lawyer. “Mr. Davies, are the documents ready? I want a divorce.” 1 Five days later, Craig called. His furious roar filled my ear. “Charlotte, Anna has been in the hospital for days, and you haven’t even bothered to visit! And you have the nerve to file for divorce? Do you really think I can’t live without you?” I remained silent, offering no response. After a long pause, he took a deep breath, his tone softening. “Charlotte, I know you’re just jealous. You love me so much that you can’t stand to see me give attention to anyone else, even our daughter. But we’re her parents. When a child is in danger, isn’t it our first instinct to protect them? Anna is a wreck right now. She’s having a complete mental breakdown. You need to come to the hospital, apologize to her sincerely, and make things right.” I examined my nails, my voice lazy. “If she’s having a mental breakdown, she should be in a psychiatric hospital. I’m not a psychiatrist. Do you want me to send you their number?” He was speechless. After a moment, his voice came again, trembling with rage. “You’re a monster. A complete monster. You’re not even…” I’d heard enough. I hung up. I finished getting ready, my makeup immaculate, and prepared to head out to a new Cajun restaurant I’d been dying to try. Just as I reached the door, my mother called. Her voice was cold and hard. “You have a good life. Why are you trying to ruin it? Get to the hospital right now, or I swear, we are no longer mother and daughter.” Before I could say a word, she hung up. Then, a text from my mother-in-law arrived. “Charlotte, dear, if Craig did something wrong, you tell me, and I’ll give him a piece of my mind. But this is a small thing. Is it really worth filing for divorce? Have you forgotten all the sacrifices he’s made for you over the years? Anna keeps crying for her mommy. She’s terrified you’re really going to leave. We’re all at the hospital. Please come, and we can talk this through.” My good mood evaporated. Fine. They all wanted me at the hospital. How could I possibly disappoint them? 2 When I pushed open the hospital room door, my daughter’s eyes lit up for a second, then immediately dimmed. She scrambled off the bed and cautiously wrapped her arms around me. “Mommy, you came to the hospital. Does that mean you forgive me? Please don’t divorce Daddy. I don’t want to be a child from a broken home.” I shoved her away in disgust. She stumbled and fell to the floor. Craig rushed to her side, scooping her up and placing her back on the bed. He looked at the tears welling in her eyes, tears she was clearly fighting to hold back, and his heart broke. He turned to me, his voice thick with accusation. “Charlotte, look what you’ve done to her. She saves up her own pocket money to buy you vitamins instead of spending it on herself. She’s so afraid of waking you that she only lets me put her to bed at night. And every time there’s a parent-teacher conference, all she wants is for you to be there, just once. Do you think you deserve a daughter as good as her?” I let out a cold, amused laugh. “You’re right. I don’t deserve to be her mother. So just agree to the divorce, and we can all move on.” His mouth opened, but no words came out. He couldn’t understand how I had become so cold, so cruel. My mother stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. “How could I have given birth to such an ungrateful monster? If you dare to divorce Craig, you will no longer be my daughter.” I cradled my stinging cheek, my eyes locked on hers. “Then please, draft the disownment papers immediately. I’ll sign them without a moment’s hesitation.” Her face flushed, then paled. She pointed a trembling finger at me, speechless with rage. My mother-in-law forced a smile and took my hand. “Charlotte, Craig told me what happened. You and Anna both fell in the water. It makes perfect sense that he would save the one who couldn’t save herself first. If it had been you and me, I’m sure he would have saved you. You know how he’s treated you all these years. You have to be fair.” I snatched my hand away and wiped it on my pants as if her touch had contaminated me. “The fact that he didn’t save me first proves that I’m less important to him than his little darling. And since he doesn’t love me, I’m demanding a divorce. What’s the problem?” The smile vanished from my mother-in-law’s face. She stepped back, her expression now as cold as mine. Anna struggled out of Craig’s arms and knelt before me again, her face a mask of pitiful desperation. “Mommy, if you think Daddy loves me more, I’ll punish myself. Please, just give him another chance. It’s all my fault…” Without another word, she began slapping herself, hard, across the face. Her cheeks quickly swelled and turned red. Craig grabbed her, pulling her into a tight hug. He roared at me, his voice filled with anguish. “Charlotte, look what you’ve turned our sweet, innocent daughter into! How long are you going to keep this up?” A crowd had gathered at the door, drawn by the commotion. “My God, what kind of mother gets jealous of her own daughter?” “They say a daughter is her father’s lover in a past life. It’s only natural for a father to dote on his little girl.” “Didn’t you hear? The daughter and this bitch both fell in the water, and the father saved the daughter first. Now she’s throwing a fit and demanding a divorce.” A few new mothers in the crowd, their faces flushed with righteous indignation, stormed into the room. One of them grabbed a fistful of my hair and started hitting me. “You bitch! Do you have any maternal instincts at all? You don’t deserve to live!” Seeing that someone had made the first move, others surged forward. Fists and feet rained down on me. I heard the sickening crack of a bone. A sharp, searing pain exploded on my scalp as a chunk of my hair was ripped out. 3 Craig desperately tried to hold back the furious mob. Anna was on the floor, sobbing and banging her head, begging them to let me go. My mother-in-law, snapping out of her daze, ran to the nurses’ station for help. Eventually, the chaos was brought under control. But by then, I was a broken, bloody mess. Craig, his face pale with panic, rushed me to the emergency room. Someone had filmed the entire incident and posted it online. I woke up in a regular hospital room after surgery and checked my phone. The top trending topic: “Mom and Daughter Fall in Water, Dad Saves Daughter, Mom Files for Divorce.” A related topic was number two: “Your Wife and Your Mom Fall in the Water. Who Do You Save First?” I calmly clicked on the first link. There were already hundreds of thousands of comments, all of them cursing me. “She doesn’t deserve to be a mother. Go to hell.” “Not this again. Last time, a mother buried her daughter alive in a flour bin because her husband bought the girl a roasted duck. I hope this father learns from that and protects his child.” “Seconded. And that other mother who threw her daughter in the river because she was jealous. The father in this story needs to watch his kid like a hawk.” “She sees her daughter as a rival, a competitor. People like that are incredibly selfish. She should be sterilized.” “What is there to even think about? Divorce her immediately before she becomes an even bigger problem.” “If it were me, I’d rather my daughter have no mother than a mother like that. Get as far away from her as possible.” My hospital room was surrounded by reporters and angry netizens. I could hear Craig’s patient, defensive voice on the other side of the door. “My wife wasn’t always like this. She used to love our daughter more than I did. I don’t know what’s happened to her. Maybe I spoiled her too much. She can’t handle me being nice to any other female, even if it’s our own daughter. Thank you all for your concern. I love my wife very much. I won’t be divorcing her.” Gritting my teeth against the pain, I got out of bed and slowly opened the door. “Craig, you can stop the act. This divorce is happening.” He turned, his voice low and pleading. “Honey, I promise I’ll love you even more from now on. Please, don’t be like this. If you’re really that upset about Anna, I’ll send her to live with my mom for a while.” I was unmoved. “The divorce is non-negotiable. And not only am I divorcing you, I’m taking everything. You will leave with nothing.” Craig’s face darkened. The crowd of onlookers could no longer contain their outrage. They surged forward, wanting to attack me again, but the reporters blocked their path. “You psycho bitch, why don’t you just die?” “Any real man would divorce her. After she’s gone, let’s see who would ever want a monster like her.” “You better pray you never get out of this hospital. If you do, I hope you trip and break your neck.” The reporters shoved their microphones in my face. “Ms. Hayes, is it true what they’re saying online? Are you divorcing your husband because he saved your daughter first?” “Will you regret giving up such a loving husband and a wonderful daughter?” “Is there another reason? Perhaps you’re seriously ill and don’t want to be a burden to your family?” I spoke calmly. “Yes, it’s because he saved our daughter first. No, I’m not seriously ill. If I’m sick with anything, it’s from being beaten by these ignorant fools. And after the divorce is finalized, I will be filing lawsuits against every single person who assaulted me.” 4 My words ignited the fury of the crowd once more. They spat at me. “The whole country wants you dead, you pervert, and you’re talking about lawsuits? Who are you trying to scare? You think you can sue all of us?” “Go ahead! Remember my face! My name is Lee Carter! Sue me too!” “You bitch! I’m a famous influencer! I’m going to post this video of your ugly face all over the internet!” I calmly weathered their abuse, then stepped back and closed the door. Two weeks later, the divorce hearing began. Because the case had become a national sensation, the gallery was packed with people from all walks of life. With my permission, the entire proceeding was being live-streamed. Craig looked at me with a pained expression. “Charlotte, does it have to be like this? Ten years together… does it all mean nothing? Drop the suit. Come home with me.” His words stirred a flicker of something within me. He was right. It hadn’t been easy for us. After college, we both started as interns at the same company. When our relationship was discovered, he willingly gave up his career to become a stay-at-home husband so I could advance mine. My mother had been vehemently opposed to our marriage. “A man with no ambition, what kind of future can he give you?” Even after he knelt outside our family home for three days and three nights, she refused to budge. I had to steal the household registration book to marry him. When we couldn’t conceive, we adopted Anna from an orphanage two years ago, when she was already ten. All my friends envied me. The perfect career, a devoted husband, a well-behaved daughter. My life seemed perfect. I blinked, shaking myself from the memories. I sighed. “Craig, I’m trying to give you an out. Leave with nothing, and I’ll drop everything else.” My mother-in-law, who had always been so supportive of me, shot to her feet. “Charlotte, on what grounds do you demand my son leave with nothing? Even if he doesn’t have a job, he’s spent years taking care of this family, raising a child, and waiting on you hand and foot! He even washes your underwear! Do you have a conscience?” She turned to her son. “Craig, divorce her! We’ll split the assets fifty-fifty.” Craig frowned. “Mom, be quiet. I’m not divorcing Charlotte.” He then looked at me, his eyes full of love. “Charlotte, if you think I’ve done something wrong, just say it. I have nothing to hide. You don’t need to protect my reputation.” Anna was sobbing, her tear-filled eyes fixed on me. “Mommy, if this is because of me, just send me back to the orphanage. The two years of love you gave me are more than I ever could have asked for.” A man in the gallery stood up, his face red with anger. “So this is what happens when a man sacrifices his career for a woman? He gets thrown out with nothing? I bet this bitch found someone else and is just looking for an excuse.” “If the court rules in her favor, what man will ever dare to be a stay-at-home husband again?” The live-stream chat was scrolling at lightning speed. “Sweetie, don’t beg her. She doesn’t deserve to be your mother. Come live with me. I’ll adopt you.” “That poor child. Of course, she’s not her real mother. A real mother would never be so cruel.” I sighed again. “Craig, since you don’t want me to spare your feelings… Mr. Davies, please give your file to the judge. I’m confident that once he sees it, he will grant me a fair and just ruling.” All eyes turned to the file in my lawyer’s hand. Craig, who had seemed so confident just a moment before, now had a flicker of panic in his eyes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393998”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

No one knew the secret I kept for seven years: that I shared a bed with my stepsister, Zoey. She was fast asleep when her phone lit up the nightstand. Curiosity got the better of me. I picked it up, my thumb swiping across the screen, and saw the chat she’d left open with her best friend. “Still keeping up the act? You actually planning on marrying your stepbrother?” “Wasn’t the plan always to get revenge on the son of that homewrecker?” The last message was from Zoey, sent just an hour ago. “If I don’t drag it out, how can I make him suffer more?” I reached for the bottle of wine on the nightstand and poured myself three glasses, one after the other. My gaze fell on Zoey’s sleeping form, a silent toast echoing in my mind. The first glass was for my own foolish heart, for falling for you when I knew it was impossible. The second, for the beautiful lie you lived. For the way you stayed with me, comforted me, and cooked for me whenever our parents were away. And the third glass was for this moment. For the day I choose to stop loving you. 1 “Mom, I’ll do it. I’ll agree to the marriage alliance.” I paused, then added, “Can we… can we not tell Zoey about it just yet?” “Of course,” she said, her voice soft as she handed me a glass of milk. “Take this up to your sister.” I took the glass and walked straight to her bedroom. When Zoey took the milk from me, her fingers brushed against mine, a light touch that sent a jolt through me, nearly making me drop the glass. A slow smile spread across her face as she pushed me back onto the bed, her body following mine down. Her lips were about to meet mine. I turned my head away. “Zoey, Mom and Dad are home. They’ll see.” She leaned in, her lips finding the curve of my neck, and gave my Adam’s apple a sharp, possessive bite. “Then you’d better be good to me,” she whispered, her voice a playful purr. “Come with me to the office.” The city blurred past the car window. I watched the familiar streets give way to an unfamiliar route and finally spoke up. “This isn’t the way to Dawson Corp.” “Nope,” she said, a smirk in her voice. “Picking someone up.” The car slowed to a stop in front of a luxury apartment building—Landon Vance’s place. “Wait here. I’ll go get him.” “Okay.” The silence in the car was heavy. Zoey shot me a strange look. “Not jealous?” Why would I be? The old me would have bristled at the thought of her even talking to another guy. I would have sulked, given her the cold shoulder, made my jealousy obvious. But that was the old me. Now, having decided to let her go, what was the point? “Go on, Zoey. I get it. It’s for the company.” My encouragement seemed to throw her off. A flicker of confusion crossed her eyes before she got out of the car. An hour crawled by. The sun beat down on the car, turning the inside into an oven. I felt dizzy, dehydrated, on the verge of passing out. I tried calling her, but my calls went straight to voicemail. Just as the world started to swim before my eyes, the doors to the building opened. Landon emerged, holding Zoey’s hand. He casually walked over and opened the passenger side door. “Sorry for the wait, Ash,” he said with a lazy grin, wiggling the fingers of his left hand to show off a new ring. “Your sister insisted we try on engagement rings.” He gestured to the back seat. “Hey, mind taking the back?” I was too weak to move, my head spinning. Zoey must have mistaken my stillness for a jealous pout. She didn’t even look at me. “Landon, just pull him out.” His grip was strong. He hauled me out of the seat, and I stumbled, catching myself just before I fell. “Landon just wanted to ride shotgun, and you couldn’t even give him that?” Zoey’s voice was cold. “Find your own way to the office.” With that, she sped off, her eyes fixed on me in the rearview mirror. I didn’t go to the office. I went straight home. The moment I walked through the door, my strength gave out, and I collapsed onto the sofa. I drifted in a feverish haze until I felt a familiar weight settle against me. Zoey snuggled into my arms, her lips forming a pout. “Ash,” she murmured, her voice thick with fake grievance. “Your mom said you broke up with your girlfriend.” Her hand toyed with a button on my shirt. “You should probably tell your mom when exactly we broke up. Because I certainly don’t remember it. Or… do you have another girlfriend I don’t know about?” She wrapped her arms around my neck, her face drawing close for a kiss. I turned away again. “Zoey, I don’t feel well.” Her hand flew to my forehead. “You’re burning up.” Gently, she helped me to my feet and guided me to my bed, tucking me in with a familiar tenderness. She retrieved a cooling patch from the bathroom, her movements practiced and sure as she tore it open and placed it gently on my forehead. Then, she brought a glass of warm water and some pills, carefully helping me take them. “I’ll stay with you, Ash.” She slipped under the covers beside me. Later, after her breathing had evened out into the rhythm of sleep, I reached out, my fingers tracing the outline of her face in the dim light. No one knew. My girlfriend was my stepsister, Zoey. 2 I tossed and turned, sleep refusing to come. My eyes fell on the glow of Zoey’s phone screen. After a moment’s hesitation, I reached for it. My birthday. That was her password. The screen unlocked. A few new messages from her friend popped up: “Zoey, the second Ashton gets a little sick, you ditch Landon and run right back to him.” “I don’t know, Z… sounds to me like you’re actually falling for him.” “Are you sure you’re still acting? You haven’t accidentally written yourself into the script?” Then I saw Zoey’s reply, and the words burned into my eyes. “Me? Love him? As if.” “It’s just an act. He’s the son of a homewrecker. He doesn’t deserve my love.” A tear I couldn’t control slid down my cheek and landed on the back of her hand, startling her awake. I shoved the phone back onto the nightstand, pretending to be asleep, my heart hammering against my ribs. Zoey’s eyes fluttered open. She saw the tear track on my face, and a flash of panic crossed her features. “Ash? What’s wrong? Are you crying? Does it hurt that bad?” I stared at her, trying to swallow the lump in my throat, but another tear escaped. She pulled me into a tight hug. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” “Don’t be mad, okay?” Her voice softened, a practiced, soothing melody she’d used on me a hundred times before. “You know Dad is pushing for this engagement with Landon. It’s just business.” She tilted her head. “And come on, all Landon wanted was the front seat. You’re not really that angry about it, are you?” “I’m not angry,” I whispered. It was the truth. I wasn’t angry. My heart was just… dead. She clearly didn’t believe me. “Yes, you are. You’re furious.” Her voice dropped to an intimate whisper. “You know I’ve only ever loved you these past seven years.” She played her trump card. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll go tell Mom and Dad right now. I’ll beg them to let us be together.” I shot up, grabbing her arm. “Don’t.” For seven years, this was how she won every argument. And every time, I’d caved, terrified of our parents finding out, terrified of the fallout. In everyone else’s eyes, we were brother and sister. But this time was different. My only goal was to keep this charade going until the day of my own marriage alliance. The day I could finally cut her out of my life for good. Seeing me back down, Zoey leaned in to kiss me. I recoiled instinctively. “I’m still sick. You’ll catch it.” She relented, settling for wrapping her arms around me again. Her embrace was warm, familiar, a place I had once called home. She murmured words of comfort, just as she always had. But this time, all I felt was a bitter cold spreading from the very core of my being. Zoey, I don’t want to love you anymore. 3 The next morning, voices from downstairs pulled me from a light, fitful sleep. I opened my eyes. The space beside me was empty. Zoey was already gone. I headed downstairs and found her sitting on the sofa, shoulder-to-shoulder with Landon. “Ashton, darling,” my mom said, her eyes finding mine. “Zoey’s engagement party is tomorrow. It’s perfect timing. You can attend before you leave.” Zoey’s head snapped up. “Leave? Where are you going?” “Oh, just a trip I planned with some friends,” I said quickly, shooting a look at my mom. “Mom, I’m gonna grab something to eat.” I was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of milk, when a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind. Zoey’s chest pressed against my back. “Ash, don’t be mad.” “I’m not mad, Zoey,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. “I know you have your obligations.” Her hold on me faltered, her body stiffening in surprise at my placid response. “Ash, you—” “Ashton,” my mom’s voice called from the living room, “why don’t you go with Zoey and Landon to pick out their formal wear for the party?” I gently pushed Zoey away. “Mom, I think I’ll sit this one out. They don’t need a third wheel.” “Please come, Ash,” Zoey pleaded, her voice soft. “You can help me choose.” Landon chimed in, “Yeah, come on, man. We could use your opinion.” At the boutique, I found a secluded armchair in the corner and watched them from a distance. When Zoey emerged from the fitting room in a stunning champagne-colored gown, she and Landon looked like a picture-perfect couple. It was a scene I had imagined a thousand times, only in my dreams, I was the one standing beside her. While Zoey was changing into another outfit, Landon wandered over to me. “You haven’t picked out a suit for tomorrow, have you, Ash? Why don’t you try one on?” “That’s okay, I—” He cut me off, pressing a white tuxedo into my hands. “Just try it.” I changed and stepped out of the fitting room just as Zoey came out of the one next to me. Our eyes met, and her gaze lingered on me for a second too long. Suddenly, Landon’s voice cut through the air, sharp and accusatory. “Ash! What are you doing? That’s the suit I’m wearing tomorrow!” His voice rose, dripping with insinuation. “Are you trying to tell Zoey something? That you wish you were me?” The staff and other customers turned to stare. Gossip rippled through the onlookers. “Oh my god, is that her brother? That’s disgusting.” “He’s in love with his own sister? And he’s stealing her fiancé’s suit? How pathetic.” — Zoey’s face was a cold, emotionless mask. “Take it off,” she commanded. “And don’t ever do it again.” I didn’t say a word. I just turned, walked back into the fitting room, and changed back into my clothes. As I left, I saw Zoey nestled in Landon’s arms, murmuring, “Don’t be angry, Landon. It’s okay.” I ignored her for the rest of the day. That night, as I was walking past her room, she reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Ash, stop being angry.” She held up a garment bag. “I picked out another suit for you. A better one. Wear this tomorrow.” I pried her fingers off my wrist, one by one. “Zoey, you don’t have to.” “I have plans tomorrow,” I said, my voice flat. “I won’t be at your engagement party.” She must have thought I was just trying to avoid the pain of watching her with Landon, because her voice softened. “Okay. Just… give me some time.” Her hand reached for mine again. “It’s just an engagement, Ash. I’ll only ever marry you.” Hearing those words, I felt nothing. Not a flicker of hope, not a twinge of pain. Nothing. Zoey, I’m never going to marry you. 4 The next day, Zoey was long gone, already on her way to the Vance estate for her party. My mother sat on the edge of my bed, her eyes misty. “Turn around,” she said, her voice catching. “Let me have one last look at my son.” It finally hit me. This was real. I was leaving this house, this life. Not to marry Zoey, the girl I had loved for seven years, but a complete stranger. It was terrifying, but more than that, it was a profound relief. A clean break. The choice had been made. There was no going back. “Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked gently. “Why agree to go through with the alliance so soon? Did that girlfriend of seven years finally break your heart for good?” I looked down, hiding the tears that threatened to spill. “You know, I never liked her,” Mom continued. “Seven years, and she never once wanted to meet us. It never felt right. I’m glad you two are done.” She patted my shoulder. “Your uncle vetted this girl himself. She comes from a good family, has a good heart. Just… give her a chance. Try to build something real with her.” I forced a smile. “I will, Mom.” “Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye to your sister?” she asked, her hand rubbing my back. “I’m sure,” I said, the words feeling final. My phone buzzed. A text from Zoey. [Ash, I won’t let Landon touch me. I promise.] [Ash, I wish it was you standing next to me today! It’s just not the right time yet.] I deleted the messages without a second thought and blocked her number. Goodbye, Zoey. A procession of black cars pulled up outside. My mother walked me to the door. A woman in a striking red dress stepped out of the lead Maybach. She walked toward me with an easy confidence and extended her hand. “Julia Reid. Your wife.” I hesitated for only a second before taking her hand in mine. Miles away, Zoey tried to call me. When she discovered she was blocked, a cold knot of panic formed in her stomach. “What’s wrong?” Landon asked. “Nothing,” she said, forcing the anxiety down. “Let’s go. To the hotel.” On the way, Zoey suddenly pointed at a decorated car in the opposite lane, part of a wedding procession. “Landon, look! A bridal convoy! I’ve heard of this new trend where couples exchange bouquets for good luck!” Before he could respond, she had rolled down her window, shouting across the median at us. “Hey! Let’s trade bouquets!” I looked up. Through the open window, I saw her face. Her excited smile froze, then crumbled. Zoey’s eyes widened in disbelief, her voice a choked whisper that barely carried across the asphalt. “Ash? What… what are you doing in that car?” “Ash, come back!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394014”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After seven years with Noah, I was still waiting for a proposal. Instead, during a wedding rehearsal I was coordinating, I saw the bride-to-be walking down the aisle on the arm of my boyfriend. “Her fiancé couldn’t make it today, so I’m just helping out,” he explained with a smile, but it couldn’t hide the flicker of loss and envy in his eyes. “You’re the expert here, so make sure you give her the wedding of her dreams.” In the end, he even asked me to give her my dream wedding—the one I had poured five years of my heart and soul into creating. “We’ve got plenty of time,” he said. “I promise I’ll come up with something even better for us. It’s not going to kill you to let a client have this one, is it?” He didn’t know that I was already counting down the final days of my life. Perhaps those who witness happiness are destined never to find it for themselves. 1 My last appointment of the day was a rehearsal for a new bride. “The client’s here,” my assistant, Maya, said with a sigh. “Hopefully, we can lock this one down today.” This particular bride was notoriously demanding. We had already drafted five different wedding plans for her, and she had rejected every single one. I walked over with my tablet, but when I saw the couple on the rehearsal stage, smiling as they walked hand in hand, I froze. “Is that…?” Maya cupped her face, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “I mean, you have to admit, they’re a stunning couple! No wonder she’s so particular. If I ever marry someone that handsome, I’d want the most beautiful dress and the most gorgeous venue too!” The sound of our voices drew their attention. “Vanessa?” The man’s relaxed expression immediately tightened into a frown, a flash of panic in his eyes. “What is this? You said you were working late tonight. What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice rising with each question. I was trying to stay calm, but a fire of rage was building in my chest, making my heart ache. The woman beside him covered her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have… You know what, I should just go. Thank you for your help today.” But Noah grabbed her wrist, stopping her. He whispered a few comforting words to her before turning to face me. “I knew you’d misunderstand. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I was afraid you’d get upset.” “This is my college classmate, Sophia. Her fiancé is overseas and couldn’t make it back in time for the rehearsal. She asked me to stand in for him since we’re about the same height.” My face was a stone mask. I studied their expressions, trying to decide if I could believe him. Sophia stepped forward, draped in a couture wedding gown, as pale and delicate as a lily. A single tear trembled on her lashes. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice full of remorse. “I didn’t know you two were a couple. When I asked him, he told me you were a very independent and understanding woman, so I thought…” She bowed deeply, her body trembling slightly. I watched her, my expression unreadable. Understanding. Right. What normal person would be so “understanding” that they’d let their boyfriend rehearse a wedding with another woman? As I stood there, watching with cold eyes, Noah actually stepped in to stop her from bowing, his tone reproachful. “Why are you glaring at her? If you’re going to blame someone, blame her fiancé. A wedding is a huge deal, and he doesn’t even show up. He just leaves her waiting. What is he thinking?” It was rare for Noah to get so emotional in front of others. But what caught my attention was the fleeting expression on his face. It looked like loss. And regret. As the lead wedding planner, I had to maintain my professionalism. So I stood by and watched them walk down the aisle. Again and again. They didn’t stop until she was completely satisfied. A sharp, stabbing pain pulsed in my chest, and I had to sit down to catch my breath. Before he left, my boyfriend waved at me. “She came to our agency because she trusts you. You’re the best in the business, so make sure you give her a spectacular wedding.” He didn’t even notice how deathly pale I had become. This was my seventh year with Noah. In seven years, I had gone from a rookie wedding planner to one of the most sought-after experts in the industry. But my relationship with Noah had remained stagnant, stuck in the dreaded seven-year itch. 2 I finally got home after a long day of work and was resting on the sofa when my mom called. “The holidays are coming up. Is Noah coming to visit this year?” “I’m not trying to nag, sweetie, but it’s been seven years. Your cousin’s kid is about to start kindergarten! Tell me the truth, is there something wrong between you two?” The same conversation, again. I closed my eyes, my voice strained. “Everything’s fine, Mom. I’ll let you know when there’s news.” I had asked him. I had pushed. But the answers were always the same. “You’re overthinking things.” “My career is just taking off. Let’s just wait a little longer.” “Isn’t marriage something that should happen naturally? I made you a promise. Don’t you trust me?” After a while, if I brought it up again, I would be met with an impatient, weary look. So we dragged on, and on, until we hit the seven-year mark. My thoughts swirled, bringing back the familiar feeling of suffocation from the afternoon. But my mom’s voice on the other end of the line was relentless. “You’re about to turn 29. Do you have any idea how worried your father and I are? We’re only thinking of you…” At that moment, something inside me snapped. “Worried? What good does it do for me to be worried? You want to know when he’s going to propose? Why don’t you just ask him? I’m exhausted and busy every single day. Can you just give me some space to breathe?!” I was panting by the time I finished. There was silence on the other end. I frowned, my anger already softening. “I’m just tired today, Mom. I’ll handle it. I’ll call you back later.” After hanging up, I grabbed a bottle of herbal anti-anxiety pills from the table and swallowed a handful. Don’t get upset, I told myself. The doctor said it will make it worse. I had just finished washing up when I heard the front door open. Noah walked in, carrying the suit he had worn that afternoon. “Why are you still up? We agreed, with all the overtime at year-end, you shouldn’t wait up for me if I’m late.” He leaned in to kiss me. But as he got closer, I caught a whiff of a sweet, feminine perfume. The same one the woman from the afternoon had been wearing. I turned my head to avoid him. He chuckled, thinking I was being shy, and his hand moved to a familiar spot. But the moment he touched me, I cried out in pain. He looked confused. “What’s wrong? It feels… harder than usual.” I pushed his hand away, a cold sweat breaking out on my back. “Don’t… I’m not feeling well today.” Noah stopped, letting out an annoyed “tsk” before heading to the bathroom. I picked up the shirt he’d just taken off and compared its scent to the suit from the afternoon. The words I had planned to say to him tonight died in my throat. 3 Today was my follow-up appointment with the doctor. After checking in, I saw a familiar figure. Sophia. She looked surprised to see me too. She smiled and greeted me, but before we could exchange more than a few words, a man walked up behind her, carrying two large plastic bags. And what a coincidence. The man was my boyfriend, Noah. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “Fancy meeting you here. Again.” His explanation was the same as before, and I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “You could have just recommended someone online. Did you really have to bring her here personally to see your friend in the cosmetics department?” “She wants her skin to be perfect for the wedding, and she’s not familiar with the hospital. I was just helping her out! Or have you gotten so insecure that you get jealous every time you see me in the same room as another woman? Vanessa, you’ve really changed!” As the tension between us crackled, Sophia jumped in, apologizing again. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Reed. I was planning on coming by myself. Noah is just a kind person, and he was worried I wouldn’t know what to do. I promise I won’t bother you two again.” Noah… The intimacy of the name sent a pang through my heart. I heard her continue, “This might be a bit forward, but Ms. Reed, what are you here for?” It was a blatant attempt to change the subject. And it worked. Noah’s gaze shifted to me, his expression questioning. “What’s going on? Are you here buying more diet pills?” I forced a smile. I didn’t need diet pills anymore. But seeing the flicker of concern on his face, I told him the truth. “It’s a breast lump. The doctor wants me to come in for regular check-ups.” Sophia nodded. “Oh, that. It’s a minor thing. A lot of women have that problem.” Hearing this, Noah’s brow relaxed. He glanced at the stack of scans in my hand and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you’re being a bit dramatic.” “Well, you go on ahead. I’m heading out.” I couldn’t stop myself. As he turned to leave, I called out, “You’re already here. Aren’t you going to stay with me for my appointment?” He looked at his watch, his tone impatient. “Vanessa, you didn’t tell me about this beforehand. I don’t have time right now. I have a meeting to get to.” “Be good. I’ll bring you back your favorite honey tarts tonight.” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. That night, I didn’t eat the honey tarts he brought home. When he wasn’t looking, I threw them all in the trash. The doctor had warned me that honey was high in estrogen and I had to avoid it. If my condition got any worse, even surgery next spring would be futile. 4 I decided to take my doctor’s advice and ask my boss for some time off. But the next day, Noah somehow found out and rushed home to confront me. “Why did you take a leave of absence without telling me?” “If you quit now, at this critical moment, what about her wedding?!” It turned out Sophia was still not satisfied with any of the wedding plans. But I was so physically and emotionally drained that I couldn’t care about anyone else’s problems anymore. I told him what the doctor had recommended. His tone softened, and he came over to hug me. “It’s all my fault. I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t been paying attention to how you’re doing.” “Baby, just do me this one last favor, okay? As soon as this is over, I’ll take you on vacation. Anywhere you want to go.” My eyes welled with tears. I remembered all the times I had begged him to take a break, and he had always used work as an excuse. A dull ache started in my chest again. Seeing my distress, he led me to the bed, placed a heating pad on my chest, and gently massaged the area, his face full of concern. When you’re vulnerable, it’s easy to give in. I remembered when he was first pursuing me, how he had sworn that I was the only woman he would ever marry. A warmth spread from my heart through my limbs. I sighed and agreed to his request. A smile, one I hadn’t seen in a long time, lit up his face. For the next three days, he made an effort to spend as much time with me as possible, and it felt like we were back in the early days of our relationship. But Sophia remained unimpressed by all the designs I sent her. A week later, she contacted me, saying she had finally found the plan she wanted. She sent me a series of images, but as I looked at them, a sense of déjà vu washed over me. This was my wedding plan. The one I had designed for myself. The dress, the venue, the decor, the European-style church… Worried that someone had stolen my ideas, I rushed to the agency to find out what had happened. Noah was there. When he saw me, he grinned, telling me excitedly that everything was finally settled. But I couldn’t smile. My face was blank as I asked him how he got the files. He said he had seen them on my computer when I was in the shower and my laptop was unlocked. He thought it was special, so he sent it to Sophia. And she, of course, loved it. I had to apologize to everyone and explain that this was my personal wedding plan and was not for sale. My colleagues praised my work, but Sophia looked as if she had just lost a priceless treasure. Her eyes were red, but she forced a smile, looking pitifully endearing. “Oh, I see. Well, I wouldn’t want to take something that belongs to you. I’ll just have to come to your wedding and see it for myself. It’s just so beautiful!” Her voice was thick with undisguised envy and regret. Noah, who had been silent until then, looked at me and said something I will never forget. “Vanessa, why don’t you just let her have it?” I stood there, stunned. He frowned. “We’ve got plenty of time. I promise I’ll come up with something even better for us. It’s not going to kill you to let a client have this one, is it?” The room fell silent. I saw the shocked and pitying looks on my colleagues’ faces. And suddenly, all the pieces of the last few weeks clicked into place. The answer had been screaming at me all along. When no one was looking, I turned my head and blinked back the tears. Then I looked at the man who had once promised to always put me first. And I smiled. “Okay.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394034”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I lost a party game and had to post this on my social media: 【Two months pregnant. Craving grapes, husband won’t buy them. Craving fancy grapes, husband won’t buy those either. Marriage over, hands parted, baby gone, grapes eaten. This woman no longer has a husband.】 The leading man in my ghost of a marriage was summoned back from overseas overnight by both sets of parents. After a family tribunal, the truth came out. The man who took the fall for my prank came home and bought me three crates of grapes and three crates of premium seedless ones. His face was like thunder. “Since you love them so much,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “you can eat them until you’ve had your fill.” 1 After hitting ‘post’, I tossed my phone onto the marble coffee table and leaned back, surveying the room with a lazy smile. “Well? Satisfied?” Everyone gave me a thumbs-up. Leo just swore, grabbing my phone to stare at the screen in disbelief. “Chloe, you’re a legend! You didn’t block a single person.” I waved off their flattery and shuffled the cards for the next round. I’d always lived by my own rules. The tsunami this post would inevitably cause when my parents and in-laws saw it was a problem for future me. As I dealt the cards, my friend Poppy sidled up to me, a knowing look on her face. “No one could force you to post that if you didn’t want to,” she whispered, evaluating my move. “This was a power play, wasn’t it? A brilliant scheme to get Mr. Ford back from overseas.” Poppy had read one too many romance novels and her brain was permanently stuck on a “billionaire falls for me” loop. I decided not to argue, offering a placid, “Sure, Poppy. You figured me out.” Whenever people in our circle talked about Alex Ford and me, they’d sigh and call our relationship a karmic train wreck. I met him our freshman year of college. I was Chloe Sutton, the untouchable queen bee of Kingsbridge’s elite, born with a silver spoon and an ego to match. His family, the Fords, were dismissed by everyone as tacky new money, desperately trying to climb a social ladder they didn’t belong on. Naturally, Alex was completely ostracized. I was the ringleader of the freeze-out. But at eighteen, Alex didn’t seem to care. He was the polar opposite of the man he is today—brash, flamboyant, and perfectly content in his own world. To knock him down a peg, I decided to make him my project. I put on the performance of a lifetime, pursuing him with feigned devotion for six months. The moment he was well and truly smitten, I dumped him. Publicly. Then my friends and I swooped in for the kill, mocking him for thinking a toad like him could ever land a swan like me. After a betrayal that deep, we should have become strangers for life. But fate has a twisted sense of humor. Three years ago, a financial crisis hit Kingsbridge, shaking the foundations of every old-money family, mine included. Desperate to secure a lifeline, my father swallowed his pride and went to the one family that had weathered the storm unscathed: the Fords. His proposal? A marriage alliance. I never dared to confess what I’d done to Alex all those years ago. I just held my breath, fully expecting my father to be thrown out on his ear. To my utter astonishment, the Fords agreed. At first, I was sure it was Alex’s revenge. The Fords were no longer just ‘new money’; their business empire had expanded at a dizzying pace, making them the untouchable titans of the city. Alex himself, now a high-ranking executive in the family company, was constantly flying all over the globe. Forget revenge; in three years of marriage, I’ve seen him a total of three times. The first year, I walked on eggshells, terrified that one wrong move would anger the man who held my family’s fate in his hands. The second year, flush with a generous allowance and living in a palatial marital home all by myself, I started to let loose. Poppy, of course, was lost in her fantasy. “It’s true love, Chloe, I’m telling you! Why do you think he works himself to the bone out there? It’s all so you can drop a fortune on jewels without batting an eye and rent out a private island for a party on a whim!” I didn’t say anything, but a few cards slipped from my hand and scattered on the floor. “I’m out. This round’s on me.” If I didn’t know that Alex was keeping a beautiful, bright-eyed girl in his exotic South African home, a hopeless romantic like me might have actually believed his tolerance was a sign of lingering affection. But over time, I’d figured it out. This marriage was a convenience for him. He’d married me to be a pretty little trophy on his shelf, a way to silence the gossips and fulfill his family duty. It didn’t have to be Chloe Sutton. It could have been Ashley, or Emily, or anyone else. 2 The housekeeper woke me. The price of a night of heavy drinking was a completely wrecked sleep schedule. By the time I surfaced, it was already evening. Twenty-three hours had passed since my infamous social media post. “Ma’am, the main house has sent a car to pick you up. It’s waiting downstairs.” I ran a hand through my tangled hair, trying to remember if it was some special occasion. After washing up, I finally checked my phone and my heart nearly stopped. It wasn’t just the dozens of frantic messages from my parents and in-laws. Even Alex, who I hadn’t heard from in five months, had sent me a single, ominous “?”. My hand trembled as I typed back another “?”. His reply was instantaneous: I’m at the main house. Get over here. My brain exploded. The holidays were still five months away. What in the world was Alex Ford doing back in the country? On the way to the family estate, I scrolled through my messages and finally remembered the game, the dare, the post. Alex’s time was so valuable that his assistant once timed his wedding vows. And now, because of my stupid, joking post, both our families had summoned him back from halfway across the world? When I stepped out of the car, my legs felt like jelly. The Alex I knew best was the arrogant, wild kid from college. The day he got his license, he wrecked a priceless supercar and didn’t even flinch. He just kicked a shattered headlight and sneered, “What a piece of junk.” He wasn’t this person—the formidable Mr. Ford everyone revered, a man so impeccably tailored from his cufflinks to his hair that every polished, executive movement seemed ingrained in his DNA, as if he were born to it. Right now, that polished executive was occupying a sofa all by himself. Opposite him sat our four parents, their faces grim, like an inquisition. The moment I walked in, my mother-in-law’s expression softened. She rushed over and took my hand, her voice full of warmth. “I’ve been so thoughtless. I had no idea you were going through such a hard time, Chloe, dear.” My own mother followed behind her, her eyes darting nervously toward my stomach. The man at the center of it all, Alex, remained perfectly composed. His gaze drifted over me, cool and detached, showing none of the emotion you’d expect from a husband seeing his wife after a long separation. “How many months along are you?” my mother asked. Thanks to my frequent globe-trotting vacations, which they’d mistaken for visits to see Alex, our families were blissfully unaware of the true state of our marriage. In their eyes, we might not have had a whirlwind romance, but we were a stable, harmonious couple. I opened my mouth, then closed it, before finally mumbling, “Mom… I’m not pregnant…” My mother, who knew me far better than my in-laws, immediately got a look on her face that said, I knew you were up to something. She crossed her arms, waiting to see how I’d dig myself out of this one. Three other pairs of eyes were now fixed on me, waiting for an explanation. I’d never faced a firing squad like this. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, I looked to Alex, silently pleading with the male lead of this farce to throw me a lifeline. He’d been dragged across the planet to take the fall for my prank, yet he showed no sign of anger. And from the looks of it, he hadn’t sold me out yet. The silence stretched on, so long that I’d given up hope and was starting to formulate an apology. Then, Alex finally spoke. “It was my fault,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “I’ve been buried in work and haven’t had time for Chloe. She was just acting out to get my attention. It was a misunderstanding. I apologize for making you all worry.” Alex was so brilliant and successful that his word was law in the family. As soon as he spoke, the four elders visibly relaxed, nodding in understanding. “Well, I suppose we did overreact,” my father-in-law said. “But since you’re back, son, make sure you spend some quality time with Chloe.” Alex nodded obediently. “Of course.” 3 I didn’t dare say a word the entire ride back to our apartment. Apologies swirled in my head but died on my tongue. My face was a mask of misery. When Alex strode toward the master bedroom, dragging his suitcase with one hand and loosening his tie with the other, I snapped out of my stupor and blocked his path. He looked at me, a question in his eyes. I forced a sheepish smile. “The room’s a bit of a mess. Why don’t you go shower first? I’ll bring your luggage in.” A “bit of a mess” was the understatement of the century. There wasn’t a single trace of Alex in the master suite. He only ever came home for one night a year. The last time, on New Year’s Day, the moment his car was out of sight, I’d packed up all his belongings and unceremoniously dumped them in the guest room. “I just need to change. I have a meeting later.” Of course he did. Even at nine o’clock at night, after being dragged across the globe, the man still had business to conduct. He sidestepped me with ease and opened the bedroom door. Before I could stop him, he was standing at the entrance to the walk-in closet, staring in stunned silence at the mountains of women’s clothing that had completely taken over the space. “Where are my clothes?” I offered a weak laugh. “I sent them out for professional cleaning and care. When they were returned, the delivery service mistakenly put them in the guest room. I haven’t had a chance to move them back yet.” I didn’t expect him to believe such a pathetic lie. He just gave me a long, searching look, then slipped off his suit jacket and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. As he shed the cold, corporate armor, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the old Alex, the boy I once knew. The doorbell rang. A moment later, Alex’s secretary was directing movers into our apartment, carrying crate after crate. When I saw what was inside, the room started to spin. My day of reckoning had finally arrived. Alex appeared behind me, nodding his chin toward the six massive crates of grapes. “Go on,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “You love them so much. I thought I’d let you eat your fill.” I was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.” His face was stone. “I’ll be back in two hours,” he said, the threat unspoken. “You can finish them by then, right?” When Alex returned from his meeting, our home was in a state of chaos. The housekeeper was busy moving his things back into the master bedroom, and I was squatting on the living room floor, frantically stuffing my face with grapes. I had given it my all. I’d managed to finish half a crate. I thought my show of sincerity might earn me a sliver of forgiveness, but when he saw my chipmunk cheeks, his expression grew even colder. He’d clearly had a few drinks; his usual ironclad composure was slightly frayed. He strode over and looked down at me. “Chloe,” he said, his voice laced with something I couldn’t quite decipher, “where is your brain?” Honestly, for the past three years, no matter how much of a hell-raiser I was behind his back, I turned into a complete coward the second I was in front of him. A guilty conscience does that to you. “But I really tried,” I whimpered, my voice shaking. “I can’t possibly eat all of this.” Pathetic! So pathetic! He reached down and pulled me to my feet, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. “Get up. Go wash up and get ready for bed.” He was letting me off the hook. I let out a huge sigh of relief and practically skipped to the bathroom. But just as I settled into bed, my real punishment began. In the span of a single hour, I made three desperate trips to the bathroom. Alex, who had been sleeping beside me, was finally roused by the commotion. With a sigh of weary resignation, he got up, grabbed a blanket, and wrapped it tightly around my flimsy pajamas. “Get up. We’re going to the hospital.” I was in a state of utter misery, so weak and dehydrated I could barely stand. I waved a limp hand at him. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just find some medicine.” Alex’s patience had finally run out. Ignoring my protests, he swept me up into his arms. The last time we had been this close was on our wedding day. 4 My in-laws had planned the wedding. The Fords had a taste for tradition, so every part of it, from the groom’s procession to the banquet, was a grand, boisterous affair. At nine in the morning, the auspicious hour, I sat drowsily on my bed, the weight of the priceless tiara on my head feeling like a ton of bricks. The celebratory noise grew louder as Alex, surrounded by his groomsmen, expertly navigated the series of challenges my bridesmaids had set for him. He was smiling that day. For a fleeting moment, it made me feel like our marriage was more than just a cold business transaction. When he found the hidden wedding slipper, he lifted me into his arms with a tenderness that felt shockingly real. As the room erupted in cheers, a suspicious blush crept up his neck. For a moment, I forgot all our bitter history. I rested against his chest, my heart pounding like a drum. It was the only moment of genuine warmth in our three-year marriage. By the time the driver arrived, he had already been holding me at the entrance of our apartment complex for a good ten minutes. Miraculously, my churning stomach had settled down. I was surprisingly warm in his arms. After holding the same position for so long, I shifted slightly. He glanced down at me. It was too dark to see his expression, but I felt the hand on my waist pull me tighter against him. Emboldened, I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his neck, resting my head on his shoulder. “When is the driver getting here?” “Soon.” His voice was a low rumble, right next to my ear. His breath was a warm whisper against my skin. And just like that, my reckless, youthful heart was stirred by feelings it had no right to have. That ill-timed flutter of my heart lasted until the next day. The following afternoon, I woke up blushing as I replayed a rather explicit dream from the night before. When I opened my bedroom door, I froze. The man from my dream was sitting in the living room, dressed in casual clothes, a laptop balanced on his knees, his expression focused. “Why are you still here?” The surprise in my voice made it come out sharp and shrill. “Chloe,” he said without looking up, “my name is on the deed to this house too.” I flushed, realizing how that sounded. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” I stammered, trying to calm my racing heart. “I just meant, aren’t you going back?” “Back where?” “To South Africa.” In three years, I had never woken up to find Alex Ford still in the house. He continued typing, his voice casual. “I’m on vacation. For a month.” I was speechless. Alex was the head of a massive corporation, working around the clock. He was at the peak of his career. Taking a month-long vacation seemed impossibly extravagant. When I told Poppy, she valiantly defended him. “Even a machine needs maintenance, Chloe, but Alex never takes a break. He deserves this.” “You don’t understand what this means!” I lamented. “It means no more all-nighters! It means I have to be home for three meals a day, playing the part of the perfect, doting wife.” I glanced at the latest text from my mother-in-law and groaned. “It also means I might actually have to make a baby with him!” The text was a string of cheerful emojis, encouraging us to “get to work” and that she had “full faith in Alex.” I put down my phone and met Alex’s gaze. He had clearly just replied to a similar message from his own parents. For the first time, there was a flicker of something unreadable, almost awkward, in his eyes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394051”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The moment he accepted my friend request, a message popped up: [Who is this?] I typed back carefully: [Is this the person who is madly, deeply, desperately in love with me? The one who can’t live without me, whose every thought is of me, and who would do anything to be with me?] My phone immediately rang. It was him, his voice a furious torrent. “Absolutely not!” “That’s completely insane!” “Who the hell told you something so ridiculous?” I cleared my throat. “Oh, uh, nobody.” “I just came up with it myself.” Silence. On the other end of the line, I could practically feel Shawn’s dumbfounded rage. 1 The silence stretched, thick with Shawn’s unspoken disbelief. I finally broke it with a nervous laugh. “My name’s Nia. I’m in the photography club with you.” He clearly remembered me. A cold sneer echoed down the line. “You look so sweet and innocent, but your imagination runs wild, doesn’t it?” I felt a flush of embarrassment. “Well, I just wanted to make a memorable impression. I know you have a lot of admirers, and I was worried you wouldn’t remember me.” Another cold snort. “Anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.” “Wait, yes!” I scrambled for an excuse to keep him on the line. “With the holiday coming up, I was just wondering… do you have any plans?” He sounded utterly bewildered. “What holiday?” My mind raced. “My… my birthday?” Shawn: ? 2 I should be grateful that Shawn only hung up on me and didn’t immediately block me. I sent him a sticker of a cartoon character bowing frantically, with “SORRY SORRY” written underneath. A red exclamation mark appeared next to it instantly. Damn it. I was grateful too soon. I stared at the dreaded symbol of rejection, tears welling in my eyes. Just as I was about to lament my fate to my roommate, my screen lit up again. Hey, he’d added me back! A new message from Shawn appeared: [Are you going to the club event this weekend?] My spirits soared. [Yes! Absolutely!] Shawn: [Okay, good. Then I’m not going.] I froze. When I tried to send another message, the red exclamation mark made its triumphant return. Two days later, at the weekend club outing, Shawn was, as promised, a no-show. I was sweltering in a chic tweed set, the hot wind making me feel like I was going to lose my mind. Even the club president took pity on me, leaning in to whisper, “Shawn actually came today. He’s hiding in the men’s room in Hamilton Hall.” I immediately clasped my hands together in a gesture of profound respect. Thank you, my hero! 3 The academic hall was mostly deserted on the weekend, so no one thought I was a creep for loitering outside the men’s restroom. “Where could he be…” I muttered, glancing at my watch. The bus for our trip was leaving any minute. “Nia?” I spun around at the sound of my name. “Oh, Professor Evans.” “What are you doing outside the men’s room?” he asked, looking puzzled. “Waiting for someone?” I nodded enthusiastically. “Well, I doubt he’s on the first floor,” he said, holding up a small laminated sign. “There’s a leak, so it’s closed for maintenance. I just got the sign from the supply closet.” Great. I bolted up to the second floor. Nothing. Third floor. Also empty. I couldn’t be bothered to climb any higher. Surely Shawn wouldn’t hike up to the fourth or fifth floor just to use the bathroom, right? With no other choice, I called the club president. “How much longer until the bus leaves? I still can’t find Shawn.” His voice was strained. “The bus is already here. We’re just waiting on you…” “Oh, okay, never mind then,” I said, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. “You guys go ahead. I’ll just grab a cab and meet you there.” He agreed, and we hung up. I was about to open a ride-sharing app to check the fare to the campsite when a message popped up from one of the girls in the club, Sarah. [Nia, you’re not coming?] I typed back honestly: [I’m looking for Shawn. I’ll take a cab over in a bit.] A few seconds passed before she replied: [But… Shawn is on the bus.] I stared at the screen, confused. A moment later, a photo appeared. It was Shawn, sitting next to the club president, laughing and chatting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Sarah explained: [I overheard them. The president helped Shawn lie to you.] [They’re being such jerks, tricking you in this heat.] 4 I stared at the photo, silent. Shawn’s smile was so effortless, his eyes sparkling. He was even more handsome than I remembered. Wasn’t that gorgeous face the reason I’d fallen for him in the first place? Well, by that logic, I could just as easily fall for another gorgeous face. I sent Sarah a thank you message: [In that case, I’m not coming. Thanks for letting me know. I’m heading back to my dorm to blast the AC.] Sarah replied: [Okay! You know, Leo and I are in the same department. We all know you have a crush on him, but he just doesn’t seem to be into you…] I was already over it. [It’s cool. The next one’s always hotter.] Sarah: [?] I thought for a moment, then asked her: [Hey, you know that senior in your department, Leo Vance? Do you have his contact info? Can you send it to me?] Sarah: [??] [Damn, girl. I respect the hustle!] 5 When it comes to dating, you have to have a good attitude. If one doesn’t work out, you move on to the next. No need to make things miserable for yourself or anyone else. With Leo’s contact info secured, I hummed a cheerful tune all the way back to my dorm. Lying in bed, I analyzed my failure with Shawn. Why did I strike out? Answer: I was way too direct. Handsome guys have an ego. I needed a more subtle, gradual approach. This time, I learned my lesson. I decided against adding Leo immediately. I’d wait until Monday and try to orchestrate a “chance” encounter first. Around seven that evening, after a long nap, I woke up starving and grabbed my phone to head out for food. I had several unread messages. To my surprise, they were all from Shawn. I blinked, tapping open the chat. Shawn: [I wasn’t in the bathroom today. The president lied to you. I’m sorry.] Shawn: [I really don’t have feelings for you. Can we just be friends? Please stop chasing me.] Shawn: [Not answering? Are you ignoring me?] Shawn: [Nia. Answer me.] Fine, I’d answer. [K.] His reply was instantaneous: [That’s it? Just ‘K’??] I responded honestly: [And a period.] That must have really pissed him off, because he didn’t write back. I didn’t care. I got dressed and headed to the dining hall. It was almost time for evening classes, so the hall wasn’t too crowded. I ordered a bowl of spicy noodles and wandered around while I waited. And as I wandered, my eyes landed on a handsome face— Leo Vance. Shawn’s senior. Maybe it was a common trait among attractive people, but at first glance, Leo and Shawn had a similar brand of handsomeness. A closer look, however, revealed they were entirely different types. One was gentle and reserved, the other confident and outgoing. But both were undeniably hot. Perhaps my stare was too intense, because he seemed to feel it and looked my way. The moment our eyes met, something inside me short-circuited. All my plans for a subtle approach, all the lessons I’d supposedly learned—they vanished. The words just tumbled out of my mouth. “Hey, wanna date?” Leo froze, his lips parting slightly. But the voice that answered came from behind me. “Nia!” I flinched and turned around to find myself face-to-face with Shawn’s handsome, furious face. “What did you just say?” he demanded, his voice tight with anger. “You want to date him?” “Do you have any idea how fast you move on?!” 6 So what if I did? Did I need to give my ex-obsession a formal notice before I quit? Still, I tried to be civil. “Look, I’m sorry if I bothered you before. I… whatever. I apologize.” Shawn’s face turned a shade of green. “So you just harass me, toss out a half-assed apology, and then move on to your next target? Is that it?” He shot a glare at Leo, his tone dripping with ice. “Leo, let me ask you. How would you feel if some girl got your number and then engineered ‘coincidental’ meetings all over campus? Would you find that acceptable?” Leo, who had been enjoying the show, blinked in surprise. “Isn’t that just… how crushing works?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Getting a number, bumping into someone… aren’t those just the little tricks of a secret admirer? Or… did she do something to actually harm you?” Shawn choked on his words. “Well, no, but…” “Then I personally don’t see the harm,” Leo said smoothly, his gaze shifting to me. He offered a small, charming smile. “You said you wanted to date me. Were you serious? You like me?” I hesitated. Honestly? I wasn’t sure. My mom always told me you should never date an ugly guy. And you shouldn’t confess to one either. My strategy was to pick a handsome one and shoot my shot. What if he said yes? As they say, even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while. Leo noticed my hesitation, but his smile didn’t waver. “Dating might be a little fast,” he said, pulling out his phone and flashing the screen at me. “How about we start by exchanging numbers?” My eyes lit up. “Okay!” “Just… one second.” I looked at my chat screen, my finger hovering. Then, I unpinned Shawn from the top of my list. I turned to Shawn, whose face was now a thundercloud. “So… since you blocked me, I guess you really weren’t a fan of my advances, huh? In that case…” “Why don’t we just delete each other?” “Out of sight, out of mind. How does that sound?” 7 “Fine! Great!” Shawn spat out, a bitter, angry laugh escaping his lips. He whipped out his phone and deleted me on the spot, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Should I go ahead and wish you two a long and happy life together?” I shook my head. “No need. A lifetime is too long. We’ll probably break up somewhere in the middle.” Shawn let out another choked laugh, turned on his heel, and stormed away. “Wow, you’re pretty ruthless with your former crushes,” Leo remarked, watching me with a theatrical expression of concern. “Should I be worried? If I become an ex, what kind of fate awaits me?” I tilted my head, studying him for a few seconds before breaking into a slow smile. “Yeah. You should be very careful.” Leo just laughed, clearly not taking me seriously. He checked his watch. “I have an evening class soon, so I have to go.” I nodded, watching him walk away. With Leo’s number in my phone, my mood was soaring. I practically skipped back to my dorm with my spicy noodles, scrolling through his social media feed while I ate. Leo was a chronicler of his own life. Trips, meals, outings—he documented everything. And his feed wasn’t set to private, so I could scroll back four or five years, all the way to his freshman year of high school. My roommate leaned over my shoulder, oohing and aahing. “Wow, he’s been handsome his whole life. I bet he was a heartthrob in middle school too.” “Who knows,” I mumbled through a mouthful of noodles. “Maybe he was an ugly duckling and only started posting pictures after he blossomed.” My roommate playfully smacked my head, accusing me of playing it cool after scoring a major win. “Oh, by the way,” she said, gesturing to a beautifully wrapped pink gift box on my cabinet. “That gift you got for Shawn… are you still going to give it to him? Probably not, right?” I reached for the box. It was surprisingly light. “Of course I am. I’ll just give it to Leo. Saves me the money of buying a new gift.” My roommate gave me a thumbs-up. “I can’t tell if you’re thrifty or just cheap.” My phone buzzed. It was a message from Leo, asking if I wanted to study at the library together tomorrow. I was a little surprised. My roommate’s tone turned playfully sour. “You know, I have a feeling Leo’s actually into you. And he’s so much gentler than Shawn. You’re really about to upgrade, girl!” I shrugged. “Maybe.” Then I replied to Leo: [Sounds great, Leo! ~] I couldn’t help but feel a little excited. 8 The next morning, I got ready and planned to grab breakfast before meeting Leo at the library. As luck would have it, I hadn’t walked far from my dorm when I spotted Shawn, looking thoroughly annoyed about something. I paused, figuring he wouldn’t be thrilled to see me. I decided to take a different path, but as soon as I turned, a voice called out. “Nia!” “Nia, I’m talking to you! Don’t pretend you can’t hear me!” There was no escaping it. I stopped and turned back, forcing a smile. “Hey, fancy seeing you here. What’s up?” “It’s not fancy,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I was waiting for you.” I blinked. “For me?” Why? Had his hatred blossomed into love? Just kidding. I wasn’t that delusional. His tone softened slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, holding out a small box. “About that club event… I feel bad about what happened. Consider this a peace offering.” I was taken aback. “You don’t have to do that. My approach was probably too much for you anyway. You don’t need to apologize.” He pursed his lips. “…It’s just that I was harassed by a girl with some mental health issues back in high school, so I’m a little sensitive about this stuff.” “I thought about it after, and besides wanting to be around me all the time, you didn’t really do anything extreme. So it was my fault. Plus, isn’t your birthday coming up? Just think of it as a birthday present. I’m not taking it back.” He’d put it that way, so I couldn’t refuse. I took the box. “Thank you.” “And…” Shawn glanced away again, ruffling his hair in irritation. “That guy, Leo… do you really like him?” I paused. What, what, what? Was this a romantic subplot developing? “I’m not sure…” I said, testing the waters. “Maybe a little. Who doesn’t like a handsome guy?” “So why does it have to be him?” Shawn’s voice rose. “I’m not—” “Nia.” A smooth, gentle voice cut Shawn off. I turned to see Leo standing behind us, a half-smile playing on his lips. “What are you two talking about? Me, by any chance?” 9 Busted for gossiping. Both Shawn and I looked mortified. “No,” I said, my brain working frantically to invent a plausible lie. “We were just… just…” My eyes fell to the gift box in my hand, and an idea sparked. “We were just talking about my birthday! I’m planning a party, and I wanted to see if you guys wanted to come.” Leo raised an eyebrow. “Of course. If I’m invited.” He then looked at Shawn. “You’ll be there too, won’t you, junior?” Shawn waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll see. You two talk, I’ve got to go.” As Shawn walked away, Leo turned to me. “I heard you were into Shawn for the longest time. What made you suddenly change your mind?” He gave me a teasing look. “Your affections are a little fleeting, you know.” I met his gaze for a moment, then broke into a radiant smile. “You’re in trouble, you know.” Leo looked startled. “What?” “You’re starting to get curious about what I’m thinking,” I said, walking ahead cheerfully. “That means I’m not just some random girl to you anymore.” Leo chuckled, catching up in a few long strides. “You’re not wrong. I am getting more and more interested… So, can I get an official invitation to that birthday party?” I calmly agreed. Back in my dorm, I went into a frenzy of planning—booking a restaurant, buying decorations, hiring a makeup artist. It all came together just two days before the big day. I have a decent number of friends, so the party was packed. Leo arrived at the perfect time, not too early, not too late. He was wearing a casual white button-down, and when he stepped into the room, the lights hit him just right, making him look like a movie star making a grand entrance. “Happy birthday,” he said with a smile, holding up his empty hands. “The waiter confiscated my gift at the door.” I laughed. “That’s part of the birthday package here. They collect all the gifts and put them by that decorative wishing tree near the entrance. It makes for better photos later.” Leo nodded. “Ah, I see…” We chatted for a few more minutes before a waiter came over to discuss the menu with me. Leo excused himself to use the restroom. Just as we were about to start dinner, the door to the private room opened again, and a figure stepped inside. I froze. Shawn? What was he doing here?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394067”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel