Category: English

I’m Hollywood’s certified “Jack-of-all-trades” darling. Every time I book a role, I download a new skill into my brain like I’m in The Matrix. Play a chef? I’m suddenly whipping up Beef Wellington like Gordon Ramsay. Play an action hero? I walk away with a black belt in Krav Maga. Even when I played a delinquent teen, I mastered the art of hotwiring a car and butterfly knife tricks. My motto: If I’m on set, I’m learning something. The internet is obsessed. They tweet: [Is there anything Harper Moon can’t do?] Until I went on a reality show and brought my childhood best friend along. On filming day, he acted all “sick” and clingy, practically gluing himself to my side. After the 101st time pushing his heavy head off my shoulder, I finally snapped, “If you’re itching that much, go take a shower.” Julian: ? Live Chat: [I finally figured out the one stat point God forgot to give Harper. No wonder they say Julian is like a cat. He’s actively simping for her, and she’s like: ‘Why is this house cat vibrating? Is it broken?’] 1 I’m a B-list actress who recently skyrocketed to #1 on Twitter Trending because of a viral news clip. Here’s what happened: I was at a food truck festival in Santa Monica when I spotted a greasy creep behind me. His hands were wandering, trying to grope the girl standing next to me. Without thinking, I executed a perfect Judo hip toss and slammed him into the pavement. Then I put him in an armbar and dragged him to the nearest cop. There was a crowd. Naturally, everyone had their phones out. They were shook that a petite girl like me had the combat skills of John Wick. The video hit TikTok and blew up instantly. The hashtag #VigilanteHarper took over the internet. The comment section was on fire. People were praising my form and, surprisingly, my face. [Real talk, not only can she fight, but she’s gorgeous. She looks like a porcelain doll but hits like a truck. If I met a girl this pretty and dangerous in high school, I would’ve been down bad for at least three years.] [How does someone look this good with zero makeup? One body slam and she slammed right into my heart.] [Who is she? We need a name!] [Why does she look familiar?] Finally, my small but loyal fanbase arrived in the comments: [Is it possible… that’s our girl Harper Moon? She’s an actress! She hasn’t had her big break yet, but invest now! She’s pretty, can act, and is basically a ninja. Lowkey flex: Harper is a black belt, speaks three languages, sings opera, plays three instruments, paints, and does archery. You won’t find another celeb this over-qualified. Stan now!] Thanks to my fans, the internet started digging. They realized that in my two years of acting, I maxed out my skill tree. One role, one skill. Chef role? Michelin star cooking. Action role? Eight-pack abs and a black belt. Delinquent role? I can now shuffle-dance and pick locks. The internet was stunned: [Is Harper Moon actually a cyborg?] Riding the wave, my new drama aired shortly after. I played a unhinged villainess. The acting was solid, the character was iconic, and I officially leveled up to “It Girl” status. 2 My agency didn’t waste time. Between shoots, they signed me up for a slow-living reality show called Life, Unscripted. The show is famous for being chill, healing, and voyeuristic. No crazy challenges, just vibes. The theme this season? “Companionship.” I invited Julian Vance. In the first episode, the producers asked us to introduce our guest. I opened a photo album for the camera—courtesy of Julian’s mom. “This is my neighbor and childhood bestie, Julian. We grew up together. I’m five years older, but he’s been my shadow since he could walk.” I pointed to a throwback photo. I was in a blue dress, looking like a little princess. Next to me was Julian—round face, big eyes, looking like the Michelin Man’s cute son. He had chocolate smeared all over his mouth, holding a wrapper, licking it like it was gold. “Julian had a massive sweet tooth. One time, he was eating a candy bar and his baby tooth fell out. He started bawling, asking me if he was turning into a grandpa. He was terrified he couldn’t eat ribs or gummies anymore, or play tag with me because ‘old people fall apart.’” I flipped the page to a photo of Julian in his teenage years. The back of a head with neon orange hair. “He had an emo phase. He got obsessed with those Wattpad bad boys. He’d walk around saying stuff like, ‘Say the word, and I’ll burn the world for you.’ Eventually, he insisted on dyeing his hair because ‘all the misunderstood alphas have dyed hair.’ I couldn’t stop him, so I went with him. The stylist botched it. He wanted blonde; he got traffic cone orange. He cried all night saying he looked like a minion.” The producers were cracking up. They asked why the photo only showed his back. “Oh, his eyes were swollen shut from crying. He looked like he went twelve rounds with Tyson. He refused to turn around.” 3 The live chat was losing it. Everyone thought Julian was a lovable idiot. [LMAO help! ‘Say the word and I’ll burn the world?’ That is peak cringe and I love it.] [I’m wheezing. We all had that phase, but the orange hair? Foul.] [Did anyone catch that Harper went with him to get it done? She’s a real one. If my brother did that, I’d roast him. She really spoiled him.] [I bet when Harper played that delinquent role, she used Julian as her muse. You can’t fake that kind of trauma.] While the chat was roasting him, a knock echoed on the door. I opened it to see a familiar, handsome face. 6’2″, broad shoulders, narrow waist, legs for days. Pale skin, sharp jawline, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. But his eyes… they were soft, smiling eyes. He pushed his glasses up, looked down at me, and said in that velvety voice, “Hey, Moon.” The live chat froze. The sheer visual impact silenced the trolls. Then, the name tag appeared on screen: Julian Vance. [??? Excuse me? That’s the orange-haired crybaby? NOBODY TOLD ME HE GLOWED UP LIKE THIS?!] 4 Even the director paused, mumbling, “That is an aggressively handsome man.” While everyone else was swooning, I walked up to him and frowned. “Jules, aren’t you dying of heatstroke?” I looked at his three-piece bespoke suit. It looked incredible, sure. But it was 95 degrees in Los Angeles today. Julian’s gentle smile twitched. The cracks started to show. He looked down, a flash of grievance in his eyes, and mumbled, “Don’t I look good? Isn’t this your favorite style? Why aren’t you praising me…” “I…” Before I could say ‘you’re gonna melt,’ he pivoted. “Yeah, actually, it is hot. So hot.” He immediately shed the blazer, revealing a crisp white dress shirt. No tie. Top button undone, showing off a sliver of collarbone. The vibe shifted instantly from ‘CEO’ to ‘Hot College Senior.’ He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing veiny forearms. Then, catching me staring at his hands, he smirked subtly. He reached for his collar again. One button. Two buttons… He grit his teeth, looked like he was making a life-or-death decision, and went for the third button. “Stop.” I grabbed his hand. “Any lower and we get demonetized, Jules. This isn’t that kind of website. If you’re hot, go take a shower.” The chat exploded. [OPEN IT! I AM LOOKING RESPECTFULLY!] [This is the premium content I pay my internet bill for!] [LMAO Harper really said ‘Bonk, go to horny jail.’ What kind of website did she think he was aiming for?] [Is nobody gonna mention that Julian is practically doing a striptease for her? I bet 5 bucks he’s in love with her.] 5 A memory flashed in my mind. Back when I was prepping for The Martial Artist, I spent two months in the gym. Julian was there every day. He said he was doing a “summer shred” and needed to manage his physique. He’d send me daily progress pics of his chest, abs, and biceps, claiming he needed me to “evaluate his gains.” I watched him transform from lean to ripped, though he kept it classy—lean muscle, like a Greek statue. After I finished that role and moved on to learning piano for the next one, we stopped going to the gym together. I wondered if he still had that six-pack… Judging by the way his shirt clung to him, yeah. He definitely did. I snapped out of it and noticed Julian’s ears were bright red. I was standing too close. He was wearing long sleeves. He really must be overheating. I stepped back, creating distance. “Still too hot? I’ll lower the AC.” Seeing me back away, Julian’s eyes dimmed with disappointment, but he nodded obediently. [Look at those red ears! Is it the heat? I don’t buy it.] [Neither do I.] [He’s so innocent! A tall, handsome, childhood friend? I ship it. The Leopard and the Cat!] [I accepted this ship in zero seconds.]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387330”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After Mom divorced Dad—who was always “too busy” to be home—life got tough. She adopted the “calm and collected” persona. Never fought for anything, never raised her voice. The neighbors all said she was a saint. So, I became her mouthpiece. The things she “couldn’t” say, I said. The people she was “too polite” to offend, I cursed out. The neighbors all whispered that I was petty and rude, nothing like my saintly mother. Then one day, a local drunk tried to assault her. Mom was putting up a desperate fight. Without thinking, I grabbed a glass bottle and smashed it over his head, saving her. I ran to the stairwell to call for help, but Mom shoved me from behind. I tumbled down the stairs, spine shattering against the concrete steps. Paralyzed from the neck down. It turned out her “desperate fight” was just foreplay. It turned out the drunk was her high school crush, the bad boy she never got over. They moved in together immediately. One afternoon, I woke up from a nap because the bed was shaking. I opened my eyes to see the drunk on top of me. I wanted to fight, but my body wouldn’t move. In a panic, I screamed for Mom. But then I saw her peeking through the doorway. Her eyes weren’t filled with horror, but with jealousy. Despair swallowed me whole. I bit my tongue off, but I didn’t die. So I starved myself. That finally did it. Mom shook her head, sighing with fake pity. “I told you not to be so hot-tempered. You should be calm like a chrysanthemum. Now look, you’ve lost your life.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the divorce. My parents asked me: “Who do you want to live with?” I chose Mom, of course. I have a debt to repay for her “great kindness.” 1 “Nina, who do you choose?” Mom asked, calm and confident as always. Dad looked devastated, but a glimmer of unrealistic hope still shone in his eyes. He pleaded silently. I buried the hatred deep in my eyes. “I choose… actually, let me use the bathroom first. You guys discuss the other stuff!” I pulled out my cracked phone—Mom’s hand-me-down—and texted Dad: [Dad, I want to live with you, but I’m going to choose Mom. Please don’t be sad. I’ll come back to you soon. Delete this after reading.] I flushed the toilet and walked out. Dad looked like a new man. The despair was gone, replaced by a rosy glow of vitality. I never realized how much my choice in my past life had destroyed him. Mom shot him a look of disdain and started her PUA routine: “Guess I wasted my time. Can’t wait to go meet your little mistress before the ink is even dry, huh?” 2 The “mistress” Mom referred to was Aunt Diane, Dad’s childhood friend. She had pursued him once, but Dad was already in love with Mom. Dad, being the honest idiot he was, told Mom everything. Back then, Mom just laughed it off. Proud as a peacock, she wouldn’t deign to be jealous of a “country bumpkin.” Now that she wanted a divorce, she suddenly cared about Aunt Diane, painting Dad as morally bankrupt. But in my past life, it was this “country bumpkin” who brought me food and water after I was paralyzed. Dad argued back, face red, but Mom just crossed her arms and said coolly, “See? I hit a nerve. Why else would you react so strongly?” Dad was clumsy with words. Every time he tried to defend himself—”I haven’t even spoken to her in years!”—Mom would cut him off with a breezy, “I don’t believe you. Don’t bother explaining.” “I didn’t do it!” Dad shouted again, but this time, his voice was firm. Because he knew his daughter believed him. 3 In my last life, Dad gave Mom the house and most of his savings because he was afraid I’d suffer. He left with almost nothing. Mom accepted it all calmly, as if she were doing him a favor. “He gave it willingly,” she’d say. I suspect she had been badmouthing Dad to me for years, using the “evil stepmother” trope to scare me into choosing her, all to secure his assets. The irony is, I believed her lies, chose her, and walked straight into hell. “You want to eat? Make it yourself. Girls need to be independent. Go wash the dishes!” She’d push dirty plates at me—leftovers from her delicious stir-fry while I stared at my bowl of plain white rice. When I lived with Dad, he never let me touch dish soap, saying it would ruin my hands. “Just study,” he’d say. With Mom, even adding an egg to my instant noodles was a crime. “I need that for breakfast tomorrow. Why are you so greedy?” She canceled my piano lessons immediately. “You have no talent. Why waste the teacher’s time?” 4 “Nina, hurry up. Me or your dad?” Mom stared at me intensely. I didn’t disappoint her. “I choose Mom.” Mom smiled, a victory lap in her eyes. “Jack, she made her choice. Now let’s talk assets.” I almost laughed looking at the divorce agreement she drafted. It left Dad with nothing. This was my “saintly” mother. In my past life, she used me as a weapon. This life, I’m aiming that weapon right back at her. “Mom, if Dad gives us the house, where will he live? We can go to Grandma’s, but he’ll be homeless! He just lost me, now he loses his home? That’s so sad!” Mom’s face twisted. Her “thoughtful little jacket” was suddenly letting in a draft. She stammered, trying to maintain her persona. “Well… I didn’t really want this dump, it’s just closer to your school.” I cut off her retreat. “Oh, Mom, Grandma’s house is only a few minutes further by bus. It’s fine.” Mom’s face went dark. “I… I’m doing this for you!” I smiled, showing all my teeth. “Don’t worry, Mom! I have a conscience, just like you taught me. I wouldn’t let Dad be homeless just to save five minutes on a bus ride!” Mom’s face cycled through colors like a broken traffic light. 5 With no other choice, she glared at me and changed the agreement. Dad kept the house, but he had to pay her $60,000. They both signed. The divorce cooling-off period was over, so the paperwork went through fast. They got their divorce certificates. Mom let out a huge breath. She had been terrified Dad would back out. “Transfer the $60,000 to my account,” Mom said, her “calm” facade cracking with greed. “Mom, what’s the rush? Let’s transfer the house title to Dad first.” Mom frowned but went along with it. A few days later, the title transfer was done. “Now transfer the money!” Mom’s patience was gone. “Didn’t you lend your brother $80,000?” Dad said coldly. “You keep $60,000 of that debt. Transfer the remaining $20,000 to me. Here’s my account number.” This was the script Dad and I rehearsed. Mom’s brain short-circuited. The math was simple: Assets were split. The $80,000 loan was a marital asset. Dad was owed half. Mom: ??? “Jack, what do you mean? You’re not paying me, and I owe you $10,000? You tricked me?!” Her “calm” persona shattered into a screech. Dad looked innocent. “I didn’t trick you. Just stating facts.” “You know my brother used that money for a house! He can’t pay it back now! How am I supposed to live?!” “How you live is none of my business. You knew he couldn’t pay it back, so why did you lend it?” 6 Dad was a steelworker. Hard labor, long hours, living on-site. Mom called it “never being home.” Years of sun and sweat made his skin rough and dark. Mom, pampered with skincare products paid for by him, looked young and fresh. The work was brutal, but the pay was good. Dad handed every paycheck to Mom. After expenses and mortgage, they had saved $80,000 in eight years. Then my uncle needed a house and a dowry. Grandma called, spun a sob story, and Mom—saint that she was—wired him the entire savings. When Dad found out, he nearly had a stroke. Mom just said, “Money is worldly. Helping my brother is a good deed.” Dad literally coughed blood and passed out. When he woke up in the hospital, he realized Mom wasn’t a partner. From then on, he stopped giving her his savings. Just a fixed allowance. Mom knew she messed up, but she refused to apologize. She just endured the budget cuts. Life was quiet until Mom met Steve. 7 We were at a noodle shop one day. A middle-aged man across from us poured half a bottle of liquor into his noodles, slurping loudly. The owner came over. “Sir, no alcohol allowed here. Please respect the rules.” “I paid! I’ll drink if I want!” The man yelled. The argument caught Mom’s attention. “Steve?” “Jen? Cough… is that you?” Steve’s voice turned instantly gentle, trying to hide his drunken crudeness. He was slightly chubby, dressed in a cheap suit, with soft hands that had never seen a day of hard work. “Sorry owner, I won’t drink.” Steve tried to eat his boozy noodles. The owner took the bowl away. “No alcohol means no alcohol.” Steve’s face darkened, but he forced a smile. “Fine, bring me a fresh bowl.” “Jen, is this your daughter?” Steve looked at me. Mom looked uncomfortable, tucking hair behind her ear. “Yes.” I got the feeling she didn’t want to admit I was hers. “Time flies! She’s so big now.” Steve gave me a “kind uncle” smile, but his eyes were greedy. He kept glancing at me while talking to Mom. I felt like bugs were crawling on my skin. I ate fast. “Mom, I’m done. You hurry up, I have homework.” Mom scowled. “Leave if you’re done. Interrupting adults is rude. Who did you get that rash personality from?” I ran out. Looking back, Mom and Steve had probably been hooking up long before the divorce. Poor Dad was clueless.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387346”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The apartment complex where I live has a high number of elderly residents, many of whom struggle just to care for themselves, let alone shop and cook a full meal. Seeing their plight, I started something I called The Five-Dollar Supper Club. For just five dollars, they got a hot meal with two protein dishes and a side of vegetables. For those with mobility issues, I even delivered it right to their door. I’d been running it for three months when suddenly, someone jumped out and accused me of using rotten ingredients, claiming my food had sent an old man to the hospital. “My father was fine this morning, but after eating your charity meal, he was violently ill—vomiting and everything. He almost died!” The very same grandmothers and grandfathers who had been thanking me just a day before now stood silent. Not a single person spoke up in my defense. I thought about the hours I spent every day, starting before dawn, picking out the absolute freshest ingredients, and how I was losing money on every single plate I served. Suddenly, the entire endeavor felt utterly meaningless. “Very well,” I said, my voice heavy. “If that is the case, The Five-Dollar Supper Club is canceled. I’m done.” 1 “Harper, make sure you save me a portion of the braised pork today. My old man loves the way you make it!” “Harper, my mother can’t manage the stairs. Please deliver at the usual time. Thank you!” My phone was buzzing constantly, a flurry of messages from the Supper Club’s group chat. Then, Mrs. Rodriguez posted a voice note. “Oh, thank goodness Harper started this supper club!” “We have so many seniors here whose kids aren’t nearby. Cooking is a hassle. They used to just scrape by on instant ramen or cold bread. It broke my heart.” “Now, Harper gives them two mains and a side for only five dollars, and he brings it right to their door. The vegetables are stewed nice and soft—perfect for our folks. It has solved a huge problem!” As soon as her message ended, a wave of agreement flooded the chat. “Yes, yes! Mrs. Rodriguez is spot on! My dad used to live on leftovers, but now he eats a hot meal every day. He’s in much better spirits!” “Harper is truly a good soul. I did the math—five dollars doesn’t even cover the cost of the ingredients. He’s definitely subsidizing this himself!” Watching the messages scroll across the screen, I felt the strength return to my arms as I stirred the pot. For the past three months, I’d been up at five every morning to drive to the wholesale market for ingredients. Then it was back to washing, chopping, and cooking until the lunch rush at eleven. I often didn’t finish the deliveries and get a chance to eat my own lunch until two or three in the afternoon. Five dollars a meal barely covered the ingredients; utilities and gas all came out of my pocket. Sometimes, when a senior forgot their wallet, I’d just wave them off. I knew the tastes and dietary needs of everyone in that group chat. Occasionally, a neighbor, feeling guilty, would overpay by ten or twenty dollars, and I’d save that money to buy things like disposable containers or sanitizing wipes for the kitchen. The gratitude and reliance of my neighbors were the only fuel I needed. I was just about to type a reply to the group when a rough voice boomed from the doorway. “Harper! Get out here! Don’t you dare try to run!” My heart sank. I put down my stirring spoon and hurried over. Standing in the doorway was a man in his mid-thirties, face flushed red, eyes full of aggression. Several neighbors had already gathered nearby, watching the spectacle. “Can I help you, sir?” I asked, confused. “Help me?” The man’s voice was enormous, making my ears ring. “My father ate your supper club meal, and now he’s violently ill. He’s on an IV drip in the hospital right now, nearly dead!” “Does that sound like something you can help me with?” I froze for a second, then quickly pressed for details. “Who is your father? What exactly did he eat today? Did he eat anything else with it?” “My father is Mr. Davies from Building Three, Unit Two!” The man pointed a finger at my face, his tone turning even more menacing. “He ate the braised pork and the stir-fried greens you delivered yesterday at noon. By evening, he was vomiting and had diarrhea. The doctor called it food poisoning!” “Were you using expired ingredients? Are you so greedy for money that you’d poison old people?” My mind went blank, and the blood rushed to my head. 2 “Absolutely not! The ingredients here are bought fresh every single morning! There is no way anything is expired!” “Mr. Davies’s meal was cooked exactly the same as everyone else’s. If everyone else is fine, how could his meal cause food poisoning?” “The same? I bet you only feed the good stuff to your friends and save the garbage for the elderly!” The man sneered and threw an empty takeout container violently onto the floor. “Five dollars for two mains and a side? How could you possibly make a profit? You must be using bruised vegetables and expired meat that nobody else would take!” “If anything happens to my father, I will hold you responsible!” “How dare you say that!” I was shaking with anger. “I never intended to make a profit running this club! I lose money every single day! I just wanted to help solve a problem for our community. You can’t just go around slandering people!” “Slander?” The man—Luke Weaver, I now realized—took a step closer, towering over me. “My father is sick after eating your food. That is proof! What else do you have to say?” By now, the doorway was packed with neighbors, all whispering. “Mr. Davies got food poisoning? That serious?” “Harper seems so honest, not the type to use bad ingredients.” “But the son says his dad is in the hospital. Maybe the food really was tainted.” “Five dollars is incredibly cheap. Could there actually be a catch?” “I ate it today, and I think my stomach feels a little off… is that just my mind playing tricks?” Hearing their murmurings, a chill ran from my head to my feet. I rushed back into the kitchen, fumbling in a drawer for my purchase receipts and ledger. “Look! These are yesterday’s receipts! I bought the produce this morning. The vendor’s stamp is here. You can go verify this at the market!” “This is my ledger. I record what I buy and how much I spend every day. I absolutely do not use expired ingredients!” Luke didn’t even look. He swept the receipts and the ledger off the counter and onto the floor. “How do I know those receipts aren’t fake? How do I know that ledger isn’t a lie?” “All I know is my father got sick after your food. You have to pay for this!” I crouched down, gathering the scattered papers, and looked up at the surrounding neighbors. So many of them had benefited from my help. I’d delivered meals, warmed up dishes for them, and even let them wait in my little kitchen when they were locked out of their homes. Yet now, not one person stepped forward to defend me. Mrs. Rodriguez opened her mouth as if to speak, but the man next to her nudged her arm, and she swallowed her words. Everyone else either looked down or averted their gaze. In that moment, the warmth in my heart vanished completely, replaced by a devastating sense of injury and rage. I had been working from dawn till dark, selecting the best ingredients, cooking the cleanest food, subsidizing it with my own money and labor—and all I got in return was the label of a poisoner. Why did I do it? For a simple “thank you,” and the quiet satisfaction of helping others. Now, my efforts were casually dismissed, my goodwill trampled. All those thanks and compliments felt like a sick joke. Looking at the cold, judging faces of my neighbors, I suddenly felt that this whole thing was utterly, completely pointless. “I use the freshest ingredients every day. My conscience is clear, and I have nothing to hide from anyone who has eaten my food.” “You have no proof that my food is the problem, yet you are publicly assassinating my character. I won’t accept this.” “Since my kindness is being treated as dirt, and my hard work isn’t worth basic trust, The Five-Dollar Supper Club is done. I will not operate again starting today.” With that, I turned to the wall, grabbed the handmade sign for the Supper Club, and slammed it onto the floor. 3 The sign shattered, and many onlookers froze. “Oh, Harper, why are you doing this?” Someone sounded genuinely worried now. But I just looked at them coolly. “You’re all too scared to eat my food anyway, so what’s the difference if I stop now?” I started gathering my things, ready to leave this heartbreaking place. But Luke Weaver wasn’t finished. “Trying to run away when you can’t argue your way out of it?” He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed my arm. “If I let you escape today, you can call me by a different name!” he warned, glaring at me. I instinctively tried to shake off his hand. But Luke Weaver immediately dropped to the floor, letting out a dramatic wail. “Ouch! Not only did you hurt my dad, now you’re trying to hurt me, too?” He contorted his face into a mask of pain. The crowd of newcomers who hadn’t seen the beginning instantly erupted. “Harper, what are you doing? He just had a suspicion, and you’re getting physical?” “I knew there couldn’t be someone that stupid, running a non-profit just to help people! He’s so desperate to run away, there must be a catch!” “Exactly! Everyone, keep an eye on him! Don’t let him leave!” The crowd surrounded me, sealing the exit. Luke Weaver grinned smugly at me from the floor. “Apologize right now! Or don’t blame me for hitting an old man!” My face was burning red. I’ve never been good at confrontation, and being unjustly accused like this left me speechless. “I barely touched you! You’re the one who grabbed me!” I stammered, trying to explain. But a man in the crowd countered, “If you weren’t trying to run, would he have needed to grab you?” “He was the one who said my food was tainted first!” I retorted, feeling dizzy with frustration. The people surrounding me—men, women, and even some kids—were all people I had dealt with casually. Now, they were all looking at me with the eyes of a suspect. They didn’t have to trust me, but why were they so easily siding with Luke Weaver? Was it just because he was a better actor? “Well, there was a problem. I heard someone just now say their stomach felt off after eating it!” “Yeah! If you’re innocent, why are you trying to escape?” “I think we should all go to the doctor and get checked out. If there’s anything wrong, we need to demand compensation from this old scammer!” I could see the ugly truth on all their faces. Once the seed of suspicion was planted, any little piece of bad news would inevitably be pinned on me. For a brief, crushing moment, I felt utterly exhausted. “Luke Weaver, what exactly do you want?” I asked, looking over at him with a bitter smile. He looked back, radiating self-satisfaction. “What do I want? I want you to pay for it, of course!” “My dad’s IV drips and other costs are at least a thousand dollars!” He rolled his eyes greedily. 4 I looked at the triumphant Luke Weaver, completely drained in body and spirit. Coupled with the judgmental stares of the crowd, I finally gave up on trying to explain. “One thousand dollars, you say? I’ll give it to you.” My voice was flat now. I retrieved my cash box and counted out the bills, handing the exact amount to Luke. “Can I leave now?” I didn’t want to waste another moment on them. I’d consider it the price of peace, and since I would never restart the Supper Club, I wouldn’t be coming back here again. “Hold on!” Just as I turned to leave, Luke stopped me again. “The doctor said my dad has serious liver damage because of the food poisoning! Follow-up treatment will be at least ten thousand dollars!” He held out his hand to me. My eyes widened in shock. “Ten thousand dollars? I only have three thousand dollars to my name! If I give you that, I’ll only have two thousand left. You can’t drive a person to ruin!” I glared at Luke, outraged. He was clearly just price-gouging, taking advantage of my good nature to demand more money. But Luke didn’t care. “Me driving you to ruin? If you’ve got a problem, come with me to the hospital and hear what the doctor says!” He grabbed my collar. “I’m only asking for ten thousand because I’m being generous! Otherwise, my dad’s future treatment will cost eighty or even a hundred thousand!” Luke threatened, his expression smug. My face went scarlet. But what was even worse was the crowd of onlookers. “Hey, my stomach hasn’t been feeling right either! You owe me money, too!” “That’s right, I’m not feeling great either. I won’t ask for much, but you should give me at least five hundred dollars, right?” Seeing that there was money to be extorted, these people all rushed forward to demand compensation! The sight of their ugly, avaricious faces hit me like a physical blow. I couldn’t catch my breath, my vision went white, and I collapsed.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387362”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The wedding was imminent. But my fiancé had just fallen in love at first sight with a con artist masquerading as an heiress. To save the strategic merger between our families, I did the dirty work. I hired a private investigator, compiled a dossier of damning evidence, and confronted the woman myself. When she saw the file, she trembled. She took my hush money, wrote a confession, and promised to disappear. My fiancé, Warner, was grateful I’d handled the “mess.” We married on schedule. But weeks later, in a glass-walled igloo deep in the Icelandic wilderness, he spiked my champagne. As the paralysis set in, I begged him for my life. He only laughed, his breath pluming in the freezing air. “She wasn’t honest about her past, Sutton, but her love for me was pure,” he sneered, watching the life drain out of me. “You drove her to suicide. A life for a life.” Only then did I realize: the con artist hadn’t left. She had faked her death to frame me. Trapped, freezing, and dying, I used my last ounce of strength to drag him out the door with me, plunging us both into the glacial crevasse. If I was going to turn into a statue of ice, he was coming with me. When I opened my eyes, the cold was gone. I was back in the library of the rental villa, the dossier in my hand, standing in front of the woman. Before I could speak, the doors flew open. Warner stormed in, snatched the file from my hands, and tossed it directly into the roaring fireplace. “Not this time,” he declared, his voice shaking with a terrifying conviction. “No one is going to tear us apart.” I nodded slowly, the ghost of the glacial chill still clinging to my bones. Her father, a grifter. Her mother, a gambling addict. A brother who treats the state penitentiary like a second home. Two children she abandoned… If you want to keep her, Warner, be my guest. I won’t stop you. 1 My fiancé, Warner Huntingdon, shielded Ivy Sinclair—the woman pretending to be Old Money royalty—behind his back. His face was washed in the relief of a man who had recovered a lost treasure. He ignored me completely, muttering to himself like a madman. “Thank God. Thank God I was on time. It’s not too late.” He turned to her, his voice dropping to a tender whisper. “Ivy, you don’t have to worry about anything. I know everything about you. You don’t need to be ashamed of your background. Someone like Sutton Mercer could never understand the depth of what we have.” Ivy, seeing the evidence turning to ash in the hearth, quickly shoved the check I had given her back into my purse. “Ms. Mercer,” she said, her voice trembling with practiced fragility, “true love isn’t for sale.” Watching this grotesque tableau, I finally confirmed it. The flashes of memory weren’t hallucinations. I had died and come back. And judging by the frantic look in Warner’s eyes, so had he. In our previous life, Warner had been possessed, obsessed with Ivy. I hadn’t loved him—our union was a boardroom deal, nothing more. I would have stepped aside, but Ivy’s rival had approached me with the truth. When I investigated and found layers of fraud, I intervened, thinking I was saving a childhood friend from a predator. I underestimated her. Ivy was smarter than I gave her credit for. She had fed Warner a “montage lie”—half-truths mixed with romance—convincing him she was a fallen princess too proud to ask for help. When she “died,” Warner played the grieving widower, married me to secure his inheritance, and then quietly sabotaged my family’s business from the inside. He wanted me to die knowing I was leaving my parents destitute. Remembering the agony of freezing to death, I smiled. I clapped my hands, a slow, hollow sound in the room. “Your love is truly inspiring,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ve decided to withdraw. I wish you both the best.” I turned and walked out of that rented mansion without a backward glance. 2 I had barely crossed the threshold of my parents’ estate when Warner arrived, Ivy in tow. I hadn’t had time to break the news to my parents yet. When they saw Warner interlocking fingers with another woman, the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. “Warner,” my father said, his tone warning. “What is the meaning of this?” “Have you forgotten who you are engaged to?” my mother added, eyeing Ivy with distaste. “And Sutton told us about this woman. She’s a fraud. No business overseas, no—” “Enough!” Warner shouted, silencing the room. “I know what you people think,” he spat. “Yes, Ivy comes from a different world. But she is sincere! You think she approached me for my money? There are plenty of rich men, but she chose me. That proves it’s love!” He took a breath, puffing out his chest. “I’m here to break the engagement. I know our families have a contract. I know you need the Huntingdon capital.” He smirked, a cruel glint in his eye. “So, I’ll offer a compromise. I will marry Sutton. But behind closed doors, she will be nothing more than a servant to me and Ivy. To the public, she’s Mrs. Huntingdon. In this house, she’s the help.” Ivy chimed in, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Sister Sutton, don’t worry. I’m sure we can get along.” Warner looked at her like she was a saint. He turned back to me. “And if you dare try to compete with Ivy, I will bankrupt the Mercer family.” My parents were purple with rage. “Who told you we needed your money? The audits clearly show—” I cut my father off. He didn’t know the future. The merger benefited the Huntingdons far more than us. If the deal fell through, it was Warner’s family who would suffer. But I didn’t want Warner to know that yet. I squeezed my father’s arm and looked Warner in the eye. “I accept the breakup.” The dissolution of the Mercer-Huntingdon engagement sent shockwaves through New York society. But Warner was too busy playing house with Ivy to notice. By the time his parents found out and demanded he crawl back to me, Warner had hatched a plan. He convinced them that Ivy was a secret heiress, her wealth temporarily tied up in offshore trusts, matching my family’s status. Of course, I helped him sell the lie. Without my subtle interventions in the background, his parents would have uncovered the truth in an hour. So, the wedding date was set. I thought I’d seen the last of Ivy for a while, but fate is funny. I was at the bridal salon for a final fitting when she waltzed in. She pointed a manicured finger at the gown behind me—my gown. “Sutton,” she said, entitlement radiating off her. “That dress belongs to me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll hand it over.” I paused. I had designed that dress. I had flown to Paris to select the lace. It was only back in the shop because I’d lost a few pounds from stress and needed it taken in. “Ms. Sinclair,” I said coolly. “With your vast family fortune, surely you can commission your own gown? Or is taking other people’s things a pathology for you?” The shop assistants, who read the tabloids, covered their mouths to hide their giggles. Ivy’s face went pale. She wasn’t used to resistance from me. She wasn’t the type to back down, though. Suddenly, she slapped herself hard across the face, twice, and collapsed to the floor, sobbing. “Ms. Mercer! I know I shouldn’t have fallen in love with Warner, but I can’t help my heart! You can beat me, but I won’t give him up!” I stared at her, genuinely impressed by the performance. But before I could react, the door slammed open. 3 “Sutton Mercer! How dare you!” Warner stormed in, bristling with rage. “I told you to stay away from us! Ivy is my wife in every way that matters!” Ivy looked up through tear-filled lashes. “Warner, it’s a misunderstanding! I… I just fell. I fell right onto Sutton’s hand. It’s not her fault!” It was a masterclass in manipulation. Warner looked ready to explode. “I’m calling the police,” he snarled. “I don’t want a settlement. I want you in jail. Don’t worry, you won’t be lonely; I’ll make sure your whole family joins you.” As he pulled out his phone, I turned to the shop manager, my voice calm and bored. “Please save the footage from all eighteen 4K security cameras. The police will appreciate the evidence.” I looked back at Warner. “I don’t accept mediation either. filing a false police report is a crime, isn’t it? I wonder if a prison sentence will interfere with your wedding date?” Ivy froze. She realized too late that a high-end Manhattan bridal salon had better surveillance than a casino. “Warner… don’t call,” she stammered. “It really was an accident.” Warner wasn’t stupid. He saw the panic in her eyes. He lowered the phone, the realization dawning on him that the footage would show something very different from her story. The silence stretched, awkward and heavy. I smiled at Ivy. “If you like the dress so much, you can buy it. I’m sure with your combined ‘wealth,’ a hundred thousand dollars is pocket change, right?” Warner wanted to defend her honor, but he had given all his liquidity to his parents to prove Ivy’s financial standing. His cards were maxed out. He couldn’t buy a veil in this shop, let alone the gown. Defeated and humiliated, with no one offering them a graceful exit, they slunk out of the store like thieves. For the next few weeks, they were ghosts. Rumor had it they were holed up in Ivy’s rental, afraid to show their faces. I didn’t see them again until the day of the wedding. I was standing at the entrance of the Plaza Hotel, wearing the dress, greeting guests. Warner saw me and his face darkened. “Sutton, have you no shame?” he hissed, marching up to me. “I dumped you. Why are you standing here in a wedding dress? Are you hoping I’ll take you back as a mistress?” His eyes lit up with a twisted hope. In his mind, I was still the pathetic woman who loved him to death. “Is that it?” he laughed, arrogant. “You know I only said those things to hurt you, right? I didn’t mean to drive you crazy.” Ivy stood beside him in a rented gown that fit poorly. She looked at me, radiant in the dress she had coveted, surrounded by the elite of New York. Her eyes were red with envy. “Sister Sutton,” she said through gritted teeth. “You agreed to the breakup. Wearing a wedding dress here… it’s desperate. Warner and I have our marriage license. You’re practically making a move on a married man.” I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. The guests around me joined in, a ripple of amusement moving through the crowd. “First,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye, “my family owns this hotel.” “Second, if you’d bother to read the sign, this is my wedding to my husband. Not yours.” “And finally,” I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a chill, “get the hell out of my way. You’re bad luck.” 4 Warner and Ivy finally looked around. The signage was clear. The guests were mostly from my side of the aisle, or mutual business associates who had clearly chosen a side. And the groom… the man waiting for me inside was a titan. Compared to him, the Huntingdon family was new money trying too hard. Warner’s face drained of color. “We broke up less than a month ago,” he stammered. “Do you have no respect for feelings? Will you marry anyone just to help your family’s business?” I rolled my eyes internally. In our world, feelings were volatile liabilities; interests were stable assets. A marriage bound by profit was often stronger than one bound by passion. But that wasn’t a speech for a wedding day. “What?” I scoffed. “You can fall in love at first sight and elope, but I can’t dump a loser and find my soulmate? Don’t flatter yourself, Warner. You know who I’m marrying. He’s ten times the man you are.” Warner was speechless. Ivy, vibrating with jealousy, tried to salvage the moment. “Warner, don’t you see? To her, love is just a transaction. She’d marry a checkbook. I’m different. I love you, not your inheritance.” Warner seemed to relax at that. “You’re right,” he said, lifting his chin. “Sutton, my family business is facing a temporary liquidity crisis. We’re near bankruptcy.” He said it like a test. “But it’s temporary. Ivy doesn’t care. She’s standing by me to rebuild. Unlike you, who jumped ship for a bigger yacht.” I ignored him and turned to Ivy, smiling sweetly. “You do know, don’t you? The Mercer-Huntingdon merger wasn’t to save my family. It was to save his. Since I was going to be marrying down anyway, I figured I might as well marry up. At least now I don’t have to worry about whether the electricity stays on.” Before I could say more, Warner’s parents came running from the ballroom across the hall—the smaller, less prestigious venue they had booked. “What are you doing here?” his mother gasped. “Didn’t you get the venue change notification?” The crowd looked at them with pity. Warner’s parents straightened their spines. “Yes, our business has hit a snag,” his father announced loudly. “But our new daughter-in-law, Ivy, is no ordinary woman. Once the Sinclair trust funds transfer, the Huntingdon empire will be untouchable.” I laughed so hard I nearly choked. I pointed toward the hotel entrance. “Speaking of family,” I said, gasping for air. “You’re so busy crashing my wedding, you missed your own VIP guests.” Everyone turned. A large, chaotic group was pushing past security. They looked rough—worn down by hard living and bad choices. Warner’s parents looked confused. Ivy stumbled back, her face grey. “How… how are you here?” Two young boys, maybe ten and twelve, broke from the group and sprinted toward her, latched onto her legs. “Mom! Mommy! Why didn’t you tell us you were getting married?” “Is this our new daddy?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387378”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The hot guy downstairs opened a dessert shop because I said I liked sweets. But business was terrible. I actively helped him promote it. Then I discovered the shop only opened when I went there. When my best friend found out, she said it sounded like one of those “pig-butchering” scams where a guy creates a perfect persona just for you. I was scared and stopped going. Later, I heard the shop was closing down. I overheard the hot guy talking to his employee: Employee: “Give up, man. The girl you have a crush on hasn’t come in a week. This shop is dead.” The hot guy looked even more aggrieved, correcting him: “Plus three hours, twenty minutes, and sixteen seconds. Oh, seventeen seconds now…” He got sadder as he spoke. “I’ll never like her again!” Until the next second, his employee saw me and shouted, “Ms. Lin is here!” The hot guy’s eyes lit up instantly. He turned to his employee: “Quick, quick! Are the desserts ready? She loves cream puffs, mochi, and snow skin mooncakes…” 1 A new dessert shop opened in my apartment complex. As a certified dessert addict, I naturally couldn’t miss it. “Hi, I’d like a snow skin mooncake to go.” I called out to an old man dressed as a waiter. “Certainly.” The old man bowed his head to pack the mooncake. His movements were elegant and refined. If he weren’t wearing a waiter’s uniform, I would have mistaken him for a butler in a period drama. I instinctively looked behind him. A tall man was working in the back kitchen with his back to me. Even from the back, I could tell he was hot. Is he the owner? I heard from neighbors that the owner of this dessert shop is a handsome guy. “Miss, your mooncake is ready.” The old man’s voice rang in my ear, quite loud. But even though he was talking to me, his eyes were fixed on the hot owner behind him. Like he was saying it for him to hear. I was stunned. Before I could react, the hot owner suddenly appeared in front of me woosh. He smiled at me. “What a coincidence, Ms. Lin. We meet again.” Only then did I see his face clearly. It was Lucas, the hot guy who moved in downstairs three months ago. 2 Lucas moved in three months ago. He was gentle, polite, and very nice. Whenever he had good food, he’d share it with me. “I can’t finish this, so I thought I’d share with Ms. Lin. To improve neighborly relations.” When I couldn’t carry my packages, he helped. “Since we’re neighbors, it’s normal to help each other.” When my water pipe burst and I couldn’t find a plumber, he found one for me. “I have the number for the complex’s maintenance guy. I’ve already contacted him for you, Ms. Lin. Don’t worry.” Later, after learning I liked desserts, Lucas said he wanted to open a dessert shop. I thought he was joking. I didn’t expect him to actually open one. And right downstairs in our complex. 3 “Ms. Lin, here is your mooncake.” Lucas’s voice brought me back to reality. I saw him handing me the packaged mooncake. “Oh, okay.” I took it and half-joked, “You didn’t open this shop because of what I said, did you?” Lucas nodded. He really opened a dessert shop because of one sentence from me. I was shocked. Isn’t he too nice? Opening a shop costs a ton of money. For someone like me who just started working, it was unimaginable. “But I just said that casually,” I said. “You didn’t have to take it to heart.” Lucas smiled. “Don’t feel burdened, Ms. Lin. I already had the idea of opening a dessert shop.” So that’s it. After that, I went to Lucas’s shop every day to buy desserts. Because the mooncake I took home that day was super delicious. Better than any other shop I’ve bought from. Soft texture, just the right amount of sweetness. It won my heart completely! One day, I went to buy desserts again. “This one, this one, and this one. I’ll take them all.” “Okay, Ms. Lin.” Lucas responded and helped me pack them. After paying, I turned to leave. But Lucas stopped me. “Ms. Lin, tell me what you want to eat tomorrow, and I’ll make it for you.” My feet stopped instantly. I can request specific desserts? Is there such a good thing? But I didn’t agree immediately. Instead, I turned and asked Lucas, “Will this affect your time making other desserts?” After all, he’s running a business. He shouldn’t disrupt his plans for my needs alone. “Don’t worry, Ms. Lin. Making a few desserts won’t delay anything.” Lucas smiled. “Besides, as a regular customer, you have some privileges.” Since Lucas said so, I didn’t hold back. For the next few days, the desserts in Lucas’s shop were all my favorites. Mochi, snow skin mooncakes, cream puffs… I couldn’t even choose. And Lucas gave me a discount. I felt like I couldn’t leave his shop. When I went to buy desserts again, I heard the old man talking to Lucas in the back kitchen. They had their backs to me and didn’t notice I came in. The old man said, “This won’t work. Business is too bad. I don’t know how long the shop can last.” Lucas said, “It’s fine. I didn’t plan on making money anyway.” The old man said, “Then it will close down soon, right?” Close down? At that moment, I was struck by lightning. It can’t close down. I finally found such a perfect dessert shop. I wanted to keep listening, but Lucas spotted me. He came out from the back, smiling and greeting me, “Ms. Lin is here. What dessert would you like today?” 4 After buying desserts and going home, I immediately went online to ask for advice on how to improve a dessert shop’s business. I didn’t want Lucas’s shop to close. Soon, several netizens replied. I clicked through them one by one. Posting online, posting on WeChat Moments… Basically, as long as more people come to the shop, business will be good. And the shop won’t close. These ideas were good. The corners of my mouth couldn’t help but rise. Just as I was about to get to work… I realized I had no promotional material. I had never taken photos or videos of the desserts in the shop. It felt like a setback right at the start. I felt a bit disappointed. But then I thought, I can go take photos tomorrow. I immediately contacted my best friend, Sarah, who works as a photographer. She’s better at taking photos than me and will definitely take good pictures of the desserts. The next day, the time agreed with Sarah arrived. But I hadn’t finished my work and needed to work overtime. So I told Sarah to go first, and I would arrive ten minutes late. After I got off work, Sarah called. “Lily, are you off work? I’m here, but the dessert shop isn’t open.” “Impossible,” I said, surprised. “I usually buy desserts at this time. It’s never been closed.” Sarah asked me if I had the owner’s contact info to check. After hanging up, I opened the chat with Lucas to contact him. Since I bought desserts from him so often, I actively added Lucas’s contact info. Later, whenever I went to buy desserts, I would message him in advance. He would prepare the desserts I wanted. Then I would just pick them up at the shop. I messaged Lucas: [Is the dessert shop not open today?] Lucas replied instantly: [It’s open. What dessert do you want, Ms. Lin? I’ll go prepare it.] I was confused: [But my best friend went to your shop, and the door was closed.] Lucas said: [Delayed by something. I’m going to open the door now.] I see. I ordered a few of my usuals. When I arrived at the shop, Lucas was unlocking the door. Sarah, who had been waiting for a long time, came up to me. She whispered, “As soon as you contact the owner, he opens for business. Honestly, what’s your relationship?” Sarah grinned wickedly, gossiping about me and Lucas. I said, “No relationship. But I feel like I can’t live without him—” Before I could finish, Lucas, who had his back to me, suddenly stumbled. “Are you okay?” I rushed forward to support him. “N-no, I’m fine.” Lucas blushed. Hm? Why is he blushing? I meant I can’t live without his desserts. 5 “I suspect the owner likes you.” As soon as we entered the shop, Sarah whispered to me. “Impossible, right?” I whispered back. “How are you sure?” “Woman’s intuition,” Sarah said. “Otherwise, why did he blush when you said something wrong about not living without him?” That is a bit suspicious. But I still felt it didn’t prove Lucas liked me. We were just ordinary neighbors. I explained to Sarah, and she thought about it and agreed. She started talking about how to shoot the desserts. “Have you told the owner about this?” “Not yet.” I glanced at Lucas busy in the back kitchen and leaned in to Sarah. “I’m afraid the promotion won’t work, and he’ll be happy for nothing. So let’s take photos and post them online first to see.” “Okay.” After the desserts were served, Sarah and I took photos under the pretense of “taking pictures for social media.” After we finished, we packed the desserts to go and left. On the way, Sarah checked the photos in her camera and suddenly said: “Oops, we forgot to take a picture of one dessert.” We hurried back to the shop to take a picture of the forgotten dessert. But when we arrived at the door, we found the shop, which was open just minutes ago, was closed. “So strange.” Sarah looked at the “Closed” sign on the door. She turned to me and said, “As soon as we left, the owner closed the shop. “And when I came here an hour ago, it wasn’t open. You contacted him, and he rushed to open it. Isn’t that weird?” Thinking about it, it was indeed weird. Sarah asked how I met the owner. I told her the whole story. Sarah frowned deeper. “You said a handsome guy you haven’t known for long is treating you so well for no reason. Opening a dessert shop that seems to only open for you… something’s fishy.” Hearing Sarah’s summary, I realized belatedly that something was fishy. “Your vigilance is too low,” Sarah complained. She took out her phone and searched for something. A moment later, my phone beeped several times. I looked down. Sarah sent me several videos, mostly titled “Pig-Butchering Scams.” I clicked to watch. The so-called “pig-butchering” scam. It’s where a scammer creates a perfect persona, treats you well in every way, gets you hooked, and finally cheats you out of your money and heart. Sarah thought Lucas was running a “pig-butchering scam” on me. It just hadn’t reached the point of cheating me yet. Otherwise, why was Lucas so nice to a stranger like me from the beginning? Even excessively nice. Very problematic. “He definitely has bad intentions!” Sarah advised me. “You’d better stop interacting with him to avoid being scammed.” I chose to believe Sarah. If Sarah advised against it, I wouldn’t interact. And I also felt Lucas was suspicious. So for the next few days, I didn’t visit Lucas’s dessert shop.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387394”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was voted “Ugliest Girl in Class.” Unanimously. My deskmate sneered, “She’s just a clown.” But they didn’t know I had bound a “Roast Me” System. Every time someone insulted me, I got $5,000. So far, I’ve been roasted for 964 days and saved up $14.8 million. Every day, I applied foundation three shades too dark, wore hideous glasses, and drew fake freckles all over my face. Until the City Dance Company came for auditions, demanding every girl remove her makeup and perform bare-faced. The class beauty smirked, “Ugly people should know their place. Maybe you should just sit this one out!” Only I knew— My breathtaking beauty could no longer be hidden. 1 It was the eve of the SATs. The boys in my class made a “Girl Appearance Rating Chart.” Amidst their winks and nudges, I deservedly scored a 2. A 2 basically meant “Godzilla in a skirt.” My deskmate snatched the chart away, mocking me: “With those buck teeth and that dark skin, you’re ugly inside and out. If I hadn’t lost a bet, who would want to sit next to you!” Last month, I was dragged into a cheating scandal. My test paper was identical to the class beauty, Bella’s—from punctuation to numerical answers. Even though I sat in front of her. Even though my grades were better than hers. But Bella wrinkled her delicate nose, her big doe eyes filled with tears. She looked exactly like that viral transformation influencer, “Winter.” The boys, whose average math score was probably 20, screamed that I copied her. However, Bella couldn’t tell the difference between $\beta$ and B. In the end, the math teacher cleared my name based on that alone. But rumors about me started multiplying. Before, I was invisible. Now, I was “Ugly Girl,” “Godzilla,” “Disgusting Rat”… Sometimes, I’d get locked in a bathroom stall and drenched with dirty water. Sometimes, just walking past the AP Science class would trigger rumors that I was stalking some random guy, desperate for his attention. Seventeen, eighteen-year-olds. Especially in a liberal arts class. Their ability to fabricate rumors was elite. They were one step away from saying I was pregnant with someone’s alien baby. The attacks were so vicious even Twitter would’ve banned them. An ordinary person might have collapsed… But I was calm. Today, my deskmate handed me another “Ugly Girl Ranking.” “Congrats, Jane. First place again.” A pyramid chart of ugliness. A candid photo of me was printed at the top, crossed out with a big red X. He sarcastically told the girl in front of us, “She’s just a clown. Not surprising she’s number one.” Bella giggled, trembling like a flower in the breeze. I stared at the photo, lost in thought. ________________________________________ 2 I have a secret. At sixteen, I bound a special system. The “Roast Me” System. Because I fainted on the first day of school, I missed orientation. By the time I returned, the title “Ugly Girl” had spread through the entire grade. Bella and her “Makeup Squad” spread rumors across the whole school. “Jane? I went to middle school with her. I heard she never takes off her hat or mask… Hee hee, probably too ugly to show her face.” Her simps laughed along. “Right? My Bella is the campus goddess. That ugly freak was just lucky to be in the same school. Can’t believe she followed you to high school, shameless!” Ten years ago, the rumors would’ve been about me liking the bad boy or the jock. But now, the vibe had shifted. They decided spreading rumors about me liking Bella fit the current aesthetic better. After all, lesbians were at the bottom of the social food chain in our class. Looked down upon. But this was a “blessing in disguise.” On the first day of school, I stared blankly as my system account balance jumped by $20,000. For someone who couldn’t afford lunch, this was a fortune. I counted. I’d been insulted four times. Just four sentences, and I made $20,000! So naturally… I accepted it with open arms. Being scolded doesn’t make me lose a pound of flesh. I’m mentally tough; I don’t care about their petty bullying. Besides, the SATs were three months away. I was consistently top three in the class. Afterward, they’d go work in factories or fast food, and they wouldn’t matter to me. So. High schoolers wake up at 6 AM. I woke up at 4 AM. Thirty minutes of vocab, one hour of practice tests. Then thirty minutes for special effects makeup. “Ugly Girl FX Makeup.” Because of the stereotype Bella created, no one ever looked at me closely. I fooled them for 964 days. The balance in my bank account was terrifyingly high. I swam in an ocean of money every day, forgetting the insults. Let them scold me. Does it hurt? This wasn’t toxic trolls spewing hate; it was a golden toad spitting coins! Every day. Every moment. As long as I breathed, I was making money. ________________________________________ 3 First mock exam. My name hung high on the honor roll. The only person above me was the school heartthrob, Liam. He was the son of a school board member, a violin prodigy who could’ve gotten into Juilliard easily. But Liam refused to live in his parents’ shadow. He wanted to get into college on his own merit. And he was succeeding. For a long time, Liam was number one. Until I stopped worrying about money and quit my part-time jobs. I used that time to study. Liam and I traded first place back and forth. I glanced at the cutoff scores and walked away. As long as I hit the score for my dream school, being first didn’t matter. But Liam found me during break. “Jane, Liam is looking for you,” Bella said, eyes burning with jealousy. I walked out under her gaze, hearing the system chime: [+$5,000]. Insulting me in her head again~ In the hallway, Liam was waiting. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing toned forearms. Gold-rimmed glasses perched on his high nose. He looked like a refined villain. Seeing me, he frowned. “Jane, why didn’t you do the last question?” The last big question? I recalled. I had seen that type of question several times before, so I was too lazy to solve it again. I have a quirk: if I see a difficult problem three times, I won’t do it again. Not wanting to lie, I told the truth. “Too lazy.” Unexpectedly, he frowned deeper and grabbed my wrist. “I can understand your poor morals, but how can you lie about an exam?” “The last question…” He lifted his head arrogantly, light glinting off his glasses. “I calculated for twenty minutes to solve it. I should be the only one in the school who got it.” “You couldn’t do it. No need to lie.” “Yeah, yeah,” my deskmate chimed in. “Jane just wants to save face.” Fine. I was speechless. I suddenly understood the loneliness of genius. Just as I opened my mouth to defend myself, Bella rushed in. “The City Dance Company is here for auditions!” ________________________________________ 4 Bella’s delicate face was flushed with excitement. “This is special admission! If you get in, you get a tenure-track job and perform with Winter!” Winter. The city’s most famous piano artist. Performed in Vienna at 7, world-renowned by 14, exploded in popularity at 18 on a music show. At 20, he returned as a celebrated artist. Because he had a face like a CGI model, he was plagued by stalker fans. Annoyed, he moved back to our hometown for peace. This unconventional choice shocked everyone. But it gave him the quiet he wanted. Bella clutched the flyer tightly, face red. “That’s Winter… How many girls dream of playing with him? Even if I’m just a background dancer, I’d be willing!” A girl nearby reached out. “Bella, let me see the flyer!” My deskmate slapped her hand away. “Stop dreaming, toad. Can’t you see Bella has it? Only she has a chance. You ugly girls wanting to be on stage with Winter? Hilarious.” Bella lifted her chin proudly, as if victory was hers. “If you want signed photos later, just ask. I have that much pull.” My deskmate bowed and scraped. “Yes, Sister Bella. Don’t forget us when you’re famous.” Suddenly, Bella seemed to notice me. “Jane, you’re here too.” She smiled, braids framing her face, looking gentle and kind. “Do you want to go? The flyer says every girl in school has to audition. If you want to go, you can sign up with me.” Before I could speak, my deskmate jumped in. “Huh? Her?” He sneered. “The Dance Company is looking for dancers, not gargoyles to ward off evil spirits. Jane shouldn’t go and embarrass us!” Bella smiled sweetly. “True, people should know their limits. Maybe Jane shouldn’t go on stage. What if Winter is there? We don’t want to scare him.” I treated their words like farts. I opened another practice test, ignoring them. But Liam suddenly asked me. “Jane, do you want to go?” “No.” I answered without looking up. My pen scratched across the paper. “Why?” “I have problems to solve.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387410”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was my eighteenth birthday party, my official coming-of-age. And my cousin, Trevor, handed me a half-scratched lottery ticket as a gift. A cheap joke. Until I actually won twenty dollars. Then, he suddenly offered me forty thousand dollars to buy the ticket back. The absurdity—the sheer, bizarre leap from a $20 win to a $40,000 offer—made my stomach clench. It felt wrong, utterly grotesque, and I refused. Trevor went ballistic. He screamed obscenities, cursed me to hell, and in front of every guest we’d invited, he shoved me off the balcony of our high-rise apartment. Dozens of people were there. My own mother and father stood watching. They all silently approved, chiming in with the chorus of curses that proclaimed I deserved to die. I opened my eyes again. Thirty minutes before. Trevor stood before me, his smile a cruel, familiar twist, holding out that half-scratched ticket. The words were the same, too. 1 “Sierra, don’t call me cheap, okay? This baby is worth two hundred thousand dollars!” “I scratched half of it myself—just to eliminate half the wrong options for you. Whatever you win is all yours, little cousin.” I automatically reached out for the card, but the moment my fingers brushed the cheap, shiny paper, I snatched my hand back as if burned. I looked up at the wall clock: 11:00 p.m. Exactly thirty minutes before I died. No one knew I was back. Tonight was supposed to be my eighteenth birthday celebration, the dinner party where Mom and Dad hosted all our relatives. Trevor, the cousin who never missed a chance to look down on me, had come, and he’d used a half-scratched lottery ticket to publicly humiliate me. Last time, I’d been mortified. The surrounding relatives, smiling placatingly, had encouraged me to scratch it off. “We’re family, sweetie. Just do it.” Trapped in that raw, humiliating spotlight, I’d scratched it off. A measly twenty dollars. And then Trevor, who had been waiting for the punchline at my expense, had suddenly surged forward, his eyes burning. He offered $40,000 cash on the spot. I’d always been cautious, a habit reinforced by all the college fraud warnings. Trevor despised me; the sudden, massive overpayment for a $20 ticket screamed trap. I’d flat-out refused. That’s when he’d snapped. “Bitch.” “Jerk-off.” “Ingrate.” Every poisonous word he could spit. He screamed that if I didn’t give him the scratcher, he’d kill me. He pushed me backward, hard, until I was stumbling against the window. I’d screamed for help, but the same relatives who’d been all smiles and “family” moments before had faces twisted with pure malice. Even my parents had joined the chant: I deserved it. He’d finally shoved me out. I died on the pavement below. Until the moment I hit the ground, I didn’t understand what I had done to deserve that. Maybe it was a cruel joke, or perhaps the universe took pity on me. I was back. I acted immediately, cutting him off with a bright, tight smile. “No need, Trevor. You should keep that two hundred thousand dollar value all for yourself.” Trevor’s smug expression curdled instantly. “Sierra, you are truly ungrateful. You think you’ve hit adulthood and grown wings, so you don’t have to show respect to your cousin anymore?” My mother, Elaine, quickly scooped the ticket up off the floor. “Sierra! Are you insane? You don’t turn down money!” We’d never had the financial standing of Trevor’s family, and since Trevor had a high-paying finance job in the city, my parents always deferred to him. They felt perpetually inferior. The other relatives chimed in, their voices a practiced chorus. “Sierra, just take your cousin’s generous gift. Scratch it now. Who knows, maybe you really will win that two hundred thousand dollar jackpot!” I wanted to refuse again, but my eyes locked with Trevor’s—icy and calculating. What if a firm refusal landed me back over that railing? I took the ticket. “I’ll scratch it later, at home,” I said, trying to sound casual. “We’ve all come together for my birthday, Trevor. It would be rude to hold up the party with a silly game.” He leaned in, his voice dangerously low. “Don’t insult me, Sierra. If you don’t like my gift, just say it. Don’t you dare shame me by calling it a ‘delay.’” Trevor’s mother, Aunt Lisa, yanked him back, shooting me a hateful glare. “So dramatic. Take it or leave it, brat.” Trevor’s father, Uncle Mark, lit a cigarette, a mocking chuckle escaping his lips. “Got into college, now she thinks she’s somebody, huh?” That single sound sent a wave of panic through my parents. They instantly redirected their fear and shame onto me. “Sierra! Who taught you to be so materialistic and spoiled? Your cousin is being generous, and you’re making excuses?!” I tried to object, but Mom grabbed my hand, pressing the ticket hard against the tabletop. She used her own fingernail to viciously scrape the surface. My nail plate tore, and a bead of blood welled up, but Mom didn’t even flinch. Her eyes were glued to the winning number area. Suddenly, she shrieked excitedly. “It’s a winner! Twenty dollars!” A cold, heavy rock settled in my chest. In my peripheral vision, I saw all eyes snap to me. Trevor slammed his palm on the table and lunged across the dinner setting, his gaze fixed on the hand I was instinctively tucking into my pocket. “Damn it! It really is a winner!” The next second, he spoke the exact words that had started the chain reaction last time. “Sierra, I’ll give you forty thousand dollars. Sell me that scratcher.” I held the small ticket tightly in my fist and smiled at him. It was a cold, empty smile. “Trevor, Mom must have misread it. Why would I ever have the luck to win the lottery?” Trevor wasn’t an idiot. Offering $40,000 for a $20 ticket meant something massive was wrong. I could take the money, but if he regretted it, I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me for a second time. I absolutely could not give him this ticket. “No win?” He didn’t believe me. He reached out a demanding hand. “Let me see it.” A spike of panic hit me, but I steadied myself and calmly pulled a ticket from my other pocket, handing it over. Trevor snatched it and scrutinized it. He flipped it, scratched areas he’d missed, and finally, confirming it was a complete loss, he let out a frustrated shout. He threw the ticket on the ground and ground it under his heel. He shot a venomous glance at my mother. “Aunt Elaine, you seriously need to get your eyes checked.” Mom flinched, not daring to speak. The other relatives quickly bent down, jostling each other to pick up the ticket, then sighed in a dramatic, pitying unison. I quietly let out the breath I’d been holding. Thank God I hadn’t washed these jeans. About two weeks ago, I’d bought a losing scratcher on a whim and shoved it in my pocket. It had just saved my life. But my relief was short-lived. My younger sister, Piper, spoke up, her voice sharp and eager. “Wait, Sierra. Didn’t you buy one downstairs earlier today? You didn’t mix them up, did you?” My mother’s eyes lit up with renewed fury. She rushed at me, gripping my arm until her nails dug into my skin. “Sierra! Did you hide the winning ticket?! I knew I didn’t see it wrong! Hand it over, now!” Trevor, feeling manipulated and robbed, returned, his hand whipping out and connecting with my cheek in a stinging slap. “You little tramp! You think you can play games with me? Give me the real ticket, or I swear I’ll beat it out of you!” “I told you, it didn’t win!” I cried. “Why would I lie?” Piper added, “But I didn’t see you throw anything away!” Just then, my father, Robert, who had been silent, stepped in front of me. I thought he was going to protect me. Instead, he struck me across the other side of my face. I collapsed to the floor. He leaned over me, screaming. “You wicked girl! Hand that ticket over to your cousin right now! If you mess this up, I’ll personally destroy you!” A tidal wave of black despair washed over me. My mother sneered, rolling up her sleeves as she approached. “Just wait. I’ll search her pockets myself. If I have to, I’ll strip her down to nothing. She’ll talk then.” I screamed, “Mom! Dad! Are you insane? You’re turning my eighteenth birthday into a nightmare over a stupid scratcher!” Trevor kicked my side. “Sierra, if you keep this up, forget your birthday. I’ll make sure you lose that scholarship and never step foot inside that college you worked so hard for.” I looked at my parents, incredulous. They met my gaze with cold, contemptuous smiles. “Sierra, we don’t have money. Your cousin’s family is paying your way through college. You want to go? You do what Trevor says!” Before I could fight back, several relatives grabbed me, pinning me facedown across the dinner table. In front of everyone, my mother tore at my clothes, desperately searching for a second ticket. Shame flooded every nerve ending in my body. Tears streamed down my face. After fifteen minutes of invasive, degrading searching, they found nothing. Mom threw me away from the table, spinning around to slap Piper across the face. “You stupid girl! Say one more lie and I’ll sew your mouth shut!” Piper clutched her red cheek, her eyes blazing with hatred—aimed not at my mother, but at me. Trevor just stood there, staring, his eyes unreadable. The party was a disaster. On the day I was supposed to celebrate a new chapter, I was subjected to the greatest humiliation of my life over a slip of paper. I couldn’t stay in that house for another second. Just after midnight, I quietly slipped out and made my way to Liam’s apartment. Liam, the boy next door, my best friend since kindergarten. The moment he opened the door, he pulled me into a fierce hug, his voice thick with concern. “I wanted to go to your place, but they said you were busy. Then Piper told me what happened. Sierra, you didn’t deserve that.” I broke down. All the raw, accumulated trauma of the day—the murder, the rebirth, the betrayal, the shame—poured out in tears. Liam held me, soothing me, even offering to go find Trevor and fight him. “No, don’t,” I pleaded, holding him back. “Don’t be reckless. I still don’t know why Trevor did any of that. If we move too fast, we might fall right into his trap.” Liam was silent for a moment. Then he asked, his voice soft, “Sierra, was the ticket you gave them… the real one?” Looking up into his gentle, familiar eyes, I almost told him everything. After all, Liam hadn’t been present when they murdered me. But as I opened my mouth, I caught a flash in his gaze—a sharp, desperate eagerness. My throat tightened. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing my windpipe, and every alarm bell in my brain screamed: Do not tell him! Liam nudged me for an answer. I feigned annoyance. “They searched me until they nearly stripped me naked! Even if I had superpowers, I couldn’t hide anything after that.” The truth was, the winning ticket was taped under a serving platter back at the house. When Mom had screamed about the $20 win, I’d quickly swapped the real ticket for the old, losing one in my pocket and shoved the real one under the platter while everyone was focused on the cash value. Seeing Liam’s continued skepticism, I forced myself to sound indignant. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Would I hide a twenty-dollar ticket and turn down forty thousand dollars?!” Liam stroked my hair, a look of manufactured affection in his eyes. “Of course not. My Sierra isn’t stupid.” My heart hammered against my ribs. I had to know what was going on. “But Liam, what do you think made that scratcher so special? Why was Trevor so desperate for it?” He shrugged, his tone dismissive. “It’s just a lottery ticket. What’s the big deal? Maybe he just went crazy and used it as an excuse to mess with you, you know? He’s always hated you being smarter.” Trevor definitely resented my grades and my college acceptance. But not enough to kill me over a $20 prize. The questions piled up inside me, stealing my appetite. Liam took me back to his place. “You can stay here tonight, safe. Tomorrow, I’ll go with you and talk some sense into your Mom and Dad.” I tossed and turned that night, unable to sleep. Sometime after 3 a.m., I heard the distinct click of the doorknob turning. My heart seized. A burglar? But then I realized we were twenty-six floors up. A burglar was impossible. Only one person could be entering. It was Liam. Sure enough, Liam tiptoed to the bedside. He whispered my name once. When I didn’t respond, he started meticulously going through my discarded clothes. I heard him muttering to himself. “Where is it? Is it really gone?” Then, louder, a voice filled with rage I’d never heard from him. “Damn it, I drugged her for that ticket! I have to find it tonight!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387426”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My roommate has a hemorrhoid the size of Texas. The weird part? Any gas that passes through it comes out smelling like fresh strawberries. Since this massive hemorrhoid was ruining her life, I kindly suggested she get surgery to remove it. After some hesitation, she agreed. But later, she found out by accident that the campus heartthrob is obsessed with strawberries. Furious, she burped milky bubbles while holding my head underwater. “If you hadn’t meddled in my business, the guy I love would have fallen for me!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment before I convinced her to get the surgery. Seeing her still revelling in her strawberry-scented farts, I decided to let nature take its course and watch that hemorrhoid grow. 1 “Do you guys smell that? It smells like strawberries in here.” As soon as Bella walked into the room, she took a deep breath and shouted. In my past life, I was caught off guard and started sniffing the air with her. Who would have thought it was Chloe’s fart! Unexpectedly, I was reborn back to this very moment. Damn it, the rebirth was too sudden; I didn’t have time to prepare a mask! I instinctively lowered my head and held my breath, silently vowing to run downstairs to the convenience store for strategic supplies ASAP. Seeing none of us respond, Bella felt a bit awkward talking to herself. She scratched her head and pressed on, unwilling to give up. “Wait, seriously, you guys don’t smell it? The strawberry scent is super strong.” “Chloe, Zara, Sophie, why are you all silent? Is one of you secretly eating strawberries behind my back? Hurry up and share a couple with me, and I’ll forgive you. Otherwise, I’m gonna get mad.” “Weirdo.” Sophie rolled her eyes without looking up. Chloe, on the other hand, blushed, nervously twisting her skirt hem, and whined softly. “Bella, no one is secretly eating strawberries. I just ate a bit too much for lunch and couldn’t hold back a fart.” “My farts… just smell like strawberries.” As soon as she finished speaking. Bella’s face froze, turning green and then pale. After processing it, she screamed. “You mean to say, I just took a huge whiff of your fart?” “Chloe, if you didn’t want to share strawberries, fine, but you didn’t have to be so gross!” 2 What Bella didn’t know was that Chloe had a unique condition. She had a magical hemorrhoid. Any gas passing through that hemorrhoid turned into the scent of strawberries. So Chloe always smelled like strawberries. The bigger the hemorrhoid grew, the stronger the scent. In my past life, after learning this secret, our roommates didn’t say anything to her face but created a group chat to roast Chloe daily. “So gross, how can she act all cute with that going on?” “Because of her, I never want to see a strawberry again.” “God, why do guys fall for her? She’s gross and messy. What do they see in her?” “Exactly. If she hadn’t given me that La Mer set yesterday, I wouldn’t even talk to her.” I couldn’t stand their two-faced behavior—taking her gifts and then stabbing her in the back. It just so happened that Chloe was addicted to fried and spicy foods, which irritated her hemorrhoid, making it grow worse. It got to the point where she walked funny and couldn’t sit for long periods. After much thought, I couldn’t help but advise her to get surgery. After some struggle, Chloe agreed. The surgery was successful. Soon, she bid farewell to the strawberry farts, her walk returned to normal, and she looked stunning in a white dress. Since she no longer needed her roommates to keep her secret, Chloe stopped giving them gifts. Without the gossip and freebies, the roommates started sowing discord out of spite. “Chloe, your trademark was that strawberry scent. Without it, you seem kind of plain.” Even Liam, the campus heartthrob who had shown interest in her, went official with someone else on Instagram. “Even my favorite strawberry scent is gone. What’s left to like about you?” In a rage, Chloe, hiccuping milky sobs, lured me to the pond. I went unsuspecting, only for her to push me underwater. “It’s all your fault.” “If you hadn’t been a busybody, Liam would be with me right now!” Then I opened my eyes, reborn. 3 This time around, I naturally wouldn’t be a busybody. I just watched coldly as Bella and Chloe bickered. Sophie pretended to be fair, mediating the argument. “Alright, Bella, Chloe didn’t do it on purpose. Just let it go. It’s not like she forced you to smell her fart, right?” Bella and Sophie had some underlying tension. Seeing Sophie side with Chloe, Bella stomped her foot and looked at me with aggrieved eyes. But I wouldn’t be stupid enough to stick my neck out for her like in my past life, only to earn Chloe’s hatred later. Lowering my eyes, I joined Sophie in persuading Bella. “Yeah, Bella. Chloe said it was just a fart. No need to hold onto it, right? I trust Chloe isn’t the type to hoard strawberries and not share.” “Besides, no one can control their farts. At least Chloe’s farts smell like strawberries. Better than stinky ones.” Hearing this, Chloe looked at me with gratitude, her eyes filled with misunderstood grievance and dependence. In my past life, seeing that look would have softened my heart, making me think it wasn’t her fault and willing to fight for her. But now, that look only churned my stomach, reminding me of the suffocating, cold, muddy water filling my nose at the bottom of the pond. “Exactly, Bella. Zara and Sophie are right.” Chloe immediately found support, her voice sweet and a bit smug. “I didn’t mean to. Plus… strawberry scent is nice, way better than some people…” She glanced meaningfully at Bella, leaving the sentence unfinished, but the implication was clear. Bella’s face turned green with anger. She covered her nose, pointed at Chloe speechless, stomped her foot in rage, and slammed the door as she stormed out. 4 The three of us were left in the dorm. The strawberry scent had mostly dissipated. Sophie, clearly in a good mood from seeing Bella get owned, smirked and started scrolling on her phone. Chloe, like a proud little peacock, walked to her desk and sat down, carefully adjusting her posture—the hemorrhoid was obviously uncomfortable. She skillfully pulled a bag of chips and a can of Coke from her drawer. With a pop of the tab, she began to eat and drink with satisfaction. Although Chloe was sweet and had a great figure, she loved junk food—spicy, fried, ice-cold. Normally fine, but these were fertilizers for her hemorrhoid’s wild growth. In my past life, seeing Chloe binge like this, I would have worriedly reminded her: “Chloe, eat less of that stuff. It’s bad for… down there.” And she would always whine back: “Just a little bit~” This time? I looked away, opened my laptop, and pretended not to see. Sophie was confused: “Chloe, didn’t you just eat? Why are you eating again?” Before Chloe could feel awkward, I thoughtfully explained for her: “Oh, it doesn’t matter, Sophie. Our Chloe can eat whatever and not gain weight or get acne. It’s a gift others can only envy! We have the money, so eat if you want. Happiness is what matters.” My tone was incredibly sincere. Chloe agreed repeatedly: “Exactly! Only Zara understands me.” The greasy smell of chips mixed with the sugary scent of Coke filled the air. Faintly, a strawberry aroma began to brew. I silently left the room, heading to the supermarket to buy masks. 5 When I returned. Chloe looked at me with concern: “Zara, why are you wearing a mask? Are you sick?” “Yeah, a bit of a cold. Don’t want to infect you guys.” I vaguely changed the subject, shaking the shopping bag in my hand, containing several boxes of masks and a bottle of strong air freshener. “By the way, I heard on the way back that Liam is preparing for grad school exams.” As soon as I said that, Chloe’s eyes lit up, forgetting to chew her chips. Sophie also looked up from her phone screen with interest. I knew they would react this way. Liam was our campus heartthrob, ridiculously handsome. Not only did countless girls have a crush on him, but anyone who passed him by would remember him. After all, in my past life, my dear roommate Chloe killed me for him. Since you like Liam so much, I’ll give you a hand in this life. Sneering internally, I pretended to say casually: “Heard he’s basically living at the library lately. Every day from 1 PM to 9 PM closing. Sigh, handsome and smart, he’s got it all.” “Which floor does he usually go to?” Chloe asked immediately. “I think… the third floor?” I recalled the gossip from my past life. “The seats by the window have good light; he seems to like sitting there.” Chloe’s eyes glazed over, her face flushing slightly, clearly planning her “chance encounter.” Sophie tutted, smiling ambiguously. She turned and messaged me to roast Chloe. “A freak like Chloe who farts strawberries thinks she can bag the heartthrob? Campus belle? More like a joke.” But Sophie, you don’t understand. The heartthrob really loves it! The strawberry scent!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387442”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was the female side character diagnosed with a terminal illness. Before I died, I asked the tyrannical CEO, “When is the heroine’s next ovulation day?” The CEO roared in fury, “What? You still want to harm her?” I shook my head and explained: “No, I just want to reincarnate as your daughter in my next life and torture you to death!” 1 On the day I died, the male lead, Julian Ji, whom I had hopelessly chased for 10 years, stood by my bedside. He held a bouquet of blooming red roses. “Do you like them?” he asked. I nodded. Julian waved the flowers in front of me, then tossed them into the trash can. With a despicable smirk, he said, “I’d rather throw them away than give them to you.” My mouth twitched. I was speechless, but I decided to ignore him and deliver my final line: “In this life, I have ultimately… wasted my love on the wrong person!!” After finishing my heart-wrenching performance, I closed my eyes peacefully. Unexpectedly, instead of the notification sound signaling my exit from this world, I felt a sharp prick on my butt. “Ah—” I opened my eyes in pain, only to meet Julian’s face full of disdain and contempt. He crossed his arms lazily and instructed the doctor: “Don’t let her die. Inject as much adrenaline as you can. Also, unplug the oxygen mask; it’s a waste of money. For such a vicious woman who has done so much evil, she shouldn’t die easily. Torture her severely. Make her life a living hell!” “?” The doctor gave me a sympathetic glance and raised the syringe, ready to stab my butt again. “Hold the needle!” I stopped him. Then I spat at Julian: “Treating a dying person like this… you will get your karma!” “Lily Lin, you’re stubborn till the end. Even at death’s door, your mouth is tough.” Julian lit a cigarette and shamelessly blew smoke in my face, making me cough violently from the secondhand smoke. “Cough, cough—” Seeing that I could barely speak, a wave of grievance washed over me. Fine! Julian, you forced me! I grabbed Julian’s clothes and asked with a ferocious expression: “Tell me, how many days until Sarah’s follicle matures, migrates to the ovarian surface, protrudes outward, thins the cell wall, and finally ruptures to release the follicular fluid?” Julian didn’t understand. He frowned, confused: “What?” I gritted my teeth in anger, hating this uncultured, nouveau riche CEO. No choice. I had to ask bluntly: “What date is Sarah’s next ovulation day?” Julian roared, “What? You still want to harm her?” I sneered, “You don’t truly love her. You can’t even remember this. A man who can’t remember a woman’s physiological cycle isn’t a good man!” “Bullshit, who says I don’t remember!” Julian pulled out his phone. Hard to imagine, but he actually had a period tracking app on his phone. It accurately predicted the user’s ovulation day, period, and fertile window. Julian looked at it and muttered unconsciously: “So it’s the 19th of this month…” Realizing he had slipped up, he started venting his anger on me again. “You poisonous woman, did you come up with some shady scheme to drive a wedge between Sarah and me? I tell you, no way!” I shook my head and explained: “No, I just want to reincarnate as your daughter in my next life and torture you to death!” “Alright, off to reincarnate now.” With that, I happily breathed my last. My main goal was not to dawdle. Not to cause trouble for the medical staff. In the last second before my consciousness faded, I heard Julian roar in panic: “No—don’t let her die! Shock her! Shock her back to life!” 2 After death, I floated in the air, watching Julian work overtime until 2 AM every night. The reason? Sarah wanted to start their baby-making project. Julian watched the calendar inch closer to the 19th, the stubble on his chin growing thicker. Finally. On the night of the 19th, Sarah sneaked into the office to catch her Julian and forced herself on him. Confronted with scenes unsuitable for children, I chose to see no evil, hear no evil. Finally. Ten minutes later, I waited for that final moment. Julian looked up and screamed: “No—” And I swiftly turned into a white light and rushed towards them: “Charge—” 3 When I regained consciousness, I was already a tiny life form. Although I couldn’t see or move, I could hear voices from the outside world: “Hubby, good news, I’m pregnant!” This delicate, Lolita-like voice was 100% Sarah, the heroine of this world. But next came Julian’s terrified and trembling voice: “No, we can’t keep this child.” “Why?” Sarah’s voice instantly turned cold. Julian thought for a moment, lowering his voice as if afraid I would hear: “I consulted a master. A child conceived on the 19th is a lone star of evil, the reincarnation of a wicked landlord. Born, it will only be a demon child. Can’t keep it, can’t keep it.” “Be good, let’s wait a few years!” Sarah sneered: “What excuses are you making?” “I think you’re mourning. Your childhood sweetheart sister Lily died, and you’re heartbroken. You want to mourn her for three years and can’t have happy events, right?” Julian quickly defended himself: “Babe, what nonsense are you talking about? I never liked her. I was happy she died.” “Okay, okay, we’ll keep it, we’ll keep it.” At 2 AM that night. I heard Julian, still awake, seemingly kowtowing to Sarah’s belly: “Please, as long as it’s not Lily, be it Red Boy or the Bull Demon King, I’m fine with it.” “Worst case, even a lazy sheep is acceptable.” Then he started talking to himself, doing psychological counseling: “No, it can’t be that coincidental that she successfully reincarnated here. Coincidence, it’s all a coincidence.” “Amitabha, Buddha bless me…” … A few months later. Julian took Sarah for a prenatal checkup. Sarah said she wanted a daughter. The doctor smiled gently and said: “Well, maybe your dream will come true.” The atmosphere was quite lively. Until Julian screamed. “She!! She gave me a peace sign!” Sarah and the doctor looked at him like he was retarded. Julian, a grown man of 6’2″, was trembling in front of the ultrasound machine. “That… the child my wife is carrying… just now, in the image, gave me a peace sign…” He tried to explain to everyone. But who would believe such absurd words? The doctor smiled and smoothed things over: “Oh, the husband is just too excited. Although a six-month-old fetus has hands and feet, they can’t make a peace sign.” Inside Sarah’s belly, I almost laughed myself silly. Yes, I just flashed a peace sign. Just to scare the crap out of this jerk. After returning home from the checkup. I heard Julian brainwashing himself again: “No way, no way… even if it’s a daughter, it’s not necessarily her. Julian Ji, don’t scare yourself. Relax, God won’t be that hard on you.” 4 The day I was born was probably the most desperate day for Julian. I heard the nurse ask Sarah several times: “Where’s your husband?” Sarah said: “He might have pre-fatherhood phobia. He went to the bathroom 30 times in an hour.” Too bad. Even if Julian blew up the toilet, I had to be born. “Wah wah—” With my loud cry as I came into the world. The nurse happily handed me to Julian: “Congratulations, Mr. Ji, your wife gave birth to a daughter.” I cautiously opened one eye to look at Julian. Julian looked panicked. Like he was having a seizure, he grabbed the nurse and asked: “Nurse, do you think this child looks like me and my wife?” The nurse paused. She stammered: “Looks like… very much like…” Julian breathed a sigh of relief, finally showing a smile on his face: “That’s good, that’s good.” I almost laughed out loud. Did the nurse dare say I didn’t look like them? Julian put me back in the crib and wheeled the still-sleeping Sarah back to the private ward. While gently patting my back, he sighed: “Haha, my luck is so good.” “Lily, you failed after all! Hahaha, hahahaha—” While the nurses were out processing the birth certificate. I opened my eyes and flashed Julian a 45-degree smile. In a milky voice, I said: “Grandson, Daddy is here for revenge!” The smile froze on Julian’s face. Mechanically, frame by frame, he slowly turned his head to look at me: “What. Did. You. Say.” Because I was just born and my speech was a bit slurred, I repeated with a lisp: “Son, I am your fader—” Before I could finish. Julian stood up, his trembling hands reaching for my neck: “Lily Lin! You little brat, now I am your father!” “Believe it or not, I’ll strangle you!” I stuck out my tongue: “Do it, do it now!” Julian actually started doing it, not afraid of breaking my weak and fragile throat. I started wailing directly: “Wah wah ah wah wah wah—” The more I cried, the harder Julian squeezed. In the end, I didn’t even have the strength to make a sound. I didn’t need a mirror to guess that my pink and jade-like little face had already been turned black and blue by this dog of a man. “Hehe, die!” Julian prepared to increase the force again. At the critical moment, Sarah suddenly woke up. I don’t know where she got the strength, but she got up from the bed and kicked Julian straight on: “If you break my sister’s wings, I will destroy your entire heaven.” Me: “?” Julian: “?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387459”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Six years after the Forrester family had coerced me into divorcing my husband to make room for their preferred, real daughter, I saw them. Liam Prescott, my ex-husband, and my brother, Grant Forrester, walking straight toward me across the wide lawn of the city park. Liam held our seven-year-old daughter, Phoebe, while he looked at the quick, stylized sketch I was working on. He shed the sharp edges he’d once possessed, sat on the small stool in front of my easel, and scanned the twenty dollars I charged for a sitting. “Since you’re back in the States, why didn’t you reach out?” He looked genuinely exhausted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His eyes, framed by his thin glasses, landed on me with a desolate, unmistakable sense of regret. “I never meant to drive you away, Anya.” I held my palette, my voice flat. “Sir, what style of caricature are you looking for?” 1 I treated them like strangers. But my brother, Grant, was as aggressively volatile as ever. He kicked my easel over, his eyes burning with familiar contempt. “Stop pretending you don’t know us. Sera has already forgiven you for… that mess with her scholarship and your miscarriage.” He spat the word out like poison. “Now, she’s being dragged into a scandal about an affair, and it could wreck her Gold Prize nomination. Come back with us, clear her name, and we’ll allow you back in the house.” “You haven’t seen your daughter in six years. Don’t tell me you don’t miss her.” “After all, you knelt outside our estate for ninety-nine days just to fight for custody, didn’t you?” He stood over me, triumphant. But my daughter had already forgotten how to call me Mommy. Her eyes fell on the loosely wrapped bandage around my wrist, and her face twisted in childish disgust. “Daddy, Uncle Grant, her hands are gross.” “Sera Auntie’s hands are way prettier.” I remembered the sound of the bone cracking—the intentional, brutal shattering of my hand. I tightened my jaw and wrapped the bandage back into a tight cuff. “I won’t go back, and I won’t clear anything up for you.” “I gave up on my daughter a long time ago.” The days I’d spent swallowing blood and tears with every bite of food—they were long buried. Liam’s gaze lingered on the scars hidden beneath the bandage. He took a step forward, as if to touch me. “All right, Anya. Stop throwing this tantrum.” “Don’t say things like you don’t want your daughter. She’s the baby you carried for ten months.” A bitter, familiar taste filled my mouth. What did ten months matter? It never stacked up against Sera’s sweet, calculated whispers. Grant’s brows knitted together. He kicked the small tin I used as a tip jar, his voice laced with impatience. “Why waste time talking to her? Just take her. If we weren’t worried about the press dragging Sera through the mud, who would willingly come to this dump?” “It’s filthy.” The deep-seated arrogance of the wealthy Forrester heir was still palpable. I bent down to pick up the tip jar, which had rolled into a patch of muddy earth. My voice remained flat. “I’m not coming with you.” That was all it took for Grant to ignite like a firecracker, the explosion a painful echo in my chest. “Anya Wells, don’t push your luck! Do you have some back-alley dog-boyfriend here you can’t leave? You can barely make a few bucks a day. I don’t believe you can live like this—you’re probably running some kind of dirty hustle to get by.” At the accusation, Liam’s initially soft expression turned dark. He seemed to agree with my brother. He grabbed my wrist with one hand and began to drag me toward the park exit. A sharp, spreading pain flared across my skin. The tip jar tumbled to the ground again, scattering ten and fifty dollar bills. “Liam, let go of me! I am not going back!” He ignored me completely. Grant strode ahead, deliberately stepping on the paper money, grinding the bills into the dirt. A flash of orange fur burst from the flower bushes. Hiss! The stray cat I fed, Rusty, clawed at Liam’s arm. Seizing the chance, I yanked my arm free. But as I turned, Grant’s foot slammed into my knee. I collapsed with a loud thud, hitting the dirt road. On one side, I was down. On the other, the little cat was sent flying several feet. I struggled to get up, large tears splashing onto the ground. “Rusty!” I managed a single step before both Liam and Grant cornered me and dragged me toward the SUV. My struggles were pointless. The stray cat lay in a pool of blood. The money I’d saved to buy my grave plot was smeared in the mud. It felt exactly like six years ago. I was shoved into the back seat of the familiar SUV. My daughter, Phoebe, strapped into her safety seat, immediately began to wail when she saw me. “Daddy, I don’t want to sit next to this ugly monster! She smells!” Liam glanced into the rearview mirror, putting on a show of scolding her. “Phoebe, that’s not polite. That’s your mother.” Phoebe wrinkled her nose and huffed. She spoke just loud enough for all of us to hear: “She is not my mom. Only Sera Auntie deserves to be my mom.” Grant scoffed with derision. Liam tightened his grip on the steering wheel and attempted to explain. “Phoebe just isn’t used to you, Anya. She’ll warm up.” I turned my head to look out the window, my tone detached. “It’s fine. I was never her mother. Wasn’t that exactly what you told me?” Six years ago, also in this car, when Phoebe was barely a toddler, Liam had said it directly to my face. “Anya Wells, do you honestly think you’re fit to be a mother in your current state?” “Phoebe is a child, she doesn’t understand. If she wants to call Sera ‘Mom,’ let her. Do you have to make a scene in front of her?” Liam’s furious expression flashed in my mind. We drove the rest of the way in silence. The house I had once meticulously decorated was unrecognizable. The delicate Honeysuckle bushes I had planted in the garden were gone, replaced by rows of aggressive red roses. The swing beneath the old oak tree was removed, and the tree itself had been cut down. Everything was changed, a scene of desolation. I looked around with cold indifference and lowered my eyes. I followed them inside. Liam opened a small door in a forgotten corner. The room was thick with dust, and cobwebs lined the ceiling. He covered his mouth and coughed, waving away the dust motes floating in the air. “Your old room is Sera’s music studio now. Just manage here for a while.” “In a few weeks, once all this is sorted…” I cut him off. “It’s fine. I don’t need anything else.” My only true destination was to be a handful of ashes. The condition of the room made no difference to me. Grant hated my aloof composure, as if it implied they had all wronged me. He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Liam, let her stay here. It’s been years, and her dramatic act still hasn’t worn off.” Liam sighed heavily but didn’t contradict him. “Stay if you want to.” I simply hummed in acknowledgement and closed the door. I couldn’t decipher the look in Liam’s eyes. He was the one who drove me out of the country, wasn’t he? Why the show of guilt now? I stopped trying to understand. Slumping onto the narrow twin bed, a sudden, brutal wave of pain crashed over me. My face went white, and cold sweat soaked the pillow. Knock. Knock. The sound jarred me awake. I forced myself to open the door. Grant stood there, holding a thin, cheap throw blanket. “Who are you trying to play the victim for with that ghastly look?” he blurted out when he saw my pale face. He tossed the blanket at my feet. “Here. Don’t get sick and then blame it on Sera.” “I’m warning you, don’t try anything funny, and don’t go near Sera. You know exactly why we brought you back.” The familiar words of threat washed over me. I had heard this warning countless times. From initial defiance, I had become numb. I knew how to respond now. “Got it.” I slammed the door shut. I lay back down, the blanket remaining on the floor. A person who was about to die had no reason to fear a cold. In the morning, a pounding on the door woke me. “Miss Wells, are you awake? Do you still think you’re the princess of the house?” The stiff wooden bed and unfamiliar room meant I hadn’t slept well. “I’m awake.” I opened the door to see the familiar, frigid face of Mrs. Olsen, the nanny. Her expression was one of ingrained disgust. “Then get to the dining room. Don’t hold up everyone just for you.” Six years hadn’t softened her. Mrs. Olsen had always cared for Sera like a daughter, viewing me as an intruder. When I was first found, she’d once thrown dishwater on me, convinced I should have stayed lost and never come back to take Sera’s place. I didn’t have the energy to argue. The pain from my cancer was relentless. Every breath felt like shattered glass. In the dining room, Sera was seated between Liam and Phoebe. She was blushing prettily as Liam fed her a piece of his sandwich. “Liam, darling.” She saw me and her eyes darted away in a brief moment of panic. “Sister, you’re back. Are you mad at me? I was forced to marry Liam, I really thought…” Screech! The sound of my chair scraping against the floor was painfully loud. “Not at all. You said you two were ‘soulmates,’ didn’t you? Why would I be mad?” Sera’s eyes immediately welled up. Liam slammed his cutlery onto the table, his face clouding over. “Anya Wells, if you don’t want to eat, then don’t.” I allowed myself a cold, mocking smile. I sat down, ignoring them all. I took a bite of a sandwich, and the sweet, cloying taste of the mayonnaise and tomato sauce made my stomach churn violently. I pushed the chair away abruptly and rushed to the restroom, where I dry-heaved over the toilet. “Sister, do you think… she could be pregnant?” Sera’s suggestive voice drifted in from behind me. I splashed icy water on my face, letting the shock ripple through me. She was still a master of twisting the narrative. She ruined my hand because she was jealous of my talent. Now she wanted to ruin my reputation by suggesting I was pregnant out of wedlock. Her methods were transparent, but people believed her. Sure enough, upon hearing Sera’s words, Liam frowned, a hint of repulsion in his eyes. “Anya Wells, a woman should maintain some decorum.” A bitter laugh caught in my throat. Decorum? Did that word even apply to me? Where was their sense of decorum when they threw me to the wolves that night? “It has nothing to do with you.” Liam scoffed angrily, throwing out a single word before leaving. “Fine.” I returned to the table and sat back down. “Sister, now that you’re back, why don’t you perform with me at my concert in a few days?” Sera looked at me expectantly. “We used to be called the Duet Stars.” I froze, my gaze falling on the hands perpetually wrapped in bandages. These hands would never hold a violin again. Before I could hide the fleeting look of despair, Phoebe’s clear voice rang out. “Sera Auntie, this ugly monster doesn’t deserve to play with you. I saw her hand last time—it’s super gross.” The innocent voice felt like a needle in my heart. “Yes, I can’t play anymore.” My voice trembled slightly. No one knew the breakdown I had suffered when I realized my hand was permanently ruined. I had wanted to die right then. But I remembered the words of Mama Elena, the director of my old orphanage. “Everyone dies, sooner or later. But if you can come home for a peaceful rest, then you’ll be reborn into a happy family.” I believed her. I wanted a family that truly loved me. I washed endless stacks of dishes until I earned enough for a ticket home. Back in the States, I worked as a street artist. I had my eye on a beautiful spot beneath an old Magnolia tree for my grave. I was just five hundred dollars short. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sister. I… I completely forgot.” Sera’s apologetic voice registered in my ear. “It’s fine, Sera. You don’t need to apologize. Her inability to play is her own doing.” Liam’s cold words followed. My heart was so scarred that any harsh word, no matter how cruel, was absorbed without reaction. “Stay here and keep to yourself for the next few days. I’ll come for you when we need you.” Liam gave me a final threat. “And behave. You don’t want to see St. Jude’s torn down, do you?” The name of my old orphanage made my chest clench. Liam still knew exactly where to twist the knife. “Understood.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387475”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel