Category: English

1 Daniel, desperate to escape with me, had agreed to have children with his childhood sweetheart, Serena, to secure his family’s lineage. After their first son, Leo, was born, he claimed the boy was too young to be without a father and asked me to wait until Leo turned three. Three years passed. Then he announced his family wanted a daughter, to complete their legacy, and begged for a little more time. I waited and waited, through 1,460 sunrises and sunsets over Mount Cinderpeak. Just when I thought we could finally leave, I found myself unexpectedly pregnant with his child. I stood before Daniel, my hiking pack slung over my shoulder, the ultrasound report clutched in my hand. But he held Serena close, his voice strained with feigned reluctance. “Grandfather and Grandmother want a third grandchild, Elara. Can’t you just wait a little longer?” The very next day, a searing pain tore through my abdomen, and I tumbled down the stairs, miscarrying his child. In the fading moments of my consciousness, Daniel loomed over me, his gaze chillingly distant. “Elara,” he said, his voice flat, “you shouldn’t have gotten pregnant with my child.” Tears streamed down my face, my heart turning to stone. It was time to leave, and this time, alone. “Well, well, if it isn’t the Caldwell heir’s gold-digging mistress, the one who just wouldn’t leave,” a voice sneered. “Can you believe she actually dared to get pregnant? As if the Caldwells would ever let her carry a child.” “Look at her now, karma’s a bitch, isn’t it? The Caldwells specifically instructed the staff during the procedure—no pain relief. They wanted it to be unforgettable.” “Her womb’s been ravaged. Let’s see her try to carry any child after that. Just serves her right.” My eyes fluttered open. I tried to push myself up, but a searing, drilling pain shot through my abdomen. At my gasp of pain, the two nurses by the bed instantly fell silent, but the disdain in their eyes remained starkly visible. Thankfully, I’d grown accustomed to their stinging gazes. I turned my head, my voice raspy. “How long can I stay here?” The plumper nurse’s tone was thick with barely concealed mockery: “Miss Elara, you’re free to check out now. But of course, you can stay as long as you wish. We’ll be delighted to serve you.” With a dismissive sniff, she pulled the other nurse away, their snickering whispers echoing down the hall. “Oh, look at her, all red-eyed and playing the victim. Who’s she trying to impress? Daniel Caldwell? Please. He didn’t even show up when she was miscarrying. What makes her think he’d come now? She must be completely delusional.” I lowered my gaze, my hand drifting to my once again flat abdomen. A bitter smile touched my lips. They had it all wrong. I wasn’t waiting for Daniel. I was just trying to avoid these next few days. These were the days of Serena’s ovulation cycle. Every month, during this time, they became inseparable, flaunting their passion as if no one else existed. Each time, their unrestrained murmurs of affection felt like a thousand knives twisting in my gut, leaving me hollowed out and bleeding. Yet, I was forbidden from saying a word. Sure enough, ten days later, when I pushed open the front door, my face pale and my body weak, they were on the sofa, locked in a post-coital embrace. Daniel was still lingering, kissing her neck, his hand restlessly exploring. It was Serena who noticed me first. She feigned a coy retreat, nestling deeper into him with a playful whimper. “Wait, Daniel,” she purred, “the pregnancy test results should be ready, shouldn’t they?” She picked up the test stick from the table, her eyes widening, then she practically bounced with glee. “Two lines! I’m pregnant with our third!” Then she pouted, a delicate tap to Daniel’s chest. “Oh no, you were so rough just now! What if you hurt our little ‘Three’? You big meanie!” Daniel pulled her into a doting embrace, his hand tenderly caressing Serena’s still-flat stomach. “Never,” he murmured, his eyes full of affection. “Daddy will be gentle from now on. We wouldn’t want to scare little ‘Three,’ would we?” His gaze was brimming with the joy and tenderness of a man about to become a father once more. A stark contrast to the chilling indifference in his eyes when he’d learned I was pregnant. Even though I’d known what to expect, my heart still twisted with a sharp, familiar pang. Finally, Daniel noticed me standing frozen in the doorway. He stiffened, instinctively putting a subtle distance between himself and Serena. His voice softened, tinged with a carefully constructed apology and regret. “Elara, you heard? We… we had no choice. Grandfather says the Caldwell Group’s affairs are too vast, and two children simply aren’t enough to secure its future. A third heir is needed for stability.” “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have put Serena through this, especially right after her second postpartum period, to try for another.” He reached out, tenderly brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from Serena’s forehead, completely oblivious to my ashen face. Serena, her cheeks flushed, buried herself in his arms, playfully chiding, “It’s fine, Daniel. I quite enjoyed it, actually. I loved it.” Watching them ready to melt into another display of affection, a tidal wave of bitter resentment surged within me. I placed a hand on my still-empty belly, cutting through their moment. “Then why wasn’t my child enough?” Daniel’s gaze immediately clouded with a complex mix of emotions, his brow furrowing. “Elara, what are you talking about?” I offered a mirthless laugh, pushing the question again. “Daniel Caldwell, wasn’t my child, our child, a valid heir to the Caldwell family name?” Before he could answer, a toy car inexplicably flew from upstairs, striking me squarely on the forehead. An angry, childish voice immediately followed. “No! No! You vixen! Anything you have would be a mongrel! You’re not allowed to steal our family’s money!” I reeled back a few steps, stumbling. Just as I managed to regain my footing, a small boy, running at full speed, slammed directly into me, sending me sprawling. 2 It was Leo, Daniel and Serena’s three-year-old eldest son. “Bitch! Bitch! How dare you come back! I won’t let you set foot in my house again! Get out!” He started pummeling my midsection with his tiny fists. My womb, already ravaged by the brutal medical procedure, throbbed with agony at even the slightest touch. I clutched my stomach, trembling uncontrollably. Daniel, seeing the beads of cold sweat rolling down my forehead, quickly pulled his son away. “Leo, how dare you speak to Aunt Elara like that? Apologize!” But the hand he’d raised was caught by Serena. She stepped between us, her lips trembling in a wounded pout. “Daniel, why are you so harsh on the child? Have you forgotten what you promised me?” “Besides, how strong can a little child be…?” Serena trailed off, casting a glance of pure disgust at me. The tenderness in Daniel’s expression slowly faded, replaced by disappointment. He turned to me, his voice tinged with weary resignation. “Elara, you’re an adult. Why are you making such a fuss over a child, and putting on a show?” “And besides, you were the one who spoke out of turn. Don’t do it again.” I bit down on my trembling lip. Seeing that I had no intention of backing down, Daniel’s face hardened. He pushed me towards the nursery. “Alright, alright, Elara, go look after Lily.” “You’ve been her caregiver since birth. She’s closer to you than to Serena. When she cries, no one else can soothe her; it’s exhausting.” I met his gaze stubbornly, wrenching my arm free. “Daniel Caldwell, I told you I’m not doing this anymore. I am not your nanny.” As if on cue, Mrs. Jenkins, the Caldwell family’s elderly housekeeper, rushed out, a whirlwind of disapproval, and forcibly thrust Daniel’s newborn daughter, Lily, into my arms. “Elara? Oh, thank goodness you’re back! Just a little miscarriage, why did you have to stay in the hospital for so long? So delicate!” “Go on, go on, take her! My old bones have been worn to dust these past few days. Alright, she’s back with her rightful owner. You take care of her properly now, hear?” Then, she herded Daniel, Serena, and Leo towards the door. “Mr. Caldwell, Miss Montgomery, what are you dawdling for? Haven’t you forgotten you’re taking Leo to the family estate for dinner tonight? Look at the time! Come on, move it!” I made to hand the baby back, but Mrs. Jenkins, solid as a brick wall, blocked my path, ushering Daniel away. Her eyebrows shot up, forming sharp, menacing angles like twin blades. “What do you think you’re doing?! In my day, you’d be nothing but a common servant! Do you really think a few nights in bed with the master makes you the lady of the house? Know your place!” A disgusted “Pah!” escaped her lips, and the door slammed shut with a resounding thud, the sound echoing the finality of her contempt. Only the baby’s deafening cries remained, threatening to shatter my eardrums, my very heart. I stared blankly at the child in my arms, utterly bewildered by how my life had spiraled into this. My unfocused gaze suddenly settled on the expansive photo wall in the living room. Only then did I realize that, at some point I couldn’t pinpoint, the candid photos of Daniel and me hiking through snow-capped mountains, the scenic shots of our adventures, had slowly, systematically been replaced by family portraits of him, Serena, and their son. There was no trace of me left. Only a single, small photograph of a mountain remained. It was Mount Cinderpeak, the place where Daniel and I had fallen in love, and where our wedding was supposed to have been. The night before we were to leave, Daniel’s grandparents, disgusted by my common background, demanded he marry Miss Serena Montgomery instead. Daniel had stormed out of the house, already with me in Willow Creek, ready to venture into the mountains. But a frantic call from the hospital’s ICU unit pulled him back. When he reappeared before me, his face was shadowed by stubble, his eyes bloodshot. He collapsed to his knees, a raw sound escaping him. “Elara, I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “Grandfather and Grandmother raised me since childhood. I can’t let them… I can’t let them die, but I can’t lose you either!” “I… I made a deal. If I just have one grandchild with Serena, they’ll let me go. They’ll set me free.” “Elara, please, don’t be angry, don’t leave me. Serena is just… a means to an end. You’re the one I truly love! Please, just endure this for ten months, okay?” The first time, Daniel cried into my shoulder, then abruptly pulled away at the last moment, stumbling into Serena’s room. He was back in mine within a minute. The second time, he inexplicably stayed half an hour longer. The third time, he stayed the night. The fourth, the fifth… I withered, waiting in my room until dawn, but he never returned. I waited for their first child, then their second, waited through 1,460 sunrises and sunsets over Mount Cinderpeak. But Daniel and Serena only grew closer, more and more like a real couple. And I became their housekeeper and nanny. It wasn’t that I hadn’t cried, hadn’t argued, hadn’t pleaded. Daniel would always soothe me, only to drift back to Serena’s side moments later. Now, their third child was on the way. I should have seen it clearly by now. It was time to leave. I sat there, utterly lost, until late into the night. Finally, Daniel’s family returned, their laughter echoing through the hall. The moment they opened the door, they froze. 3 His daughter lay on the sofa where I’d left her, cried out, and utterly weak. The photographs from the wall lay shredded into a million pieces. “Elara Reynolds! Didn’t I tell you to look after my daughter? Why isn’t she making a sound?! Are you trying to kill her?!” Daniel lunged, his hand closing around my throat, his face twisted into a mask of fury. Serena anxiously scooped up the child and thrust her directly into my arms. “Elara Reynolds! Just because you lost your baby, you can’t take it out on my daughter!” “Now, go back and feed her and change her diaper!” I remained impassive, even managing a faint smile. “I’ve told you already. I’m not your nanny anymore. Don’t you understand?” Serena flinched, then stomped her foot in exasperation, tears welling in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. “Daniel, look at her! I told you she resented me! Do you know how hard these past few years have been for me? Bearing three children without a title, just to fulfill your love story!” “And in the end, I’m the villain!” Daniel’s jaw tightened, and he instantly intensified his grip on my throat, his eyes blazing with savage rage. “Elara Reynolds, a woman giving birth is like stepping into the gates of hell! Serena has done it twice, and now she’s about to do it a third time—all for you!” But if he’d just open his eyes, he’d see that Serena, whom he claimed had walked through hell’s gates twice, was still slender and graceful, like a young girl. While I, on the other hand, resembled a candle flickering to its end, dark circles stretching from beneath my eyes to the corners of my mouth, all from three months of sleepless nights, tending to her daughter’s every need. And besides, I was never the one who demanded he have children. What right did he have?! My expression, like my heart, was a stagnant pool. But Daniel mistook it for defiance and grew even angrier. “Can’t you just be reasonable for once?! My grandparents’ opinion of you only improved because you took good care of Leo and Lily! Our plan was so close to success, and now this?! What are you trying to do?!” “Don’t you want to go to Mount Cinderpeak with me anymore?!” That same old threat. The last vestige of love in my heart finally dissolved, drifting away like smoke. I forced back the tears that my constricted throat was forcing out, and spoke, my voice calm, almost serene. “No, Daniel. I don’t want to go with you anymore.” Daniel’s body stiffened, and a flicker of panic crossed his face. Ignoring Serena’s furious shouts behind him, he scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom. He dropped me onto the bed, then paced the room, a frantic bundle of nervous energy. He fired off questions like a rapid-fire cannon. “Elara Reynolds, what do you mean you don’t want to go to Mount Cinderpeak anymore? Are you abandoning me?” His voice softened only after he saw the angry red marks of his fingers branding my neck. “Elara, what’s gotten into you lately? Is it because of the miscarriage?” “Is it… is it because taking care of Serena’s children has been too much?” “Or is it because I’ve been spending too much time with Serena? Are you angry?” I sat calmly on the bed, my heart overflowing with a bitter realization. Daniel, it seemed, had known everything all along. When I remained silent, Daniel reluctantly reined in his surging frustration. He knelt before me, his expression earnest. “Elara, please, let me explain. First, your baby being… gone, it really is for the best. If you had carried it to term, the Montgomerys would never have agreed. It would have caused so much trouble.” “And asking you to care for the children… it was because you already had experience with Leo, you were so good with him. Serena just isn’t comfortable with strangers in the house, and she only trusts you.” “Serena just had the baby, her body’s still weak. Of course, I need to look after her more.” I watched him speak, my heart chillingly aware of the pervasive sorrow blossoming within me. Perhaps Daniel himself didn’t realize that even as he tried to placate me, every word he uttered still prioritized Serena. My bitter smile, in Daniel’s eyes, was misinterpreted as a sign of capitulation. His eyes lit up. He raised three fingers, repeating the same tired promise. “Elara, just wait a little longer. I, Daniel Caldwell, swear to you, the moment this third child is born, we’ll run away together. No more delays!” Fearing I wouldn’t believe him, he pulled out his phone and immediately booked plane tickets for a year and a half from now. I glanced at the screen, a sardonic question on my lips. “Why a year and a half from now?” Daniel’s brow furrowed, his voice tinged with a hint of reproach. “Elara, I at least have to wait until Serena finishes her postpartum recovery, don’t I? Don’t be so heartless.” The air in the room grew heavy, thick with unspoken words. After a long silence, he sighed, as if conceding defeat, and reluctantly changed the tickets. “Fine, fine! I’ll change it to the day of the due date. The moment the third child is born, I’ll leave with you. Is that good enough?!” His phone buzzed then, a call from Grandfather Caldwell. Our eyes met, and Daniel’s flashed with an inexplicable guilt. I snatched the phone, my fingers swift as lightning, and answered. Grandfather Caldwell’s words, spoken without preamble, utterly blindsided me. “Daniel, I’ve discussed it with the Montgomerys. You and Serena are to register your marriage tomorrow. Don’t want that vixen charming you away again.” 4 “Hello? Did you hear me?!” Daniel frantically tried to cut in. “Grandfather, I’ll talk to you later.” Daniel and Serena were getting married?! The revelation struck me like a lightning bolt. My heart, already numb from countless stabs, still betrayed me, tears shamelessly spilling at the news. “Elara, listen to me,” Daniel stammered, fumbling to wipe away my tears. “Serena and I are just registering our marriage. It means nothing else, don’t overthink this!” I quietly turned my head, pulling away from his desperate attempts. He rushed to explain. “Think about it, Elara. Serena’s carried three of my children. I at least owe her some kind of recognition, don’t I? Even if it’s just for appearances, I can’t let my children be illegitimate, can I?” “Please, just be reasonable, Elara Reynolds.” Reasonable! Always reasonable! I couldn’t take it anymore. I seized a pillow and began pummeling Daniel, a furious onslaught of blows. “You’re marrying Serena, so what does that make me?! The persistent mistress? The gold-digging whore? Or the shameless vixen they all call me?!” “Daniel Caldwell, do you even know what people say about me?!” Before I could finish, the air around Daniel seemed to drop several degrees, thick with his simmering fury. He unleashed a vicious slap across my face. “Elara Reynolds, snap out of it! Do you have any idea what I’ve sacrificed to be with you?!” “My grandparents were almost driven to their graves by me! Can’t you stop being so selfish?!” “Know your place, Elara Reynolds!” I was knocked sideways onto the bed, my mouth instantly filling with the metallic tang of blood. It felt like a cruel jest, mocking my three years of foolish longing. “Daniel Caldwell,” I said, my voice eerily calm, “I know my place now. I’m going to Mount Cinderpeak tonight.” “Elara Reynolds! How can you go when you just miscarried?!” Daniel called after me, but I ignored him, storming into the study. The scene inside made me freeze. My hiking pack, carefully prepared just days ago, was shredded into tattered rags, its contents scattered across the floor. Daniel’s son was clearly the culprit, brandishing a half-broken trekking pole as he raced around the room. “Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! I’m a helicopter! I’m the strongest helicopter!” In his other hand, he clutched a small object. I let out a choked scream. “Give that back to me!” Daniel’s son grinned, a triumphant smirk on his face, and stomped his foot down, crushing the object to bits! “No!” I went berserk. I shoved Daniel’s son to the ground, then collapsed to my knees myself with a thud. With trembling hands, I gathered the shattered pieces, holding them up directly to Daniel’s face, a desperate, broken sob tearing through me. “Daniel Caldwell! This was my mother’s voice recorder! Her only possession she left for me!” “Why are you, your whole family, doing this to me?!” Daniel averted his gaze. He knew. He knew the reason I was so obsessed with trekking was because my mother had been a passionate hiker. Every time she summitted a snow-capped peak, every time she witnessed a breathtaking landscape, she would use that voice recorder to capture her thoughts in that moment, leaving them for me. In the years since her passing, I had endured by constantly visiting the places she’d trekked, listening to those fragments of her voice. But now, there was nothing. My very soul felt as though it had shattered along with it. A thousand emotions—grief, fury, despair—choked in my throat, unable to form words, dissolving into a numb, repeated whisper. “It’s all gone, all gone. I have nothing left, Daniel!” Daniel babbled incoherently, trying to soothe me. “Elara, what’s done is done. Please don’t cry, don’t cry. It breaks my heart to see you like this.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392874”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Scarlett Bennett’s greatest regret was falling in love with her uncle who also is her guardian, Damien Graves. At ten, the tall, comforting man had held her close, promising to protect her after her parents’ death. At fifteen, when bullies tormented her, Damien forced them to grovel for forgiveness. At eighteen, she donated part of her liver to save his life—then stole a kiss. He awoke with stunned alarm, pushing her away with chilling distance. The final betrayal came when Damien’s beloved Serena needed a kidney. “I’ll grant any wish,” he vowed, if Scarlett would donate hers. She refused. Serena died. At the memorial, Damien exposed Scarlett’s teenage love diaries, branding her with shame. On her birthday, he drugged her, staged a vile scene with rough men, and spat: “Don’t imagine I’d touch you. You’re repulsive.” As ice water revived her, she saw Damien approach, knife in hand. “This is what you owe Serena.” Then—she woke up, back to the day he first asked for her kidney. … “Please, I’m begging you. This kidney might mean nothing to you, but Serena will die without it.” “If you agree to donate your kidney, I will do everything in my power to fulfill any request you have.” Damien’s pleading voice echoed in Scarlett’s ears, jolting her back to reality. She had been reborn. In her previous life, Scarlett had refused Damien on this very day, leading to a truly horrific fate. But back then, Scarlett had already sacrificed part of her liver for Damien. How could she possibly risk losing a kidney as well? Yet, reborn, Scarlett now understood everything. Refusal would still mean death. This kidney, then, would be her repayment for Damien’s eleven years of raising her. Once it was given, they would be completely even. At the thought, Scarlett clenched her fists, her voice resolute. “I’ll do it.” Damien’s unfinished words caught in his throat, while the doctor beside him exclaimed in alarm. “Miss Bennett, have you thought this through? Under normal circumstances, we strongly advise against a second organ donation for someone who has already donated before. This not only significantly increases the difficulty of the surgery but also carries a considerable risk of death.” Scarlett, however, nodded firmly. How could she not know these risks? But to finally escape Damien, she was willing to die if necessary. Only after witnessing Scarlett sign the consent form did the heavy weight lift from Damien’s heart. He had feared Scarlett was playing games, yet she had signed the agreement without a moment’s hesitation. The realization softened his expression as he looked at her. “Since you’ve agreed to the kidney donation, I’ll keep my word. Name your price, whatever you ask.” “My only request is to sever all ties with the Graves family. From this day forward, I will no longer be a Graves.” Damien frowned, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Are you serious?” He’d expected Scarlett to try to blackmail him into marriage, but her request was to cut ties with him completely. Scarlett met his gaze, her voice cool. “Yes.” Damien stared at her suspiciously for a few seconds, then his face hardened. “Scarlett Bennett, I advise you to drop your little games. Don’t think that by breaking ties with my family, you and I could ever be together.” “You and I are impossible, always. There’s only one person in my heart, and that’s Serena. Not you.” Scarlett’s eyelashes trembled slightly. “I know.” The humiliation of her past life was still vivid. How could Scarlett not know how deeply he loved Serena? So, in this life, Scarlett would no longer love Damien. She just wanted to be as far away from him as possible, the farther the better. Damien’s gaze lingered on Scarlett’s face for a moment longer. He didn’t know why, but Scarlett felt… different. He just couldn’t pinpoint how. Damien was about to speak, but Serena’s voice drifted from the hospital room. He rushed in almost instinctively, and Scarlett, her expression dimming slightly, followed him in. Serena coughed, her eyes welling up. “Damien, please don’t pressure Miss Bennett anymore. I know she doesn’t like me, and I understand if she’s unwilling to donate her kidney.” Serena seemed about to continue, but Damien gripped her hand tightly, his voice joyful. “Serena, Scarlett has agreed to donate her kidney! You’ll be alright!” Serena’s words caught in her throat. She stared at Scarlett in shock, then her eyes turned scarlet. “Damien, did Miss Bennett’s condition… was it for you to marry her?” Before Damien could answer, Serena raised her hand and slapped Scarlett across the face. A red mark instantly bloomed on Scarlett’s cheek. Serena clutched her chest, her voice trembling with emotion. “Scarlett Bennett, have you no shame? Damien is your guardian! How could you do something so despicable?” “Damien, if you marry Scarlett Bennett, I swear I’d rather die right now!” Serena’s emotions were spiraling. Damien, completely ignoring the bruised Scarlett, pulled Serena into his arms. “Serena, you’re the only one I love. I’ll only marry you in this life. As for anyone else, don’t even think about it.” Scarlett covered her stinging cheek, a self-mocking smile twisting her lips. She wisely chose not to watch further. As she walked away, she overheard their conversation. “She already donated her liver for you. Is it safe for her to donate a kidney for me as well?” Scarlett’s steps faltered, a flicker of hope for Damien’s response sparking in her heart, only to be utterly extinguished the next second. “Serena, you know I don’t care about anyone else’s life or death but yours. All that matters is for you to get well. That’s enough.” After stepping out of the room, Scarlett took a few moments to compose herself, then dialed her academic advisor’s number. “Hello, Professor. About the Frontier Aid Initiative you mentioned last time, I’d like to join.” 2 Her advisor’s voice immediately filled with delight. “That’s wonderful, Scarlett! I’m so proud of you. The country needs dedicated young people like you!” “But this program is very demanding, and it’s in a remote location.” “Your guardian, Damien, is so protective of you. Will he agree to you joining?” Scarlett gripped her phone, her voice firm. “He doesn’t need to agree. I can make my own decisions.” After hanging up, Scarlett instantly felt all her strength drain away, a desperate need to lean against the wall. But as she took a step back, she bumped right into Damien’s solid chest. Scarlett flinched in surprise, and Damien’s brow furrowed. “Who were you on the phone with? What ‘joining’?” Scarlett calmly replied, “Oh, my professor asked if I wanted to join a school club.” Damien said nothing more, his voice now a flat announcement. “The surgery is scheduled for a week from now. During this time, I’ll be bringing Serena home to stay.” He paused, then, remembering something else, his tone turned icy. “Also, I don’t want to see any strange letters in my study. I don’t want Serena to have any unnecessary misunderstandings.” Scarlett turned her head, her nails digging into her palm, then acquiesced bitterly. “Understood.” Ever since her stolen kiss was discovered, Scarlett had written Damien a long, detailed love letter every week, solely to express her affection. But every single one of those letters had, without exception, ended up in the trash. Yet, Scarlett had stubbornly continued to write. She never imagined that her heartfelt confessions, brimming with love in her eyes, were seen by Damien as peculiar and utterly distasteful. Seeing Scarlett agree, Damien said no more. He simply gave instructions to his driver, then turned and walked back into Serena’s hospital room. An hour later, Scarlett saw Damien’s car pull up to the hospital entrance. Damien was helping Serena into the back seat. Seeing this, Scarlett immediately went downstairs to the curb. She was about to open the car door, but it drove off, leaving only a puff of exhaust fumes. Scarlett froze in place. The next second, she received a text from Damien. “Serena has a phobia of unfamiliar scents. She doesn’t like strangers’ smells. Get a cab back yourself.” Scarlett’s eyes dimmed. She lowered her phone and hailed a passing taxi. Inside the cab, Scarlett stared silently out the window. The driver, noticing her distress, kindly asked, “Miss, your face looks quite bruised. Should I stop at a pharmacy?” Scarlett shook her head, her eyes growing even sadder. Her so-called family hadn’t offered a single word of concern. The only person who cared was a complete stranger. How ironic, how ridiculous. After a long drive, the car pulled up to the villa. Scarlett got out and pushed open the door. Inside, she didn’t see Damien, only Serena, toying with a necklace. Scarlett looked closer, realizing the necklace in Serena’s hand was the jade pendant she kept in her safe. It was the only memento her parents had left her, something Scarlett cherished so deeply she rarely even dared to touch it. And now it was in Serena’s hand. Scarlett’s face turned icy. She extended her hand towards Serena. “Give me back the pendant.” “Miss Dawson, entering my room without my permission? Is that the upbringing of a well-bred lady?” As Scarlett spoke, Serena’s face twisted in displeasure, but Damien’s voice came from upstairs first. “I told Serena to go in.” “Serena will be the lady of this house eventually. It’s her right to enter and exit any room she pleases. Besides, as long as Serena is happy, you shouldn’t object, even if she wants to stay in your room.” Damien stood before Scarlett, scrutinizing her with a cold, detached expression. Scarlett’s face went pale. Serena, seeing Damien descend, became even more brazen. “It’s just a broken old pendant, isn’t it? If you want it back, here.” Serena extended her hand, offering the pendant to Scarlett. As Scarlett reached out to take it, the pendant slipped and shattered on the floor, breaking into two pieces. “No!” In that instant, the jade shattered. And Scarlett’s heart shattered with it. It was the only relic her parents had left her, her sole tangible memory of them. Scarlett knelt on the floor, tears blurring her vision, ignoring her dignity as she pushed past Serena. She tried to piece the pendant back together, but she couldn’t change the fact that it was broken. Serena stood by, bewildered. She hadn’t expected Scarlett to react so strongly. Damien’s brow furrowed slightly. In all their years living together, this was the first time he had seen Scarlett lose control. But seeing Serena visibly startled, he frowned, attempting to soothe her. “It’s alright. Serena didn’t do it on purpose. How much is the pendant? I’ll compensate you.” 3 Scarlett didn’t react. She simply, reverently, gathered the shattered pieces of the jade pendant and tucked them into her bag. After a long moment, she forced a desolate smile for Damien. “No need, Uncle Damien.” As Scarlett spoke, she hurried away, leaving Damien rooted to the spot. Uncle Damien? Ever since Scarlett had confessed her feelings, she had never once called him that. No matter how many times Damien insisted, Scarlett refused to change. But now, she had called him ‘Uncle Damien’ on her own accord. Damien stood frozen, lost in thought, until Serena shook his arm, pulling him back to the present. “Damien, what’s wrong?” Damien immediately reverted to his concerned tone. “I’m fine. Don’t mind what just happened. Scarlett isn’t a bad person, really. She’s just been spoiled by me all these years, a little headstrong.” Serena paused, surprised that Damien would defend Scarlett. She pretended to be understanding, nodding, but a flash of jealousy and malice flickered in her eyes the next instant. Seeking reassurance, Serena wrapped her arms around Damien’s waist, cooing. “Damien, after my surgery, can we get married? I can’t wait to live with you.” Damien’s eyes softened. He gently ran his thumb over Serena’s nose, his voice filled with affection. “Yes, darling. Anything you wish.” Serena’s voice trembled with excitement. “Really? Then I’m going to be the most beautiful bride in the world!” … For the next several days, Scarlett went to school to complete the paperwork for the Frontier Aid Initiative. She worked tirelessly, burning the candle at both ends, leaving early and returning late. Despite living under the same roof, she never once saw Damien. One evening, Scarlett carried a large box filled with the love letters she had once written, heading towards the fireplace, intending to destroy them all. Just as she was burning the last one, Damien’s sharp voice cut through the air behind her. “What are you doing?” Scarlett said nothing, but Damien’s eyes landed on the unburnt part of a letter. His face turned ashen. He strode forward and tightly gripped Scarlett’s wrist, his voice low, tinged with a warning. “Scarlett Bennett, what kind of stunt are you pulling now? Trying to get my attention this way?” “Is this amusing to you?” Scarlett lowered her head, pulling free of his grasp. “You’re overthinking it.” Damien, however, became even more convinced of his theory. He announced coldly, “In ten days, it’s my wedding to Serena. You’re welcome to attend.” Scarlett’s face went paper-white, her smile strained. “Congratulations.” In ten days, she would already be with the Frontier Aid Initiative, likely unable to attend his wedding. But Scarlett said nothing more, turning to leave. Just as she reached the door, Damien called out to her. “Serena says a wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime event, and she doesn’t trust anyone else to plan it.” Scarlett didn’t understand Damien’s meaning. She asked, “So?” “So, I’d like to ask you to plan this wedding for us. I raised you from a child, so you must know exactly what I want.” 4 Scarlett lowered her gaze, a faint smile playing on her lips, masking the self-mockery and cold sarcasm in her eyes. “Uncle Damien, I truly don’t love you anymore. There’s no need to humiliate me this way.” With that, Scarlett strode out of the villa, leaving Damien frozen in place. Scarlett hailed a cab to school. She still had some documents to fill out. As she left the office after finishing, she suddenly felt countless gazes fixed on her, accompanied by whispers and snickers. “Oh my god, seriously? Rich people are so twisted.” “Figures, the more prim and proper they look, the dirtier they are behind closed doors.” “I’ve already got a novel title in mind: The Tycoon’s Caged Canary.” As Scarlett stood bewildered, her dormmate rushed up and grabbed her arm. “Scarlett, check social media!” Scarlett quickly pulled out her phone, only to see a headline glaring back at her: “Graves Heir’s Forbidden Love Exposed!” She clicked on it in disbelief, finding a pixelated, salacious video. The woman in the footage was undeniably her, captured in compromising positions, appearing to brazenly proposition Damien. Her eyes turned bloodshot, her fists clenched tight. “This video is doctored! I never did anything like that!” “I believe you, Scarlett. This trending topic was clearly bought. You have to find the culprit who spread these lies! Don’t let them get away with it!” At her friend’s words, Scarlett immediately hailed a cab back to the villa, hoping to discuss it with Damien. As she ascended the stairs, she saw Damien blocking the way. Before she could speak, he fixed her with a cold, contemptuous gaze. “Is this what you meant by ‘not loving me anymore’?” “You, a young woman, willing to ruin your own reputation just to sabotage my wedding to Serena? Have you no shame?” Scarlett bit her lip fiercely, desperate to say something, but no words would come out. She hadn’t expected Damien to think such things of her. All her strength to argue evaporated in an instant. Damien, however, misinterpreted her silence as guilt. A sneer twisted his lips, his expression growing colder. “Scarlett Bennett, if you think I’ll be forced to marry you because of public opinion, you’re gravely mistaken.” “I, Damien Graves, will marry no one but Serena Dawson, in this life or any other!” No sooner had Damien spoken than Serena, who had overheard everything from behind him, stepped forward. She approached Scarlett, her voice dripping with disdain. “Miss Bennett, a young lady should have self-respect. Not debase herself in such a manner.” Scarlett started to explain, but Serena secretly put force behind a push. Behind Scarlett was a treacherous flight of fifty steps. The next instant, Serena feigned a sprained ankle and tumbled forward down the stairs. In that split-second decision, Damien almost instinctively reached out and caught Serena’s hand. Only when the sound of Scarlett tumbling down the stairs echoed did Damien finally notice her. Scarlett curled into a ball, writhing in pain, biting her knee. Large, silent tears streamed down her face, as if their flow could dull the agonizing pain. Damien’s eyes narrowed. He took the steps two at a time, rushing down. “Scarlett Bennett, are you alright?! Are you hurt?” 5 When Scarlett woke up, the first thing she saw was Damien’s drawn, tired face. Seeing her awaken, Damien’s voice was, for once, a little softer. “I didn’t save you because Serena… she’s ill.” Scarlett’s voice was flat. “I understand.” Damien let out a barely perceptible sigh, then cautioned, “You’re donating a kidney in a few days. You absolutely must rest and recover.” Scarlett heard him and let out a bitter laugh. She knew it. Of course Damien was only here because he was afraid her injuries would delay Serena’s kidney transplant. After speaking, he fell silent for a moment, then spoke again. “Also, no matter what, I won’t forget my promise. Even after I’m married, I will protect you for the rest of your life.” Scarlett’s eyes lifted slightly. Then, in her heart, she silently replied, “Unfortunately, I no longer need it.” For the next day, Damien didn’t return. Scarlett waited alone for her IV drip to finish, then handled her discharge papers by herself. Just as she finished the paperwork, she saw a gurney rushing towards the emergency room. Scarlett instantly spotted Damien’s frantic figure beside it. Lying on the gurney, to her shock, was Serena. Scarlett’s mind suddenly snapped. In her previous life, Serena’s death was due to Scarlett’s refusal to donate a kidney. Now that she had agreed, why was Serena still on a gurney? She didn’t wait for an explanation, simply ran towards the emergency room. At the doorway, Damien sat on a long bench, his head bowed in despair, his drumming fingers betraying his anxiety. Scarlett asked Damien what had happened. Only then did she learn that Serena had a blood clotting disorder. She had felt dizzy while bathing and hit her head on the bathtub, leading to a serious hemorrhage. After a long moment, the doctor emerged from the emergency room. “The patient has lost a lot of blood. Is there a family member who can donate?” Damien shot up. “I will!” “The patient has Rh-negative blood type. What is your blood type?” Damien’s face went stark white. His voice trembled, weak. “I’m B positive.” Rh-negative blood, a rare blood type. In the room, only Scarlett possessed it. Scarlett stood up almost without hesitation. “I’m Rh-negative! I’ll donate!” Everything she had experienced in her past life was still vivid. She was finally on the verge of escaping that fate. She absolutely could not let history repeat itself. Scarlett was led by the nurse and had a full liter of blood drawn. Afterwards, Scarlett’s vision went black, and she collapsed in the donation room. When she woke up again, her bedside was empty, save for the nurse who came in to change her bandages, casting her a sympathetic glance. “Miss Bennett, you’re awake!” “Your guardian, he’s quite cold-hearted, isn’t he? Making you have surgery without anesthesia, all for his girlfriend.” Scarlett offered only a pale, bitter smile. After the nurse left, she checked her phone. Two hours left. Enough time to hail a cab, pick up her luggage, and get to the airport. Scarlett breathed a sigh of relief. She was about to get out of bed, but a searing, splitting pain surged through her. It was an agony that pierced her bones, struck her very soul, as if countless sharp blades were indiscriminately slicing inside her body. Every heartbeat was accompanied by a heart-wrenching cry. But at the thought of leaving Damien, Scarlett gritted her teeth, braced herself against the bed frame, and got out of bed. She painstakingly changed her clothes, picked up the severance agreement she had carried with her for so long, and limped, step by agonizing step, towards Serena’s hospital room. Inside the room, Damien was intently watching the sleeping Serena, completely oblivious to Scarlett’s entry. It wasn’t until Scarlett presented the severance agreement that he finally reacted. His face darkened as he read its contents. He asked in a low voice, “What is this? Are you truly going to cut ties with me? I told you, there’s no possibility between us. Why are you still pursuing this?” Sweat beaded on Scarlett’s forehead from the pain. She bit her lip, stubbornly stating, “This is what you promised me.” Damien looked at Scarlett’s pale face, suddenly feeling a surge of irritation. After a moment, he took the paper and pen from Scarlett, and signed his name prominently on the agreement. Scarlett, finally receiving the signed agreement, felt a wave of relief. She turned and limped away. Damien, however, frowned and asked, “You just had surgery. You’re still so weak. Why aren’t you in a hospital gown, resting? Where are you going, dressed in your own clothes?” Scarlett’s throat was dry. Her slender back seemed ready to collapse at any moment. “The hospital is stifling. I’m going for a walk.” Damien watched her retreating figure, a rare hint of concern in his voice. “It’s windy outside. Come back soon.” Scarlett murmured, “Mmm,” but in her heart, she whispered, “Damien, I’m not coming back.” She picked up her luggage and, dragging her bruised and aching body, boarded the plane bound for West River City. Sunlight spilled over her slender back. Scarlett turned then, taking one last deep look at the city. “Goodbye, the place she lived for twelve years. Goodbye, Damien.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392897”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My best friend and I found ourselves transported into a novel. She became the obsessively devoted fiancée of the aloof male lead, while I was the “canary in a gilded cage,” kept within a luxurious mansion by a disturbingly obsessive villain. Then, the male lead’s first love returned from abroad. My best friend found me, tears streaming down her face, claiming that her wretched fiancé hadn’t slept with her in three days. She wanted a divorce. As for me, my wifely duties these past few years had been upheld solely by my lack of funds. But then my best friend showed me her secret savings. “You divorce, I divorce too!” I declared. Life after divorce was surprisingly freeing. My best friend and I found ourselves with more “husbands” than we could count. Until one day, I received a text message. “I’ve prepared a gift for you. Your best friend’s husband and his first love – only one can live. Who do you choose?” … It was midday when I woke in the sprawling eight-foot bed, my body still carrying a faint, lingering ache. The sound of water running in the bathroom signaled that Alexander hadn’t left for work yet. I scrambled out of bed, quickly dressed, and, forgoing my morning routine, hurried to his study. That man had already showered three times today. I certainly didn’t want him showering a fourth. Stepping out of the bedroom, a maid approached me. “Madam, Mrs. Hayes from next door has been waiting for you downstairs for an hour.” I quickly rushed downstairs. The moment my best friend saw me, fresh tears welled in her already swollen eyes. “Anna, I’m getting a divorce, boohoohoo…” This year marked our third year since transmigrating into the novel. She had become the obsessively devoted fiancée of the domineering CEO next door. And I had become the “canary in a gilded cage,” held captive in a lavish mansion by a possessive villain. On the surface, she had lowered her noble status and shamelessly moved into Eddy Hayes’s house, ostensibly to relentlessly pursue him. In reality, it was to be my neighbor and to indulge her own little eccentricity. You see, she had a peculiar condition, and so did I. In our previous lives, we were fellow “patients.” She suffered from an obsessive devotion that found pleasure in giving and seeking approval. I, on the other hand, had severe social anxiety, disliking any interaction or communication with anyone other than my best friend. So, for these three years, we had both lived quite pleasantly. Watching my best friend sob uncontrollably, I carefully chose my words, asking gently, “Did he die an early death or become paralyzed in a car accident?” I couldn’t imagine a third reason. My best friend pouted, her voice brimming with grievance. “His first love, Eleanor, came back…” “Eddy hasn’t been home for three days, saying he was busy with work. Then this morning, he came back, and he didn’t even kiss or cuddle me. He just collapsed into bed and fell asleep.” She sniffled. “It was so out of character. So I secretly looked at his phone, and that’s when I found out Eleanor came back three days ago, and they even had dinner together, boohoohoo…” A husband who didn’t come home for three days? How wonderful that would be. If Alexander stayed away for three days, I’d wake up laughing in my dreams. But people were different, and their conditions were different. I handed my best friend a tissue to wipe her tears, asking, “Are you sure you want to divorce? If you do, will you be able to adjust to being someone else’s ‘devoted admirer’?” My best friend showed me her bank balance. “I’ve saved enough to support many men. I’ll try out a few; surely one of them will make me happy.” Seeing all those zeros in her balance, my heart fluttered. “Then you can support one more: me!” “You divorce, I divorce too!” The moment the words left my lips, I heard a soft chuckle behind me. “Hmph.” My best friend saw the person behind me first. Her face went white with fright, and without another word, she dropped me and bolted. “Divorce what?” The sofa beside me dipped. A warm, familiar hand easily settled on my waist. The man’s voice, though tinged with amusement, carried no hint of genuine happiness, sending a chill down my spine. When I didn’t answer, he pressed on, “What did Mrs. Hayes from next door say to you? Is she complaining about his front gate again, thinking it’s time for another replacement?” … When I first transmigrated, I was terrified of Alexander, this stranger, and his overly intimate behavior made my life a living hell. My best friend, feeling sorry for me, tried to help me escape eight times. Each time, I was caught and dragged back. And each time, Alexander had his men smash the front gate of her husband’s house. Even our two families’ companies had been constantly at loggerheads, so it was no wonder my best friend bolted at the sight of Alexander. “Nothing. You should go to work.” I subtly shifted sideways, evading Alexander’s hand. The next second, his entire body pressed against mine. His arm, unrestrained, wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me firmly into his embrace. “If they divorce, I can help her find ten, twenty other men. But if you dare to run…” The subtle scent of his elegant shower gel, the warmth of his body, no longer terrified me as they had three years ago. Yet, his words made my heart pound erratically. “You might have to suffer a little.” I looked up. Alexander’s handsome face was expressionless, but his gaze, full of deep meaning, rested on my hand. I remembered the iron chain I’d found in the corner of his study a few days ago. I had a chilling suspicion Alexander was about to lose his mind. 2 My social anxiety had been with me for over a decade. I loathed talking to people, and I detested eating, shopping, or working with anyone else. When I first transmigrated into this world, I was an employee at Alexander Thorne’s company. Even if I barely spoke a word for three days, my looks still attracted unwanted attention from colleagues. Mustering all my courage, I went to Alexander to resign. To my astonishment, he suddenly asked me, “Would you consider marrying me? No work, no in-laws, no social obligations. You just wouldn’t be able to leave the Thorne estate, ever.” The words “no social obligations” hit me hard. In this strange new world, that lifestyle seemed to be the only one that would offer me some peace. So, I married him. It only required dedicating two or three hours each evening. I figured I could endure it. It wasn’t until I discovered that the obsessively devoted fiancée of the domineering CEO next door was my best friend that my world finally brightened. She told me Alexander was deranged. She said I didn’t just dislike socializing; I needed to socialize. She argued that he shouldn’t restrict my freedom. So, my best friend helped me escape eight times. Alexander chased me down eight times, and each time he became more unhinged. The last time I was brought back, he had all the windows in the house sealed, threatening to burn down the entire neighborhood if I ever tried to escape again. I was terrified. I told my best friend I didn’t want to run anymore; the Thorne estate was a good place. But now that my best friend wanted a divorce, what was the point of me staying here? That night, Alexander called, saying he’d be home around midnight due to work. I immediately packed a bag, climbed out a window, scaled the wall, and made my way to my best friend’s house. “You two never officially tied the knot, so there’s no need for divorce papers. Tonight, the stars are aligned, the timing is perfect. Are you ready to go?” My best friend deftly stuffed jewelry and valuables into a large bag. “Yes! Absolutely! If your husband heard us talking about this during the day, and we didn’t leave tonight, he’d flay me alive anyway!” As I helped my best friend pack, I pondered thoughtfully. “He only threatened arson. Flaying someone alive is life-threatening; I don’t think he’d dare commit such a crime.” My best friend stared at me. “As if arson isn’t a crime he’d dare to commit!” We quickly finished packing. My best friend instructed me to drive to the airport, while she busied herself in the passenger seat, booking the earliest possible flights. Near the airport, I stepped on the brake and told my best friend to get out. “Are you backing out?” she complained, pouting. “Anna, you said today was perfect! If we go back now, after I divorce, we won’t be neighbors anymore…” Despite her grumbling, my best friend didn’t stop moving, dutifully following behind me. It wasn’t until I led her to another car and started driving away from home that she realized what was happening. “Huh! You’re not going back, are you? Where did you get this car?” I explained calmly, “I bought the car online and arranged for a valet to park it here. Flying would be too easy for them to track us with the real names on tickets. We’d be intercepted by the Hayes and Thorne people before we even boarded. Even if we flew abroad, they could still follow the trail. We need to go somewhere absolutely safe first.” My best friend’s eyes gleamed as she looked at me. Then, her voice turned syrupy sweet. “Anna, you’re so smart~! I love you so much~! Thank goodness I have you on this trip! Mwah!” Even as a woman, I couldn’t resist the emotional validation offered by another beautiful woman. My lips curved into a delighted smile. However, before I could bask in my pride, my best friend continued, “I always thought you were just a useless homebody. When I first started thinking about divorce, I even searched online for ‘adult child care guides.’” She paused. “Oh, by the way, where is this ‘absolutely safe’ place you mentioned?” The words “useless homebody” stung me deeply. I shot a side-eye at my best friend. “Your husband’s house,” I replied. My best friend froze. “…” 3 Our car pulled up in front of a grand mansion in the suburbs. My best friend, still bewildered, began pummeling my shoulder with her little fists, the blows more amusing than painful. “You scared me to death! This is my husband’s grandfather’s house! How could you trick me and say it was my husband’s house?” I asked her, “Is this house not your husband’s?” Hayes Enterprises was once the wealthiest corporation in the city. Mr. Hayes Sr.’s only son, Eddy Hayes’s father, had died in a car accident over a decade ago. Mr. Hayes Sr. himself wasn’t in good health, so now the vast family fortune was entirely managed by Eddy. My saying this was her husband’s house was technically correct. My best friend huffed. “Well, then it’s your husband’s house too!” I chuckled. “While Alexander is Mr. Hayes Sr.’s illegitimate son, he’s never been acknowledged by the Hayes family. So, nothing of the Hayes estate concerns him, and therefore, nothing concerns me.” This was also the reason Alexander and Eddy were constantly at odds, and why Alexander became the novel’s antagonist. “Alright, alright,” my best friend conceded, unable to argue with me. She quickly changed the subject. She looked anxious. “But why are we here? If Grandpa Hayes finds out about the divorce, it’ll be disastrous. Eddy really cares about his grandfather…” “It’s not about divorce,” I interrupted my best friend. “You’re here to prepare a birthday surprise for Eddy. You want to secretly go abroad to buy him a gift, so you’re asking Mr. Hayes Sr. for help to use his private jet. And you’re asking him to instruct his people to keep your whereabouts a complete secret from Eddy.” My best friend’s eyes widened in sudden realization. “Ah! With Grandpa helping us, no one will be able to track us! And Eddy, for his grandfather’s sake, definitely won’t dare to make a fuss about my disappearance or our divorce here…” A quick learner, she was. Mr. Hayes Sr. quickly arranged for us to be flown abroad, thoughtfully booking us a hotel in a bustling downtown area. After checking in, my best friend eagerly rushed out to shop and enjoy herself. I, on the other hand, felt a wave of relief wash over me. I wrapped myself in the duvet and sank into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. It had been so long since I’d left the house; the journey seemed to have drained all my energy. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, but I found myself dreaming of my previous life. Back then, my best friend and I would read novels together in the hospital. She’d say she loved how the male lead, Eddy Hayes, was so deeply devoted to Eleanor, his first love, even divorcing the wealthy female lead and remaining a widower for Eleanor his entire life. Such a good man was impossible to find. I, on the other hand, said I liked the obsessive villain, Alexander Thorne. His background as an illegitimate child was pitiable, and he’d clawed his way up to become the city’s richest man, even taking down the Hayes family. It was just a shame he was such a simp for love. He’d kidnapped Eddy’s first love for revenge, but then fell for her himself, and in the end, actually handed over his entire fortune to the male lead for love. I also dreamed of when I first transmigrated and married Alexander. The Thorne estate was empty and desolate, like a prison, without even a single servant. I would sleep until the afternoon, my stomach growling with hunger, only to find the refrigerator bare. But I was unwilling to leave the house. The result was that I fainted during our intimate moments with Alexander one evening. When I groggily woke up, my best friend had returned and was posing in front of the mirror, admiring her new clothes. Seeing me awake, she asked with a mischievous grin, “Why is your face so red? Quick, tell me, what did you dream about?” I answered truthfully, “I dreamed that Alexander and I were… exercising, and then I fainted.” My best friend burst into peals of laughter. Between giggles, she asked, “Do you want me to find you some high-class room service, or should I take you to a bar on the next street to blow off some steam? Hahahaha!” I rubbed my aching head and continued, “The dream was real. When I woke up that time, Alexander even told me… that if I ever left him, I wouldn’t survive seven days.” My best friend stopped laughing. In these three years, whether through Alexander’s actions or Eddy’s words, she had witnessed Alexander’s chilling aura and ruthless methods. She quickly sat on the edge of the bed, her face serious. “How about we go to the hospital for a check-up? See if Alexander put any poison or hex on you. Otherwise, how could he come up with such a precise number as seven days?” I accused my best friend of reading too many novels. But she insisted on taking me to the hospital. Knowing I disliked contact with strangers, she simply booked two appointments, saying she could accompany me for both check-ups that way. An hour later, we both stared at the papers in our hands, dumbfounded. I was pregnant. And so was she.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392914”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 It was the third year of my engagement to Kris Stone when he found a dazzling racing star abroad. The day before Valentine’s, he deliberately brought the girl to me to break off our engagement. “Skye and I share the same passions,” he’d declared, his gaze dismissive. “A sheltered girl like you will never understand the thrill of racing.” I asked, my voice barely a whisper of protest, “Does it have to be today?” He chuckled. “Does calling off an engagement require a special date?” I simply nodded, offering no further argument. Only to enter the same race as him the following month. What he didn’t know was that I understood the allure of racing long before he ever did. Later, I married someone else on his birthday. His eyes bloodshot, he asked, “Does it have to be today?” I smiled back. “Weddings need an auspicious date, you know. Today is perfect.” When Kris came looking for me, it had been nearly half a year since I’d last seen him. He’d spent three years studying abroad, only to return home without a single word to me. Just days prior, an audio recorder had arrived in the mail, sent from overseas. The moment I pressed play, a chorus of laughter erupted. “Hahahaha, Ollie, you’re something else! Not only did you get your racing license, but you also snagged our hottest racing star! Come on, Skye, tell us, how fast does Ollie drive in bed?” A sultry female voice purred in response: “Is that even a question? Straight to the fast lane, baby!” A chorus of piercing shrieks immediately followed, threatening to rupture my eardrums. I lowered the volume on the recorder, continuing to listen. “So, Ollie, what are you going to do about your fiancée back home? Heard you two have been engaged for three years. Aren’t your folks pressing you to marry her?” My hands instinctively clenched into fists, and I cranked the volume to its maximum. “Fiancée? What did we know about love as kids? Chloe and I haven’t seen each other in over six months. At this point, she’s barely more than a free, high-end housekeeper for my parents. She’s obedient, easy to get rid of.” Someone snickered: “Well, leave it to our Ollie, managing to get the Hayes family’s eldest daughter to willingly play housemaid.” The recording paused for a few seconds. Then I heard Kris’s dismissive scoff: “Heh, well, who told her to like me so much?” After listening to that recording, my mind went utterly blank. I waited, numb, for Kris to return and offer an explanation. Now, his red Porsche was parked right outside my front door. The window was down, and he sat in the driver’s seat. One hand cupped the chin of the girl beside him, the other cradled the back of her head. They were locked in a deep, lingering kiss, utterly unconcerned by the world. Suddenly, I remembered the day Kris left for his studies abroad three years ago. In the departure lounge, he had gently kissed my cheek, his eyes bright with promises. “Chloe, wait for me. When I graduate, I’ll come back and marry you.” But it was as if he’d forgotten every single one of them. I took a shaky breath, stepping back awkwardly, forcing my gaze away. It seemed no explanation was needed now. A full ten minutes passed before I heard the car door creak open. Kris sauntered leisurely towards me, wiping the corner of his mouth. “Saw everything, did you?” he asked, his expression utterly nonchalant. “Let’s just call off our engagement, shall we?” “You’re a good person, but you just lack… personality.” “The kind of woman I like is confident, bold, full of life. And you, well, you’re none of those things.” The Porsche’s window rolled down a few inches. The girl in the passenger seat blew a casual whistle in our direction, throwing a playful kiss for good measure. Kris clearly adored the gesture, his face softening with doting affection. “Her name’s Skye. She shares my passions.” “A sheltered flower like you will never understand the thrill of racing.” Moonlight spilled across his face, but his gaze, when it found Skye, was softer than the moonbeams themselves. I struggled to suppress the turmoil churning inside me, my voice laced with a bitter edge. “Are you sure about this? Does it have to be today?” Kris paused for a few seconds, then chuckled. “Does calling off an engagement require a special date?” Right, I thought. I nodded slowly. “Alright, I understand.” Perhaps my calm reaction was more unsettling than he expected, because Kris looked subtly uncomfortable. “If there’s anything you need help with, let me know. For example, with your family, do you need me to explain things for you?” “No need.” Thanks to that audio recorder, I already knew everything I needed to. The Hayes and Stone families had been close for generations. When I was eighteen, my mother fell critically ill. It was thanks to Kris’s mother, who donated a kidney, that my mother’s life was saved. Before the surgery, she lay in her hospital bed, tears streaming down her face. “How will we ever repay this kindness?” Kris’s mother, half-joking, half-serious, had replied, “If you truly want to repay me, then let Chloe become my daughter-in-law, eh?” I stood rooted to the spot, completely bewildered, but it was Kris who spoke first, eager to agree. “It’s settled then, Auntie. I like Chloe. I’ll definitely marry her someday.” The young man made his solemn vow, as if he’d never break his word. And so, three years ago, Kris and I became engaged. I remained in the country, while he went abroad. Perhaps out of a sense of obligation, I diligently learned cooking and nursing, spending every spare moment caring for Kris’s parents. The rumors around town grew increasingly unpleasant. They whispered that I was Kris’s “doormat,” shamelessly acting as his family’s housekeeper even before marrying him. But thinking of my mother, I swallowed my pride and endured. To vent my frustration, I secretly took up racing, even winning several competitions. 2 Later, my mother’s illness returned, and she passed away. My father remarried, finding new happiness, and my standing in our home grew increasingly insignificant. It felt as if, other than Kris, I had no one left to lean on. But now, he was telling me he’d fallen for someone else. It dawned on me that to him, I was merely a fleeting infatuation from childhood, nothing compared to the rapid, intense spark he found in a matter of days. I expected tears, but not a single one fell. Instead, I silently retrieved the tokens we had exchanged during our engagement from the safe. It was an exquisite antique hair ornament, symbolizing a wife’s lasting bond with her husband. The one I had given him was a double-sided, intricately carved jade pendant from my mother, signifying the refined character and gentle nobility of a true gentleman. That pendant was the last, most precious thing my mother had left me. I arranged to meet Kris again. Since the engagement was off, it was only right to exchange our tokens back. Just after midnight, Kris updated his social media. He and Skye were tightly embraced, their hands forming a heart shape together. Kris’s caption read: “No special skills, just managed to snag the one I wanted on Valentine’s Day.” So, he was in such a hurry to break off our engagement because he wanted to go public with his new relationship on Valentine’s Day. I simply ‘liked’ the post. If they were so smitten, they might as well be locked together forever. Minutes later, a new message popped up on my phone. Adrian Vance: “Happy Valentine’s Day.” My brain froze for a few seconds as I stared at the name. I never expected him to be the first one to say that to me. The whispers in our circles always painted Adrian as someone of impossibly high standing, utterly out of reach. And I had only met him a handful of times through racing. Perhaps he’d sent it by mistake. But the very next second, another message suddenly appeared. “You deserve better.” Before I could even process Adrian’s words, I was drowned in a tidal wave of rumors. Practically everyone around me was buzzing about Kris having dumped me. My father lectured me harshly that morning, and even my stepmother offered sarcastic remarks about my worthlessness. I found it darkly amusing. When did the one who was wronged become the one to be shamed? Soon after, my inbox began to flood with private messages. “Heard Ollie found a new girlfriend? Hahahaha, and on Valentine’s Day, no less! Don’t know how you’ll ever recover.” “Well, you didn’t lose out completely these past few years. At least you learned how to cater to people, right, Chloe?” “He’s actually soft-hearted beneath that tough exterior. Just beg him nicely, and maybe he’ll come around. If not, a good old-fashioned scene might do the trick.” I ignored their taunts, blocking and deleting them one by one. All I wanted now was to retrieve my mother’s memento. I placed the hair ornament and the audio recorder into a small box. At the appointed time, I arrived at the designated location. But upon arrival, I realized I’d been tricked. A large table full of people, all of them Kris’s usual friends from back home. He and Skye sat in the center, laughing and chatting jovially with everyone. At the sound of the door opening, every eye in the room shifted to me. Kris offered an explanation: “Skye said she really wanted to meet my friends, so I took the opportunity to invite everyone. You don’t mind, do you?” Someone, eager for drama, quickly pulled out a chair for me. “Oh, Chloe’s here! Come, come, we were just waiting for you!” I didn’t sit. Instead, I placed the box containing the hair ornament on the table. “Here’s your item back,” I said. “Now, where’s mine?” Kris froze for a few seconds, then clicked his tongue. “Oh, damn, I completely forgot.” “Then please mail it to me as soon as possible. I have other commitments.” “Chloe, don’t leave! If you go, everyone will think I’m the home-wrecker!” She frowned slightly, feigning an innocent expression. I just smiled. “Aren’t you?” The private room fell silent. Skye’s face visibly darkened. Kris shot me an annoyed glance. “Sit down, Chloe. I’ll call my driver; he’ll bring it over in a bit.” While waiting for Kris’s driver to deliver the item, the group resumed their lively chatter. Kris was right; Skye was indeed quite audacious. She spoke with lively confidence, clearly the center of attention. Someone asked, “Skye, we heard you used to be a grid girl when you were abroad? Tell us all about it!” At that, her eyes lit up, and she grew even more animated. While I quietly sipped my tea, she launched into a detailed monologue, covering everything from racing rules to techniques, sounding as if she’d been a veteran of the sport for years. “Do you know,” she gushed, “I absolutely adore the racetrack! Not only do you get that adrenaline rush, but you also meet so many amazing, handsome drivers.” Skye shot a pointed glance at Kris, who was already gazing at her, his eyes full of tender admiration. She sighed dramatically. “Oh, it’s a shame, though. That racing license is just impossible to get! I’ve tried so many times and failed.” The others, unfamiliar with the racing world, found her stories utterly captivating. “Wow, Skye, you’re already incredible! None of the girls we know have ever even touched a race car.” “Yeah, Ollie, you’ve got great taste. Finding such a gorgeous and fierce girl!” Kris instinctively glanced over at me, but I just kept my head down, sipping my tea, not uttering a word. 3 Skye followed his gaze to me, then suddenly asked, “Chloe, do you know anything about racing?” At her question, a ripple of laughter immediately spread through the group. “Her? How could she understand such a thrilling sport? Miss Hayes barely steps foot outside her family estate; she’d probably faint dead away at the racetrack!” “Now, now, don’t say that. Who says Chloe never leaves the house? I’ve seen her running to Ollie’s place often enough. Tsk, who says knowing how to cater to someone isn’t a skill?” Skye’s eyes widened, and she gasped, covering her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh? Really? My apologies, then. That was rather tactless of me. But it’s fine, really. Everyone has their own unique value, after all.” Then she turned to Kris, pouting playfully. “Ollie, I’m terrible at catering to people. When we get married, you’ll definitely have to find your parents a maid as competent as Chloe, won’t you?” A fresh wave of laughter erupted around the table. I clenched my fists, then relaxed them. As soon as I had my memento back, I wouldn’t stay here for another second. Skye pulled a ticket from her bag and had someone pass it to me. “Chloe,” she said, “this is a ticket to next month’s race. I just happened to have an extra one. Ollie and I will both be competing, so you should definitely come and broaden your horizons, alright?” I looked at the ticket and smiled. Wasn’t this the very race I’d just registered for? Too fed up to argue, I drained my teacup, then looked up at Kris. “Ask your driver where my item is,” I demanded. Kris made the call, then his brow suddenly furrowed. “Chloe, it seems I can’t give you your item just yet.” I shot to my feet, a bewildered expression on my face. Kris rubbed his temples, not bothering to lie. “I distinctly remember putting it in the box, but… it’s suddenly gone.” What did he mean, ‘suddenly gone’? That was the only thing my mother had left me. I would turn the entire place upside down if I had to, but I would find it. Skye paid no attention to my exchange with Kris. She was standing, reaching for a bottle of red wine in the center of the table. As she bent, something around her neck was perfectly exposed. It was my intricately carved jade pendant! “Wait!” I quickly stopped her, pointing to her neck. “That jade pendant you’re wearing right now – that’s mine.” Everyone fell silent, their gazes fixed on us. Skye turned to Kris, unhurried. “Ollie, Chloe says this is hers, but how can she prove it?” Kris was momentarily speechless. He had never truly cared for me, so it was unlikely he had ever really looked closely at the token. But I remembered. “The carving on it depicts two dragons playing with a pearl, intricate and pierced through, with their bodies intertwined. On one side, there’s a faint yellow spot, a slight imperfection.” That pendant had never left my side before I turned twenty; every single detail of it was etched into my memory. Skye held up the pendant, examining it front and back, then turned to Kris, smiling. “Ollie,” she cooed, “even if it is Chloe’s, I’ve taken a liking to it. Can’t I just keep it?” “No, you can’t,” I stated, my voice firm. “You need to return it to me right now, immediately.” On this, I would not yield an inch. Kris stood, gently patting Skye’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort, then frowned at me. “Come on, Chloe, don’t make such a big deal out of it. It’s just a pendant. Name your price, and I’ll transfer the money to you right away.” What on earth was he talking about? I was so frantic, I felt tears welling. I shouted, “That’s the only thing my mother left me! It’s her memento, her last belonging! Don’t you understand?!” At my words, the private room plunged into an even deeper silence, a stifling, death-like hush. “A memento? Why didn’t you say so sooner! I don’t want anything so ill-omened!” Skye abruptly ripped the pendant from her neck and, as if it were trash, slammed it onto the table without a thought. CRACK— With a single impact, the jade pendant split in two, right down the middle. In that instant, an emotional tsunami crashed over me, swallowing every last shred of my composure. I finally snapped. I lunged forward, seized Skye by her hair, and slammed her head onto the table. With my other hand, I smashed a wine glass and aimed its sharp, jagged edge at her terrified face. “Ah! You’re insane!” Skye shrieked. The entire room erupted into chaos. Kris instantly grabbed my wrist, halting my next move. Glass had sliced into my hand, and blood trickled from between my fingers, staining his hand as well. “Chloe Hayes, can you calm down?! The item is already broken, and you’re bleeding!” I suppressed the murderous urge surging within me, violently yanked my arm free, and trembling, picked up the shattered jade from the table, trying to piece it back together, but it would never be whole again. Tears finally streamed down my face. I hadn’t cried when the engagement was broken, nor when others insulted me. But this time, I couldn’t hold back any longer. Kris tentatively touched my shoulder, a hint of guilt in his voice. “Stop trying. It’s already broken. Be careful; don’t hurt yourself further.” “Get lost!” I screamed at him, slapping him hard across the face. Under his stunned gaze, I carefully gathered the broken pendant pieces and walked out without a backward glance. Every last shred of affection I had ever felt for Kris was, at that moment, finally ripped out by the roots. I had nothing left to lose, nothing left to hold me back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392931”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My sugar daddy brought me to a fancy party, and I got into a massive brawl with his childhood sweetheart. When he finally pulled me out of the chaos, I glared at him through my messy hair. “Picking sides, are we?” He said nothing. I ripped the ring off my finger and threw it in his face. “I’m dumping you.” 1 I was Clark Croft’s kept woman. I’d been with him for three years. He was handsome, rich, and incredible in bed. He was generous with me, too. His only rule? No kissing scenes. It cost me a few roles and earned me a reputation for being “stuck-up,” but I didn’t care. I’ve always been the type to play by the rules and never cause him trouble. I just never imagined my first time causing trouble would be this big. I beat up the woman he’d supposedly been in love with his whole life, who had just returned from overseas. 2 It all started when Clark asked me to be his date to a party. I never fit in with his high-society crowd and was tempted to refuse, but I’d been away filming for three months, and the truth was, I missed him. So I went. As expected, I ran into people I’d rather avoid. I tried to steer clear, but they always seemed to find me. I had just stepped out into the garden for a breath of fresh air when Evelyn and Cara followed me. Evelyn was Clark’s childhood friend. Her family had moved abroad a few years ago for business and had only recently returned. Cara was my arch-nemesis, the one who constantly paid for smear campaigns and negative press about me. I never would have guessed they knew each other. I sat on a bench, not wanting to move. Cara, arms crossed, started in with her thinly veiled insults. “Isn’t this Mr. Song’s engagement party? How did they let just anyone in?” Evelyn glanced at me, her tone flat. “Didn’t you drag me out here to talk? Is this it?” Cara shot her a sycophantic smile. “Don’t be in such a rush, Evie. It was so stuffy inside. Let’s get some air, we can chat while we walk.” Evelyn didn’t say anything, just leaned casually against the fountain. “Evie, are you and Clark getting married?” “Mm, it’s more or less decided.” “That’s wonderful! A match made in heaven. Some people should really know when to make a graceful exit.” Evelyn remained silent. Cara kept talking, but I wasn’t listening. I turned to leave, but her next words stopped me in my tracks. “Some people aren’t just trash themselves, their families are a mess, too. That construction project disaster… so many people lost their jobs. If you ask me, the person in charge getting off with just a broken leg was karma.” My steps faltered. I turned, walked right up to her, and slapped her twice. Cara clutched her face, glaring at me. “Ivy, are you crazy?” I scoffed. “Talking behind my back is one thing, but did you really think I wouldn’t dare to hit you to your face?” Evelyn frowned at me. “Miss Shaw, this is the Song family’s home. Have you considered the consequences of your actions?” My gaze was sharp. “Miss Vance, if it were your parents being slandered like that, I hope you’d also have the presence of mind to consider the consequences first.” Evelyn didn’t answer, but Cara lunged, grabbing my hair. We tumbled into a heap, scratching and pulling. I don’t know how Evelyn got involved, but by the time Clark and the others arrived, the three of us were a tangled mess on the ground. Clark’s face was dark as he yanked me out of the fray. I was a complete wreck. Across from me, Evelyn looked much better. I leveled a cold glare at Clark. “Picking sides, are we?” His brow was furrowed, but he said nothing. I ripped the ring off my finger and threw it in his face. “I’m dumping you!” Holding my breath, I ran out of the garden, out of the house, and jumped into a taxi that had just pulled up. But I couldn’t hold back the tears. A wave of overwhelming hurt washed over me. I had just wrapped a shoot yesterday and had come to see him, filled with longing. We barely spoke, and then I get humiliated and he takes her side. My phone buzzed relentlessly. It was Clark. I answered, launching a preemptive strike. “The penthouse is in my name. You have one week to move out!” I hung up and blocked him on everything. That bastard. We were done. 3 I didn’t go back to the penthouse. I found a random hotel and checked in. After a shower, I finally calmed down enough to realize how insane my actions had been. I had to be the first kept woman to ever kick out her sugar daddy. I was getting bolder and bolder with him. In the beginning, I was the one who was timid and subservient. I first met Clark at an industry party. My agent was forcing me to schmooze with directors and investors. My family used to be well-off, but my father’s construction business had gone under. He not only broke his leg, but he also used every penny we had to compensate his workers. We were drowning in debt, and my parents were stressed to their breaking point. I wanted to help, so when a scout offered me a contract, I signed it without thinking. It was a predatory deal. I got no resources and was dragged to parties to drink with powerful men. I couldn’t afford to break the contract, so I dodged a few parties by faking illnesses. Until that night, when I had no choice but to go. I pushed open the door to a private room filled with middle-aged men. At the head of the table, Clark was a breath of fresh air, impossible to miss. But he was just leaving as I arrived. In a panic, I followed him out. “Sir,” I asked, “can I be with you?” He was a head taller than me and looked down. “And why is that? Do I look like the easiest target?” He looked like the hardest target, but I didn’t dare say that. I shook my head earnestly. “You’re the most handsome.” Clark chuckled. “I know.” I could sense his impatience. I wracked my brain. “You look like a good person.” A half-smile played on his lips. “You’re a bad judge of character, then.” And then he left, and my agent dragged me back inside. They forced a lot of alcohol on me. When a fat, greasy director’s hand landed on my thigh, I struggled, knocking over a glass. He slapped me, calling me ungrateful, and started pulling at my clothes. In a moment of desperation, I grabbed a shard of broken glass and stabbed him in the leg. I was sure I was going to jail. Then, the door to the room swung open, and Clark was standing there. He glanced inside, and the director, who had been squealing like a pig, fell silent. “Didn’t you want to be with me? What are you waiting for?” I dropped the glass shard and threw myself into his arms, shaking so hard I could barely stand. He held me until he carried me out of there. 4 Clark took me back to his penthouse on the South Bank. I had showered hours ago but was too scared to leave the bathroom. I could hear him on the phone outside, dealing with the mess from earlier. When the talking stopped, I wrapped a towel around myself and walked out. He was lounging on the sofa, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing a hint of his collarbones. I walked up to him, mustered all my courage, and dropped the towel. I didn’t dare to look up. He stood, picked up the towel, and wrapped it around me again. “Not very old, but you’ve got a lot of tricks,” he teased. My face was burning. “I… I’ve never been with anyone before… I don’t know the… procedure…” “Look at me.” I clutched the towel and forced myself to meet his eyes. His gaze was calm, with a playful glint that was both captivating and dangerous. “You trust me that much? Not afraid I’m worse than them?” A jolt of fear shot through me. I quickly tried to flatter him. “No way. Good-looking people are always kind.” He laughed, pulling me close until our bodies were pressed together. He bent his head and kissed me. It was my first kiss. My head was spinning. His thumb gently caressed my lips. “Go to sleep,” he murmured. “Are you scared to sleep alone?” I nodded dazedly. “Hm? Is that how you treat the person you’re with?” The upward lilt in his voice was a warning. I threw my arms around him. “I’m scared. I want you to hold me.” Satisfied, he tucked me into bed and went back outside to make another call. Half an hour later, he came back and held me as I fell asleep. For the next few days, I obsessively checked the news, but there was nothing about me. A week later, my predatory contract was terminated. Clark set me up with a new agency and a new agent. The director who had tried to assault me vanished from the industry. For three years, Clark gave me the best resources, roles that were perfect for me. I worked my way up from an unknown actress to a solid B-lister. My family’s debts were all paid off. My parents opened a small shop back home. Everything seemed to be getting better. Only I knew that things were getting worse. Because I was falling deeper and deeper for Clark. He was my benefactor, but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of him as my lover. I don’t know when it started. Falling in love with Clark was just too easy. 5 The next morning, I woke up to hundreds of missed calls, mostly from my agent, Claire. I had no idea what was going on. I quickly called her back, and her booming voice chased away all my drowsiness. “My dear God, you finally answered your phone! Do you have any idea what’s happening?” “What did you do last night? What is going on?” I was completely bewildered. While still on the phone, I checked the trending topics. #IvyShawAttacksCaraMiller #IvyShawGetOutOfShowbiz #IvyShawRetires A video of my fight with Cara had been leaked, but it was cleverly edited. It cut out everything before and after, showing only the few seconds where I lunged at her. I closed my eyes and explained everything to Claire, including the fact that I had broken up with Clark. After all, I didn’t have a sugar daddy to protect me anymore. Claire was silent for a long moment, then sighed. “Take a few days off. Stay off the internet. I’ll figure something out.” After hanging up, I watched the video again. It was shot from a hidden angle, clearly premeditated. Even Evelyn, who had been standing right there, was cropped out. The frame only showed me and Cara. The comments were a landslide. 【Ivy Shaw looks like such a bitch. And she actually hits people. Someone finally exposed her.】 【I heard she has a powerful sugar daddy. How else could she get so many good roles with her terrible acting?】 【Insider info: she was just a stand-in for his real love. Now that the real one is back, she’s been kicked to the curb.】 I knew from the “stand-in” comments that Cara was behind this, manipulating public opinion. But I felt strangely calm. Let them curse me. It was part of the job. As long as they left my family out of it, I could take it. As for being a stand-in, that was pure nonsense. When Clark and I first got together, he was so good to me it was almost unsettling. One time, he picked me up from a dinner party, and fueled by a bit of liquid courage, I asked him if I looked like someone he knew. He had wrapped his arms around me and flicked my forehead. “Getting a little too into your roles, are we? A stand-in? I don’t do that.” I pushed my luck and asked if there was anyone else. He scoffed. “Do I look like I have the time?” Getting that confirmation made me happy for a long time. Maybe Clark wasn’t deeply in love with me. Maybe it was the novelty, or maybe he was just too lazy to find someone new. It didn’t matter. At least while we were together, there was no one else. I could live without being loved. I could live without being his one and only. But I couldn’t live without that last shred of dignity. 6 Because of the sudden negative press, a variety show I was scheduled to appear on was canceled. Now I was stuck in my hotel room, afraid to go out. I was genuinely scared of anti-fans. Two years ago, I played a crazy, villainous character. The role was beautiful and unhinged, and I portrayed her so well that people said it didn’t seem like I was acting. I just never expected someone to confuse the character with the actor. While I was recovering from a leg injury, someone threw a hornet’s nest at me, trying to disfigure me. Thankfully, Clark arrived quickly. He set his own suit jacket on fire to drive the hornets away. A custom-made suit worth hundreds of thousands, gone just like that. I shook my head, trying to clear the thought of him. I checked my phone for missed calls and messages. Encouragement and comfort from all my friends. But nothing from Clark. Then it hit me. I had blocked him. On everything. I threw my phone down in a fit of pique. He was powerful enough. If he wanted to find me, he could. He just didn’t care. Sitting by the window, I felt so contradictory and dramatic. I knew it was impossible, but I couldn’t help but hold on to a sliver of hope. I always felt like he must like me, at least a little. After all, he was the one who came to me on New Year’s Eve, braving a snowstorm just to be with me. The first New Year I spent with him, I didn’t go home because of a tight schedule. I stayed at the penthouse. On New Year’s Eve, I was drifting off to sleep when I heard the front door open. I shot up in bed, grabbed a lamp, and crept to the door. Clark was standing in the foyer, snowflakes still clinging to his shoulders. He raised an eyebrow at the lamp in my hand. “Is this how you welcome me on New Year’s?” I dropped the lamp and jumped on him. I wanted to ask him why he was here, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t want to hear that. So the words that came out were, “How is it that you appear the moment I think of you?” He carried me to the bedroom, his voice a teasing whisper in my ear. “Let me see just how much you were thinking of me.” Outside, the wind howled. Inside, the air was thick with heat. By the time he finished his shower, I was already half-asleep. In a daze, I felt him tuck a red envelope under my pillow and press a kiss to my forehead. “Happy New Year, Ivy.” The first New Year I spent without my parents, I wasn’t alone.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392947”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Lysander tore up the marriage contract with my daughter to marry a mortal woman. He seized the dowry I had left for her. He even stole my daughter’s Celestial Core, all to grant that mortal woman immortality. On the mortal’s birthday, heedless of my daughter’s life hanging by a thread, he ripped out her Starlight Eyes and presented them as a gift. By the time I clawed my way out of the Maw, my daughter was clinging to life. Everyone in the Empyrean said the War-God was dead, fallen in the great war against the fiends. No one remembered my victories, and no one cared for a poor, orphaned girl. But those pampered celestials, fat on their leisure, had forgotten. Every ounce of their gilded honor was bought with my blood and bone. After five hundred years of being sealed in the Maw, I was finally free. The war had shattered my divine essence, my celestial frame nearly ground to dust. The fiends had thrown their entire race’s power into imprisoning me, certain I would perish. They were wrong. The thought of my daughter, my beautiful, radiant girl, was the one thing that kept me sane. I endured the soul-gnawing agony, the endless torment, and somehow, I survived. The moment I returned to the Empyrean, my only thought was to see her. But the return of a War-God shakes the celestial realm. Protocol demanded I first see the Celestial King and the assembled court. He held a grand feast in my honor, a celebration of my return. Yet, as I looked around the hall, the faces were a gallery of strained masks. There was no joy here. My eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on a familiar figure in a shadowed corner. Lysander, the man my daughter had chosen herself. The Celestial King had decreed their betrothal just before I left. They were surely married by now. I walked towards him, my heart filled with a hopeful ache. “Your power has certainly grown, Lord Lysander. Where is my Elara? Why hasn’t she come to greet me?” His gaze darted away, his head bowed as he mumbled something incoherent. Was he shy, meeting his mother-in-law again? I always said he lacked backbone. The sole heir of the House of the Phoenix, yet he was shortsighted and timid. If Elara hadn’t been so utterly smitten, I would never have approved of such a match. “Lysander, I am speaking to you. You are at this feast, so why is my Elara not with you?” My brow furrowed, a killing frost creeping into my voice. Knowing Elara, she should have been the first to rush into my arms. Her absence was a cold knot of dread in my stomach. He pursed his lips, taking a long moment before answering. “Elara has a fiery temper. We argued recently, and she stormed off in a rage. I’ve sent my people to search everywhere, but there’s been no sign of her…” His words dripped with blame, painting my daughter as reckless and immature. But one thing stood out with chilling clarity: he had merely sent people to look for her. What, then, was he doing? Rage flared in my chest. I drew my blade, its ethereal light shimmering in the grand hall, and pointed the tip at his throat. “I entrusted my daughter to you. How could you let her wander off alone?” But five hundred years had passed, and Lysander had grown bold. He drew Godsbane—the very sword of the War-God, my sword—and met my gaze without a shred of guilt. “Her temper is a storm I cannot contain. She’s spoiled and cruel. If not for my respect for your final request, I would have disciplined her long ago!” “Discipline the daughter of a War-God? You dare?” My blade lunged forward. Lysander sidestepped the attack. “It is your indulgence that made her so arrogant! She torments the palace staff and was cruel to Lila. I warned her many times, but she refused to listen…” Tormenting staff? My Elara was the soul of kindness. She wouldn’t harm a fly. And cruelty to another? Utter nonsense. But that name he mentioned… Lila. It sounded like a woman’s name. “Who is Lila?” At my question, a flicker of something—guilt? unease?—crossed his face. I’ve walked this world for ten thousand years. I knew a lover’s lie when I heard one. He had found someone new and was now blaming Elara for “tormenting” her. “Lysander,” I reminded him, my voice like ice, “you swore an oath to marry my Elara and no other.” I had no more time to waste on him. Finding Elara was all that mattered. Following the faint, thrumming call of my own blood in her veins, I navigated the winding paths of the upper realms, the signal leading me far from the opulent palaces. It led me to a dilapidated hovel in the Bound Quarter, a place for outcasts and servants. Outside the crumbling door, I heard a sharp, venomous voice. “You little bitch, that War-God mother of yours is long dead! Why are you still clinging to life? Just die and get it over with. Lady Lila is tired of us having to deal with you.” War-God mother… That was me. Which meant the person inside… was my Elara. A furious inferno erupted in my soul. I kicked the door off its hinges and stormed inside. The sight that greeted me froze the very blood in my veins. My mind went blank, a roaring void, as if the entire Empyrean had just collapsed upon me. “Elara! What… what have they done to you?” I dropped to my knees, gathering the frail, skeletal figure into my arms. Her life force was a guttering candle flame. Her Celestial Core was gone, and only the single drop of my War-God’s Ichor I’d placed in her heart was keeping her tethered to this world. She lay limply on the crude bed, her face a mask of desolate, vacant despair. This was my child, but a ghost of the girl I knew. When I left, I had arranged everything for her. How had my vibrant, cherished daughter become this broken thing? “…Mother? Mother, is that you?” Elara whispered, her voice a dry rasp. Her hands reached out, fumbling blindly in the air. It was only then that I saw it. My poor, darling girl… her eyes were nothing but hollow, empty sockets. “My child! Oh, my sweet girl, I’m so late.” Tears streamed down my face—I, who had not shed a tear in ten thousand years of bloodshed, was weeping uncontrollably. “Who did this? Who did this to you?” All of Elara’s former vibrancy was gone. She collapsed into my embrace, her sobs weak and broken. Her Celestial Core had been carved out, her Starlight Eyes gouged from their sockets. The Ichor in her chest pulsed with a faint, fading light. Soon, it would be depleted. And then… she would be extinguished forever. My body trembled with a fear I had never known, a terror more profound than any I had faced on the battlefield. “Who are you? How dare you trespass in Lady Lila’s residence?” The shrill, cruel voice sounded again from behind me. Elara gasped for breath, but instead of words, a trickle of blood spilled from her lips. “I have never heard of any ‘Lady Lila’ in the Empyrean,” I snarled, gently laying Elara down and turning to face the servant. “And who gave her the right to torture the daughter of a War-God?” “Hah!” The woman spat on the ground, her face a caricature of smug disdain. “There is only one War-God in the Empyrean now, and that is my Lady Lila’s husband, the mighty Lord Lysander! You? You’re just some imposter trying to cash in on a dead name!” Footsteps sounded at the door. An older man and a younger boy entered. The old man was a vile-looking creature, his words slurring. “H-how dare you! Trespassing in the War-God’s residence! G-guards! Seize this little bitch and this lying hag!” The boy next to him nodded eagerly, puffing out his chest with borrowed arrogance. I could bear it no longer. With a wave of my hand, ropes of pure energy bound the three of them like trussed-up pigs and tossed them into a corner. I immediately turned back to Elara, pouring my divine power into her, doing everything I could to stabilize her fragile hold on life. Behind me, the wails and screams began. It turned out they were a family. “I’m Lady Lila’s own father! You’re in for it now, you old crone! My son-in-law is the War-God of the Empyrean, Lord Lysander himself!” The father’s screeching was grating. My hand flicked. A blade of pure energy shot from my fingertips and pierced his heart. He died before his body hit the floor. His wife and son stared, their eyes wide with disbelief. The boy pointed a trembling finger at me. “You… you killed him! Aren’t you afraid of what my brother-in-law, the War-God, will do to you?” Afraid? There was no one in the Empyrean who had the right to make me afraid. It all clicked into place. These were the family of the mortal, Lila, whom Lysander had mentioned. And Lysander had not only abandoned my Elara for this woman, but he had allowed Lila and her vile family to torture my daughter to the brink of death. I sent another blade of energy forward, but this time, I did not grant them a quick end. My Elara had suffered. A swift death was a mercy they didn’t deserve. “Shut your mouths,” I commanded, my voice low and seething as the killing intent from a thousand battlefields washed over them. “One more sound, and I will unmake you.” The two of them froze, petrified. A dark stain spread across the floor beneath them as their bladders gave way. With a single, sweeping gesture, I obliterated the wretched hovel. I stuffed the whimpering mother and son into a bestiary pouch and, cradling the barely conscious Elara, returned to the Aegis Hall—our home. But as I approached the grand entrance, I stopped, a bitter, mirthless laugh escaping my lips. The place had a new master. The two lanterns crafted from the bones of slain fiends, my trophies, were gone. In their place hung sickly-sweet pink lanterns woven from cherry blossoms. “Where are the Bone-Fiend Lanterns of the Aegis Hall?” I asked a nearby servant, my voice tight. The servant looked me up and down, his expression disdainful. “Lady Lila is compassionate and kind. She could not bear the sight of those macabre things, so they were taken down and sent for purification rites.” He then shot a venomous glare at the girl in my arms. “That Elara tried to stop it. If Lord Lysander hadn’t struck her unconscious and destroyed the lanterns himself, she would have caused an even bigger scene. Truly, a weed that refuses to die. Why did you have to bring her back?” His voice was filled with annoyance, as if he assumed I was just another servant of the hall. The rage that had been simmering within me finally boiled over. My poor Elara, beaten for trying to protect my legacy. I had told her those lanterns were a symbol of my trial to become the War-God. Of course she would defend them. And this Lila… to hell with her compassion. Where was her compassion when the fiends were slaughtering innocents across the realms? “You dare call my daughter a weed?” My voice dropped to a lethal whisper as I advanced on him. I seized him by the throat, my fingers like iron bands. “It is vermin like you who should be stamped out first.” He choked and sputtered, his life slowly crushed out of him by my power. I kicked open the doors of the Aegis Hall, ready to bring my daughter home. But an invisible barrier, a ward, blocked my path. “Since when does my own hall have wards placed against me?” With a contemptuous sweep of my hand, I shattered the shimmering barrier into a thousand pieces. From within the hall, a woman of exquisite, fragile beauty emerged. She was followed by a phalanx of divine guards, who immediately surrounded Elara and me. One of them recognized me. “Aethel… Lady Aethel? Is that you?” Lady Aethel. So, with Lysander now the “War-God,” my old subordinates no longer dared to call me by my true title. “What is this?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “Have you come to bar my way?” The guards exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them stepped back. Marcus, a man I had personally raised from a beaten servant to my second-in-command, stepped forward. “My lady, times have changed. This is now the residence of Lord Lysander, the War-God. You were my benefactor, and I don’t wish for this to be ugly. I must ask you to leave.” The breath I was holding finally tore from my lungs in a ragged gasp, and I tasted blood. “In the Great War,” I began, my voice trembling with betrayal, “I stood alone to defend this realm so that all of you could live. You knelt behind me then, swearing oaths to protect Elara with your lives…” I gestured to my broken child. “Now my daughter has been nearly murdered, and you stand here as accomplices to her tormentors?” Marcus’s face was a mask of conflict. He clenched his fists. “Lady Elara’s fate is of her own making. You yourself taught us: we serve justice, not family. If she hadn’t been so arrogant, so cruel to Lady Lila, none of this would have happened…” “Fine,” I snarled, the word ripping from my throat. “Fine. A fine lesson in justice.” Since they all believed us to be the villains, I would show them what true villainy looked like. I unleashed only a fraction of my power, but it was enough. The self-righteous guards who once served me were thrown back, broken and gasping, left with just enough life to feel their failure. “Learn this lesson well,” I spat at their crumpled forms. “This is what it means to throw your weight around.” With them neutralized, I turned my attention to the delicate, tear-streaked beauty before me. This had to be Lila. She did have a face that inspired pity. “Your eyes,” I said with a slow, chilling smile as I stepped toward her and lifted her chin with my fingers. “They are quite captivating. Tell me, do the Celestial Core and Starlight Eyes of a War-God’s daughter sit well within you?” I had felt it the moment I saw her. Within her body pulsed the divine power that belonged to my daughter. She didn’t speak, only let two perfect streams of tears roll down her cheeks before sinking to her knees in a graceful heap. “Lila greets Aunt Aethel,” she whispered, her voice trembling beautifully. “I never asked for the Celestial Core or the Starlight Eyes. If they displease you, Aunt, you may take them back for Sister Elara this very moment. These last few days, I have been tormented by guilt, unable to sleep, for I never wished to take what belonged to my sister… Thank the heavens you have returned. Please, take them back. It would be a release for me…” She closed her eyes, a flawless performance of a martyr awaiting her fate. I was not some fool to be swayed by such a pathetic, calculated display. But just as I reached out to reclaim what was stolen, Lysander appeared. “Stop! Get your hands off Lila!” he roared, his face contorted with fury as he rushed to shield her. “Aethel, you go too far! The Empyrean is no longer your personal fiefdom. I suggest you learn some restraint.” My fiefdom? The absurdity was breathtaking. When the celestial realms were weak and faltering, I was the only one who could lead their armies. A woman, fighting for ten thousand years, who single-handedly drove back the fiends and secured a hundred-thousand-year truce. And now that peace reigned, my sacrifice was twisted into tyranny? There was nothing left to say. Elara needed to be healed. I drew my power, ready for battle. “Lysander, you conspired with others to harm my daughter, to nearly extinguish her life. Today, as her mother, I will claim justice for her!” “Watch your words, Aethel,” he retorted, parrying my initial assault. “I never harmed Elara. Your accusations are baseless.” A coward who wouldn’t even admit to his own deeds. I allowed a sliver of Elara’s fading life force to flare out from my arms. “Look! Look what you have done to my child, and you still dare to deny it?” Lysander faltered for a second, a flicker of shock on his face, and my energy blade scored a deep cut across his shoulder. “How… How could Elara’s life force be so faint? Who did this to you? Who hurt you?” “Oh, spare me the act,” I sneered, my voice dripping with contempt. “I rescued my daughter from a squalid hovel owned by your new War-Godship. It seems the dogs you keep have learned to bite.” My eyes blazed with a murderous light. I wanted to tear him limb from limb. Lysander’s expression hardened. “What hovel?” he demanded coldly. And there it was. He didn’t know. He had no idea that the precious Lila he protected with his life had tried to murder my Elara.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392964”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Every year, in the isolated hollow of Blackwood Creek, a girl of age is chosen to be the Patron’s Bride. The chosen one must enter the sacred cavern to lie with the Patron, a mysterious entity the town has worshipped for generations. If she emerges alive, she becomes a revered Matriarch, and any child conceived from the union is said to be blessed with a life of fortune. If she dies… well, the town simply waits for the next year’s Bride. The “blessing” of her sacrifice is then said to pass to her family. But no one ever wanted to be chosen. Families fled the valley, pulling their daughters out of school, anything to escape the selection. Except for me. I volunteered. Because I had a hunger. A desperate, gnawing curiosity to know what a god felt like. The day before the spring equinox, I was sprawled on my bed, scrolling through my phone, when a crowd of people flooded into our yard. Elder Hawthorne, the town’s de facto leader, was at the forefront. “Elara,” he boomed, a grin stretching across his weathered face. “We’ve come to give you the good news!” I shot up from my bed. “Elder Hawthorne, does this mean… I’ve been chosen? Can I be the Patron’s Bride?” He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “Your sister Clara was the Bride just last year, so your name wasn’t meant to be in the running. But since you insisted so fiercely, we had no choice but to open the Sanctum and ask the founders.” “We cast the stones three times,” he continued, his voice dropping to a solemn tone, “and three times, the founders gave their consent. It is settled.” “Yes!” I practically leaped into the air with joy. “Calm yourself, child,” the Elder said, handing me a list. “Here is what you will need to prepare. We will escort you from your home at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ve asked a few of the more experienced women to help you get ready. You can ask them anything you don’t understand.” “Oh, thank you, thank you! I’m… well, I’m not very experienced. What exactly will I need to do… in the cavern?” I asked, trying to sound shy. Martha, my neighbor and one of the town’s older women, frowned. “We’ll instruct you on that tonight. For now, we must prepare your ceremonial gown.” I dashed into my room and returned a moment later, clutching a full ensemble—a deep crimson gown, hand-embroidered with ancient symbols, and an ornate headpiece. “I’ve always dreamed of marrying the Patron,” I announced breathlessly. “I’ve had this ready for a long time.” Our town had fallen on hard times. More and more people were leaving for the cities to find work, leaving Blackwood Creek to rot. I was the last unmarried woman of a certain age left. That’s why, even at twenty-eight, I was still considered a candidate. As someone who had supposedly dreamed of this day my entire life, I had prepared for it meticulously. As soon as the Elder and the other men left, I eagerly turned to the women. “So, how do I please the Patron?” Martha followed me into my bedroom. Her eyes immediately fell on the collection of objects scattered across my bed. Her face went pale. “Elara,” she whispered, her voice tight. “Tell me true. Are you… untouched?” “Of course, I am.” “Then what are these?” she asked, gesturing at the mess. With a flourish, I gathered the items and began to explain. “This is my secret weapon. For years, none of the Brides have conceived the Patron’s child, have they? It’s because the women themselves aren’t prepared. So, I consulted a wise woman, a seer, and she told me I needed to use these. With their help,” I declared, “I can have as many of his children as he desires.” Martha took one of the objects from me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and intrigue. “This… this thing is that powerful?” “It is. If you like them, I can give you one each. I have plenty.” I opened a drawer and pulled out several brand-new, still-in-the-box items, handing one to each of the wide-eyed women. Each was worth a small fortune, and just like that, they were bought. They not only taught me the secret words to whisper to the Patron, but they also impressed upon me one critical rule: no matter what happens in the cavern, I must not, under any circumstances, open my eyes. Filled with a rush of excitement, I decided to share my most precious secret. “Martha,” I began, leaning in conspiratorially, “the seer who advised me… she said I have a blessed womb. She said I’m like fertile soil—if someone tills the land, a forest is sure to grow.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “That’s why I’ve kept myself pure for so long. No man is worthy of this body, except for the Patron.” Clatter. The device in Martha’s hand slipped from her grasp and hit the floor. When she saw me looking, she forced a smile back onto her face. “That’s wonderful, dear. The future of our town rests on your shoulders.” 2 To be certain, after I had fasted and bathed as instructed, they laid me down on the bed to perform the final check. Two of Martha’s fingers probed, struggling to find any purchase. Finally, she sighed with relief. “You are pure, Elara. The Patron will be pleased,” she said, her voice softening. “Now listen closely. What I’m about to tell you is the key to winning his favor. You cannot make a single mistake.” They drilled me until midnight, going over every last detail until I was dizzy with instructions. The next morning at eight, I was brought to the Sanctum. It stood in the heart of the village, a grim, windowless building that only men were permitted to enter. Women were forbidden from even kneeling at its door. The only exception was the Patron’s Bride. As I stepped over the threshold, a wave of vertigo washed over me. It felt like I’d seen this all before in a dream, a scene I couldn’t quite grasp, the details slipping through my fingers like sand. “Don’t just stand there daydreaming,” Martha hissed. “Kneel and pray to the founders for their blessing.” “Yes, of course.” Half an hour of tedious rituals later, I was finally led to the courtyard behind the Sanctum. They intended to change me into the ceremonial gown right there, out in the open sun. I clutched the front of my simple dress, hesitant. “Here? But… the men from the neighboring houses can see. My body is for the Patron alone. They are not worthy.” Martha’s eyes flashed with impatience. “Those men are the ones who inspect you for the Patron. Only if you pass their examination will you be worthy of ascending the mountain.” I fell silent and let my hands drop. No matter how many X-rated films you’ve watched, nothing prepares you for the hot blush that creeps up your neck when the last piece of your clothing falls away in front of strangers. Another half hour passed. Dressed in the magnificent crimson gown and ornate headdress, I emerged from the back of the Sanctum. As I looked up, I saw several of the town’s elder men staring, their eyes bloodshot, their throats working as they swallowed. Elder Hawthorne nodded, satisfied. “Let’s begin.” At his signal, music began to swell from unseen players. Unlike the joyous tunes of a normal wedding, the music for the Patron was a somber, ancient dirge. Its melody was both grand and unsettling, its notes seeming to bore into your very soul. My head grew fuzzy, and I forgot everything, my feet moving automatically, following the procession out of the Sanctum. Halfway down the path, my left foot caught on my right. I pitched forward, crying out as I fell to my knees. My palms scraped violently across the rough stone path, leaving a smear of blood in my wake. “To see blood on such an auspicious day! This is a terrible omen!” Elder Hawthorne’s face darkened with anger. I quickly pulled a small charm from a hidden pocket in my gown. “Elder, don’t worry! The seer gave me this lucky charm. It ensures my success in all things,” I said, my voice bright and confident. “Besides, she foretold that my day would begin with sorrow but end in joy. This bleeding only proves that everything from this moment on will go perfectly!” My words seemed to placate him and the other elders, and the procession continued. But for some reason, the cuts on my hands wouldn’t stop bleeding, leaving a faint, crimson trail behind us. The stinging pain made it impossible to focus on the hypnotic music. As we reached the trailhead leading up the mountain, a black cloth was tied over my eyes. The Patron desires purity in his Bride’s gaze, the Elder had explained. I was not to look upon the wild spirits of the mountain, lest he find me tainted. With my vision gone, my other senses sharpened to a razor’s edge. I could feel the uneven ground beneath my feet, the path turning from worn stone to dirt and roots. The music behind me seemed to intensify, crawling under my skin, inescapable. The air changed, too, losing the smoky scent of the village and taking on a cold, clean fragrance. I instinctively clenched my fists, and the pain in my palms flared. I don’t know how long we walked, but I could feel the sun beating down directly overhead when they finally allowed me to remove the blindfold. Before me was a winding, narrow path. It ended at a yawning cavern, a mouth leading into endless shadow. Beside it stood a colossal tree, its branches reaching for the sky. The intoxicating scent of night-blooming jasmine hung heavy in the air, so thick you could almost taste it. The villagers claimed this tree had fed on the essence of countless Brides, which was how it grew so tall, so fragrant. Ten yards from the cavern’s entrance, the procession came to a sudden halt. Elder Hawthorne’s small, cloudy eyes fixed on me. “Are you certain you want to go in?” 3 My cheeks flushed, a blush of what I hoped looked like shy anticipation. I gazed at the dark maw of the cavern. “I am.” “The Patron is said to be tall and handsome, a match beyond compare,” I said, my voice thick with feigned desire. “I’m not getting any younger, and I’ve never known the touch of a man.” My crude words made the men around me frown. Even Elder Hawthorne seemed displeased. But I had passed all their tests that morning. And I was, by my own declaration, the fertile vessel they so desperately wanted. No matter how much he disliked me, he had to let me go. “The village has no other unmarried girls, Elara. This difficult duty falls to you,” he said, his tone grim. “When you are in there, think of your parents. You’re the only child they have left.” My face grew even redder. “Don’t you worry, Elder. I promise I’ll come out with the Patron’s child. My parents will have a grandchild to dote on, and our village will prosper!” No one but me was allowed to set foot in the Patron’s domain. They could only escort me this far. Under their watchful eyes, I walked quickly down the narrow path and stepped into the cavern. The scent of jasmine and the warmth of the sun vanished behind me, replaced by the damp, cloying smell of rot and decay. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. And then I saw him. At the end of the passage, a powerfully built man sat on a throne carved from stone. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. “Are you… the Patron?” The man didn’t move. He made no sound. As I drew closer, I could see his head was tilted back slightly, his chest rising and falling in the shallowest of breaths. Following Martha’s instructions, I knelt and bowed my head to the ground. “Your Bride is here to present her gift,” I murmured. “I am Elara of the House of Croft. I am twenty-eight years of age. After tonight, I am your woman.” Martha had said the Patron would not unwrap his gift himself. I had to offer myself to him. As a woman of my age, though I had no real experience, I’d done my research. I knew the steps. With every step I took, another piece of my ceremonial gown fell away. By the time I stood before him, I wore nothing but my most delicate underthings. The air in the cave was frigid, and a shiver wracked my body. Martha’s words echoed in my mind: The Patron will not move, but his body is warm. You must press yourself against him, use his heat to warm yourself. Otherwise, you won’t survive two days in the cold. I reached out and unfastened his clothes. His skin was warm to the touch. A soft moan escaped my lips, and my legs went weak. I practically melted into his arms. “Patron…” I whispered, my lips brushing against his ear. “You’re so warm. Won’t you hold me?” “I never knew you’d be so handsome,” I purred. “If I’d known how good it was to be the Patron’s Bride, I never would have let my sister come here last year. She was useless, you know. Only lasted three days before she died. Don’t you worry,” I whispered, my voice turning husky, “I’m much stronger than she was. I’m sure I can take whatever you dish out.” I thought his body felt… pliant. Not stiff and unmoving like Martha had described. Was it because the day was so warm? According to the rules, it was time to proceed to the next step. I pulled his expensive clothes from his body, tossing them carelessly to the floor. Soon, he was as bare as I was. In the dim light filtering from the cave entrance, I could make out the hard planes of his stomach. I couldn’t resist pressing my cheek against his eight-pack. “Did my sister touch you here, Patron?” My fingers trailed slowly, deliberately, downwards. “What about here? Did the other Brides touch you here? Did they tell you how… impressive you are?” Was it my imagination, or did I feel a faint tremor run through his body? No, Martha said the Patron never moved. It was up to the Bride to do all the work if she wanted to conceive his child. I took a deep breath, positioned myself over his hips, and lowered myself down. His body bucked upwards in a sharp, involuntary thrust. I was still reeling from the shock of his movement when, in the next instant, the cavern was suddenly filled with people…

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392980”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My wife melted my parents’ gold memorial busts and gave the gold to a college student she sponsored. He posed with the gold bars, flashing a finger heart and a sickly sweet smile: “Got a golden gift! Kisses to my favorite angel investor~” I called Catherine, my voice icy. “You melted my parents’ memorials. Explain.” She replied flatly, “They’ve been dead for decades. The gold was better spent on Leo’s research than wasted on the dead.” I clenched the phone. “Return their ashes in ten minutes.” She scoffed. “That trash? I threw it out.” Ten minutes later, police arrested Leo for grand larceny, and he was expelled. Meanwhile, Cross Group’s stock crashed, wiping out billions. If she wanted to cross every line, I’d play her game—my way. 1 When my security team dragged Leo out, his handsome face was already a bruised, swollen mess, a smear of crimson staining the corner of his mouth. His bloodied fingers were still desperately clutching the last gold bar to his chest. The next second, my leather shoe ground down on his trembling hand. Taking the gold bar from my bodyguard, I studied the audacious college kid before me. “Adrian Blackwood! What the hell is wrong with you?” he howled, his eyes spitting defiance even as his body trembled uncontrollably. A choked scream escaped him. I crouched down, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at me. The venomous hatred in his eyes was crystal clear. “Catherine gave these to me! What right do you have to take them?” he shrieked, struggling against my grip. A faint, tell-tale love bite was still visible on his throat. I tapped his pale cheek with the corner of the gold bar. “Yours?” I asked, my voice deceptively calm. “It seems Catherine forgot to mention who the real owner of these gold bars is.” The blood-streaked ingot landed in the safe with a heavy thud, the sound making him flinch. He still didn’t seem to understand that some things can’t be acquired just by being young and handsome. Things like this pile of gold. Things like… Catherine. Leo’s gaze faltered for a moment, but he quickly tilted his chin up again. “Catherine said she was giving them to me, so they’re mine! She always keeps her word!” he declared. “You just wait. She’ll make you pay for this!” I instantly lost interest. Wasting my breath on- a low-life fool like this was pointless. I turned away from him and gave a cold command to my bodyguards. “Take him downstairs. It’s time he sobered up.” They moved at once, seizing Leo without a word. “What are you doing? Get off me!” Leo yelled, his struggles futile. “Catherine! Help me!” My men remained impassive as they delivered another round of brutal punches and kicks. Before he could even process the pain, one of them grabbed him by the hair and dragged him before me like a sack of dead weight, forcing him to his knees. His face was ashen, no different from a cornered sewer rat. All the smug swagger from his social media post had vanished. “Stop!” A familiar female voice cut through the air. Catherine was rushing toward us, her stilettos clicking furiously on the pavement. Her perfectly applied makeup couldn’t hide the panic and rage on her face. She carefully helped Leo to his feet, then spun to face me, her eyes blazing. “Adrian, are you insane?” she seethed. “It’s just a pile of gold! You’re not short on cash. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” A pile of gold? That “pile of gold” contained the remains of my parents. She had desecrated their remains, and now she had the audacity to call me petty? It seemed lust had truly rotted her brain. I didn’t mind reminding her of a few things. “Catherine, it seems I’ve been far too lenient with you. You knew exactly what was inside those memorials, yet you dared to give them away,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You’ve completely forgotten my rules.” My tone was even, but Catherine’s face instantly went pale. Yet Leo, the fool, was still running his mouth. “What woman doesn’t love a handsome, caring guy?” he sneered. “You’re just pissed that Catherine likes me. You’re jealous!” My gaze turned glacial as I looked at Catherine. “You know what I’m capable of. Do I need to remind you again?” “The ashes,” Catherine stammered, her face tight with a fear I knew well. “I’ll return them to you immediately.” There was a story she knew. A cocky trust-fund kid once mouthed off to me. The next day, his body was found at the bottom of a ravine. “Leo, apologize. Now,” she commanded, her fists clenched. “But Catherine—” “I said, apologize!” The reality of the situation finally seemed to dawn on Leo. The powerful woman he saw as his protector was nothing more than an ant in my eyes. He finally bowed his head, his voice a sullen mumble. “Mr. Blackwood, I’m… sorry.” I let out a cold laugh and climbed into the waiting Cayenne. Through the window, I saw Catherine gently tending to Leo’s wounds, dabbing at them with a handkerchief. The look of tender concern in her eyes was one she once reserved only for me. Five years ago, the Cross Group had gone bankrupt. Her parents, facing ruin and prosecution, had taken their own lives, leaving behind a mountain of debt. Catherine had waited for me for three days and nights in a blinding snowstorm, her tears freezing on her face. “Mr. Blackwood, I’ll give you everything I have. Just please, save me.” In that moment, she had moved me. Not just with her tenacity, but with her rare and desperate courage. I offered her a deal: marry me. She accepted without hesitation. In the five years since, I had poured my resources and energy into rebuilding the Cross Group, transforming it into an industry titan and placing it at the top of the financial world. Catherine, in turn, had grown from a timid, broken girl into a formidable powerhouse in the business world. I had believed our bond was unbreakable. Until today. Until she crossed the ultimate line for another man. 2 When I arrived home, the ceramic urns containing my parents’ ashes were sitting on my desk. My fingertips gently traced the cool, smooth surface. Ultimately, I sent the unfiled lawsuit documents to Catherine’s email. If she had any sense left, she’d know what to do. It was my final warning. Five years of marriage. I was willing to give her one last chance to choose. All she had to do was come to her senses, cut her losses, and get rid of that repulsive boy. Everything could go back to the way it was. But she seemed determined to walk straight off a cliff. The next morning, my assistant knocked frantically on my office door. “Mr. Blackwood, the board just appointed Leo as the new Chief Technology Officer…” I stared at the arrogant eyes in the resume photo, and a chill spread across my face. In his headshot, Leo wore an ill-fitting designer suit, a provocative smirk on his lips. His resume was even more brazen: Expelled in junior year of university. Zero work experience. Position sought: CTO. The absurdity was staggering. The previous CTO was a company veteran, a top talent in the industry whom I had personally headhunted with a massive salary. And now he was being replaced by this… waste of space? A cold smile touched my lips. “Notify the board,” I said, my voice sharp. “Effective immediately, Catherine Cross is no longer the CEO of the Cross Group.” My assistant hesitated. “Sir, if you act so decisively, Mrs. Blackwood will be furious…” “Just do it,” I cut him off. As I stepped out of my office, I could hear Leo’s voice booming down the hall. “So what if I got expelled? I’ve got Catherine in my corner! She’s all the backing I need!” Someone immediately chimed in with fawning agreement. “The last guy was one of Mr. Blackwood’s handpicked men, and she still fired him for you! That’s never happened before!” another voice added. “She dotes on you. You’d better take good care of her…” Leo chuckled. “Of course. What woman could resist a perfect man like me?” My steps faltered. The look in my eyes turned to ice. Noticing my change in demeanor, my assistant strode forward and sent Leo sprawling with a swift kick. “Where did this piece of trash crawl out from?” Leo scrambled to his feet, his face a mask of disbelief. “I’m with the CEO! Do you want me to have her fire you right now?” I walked slowly towards him, looking down from my full height. “The CEO, you say?” I drawled. “As long as I’m here, she calls none of the shots.” His face drained of all color. “Adrian Blackwood, what gives you the right?!” “The fact that I own 80% of the Cross Group’s shares.” His eyes burned with impotent rage, but all he could do was bite his lip and glare at me. Just then, Catherine rushed out of her office. “Adrian, what is the meaning of this?” “I should be asking you that,” I replied coolly. “The lawsuit I sent you yesterday. Were you blind, or are you intentionally defying me?” She bit her lip, softening her tone. “Darling, Leo is still so young. If he gets caught up in a lawsuit, what will happen to his future? He was just being impulsive, he didn’t mean what he said. Don’t hold it against him.” She reached for my arm, her eyes pleading. “There’s nothing going on between us, I swear. You have to believe me.” I pulled my arm away, a humorless smile on my face. “Catherine, you swore to me once that you would always listen to me. And now, for this… thing… you’re going to fight me?” Her face went white, her lips trembling as she struggled for words. I turned to my assistant. “Release a public statement. Leo is terminated, effective immediately,” I commanded, my voice sharp as a razor’s edge. “And let it be known that any company in this city that hires him is making an enemy of Adrian Blackwood.” Leo’s eyes suddenly welled with tears. He lifted his chin defiantly, his voice thick with emotion. “Catherine, it’s all my fault. I hate that I have no power, no way to stay by your side and protect you,” he choked out. “Since Mr. Blackwood dislikes me so much, I’ll leave right away. Please, don’t let me come between you…” Seeing Leo, with his tear-streaked face, still trying to “protect” her, was the final straw. Catherine snapped like a cornered animal. She spun around, shielding Leo behind her. “Adrian! Do you have to be so cruel?” I turned and walked toward the conference room without a backward glance, my voice as cold as ice. “I gave you a choice, Catherine.” 3 A week passed, and Leo was still parading around the company. Catherine seemed to be deliberately provoking me. Not only did she give Leo another promotion, but she also transferred 5% of the company’s shares to him. Since she was so insistent on challenging my authority, I saw no reason to show her any more mercy. At the auction, the room erupted in applause as I signed the final share transfer agreement. Just then, Catherine burst in, her face a thunderous mask of rage. “The Cross Group is my family’s company! What right do you have to auction off all the shares?” she demanded. “Adrian, is this still about those damn ashes? Are you that jealous? Haven’t you made enough of a scene?” She took a breath, her voice dropping to a low threat. “If you keep this up, don’t blame me when I walk away for good.” I slowly raised my eyes, the coldness in them deepening. It seemed that over the years, I had truly spoiled her. Spoiled her so much that she’d forgotten what lines should never be crossed. “Catherine, my patience has its limits.” My voice was quiet, but each word was a dagger. “I gave you plenty of chances. You’re the one who threw them away.” Leo, who had been trailing behind her, suddenly rushed forward and dropped to his knees in front of me, his voice choked with sobs. “Mr. Blackwood, you can look down on me, you can humiliate me, I can take it. I’m just a nobody with no background. But Catherine is your wife! How can you be so cruel to her?” He cried as if his heart was breaking, yet he kept his head held high, a perfect portrait of defiance against tyranny. What a masterful performance. His act ignited the room. Flashbulbs went off like fireworks, and reporters shoved their microphones in my face. “Mr. Blackwood, do you admit to using your power to bully others?” “Is it true, as the rumors say, that you view ordinary people as ants to be crushed?!” The scene descended into chaos. Amid the pandemonium, I caught a glimpse of Leo. His head was bowed, but a triumphant smirk played on his lips. My assistant immediately had security clear the room. As the last reporter was escorted out, the heavy doors of the conference room closed with a solid boom. I turned slowly, my gaze piercing Catherine. “Three strikes, Catherine. This is the last one.” “Make your choice. Cut all ties with him, and you can remain the CEO of the Cross Group. Or, you can take your pet and get out of my sight.” Catherine flinched, but then a raw hatred I had never seen before flared in her eyes. “Adrian, you think I’m afraid of you? I know all your dirty little secrets! If you dare to touch Leo again, I can’t guarantee what might slip out.” I laughed. This little woman, who once trembled in my arms, was now baring her fangs at me for a pretty boy. “Are you threatening me?” I tapped my fingers on the table, a contemptuous smile on my face. “Catherine, do you really think that scares me?” “You!” she sputtered, her chest heaving with rage. But under my cold, unyielding stare, she finally broke. Grabbing Leo’s hand, she fled the room. BAM! The heavy oak door slammed shut. The sound was like a sledgehammer, shattering the last remnants of our five-year relationship. Fine, Catherine. If you choose to burn everything down for him, then don’t blame me for being the one to light the match.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392997”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the fifth year of my overseas venture, I made a last-minute decision to fly home. The plane had barely touched down when a friend dragged me to a high-end auction, before I even had the chance to call my family. In the center of the glittering hall, a massive screen was playing a short video of my younger sister on a loop. Her fiancé, Leo Vance, had his arm wrapped around a simpering woman, his gaze dripping with condescension as he looked down at my sister. His voice was a blade of mockery. “Jasmine just broke a little hairpin of yours, and you have the audacity to demand a king’s ransom for it?” “Since you’re so ‘rich’,” he sneered, “why don’t you make a scorched earth bid on all thirty-six of these videos… unless you want them to go viral.” My sister Chloe’s face was ashen. Her hands were clenched so tight her knuckles were white, but she stubbornly kept her lips sealed. I sat in the VIP suite, my face a mask of stone, saying nothing. Hah. I’ve been gone for five years, and someone already has the nerve to target a member of the Smith family? … My assistant didn’t dare breathe. “I’ll get the owner of the auction house in here right now. He’ll apologize to you personally.” “No need,” I said, my expression unchanging. “Let them play their little game for a while longer.” To challenge me on my own turf? The auction house, along with every single person who participated tonight—none of them would be getting away clean. Outside the suite, a pack of men were pointing and snickering at the screen. “I always thought the Shen family’s daughter was such an innocent little thing. Who knew she was such a freak in bed? Just look at that expression… even the thumbnail is getting me going.” “Leo, you lucky bastard. You’ve had your way with that incredible body.” Chloe’s whole body trembled as she stared at Leo, her face deathly pale. Leo arched a brow. “Whoever wins the bid gets a free set of high-res photos.” “That’s our Leo! Always generous!” A cheer went up from the crowd, the men’s eyes burning with a feral heat. Tears streamed down Chloe’s face. “Leo, how could you do this to me?” “Oh? Is this too much for you?” he taunted. “Aren’t you loaded? Demanding two million for a hairpin? You must have more money than you know what to do with.” He gestured to the screen. “Look, thirty-six of them. You can bid to your heart’s content.” The woman beside him, Jasmine, giggled behind her hand. “Oh dear. A scorched earth bid costs ten million dollars, you know. Sister, I hear you’ve been picking through leftovers in the cafeteria. Do you have that kind of money?” She leaned into him. “And don’t even think about using Dad’s money. He only spends it on me. There’s nothing left for you or that bitch of a mother of yours.” “I wonder if my dear sister has any hidden savings to make a bid?” My brow furrowed. Since when did my sister, Chloe Shen, have to resort to eating scraps? I looked closer. The custom-designed gown I’d gifted Chloe was now on Jasmine’s body. Even her jewelry adorned Jasmine’s head. Meanwhile, my sister was wearing a pair of washed-out jeans, the cuffs frayed, clearly a cheap piece of fast fashion. She was gripping the hem of her shirt so tightly her nails were digging into her palms, her pale face etched with humiliation. Clearly, the woman’s words were true. What in the world had happened? Forget the fact that the Shen family had its own wealth; my maternal grandfather was the head of the Smith family, a name that commanded respect throughout the capital. How could Chloe have fallen so low? I motioned to my assistant, who immediately left to investigate. For the past five years, I had poured everything into my business, with little contact back home. I’d get calls from Mom and Chloe now and then, but over the last six months, they had become less and less frequent. Recently, they had stopped altogether. Worried, I had flown back unannounced. Tears finally broke free, and Chloe confronted Leo, her voice choked with anguish. “Why? I’m your fiancée! These moments… they were private, between lovers. How could you put them up for auction?” Leo didn’t even look at her. He picked up the microphone. “Bid or don’t. Stop wasting my time with your whining.” “If you’re not going to bid, then get out. My friends here are getting impatient.” Chloe looked around the room. Every person here was a multi-millionaire. How could she possibly compete with them in her current state? Her face was a canvas of despair. The sheer weight of the shame made her lower her head, desperate to flee, but a group of men blocked her path. “Well, well. You’re already putting yourself on the market, but you still know how to blush?” “Don’t go, Miss Shen. If Leo won’t bid for you, I will. Just one night with me, and I’ll buy one for you.” “Shut up!” Leo barked, silencing them. Then, he turned to Chloe, his voice casual. “If you get on your knees and apologize to Jasmine right now, I might consider taking one of the videos down.” “You…” Chloe was so furious she couldn’t speak. “My, look at the expression on her face. She doesn’t seem very willing, does she?” Jasmine purred, pressing herself against Leo. “Clearly, she thinks one man… isn’t enough for her.” Leo’s face turned to iron. Chloe bit her lip so hard I thought it would bleed. Under the weight of a hundred mocking stares, she slowly returned to her seat. “Fine,” she said, her voice trembling but unnervingly clear. “I’ll bid.” Leo stared at my sister’s ramrod-straight back, a flicker of surprise on his face. I was a little surprised, too. In the suite, I was flipping through the information my assistant had just sent over. It was true. Chloe was penniless, working eight part-time jobs just to survive. Looking at her, thin as a wraith, I had no idea how she planned to compete. On the grand screen, a high-definition video of my sister played. It showed her from every angle, cutting away at the most intimate moments, leaving every man in the room hot and bothered. “The first set,” the auctioneer announced, his eyes sweeping the room. “Starting bid, five hundred thousand.” A murmur went through the crowd. “Leo, you’re too good to us! Afraid we couldn’t afford it?” “So cheap? I’ll take ten.” The auctioneer raised a hand to quiet the room. “As this is the first set, it comes with a special audio commentary.” With that, a synthesized, sultry version of Chloe’s own voice filled the hall, narrating the actions in the video, describing her feelings, punctuated by moans of manufactured pleasure that weren’t in the original footage. “Incredible! Only a high-society girl could sound so refined even when she’s begging for it!” “That sound alone is enough to get me hard!” “One million!” … The room erupted. Bids flew back and forth. Chloe shot to her feet, her eyes blazing red as she glared at Leo. But he remained as still as a statue, the cold smirk on his lips a stark contrast to the frenzied hall. Yet the moment Jasmine moved closer, he was a different person, his touch gentle as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Five million!” “Seven million!” “Scorched earth!” Chloe’s trembling voice cut through the noise. Everyone turned to stare at her. “Sister, a scorched earth bid is fifty million. Do you have the money? Have you been verified?” Jasmine’s light, airy question prompted the auction house staff to approach Chloe. “Miss, we have no record of you being financially verified. If you cannot cover your bid, you will be forcibly removed and will face legal consequences.” My heart tightened. I was about to intervene. But Chloe reached up, removed a locket from her neck, and placed it on the staff member’s tray. “Use this for verification.” Jasmine scoffed. “A cheap trinket from a street stall, and you want to use it to cover a fifty-million-dollar bid? You’re going to make me die of laughter!” But before she could finish, the verification result came back. “Congratulations, Miss Shen. Your scorched earth bid is successful!” “What? That piece of junk is worth fifty million?!” Jasmine shrieked. Even Leo, who had been lounging lazily, sat bolt upright. I understood instantly. That locket was a Smith family heirloom. My sister and I each had one. They were worth over a hundred million. She wouldn’t have brought it out unless she had no other choice. And now, a locket worth a fortune had only been valued at fifty million… I shot a cold glance at the auction house owner, who was standing before me, bowing respectfully and wiping sweat from his forehead. The auction continued outside, the atmosphere even more feverish than before. “She actually did it.” “What a shame. I wonder if the next ones have audio commentary. I love the sound of her voice.” As if on cue, the narration for the second video began to play, full of feigned emotion. “Set number two! Starting bid, still five hundred thousand!” The room exploded again. “Yes! If every set comes with that soundtrack, I’ll buy them all. Listen to them every night before I sleep.” “You’d be going at it seven times a night! Hahaha!” One shameless man reached out to touch Chloe’s face. “Come on, make a sound for me right now, and I’ll bid on one for you. We can watch it together tonight, just the two of us. I promise I’ll satisfy you in ways you’ve never dreamed of.” “Shameless!” Chloe slapped his hand away. Enraged, the man moved to shove her, but Leo stopped him. “Don’t cause trouble here. This is Smith territory, are you trying to get yourself killed? Once you’re outside, you can do whatever you want.” “Hmph! Acting all pure. Just another whore for sale. Twenty million!” “Thirty million!” “Thirty-three million!” The color drained from my sister’s face. Her eyes, usually so full of laughter, were now pools of despair. But she gritted her teeth and cried out, “Scorched… earth!” The auctioneer looked troubled. “Miss Shen, the collateral you provided was only valued at fifty million. If you wish to make another scorched earth bid, you will need to be re-verified.” Chloe looked lost. She turned to Leo. He was her fiancé, yet he was letting her most private moments be exposed to the world. But Leo just smirked, his face a mask of contempt. “Don’t look at me. I’m not getting involved. Do as you please.” The last glimmer of hope died in Chloe’s eyes. She lowered her head, and a sob escaped her lips. Just then, Jasmine spoke up. “Sister is crying. I suppose I’ll make the bid for her this time.” “After all, she is my father’s daughter. Even if she won’t acknowledge me as her sister, I can’t be as heartless as she is!” I frowned. Since when did my father have another daughter? My assistant leaned in. “Mr. Shen brought her home two years ago, a student from a poor family, supposedly as a companion for Miss Chloe. Six months ago, Mr. Shen held a banquet and announced that Jasmine was his biological daughter, lost at birth.” I almost laughed. Good for you, Edward Shen. Getting up to these tricks at your age. You must have a death wish. But first, I had to get my sister out of this mess. Leo’s eyes on Jasmine were full of admiration, a complete reversal of the cold indifference he’d shown Chloe. “You’re pathetic!” Chloe shot back. “What do you think you are? The master of the house throws you a few scraps, and you start thinking you’re a lady?” “Chloe Shen!” Leo’s voice was ice. “Shut your mouth! I’ve been too lenient with you! Apologize to Jasmine now!” Chloe threw him a look as cold as frost and turned to the auctioneer. “I’ll be verified!” She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a small, folded charm, placing it on the tray. Jasmine shot it a disdainful look and blocked the staff member with her foot. She pinched the yellowed paper between two elegant fingers as if it were something filthy and tossed it aside. “Hah. Some piece of trash you picked out of a dumpster, and you want to use it for verification?” The paper fluttered to the ground. She nonchalantly ground it under her leather high heel. “No, please!” Chloe cried out, throwing herself forward and grabbing the hem of Jasmine’s dress. “That’s… that’s the last thing I have…” Jasmine looked down at her, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “Oh? Is that so? Then this will be a good lesson for you. This is what happens when you cross me.” She gracefully lifted her foot, ready to stomp down. “Stop!” A manager rushed over, blocking Jasmine’s foot before it could land. “Collateral placed on the tray cannot be damaged before verification. Otherwise, you will be ejected from the premises and held liable for compensation!” “It’s just a piece of paper. I can afford to pay for it!” The manager was experienced. He deftly snatched the charm from the floor and placed it back on the tray. “Miss, please follow the rules.” Leo patted Jasmine’s arm to soothe her, and she reluctantly backed down. Before the crowd’s laughter had died down, the auctioneer’s voice rang out. “Verification successful!” “Congratulations, Miss Shen. Your scorched earth bid is successful!” The room was in an uproar. “It’s just a piece of paper, how could it pass verification?” “What is this, a game? Someone from the auction house better explain this!” The manager strode onto the stage. An image of the charm appeared on the big screen. “After authentication, this charm was personally scribed and blessed by the Abbott of the secluded monastery of St. Giles. It is priceless. Conservatively, its value is estimated at eighty million.” “As per auction house rules, this item can cover the cost of one scorched earth bid!” He was right. That charm… I had personally journeyed to that monastery when Chloe was eight and burning with a fever, praying at every step, to acquire it for her. Seeing this, my knuckles turned white around my teacup. Leo Vance, you’ve gone too far. “Don’t be angry, Jasmine. Watch me put her back in her place,” one of Leo’s cronies said, trying to comfort the fuming Jasmine. “Yeah, Jasmine, that was only the second set. There are thirty-four more. Let’s see what else she can pull out!” “Hey, little beauty, got any more money? Or are you going to have to strip to raise the funds?” The gazes of the crowd fell on Chloe, heavy and tangible. Some shook their heads in pity, others hid smirks behind their hands. “A desperate struggle.” “The next one is mine!” Chloe’s face was as white as paper. She truly had nothing left. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she finally lowered her proud head. “Leo… please, stop the auction…” Her voice was a whisper, lost in the roar of the crowd, but Leo heard it. He looked up at her, a flicker of emotion on his face. Jasmine saw it and immediately pouted. “Sister, you’re so good at playing the victim!” “Weren’t you just working eight jobs a day? Eating leftovers?” “And yet, you’ve already spent over a hundred million. No wonder you wanted two million from me for a simple hairpin!” The trace of pity on Leo’s face vanished. He shot Chloe a disgusted look and went back to watching the show as if he’d heard nothing. Seeing his complete indifference, Chloe finally broke. Unable to bear the jeers any longer, she turned and fled. I gave a single look, and my assistant followed her out. Just when everyone thought she was gone for good, Chloe returned. Leo’s friends, not satisfied, shouted at her. “You have money? What are you doing back here?” “If you’re broke, get out! We played along for Leo’s sake, but now you’re just shameless, refusing to leave!” Even the auctioneer frowned. “Security! Clear the floor!” This time, Chloe slapped a black card onto the tray. “Verify this. I’m buying out all the remaining videos.” The entire hall went into a frenzy. Jasmine shrieked, “Are you insane? You could sell yourself and you wouldn’t be worth that much!” The auctioneer’s voice was cold. “Miss Shen, you must be certain this card is valid. Otherwise, you know the rules of this auction house. Not only will you be liable for financial damages, you could also face criminal charges.” “I’m aware. Please proceed.” All eyes were glued to the screen. Even Leo, previously so nonchalant, now had a grave expression on his face. The card was swiped. A collective gasp swept through the hall. “That’s… impossible!” Leo shot to his feet, his knuckles white. The entire venue felt as if it had been struck by lightning. “What the hell!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393016”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was reborn into a world of mud and misery, a serf with a terrifyingly high chance of being sold into a brothel. My modern education hadn’t included soap-making or gunpowder formulation, and the invisible hand of the market wasn’t about to reach down and pull me out of the muck. Maybe if I’d been reborn as a member of the ruling class, I might have wanted to stay. But as it was, I knew one thing with absolute clarity: I just wanted to go home. 1 The moment I gained consciousness in this life, I saw the leaking thatch roof and the low, mud-caked walls of our hovel. I knew instantly that I’d been dealt the worst possible hand. As a tiny, scrawny child, there was nothing to do but endure. I’d just managed to reach the age of seven when the river flooded. When the waters receded, only my father and I were left from our family of six. My father wrapped the bodies of my mother and my little siblings in straw mats. Then, he took my hand, and we began our life as beggars on the road. The river of refugees grew with every passing day, a desperate tide of humanity where people fought to the death for a single mouthful of food. After three days of gnawing hunger, my father sold me for four hard, tasteless buns. His sunken eyes were too dry for tears. “Don’t hate me, girl,” he rasped. “Stay with me, and you’ll starve. You be good, listen to your new master, and maybe you’ll have a chance to live.” As I was led to the fleshmonger’s cart, I couldn’t bring myself to look back at him. He had no choice. The eyes of the other refugees were already glowing with a feral, green light. If we’d stayed any longer, I would have been the next meal on their fire. So much for a fresh start. My bowl was shattered, and my life was now bound by a contract of indenture. From now on, my life belonged to my master. That was the first lesson the fleshmonger taught me. 2 The wheels of the cart groaned, day after day. The collection of little girls in the cart grew steadily larger. Two months later, with a full cargo of cleaned-up, terrified children, he sold us to the estate of the Marquis Valerius. I admit, I complained about my nine-to-five job in my past life, but surely I hadn’t sinned enough to deserve this—a life as a literal serf with no rights to speak of. The matron who came to purchase us inspected us like livestock, checking our hands, feet, and teeth with a practiced, callous eye. She selected eight of us. The girls who were rejected wept uncontrollably. The Marquis’s estate was a good placement. The remaining destinations were places of unspeakable horror, where you weren’t even a beast of burden. You were just flesh. This accursed feudal society! But what could I do? I had no magic, no special skills. To survive, I had to accept the rules. I was one of the chosen eight. I clung to every word the fleshmonger had said, burning them into my memory. Learn the rules. Serve the master well. That was the only path to survival. 3 On my eighth birthday, I officially became a scullery maid at the Valerius Estate. That day, I was given a bowl of thin, almost translucent gruel, and it was the most blissful meal of my life. It was prepared by Matron Celia, the stern woman in charge of our training. Day by day, the gruel grew thicker. It wasn’t until the seventh day that we were each given half a loaf of bread. Though her face was like stone, Matron Celia was a good person. I knew she was being careful, easing our starved bodies back into eating, afraid that rich food would shock our systems and kill us. The House of Valerius was built on military glory, and it was run with iron discipline. The slightest mistake from a servant was punished with twenty lashes. On our third day, we were forced to watch as two indentured servants were beaten to death for a minor infraction. All eight of us were plagued by nightmares. Two of the more timid girls wet their beds in terror and were punished by being forced to wash laundry for two days straight. 4 I had no idea how to get home. All I could do was be a good, quiet maid. Just as I had been a diligent drone in my past life, I now poured all my energy into my new tasks. I swept the courtyards, stoked the fires, drew water, and fed the birds in the aviary, performing each duty with meticulous, repetitive precision. I tried to console myself. It wasn’t so different from drafting proposals, wrestling with spreadsheets, and creating PowerPoint presentations. A cubicle serf and a manor maid—just different kinds of labor. But I knew the truth. In my old life, labor laws might not have protected my overtime, but the civil code protected my life. A citizen’s rights were sacred. Here, my master could kill me as easily as swatting a fly, and no one would bat an eye. 5 Survival of the fittest. I was too afraid to die, so I had to endure. I had to claw and scrape for every breath. Four years passed. I was promoted from an unpaid apprentice to a scullery maid earning 100 coppers a month. Then, because the Dowager Marchioness praised how well I fed her birds, I was elevated to a second-rank maid in her personal service, with a monthly stipend of 400 coppers. 400 coppers wasn’t a small sum. One copper could buy a piece of flatbread; by modern standards, it was like making 800 a month. With money came motivation. I worked even harder. My degree was in management, a liberal art. The invisible hand of the market was useless to me here. I didn’t know the first thing about making soap or gunpowder, and I was clumsy with a needle and thread, the standard skills for women in this era. The only thing I truly excelled at was making pastries. So I poured my heart into it. If the old lady expressed even a flicker of interest in trying a new confection, I would spend a dozen hours perfecting it. In this household, the masters were the heavens. My performance review was whatever they said it was. Only by pleasing them could I hope for a better life. 6 In my fifteenth year, my superiors once again gave me a stellar review. The Dowager Marchioness herself praised me: “No one is more diligent or well-behaved. Her eyes see what needs to be done, and her heart is loyal to her masters. Promote her to a first-rank maid and send her to serve the Young Lord.” 7 The Young Lord, Lord Adrian, had been raised under the doting eye of the Dowager Marchioness. The century-old House of Valerius had but one heir, the Marquis’s only son. Compared to us, whose lives were worth less than dust, the Young Lord was a treasure beyond price. His new residence, the Jade Vine Pavilion, had been under construction for three years. It was a sprawling complex of layered courtyards, with carved balustrades, painted pillars, winding covered walkways, rock gardens, and ponds, beautiful in every season. The Dowager and the Marchioness spent two months carefully selecting a full staff to serve him. The inner court had two matrons, two first-rank maids, four second-rank maids, eight third-rank maids, and twelve scullery hands. Of the two matrons, Matron Celia was the Dowager’s old, trusted servant, sharp and capable. The other, Matron Willow, had been the Young Lord’s wet nurse, and she was gentle and attentive. The first-rank maids were Lyra, sent by the Marchioness—she was beautiful as a flower, with nimble fingers skilled at embroidery—and me. To complement Lyra’s name, the Young Lord named me Elara. My specialty was cooking and the art of tea. Lyra, with her beauty and quick, charming wit, soon grew familiar with the Young Lord, attending to his most personal needs. It was she who assisted him with his bathing and washing, she who was the “fragrant sleeve” by his side as he read. I, on the other hand, took over the tedious management of his three daily meals, his refreshments, social arrangements, and the inventory of his possessions. It was a thousand threads of trivial work, but I never complained. Every task is difficult at the start; only the dedicated succeed. A beast of burden must do every job to the best of its ability. Before long, I had a precise grasp of the Young Lord’s tastes and habits. He favored blue tunics, practiced calligraphy, enjoyed the sight of snow on green bamboo, preferred Lion’s Peak tea, and had a weakness for four-colored shortbread pastries. A slight shift of his eyes, a subtle lift of his brow, and I knew what he was thinking. He found me increasingly indispensable. 8 I had reached the pinnacle of my career path as a maid. It was time to find a new way forward. I was sixteen, the age when maids were typically matched for marriage. This meant that not only did I have no human rights, but I also had no say in who I would spend the rest of my life with. From here, there were only two paths. The first was to be married off to a footman or a guard. If my husband did well, I might become a housekeeper. I would spend my life as a serf, and then give birth to a new generation of serfs to continue serving the masters. The other path was to become a “bed-servant” for the master. If the future lady of the house was tolerant, I might be elevated to a mistress, becoming a semi-master myself. But if she was not, I wouldn’t even be able to keep my life. Lately, Matron Celia had been telling me in secret that the Dowager Marchioness had instructed her to choose a suitable girl for the Young Lord’s bed. “It is the custom of the house,” she whispered. “Before the heir weds, two maids are chosen for his chambers. It’s to… settle his heart, to prevent him from being corrupted by the women in the taverns and brothels. “These are hard times. Your indenture contract is unbreakable, but even if the master were merciful and freed you, what then? Another famine, and you’d see husbands selling their wives and children. It’s better to stay in the manor. And if you’re simply married off to some random footman, you’ll be a slave for the rest of your days. “The Dowager values your loyalty. She sent you here with the intention of making you one of the chosen. You’ve served her with all your heart. Now, turn that devotion to the Young Lord, and you might make something of yourself.” She was right. What would happen if I left? My parents were common folk, toiling their whole lives only to be torn apart by a single flood. Matron Celia had always looked out for me. This was the path she was laying out for me with all her heart. I had to consider it carefully. What was so bad about being a mistress? As long as I could live in peace. That night, I tossed and turned, tracing the Young Lord’s name on my palm. Adrian Valerius. A name as lofty and unreachable as a mountain peak. But it was better to take a gamble on a motorcycle than be shackled to a broken-down cart I didn’t choose. 9 Once my mind was made up, I slept soundly. When I awoke, I smoothed rouge onto my cheeks, applied color to my lips, and went out to conquer a new battlefield. Lyra must have heard the news as well. She had been dressing in brighter, more alluring clothes these past few days. The moment we saw each other, our intentions were laid bare in each other’s eyes. What little friendship we had evaporated in an instant. Her gaze was now sharp with suspicion. In the competition to win a place in the lord’s bed, we were now rivals. It was every woman for herself. The moment Lord Adrian returned, Lyra rushed to his side, pouring his tea, helping him change his clothes, fluttering around him like a moth to a flame, leaving me no room to get close. In response, I poured even more care into preparing his tea and pastries, inventing new variations on his favorite flavors that earned his constant praise. 10 The turning point came on a night when the Young Lord was out for a social engagement. Lyra and I were supposed to alternate night duty; it was my turn. When he returned, staggering from drink, she rushed forward, asking if he wanted some soup. Her dress was far more sheer than usual, her hair and makeup done with a provocative flair. I knew something was amiss, but Lord Adrian, his stomach churning from the wine, requested a light lotus-leaf porridge. I had no choice but to go and prepare it. After I left, he went to bathe. Lyra followed him in. They were in the bathing chamber for two hours. The wet nurse and Matron Celia slipped in to check, then hurried away to report to the Marchioness. When I brought the porridge, I snuck a peek. Lyra stood behind the Young Lord, her face flushed, her hair in disarray, her clothes askew. It was clear she had been taken by him. The very next day, the Young Lord began paying Lyra a monthly allowance of two silver pieces from his own purse—the stipend of a mistress. Although she couldn’t be formally recognized before he married, she already had the status of a woman of his chambers. A wave of disappointment washed over me. This was his first time; it would surely leave a deep impression, perhaps securing her for life. I had missed my chance. I scoffed at myself. If you’re going to be a mistress, what does it matter how you get there? The method that works is the one that matters. Years of full meals had made me forget. This place was far more brutal than any corporate office. The opportunities to change your fate were fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye. 11 Matron Celia saw my dejection. She pulled me aside and whispered in my ear. “A conquest won by such obvious means might not sit well with the Dowager and the Marchioness. You just do your job. It’s not over until it’s over. Don’t you dare lose hope.” Her words were a splash of cold water. It wasn’t hard to become the Young Lord’s bed-servant. The hard part was being accepted by the lady of the house. A clumsy, blatant maneuver would only make you a target. You could end up dead without ever knowing why. Like still water runs deep, I pushed all my bitterness and disappointment down and focused on serving the Young Lord with even greater care and attention. 12 The next year, the Dowager and the Marchioness began the search for a proper wife for the Young Lord. I heard that ever since the Midwinter Gala, the Marchioness’s desk was piled high with invitations to garden parties and social gatherings at other noble houses, the “flowers” on display being their eligible daughters. The Dowager was just as active, inviting old friends and relatives to bring their daughters for visits. Chewing on ginseng slices to keep her energy up, she would chat for hours, so busy that the maids in her wing had no time for idle gossip. The House of Valerius was at the height of its power, and the Young Lord was intelligent and well-mannered. There was no shortage of prospects. 13 In the Jade Vine Pavilion, Lyra’s night with the lord was like a stone tossed into a still pond, sending ripples through the entire staff. Lord Adrian was a reserved, serious man who rarely smiled. But since that night in the bath, a new warmth had appeared in his eyes. He started teasing Lyra, setting aside special treats and trinkets for her. His favor seemed to make Lyra forget she was still a servant. She began to subtly challenge the authority of the matrons, criticizing the other first- and second-rank maids. She was even more imperious with the junior maids, scolding and striking them at will. Matron Willow was not only the lord’s wet nurse but also a distant relative of the Marchioness, a woman of some standing. After being publicly contradicted by Lyra several times, she cursed in frustration, “She’s not even a proper mistress yet and she’s already this arrogant!” Seeing Lyra’s success, the other maids grew restless. Each tried to outdo the others, their minds consumed with fashioning themselves into beautiful flowers, plotting “accidental” encounters with the Young Lord. The courtyards went unswept, the birds unfed, the hearths cold. The maids’ dresses became more revealing and thinner by the day, and several of them caught colds. Matron Celia and Matron Willow scolded them repeatedly, but the feverish, ambitious undercurrent could not be stopped. 14 One day, I noticed a strange taste in the lunch a junior maid brought me. Without a word, I took the food into my room, scraped it into the chamber pot, and ate some of my own pastries to quell my hunger. That afternoon, Lyra began making repeated, frantic trips to the latrine. After several bouts, her face was pale as a sheet. I pretended to have a stomachache as well and retired to my room. That night, when Lord Adrian returned from an outing, two second-rank maids, Faye and Briar, dressed in flimsy gowns, approached him with a cup of tea. Before the cup reached his lips, Matron Celia and Matron Willow stormed in with guards and seized them. The tea had been drugged with an aphrodisiac. The incident that afternoon had seemed suspicious to more than just me. The two old matrons had seen the signs immediately. As Matron Celia put it, “It was only a matter of time before these restless fools caused a disaster!” The Dowager Marchioness was furious. Faye and Briar were given twenty lashes and sold off. All the servants of the Jade Vine Pavilion were made to watch the punishment. At first, the two girls screamed. After ten lashes, their cries faded to weak gasps. Lyra, still weak from her illness, was dragged out by two burly servants on the Dowager’s orders and forced to watch from the front row. The display—killing the chickens to scare the monkeys—was terrifyingly effective. The entire staff was cowed into submission, trembling with fear. 15 The Jade Vine Pavilion returned to a state of tense tranquility. The servants now attended to the Young Lord with renewed, fearful diligence. Not long after, the Young Lord’s uncle, who had married his aunt, completed his tenure as governor of a southern duchy and was promoted to a high position at court. The entire family returned to the capital. The Dowager Marchioness was overjoyed to be reunited with her long-absent daughter. But what delighted her even more was the celestial beauty her daughter brought with her: her granddaughter, Lady Seraphina. She was like an angel, a fairy from the painted screen in the Dowager’s own chambers. I was on duty at the family banquet that day. The moment Lord Adrian saw his cousin, he froze. Lady Seraphina, blushing, shyly lowered her gaze. The maids in the Dowager’s service whispered that the old woman and her daughter had already settled the matter. Preparations for the betrothal gifts were already underway. 16 With the Young Lord’s marriage settled, I became even more cautious, terrified of making a mistake. According to the house rules, the heir must have two bed-servants before his wedding. Lyra had already been taken, and the Young Lord pleaded with his mother to grant her an official, albeit lowly, title. With his support, the recently subdued Lyra became arrogant once more. On the day the betrothal was formally announced, Lord Adrian left early. I was in my room reviewing accounts when I heard Lyra ordering another maid, Briar, to water the flowers, then scolding her for dressing provocatively and having “no work in her eyes.” Briar endured it for a moment, then snapped back, “You’re one to talk! You seduced the master right into his bed!” Lyra flew into a rage. The two of them started pulling hair and tearing at each other’s clothes, fighting in the middle of the courtyard. The Dowager was furious. On such an auspicious day, to have such a shameful incident occur—it was a disgrace. She immediately ordered both girls to be given ten lashes and sold off. When Lord Adrian returned, he rushed to the Dowager’s chambers and knelt for a long time, pleading and begging until he had exhausted every flattering word to save Lyra. But poor Briar was not so lucky. As she was dragged away, beaten and limp as a dead dog, her desperate eyes found mine. But I couldn’t save her. Just as I couldn’t save myself. 17 After this, the Dowager strictly forbade Lyra from attending to the Young Lord. She then instructed Matron Celia, “We need another, more stable girl to serve by his side.” After the storm, a new path opened. Matron Celia came to me, her face alight with excitement. The Dowager wanted to see me. This was it. This was my chance to be formally presented to the Young Lord. In the preceding weeks, while the other maids had been a riot of color and flirtation, I had remained in my plain servant’s uniform, toiling in the small kitchen, managing the lord’s meals and expenses. Matron Celia had told me in private that on the day of the floggings, the Dowager had remarked before leaving, “In this entire courtyard, only Elara is still diligent and useful.” I checked my appearance. My clothes were clean but well-worn, not bright, but tidy. My hair was in a simple twin-bun style, adorned with a few small, inconspicuous pearl pins. I had been preparing for this moment since the day Lyra was punished. I entered the main hall and knelt properly to one side. The Dowager seemed not to see me, sipping her tea in silence. After what felt like an eternity, she finally nodded for the matron to let me rise. She said I was dutiful and honest, that I served well. Now, as was tradition, the Young Lord needed two women in his chambers before his marriage. Lyra had proven unsuitable. It was my turn now. I must not fail her. I kowtowed. The old lady bestowed upon me a set of hairpins and a new gown, a mark of her favor. I had passed the test. I had gotten what I wanted. But, if I could be so sentimental, I felt no relief. To place your fate in the hands of others, to constantly scheme and read their every mood—it was an exhausting, bitter existence. And besides, the path of a master’s companion was only just beginning. 18 That night, when Lord Adrian returned, I had already bathed and changed into the gown the Dowager had given me. In the mirror, the seventeen-year-old girl staring back was in the prime of her youth, with a natural, peach-like bloom. Dressed in a dazzling, eye-catching garment instead of my usual drab uniform, I looked… almost captivating. When Lord Adrian saw me, he paused, a look of genuine surprise and admiration in his eyes. “Elara, you so rarely wear such bright colors. This lavender is gentle, it sets off your skin like snow.” I lowered my gaze demurely and offered him a cup of tea. “It was a gift from the Dowager.” Lord Adrian was intelligent. With that one sentence, he understood. I was the new companion his grandmother had chosen for him. He took my hand and led me into the warm inner chamber. He sat on the couch and then pulled me onto his lap, looking at me with a gentle expression. I had served him for three years, but this was the first time we had ever been this close, so close I could see the individual lashes framing his eyes. “Elara,” he said softly, “all these years, you’ve served me with such care and propriety. I thought you had no interest in me. I would never force you. If you were unwilling, I was planning to arrange for your release from the estate in a few years.” A small tremor went through my heart, but my face remained a mask of calm. I had assumed I would never leave this place. Suddenly, he had offered me another path. But if I left, what would I do? No. The cart had reached the edge of the cliff. It was too late to turn back. I tilted my head up slightly, bit my lip, and looked at him with all the adoration I could muster. I had practiced this look in the mirror countless times. This was my most fetching expression. “My Lord, you are the finest man I have ever known. This house is my home. I never dared to overstep. As long as I could serve you, I would have been content to be a scullery maid my entire life. Now that the Dowager has given me this chance, how could I be unwilling? My only fear is that I am not worthy of you.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with pleasure. He pulled me closer, and his kiss said more than a thousand words ever could.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393032”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel