Category: English

Jason walked in as I was eating hotpot alone on the rug. Though I knew he’d already dined, I kept my eyes on the simmering broth. He sat silently on the sofa edge – the quiet so deep I heard my slotted spoon drip. I timed my Wagyu slice perfectly: five seconds, then a light soy dip. The absurd scene: a woman in evening gown, kneeling at a low table devouring hotpot. Our downtown penthouse, once a marital home, was now mostly my solitary space. I cooked vegetables meticulously while he sat wordless beside me. Only when full did I rise, leaving the mess for Maria. In the bathroom, I removed the barely visible black mourning band from my sleeve. Folding it, my reflection caught me. As I reached for the bedroom knob, he finally spoke. “Alice.” I turned, simply murmuring, “Hmm?” He was already striding forward, sweeping me into his arms. “If you need to cry, just let it out. I’m here.” I looked up at him, my expression calm and serene. “I haven’t shed a tear in years. Not then, not now, not ever. Go take a shower. Your clothes are picking up my perfume.” He started to speak again, but I gently pressed a finger to his lips. As the sound of the shower filled the bathroom, the lingering scent of violets on him slowly faded. I pushed open the bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the bustling city grid sixty-six stories below. If I were to leap from here, I wondered, would there even be a trace left? But which would be harder to bear: the soul-gnawing agony of chemotherapy, or the searing, instantaneous pain of a fall? 1 My phone buzzed relentlessly, a cascade of sympathetic messages. My finger paused on an unread voice note. The moment I tapped it, a boy’s bright voice, clear as shattered ice, pierced my ear: “Happy birthday, Sis! Don’t forget your strawberry cake~ And just between us, I recorded a hundred ‘Happy Birthday’ messages for you, so you have to live to be a hundred, so you can hear them every year!” A dull ache, like a hammer blow, slammed into my chest. I slid down the cool glass wall, slowly collapsing to the floor. No more. My only brother, Leo, had finally succumbed to the bone cancer, closing his eyes forever on the eve of my birthday. …A rapid knock echoed on the bedroom door. He called my childhood name, his voice laced with an urgency I hadn’t heard in years. In my daze, it was almost as if I were a child again, when he would tug my ponytail and sweetly call out, “Alice.” “The bath’s ready. Please open the door, let me carry you in, okay?” “Alice, don’t scare me…” I leaned against the frigid glass, my eyes hollow as I stared at the city’s neon glow. I wanted so desperately to tell him to leave, to go anywhere – after four years of living alone in this empty house, I’d long grown accustomed to the chilling solitude. He hadn’t shown up for my mother’s funeral four years ago; he hadn’t been there for Leo’s farewell just yesterday. His “return” now felt utterly superfluous. …He must have learned about my illness. Lately, he’d been home every day, even his voice noticeably softer. It wasn’t hard to guess why – both my mother and Leo had died from bone cancer, a disease known for its high hereditary risk in our family. I curled up on the sofa with my Maine Coon, watching a show, when he brought over a breakfast tray. “I made your favorite ham sandwich. Want some?” I set the cat down and sat at the dining table, but only spooned a bit of plain rice porridge into my mouth. “Would you mind coming to Grandma Helen’s place with me for lunch?” “Hmm.” As I swallowed the second spoonful of porridge, I caught his hesitant, unsaid words. 2 Outside the car window, the sycamore leaves were tinged with gold. Autumn had arrived, unnoticed. A cashmere scarf suddenly draped over my shoulders. “Careful, you’ll catch a chill.” At Grandma Helen’s estate, her eyes were filled with worry, none of her usual cheer. She sighed often. I sat beside her on the long sofa, but deliberately focused on the TV show, laughing loudly. “Grandma, look how funny that comedian’s hat is!” “Yes, it’s quite funny. As long as you like it, Alice.” Before dinner, I took a walk in the garden, only returning when the dinner bell chimed. Before I even entered the house, I heard voices arguing from a side room. “You need to cut ties with that woman, immediately! Can’t you see Alice isn’t herself anymore? She just lost her only family member, if you have any decency…” “You were gallivanting around overseas with another woman during Leo’s funeral!” “I booked the fastest flight…” That was Jason’s strained defense. “The hospital had already issued a critical condition notice! And you chose that moment to go abroad, with that hussy… Any woman would be driven insane by you!” “She insisted on coming along…” “Enough! What good is saying all this now? Just make amends during the time she has left.” I stepped back, walked another loop around the garden, and then returned. When I got back, Jason was already waiting for me by the front door. He wore a coat, and in his eyes, for once, was genuine concern for me. “Where did you go? Couldn’t find you anywhere in the garden.” “Found a stray dog. Took it to the shelter.” “Your hands are freezing.” He came closer, reaching for my hand. My body stiffened. Perhaps my hands were just too cold; the warmth of his grasp made me instinctively tremble. He squeezed my hand, a little harder, as if trying to hold onto something precious. Seeing Grandma Helen standing by the inner door, waiting for us, I forced a smile and followed him back inside. 3 After lunch at Grandma Helen’s, we said our goodbyes. I’d already quit my job. For the rest of my days, I simply cooked, ate, slept, consumed TV shows on my phone all night if they were good. Jason would tell me to stop, but I wouldn’t listen. His tone was too gentle now, unlike our past arguments, which were always sharp as knives. This particular night, I stayed up all night on my phone. When he woke up the next morning and found me still glued to it, he took it away. “Stop playing. Let your eyes rest.” But he was wrong this time. I was dealing with something serious. I was talking to a cemetery sales agent about a burial plot. He saw the screen and froze. I held out my hand. “I’m almost done. Give it back.” He became like a caged beast, veins bulging on his clenched fists. He said nothing, just took my phone and walked out. I came out, picked up the cat by the door, and looked at the closed balcony door. He was out there, chain-smoking, almost swallowed by the haze. 4 In the days that followed, he was exceptionally good to me, indulging my every whim. If I fell asleep by the floor-to-ceiling window while watching the sunset, he would gently carry me to bed. If I lounged in the living room watching TV, he’d join me. He even experimented with foreign cuisines every day, ensuring no two meals were alike. Sometimes, I’d just stare, mesmerized, at him in the kitchen in his loungewear. Oh, and he thoughtfully removed all the calendars from the house, not wanting me to see the thinning stack of days. One day, scrolling through videos, I saw countless flower deliveries. It clicked. It was Valentine’s Day. The bedroom door creaked open. I quickly shut off the video. He had something to say. “What is it?” “I need to go out for a bit.” I paused, then simply replied, “Okay.” He didn’t need to tell me if he was going out. After he left, I changed into a sweater, deciding to go for a walk. The afternoon sun cast a pleasant glow on the streets. We were running low on cat food, so I bought two large bags of cat treats and some of my favorite potato chips. My hands were full, but I still planned to stop at my favorite coffee shop for a hot cup. At a traffic light, I saw the coffee shop across the street. And I knew I wouldn’t be having that coffee. Through the cafe’s large window, Jason looked out, his eyes widening in shock. I hadn’t managed to get away fast enough. Our quiet moment was shattered by my presence, and their festive warmth, too. Amidst the rush of people, I quickly turned and walked away. I didn’t understand it today. Seeing Skye in a red dress, she still looked so vibrant. But the furious hatred I once held for her had completely faded. I remembered the first time I found out about her. I’d stormed over to her bayfront house, smashed things, and we’d fought tooth and nail, scratching each other until our faces bled. Now, looking back, it felt so childish. Carrying my purchases, I hailed a cab home. I fed the cat its treats, rubbed its plump belly, and sighed. Just like me, it loved to sleep after eating. After tucking it into its cat bed, I began packing my clothes. I planned to leave. The thought had crossed my mind before, for no other reason than knowing the very last days of my life would be messy, unsightly. I wanted to find a place where no one would be, to fade away in silence. I packed a large suitcase and carried it to the door, taking one last look at the home I had lovingly created. The sleeping cat woke, looking at me with bewildered eyes. In the taxi, I held the cat. Together, we gazed up at the sky outside the window.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392720”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When my mother, at 55, finally spoke of divorce, My father roared, “Then be gone!” My brother sneered, “Ungrateful old woman!” I stepped through the scattered chaos, grabbed her hand, and said, “Mom, I’m taking you home.” 1 I walked into a living room brimming with people. My father, my brother, my sister-in-law Brittany, and what seemed like every single one of Brittany’s relatives. My mother was alone in the kitchen, silently washing dishes. Seeing me, Dad stubbed out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, his voice grating with impatience. “Go on, talk some sense into your foolish mother. Your in-laws are staying with us, what’s she kicking up a fuss for?” I scanned the crowded room. “Why are they staying here?” Brittany’s mother, Sharon Jenkins, offered a saccharine smile. “Brittany’s grandma is in the hospital, stroke. Needs constant care. And wouldn’t you know, our place is so much farther from Metropolitan General…” Before she could finish, my brother Kevin cut her off. “Enough, Mom, why are you explaining anything to an outsider?” He turned to me, his lip curling. “Don’t know what bug Mom’s got up her butt. Asking for a divorce at her age? Embarrassing.” “My Mom?” I scoffed, a cold laugh escaping me. “Were you born under a rock? No mother at all?” “You…” Kevin spluttered, caught off guard by my retort. Brittany jumped in, playing peacemaker. “Mia, your brother just spoke without thinking. We asked you to come back to talk to Mom. This fuss she’s making isn’t good for anyone.” “Fine. I’ll talk to her.” I strode directly into the kitchen, picked up the stack of unwashed dishes my mother was about to tackle, and with a resounding crash, I slammed them down on the living room floor. 2 Even as a child, two things became clear to me. I was the least favored person in my family, and my mother was the one who toiled the most. When we visited my grandparents, I was never allowed to eat at the main table. After my mother had painstakingly cooked and served all the food, Grandpa would always feign politeness, saying, “Ellie, there’s not enough room. You take little Amelia to the kitchen to eat.” I was named Amelia when I was born. My mother, who hadn’t had much schooling, later thought the name was too common. She secretly took me to the county office to change it. When the clerk asked her what she wanted to change it to, all she could think of was “Mia.” She said I deserved to be cherished and loved by everyone. So, I became Mia Hayes. Eating in the kitchen was actually a delight, because my mother would always secretly save me a few pieces of meat. While the big family feasted raucously outside, my mother and I would share our quiet, warm meal in the kitchen. My grades were always excellent in school. But when I was in ninth grade, my father wouldn’t let me continue. He said he had connections to get me a factory job, where I could earn at least fifteen hundred a month. I could send a thousand home each month, and with the family’s savings, they could buy my brother a house in the city, helping him get married. My mother refused. Father beat her for it, but she wouldn’t budge. With a bruised and swollen face, she went to my homeroom teacher, begging for a few more days, promising she would find a way to pay my tuition. She went to a construction site, hauling bricks for pennies a piece, working day and night until her fingers were raw and bleeding. Finally, she scraped together enough for my tuition. The day she paid for my schooling, she was brutally beaten by my father again. 3 To take my mother away from that house, I poured all my energy into studying. After getting into a top university, I never stopped urging her to divorce him. But back then, my brother was getting ready to marry. My mother said her children were both “flesh and blood,” and she had to stay to help him with the wedding arrangements. That’s just the kind of person my mother was. She was endlessly loving and nurturing to everyone else, but utterly clueless about loving herself. After Brittany moved in, she took advantage of my father and brother’s backing to blatantly exploit my mother. Every meal had to have at least four different dishes, or else Mom wasn’t “taking her seriously.” If someone in Brittany’s family got sick, my mother had to make nourishing soups daily and visit them, or else she wasn’t “taking her seriously.” My mother had to hand-wash Brittany’s intimate clothing every day, or else she wasn’t “taking her seriously.” My brother had no objections to any of this. In fact, he felt my mother should be even more attentive. My father also saw no problem. He felt incredibly proud when entertaining his in-laws. Both father and son were obsessed with appearances. So, when I smashed that stack of dishes in the living room, their faces turned purple with rage. “Mia Hayes, what the hell are you doing, making a scene like that?” My brother looked ready to charge me, but his mother-in-law held him back. I smiled, a cold, sharp edge to my lips. “I’m ‘talking to’ my mother. She’s divorcing, so there’s no need for her to cook and clean for you leeches anymore. Even a dog, fed a few times, knows to wag its tail. You lot are less human than a canine.” At my words, the faces in the living room shifted, turning ugly. Brittany, in particular, tore off all pretenses and began to shriek at me. My mother, hearing the commotion, rushed in from the kitchen. The moment my father saw her, he unleashed a torrent of curses. “Eleanor, look at what kind of monster you raised!” My mother, gentle by nature, had never cursed anyone in her life. Her lips trembled, but for a long moment, no words of rebuttal came out. In the end, she simply whispered, “Frankie, I told you. I want a divorce.” My father’s voice climbed higher. “Then pack your bags right now! If you want to leave, damn it, then leave! You think I’m giving you a choice?” The others in the living room made a few half-hearted attempts to mediate. I wanted to retort, but my mother gently patted my hand, shaking her head. I reluctantly followed her into the bedroom. Just before I closed the door, I heard my brother snarl, “Two ungrateful bitches.” 4 I’d been on a business trip in New York City recently. Work had been hectic, and I hadn’t kept much in touch with my family. As my mom packed her things, I pieced together the approximate story from the scene outside and her fragmented whispers. Brittany’s grandmother had been hospitalized with a brain hemorrhage at Metropolitan General. Under the guise of taking care of the elderly, Brittany’s parents, Sharon and Gary Jenkins, and her younger brother, Kyle, had all moved into our house. They claimed to be looking after the patient, but in reality, it was my mother who brought the patient’s meals, fed her, emptied her bedpan, and even bathed her. Besides caring for the patient, my mother also had to cook for the entire extended family at home. Brittany insisted that since her parents rarely visited, they had to be well-fed for every single meal. On top of all this, my mother had to look after Brittany’s brother, Kyle. He’d tripped and fallen, complaining of pain all over. My thick-headed brother, eager to curry favor with his in-laws, stupidly boasted that he’d once fallen as a child and my mother had massaged him every night, helping him recover quickly. At their collective insistence, my mother had to spend half an hour every night massaging Kyle’s aching body. My mother said these things didn’t bother her much. “Who cares for whom?” she’d say. “As long as the family is together and happy.” What truly broke her heart was when she fell ill recently, so sick she couldn’t get out of bed. She asked my brother to drive her to the hospital, but he said he had to take Brittany and her family out sightseeing. He told my mother to just lie in bed and, if she felt better, to go visit Brittany’s grandma at the hospital. They all fit perfectly into one car, along with my father. They stayed out all day and didn’t come back. My mother lay in bed for a full day. She hadn’t eaten anything. In the end, she had to call 911 herself. The paramedics asked the building manager to unlock the door, then took my mother to the hospital in an ambulance. When my father and brother returned, they heard the news from the neighbors. Then they went to the hospital and yelled at my mother. My father said my mother was just being dramatic, calling 911 for such a minor thing, costing money and making them look like a joke. My brother said my mother had gotten sick at the worst possible time; Brittany’s grandma was already ill, and now there was one more person to take care of. Brittany herself claimed my mother must have been jealous that my brother took them out, so she’d gotten herself sick out of spite, saying my mother was too petty. Hearing this, I trembled with fury. My mother was incredibly frugal. She would endure pain rather than take medicine, only going to a small clinic for something if she truly couldn’t bear it anymore. How much pain must she have been in to call 911 herself? I looked at my mother’s small, bony back, subtly wiping away the tears that streamed down my face. They wouldn’t stop. My mother said Brittany, afraid of catching something, had left the hospital room after only a few minutes, dragging everyone else with her. An elderly woman in the same hospital room, seeing my mother’s plight, specifically asked her family to bring extra food and shared half with my mother. It was then that my mother realized that, in my father and brother’s eyes, she was worth less than a stranger. It was then that she finally conceived the idea of divorce. 5 My mother’s belongings were few. After toiling for this family for half a lifetime, everything she owned fit into a single duffel bag. As my mother carried her bag out of the room, my sister-in-law’s mother, Sharon Jenkins, came over, feigning concern, and tried to snatch the bag from her hand. “Oh, dear! My dear in-law, what are you doing?” she wailed. “It’s all our fault! We shouldn’t have moved in and caused all this trouble between you two. Oh, what a terrible sin we’ve committed!” Brittany’s mother, a large, beefy woman, barely tugged at my mother’s bag twice before letting out an “ouch!” and clutching her back, claiming she’d twisted it. Brittany’s father, Gary Jenkins, lunged forward, pushing my mother toward the wall, but I stepped in, blocking him. My father and brother stood by, hands in pockets, watching the spectacle. As if the person being bullied wasn’t his wife and his own mother. My mother didn’t spare a glance for anyone else in the house. I shielded her, guiding her directly toward the front door. As my mother was changing her shoes, my father finally spoke. “Eleanor, if you walk out that door today, our family disowns both you and your daughter!” “Disown us then! Who cares?” I couldn’t hold back the seething anger any longer, unleashing it on everyone in the room. I pointed at my father. “You’re nothing but a coward who only acts tough at home, selfish and self-serving. You can’t even speak up in front of strangers, but you’re a bully to my mother.” I pointed at my brother. “You’re a spineless leech, always turning your back on your own family, with no backbone of your own. All you do is grovel and flatter your wife’s family, you pathetic excuse for a man.” I pointed at Brittany. “Every meal can’t have less than four dishes? Did you never eat at home? Did you come to my house begging for food?” I pointed at Sharon Jenkins. “Your mother’s sick, and you expect my mother to make her soup, sit by her bedside, and clean her? Is your whole family dead?” I pointed at Kyle. “You fell and hurt yourself, and you want my mother to massage your back? What, did you break your legs and become a cripple?” And finally, I pointed at Gary Jenkins. “And you! My mother cooked and cared for you, and you still had the nerve to push her? You heartless bastard!” “Mia Hayes, you wanna fight, you little B-word?” My brother rolled up his sleeves, ready to lunge. I pulled out the small fruit knife I’d hidden in my pocket, my voice chillingly calm. “Try me, if you’re not afraid to die.” “Mia, have you lost your mind?” Brittany quickly pulled my brother back. I swept my gaze across everyone in the room. “I’ll have a lawyer draft the divorce papers and send them over. From now on, whether you live or die, it has nothing to do with my mother or me!” With that, I picked up my mother’s duffel bag with one hand and pulled her out the door with the other. “Mom, I’m taking you home.” 6 Last year, I bought a small two-bedroom apartment, telling no one. After my mom put her few things away, she still looked shaken. “Mia, why did you pull out that knife? What if you’d hurt yourself? Don’t be so foolish next time.” I sat beside her, gently putting my arm around her. “Because I was determined to take you away, Mom. Just like that year after I graduated high school, when you took a knife and dragged me away from the old place.” When I got my college acceptance letter, my grandparents, uncharacteristically, invited us back to the old homestead for a gathering. They said it was to celebrate my getting into college. But when we arrived, it was clearly a trap. My grandparents had heard from others that once a girl went to college, she was like a kite with a broken string—she’d never come back. This made them, who had always planned to use my “settlement” to subsidize their precious grandson, extremely anxious. They conspired with my father and brother. They found a family in the village with similar standing, accepted a significant payment from them for my hand, and planned a meal to serve as the “wedding feast.” Then, they’d let the man take me away to make sure the deed was done, and the marriage would be irreversible. Sensing something was terribly wrong, I kicked over the table and ran. But I was outnumbered and caught. The man’s mother, seeing my fierce spirit, urged him to take me home immediately and “finish things.” They stuffed my mouth with a rag and bound me tightly with rope. The man lifted me onto his shoulder, walking step by agonizing step toward his house. Just as I despaired, wishing for death, my mother, who had been locked in the woodshed, burst out from somewhere, brandishing a kitchen knife. Her hair was disheveled, and she swung the knife wildly at anyone who came near, single-handedly rescuing me. “I’d like to see who dares touch my daughter! If you’re not afraid to die, come closer!” she screamed. “My daughter is capable, and she’s going to college! If you dare ruin her, I’ll fight you to the death!” That year, despite being malnourished, I had grown to five feet seven inches. My mother was barely five feet two. Years of constant labor had reduced her to skin and bones. But in that moment, I saw her as monumental. More monumental than the sky or the earth. My grandparents threatened suicide, hanging and drowning, to force her hand. My mother’s resolve remained unshaken. She called the police. My father and that man were held for two weeks. My mother, fearing they’d plot against me again, gave me every penny she had. “My girl,” she’d said, “your mother is useless. Take this money, go far away, and don’t ever come back.” I begged her to come with me, but she steadfastly refused. At first, I resented her for her apparent ignorance. Later, I realized she wasn’t ignorant. She was simply trapped by her generation’s beliefs. She had been taught from childhood that men were everything, that women were born to serve men, that a woman must bear sons to continue the family line. She hadn’t received a proper education, hadn’t seen the grand, vibrant world outside. But her love for me gave her the courage to defy every principle she’d been taught. 7 The day after my mother moved into my apartment, my uncle called her. He chided her for being irresponsible at her age, for abandoning the family and living luxuriously with her “ungrateful” daughter. “Ellie, how can you be such a mother? Frankie and your nephew don’t know how to cook. Are you trying to starve them?” he scolded. “A man is the most important, a man is someone you can truly rely on. How long do you think you can stay with Mia? She’ll get married eventually, she’ll become someone else’s family. In the end, you’ll just slink back!” “Listen to your brother, go back and apologize to the family, and this whole thing will blow over. What kind of scene are you making?” My mother sat on the sofa, clutching her phone, looking helpless. She tried to explain the whole story to my uncle. On the other end of the line, my uncle scoffed, “Oh, what’s the big deal? Your in-laws rarely visit, your nephew had to entertain them properly. And honestly, when else could you get sick but then? Whose fault is that?” “If your nephew keeps his wife happy, and she gives the Hayes family a big, healthy grandson, it’ll bring so much honor to your family name!” My mother’s eyes dimmed, a flicker of hope dying within them.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392741”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Just because Dr. Chloe Flynn, his intern and junior colleague, wanted to perform the surgery, Dr. Liam Thorne allowed her to practice on our son’s circumcision. “My junior colleague possesses extraordinary talent. You should count yourself lucky she’s willing to operate.” This was about our son’s future, his very essence. I wanted an experienced surgeon, but Liam exploded, pointing a furious finger at my face. “Don’t you dare look down on her. What if she’s just an intern? Even the chief started out as an intern.” I clung to the operating room doors, pleading desperately. “Let’s not do this. Can I just take our son home?” He kicked me aside, shoving our son inside. “The child you raised is just like you, utterly pathetic.” “Get out! Don’t embarrass me here. Patient trust is ruined by people like you.” It was days later, after he had attended a seminar with his junior colleague, when he finally reviewed the surgical recording. He saw our son’s very manhood severed… The operating room doors finally swung open. Our son was wheeled out, his face deathly pale, like a discarded rag. His pants were soaked with blood, and he was completely unconscious. Panic seized me. They said it was just a minor procedure. Why was he bleeding so much? But no one at the hospital paid me any mind. They simply put us in a corner room that smelled faintly of decay. When no one was watching, I trembled as I unfastened our son’s clothes to examine him. Red and yellow fluids glued his clothes to his skin. When I tugged, our son let out a heart-wrenching scream of pain. The next second, a bowl-sized wound was exposed to the air. My mind buzzed, and the world spun violently around me. Our son’s future, his very manhood, had been severed. Coming to my senses, I scrambled, half-crawling, out to find a doctor, but the room door had been locked from the outside at some point. With all the hospital equipment around, this particular dead-end room had no cell signal. Helpless, I kept pressing the nurse call button, banging on the door, and shouting. “Liam Thorne, are you out there? Please come save our son! His life is in danger!” “Is anyone there? Help! Is there a doctor?” My shrill cries echoed through the corridor. A distant nurse, yawning, finally approached. She opened the door and shoved me roughly. “What’s all that screaming for? A funeral? He’s just bleeding a little. Is your child made of gold?” “Director Thorne and Dr. Flynn are at an academic conference. Who has time to watch your son all day?” I ignored the throbbing pain of my twisted wrist, bit my tongue to force myself calm, and stammered. “Fine, he’s not here, that’s okay. Are there any other doctors? My son is really in a bad state. Please, save him.” The nurse rolled her eyes, scoffing. “This was a surgery approved by Director Thorne and performed by Dr. Flynn herself. What do you, a shrew, know?” “And it’s after hours. This isn’t your hospital; you can’t just demand to see anyone you want.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Even the junior nurses knew Director Thorne and Dr. Flynn were the hospital’s ‘golden couple,’ while I, his legal wife, was treated like a pariah. Crash! Glass shattered, flying. I smashed a water glass, then held a shard to my throat, threatening. “This is medical malpractice! And because I’m Liam Thorne’s wife! My son isn’t just having normal post-op bleeding, his manhood was mistakenly severed! Call Leo’s father now!” I pressed the glass hard against myself, nearly piercing my throat. With every word, blood trickled from my neck. The young nurse’s face went white. She angrily dialed Liam Thorne. The moment the call connected, I snatched the phone, babbling incoherently for help. 2 “Liam Thorne, come back now! His manhood, our son’s manhood is gone!” “Reattachment has a window of six hours! If you don’t come back and save him, his life will be ruined forever!” At that moment, no other thought crossed my mind, only the desperate need to save my son. On the other end of the line, Liam Thorne paused for several seconds. He knew I would never joke about our son. “Alright, wait for me. I’ll be there immediately—” But then, Dr. Chloe Flynn’s syrupy voice drifted through the phone. “Senior colleague, do you not trust my medical skills?” “I’m your personal protégé, the rose you personally cultivated. Don’t you trust yourself, or don’t you trust me?” Though Chloe was Liam’s intern, she was cross-trained in medicine, originally studying administration. She had never set foot in an operating room before. Liam Thorne’s voice instantly turned icy. “Skye, don’t think I don’t know your sordid thoughts. We’re merely conducting legitimate business.” “His manhood is severed? Why don’t you just say he’s dead? It was just a circumcision. To frame Chloe, you’d even curse your own son. You, you shrew, are beyond redemption.” “Oh, dear, my sister-in-law is just anxious. Senior colleague, look at this lace lingerie. Isn’t it pretty? Buy some to appease your wife.” I broke down. Our son’s life hung in the balance, yet my husband was shopping for lingerie with another woman. What kind of “legitimate business” required a visit to a lingerie store? After the call ended, the nurse walked away with a look of disdain. Perhaps in her eyes, I was merely a jealous madwoman. Due to a post-surgical infection, our son began to convulse with fever. I wanted to hold him, but I was afraid of hurting him, so I could only repeatedly try to cool him down with cold compresses. Our son whimpered, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Daddy, am I brave?” At that moment, tears streamed down my face. He was the child I had conceived after three years of IVF. I had always been meticulous in raising him, sometimes overly so. But because of his gentle nature, Liam always found him disappointing. This time, our son had only cooperated with the surgery because he wanted to be brave, just like Daddy said. It was my fault, my baby. I’m so sorry. Our son saw me crying and tried to wipe away my tears. As he shifted, he suddenly bled out. The bed sheets beneath him instantly became soaked in blood. Seeing this, I panicked, losing a shoe as I ran. I furiously hammered on the room door, screaming for help again. Fortunately, the nurse on duty returned. Before I could even explain our son’s condition, several burly men rushed out from behind her. “This woman’s insane. She’s been causing a scene all night. Director Thorne said she has mental health issues. Just handle her.” After saying that, the men approached with leers, roughly lifted me, and strapped me to the hospital bed, spread-eagled. Countless large hands took the opportunity to roam over my body. Even my inner thighs were bruised purple. My wrists were raw with blood from the restraints. Unable to move, I struggled to signal the nurse with my head to look at my son. “The child is bleeding heavily. If he doesn’t get help soon, he’ll die. Please, find a doctor.” They injected me with a sedative. I slammed my head against the metal bed frame, the stinging pain of tears mixing with blood the only thing keeping me somewhat conscious. The nurse saw the bed sheet beneath our son, blackened and soaked with blood. Her knees buckled. She quickly called Liam Thorne. “Director, maybe you should come back and take a look. This child really has bled a lot.” Liam Thorne sighed impatiently. “Post-op bleeding is perfectly normal, isn’t it? Are you even a medical professional? Can’t handle this? Just quit.” “And if that woman keeps causing trouble, just throw her out.” After the call ended, I looked at the nurse with desperate hope, praying she would stop our son’s bleeding. 3 To my horror, she held her nose, glanced at him from a distance, then turned and uncapped a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from a cabinet, pouring it directly onto his wound. “Hear that? A little post-op bleeding is normal. Why are you screaming like a banshee? Remember to pay for the soiled sheets.” “This surgery was performed by Dr. Flynn and overseen by Director Thorne. How could anything go wrong? We see plenty of entitled mothers like you.” The moment the hydrogen peroxide touched our son’s wound, the surrounding flesh immediately curled and blanched. She then continued to prod the raw flesh in his wound with tweezers. Our son convulsed in agony, his body twisting, only to be yanked straight by the nurse. A guttural gasp rasped in his throat. Watching my son, in too much pain to even cry, I desperately hammered the metal bed, struggling to get down. “Son, my son, just a little longer. Mommy will find a way to save you.” He was only five, he should have been growing up without a care in the world. Instead, he was lying here. His manhood severed. How ironic that Liam Thorne was the best surgeon in the city, having saved countless limbs, yet he refused to come back and save his own son. As I saw my son’s struggles weaken, I exerted all my strength, biting down, and deliberately breaking my own wrist. Ignoring the searing pain of my fractured right hand, I slowly dragged myself next to my son, pressing tightly against his small body. You were brought into this world by your mother, and your mother will never, ever abandon you. In my fading consciousness, my phone, which had been without signal, suddenly flickered twice. I clenched my broken bone, using the pain to force myself to stay awake. Even a sliver of hope, I had to try. Dragging my broken right hand, I crawled on my knees until I finally reached my phone and dialed 911. “Hello, my son has a severe injury and is bleeding heavily from his lower body. Our address is St. Jude’s Medical Center…” But the operator on the other end mercilessly rejected me. “Patient transfer requires a certificate from the attending physician. Furthermore, you are already at the best hospital in this city. Please do not over-utilize medical resources.” I held the phone, almost in despair. By then, our son’s pupils were already somewhat dilated. He murmured faintly, over and over. “Mommy, I hurt so bad. Where’s Daddy? Didn’t he say he’d stay with me if I was a brave little man?” My heart felt like it was tearing apart. I wished the pain was mine. Unsure how to respond, I could only press my forehead against his, trying to soothe him. “Baby, don’t sleep. Daddy will be back soon.” Now, I had no extravagant hopes. I accepted that my son had lost his manhood. I just wanted him to live. He was my flesh and blood. I desperately hammered on the door, the glass shattering, piercing my palm, but I felt no pain. If only my child could be saved, I would willingly die right now. Perhaps heaven heard my prayer. The door before me suddenly opened a crack. I frantically crawled out, only seeing the hurried back of a cleaning lady. I knew this was the most she could do. I used to save empty bottles for her every time I visited. My wrist was broken, so I crawled forward on my elbows. Soon, both elbows were a bloody mess, revealing bone. I crawled tirelessly, leaving a long, crimson trail behind me. Finally, a pair of leather shoes stopped in front of me. I grabbed the person’s pant leg, disregarding everything else, repeating my plea. “Please, save my child.” Then I passed out. 4 When I next awoke, I assumed my son had already received treatment. To my shock, he was sprawled crookedly amidst medical waste, his body covered in filth. Suddenly, a searing pain shot through my scalp. Someone was yanking my hair, forcing my head up. “So you’re the one saying my daughter messed up a surgery? I think you’re just here to cause trouble.” “I truly don’t know how Thorne ever fell for a woman like you. Just die already and make way for my daughter.” The person was Dean Flynn, Dr. Chloe Flynn’s mother and the hospital’s director. She had always wanted Liam Thorne as a son-in-law, but I had somehow gotten in the way years ago. I prostrated myself on the ground, frantically kowtowing to her, not caring if I died. The floor was soon slick with my blood. “Please, save my child. If you’ll save him, I’ll divorce Liam Thorne tomorrow. I’ll take the child and never disturb their lives again.” Dean Flynn kicked me over, then closed the door again. “My daughter is a precious jewel; she will never marry a divorced man. If she marries, it will only be a widower.” I closed my eyes, letting the blood obscure my vision. My son and I would likely not make it out today, no matter what. If anything happened to him, I’d bash my head against the wall beside him, so he wouldn’t be lonely on his journey. Suddenly, the phone rang. Dean Flynn’s eyes held a complex expression as she walked into a darker corner to answer. “Is that Thorne? The Chief Consultant personally came to check. The child is fine. I’ve arranged a private nursing room for both mother and child.” “Don’t worry about the Chief Consultant. You focus on your conference over there; leave this to me. “Oh, coincidentally, the child is asleep right now. He can’t talk to you.” It seemed Liam Thorne still cared about our son. I screamed with all my might. “She’s lying to you! The child is in critical condition! She’s covering up Chloe’s mistake!” Liam Thorne, who had been somewhat hesitant, immediately became enraged. He cursed at me over the phone. “Are you just bored out of your mind? You complain about my junior colleague being an intern, and now you’re slandering my Chief Consultant? “If you’re unhappy with everyone, then just get out of the hospital.” Liam Thorne hung up, watched by Dean Flynn’s sneering eyes. My son and I were dragged back into the corner like two dead dogs. “Thorne has spoken. Trash belongs in the trash heap. Just wait to die and make way for my daughter.” The trash room was swarming with mosquitoes. Flies, drawn by the scent of blood, laid eggs in our son’s wound. Despite my tireless efforts to shoo them away, it was useless. After what felt like an eternity, our son stopped responding to my words. His body grew cold, then his wound began to emit a putrid stench. Soon, maggots crawled out of his flesh. I held my son tightly, rocking him gently, singing his favorite nursery rhymes, hoping he would call me “Mommy” one more time. In my haze, I seemed to hear Liam Thorne’s voice. I strained on tiptoes, peering out the window. Dr. Chloe Flynn was being pushed into Liam Thorne’s embrace by a crowd. Both of them blushed furiously, and the surrounding people jeered. “Congratulations, Dr. Flynn, on your first successful surgery! Aren’t the two heroes going to kiss?” Discharged? Were they talking about us? Who would have thought we were locked in a trash room? Just a door away. Liam Thorne and his mistress reaped fame and fortune outside. Our son seemed to hear his father’s voice and convulsed twice more, then died in my arms. At this point, I had nothing left to live for in this world. I took off the only piece of clothing still intact and wiped my son’s face. My son liked to be clean. He’d get upset if his clothes or face were dirty. But Liam Thorne hated this, saying our son was being dramatic. Yet, I had seen Dr. Chloe throw a fit because the hem of her skirt was dirty, and Liam half-knelt to clean it for her. Was Chloe not “dramatic” then? Perhaps he just despised everything about me and our son. “My baby, if there’s a next life, remember to choose a daddy who loves you.” After wiping our son’s face clean, I tied him tightly to my back with my clothes, then hurled myself backward through the sea-facing window.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392758”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

From the moment I was born, a specter in scarlet clung to me. She was my father’s mistress, a vengeful spirit unable to find peace after he abandoned her, driving her to leap to her death. Her malice claimed my parents, but I, blessed by fate and generations of pure souls, narrowly escaped her grasp. Still, she ensured my life was far from peaceful. To appease her simmering wrath, I lived within the hallowed walls of a cloister for twenty years. Just three days before the scarlet specter was due to finally cross over, Marcus Thorne burst into my sanctuary, desperate for my aid to quell a terrible affliction that threatened to consume him. I couldn’t bear to watch him suffer such a violent demise, but I knew the scarlet specter detested oath-breakers. So, I laid down my terms. “If you take my purity, you must pledge your unwavering devotion to me. You must never betray me in this life, or you will face retribution. Are you certain you want my help?” Marcus swore his allegiance without a moment’s hesitation. Yet, seven years later, it was he who leaned in and pressed his lips to Lydia Sterling’s, then casually remarked to a friend, “Willow is utterly devoid of passion. All she knows is silent contemplation. I’ve long grown weary of her detached demeanor!” I glanced at the scarlet specter beside me, her translucent form alight with scornful amusement, then turned and walked away. Those who break their sacred vows are destined to face their reckoning. … When I returned to the manor, all my belongings had been unceremoniously dumped in the great hall. The maid, Elara, looked at me with open mockery. “His Lordship says Lady Lydia will be staying tonight. She is delicate and needs the sunniest room.” I didn’t bother to argue. I was leaving anyway. As I gathered my things, Marcus entered, his arm possessively draped around Lydia. The moment Lydia heard she’d be staying in my former bedchamber, she visibly winced. “I refuse to sleep in a room someone else has occupied, Marcus! You know I have a strong aversion to… shared spaces!” She disdained my former room. Yet, she felt no revulsion for the man I had shared. Marcus didn’t hesitate. “I’ll contact a design firm tomorrow to redecorate the room to your exact specifications. For tonight, you’ll have to make do with the guest suite.” He added, with a reassuring smile, “Rest assured, it’s a guest suite no one has ever occupied before.” Elara’s gaze grew even more pointedly mocking. I found it rather ironic myself, especially recalling that Marcus had said the very same words to me seven years ago, when I first followed him here. Seven years, and he’d forgotten everything. Just as I prepared to leave, Marcus turned to me. “Lydia hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Didn’t you say your amulet helped you sleep soundly? Let her try yours.” My amulet. It was the only thing that kept the scarlet specter at bay. Before I wore it, she tormented me every night, stealing my peace. Only with its protection could I manage to rest. Fearing Marcus would be afraid, I had never told him about the specter, but I had told him that the amulet had to be worn twenty-four hours a day, never to be removed. “I…” Before I could even speak, Marcus, impatient, reached out and yanked the amulet from around my neck. “It’s just an amulet, why are you being so difficult?” As he spoke, Marcus offered the amulet to Lydia, but she recoiled in disgust. Remembering her aversion to “shared spaces,” he quickly handed the amulet to Elara instead. “Take it to the sun terrace and let it air out for two days, then bring it to Lady Lydia.” Freed from its constraint, the scarlet specter instantly materialized before me, her spectral face alight with a mocking grin. It was as if she was taunting me for breaking my sacred vows seven years ago, all for Marcus. I ignored her, turning to leave, when my phone suddenly rang. “Miss Thorne, you must come back! Someone has stormed the mountain and is demolishing the cloister!” My heart sank. I immediately turned and raced towards the door—but before I could reach the main entrance, the manor’s guards seized me, dragging me back into the villa and forcing me onto a bed. Marcus stood beside the bed, his expression grim. “Lydia says that when you were near her just now, she felt noticeably better. But the moment you left, she could barely breathe.” He sat on the edge of the bed, gently stroking my hair. “They say you are blessed with ten lifetimes of purity. Since your blood type matches Lydia’s, perhaps a transfusion might cure her illness.” “Don’t worry, it’s just a little blood. It won’t hurt.” The family physician, Dr. Evans, inserted a needle as thick as my thumb into my arm. I had always been terrified of pain and couldn’t help biting my lip. Marcus watched, about to say something, when Lydia’s distressed cry echoed from outside the room. “Marcus, where are you?!” Marcus sprang up, rushing out of the room. By the time 400cc of blood had been drawn, my vision was already blurring. Before Dr. Evans could even remove the needle, Lydia’s agonizing cry rang out again. “My dearest Marcus, I feel so unwell!” Marcus’s anxious voice followed. “Why hasn’t she improved after the transfusion? Is it not enough blood?” He ordered, “Dr. Evans, draw another 400cc, quickly!” Dr. Evans looked troubled. “My Lord, the Duchess is already anemic. 400cc is the absolute limit. If I draw more, I fear…” Marcus cut him off without hesitation. “Just draw it! What’s with all the excuses? Can’t you see Lydia is practically dying?!” Dr. Evans, unable to dissuade him, met my gaze with a look of profound reluctance. “Duchess…” “It’s alright, Dr. Evans. Just draw it.” At that moment, all I wanted was for this to end so I could rush to the cloister to see what had happened. So, after a total of 800cc was drawn, I immediately tried to sit up. Dr. Evans quickly pressed me down. “Duchess, you must remain in bed and rest. You absolutely cannot get up!” “No, I have to go.” Pushing Dr. Evans aside, I forced myself to stand, walking towards the door. But due to severe blood loss, my legs buckled, and I stumbled. Marcus suddenly appeared, catching me and pulling me into his arms. “What are you doing? Dr. Evans said you need to rest, didn’t he?!” “Let me go, I have to leave…” I struggled to break free. Marcus suddenly lifted me, forcefully placed me back on the bed, and pinned my shoulders down with his hands. “Willow, what you need right now is rest! Whatever it is, it can wait until you’ve recovered!” Dr. Evans also chimed in, “Duchess, please listen to His Lordship! Right now, all you can do is rest in bed.” But how could I possibly have time to rest? By the time my body recovered, the cloister would be completely demolished! I struggled again, but Marcus held me down firmly. In my frantic effort, a sudden horrifying realization flashed in my mind. I stared at the man before me, disbelief etched on my face. “You ordered the cloister to be torn down?!” In that moment our eyes met, a flicker of guilt was unmistakable in his. But the very next second, he spoke with defiant self-righteousness. “That old charlatan has been deceiving people for years! Someone should have dealt with him long ago! I demolished it for the good of the people! To prevent anyone else from being swindled!” “You, too, were deceived by him! He said you couldn’t leave, but you’ve been with me all these years and you’re perfectly fine, aren’t you?!” He clearly forgot that the “old charlatan” he spoke of had saved his life when he was bitten by a venomous serpent on that very mountain. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Anyone has the right to say that, but not you!” Pushing Marcus away, I immediately tried to stand, but the surge of anger overwhelmed me, and I lost consciousness. I woke up in the infirmary. Marcus sat by my bed, his face a mixture of complex emotions. “The physician says you’re three months pregnant. Why didn’t you tell me?” I ignored him, attempting to get up. He pressed me back down onto the bed. I had no strength to resist, so I just stared at him coldly. “If you’re so powerful, then keep me confined for life.” “You…” Marcus was about to speak when Lydia’s call came through. He quickly mumbled, “I’ll see you later,” then turned and rushed out, leaving two guards outside the door. I couldn’t get out, and I couldn’t find my phone. I finally managed to secretly borrow a phone from a sympathetic nurse and sent a message. After sleeping for a whole afternoon, strength finally returned to my body. I persuaded a nurse to exchange clothes with me, and I swiftly left the room. In the corridor, a patient’s family member was scrolling through videos on their phone. On the screen, Lydia, in a haute couture gown, clung to Marcus’s arm, a perfect pair. My gaze, however, was fixed on the sapphire jewelry adorning Lydia’s neck, ears, wrists, and fingers… Those pieces were originally designed by Marcus specifically for me. He had said that sapphires symbolized loyalty and steadfastness, just like our love. He had even hired a renowned jeweler, who spent three years on the design. But now, they graced another woman. On the screen, the host continuously praised the couple as a golden pair, a match made in heaven, and Marcus never once denied it. The scarlet specter, witnessing this, once again twisted her face into a mocking smile. I tried to ignore the bitterness welling in my heart, walking towards the nurse’s station to handle my discharge. But a few yards away, I suddenly heard the nurses inside talking: “The patient in Room 308’s husband has scheduled an abortion for her. Tomorrow morning at nine. Prepare for it.” Another nurse gasped in surprise. “Room 308’s patient is so anemic. Can she even withstand the procedure?” The speaking nurse shrugged. “That’s beyond our control…” Dismissing the idea of discharge, I turned and walked out of the infirmary. I needed to pick up my identification documents to travel, which meant returning to the manor. I assumed Marcus and Lydia were still at their interview and wouldn’t be back so soon, but to my surprise, they were already there, blocking my path. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the infirmary?” Marcus exclaimed, realizing I had escaped. He rushed forward, grabbing my wrist. “Come! Back to the infirmary with me!” Lydia’s eyes flashed with quick resentment, and she began to feign distress. “It’s all my fault for being so delicate, that Marcus had to force you to give me a transfusion, causing you to suffer a loss of vitality, and now the baby might be lost. Miss Thorne, please blame me!” Marcus could never bear to see her cry. He immediately released my hand and pulled Lydia into his embrace. “This has nothing to do with you. You have no reason to blame yourself!” Lydia leaned into Marcus’s chest, casting a triumphant, challenging smirk my way. The next second, she adopted a falsely compassionate tone. “Miss Thorne rushed back in such a hurry. She must want to see the Abbot off, one last time, mustn’t she?” Her words instantly sent a chill down my spine. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘see the Abbot off, one last time’?!” Lydia raised a hand to her mouth, feigning shock. “Oh, Miss Thorne didn’t know? The Abbot took a fall an hour ago. He’s… passed away.” This news struck me like a bolt of lightning. Although I knew Lydia wouldn’t joke about such a thing, I still stared at Marcus in disbelief. “She’s lying to me, isn’t she?” Meeting my gaze, Marcus’s guilt was evident, but he quickly puffed out his chest, feigning righteousness. “That old charlatan has been swindling people for years! His death is no loss. Falling to his death was too easy a fate for him!” To hear him utter such heartless words, I lunged at him, but Marcus angrily shoved me to the ground. “Are you done making a scene? If you keep this up, do you think I’ll let you see that old charlatan one last time?!” Lydia clung to Marcus’s arm, looking down at me with disdain. “Marcus, Miss Thorne is simply distraught with worry. After all, she lived in that cloister for twenty years. It’s understandable that she wants to see the Abbot off. For my sake, since she gave me blood, why don’t you take her along tomorrow?” Marcus’s expression immediately softened. “If not for Lydia pleading on your behalf, I certainly wouldn’t take you. Don’t you have a thank you for her?” How utterly ridiculous! My movements, my choices, now required the sanction of his mistress! Realizing I wouldn’t be able to leave tonight, I didn’t bother with further words. I turned and walked directly to the guest room. I planned to get a good night’s rest, but no sooner had I lain down than the door was violently kicked open.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392774”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

From my earliest days, Julian Finch and I were inseparable. He was even closer to me than my own brothers. The adults would chuckle, calling me his little shadow. Yet, the moment Father hinted at an arranged betrothal between our two families, Julian began to avoid me. Every time I sought him out, he would claim he was unavailable. It wasn’t until my elder brother, Arthur, brought me to find him, that I overheard his conversation with a friend: “Lady Eleanor Hastings is as dull as a stone, hardly fit to be a Finch bride.” 1. Hearing those words, I stood rooted to the spot. Beside me, Arthur was already fuming, threatening to go in and thrash Julian Finch. Dull as a stone. I savored those words, turning them over in my mind. Dull, I had heard often enough. At grand balls, other young ladies would frequently use that word to insult me. Then my elder sisters at home would loudly retort, even complaining to our parents. So I vaguely knew “dull” was an insult. As for “stone”… I recalled the magnificent marble statue in the Town Square. Julian said it was carved from stone. Thinking of that, I felt tears welling up, threatening to spill from the corners of my mouth. Arthur, outside, was already cursing loudly, disturbing those within. Julian and his friend, Jasper Thorne, opened the door. Seeing us standing there, they exchanged awkward glances. Seeing the fire in Arthur’s eyes, Jasper quickly stepped out to mediate. “Lord Hastings, please don’t take it to heart. Julian had a bit too much to drink just now, that’s why his tongue was… untamed!” “Oh? Drank, did he? So he was speaking his mind, then?” Arthur’s voice was sharp. Sweat beaded on Jasper’s forehead. He stammered, unsure what to say. Julian, meanwhile, stood composed, as if this whole farce had nothing to do with him. Arthur grew even angrier. He grabbed Julian by the collar. “Julian Finch, what do you mean by that? Apologize to Eleanor, now!” Jasper, fearing a brawl, fretted anxiously. Julian, hearing Arthur’s command, seemed to finally notice me standing beside him. He pulled a corner of his lip into a cruel smile. “Eleanor Hastings, not only are you dull, but do you lack all sense of decorum? So desperate to marry into the Finch family?” 2. That day concluded with Arthur landing a punch on Julian Finch. Back home, I hid in my boudoir, refusing to see anyone. When Julian called me “dull” that day, I wasn’t particularly hurt. After all, countless people had insulted me with that word since childhood. But he had dared to call me “shameless.” Mother had always taught me that one must possess honor and decorum. Without decorum, one was like a person without clothes. So Julian had basically called me naked. I was truly hurt. But I didn’t understand what had happened to him. He used to be so kind to me; how could he change so suddenly? Julian used to be genuinely good to me. He would never mock me. Instead, he would take me to the market square to see the lantern displays, or to the tavern for roast boar. Even when he occasionally called me “little simpleton,” his tone was always affectionate, unlike others who spoke with undisguised malice. But what had changed now? I pondered deeply. I recalled his shift in demeanor began when Father informed me of the proposed betrothal. Did he not wish to be betrothed to me? If he didn’t want it, he should have just said so, shouldn’t he? Why must he insult me like this? I pouted, deciding to approach my parents and break off this engagement. 3. Before I even reached my parents’ study door, I heard Father’s booming voice, thick with anger. “That rogue, Julian Finch! How dare he insult my daughter so! Does he truly think the Hastings family has no honor?!” I hesitated, not daring to enter. Father was usually so gentle, but when he lost his temper, he was terrifying. I remembered one year, I secretly snuck out to play with Julian, and when Father found out, he made me copy three hundred lines of scripture. My wrist still twinged, as if those three hundred lines were calling to me. But Mother had already heard the commotion at the door. The moment she saw me, she cried out and clutched me, wailing. “My darling, my poor, sweet child! How can you be so unfortunate!” She then cried to Father, “My Lord, you must avenge our daughter!” Father’s beard practically bristled with indignation. “Broken! This betrothal must be broken!” 4. Father took me to the Finch estate. The Finch estate was right next door to ours. So I thought it was completely unnecessary to walk those few steps. Couldn’t we just shout across the garden wall? I used to call out to Julian that way all the time. Upon arriving at the Finch estate, Lord and Lady Finch were both present. They relentlessly grasped my father’s hands. Lord Finch’s face was filled with remorse. “Lord Hastings, I am deeply sorry! I never imagined that scoundrel would dare to go so far!” Father scoffed. “Lord Finch, your family first proposed this match, speaking of our children as childhood companions, and our families knowing each other’s true character. So, what? Is my daughter to chase after yours?” “Yes, yes, you are absolutely right. I have failed in raising my son. When that boy returns, I shall truly teach him a lesson!” Father sighed deeply. “Let it be. Given Julian Finch’s behavior, we cannot possibly seek such a union. It would be ill-fated if a betrothal turned into an enmity. This betrothal, I believe, should be broken.” Lord Finch’s expression grew frantic. He clutched my father’s hand, unwilling to let go. “No, you cannot break it! Under no circumstances can you break it!” Just then, a loud shout echoed from the great hall. “What cannot be broken?!” 5. It was Julian Finch himself. The moment Julian arrived, the air in the room seemed to chill. Lord Finch was so enraged by his son’s outburst that he called him a defiant wretch. Julian walked directly to me. “Well, well, you’ve even followed me home now. Eleanor Hastings, do you have no shame left as a young lady?” There it was again. That same accusation. Why did Julian always have to insult me like this? Why had he changed so completely overnight? I despised this betrothal. I despised Julian Finch. Father, seeing Julian so audacious even in his presence, stepped forward and slapped him. Lady Finch gasped, trying to intervene, but Lord Finch restrained her. “That’s what this defiant son deserves!” Julian, his face stinging from the slap, dropped to his knees before my father. His expression was calm. “Lord Hastings, I wish to break this betrothal.” Father’s face flushed crimson. “Break it! Why wouldn’t I break it! Do you think the Hastings family is clinging to you?!” With that, he pulled out the betrothal contract and a jade pendant from his sleeve. The jade pendant was familiar; Mother said it was our betrothal token. I snatched the pendant. Father, thinking I didn’t want to break the engagement, looked at me with a hesitant expression. My eyes red-rimmed, I hurled the jade pendant directly at Julian’s face. “I don’t care for it! Julian Finch, I don’t want you anymore!” “What did you say?” Julian abruptly looked up, his eyes bloodshot, staring directly at me. I was startled, stepping back. But then I thought, Father is here; he wouldn’t dare strike me, would he? So I straightened my back, looking at him fiercely, and repeated. “Julian Finch, I don’t want you anymore! I am the one who doesn’t want you!” 6. In the end, the betrothal was broken. That day, I declared before our elders that I did not want Julian Finch. He was so furious his eyes turned red. I was terrified he might hit me, so I hid behind Father. I truly didn’t understand him. He clearly didn’t want the engagement. I was fulfilling his wish, wasn’t I? Instead of being grateful, why was he so aggressive? Mother was disheartened. She stroked my head, saying, “I thought that Finch boy genuinely cared for our Eleanor, but… Alas, what will become of our Eleanor now!” Father scoffed. “What do you mean, ‘what now’? My daughter can live at home for her entire life if she wishes. Do you know why that old man, Lord Finch, agreed to this betrothal in the first place? I heard that His Majesty intended to betroth Julian Finch to Princess Rosamund. The royal family and noble houses have been at odds for too long, and Lord Finch simply didn’t want to get involved in that mess.” … 7. Truth be told, I was also quite disheartened. Without Julian, no one else wanted to play with me anymore. Arthur, my elder brother, studied diligently all day, and Mother forbade me from disturbing him. Most of my cousins had married into other families, and could no longer look after me as they once did. Where would I find another playmate? I was so worried I squatted in the corner of the garden, pretending to grow mushrooms. Just as my legs began to ache from squatting, I heard a rustling sound nearby. What was that? A large rat? All the hairs on my body stood on end. I looked around, my gaze locking onto a patch of tall grass not far away. Faintly, a large dark shape was visible. Whoa, a rat that big! I picked up a wooden stick nearby and cautiously crept closer. Just as the stick, as thick as my wrist, was about to come down, the dark shadow in the grass suddenly leaped out. “Mercy, kind stranger! I won’t steal any more food!” I was so startled that the wooden stick fell from my hand. Looking closer, a young man with bright lips and teeth stood before me! What a handsome large rat! No! What a handsome young man! The man before me wore a large black cloak, his features refined. Even with some dirt smudges on his face, it didn’t detract from his handsomeness. He held a half-eaten chicken leg in his hand, and a blush crept beneath the grime on his face. He bowed his head. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to steal your family’s chicken! Ah, why are you drooling? Are you hungry too?” Drooling? I wiped the corner of my mouth. Hungry? That was easy enough to fix! I, Eleanor Hastings, was never short on food! 8. The handsome young man told me his name was Leo Kent. He had run away from home after an argument with his family. Unfortunately, his coin purse had also been stolen, leaving him without food for three days. I hid him in the guest room in our courtyard and secretly brought him plenty of food. Leo ravenously devoured the food. He ate with such gusto that it made me happy to watch. Although my family wouldn’t scold me, they always ate in a very refined manner. Even Julian Finch, he only took a few bites at each meal, making me constantly worry he would starve to death. Julian, in turn, would lecture me for not being like a proper noble lady. “To eat little is polite; to eat much is ill-mannered.” But I never listened to him. Mother said not eating enough would make me ill. And I should never imitate the delicate, willowy demeanor of other young ladies. Noticing me watching him, Leo awkwardly wiped his mouth. “I’m not usually like this. I’m just extremely hungry today.” “It’s alright. You look very handsome when you eat.” Leo was startled by my bluntness. He hugged his bowl and turned away, continuing to eat noisily. I kept Leo hidden in the guest room. For every meal, I would ask for an extra portion. Mother, seeing my suddenly increased appetite, looked at me with concern. I blinked innocently. “Mother, I’ve just been very hungry lately.” Mother wrung her handkerchief, hesitating to speak. “Eleanor, there are many good young gentlemen in the world. Please, don’t think ill-advised thoughts and resort to overeating!” I vaguely understood Mother’s meaning. Was she worried I was heartbroken after breaking off the engagement with Julian? Nonsense! I had a new playmate now. He was a million times more handsome than Julian! When I told Leo this, he stopped gnawing on the chicken leg, and the corners of his mouth visibly drooped. “Julian Finch? Who’s that? So you have other good friends besides me!” Mentioning Julian, my own mood also dampened. “He used to be the kindest person to me, besides Father, Mother, Arthur, and my sisters.” Leo’s mouth twitched. “Ranked so far down, he can’t have been that important, then! Hey, tell me about your past with him!” 9. Our past? The Hastings and Finch families were ancient noble houses, for centuries. My father and Lord Finch were even lifelong friends. Mother said I had a high fever when I was three, and since then, I had been a bit slow-witted. Once, at a ball, I secretly ran off to the lakeside. I was pushed to the ground by several children. “It’s that little simpleton from the Hastings family!” they jeered. “Let’s not play with her, or we’ll catch her simpleton’s disease!” With that, they gathered handfuls of snow from the ground and threw them at me. Julian Finch was already a tall boy then. Seeing the children bullying me, his face hardened, and he beat them soundly. Then he picked me up and carried me to the hearth to warm by the fire. I remembered the fierce heat of that fire. And I remembered the sharp, angular profile of the young boy’s face. Later, I learned that Julian had also gone to each of the children’s homes, complaining to their parents about what they had done. That winter, the grand estates in the capital rang with the cries of disciplined children. My family was aghast when they learned of it. Father and Mother never imagined anyone would dare to bully a Hastings daughter. From then on, no matter where I went, they would send someone to protect me. My cousins in the family would also stay by my side at balls, never leaving me. Father and Mother were grateful to Julian, and the two families became even closer. Julian felt I was too lonely at home. So, he often took me out to play. My family trusted him completely. Thus, unlike other young ladies, I grew up exploring every corner of the capital with Julian. He was the most important person to me, besides my family. So when Father asked if I wanted to spend my life with Julian, I wholeheartedly agreed. 10. “So what now? You broke off your friendship?” Leo, his mouth full of grease from gnawing on the chicken leg, didn’t forget to twist the knife in my heart. “Yes,” I admitted. “It’s alright! You have me now, don’t you? I’ll play with you from now on!” “Can you also take me to new places to play?” My eyes lit up, my mind already envisioning where we could go. Leo gave an awkward laugh. “Well, you see, although I grew up in the capital, I haven’t really been anywhere.” Seeing my expression dim, he hastily added, “But you can take me! Once we’ve played all over the capital, we can explore other places too!” Me, leading Leo? I thought about it. The idea was brilliant! Before, Julian had always led me. Now, I could lead Leo. I wasn’t inferior to Julian, was I? I wasn’t a little simpleton! I thought, delighted. Just then, my lady-in-waiting, Lily, called out from outside. “My Lady, where are you? Princess! Princess Rosamund wishes to see you!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392792”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At three in the morning, I was jolted awake by the hushed whispers from the beds across the room. My roommates. I flicked on my bedside lamp, the sudden glare cutting through the darkness. “Maya, what in the world are you and Ava Hayes chatting about at this hour?” I snapped, my voice thick with sleep and irritation. “Some of us actually need to sleep!” Maya Thompson, the name barely out of my mouth, practically exploded. “Chloe Miller, what’s gotten into you in the middle of the night? I was sound asleep! Who did I offend?” Her voice was sharp, laced with annoyance. “And who’s Ava Hayes? Are you having delusions or something?” Her words hit me like a splash of ice water, snapping me fully awake. I rubbed my eyes, a cold dread creeping in. The bed next to mine, Ava Hayes’s bed, was empty. Her comforter, her shoes, her toothbrush – even her name on the dorm duty chart – all gone. My fingers tightened around the ten-dollar bill in my pocket, the one Ava had given me earlier that day. I clung to it, fiercely convinced Maya was lying. But Sophia Lee, in the bunk below mine, was staring at me with an eerie, unsettling expression. “Chloe, don’t scare me like that,” Sophia whispered, her voice laced with genuine fear. “There’s no one named Ava Hayes in this entire university.” 1 Our dorm room was a standard quad, just like every other one in the university. From the very first day of freshman year, the four of us had lived together. I could still clearly remember buying Ava Hayes a birthday cake with Maya and Sophia just last Wednesday, celebrating her twentieth birthday. But now Maya and Sophia were telling me there was no such person as Ava Hayes in our university. This wasn’t funny. I grabbed Maya’s arm. “Maya, you’re joking, right? You and Ava were practically inseparable, stuck together every day. How could you possibly not remember Ava?” Maya, clearly fed up with being woken, impatiently yanked her arm free. “You’re the one joking, Chloe! Ava Hayes? Never heard of her, let alone know her. Are you seriously staying up all night just to freak us out? Get a life!” With a frustrated huff, she pulled her comforter over her head, disappearing beneath the covers. I turned to Sophia. She pointed to the chore chart tacked to the wall. “Chloe, you must be sleep-deprived, blurring reality with dreams… Look at our chore chart. Our room has always only had three of us.” I scrutinized her eyes, searching for any flicker of doubt or guilt. There was none. But how could that be? Memories of us going to classes together, eating meals together, were vivid, etched into my mind. I’d be damned if I believed a living, breathing person could just vanish into thin air. I frantically pulled out my phone. “We took a group photo for Ava’s birthday last week! It’s still on my phone. If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you.” I scrolled through my gallery, picture by picture. Then I found that photo. What I saw made my blood run cold. Ava Hayes, who had been standing between Sophia and me, wearing a birthday hat, had inexplicably transformed into Maya. And Ava Hayes… I scoured my entire phone. Not a single photo of her. Nothing. Sophia, now curious, leaned over my shoulder. “See? I told you there’s no Ava Hayes. Maya was the one who had her birthday last week, and you and I chipped in for the cake, remember?” Of course, I remembered! But aside from the details that aligned, Ava Hayes was simply gone. Yet her presence, to me, felt utterly, undeniably real. I stared at the photo again, the creepiness of it growing with each passing second, and then a new realization struck me. In my memory, Maya had taken that photo of the three of us. If Maya was in the photo… then who had taken the picture? 2 “Oh… the photo? Nancy Chen from the room next door took it for us. If you don’t believe me, go ask her tomorrow morning.” Maya’s explanation was airtight. If I pushed any further, I feared she’d truly believe I was losing my mind. But fueled by a stubborn refusal to accept this absurdity, I sought out Nancy the moment day broke. Nancy glanced at the photo. “Yeah, I took this. And I even had some of Maya’s birthday cake. Is there something wrong with the picture?” Something lodged in my throat. Staring at Nancy’s earnest, unblinking face, I couldn’t utter a single word. When we celebrated Ava Hayes’s birthday, we hadn’t invited Nancy at all. Yet here she was, swearing she’d been part of our celebration. A shiver of utter dread snaked through my body. I gripped her shoulders. “Nancy, you’re our class rep, you can’t lie! Ava Hayes was the one having her birthday that day!” “Ava Hayes? What are you talking about?! There are only three of you in your dorm room, who’s Ava Hayes?” As she spoke, she pulled out our class’s dorm assignment sheet from her backpack. “See for yourself. Is there anyone named Ava Hayes on here?” She pointed to the Section 301 dorm details on the paper. “Our dorm assignments are all based on admission scores, uniformly divided. For your room, it just happened to be three people. You even said you were lucky to have a quad with only three of you, remember?” She was right… Ava Hayes’s name wasn’t on the list. But what if the list itself was fake? The thought had barely formed when Nancy, as if reading my mind, said, “If you don’t believe me, then we’ll just have to go to the Dean.” I agreed without a second thought. A living person had simply vanished without a trace. If I didn’t get to the bottom of this, I’d go mad. The Dean, hearing our purpose, handed me a class roster, complete with everyone’s names and college entrance exam scores. I scanned it, name by name. Every student in our class was listed. Except Ava Hayes. Was my memory truly failing me? But then, how could I explain the ten-dollar bill still clutched in my pocket? I distinctly remembered Ava using my meal card to buy lunch, and then she’d given me that ten-dollar bill. We’d even run into the Dean in the cafeteria that day. Seeing me lost in thought, the Dean patted my shoulder. “Chloe Miller, I know the midterm exams are coming up soon, and you’re under a lot of stress. If you’re not feeling well, I can excuse you from your afternoon classes. Go back to your dorm and get some rest.” I asked other classmates, but as expected, every single one of them had forgotten Ava Hayes existed. I finally accepted the Dean’s advice and returned to my dorm alone. The empty room was eerily silent, a silence that felt oppressive. I powered on my laptop and started browsing the campus online forum. Suddenly, a missing person post caught my eye: “Seeking help: Please help me find a girl named Ava Hayes.” My heart hammered in my chest. If Ava Hayes didn’t exist, why would someone be posting about her? No matter how I looked at it, something was deeply, terribly wrong. I decided to talk to my roommates again. But that evening, when Maya returned to the dorm, she wouldn’t even acknowledge me. She clearly thought I was completely unhinged. Sophia gave me a sympathetic, helpless look. “Maya didn’t get much sleep last night, so she’s still pretty angry. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine by tomorrow.” She was right… If I’d been woken up in the middle of the night by my roommate, I’d be furious too. It seemed that discussing Ava Hayes with them again wasn’t a good idea right now. After turning off the lights, I lay in bed, unable to sleep for a long, long time… I don’t know how much time passed, but in that hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, I was disturbed again by voices. From the bed directly opposite mine. I rubbed my eyes, and the fear in my heart magnified, blooming into full-blown terror. Ava Hayes, who had vanished into thin air during the day, had reappeared! 3 Ava Hayes, clad in pink pajamas, was perched on Maya’s bed, leaning in close, whispering something into Maya’s ear. Maya let out a soft giggle. I rubbed my eyes again, confirming that the two figures before me were indeed Ava Hayes and Maya. A sharp gasp escaped my lips. This time, I kept my wits about me. Without a word, I reached out and gently tapped Sophia’s shoulder, who was in the bunk below me. Still half-asleep, Sophia saw it was me. Suppressing a groan of annoyance, she mumbled, “Chloe, what is it?” I leaned closer to her ear, whispering, “Look at Maya’s bed. Isn’t Ava Hayes whispering to her?” Whether it was my tone that unsettled her, or the very mention of “Ava Hayes” that triggered something, her entire face went pale. After confirming I wasn’t joking, she picked up her glasses and perched them on her nose. Then, cautiously, she peered at the bed across the room. A minute later, she spun back around, glaring at me in exasperation. “Chloe Miller, are you serious?! There’s no one else on Maya’s bed!” I was baffled. “You… you don’t see her?” “See what?! Chloe Miller, you seriously need to see a doctor! This is the second time!” Sophia stared at me as if I’d truly lost my mind. If it had been Maya, she would have started yelling already. Being treated like a lunatic, one after another, ignited a flicker of anger in me. But the moment I flicked on the dorm lights, another shocking sight unfolded. Ava Hayes, on Maya’s bed, was gone. My anger instantly evaporated, replaced by a chilling dread. I rubbed my eyes, disbelieving, but all I saw was Maya, sleeping soundly in her own bed. Now, even I began to wonder if my mind was playing tricks on me. I bit my lip, hesitating, wondering how to apologize, when Maya suddenly stirred. The harsh light made her sit up abruptly, her face a storm cloud. “What in the world are you two doing in the middle of the night?! Are you going to let anyone sleep?!” Sophia shot me a mournful look. “Ask Chloe!” I quickly tried to explain. “Maya, I know I turned on the light, it’s because I saw Ava Hayes on your bed…” “Ava Hayes again?! We’ve told you so many times, there’s no one! No one by that name!” Maya’s voice rose to a furious shout. “Chloe Miller, tell me, have I offended you somehow?! Why are you always picking on me, tormenting me like this?” Her voice broke, laden with frustration. “I’m sick of it! No matter what you say, I’m applying to switch dorms tomorrow!” With that angry declaration, Maya burrowed back under her comforter. I looked at Sophia. Sophia, too, pulled her blanket over her head, ignoring me. I shook my head, making sure I was fully awake, then turned off the light. I peered at Maya’s bed again. This time, nothing seemed out of place. I closed my eyes, and surprisingly, drifted into a deep sleep. The next morning, when I saw Maya’s empty bed, my heart sank. It seemed she really was angry. She’d moved out first thing in the morning. I grabbed Sophia, who had just emerged from the bathroom, fresh from her morning routine. “Sophia, about last night, I’m so sorry. I think my mental state hasn’t been great lately.” I paused. “By the way, do you know which dorm Maya moved to? I want to apologize to her.” Sophia’s brow furrowed slightly, and then she uttered a sentence that sent a shiver of pure terror down my spine: “What are you talking about? Who’s Maya Thompson?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392809”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night before my wedding, I stumbled on the stairs and lost the child I carried. Jeff Thorne rushed me to the operating room, frantic. As I slowly emerged from the general anesthesia, I faintly heard the doctor whispering to him: “It’s truly regrettable. Five months along, the fetus was perfectly formed, incredibly healthy.” “Regrettable? It’s just an unformed embryo,” Jeff’s voice was cold as frost. “Ms. Lindbergh’s body suffered severe trauma. It’s unlikely she’ll be able to conceive again…” “She can be a stepmother to Daisy’s and my child. Without the ability to bear her own, perhaps she’ll love our child even more.” I was wheeled out of the operating room, silent tears tracing paths down my cheeks. The man I had trusted with my entire heart was, it turned out, a monster. My long-awaited wedding was nothing more than a death warrant for my child. If that’s the case, I’ll grant his wish. 1 “Mr. Thorne, the baby is very healthy. It’s a perfectly formed boy. Would you like to see him?” “Just dispose of him as medical waste. And don’t bother preserving her uterus or ovaries; just make sure she doesn’t find out.” “Once she recovers, I’ll take her to the orphanage to adopt Annie. Without the ability to conceive, she’ll surely treat Annie as her own,” Jeff’s cold, authoritative voice left no room for dissent. The doctor glanced at my weak form on the operating table, hesitating. “But the madam’s body has been severely traumatized. Her uterine wall is very thin, making future conception difficult. Forcing this… wouldn’t that put her life at risk?” “And your child with Ms. Duval is already quite grown. It might be hard to hide it from the madam. What if she discovers you personally pushed her down the stairs?” “She won’t know.” Jeff spoke calmly, then tenderly lifted my hand, sliding a ten-carat flawless diamond ring onto my ring finger as if I were a precious treasure. “Say no more. The rest, I will spend my life making up for.” … In the hospital room, Jeff gently wiped my forehead, then pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Clara, I had the doctors use the finest cosmetic sutures for you; there won’t be a scar.” “This anesthetic won’t wear off too quickly. You’re weak, so sleep a little longer.” He didn’t know I had regained consciousness, only barely managing to suppress my tears. Six years of devotion, the wedding I had longed for—it was all a monstrous illusion, a cruel conspiracy. He already had a child with another woman, yet he had lied, telling me Daisy Duval was just his adopted sister. The man I had loved for six years, the father of my unborn child, was also the very monster who had personally extinguished his life. I finally endured until dawn, hearing Jeff’s quiet footsteps as he rose and left. Unable to hold back any longer, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. The sharp, persistent ache in my lower abdomen was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. My trembling fingers traced the surgical incision. Inside, there was no longer the tiny life I had nurtured for five months. I turned on a live stream from a tabloid. It was the meticulously planned garden wedding I had spent half a year arranging. “Today marks the wedding of Mr. Thorne, CEO of Everest Group. The bride, previously hidden from the public eye, is finally being unveiled to the world. The moment has arrived…” The sprawling, manicured lawn and stone pathways unfolded like a scene from a movie. Jeff embraced Daisy from behind as a flock of white doves soared into the sky, a breathtaking display of pure white. “Daisy, a surprise I meticulously prepared for you. Do you like it?” “I know you dislike formalities. Today, our wedding is just for us, no need to honor parents or elders.” Daisy let out a silvery laugh, blushing as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love it, Jeff. You’re so thoughtful.” The two kissed passionately, surrounded by a chorus of blessings and cheers. Tears fell, one by one, onto the screen, blurring the scene before my eyes. I had waited for so long, never imagining that I wouldn’t be the bride. For three years of marriage, I had tirelessly cared for his parents, willingly living as his secret wife. Yet, he bestowed all his romantic gestures upon another, leaving me only with the constraints and burdens of marriage. 2 Jeff didn’t return that night. The next day, before I fully awoke from my daze, I heard him on the phone. “…Have all news of yesterday’s wedding been suppressed? Clara must not find out.” When I opened my eyes, he was already seated by my bedside, gazing at me with a look of feigned concern. “Clara, you’re awake?” “Jeff, our baby… is gone.” The tears I had held back all night now flowed freely, forming a raging river. My eyes, numb and vacant, stared blankly at him. Jeff pulled me into a tight embrace. “Clara, don’t worry. Even if you can’t have children, you are still Mom and Dad’s most favored daughter-in-law, forever a part of the Thorne family.” “I love you. You can ask me to confirm that as many times as you need.” My fingers twitched slightly. If I hadn’t known the truth, I would have, as always, believed his sweet words. But now, all I felt was waves of nausea. I quickly pulled my cold hand from his, pushing him away. Jeff paused, momentarily taken aback, then swiftly resumed his usual tender demeanor. “I’ve already contacted the children’s home. Didn’t you always want a daughter? Let’s adopt a child.” He finally, impatiently, revealed his true motive. I regretted my past blindness, never seeing through his hypocrisy. If this was his game, I would play along. On the day of my discharge, Jeff personally carried me to the car, eliciting envious glances from onlookers. At the children’s home, a little girl skipped towards us, her face innocent, and spoke sweetly to Jeff. “Uncle Jeff, are you here to take me home this time? Is my new mommy willing to accept me? Annie will be very well-behaved, she’ll make new mommy happy.” “Clara, look how adorable Annie is,” Jeff said, his voice soft. “Should we adopt her? You’ll surely love her.” The little girl bore a striking resemblance to Jeff, and a hint of Daisy as well. “Of course,” I said, a faint smile playing on my lips. Jeff seemed to sigh with relief. He crouched down, taking my hand. “I knew you’d agree. From now on, you’re Annie’s mom.” I looked into his eyes—those eyes that once captivated me—now filled with a false, saccharine devotion. I suddenly remembered the conversation I’d overheard on the operating table, and my scalp prickled. I remembered Jeff and Daisy’s conspiracy, remembered the child they had personally extinguished. I excused myself, fleeing to the restroom in a desperate attempt to compose myself. Footsteps sounded from outside; it was the children’s home staff chatting. “Mr. Thorne truly went to great lengths. To bring his biological daughter into the family legitimately, he even came up with this scheme.” “Exactly! Who would’ve thought he’d sacrifice his own flesh and blood with the madam just to protect his mistress’s child?” “To pull off this act, we coached Annie so many times. Luckily, she didn’t give anything away…” I turned on the faucet, trying to drown out the sound of my spiraling emotions with the gushing water. Stepping out, I saw Daisy already standing beside Jeff. A picture of a happy family of three. Annie, beaming, bragged, “Daddy, how was my acting just now?” “If I can just fool Auntie Clara, then Daddy can spend more time with Mommy and me, right?” Jeff smiled, a helpless tenderness in his eyes, and ruffled her nose. “Annie, you’re a clever little imp, of course.” She then called out happily to Daisy, “Mommy, do you think Annie is amazing?” Catching sight of me from the corner of his eye, Jeff immediately stood up, flustered, and began to explain. “Clara, don’t misunderstand. Daisy often visits Annie here at the children’s home, so she’s gotten used to calling her Mommy. She hasn’t changed the habit yet.” Daisy, too, put on a wronged expression. “That’s right, sister-in-law. I was just helping my brother scout out options for you. Please, don’t misunderstand. This child is truly exceptional, and she’ll surely be filial to you both.” I suddenly found it all utterly ridiculous. To have their child accept me as a “godmother” and legitimately enter the Thorne family, they had conspired to kill my own child and render me infertile. These people, who had committed such wicked, heartless deeds, were now putting on a display of grievance before me? I gently shook my head. “It’s fine. I’m not that unreasonable. Let’s go through with the adoption paperwork. I agree to this child entering our home.” 3 It was late when we returned home. Jeff went to shower, and Annie was fast asleep. I saw his phone on the bedside table, unlocked, and couldn’t resist tapping into it. Inside, there was a photo album, filled entirely with memories of Jeff with Daisy and their child. He celebrated Annie’s birthdays with her, from age one to three, never missing a single one. He took Daisy and Annie to Disneyland together, making wishes under the fireworks. The three of them posed for photos in restaurants, Jeff’s arm around Daisy, a picture of a close-knit family. … The last video showed Annie and Daisy, one on each side, kissing Jeff’s cheeks. Annie said, “Happy birthday, Daddy!” Daisy said, “Happy birthday, darling.” I remembered. On his birthday this year, I had spent a month preparing recipes and test-cooking, personally making him a lavish meal. Jeff had claimed he was working overtime at the office, promising to return later to celebrate with me. But I waited until midnight, warming the dishes again and again, and he never came home. I hadn’t realized he was celebrating his birthday with Daisy and their daughter. When Jeff emerged from the shower, I had already turned my back to him, feigning sleep. He lay down and held me close, his heavy breath warm on the nape of my neck. But what he whispered made a chill rise from the soles of my feet. He murmured, “Clara, I’m sorry. You already have the title of Mrs. Thorne. Daisy has nothing. I’ll give her and Annie half of Everest Group’s shares.” “As for the pain you’ve endured, I will do my best to compensate you for the rest of my life.” My eyelids trembled violently, and I clenched my jaw, suppressing the hatred in my heart. This man, who had been my partner day in and day out, now felt utterly alien. Six years of love and time, overturned in an instant by a monumental betrayal. Love and hatred, both, had become terrifyingly indistinct. The next morning, the doorbell rang. Jeff’s parents rushed over, with Daisy trailing behind. “We heard you’re adopting a child, so we came to see,” his mother said. Daisy pursed her lips. “Yes, as Annie’s godmother, of course I couldn’t miss out on helping to look after her.” His mother spoke, her gaze already sweeping past my shoulder, falling on Annie playing in the living room. Seeing Annie, his father’s eyes instantly welled up. “So alike, truly alike…” His mother’s smile was wide and ecstatic. “My sweet granddaughter, I finally get to see you.” Watching their affectionate interactions, I realized with a jolt that they had known about Annie all along. From beginning to end, I had been the only fool, kept completely in the dark. I turned and walked indifferently back to the kitchen. At the dining table, Jeff’s parents continuously served Annie, completely ignoring my presence. Jeff seemed to sense something and softly called my name. “Clara, why aren’t you eating?” I looked up, offering a perfect smile. “I’m not very hungry.” I looked at the table filled with happy faces and felt only profound irony. This home, which I once believed would be my sanctuary, had long been filled with lies. Passing the study, I heard his mother say disdainfully to Jeff, “Look at her. She can’t even bear a child, always playing the victim. Such a damaged woman. If it weren’t for the Lindbergh family’s reputation, I would have thrown her out long ago.” She then pulled Daisy’s hand, a fawning look on her face. “Daisy, you’re so considerate. When you have a son later, I’ll divorce this daughter-in-law and put you in her place.” Daisy smiled shyly. “Mom, I can certainly have more children. As long as I’m under the same roof as Jeff and we work hard day and night, I’m sure I can bear a son.” I laughed at myself. It turned out, in this house, I had always been an outsider. After dinner, I excused myself due to feeling unwell and went back to my room. Sitting by the window, I watched Jeff’s parents playing with Annie in the yard. The sun was bright, but its warmth couldn’t penetrate my heart. My phone vibrated. It was a message from the private investigator I had hired. “Ms. Lindbergh, I have the results of your inquiry. Jeff Thorne and Daisy Duval were indeed lovers in college and had a child together. The timelines match up perfectly…” I silently scrolled through the photos, saving the evidence of their infidelity. Even though I had already decided to leave, seeing these pictures made my heart ache intensely. I knew it was time to end everything. This beautiful dream woven from lies had to awaken. 4 Yesterday, my aunt, who lives alone in Europe, called. “Clara, if you’re ever mistreated or unhappy there, come and stay with me.” My aunt had lived alone for many years and doted on me, her niece, intending to leave her vast estate to me. Previously, for Jeff, I had always politely declined her generosity. This time, I finally accepted. But before I left, there were still some things I needed to take care of. That day, while the whole family went camping, I didn’t join them. Instead, I gathered all the anniversary gifts Jeff had given me and took them to a pawn shop. I also packed up his clothes and our wedding photos and threw them all into a waste incinerator. Watching the images of two lovers in the photos turn to ash in the flames, I smiled, a sense of release washing over me. Perhaps, the man who had held my heart for so many years had also died with that fire. The day after their camping trip, they returned, full of enjoyment. Daisy entered the house and immediately picked up a glass of water I had left on the table, drinking it down. But unexpectedly, within ten minutes, her face turned scarlet, her breathing became rapid, and she collapsed to the ground. Jeff, rushing back, was frantic. Seeing the honey water on the table, he exploded in rage. “Clara Lindbergh, are you insane?! Don’t you know Daisy is allergic to honey? A severe allergic reaction can be fatal!” Daisy lay weakly against his chest. “I just told sister-in-law two days ago that I’m allergic to honey, but… but I didn’t know sister-in-law added honey to this water…” Annie cried, clutching Jeff’s leg. “Daddy! I don’t want this bad woman as my mommy anymore! She hurt Mommy!” “Daddy, kill this bad woman! Kill her!” I watched the spectacle with cold eyes. Jeff gritted his teeth. “Clara, I’ve told you countless times, my relationship with Daisy is only familial. Why can’t you tolerate her?” I looked up and said mockingly, “Whether it’s family affection or something else, you know best.” He was stunned, his face darkening. “Clara, I’m letting this slide because your body hasn’t fully recovered, but don’t push your luck!” With that, he frantically scooped up Daisy and rushed her to the hospital. After everyone had left the house in a chaotic scramble, I looked at the discreet pinhole camera I had installed in the corner beforehand. I saved the surveillance footage of Daisy intentionally giving herself honey, framing me, onto my computer. Then, I contacted the city’s advertising billboard center and sent a file to the staff. “Please, display the content in this file on all the city’s advertising screens, playing it on a loop.” The staff member was startled, but when she heard the exorbitant payment I offered, she had no reason to refuse. “Ms. Lindbergh, are you sure?” My expression was calm. “I’m very sure. And please add a line of text: ‘Clara Lindbergh wishes Jeff Thorne and Daisy Duval, as a family of three, eternal happiness and never-ending togetherness.’” After doing all this, I avoided the housekeeper and left through the back door. I got into the car and watched the villa recede in the rearview mirror, feeling as if I was saying goodbye to my youth. Goodbye, and forever farewell, to my six years.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392825”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was reborn into a fantastical saga, tasked with a singular, chilling quest: to conquer the heart of Alistair Valerius, the Cold-Hearted High Acolyte. He was cruel, indifferent, utterly devoid of warmth, and utterly unapproachable. He killed me nine times. The first time, he flayed me alive, my skin meticulously stitched into a grotesque patchwork cloak for his own twisted rituals. The second, he ripped open my womb, fashioning my unformed child’s tiny skull into a chalice for his dark rites. The third, he carved my living flesh into a twisted, pulsating relic, then crushed every one of my two hundred and six bones to dust, scattering them across the Savage Steppes for the vultures to pick clean. … Each death, a brutal reset. The quest progress, wiped clean, forcing me to begin anew. I had knelt until my knees were raw, offering prayers for his enlightenment. I suffered dozens of agonizing miscarriages, my body perpetually broken. A single word of displeasure from him meant I had to consume filth for three years, a brutal penance he called “purification.” But he always killed me. By the ninth quest attempt, my soul was threadbare, my spirit utterly shattered. Alistair Valerius truly had no heart! I wept, begging the System to end the mission, but it was undergoing an upgrade and couldn’t respond. This, however, also caused a crucial delay in the usual reset. I hovered, a disembodied spirit, and then I saw it: Alistair, tenderly caressing a portrait of Seraphina, his betrothed. His eyes held a heartbreaking tenderness I had never once witnessed. “My sweet Seraphina, just a little longer. One more death for that wretch, and I can return to the moment before you took your life.” “If she hadn’t poisoned me, you would never have stumbled upon me and her in such a compromising position!” “That should have been our wedding, but it became your funeral.” A cold dread pierced my ethereal form. He remembered. He remembered everything. The countless cycles, the resets, the deaths—he was untouched by them! And Seraphina… he wasn’t an unfeeling stone. He had simply despised me, utterly and completely, ever since Seraphina’s death! The quest, from its very inception, had been a cruel, elaborate failure. My spectral form trailed Alistair as he drifted towards a heavy wooden door, adorned with intricate, sacred carvings. What lay beyond startled me. The chamber was filled with chillingly accurate effigies of Seraphina, arranged with a disturbing reverence. Alistair Valerius, the Cold-Hearted High Acolyte, who had spurned me through nine lifetimes, now cradled one of these likenesses, pressing fervent, almost devout kisses to its lifeless features. His devotion, in this moment, surpassed even his spiritual practices. When the kiss ended, he tore off his robes, his eyes rolling back in a grotesque parody of ecstasy, enacting a twisted ritual of perverse devotion before the effigy! I watched, suffocated by shock. For nine lifetimes I had strived to conquer Alistair. Except for the first, when I had resorted to a love potion to be with him, he had adamantly refused to be sullied by any woman. In the fourth lifetime, when I, overwhelmed by emotion, had dared to kiss him, he had felt so defiled that he had doused himself repeatedly with scalding hot oil, scorching his own flesh. That was the only time the System had forcibly reset the world due to the target’s death. From then on, I never dared to touch him again. But now, what was he doing?! His eyes rolled back, a low groan escaping his lips, sweat beading on his brow as he performed this twisted ritual before Seraphina’s effigy! I watched his perverted ecstasy, then looked at my own hands, pale and wrinkled from hours spent in rubber gloves, tending to his endless “purifications.” A wave of profound irony washed over me. What piety? He thought she was defiled, not himself. Just then, the System finally came online. “Detecting host death. Initiating reboot.” In a dizzying flash, I stood at the center of a grand wedding hall. Alistair was placing a ring on my finger. This reset had occurred even earlier than anticipated! Seraphina burst onto the dais, tears streaming down her face, a glinting dagger clutched in her hand. “Alistair, are you truly going to marry her?!” Alistair’s eyes darkened. He reacted swiftly, shoving me away with brutal force. I crashed heavily into a champagne tower, glass shattering around me, shards embedding themselves in my flesh. Alcohol seeped into the wounds. Every breath was agony. Yet, Alistair didn’t even glance at me. He rushed to Seraphina, tears welling in his eyes as he wrestled the dagger from her grasp. “My sweet Seraphina, don’t do anything foolish!” He… wept? Through nine lifetimes, each reset wiped the slate clean of previous emotional connections. I had grown accustomed to his tender devotion one moment, his utter cruelty the next. I had endured every humiliation, every torment, all for the sake of his healing, for the success of my quest. If the System hadn’t delayed its reboot, I would never have known he remembered everything from all nine lifetimes! He wasn’t without tears; they simply weren’t for me. “The wedding is canceled.” He held Seraphina close, his voice chillingly definitive. I stumbled to my feet. “What?” His face contorted in a sneer. “Clara Hawthorne, did you truly believe that by poisoning me, by crawling into my bed like a common alley cat, you could force me to marry you?” The entire hall erupted in gasps and whispers. “Gods, she looked so innocent, but she’s a tramp!” Seraphina sobbed, leaning into his embrace. “Alistair, that day, when I overheard you… I truly couldn’t bear it…” He gently wiped her tears, but when he turned to me, only pure loathing remained. “Your kind of cheap manipulation disgusts me.” He seized my wrist, dragging me across the broken glass on the dais. “Do you think I don’t know? Every time, you always…” He abruptly cut himself off. My pupils constricted. I forced the words out. “Every time, what? Tell me! Go on, tell me everything you know!” But he merely released my hand, letting me tumble down the marble steps. Blood gushed from my forehead, instantly staining my face crimson. He stood above me, aloof as an ethereal deity. “Don’t waste your efforts trying to seduce me. I will forever despise a harlot like you.” The pain! The images of my nine deaths flashed before my eyes like a gruesome tapestry. The agony of being flayed alive in the first lifetime, like fire licking at my skin. The torment of my ripped-open womb in the second, like my very heart torn out. The crushing despair of my bones being pulverized in the third, like salt grinding into raw wounds. … The System seemed to be malfunctioning. The accumulated pain of all nine lifetimes crashed over me, a tidal wave of torment. And now, he was gently kissing Seraphina, without a backward glance. Guests swarmed around me, spitting curses. “Harlot! You deserve this!” Suddenly, a group of hotel security guards rushed forward. Under his command, they tore at my clothes, subjecting me to a brutal beating, leaving me a battered, broken mess. I heard him whisper low instructions: “When you’re done playing, make sure she can never bear a child again. Permanently. No loose ends.” I lay there, utterly ruined, but a faint, bitter smile touched my lips. “Alistair Valerius, you play your part so well…” He turned, his eyes cold and dangerous. “What did you say?” I wiped the blood from my mouth. “I said, may you both find everlasting bliss.” And in my mind, I summoned the System. “I relinquish the quest.” The System’s cold voice confirmed: [Host confirms abandonment of mission. Departure from this world in fifteen days.] It was a night of torrential rain. After the security guards were done with me, they dumped me out the hotel’s back entrance. My lower body was a mangled mess, bleeding profusely. My high heels were broken, forcing me to walk barefoot on the cold, grimy ground. I looked up and saw Alistair’s bodyguards lurking in the shadows, their phones aimed at me. “Don’t block the shot. Mr. Valerius wants to watch the live feed.” The bodyguard sneered at me. I forced myself to stand upright, dragging my injured leg towards a convenience store. Counting the few coins left in my pocket, I barely had enough for a roll of bandages. The cashier’s gaze fell upon my bruised face. “Isn’t that the harlot who drugged Mr. Valerius and tried to seduce him?” she sneered. I lowered my head, desperate to leave. The store’s television was replaying news of the wedding scandal. “Shocking! Prominent Businessman Exposes Bride’s Devious Plot at Wedding!” The screen cut to a close-up of Seraphina weeping in Alistair’s arms. The cashier suddenly raised her voice. “Look! The sacred relics on Miss Seraphina’s necklace are made from the High Acolyte’s consecrated finger bones. How precious!” Relics… I took the bandages. I remembered my fifth death, when I had been cremated, my bones supposedly yielding such sacred relics. The pain of my entire skeleton flared anew. I stumbled out of the convenience store, then realized I had nowhere to go. Alistair had seized all my assets, including my small apartment. The rain intensified. I found shelter under an overpass, fashioning a temporary refuge from discarded cardboard boxes. My soaked body began to burn with fever. In a daze, I saw the Clara of my sixth lifetime, hemorrhaging on this very spot, her blood pooling on the ground. I saw the Clara of my third lifetime, pressed into this corner by vagrants, the sound of my clothes tearing still echoing in my ears. Every painful memory from every lifetime surged forward, a horrifying torrent. Fever blurred my vision. Hunger gnawed at my stomach. I stumbled towards a nearby refuse heap. After searching through the reeking trash for a long time, I unearthed an unopened sandwich. Suddenly, a stray dog lunged, biting fiercely into my arm. I cried out in pain, but dared not raise my voice, fearing attention. When the dog released me, I looked at the wound on my arm—it was deep, showing bone. Just then, three unfamiliar men approached. “You’re Clara Hawthorne?” The leader pulled out a phone, flashing it at me. On the screen was Alistair’s stern face, his voice clear. “Do as I say, and the money will be wired to your account when it’s done.” “Mr. Valerius said to have some fun with you, and he’d pay us. Fair deal, right?” Another man yanked my hair. “Mr. Valerius said you’re quite durable. Don’t disappoint us.” I struggled desperately. “Get away! Don’t touch me!” But I was too weak. My resistance only enraged them. The first punch landed in my abdomen, knocking the breath from my lungs. The second struck my face, filling my mouth with the taste of blood. I instinctively curled up, trying to protect the back that had once been flayed. Blows rained down on me, and I distinctly heard the crack of breaking ribs. As I teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, a siren wailed in the distance. The thugs scattered in a panic, not forgetting to deliver a final kick before they fled. I lay in the mud and water, feeling the stinging cold of the rain washing over my wounds. At dawn, a sanitation worker found me, muttering, “Another wretched woman found after being left for dead.” Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded behind me. “Yes, Mr. Valerius, we found her.” It was Alistair’s assistant. I heard Alistair’s voice from the phone. “Alive?” I forced open my swollen eyes, hearing the sanitation worker whisper, “Is this really the woman from the news, the one who drugged him and tried to kill herself?” A moment of silence from the phone, then the sound of shattering glass. “Suicide? Impossible! She clearly…” Alistair’s voice cut off abruptly. Clearly what? Clearly couldn’t die? I looked at the overcast sky, a faint smile touching my lips. Still thinking I’d bend to his will, and enjoy this glorious quest to win him over? In his dreams.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392843”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was born under celestial signs, foretold to be Empress with future rulers as my children. Prince Corvin and Lord Regent Darian fought for me. Darian won, making me Empress. Yet all three of my children died young. After another birth, I overheard Darian and Corvin: “Lyra improves with the child’s essence,” Corvin said. “But sacrificing three children…” “It’s their destiny to sustain Lyra,” Darian replied. “She’ll live a century—the realm’s most revered woman. “And the fate exchange?” Corvin asked. “All is ready.” Their love was a lie. My children and I were tools for their ritual. In despair, I burned myself to ashes—denying them their wicked end. 1 “Uncle, what are we waiting for?” Corvin’s voice was sharp with urgency. “Let Elara exchange her life force with Lyra now, before delays invite complications.” Darian waved a dismissive hand. “No hurry. The sorcerer stated that Elara, having just given birth, is at her most vulnerable. The ritual must wait at least seven days, otherwise it could compromise the efficacy of the life transference.” His eyes were cold, unwavering. “Lyra’s well-being is paramount. I will not permit any unforeseen mishaps.” Corvin hadn’t considered that detail. He clasped his hands in a gesture of apology. “Indeed, Uncle’s foresight is admirable. Lyra approaches her twentieth year; until this matter is settled, my heart remains heavy with unease.” My hands trembled, refusing to believe the horror I had just heard. I froze, paralyzed by the revelations, tears streaming uncontrollably from my eyes. My three precious children, carried for ten months and born amidst unimaginable pain, were nothing but offerings, sacrificed by their own father to prolong the life of his beloved. After the first two children perished, I approached this last pregnancy with an almost unbearable caution. I never yearned for them to become future rulers or wield great power. All I wished for was their peace and safety. Yet, even that humble desire was cruelly denied. Even the fiercest beast protects its young. How could Darian treat his own flesh and blood with such monstrous cruelty? It was then that I finally understood why, each time I emerged from the agony of childbirth and the grief of losing a child, he would relentlessly press me to conceive again. The world spoke of my blessed fate, how I was born to be Empress. They claimed Darian loved me beyond measure, that he had even dismissed his entire court of ladies for me. Little did I know, every word, every gesture, was built upon a foundation of insidious lies. He and Corvin had deceived me so profoundly, their betrayal twisting my very soul. I stumbled backward, my legs unsteady. My foot caught on something, and I pitched forward violently, landing with a sickening thud. “Who’s there?” Darian’s keen ears caught the sound. He rushed out, and seeing me pale and collapsed on the floor, he instantly scooped me into his arms, his face etched with alarm. “Elara, my dearest, your strength hasn’t returned. Why are you out of bed? What if you catch a chill and develop a lingering illness?” The concern on Darian’s face seemed genuine. Yet, had I not overheard their monstrous confession moments ago, how could I have known that my beloved husband harbored another woman in his heart, that he had murdered our three children for her, and now sought to claim even my own life? My eyes red-rimmed, I pleaded softly, “Darian, I… I want to see the baby. Please, just let me see him, won’t you?” Even if it was only a corpse, I needed to see him. He was a piece of my very being, my precious child I had yearned for during ten long months. Meeting my gaze, Darian’s eyes flickered. “Elara, our child… he is gone.” His voice softened, almost a caress. “But rest assured, I have summoned the Grand Chaplain to perform the rites for his soul. He will surely find eternal rest in the afterlife.” He squeezed my hand. “Your most important task now is to regain your strength. We will have other children, my love.” My gaze dimmed in that instant. Children? No. We would never have children again. Darian, still uneasy, personally carried me back to my chambers. He then severely punished all the palace staff who had failed to properly attend to me. He was always like this, never hesitating to display his profound regard and affection for me in public. For years, I had been lost within the intricate web of his lies, living a beautiful dream of being loved. Now, jolted awake, I was left with nothing but agonizing wounds and a burning hatred. That night, my sleep was restless, plagued by nightmares. All I could hear were the desperate, pleading cries of my three poor children. “Mother, Mother, it hurts so much!” “Mother, save us…” My heart felt as if it were being shredded. I wanted to rush forward and embrace them, but an invisible force held me pinned to the spot. I could only watch, helpless, as the blade descended upon them, again and again. When I finally thrashed my way awake, my pillow was soaked with tears. 2 I could no longer contain myself. Like a madwoman, I rushed to the nursery I had prepared for my child, clutching his tiny clothes to my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. I had meticulously prepared clothes for him, from infancy up to his tenth year. Yet, his own father wouldn’t even grant him a chance to live. As I wept, a strange sound suddenly registered in my ears. I followed the eerie noise to the rear courtyard, discovering it emanated from a dry well. A voice in my head screamed at me: Don’t go. Don’t go. But a chilling intuition told me that whatever was inside held a terrible significance. My legs stiff, I shuffled step by painstaking step to the well’s edge. Gathering my courage, I peered down. The sight that met my eyes instantly stole my breath, sending me sprawling to the ground. At the bottom of the dry well, several vultures were tearing at something swaddled in a tattered cloth. A horrifying realization slammed into me. I scrambled up, snatching a handful of stones. “Get away! Get away! Don’t touch him!” I shrieked. “Give him back to me!” Startled by my sudden outburst, the vultures scattered. I scrambled frantically into the well, my ankle twisting brutally as I fell. I gazed at the tiny, bruised bundle of flesh, its face no longer discernible, a gaping hole torn through its chest. My throat constricted, choked by unspeakable horror. I opened my mouth, but no sound escaped. It wasn’t until Darian and his guards arrived, equally stunned by the gruesome scene in the dry well, that I found my voice. His face turned ashen. “Who did this?” he roared. “Did I not command you to properly inter the Prince? How did he come to be in this wretched well?” The Emperor’s fury was palpable. The Chief Steward and the guards immediately fell to their knees, terrified, not daring to breathe. Then, Darian himself descended into the well. He carefully cradled me, pressing my head gently into his chest. “Elara, don’t be afraid. I swear, I will find justice for you and our child.” It was then that I snapped out of my stunned horror. That day, a wail of profound sorrow echoed through the entire palace. Overwhelmed by grief and rage, I collapsed into unconsciousness. In my hazy state, I dimly heard Darian speaking to someone. “Master,” he urged, “she is unconscious. Will this affect the life transference ritual for Lyra in a few days?” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. What were my children and I to him? He had seen our child’s horrific end, yet his only concern was for that woman. “The Empress has merely suffered a great shock,” the Master replied. “A few days of rest and proper care, and she will recover without lasting harm.” Darian visibly relaxed. He remained by my bedside, trying to spoon medicine into my mouth. When I refused to open it, he clamped my jaw, then pressed his lips to mine, forcing the liquid down. Disgusted, I was just about to open my eyes when a guard burst in. “Your Majesty, dire news! A messenger from the secluded manor reports that Miss Lyra has suddenly collapsed, spitting blood. It seems… it seems she is gravely ill!” 3 Darian shot to his feet. “Master, what is the meaning of this? You swore the child bore Elara’s lineage, that his vital essence possessed miraculous properties. You said if Lyra consumed it, she would not only gain extended life but also evade the Cosmic Balance, allowing her to secretly exchange fates with Elara! Why is she suddenly spitting blood and unconscious?” The Master flinched, visibly taken aback. “The Empress’s son was of an exceptionally auspicious destiny, marked to be a future ruler. Miss Lyra, being inherently frail, likely could not withstand such potent life-energy.” “Now, only by forging a life-binding pact between Miss Lyra and the Empress, transferring the Empress’s very life force to Miss Lyra, can this be remedied.” “Then why do you delay?” Darian dragged him to the bedside, his voice sharp with urgency. The Master hesitated. “But the Empress is currently gravely ill. If we proceed forcefully, her life might not be preserved.” Darian sneered. “I don’t care. If anything happens to Lyra, I will see every one of you pay with your lives.” Hearing his ruthless words, the Master dared not protest further. He immediately dispatched his assistants to prepare the ritual. Panic flared in my heart. I could no longer feign unconsciousness. I clutched the covers, shrinking into a corner, my eyes fixed on him with fierce suspicion. “Darian, what are you trying to do to me?” Darian’s face paled when he saw me awake. He didn’t know how much I’d heard. He forced a strained smile. “Elara, my dearest, you’re ill. The Master is here to tend to you.” His voice became a soothing lie. “Just rest now, won’t you? When you wake, all of this will be over.” Even now, he sought to deceive me. I let out a harsh, derisive laugh. “Stop pretending! I know everything you’ve done. You murdered my son, and now you want to sacrifice my life for Lyra? Dream on!” Darian’s expression shifted. “Elara, what are you saying? I don’t understand.” His voice was still deceptively gentle. “I am deeply pained by the loss of our child. I have already punished the palace staff who failed in their duties. Your most important task now is to rest. Please, try not to dwell on these things, alright?” He reached for me, but I thrashed my arms, accidentally striking his face. “Get away! Don’t touch me!” My voice cracked with anguish. “Just because Lyra was foretold to not live past twenty, you cruelly murdered my three children to prolong her life? Darian, they were your own flesh and blood! Does your conscience not scream?” Darian stared at me, dumbfounded, as if he hadn’t expected me to know even that. He dropped the pretense. His face twisted into a momentary snarl. “Lyra is inherently pure and innocent! She has done nothing wrong! Why should fate be so cruel to her? I will defy destiny! I will see her healthy and living a hundred years, free from all harm!” My eyes burned with fury. “And what did my children do to deserve this?” I roared. “Is this fair to them? Is this fair to me?” Darian’s face darkened, a flicker of madness in his eyes. “I care for nothing else! As long as I can save Lyra, I would sacrifice every soul in this realm! I would stop at nothing!” His gaze sharpened, menacing. “Elara, since you know everything, it would be best if you cooperate willingly. You will suffer less pain that way.” 4 With a subtle flick of his eyes, he signalled his guards. They seized me, pressing me down, firmly pinning me to the bed. The Master approached, holding a small vial. I struggled with every ounce of strength, but could only watch in horror as my skin was sliced open, and a writhing, sickly green worm crawled into the wound. The moment it entered, a searing, agonizing pain erupted through every fibre of my being, as if a thousand unseen creatures were devouring my flesh from within. I thrashed wildly, screaming, convulsing on the bed. Even the guards couldn’t hold me down for a moment. A flicker of something akin to pity crossed Darian’s eyes. He made a move to step forward, but the Master’s voice cut through the chaos: “Your Majesty, the blood charm is complete. The life transference ritual will succeed in three days.” Darian’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. When his gaze fell upon me again, it held only ruthless resolve. “Bind her!” he commanded. “If anything happens to her in these coming days, you will all answer to me!” My face deathly pale from the agony, I was bound hand and foot and thrown onto the bed. After that, Darian came to see me every single day. I refused to eat, so he would pry open my mouth and forcibly pour broth down my throat. I choked, my ragged coughs tearing through me. Darian looked down at me, his gaze imperious. “Elara, if you are obedient, you will remain my Empress. I will ensure you want for nothing.” His voice hardened. “But if you dare to seek death and ruin my plans, I will desecrate the child’s remains, scattering his ashes to the winds, ensuring that you and your son are never reunited, not in this life, nor in any other!” I stared at him, unable to comprehend. Had he not done enough by murdering my child? Now he threatened me with his corpse! “You monster! He was your child too! How can you do this to him?” My eyes burning crimson, I lunged at him, wanting to tear him apart, to avenge my child. But he merely shoved me away. Darian bent over me, his gaze chillingly dismissive. “As long as you are obedient, I naturally won’t resort to such measures.” Finally, I could bear it no longer. I crumpled to the floor, despairing, sobbing uncontrollably. I regretted it all. Why hadn’t I listened to my father’s warnings? Why had I insisted on marrying him? My father was the realm’s foremost Grand Seer. His prophecies were never wrong. He had foretold my auspicious destiny, that I was destined to be the Empress of Aethelgard. Later, when Darian ascended the throne and sought my hand, my father cast the runes for me once more. Every reading was empty, devoid of clear destiny. He urged me to reconsider, but I was blinded by Darian’s honeyed words, and I still believed my father’s initial prophecy could not be mistaken. The prophecy said I would one day rule as Empress, and Darian’s first act upon taking the throne had been to crown me. I never imagined it was all a carefully laid trap, a grand scheme to exchange Lyra’s life for my own. My folly, my terrible mistake, had to end here. Darian feared I would seek death, so he had guards stationed outside my chambers day and night. But he didn’t know: if someone truly desires death, no one can stop them. In the pre-dawn hours, as the guards outside grew drowsy, I dragged my pain-wracked body to the table and deliberately knocked over the lit candelabra. By the time the guards reacted, roaring flames had already consumed the entire chamber. I sat on the floor, laughing a raw, guttural laugh. For this day, Darian had schemed for years. I would see his hopes shattered, his elaborate plans reduced to ashes. Even if it meant eternal damnation, I would drag them down with me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392861”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At the birthday feast, I unwittingly wore the late Duchess Consort Seraphina’s gown. The eight-year-old heir, young Arthur, publicly shoved me into the lily pond. He watched with cold, unfeeling eyes as I thrashed in the water, his expression mirroring his father, Duke Theron Vance – distant and utterly devoid of warmth. “Don’t think dressing like my mother will ever let you usurp her place,” he’d spat, his voice sharp and venomous. “The moment I come of age, I will cast you out of the Regent’s Keep!” The chill waters engulfed my body, chilling my very soul. Gazing at the child I had raised with my own hands, there was no sorrow, no fury within me, only a quiet sigh. “You needn’t cast me out. I shall leave tomorrow anyway.” 1. The late spring breeze was as cutting as Arthur’s glare. I accepted the cloak a chambermaid offered, intending to return to my chambers and change. But as I turned, a thorny bush by the pond caught my skirt. There was a sharp tearing sound. The hem of my gown, intricately embroidered with golden thread, ripped, a long, ragged tear marring its elegant sweep. “You wretched woman! That was my mother’s favorite gown when she was alive!” Arthur, who had been watching the spectacle with a sneer, transformed instantly into a furious, wild creature. His eyes blazed, red-rimmed with hatred. His childish face was twisted, brimming with scorn. I looked at him, my gaze complex. “Arthur, you’re lying.” The late Duchess Consort had always favored opulent silks and elaborate jewels; a gown of such simple elegance she would never have touched. Caught in his fabrication, Arthur’s bravado wavered. He stomped his foot in a burst of frustration, then turned and ran off, leaving a trail of youthful fury. I did not, as was my habit, pursue him to offer an explanation. After seeing off the last of the bewildered guests, I returned to my chambers alone. As I pushed open the door, a white cat, its neck brutally twisted, hung suspended before me. Scarlet blood dripped onto the polished marble floor, soaking my slippers and staining Nimbus’s soft, pure white fur. In my horrified stillness, Arthur’s defiant laugh echoed from behind me. “Hahaha! You deserve it! You made me lose my mother, and now I’ll make you lose what’s most important to you!” He made a childish, mocking face at me, then ran off, his laughter echoing down the silent corridor. I stood there, staring at the growing pool of blood on the floor, speechless for a long time. Years ago, I had arrived at the Capital, a solitary figure with my hawk, my wild horse, and a handful of sand from the Sunken Sands. But the sprawling Regent’s Keep had no room for any free or untamed soul. They had sent away my hawk, led away my horse. They had given me a wailing infant and a Persian white cat, a gift from some foreign envoy. It took me eight long years to nurture them, to raise them. To lose them, however, took but a mere instant. A sigh escaped me, and then I caught the familiar scent of sandalwood. I looked up. Duke Theron Vance stood silently before me. Father and son were indeed cut from the same stone. Both possessed the same aloof nobility, the same disdain for all lesser beings. He opened his arms, expecting me to step forward and attend to him, to loosen his robes and ease his burdens. He spoke, as if to himself, “I heard what happened today. Elara Hayes, you were at fault.” Seeing me remain motionless, his brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of displeasure in his eyes. His gaze swept over the bloodstained floor, and his tone softened, if only just. “The child is young. Why quarrel with him?” At Duke Theron’s unspoken command, the bloodstains on the floor were quickly wiped away. The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows. Nimbus, who used to playfully chase the dancing flames, seemed to have never existed. Just like me. I had devoted myself to them for eight years, tending to their every need. Yet, I had failed to leave even a faint mark on the hearts of this father and son. Duke Theron, dressed in fresh robes, settled onto the daybed and gently tapped the low table, signaling me to pour him tea. I instinctively obeyed. As I drew near, his large hand encircled my waist, pulling me into his embrace. He gently caressed my cheek. “Today is your birthday, Elara. You need not take the anti-conception elixir tonight. If you conceive, consider it my gift to you.” His warm breath feathered against my neck, yet a shiver of ice ran through me. Duke Theron was a man of vigorous passions. In the first month of our union, I found myself with child. Before I could even rejoice, he sent a servant with a bitter draught. “I love only Seraphina in this life, and I shall have but one child: Arthur. Should you conceive, it would inevitably breed ambition in your heart, distracting you from your duties to Arthur.” Thereafter, after every shared intimacy, he would watch me drink the anti-conception elixir. For eight years, without fail, day after day. Today, faced with Duke Theron’s unexpected ‘grace,’ I should have trembled with gratitude, eager to serve him with utmost devotion. But for the first time, I recoiled from his touch. “Your Grace, the eight-year pact has concluded. Tomorrow, I must depart.” 2. The initial hint of intimacy vanished. Duke Theron’s voice was now tinged with irritation. “Arthur is just a child! As his mother, your failure to raise him properly is your fault. It is extraordinary clemency that I have not held you accountable. How dare you act so petulant?” Mother? I laughed, a bitter, self-mocking sound. Years ago, Duke Theron had fallen deeply in love with my legitimate sister, Seraphina Hayes. Disregarding differences in station, he had married her, elevating the entire Hayes family overnight from obscurity to prominence within the Capital. From a minor border commander guarding the remote Sunken Sands, he became a powerful Duke Regent. They had lived in perfect harmony, a love story envied by all. But cruel fate intervened, and my sister perished in childbirth. Fearing their newfound influence might wane, the Hayes family sent me to be a replacement. Duke Theron, heartbroken by Seraphina’s passing, refused to marry any other woman as his Duchess. Yet, he pitied young Arthur, who was left without a mother’s care. So, our two families negotiated an eight-year pact: I would remain in the Regent’s Keep as a Lady Companion. Though a Lady Companion, I held no marriage contract, nor was my name entered into the Royal Registry. A mere written agreement had sealed my fate, binding my entire life. How absurd. For eight years, I had served as Arthur’s mother. Yet, strictly speaking, I remained an unmarried woman. I gathered my thoughts, my voice calm. “I am not being petulant. The pact has expired.” I continued, my gaze steady. “Remaining in the Keep without official status would only bring ridicule upon you and the young Lord.” Duke Theron’s tightly furrowed brow relaxed slightly. His gaze held a mixture of probing and challenge, yet his tone softened by a fraction. “If you could bear an heir for the Keep, I would naturally inscribe your name and the child’s into the House Chronicles, elevating you to the status of a true Lady Companion…” “No need.” No one willingly debases themselves, choosing to live as a mere placeholder. In this life, I had already suffered enough as a baseborn child. How could I bear to let my own child suffer the same fate? I straightened my robes and retrieved the steward’s ledger and the deeds to the ducal estates and businesses from my chamber. “A few days ago, I painstakingly settled all the accounts. The Keep’s head steward is my sister’s dowry retainer; she will seamlessly take over my duties.” I added, my voice devoid of emotion, “Arthur has grown. He should be taught by renowned scholars. My own knowledge is shallow, and I am ill-suited to raise him further.” Duke Theron casually waved a hand. The immensely valuable land deeds, the stacks of gold coin receipts, and the parchment of our binding agreement scattered across the floor like dust. He stepped on them, utterly without remorse. “Elara Hayes, do not presume too much.” His voice was laced with menace. “Considering it is your birthday, I shall not press the matter. Remain in your chambers for these next few days, and reflect.” With a heavy boom, the vermilion wooden door slammed shut, separating our two worlds. I gazed at the slowly ascending light in the night sky and smiled, a mirthless curl of my lips. It was a wish lantern, sent aloft to celebrate my birthday and offer blessings. But today was not my birthday. It was the day Duke Theron and my sister had first met. The night before I was sent to the Keep, my mother, Lady Hayes, had sought me out. She told me to memorize every detail of my sister, to mimic her every word and gesture. “Elara, only by doing so will the Duke Regent look upon you favorably. Only then can you secure your position in the Keep.” As she had predicted, Duke Theron, who usually paid me no mind, meticulously remembered my birthday. It was the only day of the year I looked forward to, the only day I felt a semblance of warmth, a flicker of care, a fleeting sense of belonging. But… stolen moments always have to be returned. Lost in thought, a sharp sting pierced my forehead. Arthur, perched atop the garden wall, triumphantly raised his slingshot. “If you insist on lingering in the Keep, one day, it won’t be a stone hitting your forehead, but a sharp arrow!” He gloated over his precise shot, utterly forgetting that I was the one who had patiently taught him to ride and shoot, hand over hand. That year, Lady Hayes had placed the infant Arthur into my arms. Her words had been earnest. “The kindness of nurture surpasses the bond of birth. If you truly care for him, Arthur will grow to see you as his true mother and treat you with utmost filial devotion. No matter what, you are family, connected by blood.” The Hayes family had placed great expectations upon me. And I, amidst the deceptive grandeur of the Keep, had nurtured a forbidden fantasy. Yet, eight years had passed. This father and son… one saw me as nothing. The other… hated me to the bone. 3. “The night wind is strong. Be careful not to catch a chill.” I offered one last reminder, then turned to return to my room. The next morning, Lady Hayes rushed in, blocking my path. She knelt before me, just as she had eight years ago, pleading desperately. “Elara, Arthur is still so young. He cannot do without you.” She paused, her voice tinged with a desperate edge. “Your father and brothers rely on the Duke Regent’s patronage. The Hayes family’s future hinges on your favor. You cannot act so impulsively.” “You’ve spoken so much,” I replied, my voice weary, “why not ask if I am well?” Lady Hayes froze for a moment. The sound of a carriage arriving outside the gates interrupted her impending lecture. A graceful, alluring woman, smiling, walked in. The moment she entered, Arthur ran and threw himself into her arms. “Aunt Lilith, I missed you so much.” The two walked hand-in-hand directly past me. With the sweet scent of her perfume, whispers from the Keep’s servants drifted to me. “The Lady Companion is truly pathetic. Shamelessly clinging to the Keep, racking her brains to please the Duke and the young Lord. In the end, she can’t even compare to a courtesan.” “Yesterday she was demanding to leave, and today she’s clinging on. She’s probably afraid Aunt Lilith will take her place.” Arthur tilted his small face up, nuzzling into Lilith Meadowes’s embrace. “Father has been waiting for you, Aunt Lilith. Let’s go find him.” He looked at me, then back at her. “I like Aunt Lilith best. She smells so sweet, and her voice is so lovely, unlike those coarse women from the countryside.” I froze. I had grown up in the Sunken Sands, and when I first arrived in the Capital, everything felt alien. The northern winds had chilled me to the bone, bringing on one illness after another. The Keep’s servants mocked my rustic manners, refusing to even bring me medicine. Only three-year-old Arthur had stayed by my side, his small face earnest. “Little Aunt, get well soon. I like Little Aunt. Little Aunt looks best when she rides a horse!” How could I have imagined then that the little shadow who followed me everywhere would become the sharp thorn in my heart? Lilith Meadowes smiled sweetly, greeting me. This woman, with her gentle movements, carried the grace of a water lily. Yet, her words were laced with provocation. “Miss Hayes, children speak without malice.” I ignored her, turning instead to help Lady Hayes to her feet. “You see, Your Grace and the young Lord are never short of company or care.” Lilith Meadowes was nothing but a courtesan. Yet, with her striking seven-tenths resemblance to my sister, she could effortlessly enter the Duke’s private study, a place I was forbidden to tread. Effortlessly, she stole the affections of father and son. Lady Hayes, now standing, showed no trace of her previous sorrow. Her face was cold. “Are you truly determined to leave?” I stated firmly, “I refuse to spend this entire life trapped within these four walls, revolving around two men who do not love me.” Slap! A sharp, stinging blow landed on my face. “Baseborn creature, you have no decorum.” Lady Hayes’s voice was venomous. “If I hadn’t granted you clemency back then, you would have died in the Sunken Sands! Yet you are so heartless, truly less than a dog raised by the Hayes family.” My birth mother was a Nomad Rider from the Sunken Sands. She was seen by the drunken General Hayes, and after a night of recklessness, I was born. In their eyes, a baseborn daughter was less than an animal. Giving me food, raising me, was a tremendous act of grace. Even after they moved to the Capital, abandoning us in the Sunken Sands without a word, I was expected to be eternally grateful. As her second blow was about to land, I seized Lady Hayes’s hand. “The Hayes family raised me until I was eight years old. I have repaid the Hayes family for those eight years.” I looked at her, my voice unwavering. “We are now utterly quits.” For eight years, I endured Duke Theron’s brutal exertions in the bedchamber. In the Keep, I meticulously managed every detail, big and small. I nurtured Arthur as if he were my own, showering him with all my love and companionship. I had done my utmost, my conscience clear, owing nothing to anyone. The only one I owed, was myself. Convinced that further persuasion was futile, Lady Hayes departed in a huff. I turned, only to meet Duke Theron’s deep, discerning gaze.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392878”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel