Category: English

I’ve always rejected the idea of inner turmoil. When a college roommate accused me of theft, I called the police immediately and told them to search my side of the room. When a professor, threatened by my confidence, slut-shamed me in her office, I brought the entire class in and forced her to point out the specific man I was supposedly trying to ‘charm.’ My reputation quickly preceded me. No one dared to cross me—until that dinner party. I’d just returned from the restroom when I heard my boyfriend’s ‘girl friend’—a blonde named Vanessa Hill—delivering her assessment right outside the door. “Look at her. Total vanity project. I bet she says she’s naturally beautiful, but she’s clearly all filler and filters.” “Head-to-toe designer clothes, driving a G-Wagon… what kind of job pays that well for a girl her age?” “Rhys, darling, you need to be careful. She’s definitely trying to climb the ladder from gold-digger to wife!” I pushed the door open, my voice cutting through the noise. “Your mouth smells like a sewage backup, Vanessa. Did you eat trash today?” 1 Silence instantly swallowed the private dining room. Every glance, whether direct or peripheral, was sizing me up. My boyfriend, Rhys Caldwell, said nothing. His gaze, however, was dark and unreadable. Vanessa’s smirk froze for a beat before she covered her mouth with a delicate, practiced laugh. “I was only kidding, Skylar! Why are you so defensive, darling?” “Did I strike a nerve? Are you worried Rhys will dump you and your whole little operation will collapse?” I immediately pulled out my phone, started playing the recording of her words on a loop, and, right in front of her, contacted my lawyer. I watched Vanessa’s pale, shifting expression, and let out a cold laugh. “You’re an adult, Vanessa. You need to pay for your words.” “If you can’t provide immediate evidence to support your claim that I’m a gold digger, expect a defamation lawsuit. I will sue you for slander.” The rest of the friends at the table looked stunned, clearly not expecting me to go for the jugular so fast. Vanessa chewed on her lip, her face white. Rhys’s brow furrowed. He was clearly displeased. “Skylar, this is too much! It was just a little drama, why are you making a scene?” A little drama? Being publicly slandered as a prostitute is “a little drama”? He didn’t react when I was being insulted, but the moment I defend my own name, he tells me to let it go. Did he think I was some kind of pushover? I opened the dialing app and hovered my finger over the 911 button. “Apologize to me in the next three seconds, Vanessa, or I’m calling the police right now.” Since I was meeting all of them for the first time, it was clear the others were closer to Vanessa. One of the men scoffed. “Whoa, what a temper. Maybe she’s really just acting tough because she knows Vanessa is right?” Rhys’s face hardened. He grabbed my wrist, his voice turning cold. “If you’re not what she says, then prove it to me.” My breath hitched. I couldn’t believe the words that had just left his mouth. “What are you talking about?” No wonder he had stayed silent earlier. He was actually listening to her poisonous gossip. Seeing the frost in my expression, Rhys doubled down. “Just show me all the chat logs on your phone. If I see nothing suspicious, I’ll believe you.” I nearly laughed out loud. Why should I have to prove my innocence against a baseless rumor? I yanked my arm free, crossed my arms over my chest, and leaned back in my chair, fixing my gaze on Vanessa. “I see that’s the new LV bag. The cheapest version is easily ten grand. So, did you earn that, or did you scam it? Got a receipt, Vanessa?” The others looked closer, realizing I was right, and their inquisitive stares turned to Vanessa. She faltered, hesitating for a moment before pursing her lips. “Rhys bought it for me.” A slow, deliberate smile stretched across my face. “My boyfriend bought you something that expensive? I have every reason to suspect you two are hooking up.” Slam! Rhys slapped his chopsticks down. He glared at me. “Skylar Reed, you are completely irrational!” “Vanessa and I are clean! It was just a friendly gift. Are you seriously this jealous?” I grabbed my phone, opened my photos, and pulled up a screenshot I’d taken earlier. The picture showed Vanessa in a black lace negligee, her cleavage prominent. It was a photo she’d sent to Rhys with the question: Do you like this dress? I stood up and walked directly over to the guy who had defended Vanessa, shoving the phone right in his face. “Tell me, buddy. What kind of intentions does a person have when they send this kind of photo to someone else’s boyfriend late at night?” He shrunk back, refusing to meet my eyes. The others suddenly became fascinated by their own plates, desperate not to get involved. I turned back to Rhys, a terrifying grin on my face. “Tell me, what do you think?” Rhys’s face immediately darkened. He shot Vanessa a look of cold fury. Sensing the tide turning, Vanessa scrambled to her feet. “I’m sorry, Skylar, I shouldn’t have said those things.” “And I didn’t mean to send that photo to Rhys! I meant to send it to my friend, but I accidentally sent it to him. I can’t believe you went through Rhys’s chats and screen-grabbed it!” No, I just happened to see it pop up and took a screenshot for proof. But Rhys only heard the second half. He turned his accusatory gaze on me. “You checked up on me?” Tears welled in Vanessa’s eyes. “Rhys, Skylar, please don’t fight because of me. I apologize to Skylar. I promise I’ll stay far away from you from now on, Rhys.” Rhys pulled her close, his voice chillingly cold. “You’re not the one who should be apologizing. Turns out Vanessa was right, Skylar. You’re nothing but a conniving, gold-digging sociopath.” “You hooked enough money off other old men and thought you’d try to anchor yourself to a real trust-fund baby, didn’t you? Stop hiding your tacky ambition.” “We’re done. And trust me, you cross me, you won’t get away with it. I’ll be waiting for the day you come crawling back.” He pocketed his phone and stormed out. Vanessa turned to me, a smug, triumphant smile on her face. The others looked on with a mixture of amusement and contempt, filing out one after another. I looked at the empty room and laughed. Rhys was right. The only difference was that he was the one who wouldn’t be getting away with anything. 2 Rhys and his entourage kicked me out of their group chat. But they didn’t block me. Instead, they constantly updated their social media feeds: snowboarding trips, golf tournaments, fast cars, yacht parties, all flaunting mansions and luxury cars. It was a pathetic show meant entirely for my benefit. What they didn’t realize was that in an effort to show off, they’d rented a massive estate to host an auction house party where the ‘goods’ being auctioned were female influencers. I clapped my hands softly. How incredibly interesting. An open invitation for disaster—it would be a crime not to take advantage of it. I paid a substantial amount to bribe one of the estate’s catering staff, instructing him to install pinhole cameras in every corner to ensure a 360-degree surveillance setup. He looked terrified when he heard the request. “Ms. Reed, this is highly illegal, isn’t it? If they find it, I could go to jail.” I smiled. “What they’re planning to do is far worse. No one will be concerned with a few cameras when the dust settles. Don’t worry.” I pulled out a bank card and handed it to him. “This is your fee. I assure you, you will be very satisfied.” That night, he messaged me confirming everything was set up. Perhaps as a final attempt to make me regret leaving, Rhys even sent me an invite. Why not accept? I certainly wasn’t going to miss the show. The night of the party, Vanessa approached me, acting the part of the hostess, her expression haughty. “You’ll probably never earn enough money in your life to afford the down payment on a place like this, you know.” “Don’t think just because you have a pretty face, some trust-fund idiot will stick around. Plastic surgeons are a dime a dozen now. If you want to latch onto someone, you’ll have to beg Rhys first.” I watched her swagger away and fought the urge to roll my eyes. Rhys then walked up, looking down at me. “I thought you wouldn’t show. Vanessa was right, wasn’t she? You’re a gold digger who can’t stay away from the money.” His entire crew gathered around, throwing out their usual cheap insults. “Well, look who it is! If it isn’t Skylar Reed. What’s up, ditching the high-and-mighty act and crawling back so fast?” “She looks high-class, but I bet she’s filthy underneath. Rhys, when you’re done, pass her around to the rest of the guys!” The group roared with vulgar laughter, their eyes predatory. I tilted my head, forcing a saccharine-sweet smile. “Wow, your imaginations are so vivid. Don’t worry. I’m just here for the show.” “Just wait. You’ll be crying later, I promise.” Vanessa spat the words, turning to leave with the men. I found a quiet corner and opened my phone. The livestream was running. Vanessa’s face, beaming with excitement, was front and center. She held a microphone and addressed the room. “Welcome, gentlemen, to tonight’s Auction House Party! And now, please welcome our first item up for bid!” A line of scantily clad female influencers—sweet-faced, curvy, soft-spoken—paraded onto the stage. As soon as the influencers appeared, the stream started gaining viewers. “No way? Is this what I think it is? Can they even broadcast this?” “Dude, don’t doubt it. I recognize one of them. That’s Rhys Caldwell from the city’s A-list circles. Total trust-fund brat.” “I follow a few of those girls! They’re being treated like this by a bunch of rich jerks? Unbelievable.” Due to the audacious content and rapid sharing among viewers, the livestream quickly went viral, hitting over fifty thousand concurrent viewers. Rhys and his friends had no idea. 3 “Lot number one, starting bid one hundred thousand, with minimum raises of ten thousand.” Vanessa stood in the auctioneer’s spot, basking in her temporary authority, her eyes full of contempt for the women on stage. Her expression stiffened for a moment, however, when Rhys placed the first successful bid. The acquisition of Lot 1 immediately injected a hint of jealousy into Vanessa’s gaze. As I watched the stream comments fly by, my phone buzzed with a text from Rhys. Could you make this much money sleeping with other men? Probably take you ten or more times. If you come over now and get on your knees, crawl to me, and beg for forgiveness, I might consider giving you one more chance. I let out a harsh laugh. Rhys must have a few screws loose. Did he really think I needed him? What, did he think wealthy families don’t have daughters? For the record, my family’s actual net worth would make his father’s fortune look like pocket change. The next second, the livestream was suddenly shut down. Across town, Victor Caldwell, Rhys’s father, received a frantic call. His face went white. He immediately called Rhys, but between the loud music and the fact that Rhys was currently making out with his new Lot 1, he didn’t hear his phone. Moments later, Victor and a swarm of bodyguards kicked in the villa’s front door, storming in with absolute fury. Victor hauled Rhys off the sofa and, without a word, delivered a massive, ringing slap across his face. Everyone froze, stunned. Vanessa, seeing her man assaulted, shrieked and ran over. “You old man, who the hell do you think you are? You lay a hand on Rhys again, you’re dead!” She didn’t notice the complicated, almost pitying glances the other young men were shooting her. SMACK! Rhys slapped her back, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s my father, you idiot!” At that, Vanessa’s legs gave way. She almost collapsed, stumbling to offer a terrified apology. “Mr. Caldwell, I’m so sorry! I was just worried about Rhys! I spoke out of turn! Please don’t be angry!” Victor Caldwell shot Vanessa a look of deep distaste. “This is who you keep around?” Seeing Rhys about to get dragged further, Vanessa played her final card: she violently slapped herself multiple times, tears streaming down her face. “Uncle! I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault! Please don’t punish Rhys! I promise I’ll never speak out of turn again!” Victor’s face softened slightly. He looked around the chaotic room and demanded of his son, “What in God’s name are you doing?” Having been slapped in public, Rhys was embarrassed and pissed. “Just having a little fun, Dad.” Hearing the casual arrogance, Victor’s hand shot up again. He held back, his face a mask of disappointment. “Look at what you’ve done!” He shoved his phone, playing the recorded livestream, in front of Rhys. Rhys’s expression changed instantly. “Where did this come from?” Seeing his genuinely confused reaction, Victor guessed someone had set him up. “Think, Rhys. Who have you crossed lately? Whoever did this is not an amateur.” He thought and thought. The most impossible answer was often the correct one. Rhys’s eyes snapped up, landing on me. However, I had quietly slipped out of the villa moments before Victor’s dramatic entrance. I was now in my car, watching Rhys’s panic unfold through the cameras. I always live by one rule: anyone who messes with me gets repaid a hundredfold. 4 Rhys texted me a slew of desperate messages. Was it your sugar daddy who did that for you? I can’t believe you found a new man so fast. With that kind of pull, he must be a sixty-year-old leech! Letting some old man worm all over you… you’ll do anything for money. That’s truly disgusting! I ignored the insults and blocked him completely. I knew that given Rhys’s standing in the Caldwell family, a little video scandal wasn’t enough to truly shake him. Sure enough, the next day, the entire fiasco was swept under the rug and explained away as a “behind-the-scenes gag for a short film.” I made my next move. I contacted Victor Caldwell’s illegitimate son, Rhys’s younger, half-brother: Ezra Caldwell. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. More importantly, if Rhys was taken down, Ezra would be next in line. Ezra didn’t hesitate; he agreed to my invitation instantly. The next day, a major charity gala was held at the Grand Unity Hotel. Virtually every elite family in the city was present. Vanessa and Rhys were walking through the doors just as I stepped out of Ezra Caldwell’s car. They froze. “Skylar Reed. I wondered who you were latching onto next. Turns out it’s my worthless little brother.” “Tsk tsk. I hope you know he’s a bastard child. Everything he has is just the crumbs that fall from my table. Pitiful.” Vanessa clung to Rhys’s arm, her voice dripping with venom. “A gold digger and an illegitimate son. What a perfect match!” They turned and walked away. Ezra quietly comforted me. “Don’t let them get to you.” I smiled. I didn’t care. They were just two clowns. I took Ezra’s arm, and we walked into the ballroom. A little while later, Rhys and his friends cornered Ezra and me in a remote part of the venue. Rhys had a wicked, satisfied grin. “Tell me, guys. How viral would it go if my little brother and a trashy gold digger got frisky right here on the ballroom floor? That would be explosive, wouldn’t it? Haha!” The crew laughed, their expressions lecherous. Rhys waved his hand. His men immediately moved in and pinned Ezra and me. Vanessa grabbed my jaw, forcing my mouth open, and poured a glass of drugged wine down my throat. Ezra received the same treatment. As soon as we’d swallowed, Rhys and Vanessa clinked glasses and drank theirs, triumphantly. On Rhys’s signal, a powerful spotlight suddenly illuminated our corner of the room. In the dim banquet hall, a man and a woman were now locked together, writhing and tearing at each other’s clothes under the intense light.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387541”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Chapter 1: The Detective in the Dark My best friend, Sarah, always told me: “Layla, never let a man know you have money on the first date. It attracts the sharks.” I was good at following that rule. I drove a beat-up Honda to first dates instead of my G-Wagon. I wore Zara instead of Chanel. I played the part of the struggling graphic designer, hiding the fact that I was the sole heiress to the Vance Media empire. But logic left the building the night I met Damien. It happened at an immersive “Murder Mystery” dinner party in a converted warehouse in Downtown Los Angeles. The theme was 1920s Noir. I drew the card for “The Black Widow,” a femme fatale suspect. I was terrible at it. “You’re shaking,” a voice whispered in the dark. I was currently locked in the “interrogation room”—a closet-sized space with flickering bulbs—waiting for my turn. The man standing next to me was playing the Detective. I looked up, and my breath hitched. Even in the dim light, he was devastating. Sharp jawline, messy dark hair that fell over his eyes, and a scent that was a mix of rain and expensive sandalwood. He leaned in close, invading my personal space in a way that should have been creepy but felt electric. “I’m not the killer,” I stammered, forgetting my lines. “I know,” he said, his voice low and gritty. He stepped closer. I could hear the rustle of his dress shirt. “But the script says I have to interrogate you. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” I’ll protect you. It was a cheesy line from a roleplay game, but the way he said it—with such quiet intensity—made my heart hammer against my ribs. When the lights came up for the final reveal, I got a better look at him. He was tall, leaning against the wall with the grace of a panther. But then, the illusion cracked. I looked at his shoes. They were cheap, scuffed faux-leather loafers. His dress shirt was frayed at the cuffs. He didn’t have a watch. He’s broke, I thought, a strange pang of sympathy mixing with my attraction. He’s beautiful, talented, and struggling. During the voting round, I accidentally incriminated myself because I was too busy staring at his hands. The other players laughed. “The Widow is cracking!” Damien stepped in. “Wait,” he commanded the room. “The evidence points elsewhere.” He systematically dismantled the arguments against me, spinning a wild theory that shifted the blame to the Butler. He saved me. After the game, I found him outside the warehouse. It was pouring rain—a rare, torrential L.A. downpour. He was standing by the bus stop, no umbrella, soaking wet. My “don’t show money” rule evaporated. “Hey,” I pulled my car up to the curb. “You’re going to drown out here. Need a lift?” He hesitated, looking at my car, then at his wet clothes. “I’ll ruin your upholstery.” “It’s just a car. Get in.” He hopped in. “I’m Damien.” “Layla.” “Thanks, Layla. You saved me. I don’t usually do these things, but… well, a gig is a gig.” “You were working?” I asked. “Yeah. I’m an actor. Or a musician. Or a waiter. Depends on the day of the week,” he gave a self-deprecating smile that made my knees weak. “Tonight, I was a detective.” I drove him to his apartment in North Hollywood. It was a dingy complex with peeling paint. Before he got out, he turned to me. “You know,” he said softly. “You were the worst murderer I’ve ever seen.” “Thanks,” I laughed. “But you were the best part of my night.” He didn’t ask for my number. He just smiled, a sad, longing smile, and ran through the rain to his door. I sat in my car for ten minutes, wondering why I felt like I had just lost something important. Chapter 2: The Wedding and the Promise I didn’t see him for a week. I tried to focus on work, on my portfolio, on anything other than the memory of his sandalwood scent. Then, my phone buzzed. It was the organizer of the Murder Mystery events. “Hey Layla! We’re running a new script this Saturday. ‘The Royal Wedding Gone Wrong’. We’re short one female player. Interested?” I typed back: “Is the Detective guy going to be there?” “Damien? Yeah, he’s playing the Groom.” I was there. I spent three hours getting ready. I told myself it wasn’t for him. I told myself I just liked the game. But when I walked into the venue, wearing a vintage lace dress, my heart was racing. The setting was a mock cathedral. I was assigned the role of the Bride. And Damien… Damien was the Groom. When he saw me, his eyes widened. He broke character for a split second, a genuine smile flashing across his face. “Hi,” he mouthed. We sat across from each other. He poured me water, fixed my napkin, treated me with a tenderness that felt dangerously real. The plot was chaotic. There was a poisoned chalice, a secret lover, and a murder. Halfway through the game, the script called for a dramatic confrontation. The “Secret Lover” character (played by a guy named Mike) stood up and shouted, “She doesn’t love you! She loves me! Run away with me, Layla!” Damien stood up. He looked at Mike, then turned to me. He took my hands. “This man claims to know your heart,” Damien said, improvising his lines. “But from the moment you walked in—late, flustered, apologizing with those dimples—I knew you were the only one for me.” The room went quiet. This wasn’t in the script booklets. “I promised to protect you last time,” Damien continued, his thumb brushing my knuckles. “And I meant it. I don’t care about the script. I choose you.” The other players “ooh-ed” and “ahh-ed.” My face burned. He lifted my veil and looked at me with such raw vulnerability that I forgot we were playing a game. After the session, it was raining again. “I’ll drive you,” I said immediately. “I can’t let you keep saving me,” he murmured, but he followed me to the car. This time, I took him to my place. My real place. A sprawling condo in the Hills. He looked around, wide-eyed. “You live here alone?” he asked. “Yeah.” “It’s… big. And cold.” “I’ll turn up the heat.” He was soaked again. I gave him a towel. He dried his hair, his shirt clinging to his chest. “Layla,” he said, standing in my living room. “Why are you terrified of me?” “I’m not.” “You are. Every time I get close, you flinch. Like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.” “I’m just… not used to this,” I admitted. “To whatever this is.” “I like you,” he said. “For real. Not the game.” “You don’t even know me.” “I want to.” He stayed that night. We didn’t sleep together. He slept in the guest room. But before he left the next morning, he kissed my forehead. And then, he ghosted me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387557”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day before our engagement, my boyfriend suddenly regained his memories. I found out he was an undercover cop before his amnesia. And he had a childhood sweetheart fiancée. She found me, crying her eyes out: “If he had returned safely from that mission, we would have been married.” “Please, give him back to me…” I was silent for a long time, then whispered: “Okay.” I accepted a company transfer and moved to another city. Three years later, I was held hostage at knifepoint on the street. He saved me. As I tried to sneak away, he handcuffed my wrist. His voice was stern: “Planning to leave without saying goodbye again?” 1 Evening. Torrential rain. A sharp dagger pressed against my neck, bringing a damp, sticky pain. Behind me, the vicious criminal shouted: “Don’t move, or I’ll kill you!” That’s how I met Julian again. He was wearing a crisp uniform, side-facing me, talking to his colleagues. Rainwater streamed down his jawline, making his expression even more solemn. A moment later, he started negotiating with the criminal holding me hostage: “What are your demands? Name them.” The criminal’s face was twisted, voice distorted: “I want a wife! You guys give me a wife to bear me a son!” Obviously impossible. The rain poured harder. Negotiators switched rounds. Someone must have said something wrong. The criminal suddenly snapped. He gripped the knife handle tight, screaming: “Since I can’t have a wife, taking a pretty woman to die with me isn’t a loss!” The sharp blade cut into my skin. Severe pain mixed with the fear of death instantly filled my heart. The next second, bang. A bullet tore through the dense rain, hitting the criminal’s forehead. When Julian lowered his gun and strode over to me. I was already clutching my neck wound, swaying as I stood up from the ground. Due to blood loss, my vision went black in waves. I stumbled forward two steps. And fainted into Julian’s arms. I woke up in the hospital. My neck wound was bandaged, the pain still sharp. Julian stood by the bed, his hair soaked from the rain, still dripping water. I rasped: “The little girl I swapped with…” “She’s fine. Her mother protected her well.” Julian stared at me deeply. “The man had a knife. Even if you wanted to save someone, you shouldn’t have risked yourself.” I curled my lips, but the smile vanished quickly as it pulled at the wound. “Sorry. But protecting the weak is human nature. You taught me that, Officer Zhou.” 2 This hostage situation had nothing to do with me. I was just walking home from work and saw the little girl with a knife at her throat, the criminal kissing her hair and shoulders randomly. She was crying in terror. I suddenly remembered Julian. Three years ago, before we broke up. He saved a little boy and got his back smashed by a falling billboard, needing six stitches. In the hospital, I was anxious to the point of tears, poking his forehead and scolding him: “Next time you save someone, can you ensure your own safety first?!” He sat under the light, looking up at me. Lips pale from blood loss. But when he smiled, there was light in his eyes: “Protecting the weak is human nature.” Selfish me was suddenly choked up. Couldn’t say a word. He held my hand, looking into my eyes seriously: “But hurting myself and making you worry is my fault.” “I’m sorry, Sarah.” How much we loved each other then. How messy the breakup was later. Because a few months later, his childhood sweetheart, Chloe, suddenly showed up. I learned Julian was an undercover cop. Exposed during a mission, tortured nearly to death, he managed to escape. But severe injuries caused amnesia. “While he was with you for two years, I was looking for him.” Chloe wept before me, “Please, give him back to me…” She showed me many things. Photos, gifts, rings. Her past with Julian, twenty years of intimacy. So, I ran away. 3 On the day of discharge, Julian and a young cop picked me up. He sat in the back with me, expression solemn. I covered the gauze on my neck, trying to lighten the mood: “People might think I committed a crime, leaving the hospital in a police car.” Julian kept a straight face, tone flat: “No, just going to give a statement.” The young cop took my joke seriously and quickly comforted me: “How could that be, Miss Shen? You risked your life to save someone; the bureau is discussing giving you a bravery award!” “Just an award, no reward?” I smirked. “Like rewarding me with a young, handsome cop as a boyfriend?” In the rearview mirror, the young cop’s ears turned red. He stammered: “Well, we…” Before he could finish, Julian interrupted. He said coldly: “Focus on driving, don’t get distracted.” “Yes, Captain Zhou.” I lowered my eyes and stopped talking. It was noon when the statement was done. Julian went out to handle a sudden case. I was enthusiastically escorted to the door by others, about to leave. Ran straight into a very familiar face. Chloe. She wore a white cheongsam, dressed gently, holding a lunch box. Her quiet smile vanished the moment she saw me. Others greeted her: “Miss Ning, here to bring lunch to Captain Zhou again?” “Captain Zhou is so lucky. Unlike us, coming back late from missions to cold food.” “Is the wedding coming soon?” She lowered her head, seemingly shy: “Getting married soon. We’ll send invitations then.” A fog of emotion rose in my heart. I pursed my lips and walked out quickly. Chloe chased after me. “Sarah Shen.” She blocked my way, looking unhappy: “You promised to return Julian to me.” “Going back on your word now because he became the captain?” “Didn’t go back on it.” I said indifferently, “Wishing you and Julian a happy marriage.” She smiled with satisfaction: “Thanks.” 4 On the way back, the taxi stopped at a red light. I looked out the window. A girl fell, and her boyfriend picked her up, hugging her tightly. Tears fell without warning. Just one drop, and I wiped it away. I suddenly thought of when I knew Julian for seven months. He rejected my confession for the third time, saying he lost his memory, identity unknown, couldn’t give me happiness. But he still accompanied me home to pack. Halfway through, my stepfather came back. Drunk, pouncing on me cursing like many times before. I tried to kick him away but was choked and slapped. Julian, fixing the wardrobe in the inner room, heard the noise and strode out. Grabbed my stepfather’s collar, dragged him off me, and punched him hard. I lay on my back, staring blankly at the ceiling. Vision blurred, couldn’t even see Julian’s face clearly. “Sarah.” He called me, “Sarah Shen!” I curled my lips: “Ten years, first time someone saved me, Julian.” His expression was indescribably sad as he picked me up from the floor and walked out. “Don’t look back, don’t look.” He covered my eyes. “No need to come back to dangerous places. I’ll handle it for you.” “Sarah Shen, I accept your confession.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387573”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night before my SATs. Mom was in the kitchen, cooking my favorite dinner. My sister, six months pregnant, sat on the couch helping me pack, nagging me for the hundredth time not to forget my admission ticket. I smiled, about to say “okay.” Suddenly, a line of bullet comments (danmu) floated across my vision. The text read: [Is this the family that gets brutally murdered right before the SATs?] [Such a pity. If this girl didn’t die, she had a shot at Harvard.] [The sister is the most tragic. Not only dismembered, but the baby was cut out of her belly and thrown into the sewer.] A chill ran down my spine. They said… my whole family dies tonight? 1 Knock knock knock. Before I could process the meaning of the floating text, someone knocked on the door. “Who is it?” my sister asked casually. “Delivery.” “We didn’t order any takeout,” my sister said, puzzled. “Wrong address?” “No, Unit 401, for Ms. Rosie.” Rosie. That’s me. My sister gave me a playful glare. “Ordering takeout right before dinner? You little glutton.” “But since your big exam is tomorrow, I’ll let it slide.” She stood up to open the door. As she moved, the text in front of me scrolled frantically. [Don’t open it! That’s not a delivery guy, it’s a psycho killer!] [Seriously, don’t you know if you ordered food? Why just open the door for anyone?] [This is why characters in horror novels die. zero survival instincts.] Cold sweat drenched my back. I grabbed my sister’s arm. “Wait! Don’t open it!” She looked back, confused. “What’s wrong?” I pointed at the door, whispering, “Sis, something’s wrong. I never ordered anything.” My sister looked through the peephole, then recoiled. “He’s not wearing a uniform. He really looks suspicious.” My sweat poured. The comments were real. There was a murderer outside. As if sensing our hesitation, the person outside pulled a wet, dirty uniform from his bag. “Please open up, I have another order to deliver. I really am a delivery driver. I fell into a puddle and got my uniform dirty, so I took it off.” “But we didn’t order anything,” my sister said through the door. “It was ordered for you. The note says: ‘Good luck on the SATs, Princess Rosie.’” My sister relaxed instantly. She smiled at me. “Mystery solved. Your brother-in-law ordered it. Princess Rosie, do your best tomorrow.” She reached for the lock again. “Princess Rosie.” Only my brother-in-law called me that. But the comments made me hesitate. I stopped her again. “Leave it at the door. We’ll get it later.” The person outside didn’t move. “It’s marked as a valuable item. Must be signed for in person. Please hurry, I’m late for my next delivery.” My sister laughed. “Valuable? Definitely from your brother-in-law. He said he’d get you something good after the exam. You little worrywart, open the door.” She reached for the lock. The comments screamed at us to run. The “delivery guy” kept urging us. My mind was a mess. Maybe he’s legit. But what if? Looking at my pregnant sister and my mom in the kitchen, I couldn’t risk it. I stopped her again. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a cleaver. Ignoring their confused looks, I stood by the door and opened it. I later learned this decision was the start of a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. 2 The moment the door opened, he kicked the knife out of my hand. Before I could react, another man hiding behind him swung an axe into my head. To make sure I didn’t run, he smashed my lower back with a hammer. My sister screamed and tried to save me, but he grabbed her hair and dragged her inside. Mom rushed out with a knife but was stabbed through the heart with a machete. Pain and blood consumed me. In my last moments, I saw the comments again. [Poor girl tried so hard, but still died.] [Yeah, and because she stalled, the killer tortured her sister even worse. The baby was ground into meat paste.] [Sigh. This family is cursed.] 3 I opened my eyes. The pain and smell of blood were gone. I was standing in the living room, safe and sound. The smell of fried pork filled the air. My sister was on the couch, nagging me about my admission ticket. The text floated before me again. [Is this the family that gets dismembered before the SATs?] [If not for those killers, this girl could have gone to Harvard.] [The sister had it worst. Baby cut out and destroyed.] Tears filled my eyes. I hugged my sister tight. “Why are you so clingy all of a sudden? Nervous about tomorrow?” “Don’t worry. I took time off work to be with you.” I couldn’t hold back the tears. My sister is the best. Since Dad died, it’s just been the three of us. Life was hard, but we had each other. But such good people were brutally murdered. Knock knock knock. “Who is it?” I stopped her. “Shh. My classmate’s dad is the police chief. He said two killers are posing as delivery drivers in our neighborhood. Don’t open the door for strangers.” My sister looked surprised but stayed silent. She picked up a baseball bat. “Don’t be scared, Rosie. I’ll protect you.” Mom came out with a knife. “Mom will protect you too. No one hurts my girls.” Their trust moved me to tears, but I had no time to cry. I locked the door and called 911. “There are killers outside our door.” The police said they’d be there in 10 minutes. I relaxed slightly. We just need to hold the door. But the comments scrolled faster. [Smart girl, keeping the door locked.] [But she doesn’t know there’s already an accomplice hiding inside the house.] [No matter what she does, the ending is the same.] Cold sweat returned. An accomplice inside? Where? Squeak. A faint sound from the corner. A man stepped out of the large wardrobe. He smiled psychotically. “Smart. Knowing not to open the door.” “But useless.” He swung a machete at Mom. Blood filled my vision. I grabbed Mom’s dropped knife and charged him. But before I reached him, a gunshot rang out. He had a gun. I fell, dead. My sister screamed, raising the bat, but the door was axed open. The intruder struck her back, then her belly. The baby, the intestines… dragged out. We died again. Brutally. 4 Dad died when I was in elementary school. Mom raised us selling fruit. She refused to remarry, fearing a stepfather wouldn’t treat us well. Rain or shine, she worked her stall. She put my sister through college. Now it was my turn. I was top of my class. Teachers said I was Ivy League material. Mom said once I got into college, she could finally rest. We planned a trip to Yunnan after my sister gave birth. Mom had never left the city. We were finally growing up. We could finally take care of her. But why? Even reborn, I couldn’t save them. I closed my eyes in despair. Opened them again. Back in the living room. 5 Fried pork smell. Sister nagging. I stared at the door, desperate. Two killers outside. One with a gun inside. We three women couldn’t win. My sister noticed my silence. “Rosie, nervous? Don’t worry. I’m with you.” Comments: [Here we go again. The massacred family.] [Poor girl.] I clenched my fists, brain racing. We can’t fight them. I looked at the balcony. Our balcony was connected to the neighbor’s by a narrow gap. Only a small person could fit. I was skinny enough. The neighbor’s sons were a gym coach and a PE teacher. If I could get their help… I texted the police. Then I typed a note on my phone and showed my sister. [Don’t speak. There’s a killer hiding in the house. Two more are coming to the door.] [Stall the people at the door. Do not open it.] [I’m going next door for help.] We didn’t alert Mom to avoid startling the gunman in the wardrobe. When the knocking started, I was on the balcony. I looked at my sister one last time and squeezed through the gap. Comments: [Smart girl. Going for help.] [But useless. Horror novels always have casualties.] [They can’t escape.] I ignored them. I will change fate. But the neighbor’s balcony door was locked. No one was home. I had to find help. I looked down. Fourth floor. I gritted my teeth and jumped onto the AC unit below. Layer by layer, I climbed down. I ran toward the complex exit, screaming for help. A van sped toward me. Bang. I lay on the ground, bleeding out. A short, fat man got out of the van, yelling into his phone. “How are you guys working? Someone jumped from the balcony! Idiots, finish the job!” Upstairs, my sister screamed. I closed my eyes. Four killers. The comments were right. We can’t escape.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387589”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d been Rhys Kingston’s “best friend” for two decades. Twenty years. Not even the night we tumbled into bed—drunk, messy, losing our virginity to each other—could change that. All I got in return was his cool, measured voice: “That was just a mistake, Rory. We’re still best friends for life, right?” I used to believe Rhys was just emotionally detached, incapable of real intimacy. That was, until the day the housekeeper, Lana, climbed into my father’s bed, and I cracked my equestrian crop across her back until she bled. Rhys, who should have been standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me, had eyes only for Seraphina “Sephy” Bell, the housekeeper’s daughter, who stood weeping behind her mother. He was genuinely in love with her. He brought her brazenly into our exclusive social circle. He even announced his intention to marry her at the Kingston family dinner. Only I, his so-called childhood friend, was left to become the city’s laughingstock. My mother, crushed by the gossip and sinking deeper into depression, jumped from the top floor of our house. That twenty-year delusion of mine shattered into dust. I decided to simply vanish from his world and start over. But Rhys Kingston, We were just friends. So why did you panic when I hired a boat full of models? 1 When Rhys kicked open the cabin door, I was grinding against a male model, clad in a skimpy scarlet two-piece. My skin, slick with sweat and shimmering under the low, suggestive lights, was a reckless, burning fire—scorching the eyes of every observer. “Oh my God… what is this?” Devon Reed, usually all easy smiles, stopped dead in his tracks, his cheeks flushed, barely able to look directly at me. Rhys stood right beside him. He was still wearing his usual detached, above-it-all expression, though his gaze darkened considerably as it swept over me. “Aurora Wells! Are you done with this charade?” He strode forward, slamming off the deafening music, and tossed a heavy blanket over me. I ignored him, instead pulling the model closer and whispering against his ear. “Ignore him… let’s keep going.” The model smirked, pulling me into a tight embrace in open defiance, his shaggy head burying itself provocatively in my neck. But before his breath could even graze my skin, Rhys grabbed my arm, wrenching me away with such force I nearly stumbled. “Rory Wells!” His fury finally broke through. “Parties, hookups, models—do you even remember what day this is?!” “Of course I remember!” I froze for a split second, then spun around and slapped him across the face. The sound was sharp and clear, but the tears finally came, blurring my vision. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Rhys Kingston! And you definitely don’t get to mention my mother!” My mother had treated Rhys like her own son, pouring money and influence into him, securing his place as the Kingston heir. And yet, Rhys had fallen for the housekeeper’s daughter. He’d fallen for Seraphina Bell! Today was my mother’s funeral. The one person in the world who had no right to lecture me was him. Devon hesitated, stepping forward. “Actually, Rhys handled the entire funeral…” “Aurora Wells,” Rhys said, cutting him off with a cold voice. That face I had been obsessed with for twenty years was still utterly remote, his dark eyes fixed on me, but the words he spoke felt like a slow, agonizing flaying. “Did you forget? You’re the one who ran to the Kingston estate, caused a scene, exposed everyone’s secrets, and drove your mother to take her life.” I froze mid-breath. My swollen eyes locked onto his face, while inside, something cracked, splintered, and stabbed painfully through my organs. It hurt so much I couldn’t draw air. He was right. I hadn’t been able to stand the thought of him marrying Sephy. I had foolishly, shortsightedly, failed to see that the Kingston power now dwarfed my family’s, and that Rhys was no longer the bullied bastard child who needed my protection. I was the idiot who stormed the Kingston house, waving that embarrassing photo of us in bed, shrieking that Sephy’s mother was a shameless homewrecker. And when Rhys had rebuked me, I’d lost all control and publicly thrown his own mother’s background—she was once a struggling single mother who clawed her way up—back in his face. That was when the future Mr. Kingston had unleashed his true wrath. He not only silenced the rumors and had me physically removed from the estate. He retaliated. He took that photo of us, cropped his face out, leaving only the image of me, flushed and lost in the moment, for the entire city to consume. He let the entire city dissect and pass judgment on my passionate expression in bed. My twenty years of devotion to Rhys became a sick joke. Look at her. The Wells heiress is a desperate slut. Her mother couldn’t compete with Sephy’s mother, and she couldn’t compete with Sephy for Rhys, either. That’s what everyone said. And that was why my proud, vibrant mother, in a moment of utter despair, threw herself off the penthouse balcony, crashing into a scarlet stain on the pavement. Right before she died, she had a moment of lucidity, a clarity brought on by the trauma. She clutched my hand, her eyes sharp, clear, and utterly heartbroken. “Rory, you chasing after Rhys looks exactly like I chased after your father. Chasing… until you can’t see yourself anymore. It’ll kill you.” “Go find a few men. You’ll know that in the end, love is just… a cheap trick.” So, I had skipped her funeral. Instead, I’d chartered a yacht and hired a crew of models. And finally, it was my turn to use his words against him. “So what?” My smile was bright, but my nails were digging crescent moons into my palms. “We’re just childhood friends. You don’t get to dictate my life.” Rhys stared at me, his dark, heavy eyes emanating a strange, oppressive atmosphere. After a long pause, he simply said, in a dull voice: “Sephy is waiting for you.” In an instant, my heart stopped, then erupted in a wave of pain. I thought I had moved on. But twenty years of entanglement, all it took was one name to leave me a wreck. “You’re a real piece of work, Rhys Kingston.” I murmured the words under my breath. Typical of the “best friend” I grew up with—he knew exactly where to twist the knife for the maximum effect. He ordered his men to drag me into a waiting car. As I was leaving, I noticed the model’s light-colored eyes. Devon leaned in, whispering, “I know you’re hurting, Rory. But it’s your mom’s funeral. You can’t not go.” He glanced at Rhys, who was leaning back with his eyes closed, clearly resting, and hesitated. “Don’t be angry. Rhys oversaw the whole service. He really does care…” He trailed off, unable to finish. He was right to stop. Was Rhys doing it for me? Or was it to show respect for my mother’s protection all those years ago? Neither reason seemed to stick. The moment my mother jumped, whatever was between us curdled into an impossible, messy debt. I slumped into the seat, watching the tiny porcelain pendant hanging from the rearview mirror sway with the speed of the car. Devon, Rhys, and I had been inseparable since kindergarten. Yet, Rhys only ever had one picture in the car—a tiny old selfie of just him and me. And the passenger seat was always reserved for me. I used to believe that small “exception” was my special privilege, and I threw myself blindly at him because of it. Now, my photo was gone, replaced by the pendant Sephy had made by hand. The passenger seat was cluttered with a fluffy, incongruous pink dog blanket. Everywhere I looked, there were traces of Sephy. Oversaw the funeral? I managed a strained smile, tasting the metallic tang of blood at the back of my throat. He probably just wanted to impress Walter Wells so he could marry Sephy sooner. The car stopped at the Wells estate, and I shoved the door open and got out. My mother’s funeral had just concluded, but the Wells living room had already been completely redecorated. Even the old family portrait—my mother, father, and me—had been replaced with a wedding photo of Walter and the housekeeper. My mother’s body wasn’t even cold, and he was already rushing to bring his new wife home. “You wicked girl! Where the hell have you been all day?!” “How dare you skip your own mother’s funeral! Do you even care about this family?!” Walter Wells stood up, slamming his fist on the table, his face, ravaged by alcohol and indulgence, turning an ugly shade of red. Beside him, Lana Bell, dressed like the wealthy matriarch she’d always wanted to be, cooed softly in a proprietorial manner, though a flicker of disdain crossed her eyes. “Darling, Rory is just too distraught. That’s all.” “She’s still young. Don’t be so angry, Walter.” “Yes, Mr. Wells, Rory must be so sad,” Sephy chirped, standing nearby in a crisp white dress, looking as innocently fragile as a gardenia. Walter sat back down next to Lana and scoffed. “If she were half as level-headed as Sephy, her mother wouldn’t have died from despair!” I snapped my head up. Looking at this trio’s pathetic performance, I suddenly burst out laughing. “Stop the act. If you two hadn’t been shameless enough to sleep together, would my mother have been driven to jump?” “Aurora Wells!” Walter bellowed a warning. Lana’s face went white. “I am so sorry for your mother, but Walter and I are genuinely in—” Before she could finish, I lunged forward, grabbed a handful of her hair, and, over her shriek, slammed her down in front of my mother’s memorial photo. “You begged my mother to take you and your daughter in when you had nothing, and you repaid her by climbing into my father’s bed.” “If you really feel sorry, you should join her in the grave!” Walter roared for me to let go. Sephy rushed forward, crying and trying to pull me away. “Stop, Rory! You can’t blame my mother! You’re the one who drove your own mother to suicide, don’t pin the blame on her—” Before she finished that line, I snatched the nearby equestrian crop and viciously brought it down across her lying, two-faced mouth. “You hit me! Rhys won’t let you get away with this!” Sephy clutched her mouth and screamed, a malicious, poisonous gleam in her eyes. I gave her a wild, triumphant smile. “Not pretending anymore, are we?” “I like you better this way.” “You are going to kill me with this madness!” Walter clutched his chest in fury, servants and staff rushing to his side. “Your madness changes nothing! Your mother is gone, and it’s your fault! No one in this house wants you here!” Sephy shrieked through her red-rimmed eyes. I raised the whip again, but a hand suddenly grabbed my forearm, the grip so tight I felt my bones might crack. “Aurora Wells! Who gave you permission to lay a hand on her?!” Rhys, who had somehow appeared behind me, had two burning flames in his dark eyes. I refused to yield, though the hand gripping the crop trembled for a moment. “Didn’t you hear what she said? She deserves it!” “I heard,” Rhys said, his voice flat as he dropped my arm. “So what.” My heart stopped beating for an instant, and then the raw, sharp pain began to blossom. I stared at Rhys, disbelief suffocating me. He knew! He had always known Sephy was playing a role, he knew she was intent on driving me out of the Wells family, and he knew how impossible my life was here. But he still chose to stand with her. “Rhys!” Sephy sobbed, throwing herself into his arms. “She hit my mom, and she hit me with that horse whip!” Rhys held her close, his eyes fixed on me, his voice colder than ice. “Is that so? Then I’ll give her a hundred lashes myself to apologize to you. How about that?” “Rhys Kingston, you wouldn’t dare!” I glared at him, my eyes burning. Rhys met my gaze unflinchingly. His dark eyes held mine for a moment, then he raised his hand and ordered his bodyguards to restrain me on the floor. In front of Walter and the Bells, he ruthlessly beat me until my skin was raw and bloody. As the pain grew so intense I began to cough up blood, I heard a terrible, deafening crash inside my chest. Twenty years of affection, the very last flicker of hope… It was all ground into ash in that single moment. I don’t know how many lashes I took before I finally lost consciousness and collapsed. In a haze, I was lifted into a familiar embrace, the faint, clean scent of cedarwood and iris—Rhys’s signature scent—filling my nose. “Rory! Get a doctor now!” I heard his voice, ragged and panicked—a rare sound—but he was shouting for me only after he had commanded his men to beat me until I was bleeding. I used my last surge of energy to struggle out of his arms, preferring to fall painfully onto the tiled floor rather than remain in his embrace. “Rhys Kingston, you’re fucking disgusting.” Rhys didn’t respond to that. He had me rushed to the hospital that night and arranged for my treatment. But the next morning, the small company I had secretly started was reported to the authorities, and all the evidence was dumped right on Walter’s desk. The partners I had worked so hard to secure overnight immediately backed out. Even the photos of me and the models at the funeral party were deliberately circulated. One by one, these events cornered me. Walter publicly announced his intention to disown me. I was forced to swallow my pride and call in favors, desperate to find someone to intercede. The former darling of the city, Aurora Wells, was hobbling on unhealed whip marks, meekly asking for help from the socialites who used to follow her around. “Rory, it’s not that we don’t want to help.” Tristan Davies, the one at the head of the table, looked distressed, but his eyes were shamelessly licking over my pale face and the visible bruises on my neck. “But you crossed Rhys. That’s a cost none of us can afford.” He slid a glass of amber-colored liquor towards me, his eyes gleaming with a familiar, predatory hunger. “But if you’re willing to have a few drinks with us and hang out tonight… we could potentially reconsider.” I knew exactly what “a few drinks and hanging out” meant. It was the ugly, transactional game of power and sex, a common practice in our circle. I used to watch it with cold contempt. Now, I was the fish on the cutting board. No escape. “Tristan, I didn’t call you all here for that!” Devon, his face ashen, tried to intervene, but his lower-tier family status meant he was quickly—and physically—silenced. “She can’t expect us to risk everything without showing any sincerity,” someone sneered, his gaze on me vile and sickening. “Besides, who doesn’t know Rory plays fast and loose? A whole yacht of models—what’s a few more of us?” They advanced on me, liquor glasses in hand, a pack of wolves circling, savoring the reversal of power. The shame turned my face white, and the salty, metallic taste in my throat threatened to spill over. “Quite the party, isn’t it?” Rhys’s voice suddenly cut through the air. “Why didn’t you invite me?” The room went instantly silent. Everyone watched Rhys standing in the doorway, Sephy on his arm in a custom-made evening gown. It looked like a casual, accidental encounter. Tristan froze, then quickly recovered, ushering Rhys to the head seat with an awkward smile. “We knew you were busy, Rhys. Just a casual get-together.” Rhys’s eyes scanned my pale face, then the liquor glasses in every man’s hand. He settled calmly into the seat and issued his instruction to me. “Since you love to drink so much, maybe you should use this opportunity to properly apologize to Sephy.” “If she hadn’t interceded on your behalf, the punishment would have been far worse.” I bit my lip, glaring at him, and everything clicked into place. My small attempt at independence, my plan to get revenge on Walter—Rhys had seen it all. With a slight nod, he had crushed all my hope, pushing me into this humiliating, unspeakable position. All to exact revenge for Seraphina. My heart felt fit to burst with rage. But I bowed my head, forcing myself to swallow the burning liquor in one gulp. “Sephy, I was wrong. I apologize.” Only then did Rhys nod in satisfaction, turning to leave with Sephy on his arm. A moment later, a strange, burning heat coursed through my body, and I realized the drink had been spiked. I tried to leave, but Tristan blocked the door, slapping me hard across the face. “Running, are we?” Tristan had already had Devon quietly dispatched. His voice was a triumphant, savage roar. “Let’s see who saves you this time!” Save me? Through my blurring vision, I managed a bitter, hopeless smile. Who had ever saved me? Ever since I became the city’s joke, every step I took had already landed me in this unending hell. I bit down on my lip until it bled, grabbed the liquor bottle, and smashed it against the head of the man tearing at my clothes. I ran, dragging my leaden, injured leg. “Bitch! Get her!” Someone threw a bottle at me; someone else brutally kicked my lower leg. The stabbing pain, coupled with the feverish heat that threatened to overwhelm me, nearly drove me mad. Clutching the last shred of my sanity, I dragged my broken body into an empty supply closet and crammed myself into a utility cabinet. By pure instinct, I clawed out my phone and dialed my emergency contact. He picked up almost instantly, his voice quiet and calm. “Hello?” Fear and the drug made me choke out the words, sobbing. “Rhys, help me!” “I’m sorry, I was wrong, please, you have to save me—” Then Sephy’s voice cut in on the line. “Rhys, darling, I suddenly have a craving for that special gourmet shortbread. Can you go get it for me right now?” I screamed into the phone. “No, Rhys, please listen to me, my leg is broken, they’re trying to—” “Yes, of course.” “Beep—beep—beep…” Rhys had answered Sephy. I buried my head into my knees, letting the sound of despair roar out of me. Just as my consciousness began to fade, I heard footsteps outside the closet, like the approaching drumbeat of the devil.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387606”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day of high school graduation, in front of the entire class, I slapped a stack of cash onto Christian’s chest. “I’ve had my fun. We’re done.” He bent down, picking up the bills one by one from the floor. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Okay.” Summer ended. Christian boarded a train to Harvard Med. I flew to Switzerland to start a grueling round of chemo. Years later, I was back in the States, lying in a hospital bed, bald from the treatment. I was busy scrolling through wigs on my phone when the door opened. Christian, wearing a white coat, walked in. Our eyes met. 1 When Christian walked in, I was in a very undignified position—butt in the air, face buried in the pillow. My phone was blasting a livestream: “Black Friday sale! Don’t miss out, fam!” “Ms. Montez, shopping for wigs again?” The noisy ward fell silent. The nurse pointed at me. “Dr. Vance, this is the new patient for your group. She’s signed the consent forms.” The moment Christian looked over, I froze. My brain went blank. It had been ten years. The man I thought I’d never see again was now my attending physician. And he caught me doing yoga stretches on a hospital bed. Kill me now. I scrambled up, adjusting my crooked face mask. Silence. I didn’t dare look him in the eye, but I could feel his gaze on me. It was cold. Zero warmth. Nothing like the gentle, exasperated look he used to give me when I messed up a math problem. “Ms. Montez, this is Professor Christian Vance. He’ll be in charge of your treatment plan.” I avoided his eyes and gave a quick nod. Didn’t make a sound. The intern next to him, holding a clipboard, started reading my history like a good student. “Luna Montez, female, 28. Ten years ago, a physical revealed enlarged cervical lymph nodes. Initial diagnosis was Non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Further pathology showed—” “Skip the history.” “Huh? Do you know the patient, sir?” My heart was in my throat. I pretended to be busy with my phone. I felt Christian’s gaze land on my ridiculous sheep-horn beanie. After a long pause, he said flatly, “I don’t know her. Her case is unique, so I reviewed it beforehand.” My phone auto-jumped to the checkout page. The payment countdown was ticking. Seconds passed. I zoned out, finger hovering over the “Buy” button but never pressing it. The intern dutifully reported the treatment plan. Christian listened, his tone devoid of emotion. “Okay. Continue current treatment. Re-examine tomorrow.” Then, he moved to the next patient. Rounds lasted twenty minutes. He didn’t look at me again until he left. I moved my stiff neck and realized my back was soaked in sweat. The wig I wanted was sold out because of the distraction. Ugh, just my luck. But the silver lining was: Christian had forgotten me. Even when the intern said my name, he didn’t react. 2 Christian and I didn’t start off on the right foot. Back in high school, I was a rich brat—terrible grades, worse attitude. My homeroom teacher made Christian my desk mate to “influence” me. At first, Christian ignored me. He just did practice tests, over and over. He was smart, nice, handsome. His only flaw was being poor. I was the opposite. Dumb, mean, rich. Sitting next to him, I felt like a brainless ATM. But I had charm. While other girls wrote him love letters, I bought him SAT prep books. I paid for all his study materials. In less than a semester, I bagged him. The day I kissed Christian, it was his birthday. His white shirt was rumpled, his lips stained with my lipstick. He looked down, eyes hooded. “What does this mean?” It was my first time kissing a guy. My brain short-circuited. I stammered, “D-don’t you get it? Be my boyfriend.” Christian’s ears turned red. He whispered, “Okay.” Those days were beautiful. I hated studying, but I sat obediently next to him, letting him tutor me. In a year, my SAT score went up by 300 points. I calculated it—I could get into a college in Boston. No long-distance relationship necessary. If only that physical hadn’t happened… “Ugh—” The sound of me retching echoed in the ward. I hugged the toilet bowl, seeing stars, covered in cold sweat. My bestie patted my back. “This isn’t working. You’re reacting too strongly. I’m getting a doctor.” I grabbed her hand. “Don’t. I’m used to it.” Twenty-seven rounds of chemo abroad, all alone. I survived that. I fought for ten years. Now it’s back. Who knows how much longer I’ll suffer? I didn’t want to be the annoying patient. My bestie wouldn’t let it go. “Isn’t Christian your doctor? I’ll find him. He’ll help.” I hugged her leg. “Girl, please. Be quiet. You should be glad he didn’t recognize me. If he did, he’d prescribe a hundred rounds of chemo just for spite.” “Who told you that you need a hundred rounds?” A cool voice came from behind. I stiffened. I didn’t dare turn around. My bestie sighed in relief. “Dr. Vance, Luna isn’t feeling well—” “It’s a normal reaction to chemo. If she can’t handle it…” I didn’t hear the rest. My brain was screaming: Did he hear what I just said? 3 That evening, a nurse came to give me an anti-nausea shot. She probed, “Do you know Professor Vance?” I flopped onto the bed, dead inside. “Nope. Why?” “He never micromanages like this. He specifically went to the attending physician and ordered this shot for you.” I looked in the mirror. Gaunt. Pale. Sickly. Compared to ten years ago, I looked like a different species. Impossible… Christian has a good memory, but— Wait. He has a great memory. What if he’s holding a grudge? The name “Luna Montez” was on the chart. How could I think he wouldn’t know? My bestie chimed in, “Your Professor Vance is only 28, right? A professor so young?” “Wow, you know your stuff! He did an accelerated MD-PhD program. Graduated at like 26. He’s a unicorn. Regular people can’t compare.” Seeing my bestie’s interest, the nurse laughed. “Planning to chase him? Save your energy. He’s taken.” My bestie winked at me. Then the nurse added, “The Dean’s daughter. Ivy League grad. They might get married any day now.” My bestie’s smile froze. I picked at a loose thread on my hospital gown, suddenly finding it fascinating. After the nurse left, my bestie whispered, “Luna, sorry…” “Eh, what for?” “I’m 28, not 18.” The dream of the cold, aloof genius falling for me died ten years ago. 4 I didn’t see Christian after that. I heard about him, though. Academic conferences, research labs. He did rounds once a week to check meds. Between chemo cycles, patients could go home. So until I was discharged, I didn’t see him. On the way home, my high school class president called. “Luna! You still in Boston? How’s treatment?” Background noise was loud. The class rep jumped in. “Why didn’t you tell us you were sick? If the Prez didn’t mention it, we wouldn’t have known.” I was popular back then. I still kept in touch. I laughed awkwardly. “Didn’t want to bother anyone.” “Don’t say that. Where do you live? We’re coming over tomorrow.” I couldn’t say no. I gave them the address. My parents spent a fortune on my treatment. Thanks to my bestie, I found a cheap rental in the city. First floor, south-facing yard. If I got better, I could plant flowers, maybe get a dog. Most of my classmates stayed in our hometown. Only a few were scattered around. So only five or six people showed up. They brought groceries. “We were gonna do hotpot, but it’s hot. Let’s stir-fry.” I wore a thick beanie. “It’s fine, we have AC. I want hotpot.” Everyone swarmed the kitchen. The house came alive. It felt like graduation all over again. The Prez was washing veggies. “Have you contacted Christian?” I froze. “What?” “Dude, didn’t you know? He’s a hematology expert. specializes in lymphoma. You should ask him.” “Oh, I—” I really didn’t want to get involved with Christian. Then the doorbell rang. The Prez wiped his hands and opened the door. Cheers erupted. “Christian! You made it!” “Whoa, Professor Vance, long time no see.” “Come in! Luna wants hotpot. You’re the expert, can she eat it?” I stood there like an idiot. Unwashed face. No mask. Exposed. I never expected them to invite him. Or for him to see me like this. Christian looked at me calmly. “Clear broth is fine.” “Okay, okay! Clear broth it is!” Everyone got busy again. Christian changed into the slippers the Prez offered. He handed a bag of fruit to someone in the kitchen. The Prez tried to smooth things over. “Hey, let bygones be bygones. Christian, be the bigger man. Don’t hold a grudge against Luna.” Someone shoved a colander of spinach into Christian’s hands. He was pushed onto the sofa opposite me. Suddenly, it was just the two of us in the living room. The AC hummed in the corner. I avoided his eyes, fumbling for the mask in my back pocket. Snap. Christian broke a spinach stem. “I already recognized you. Is there a point in hiding?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387622”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A month before I died, I hired an undertaker online. The reviews said he was a pro—full-service, handled everything. From corpse cleanup to the final shovel of dirt, it was the perfect “one-stop shop” for someone like me, who had no one to collect my body. But when we met, my luck ran out. The undertaker was my ex-boyfriend, the one I dumped five years ago. Enemies on sight. He took one look at me in the hospital bed and waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t care who you are. I’m not burying you.” I scrambled out of bed to block the door before he could leave. “It’s a misunderstanding! I booked it for my grandma!” He stared at me, face like a thundercloud, hesitated for a solid minute, then finally snatched the credit card from my hand with a frown. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He took the money. He signed the contract. When I die, he can’t back out now. 1 I was lying in the hospital bed, waiting to die, when old Mrs. Zhou in the next bed nudged me. “Add this guy on WeChat,” she whispered conspiratorially. “He’s amazing.” “He handled my husband’s funeral. From picking up the body to the burial, he does everything. Even throws in the burial shoes and shroud for free.” “Don’t underestimate a good send-off,” she added. “Get it right, and you’ll have good karma in the next life.” Everyone in our ward was waiting to die. But I was the youngest. When I first arrived, the uncles and aunties pitied me. “So young,” they’d say. “You shouldn’t be here.” But as time passed, they realized I wasn’t sad. So, death became just another topic of conversation. I thought about it and added the contact Mrs. Zhou recommended. I wasn’t counting on karma for the next life. But for this one? Yeah, I needed help. My parents were gone. My grandma had been bedridden for years—she couldn’t even get out of bed, let alone bury me. Funerals are complicated. I tried to plan it myself, but I just didn’t have the energy. I was dying, and I hadn’t even bought an urn. I had some savings left. A full-service package seemed like the way to go. I sent the friend request. Ten minutes later, no response. Finally, a message popped up. Not in the chat, but in the friend request verification box: “What for?” 2 I blinked, double-checking I had the right person. I typed back, explaining I needed a full funeral package. This time, it took him thirty minutes to reply. “?” Still didn’t accept my request. I frowned. I showed my phone to Mrs. Zhou. “Does he not add strangers?” She looked confused. “That’s weird. In his line of work, he adds strangers all the time.” She grabbed her own phone and sent a voice message. “He’s probably just busy. Let me book him for you.” I was getting sleepier by the day. I thanked her and drifted off. I slept fitfully until evening. Snores from the uncles filled the room. I checked my phone—almost 8 PM. Guess he wasn’t coming. My nose felt hot. I touched it—blood. I woke up instantly, grabbing tissues from the nightstand and stumbling to the bathroom. It wasn’t the first time. I was used to it. Apply pressure. Plug with cotton balls. Wait. After a few rounds of soaked cotton, the bleeding stopped. I washed the blood off my hands and neck in the mirror. The ward was quiet. No one saw. Good. If they saw, they’d feel bad for me. And when they felt bad, I felt bad. I leaned against the sink, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Tomorrow, I needed to ask the doctor about discharge. Grandma was alone at home. With whatever time I had left, I wanted to be with her. Once the vertigo faded, I opened the bathroom door. Knock, knock. The doctor’s rounds. I opened the ward door without looking, turning back toward my bed, using the wall for support. But no footsteps followed. I stopped and looked back. A man stood in the doorway. The room was dim, lit only by the nightlight. Maybe it was the shadows, maybe my vision was failing. I couldn’t see his face clearly. 3 I rubbed my eyes. He stood still. Only his eyes moved—cold, disgusted, indifferent—scanning my face. Maybe I was sicker than I thought. I was hallucinating Liam. He looked at me just like he did five years ago. Calm. Detached. Back then, I said, “Let’s break up.” He said, “Okay.” Flat. No emotion. The silence was suffocating. After a while, I realized it wasn’t a hallucination. There were other patients in the room, after all. My palms started sweating. Why did I feel guilty? I forced a smile. “What a… coincidence. Who are you looking for?” My eyes burned. Thank god for the dim lighting. He probably couldn’t see my tears. Five years ago, breaking up hurt. But I never imagined our reunion would be on my deathbed. The indifference on his face vanished, replaced by a flat, professional mask. “Someone booked a funeral service. I’m here to sign the contract.” I froze. Right. Mrs. Zhou’s recommendation. “You… you’re Liam?” Liam stared at me. He didn’t speak. But his eyes screamed: Is this a joke? My brain really was rotting. How slow could I be? Liam hadn’t even changed his WeChat profile picture. It was still the Patrick Star I chose for him years ago. Mrs. Zhou had told me, “This is Liam, the funeral guy.” But I didn’t connect the dots until now. The awkwardness was thick enough to choke on. I stammered, “Sorry… I booked it. I forgot. And… I didn’t know it was you.” Liam let out a cold laugh. “I’m surprised you’re not too good for my services now.” He turned to leave. I pushed off the wall and chased him. “You’re already here! Just sign the contract!” I only had a month. Finding someone else would be a hassle. I didn’t have the energy. Liam probably thought I booked him on purpose. That I was shameless. He stopped at the door, turning back. The hate in his eyes was undisguised now. “Ms. Lin, you flatter me. But unfortunately…” He paused, his voice dropping. “I’ll bury anyone. But I won’t bury you.” 4 That stung. Even dying, I was getting rejected. It hurt more than I expected. I looked down at the contract in his hand. My brain was mush. I babbled, “Business is business. You can’t pick and choose customers.” I couldn’t look up. I didn’t want to see his face. Silence stretched on. Finally, he took the bank card I was holding out. “Don’t contact me for anything other than funeral arrangements,” he said coldly. He turned to leave. I remembered he still hadn’t accepted my friend request. I opened my mouth to call him back. Black spots danced in my vision. I reached out to steady myself and accidentally grabbed his hand. His hand was cold. Or maybe I was burning up again. I noticed a ring on his left ring finger. Five years ago, three months after we broke up, he posted his new girlfriend on social media. Married? Engaged? It wouldn’t be surprising. I felt… something. I didn’t know what. I let go of his hand like it burned me. He seemed to flinch. When he looked back, his face was dark with disgust. “Sorry,” I apologized quickly. “Um… accept the request? So we can coordinate later.” Liam scoffed. “No need. Just pass messages through her.” He meant Mrs. Zhou. I couldn’t speak. I watched him walk away. He wiped the hand I touched on his suit jacket. I bit my lip and looked away. It was just a touch. Was I that disgusting?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387638”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The first time I came home after we remarried and received another one of Xander’s “sister-friend’s” jokes… I didn’t lose my mind. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. Instead, I followed her instructions. I placed a packet of condoms on the nightstand beside my and Alexander’s bed. I arranged a heart on the silk sheets with rose petals. And then, with the thoughtfulness of a concierge, I vacated the apartment for the two of them. When I walked through the door the next morning, I brushed past his sobbing “sister-friend” in the hallway. And then I was hit by the full, icy force of Alexander’s stare. 1 Alexander sat rigid on the living room sofa, a storm gathering in his dark eyes. When he finally spoke to me, his voice was soft, laced with an exhaustion he couldn’t quite hide. “Maya and I genuinely don’t have that kind of relationship.” “I’ve told you countless times, our dynamic is like siblings. She just has a bizarre sense of humor and loves pushing boundaries.” When had the normally reticent Alexander, a man whose words were usually rationed like gold, become this verbose? I was busy wiping off my makeup, offering a casual, noncommittal reply. “Oh. I know.” “Snap!” The packet of condoms was thrown with force onto the coffee table, scattering a few wilted petals. “Then what is this?” His voice was low, strained. “Are you doing this just to deliberately punish me?” He buried his face in his hands, visibly struggling to maintain control. I managed a small, weary smile. You punish someone because you either love them or you hate them. I was already past both. I just didn’t want any trouble. I pulled out my phone and showed him the message Maya had sent me yesterday. “Mama’s back. Better clear out the place so I can make magic with my big boy. Don’t forget the condoms and rose petals, babe, I have standards.” Alexander’s expression froze. He stammered, annoyance overriding his previous control. “And—and if she acts out, you just… follow suit? Are you humoring her?” I almost laughed out loud. Last year, when I went to pick up a drunken Alexander from a night out with Maya, I was chastised because I hadn’t brought one of the cheap toys she’d requested as a gag gift. What had he said then? “Maya just likes to joke. Why can’t you just play along with her?” Now that I was actually playing along, he was upset. But, whatever. I’d promised myself: After the divorce, don’t invite unhappiness back into my life. I yawned, feigning boredom, and managed to paste a fake smile onto my face. “Okay, honey, I got it. I promise I’ll remember. You should get some rest now.” Alexander didn’t move. His gaze was searching, as if trying to drill through the blank façade I’d put up. Finally, he stood, an edge of frantic anxiety in his movements as he tried to pull me into a hug. He buried his head in my neck and murmured. “Avery, please, stop joking like this, okay? I hate it. I don’t want anyone but you.” Sensing the shift to desire, I deliberately misinterpreted his words and pushed him away, firmly. “You can’t? What do you mean, you can’t? You’re so young! Go to bed and rest up, then.” Alexander’s hands, which had been fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, froze. A storm was brewing. The sound of his ringtone cut the tension. Seeing the caller ID, Alexander instantly snapped back to attention. He almost instinctively shielded the screen and walked toward the balcony. His tone was instantly soft, indulgent, and completely devoted. “I’m sorry, alright, my queen? I’m coming now to beg your forgiveness.” Before stepping out, Alexander suddenly turned back. “Take your pills.” Under his intense, unyielding gaze, I obediently shoved the handful of pills into my mouth. Sweet slumber. One deep, dreamless night. 2 I woke up at ten p.m. Alexander had climbed into bed next to me at some point, his voice thick with disappointment. “I texted you. Why didn’t you respond?” “I was sleeping too deeply. Didn’t see it. What’s up?” I casually scooted toward the edge of the bed, only to have Alexander’s arm wrap around my waist. “Nothing. Just wanted to ask: How should we celebrate our anniversary?” I answered without thinking. “Let’s go to that trendy new seafood spot. I heard their Lobster Thermidor is incredible.” A flicker of genuine pain crossed Alexander’s face. “I’m allergic to shellfish, Avery. Did you forget?” Right. He had a sensitive system. Besides shellfish, he couldn’t eat nuts or most gluten products. Because of this, for every anniversary before the last few years, I’d always prepared a massive, elaborate meal myself. But ever since his “sister-friend” came back four years ago, those meals had ended up feeding the trash bin. I stretched lazily, as if nothing was wrong, slipping free of his grip. “Then you’ll have to suck it up and watch me eat.” Alexander’s smile was bitter. His hand reached for me again, but this time only gently stroked my hair. He said, “Fine.” He was being so agreeable. It wasn’t like him at all. On our actual anniversary, the traffic was terrible. As Alexander kept rushing me via text, I scrolled through social media. Maya had posted a photo: She was helping Alexander decorate a private room. The caption: “Playing good little helper for my big boy, helping him trick his wife. Ugh, some women are so high maintenance.” The picture itself showed her sitting intimately on Alexander’s lap. Suddenly, I felt like this whole charade was pointless. I pulled over. The sunset was perfect outside the window. Across the square, a handsome, blonde-haired young man was feeding the pigeons. He noticed me looking, and held up the feed, waving enthusiastically. I was twenty minutes away from meeting Alexander, who was still texting to ask if he needed to send a car. I replied No need, turned off my phone, and walked toward the boy. I got home well past midnight. Alexander was sitting on the sofa, radiating fury. “Where were you?” I answered honestly. “Feeding pigeons.” Alexander shot to his feet. “Feeding pigeons? I booked out an entire restaurant. I waited from five o’clock until closing. And you were feeding pigeons?” “And that’s not all…” He furiously threw a stack of photos at my feet. “Does feeding pigeons require this level of intimacy?” The photos showed me laughing and wrestling playfully with the blonde young man. I just shrugged helplessly. “We were just messing around. If you insist on reading too much into it, there’s nothing I can do.” The entire scene had a bizarre, familiar quality. Two years ago, when I confronted him with photos my friend had sent me—pictures of him and Maya kissing—he had replied with the same exasperated dismissal. “It was just a dare. A stupid game. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” It was a shock to me then that the normally reserved and dignified Alexander would play such childish, idiotic games. But that was all history now. I waved my hand, indicating I wasn’t going to bother explaining anything further. Alexander clenched his fist and slammed the gift box on the table to the floor. A cup tumbled out. It was a limited-edition handcrafted piece I’d spent months trying to track down. While Alexander stormed out to the balcony to smoke and cool off, I quickly picked up the cup to inspect it. Tsk. What a shame. A chip was gone from the rim. I was a little annoyed. So, I decided to go out and make myself happy. 3 At the high-end lounge, I sipped my drink. I began dramatically recounting the whole story of me and Alexander to the eighteen male models I’d hired for the night. Originally, I truly believed Maya was just Alexander’s “bro.” So, when she’d made sexually suggestive jokes to Alexander right in front of me, I’d just laughed along. When she’d gotten inappropriately handsy with him, I believed Alexander when he said she was just being uninhibited because she’d lived abroad for so long. But her jokes became increasingly excessive, flagrantly provocative. It escalated until Alexander’s birthday. She left her worn, intimate underwear as a “gift” and put it on my side of the bed. That was when Alexander and I had our first explosive fight. In my mind, that action severely crossed the line of friendship. It was a direct, aggressive insult. But Alexander only rubbed his temples with irritation, playing it down. “She’s always been like this, Avery. Free-spirited. What do you expect me to do?” I recognized the absolute tolerance in his tone. Tears welled in my eyes as I pleaded. “At least… you could choose not to associate with her.” Alexander, who was usually gentle and affectionate with me, immediately changed. “Avery, you’ve gone too far. You have no right to interfere with my social life!” In that moment, I understood that this so-called “sister-friend” held more weight than me, his wife of five years. He suffered severe motion sickness, yet he accompanied her to amusement parks for rides that left him violently ill. He was meticulous about his work, yet he ditched a crucial, high-stakes meeting just because she’d asked him to watch a meteor shower that might happen. I cycled through constant questioning, screaming, and even begging. All I got in return was Alexander’s growing perfunctory attitude and his increasing tendency to walk out on me. Our arguments became more frequent. I lost control of my emotions more and more often. In our most intense fight, I even grabbed a knife. My love was desperate. Even my threats were directed at myself. As I started to slip, Alexander firmly grabbed the blade with his bare hand. He let his flesh be torn and bloody rather than allow the blade to touch me. My heart softened. I repeatedly told myself, Maybe I’m the one being too paranoid. Xander loves me. I must be misunderstanding him and Maya. Another year, another Alexander birthday. The party was set for the rooftop of a downtown restaurant. Before leaving, I carefully placed a positive pregnancy test into a gift box—my ultimate surprise. I hoped this baby could repair the rift between us. Surprisingly, Maya didn’t cause any trouble before the party started. Everything seemed to be moving in a positive direction. Until I stepped into the elevator that led to the rooftop. The elevator reached the top floor, but the doors never opened. The emergency button, coincidentally, was broken. I have severe claustrophobia. The elevator cab was small, stiflingly hot, and pitch black. Within minutes, I was struggling to breathe, near total suffocation, my body slick with cold sweat. I frantically tried to call Alexander. All I heard was a busy signal. Maybe it’s too loud and he can’t hear it, I tried to reassure myself. I tried to control my breathing, my mind racing to find a way to save myself. But the next second, the elevator suddenly plunged. I screamed, shrinking into a corner in pure despair. I thought I was going to die. And in my heart, I was still regretting that I wouldn’t get to see Alexander one last time. The elevator stopped smoothly only when it reached the sub-level garage. The doors opened. I raised my head, dazed, but instantly understood everything when I saw Maya’s openly triumphant face. Alexander was standing right next to her. Seeing me drenched in sweat, his expression flickered. “That joke went too far, Maya.” Maya punched him lightly, dismissively, on the arm. “Daddy was just getting revenge for your birthday, remember? Don’t you get it?” She pointed to Alexander’s right hand, which was wrapped in a thick bandage. “Look at what this bitch did to your hand! If you don’t teach her a lesson now, she’ll think she can walk all over you.” Shaken to the core, I stumbled out of the elevator. On a monitor to the side, a recording played back every moment of my humiliating panic attack in the elevator. Alexander had known. He had allowed it. Alexander walked toward me, reaching out to steady my trembling body. I pushed him away with all my strength. Maya grumbled, annoyed. “Stop being such a drama queen. It’s pathetic.” I slapped her across the face. She screamed, turning on Alexander with a look of pure rage. “Are you going to control your crazy wife or not?” Alexander pulled me tightly into his embrace. “Enough, Avery. Let it go. Don’t think about it. Maya didn’t mean anything by it.” He didn’t even suggest that Maya apologize. The miscarriage report came out the next day. The divorce papers landed on Alexander’s desk the day after. This time, no matter what he said, I only had one cold reply: “Sign them.” Three months later, tired of the endless argument, Alexander slapped the signed divorce papers onto my desk. I got what I wanted. I took another sip of my drink, pausing the story. It was strange. Those memories, which had once been so agonizing, now felt distant, like watching a stranger’s story through glass. The young male models, however, were teary-eyed, wiping their faces and loudly indignant. “That guy is the absolute worst! You’re amazing, Miss, and he didn’t deserve you.” I nodded in agreement. “He really was the worst. Now, come on, let me feel those abs.” “BANG!” The door was kicked open. Alexander walked in, his face absolutely livid.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387654”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I fell for my best friend’s rival. The day I finally confessed, my best friend’s eyes went red, her face shifting through a kaleidoscope of shock and betrayal. In the end, she forced out a tight, biting, “Congratulations.” But afterward, she turned all her focus on Reid. She sparred with him academically, then ruthlessly sabotaged him in the corporate world. I thought she resented him for stealing the top spot in my life, the one she’d always coveted. It wasn’t until our fifth year of marriage that she and Reid slept together. I screamed. I cried. I begged. But they only escalated their cruelty. Eventually, I was exhausted. I chose to walk away and grant them their twisted peace. Years later, I returned home for a Stanton University alumni event. A strange little boy tumbled into my arms, his face a startling, miniature replica of Reid’s. Our former class president laughed upon seeing us. “Is this yours and Reid’s kid? I always knew you two had a spark, even back then.” He chuckled conspiratorially. “I used to joke that even though you were always bottom of the class, you had a best friend who was number two, and a boyfriend who was number one!” I was about to correct him when my old best friend, Blair, rushed over, grabbing the boy and clutching him tight. “Finn! Why did you run off? You scared Mommy half to death!” Reid was right behind her. He froze the moment his eyes landed on my face. “Sierra, you’re alive?” 1 Blair’s head snapped up, her expression a mask of pure, visceral shock. To them, I had been lost at sea five years ago. Drowned. I offered them a slow, distant smile. “My luck held out. I just swallowed a lot of saltwater.” Blair, ever the quick study, regained her composure instantly. She shook the little boy in her arms gently. “Finn, this is Aunt Sierra. You should call her Godmother.” We’d once promised that if we married, we’d catch each other’s bouquets, and if we had children, we’d be the godmothers. The boy, Finn, shyly whispered, “Godmother.” I didn’t acknowledge it. Turning to the class president, I simply said I had an appointment and prepared to leave. The president, sensing the toxic atmosphere hanging over the three of us, was eager to see me go. Reid, however, was determined to follow. “Sierra, where are you headed? I can drive you.” Blair’s lip twitched almost imperceptibly, but she said, “Yes, it’s not safe for you alone. You don’t even drive.” I inwardly scoffed. After all these years, she still saw me as the helpless, flighty girl. But a free ride was a free ride. On the way, Reid kept peppering me with questions about my life. I kept my answers clipped and minimal. I told him I was rescued and survived. I told him I’d been living overseas, selling my art. I was back now because a long-time buyer wanted to meet in person. Reid’s voice suddenly climbed an octave. “Man or woman? Are you sure they’re trustworthy? You need to keep your guard up.” I didn’t spare his feelings. “Friends I’ve known for years aren’t trustworthy. A husband I shared a bed with isn’t trustworthy. How, then, can I judge a stranger?” Reid fell silent. Blair’s face turned an ugly shade of gray. When we arrived at my place, I got out, collected my bags, and then turned back toward the car, stopping beside the little boy, Finn. He had Reid’s eyes and Blair’s mouth. The moment I reached a hand toward him, Blair reacted, pulling Finn tight into her chest, her eyes wide with terror. “What are you doing? You want my child to pay for your revenge? He’s innocent!” Reid warned my name, his voice low and dangerous. I simply reached out and plucked a small, hard fruit stone from Finn’s lips. “I was afraid he’d end up like my child—choked and suffocated, with adults right there, too blind to save him.” Their faces went white. The silence was absolute. Back inside my home, I checked my messages. Mr. Albright had confirmed our meeting. He genuinely admired my work; over the years, he’d observed every new piece I created, even if he didn’t buy it. I was back for him, yes. But I was also here to finish a much older, darker piece of business. I met Mr. Albright in a quiet, upscale coffee shop. He looked to be in his late fifties, with a kind, reserved face. “Ms. Wyatt,” he said warmly. “I see so many stories in your paintings. They make me deeply curious about you.” He paused, looking around the nearly empty shop. “Would I be privileged enough to hear some of them?” I nodded. 2 In high school, I was still Sierra Wyatt, the spoiled heiress who had no worries. While my classmates were pulling all-nighters and drowning in stress, I was only interested in painting and partying. Reid, however, was the polar opposite. He was the undisputed number one student—brilliant, disciplined, and politically adept. At first, I found him utterly pretentious. Then Blair arrived. She came from a poor background and was fiercely academic, working a job every evening to help her family. I was impressed. I convinced my father to establish a scholarship specifically for students like her. I wanted to keep it anonymous. But the teacher, in front of the entire class, made a point of announcing my donation and forced Blair to bow and thank me. Looking back, I believe that public moment of forced gratitude was when Blair started to resent me. But I was oblivious. I poured my heart out to her, treating her like the sister I never had. Blair’s biggest aspiration was to beat Reid and claim the number one spot. But Reid was an insurmountable fortress. She was always second. After yet another loss, Blair broke down crying. To cheer her up, I tried everything I could think of. “It’s okay,” I’d announced dramatically. “I’ll just start dating Reid! I’ll distract him, ruin his grades, and you can finally win!” Reid, passing by, scoffed. “Sierra, you’re too clueless. You don’t even know how to flirt. Need me to show you how?” And that’s how we ended up together. My senior year was the year my life shattered. My father’s business went bankrupt, and he killed himself. In my deepest despair, Reid and Blair were my anchors. Reid swore he would take over my father’s role, promising to be the one person in the world who would always love me. Blair let me stay in her tiny apartment and worked tirelessly to tutor me. I pulled myself together. I started studying like my life depended on it, and by the time the SATs arrived, I was confident I could get into a decent college. Then the accident happened. Despite checking and double-checking everything, I couldn’t find my No. 2 pencil for the Scantron sheet. Leaving the testing center, I slapped myself, convinced I was the most utterly worthless person alive. Again, Reid and Blair were there. They encouraged me until I moved past the trauma. They both went on to Stanton University, the country’s best. I decided higher education wasn’t for me, so I took a job bussing tables near campus. Reid would come straight from class to help, and soon, customers assumed he was the employee. He constantly talked about our future. We’d marry right after graduation. He’d earn enough money to buy me the best art supplies and keep me a carefree, sheltered art patron. But I felt a creeping sense of insecurity. I begged Blair to keep an eye on Reid for me. Blair looked at me with an unreadable, deep expression, a forced, unnatural smile pulling at her lips. I remember feeling smug, thinking I was successfully “showing off” my perfect relationship. I urged her to start dating, too. “No need,” she’d said. “I already have someone I like.” It took years to finally understand that smile, and to know exactly who that person was. It was already too late. 3 Reid and I married right after he graduated. But reality was far harsher than his dreams. He worked himself to the bone to earn money, coming home exhausted every night, collapsing into sleep the moment his head hit the pillow. To ease his burden, I learned to cook, clean, and manage the house. I had never realized how much labor was involved in keeping a home. The endless cycle of meals, laundry, and cleaning. They were all small things, but stacked together, they were enough to drown me. By the time the financial pressure finally eased, our daughter, Skye, was born. I named her Skye, wanting her to be calm and serene. But she was a whirlwind of energy, always crying and restless. Every night, I had to walk the length of the living room, holding her, for hours until she finally drifted off. By the time I slipped into bed, Reid’s hand would be reaching for me. “Honey, it’s been too long since we…” Despite my physical and emotional exhaustion, I dutifully submitted. But the moment of climax was always ruined by Skye’s first whimper. I’d instantly push Reid away, scrambling naked off the bed to comfort her. I never saw the look of pure annoyance on his face as he lay behind me. Life had successfully chipped away at the clueless princess, turning me into a killjoy of a housewife. For my birthday that year, Reid brought home the most expensive set of oil paints. I glanced around the house. “We’re out of diapers,” I said flatly. “You should have bought diapers.” Meanwhile, Blair was carving a bloody path through the corporate world. She and Reid joined the same firm, and she clung to her old rivalry, fighting him at every turn. And she was still losing. Once, she prepared a flawless presentation, grinding on the pitch for weeks, but the CEO still chose Reid’s plan. Blair called me, sobbing hysterically. “Why can’t I ever beat him, Sierra? Why? After all these years, can’t I just win once?!” I shot Reid a dirty look, preparing to go comfort her. But Skye wrapped herself around my legs, refusing to let me go. I resignedly sent Reid instead. “She’s a woman drinking alone at a bar; it’s not safe. You caused this mess; you clean it up.” Reid’s hands paused on the remote. He looked at me, a searching quality in his eyes. “Are you sure you want me to go?” “Of course.” Reid looked like he was making the most momentous decision of his life. “Fine,” he said. He turned back and looked at me several times before walking out the door. I didn’t sense the earthquake coming. I was just there, cooing at my daughter, telling her silly stories. The true catastrophe began that night. Reid never came home. When he finally returned the next morning, I was already cooking. He mumbled some excuses about Blair being a drunken mess and how he’d been so exhausted getting her back to her place that he just passed out on the floor. His tone was calm and believable. Blair was my best friend. I accepted the lie easily. In the days that followed, Reid’s “overtime” and “business trips” became more frequent. At first, I assumed the company was just busy. Then, I started to notice things. A foreign hair on his jacket. A strange, sharp perfume that wasn’t mine. Finally, when I found a discarded, opened condom wrapper in his pants pocket, I knew. He was cheating. Shattered and enraged, I drove to Reid’s office and staged a scene. I cried, I screamed, I lay on the floor, demanding he name the woman. Reid’s face was pure disgust. “Sierra, I provide for you! I put a roof over your head! I let you be a homemaker so you didn’t have to worry about a thing, and this is how you repay me? By making baseless accusations?” He pulled out his phone, flipped on the camera, and pointed it at my face. “Look at yourself! What do you look like right now? A hysterical shrew!” 4 On his phone screen, I saw a stranger: my hair was a wild mess, my skin sallow. My outdated dress was stained with unwashed grease spots. Behind me, the female employees were immaculate, their makeup perfect, their business suits crisp. They radiated the aura of competent professionals. Their stares were a mix of pity and contempt. Blair emerged from the crowd. “Sierra, don’t make a scene. This is pathetic.” Reid yelled, “Let her! She just wants me to get fired so the whole family starves! Go on, do it! Start a live stream! Let everyone see!” It was then I realized I had no ammunition left. I’d been out of the workforce since high school. With just a high school diploma, I had zero leverage. If I divorced him, he’d easily win custody of our daughter. A cold clarity washed over me. I crawled up from the floor. “I’m done. I’m going home.” After that day, I became subservient, terrified of provoking Reid. He grew bolder—lipstick smudges on his shirt were common. Yet, I clung to him, desperately afraid he would abandon me. My only defense was Skye. I tried to use her to appeal to his vanishing affections. Reid did love his daughter, though. When he wasn’t busy, he would even take her to the office. One afternoon, he took her again. I finished my chores and started scrolling through my phone. Purely by chance, I stumbled across a viral thread. The title read: The Rivalry: Years of Hate, Decades of Lust. I clicked it open. The first line hit me like a physical blow: “No one understood that the eternal runner-up didn’t want the top spot—she just wanted the number one student’s attention.” My heart plummeted. My mind flashed. I raced to the rest of the post. “After losing to him at work again, I went to a bar to drink. He came to comfort me. He asked what I needed. I told him to kiss me. And he did.” “From high school until now, he rejected my advances ten thousand times. But on the ten thousand and first, he accepted. I took him home, and we spent the night making up for all that lost time.” “The top spot I could never reach finally became my conquest.” I felt the blood drain from my body. Blair loved Reid. Reid’s mistress was Blair. I lost all control. I tore to Reid’s office and barged into his suite. Groans and muffled sounds were immediately audible from the inner office. I kicked the door open. Blair was sitting on Reid’s lap, their clothes in disarray. Blinded by fury, I grabbed every object in sight and hurled it at them. A ceramic figurine struck Blair on the forehead. She started bleeding. Tears streamed down my face. If Reid’s betrayal was a freezing wind, Blair’s was a total annihilation of hope. “We were best friends! How could you do this to me?” Blair wiped the blood from her temple, her gaze icy. “I never considered you a friend.” Her voice was flat. “You were a spoiled, useless girl. All you were good at was condescension and charity.” “I hated you from the first day we met.” I tried desperately to deny it. “If you hated me, why did you take me in after my dad died? Why did you tutor me?” Blair laughed—a harsh, empty sound. “Because I like to fatten the rabbit before the slaughter. Why do you think you checked for that No. 2 pencil so many times and still didn’t find it? I took it outside the testing center!” “What?” The ground fell out from under me. Blair giggled, lightly shaking Reid. “We have a witness, don’t we, R.J.? You saw me take the pencil, didn’t you?” Reid’s face stiffened. He looked away. “Don’t be shy! You didn’t tell Sierra back then, which is how I knew—you’ve always loved me.” Suddenly, my circulation seemed to reverse. My limbs went limp. I nearly collapsed. “I’m going to—I’m going to report you…” Reid’s face darkened. “Sierra! Enough! Think about our daughter!” Then his expression shifted. He started looking around frantically. Our daughter? Skye? She was supposed to be here. We checked the security footage. We found Skye’s body hidden under the coffee table. While Reid and Blair were engaging in their sordid affair, they’d left Skye alone with a bowl of dried fruit. Skye choked on a hard fruit stone. She pounded on the door, trying to call for help, but her desperate pleas were drowned out by their ecstatic sounds. She tried to reach the water glass on the table, but she was too small. She died silently, just a few feet away from her father. When I finished telling the story, there was a stunned silence in the coffee shop, followed by muffled sobs. Mr. Albright sighed heavily. “I had no idea you’d endured so much, Ms. Wyatt.” He looked at me, heartbroken. “Five years have passed. Do you still hate your ex-husband?” I took a slow sip of my coffee, a subtle smile touching my lips. “Is that all Reid Jefferson—or rather, your employer—wanted to know?” Mr. Albright froze, his professional composure shattering. “What employer? I don’t know what you mean.” I walked past him and approached a patron who had been sitting quietly at a corner table the entire time. I reached down and pulled off the man’s surgical mask.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387670”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After being killed by the psychopath male lead seven times, my mental state finally collapsed. On the eighth attempt, the male lead asked me to guess which straw he was holding. “Guess the shortest one, and I won’t kill you.” I kept a poker face and pointed to his crotch. 1. “Ha… I asked you to guess the straw!” Rain’s mouth twitched, annoyance overflowing from his narrowed eyes. I was numb from being killed, already in a state of living death. “Not the shortest?” Rain’s smile froze, murderous intent spreading and swelling in the silence. I closed my eyes, calmly accepting death. The previous seven times, I wracked my brains to please Rain, willingly becoming his lapdog. But every time, Rain killed me without mercy. I was tired. Really tired. When the system transported me back again, my brain didn’t want to work anymore. If I die, I die. It’s not like I haven’t died before. I really didn’t have the energy to play games with this psychopathic male lead anymore. I waited for a long time, but Rain didn’t act. I quietly opened one eye a slit, and Rain’s beautiful, bewitching face was magnified in front of me. I didn’t know when he had gotten so close, staring at me with eyes that wanted to devour me. “Very good.” Me: “What’s very good? The faint look of death on my face?” But Rain didn’t answer. He left me and left the great hall. Several maids came in and took me, tied up, to the bath. It wasn’t until they started stripping off my clothes that I realized Rain really wasn’t going to kill me this time. “This… what does giving me a bath mean?” The maids serving me didn’t speak, just lowered their heads and giggled. Just like that, I was washed clean and smooth, and delivered to Rain’s bed. Fuck… did the strategy work? 2. Short. It was really short. Of course, I’m not talking about anything else. I’m talking about the time. It was too short. I didn’t even have time to fight three hundred rounds with Rain before it was over. Rain and I lay naked on the bed like two dying fish, gasping for air. As for why I say dying fish, besides the heavy panting, we were both red all over as if we’d been cooked. I guess Rain was embarrassed. Regardless of whether it was because it was short or because it was his first time doing this, his good cool white skin instantly turned into hot pig skin. As for me, I just felt a hundred million points… embarrassed. I knew such a shocking secret about Rain. Would he get angry from embarrassment and kill me again? But before Rain could act, that damn system of mine came online unprecedentedly early. “Host, congratulations on completing the mission.” Surprise was followed by immense joy. So Rain was the heartless sword master who never got close to women. Once his heart was moved and the precept was broken, my conquest mission was complete. If I had known Rain liked the perverted type, I wouldn’t have pretended! Ah, no… I didn’t mean that I was perverted. I was transported back to the real world. Looking at the extra one million in my bank account, I smiled happily. I remitted money to my best friend’s bank account. Hearing that I had been killed seven times, my best friend felt very sorry for me. “Baby, it must have hurt a lot, right? This system is too stingy. You died so many times for only one million!” I sighed helplessly. “There’s no helping it. Now there are too many raiders, and it’s too competitive. The price of raid orders is falling. One million is already a sky-high price.” My best friend said indignantly, “For a raid mission of Rain’s level and difficulty, let alone one million, two more zeros are what you deserve!” That’s right! I started refreshing new raid missions, but because I hadn’t been able to grab a suitable mission order, the system couldn’t be summoned. Near midnight, I couldn’t stay up any longer. I set the alarm for the next morning and fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow. I rarely dreamed. Perhaps it was because I had finally won this one-million raid mission, my brain was still in a very excited state. So, I dreamed of Rain. In the dream, Rain and I made love from moonset until dawn. When it was over, I leaned against the headboard and smoked a cigarette, not forgetting to pull Rain, who had shrunk under the covers, out and tease him. “Why wasn’t it short this time?” Rain’s face was cold, his lips trembled, and the tips of his ears were about to bleed. “Ring!” I suddenly opened my eyes and met Rain’s murderous black eyes. I was fucking shocked! I said how could this voice be so real? Did Rain hear me talking in my sleep?! Ah, no! Rain was fucking in front of me!! 3. I, Ring, have been in the raiding world for so many years, but this was the first time I had seen a target character run out of the novel world! It was really ridiculous. His mother opened the door for ridiculous, ridiculous home! Rain slowly straightened up, curled his lips slightly, and wrote the blackening on his face. “How have you been, Ring?” Done. I’m going to be avenged! I called the system to no avail, so I instinctively made a decision. I threw myself into Rain’s arms and coquettishly whispered in his ear. “Lord Sword Master, I missed you so much!” Didn’t everyone think I was going to continue to be Rain’s lapdog? I expressionlessly inserted the knife from Rain’s back straight to his heart. The transformation before and after was only an instant. Rain didn’t seem to expect me to kill him. The evil spirit around him suddenly collapsed, like a withered log. He fell straight onto my bed, unable to even say a word. “I meant I wanted you dead, Lord Sword Master.” I calmly pulled the knife out from Rain’s back and began to think about how to dispose of Rain’s body. Although he was a paper man, this was still a society governed by law. No one would believe I killed a paper man. I would only be arrested as a murderer and shot. Not worth it. Fortunately, Rain’s body slowly turned into bright powder and dissipated. Could it be because he was a paper man? I called the system again, wanting to ask clearly about this matter. But this dog thing, the system, not only pretended to be dead when doing tasks, but was even more thoroughly dead when not doing tasks. I gave up, intending to ask when I received the next mission. That night, I dreamed again. I still dreamed of Rain. He was dressed in loose clothes, his skin snow-white, lying lazily on the chaise longue, his posture seductive, but he looked at me with a pair of resentful eyes. “Ring, you ruthless woman…” I was subconsciously worried that he would appear in front of me again, and tried hard to break free from the dream. After waking up, I immediately inspected the whole house, and finally felt relieved. Fortunately, Rain didn’t appear again… Ding, morning news push. I habitually opened my phone and scanned the news while feeding toast into my mouth. Slap— The toast dropped onto the table without warning. I stared at the picture in the news with wide eyes. Morning News: This morning, a man in ancient costume and three drunken men had a conflict for unknown reasons. The man in ancient costume was stabbed seven times and died on the spot. The three drunken men have been arrested. The identity of the man is yet to be verified… That man in ancient costume who was hacked to death in the street… was fucking Rain?! 4. My best friend pointed at the news and let out a long “Ah,” extremely shocked. “You mean your one-million raid target ran to the real world, was killed by you yesterday, and was hacked seven times by someone and died again today?!” I rubbed my temples. “I don’t know what’s going on. Could it be that he also installed the system?” My best friend: “No way? He also became a raider? Who is he going to raid? It won’t be you, my treasure, will it?” My mouth twitched. “So crazy… It would be more like he came to kill me.” My best friend pondered. “Maybe, just maybe, he came to prove himself?” Me: “Prove what?” My best friend: “It’s not that short!” Me: “…” My best friend and I explored to no avail. All the reasons could only be known after the system came online. Although I wasn’t sure if Rain would come again, the fact that he, a heartless sword master, could be killed by me and three drunks proved one thing. Rain had no ability as a heartless sword master in the real world. He was just an ordinary person. So even if he came, I didn’t need to be too afraid. At night, I dreamed of Rain again. This time I went up and stripped off his clothes, pressed him on the chaise longue and kneaded him to my heart’s content. “Ring, how dare you treat me like this! I’ll kill you!” I pinched his chin and bit his lips fiercely. Blood immediately dyed his lips deeper. “This is my dream. How can you kill me?” Rain glared at me in exasperation, as if he wanted to eat me. But he could only use magic attacks on me and play lip service. He was pressed to death by me, unable to exert a single physical attack, and was eaten clean by me bit by bit like that. The next day I was woken up by a knock on the door. I got out of bed in a daze to open the door. “Ring—” The man standing at the door gnashed his teeth, looking like he was about to break in. I slammed the door shut with a slap, completely sober. Damn, what a lingering spirit! Rain! Looking at him like that, he wished he could tear me to pieces. He wouldn’t have come to take revenge on me for last night’s torture, would he? How is it possible? That was my dream!!!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387686”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel