Category: English

On a variety show, the host randomly checked the seventh photo in the guests’ phones. I showed a picture of Arthur’s brand-new Rolls-Royce. The “innocent little white flower” actress instantly teared up: “Elena, I know you usually target me, but could you please not pretend to be associated with my boyfriend’s car?” I was stunned: “Since when did the guy at my house get a girlfriend without me knowing?” The little white flower cried and called Arthur right there: “Hubby, someone is bullying me…” There was a pause on the other end, then Arthur’s voice came through, deadly serious: “Who? Where are you? I’m flying back to the country right now to find you.” My jaw dropped. The internet exploded: [I knew Elena was just clout-chasing again!] [Bet you didn’t expect this! You can’t just use CEO Vance for clout!] [CEO Vance spoils her so much! You two need to get married right now! Make Elena choke on her jealousy!] No, seriously, I just didn’t know when my little brother secretly started dating my arch-nemesis! 1 My jaw-dropped expression was quickly turned into a meme and trended online. [Hahaha! Does Elena actually think Chloe is joking with her? Does she think Chloe is a clout-chaser just like her?] [Does she really think she can use CEO Vance for clout? LMAO, this meme is the best of the year!] [Hahahaha, this is so satisfying to watch! I love seeing this fake bitch get slapped in the face by Chloe!] The live stream chat was scrolling crazily. I immediately ran out of the studio and into my dressing room. [Is she too ashamed to show her face now?] [Seeing her get humbled is so satisfying!] I closed the dressing room door and immediately called Arthur. His voice sounded a bit rushed: “Sis, something urgent came up. We’ll talk later.” “Let me guess, your girlfriend is getting bullied?” Arthur froze: “Sis, how did you know?” “Are you out of your mind, dating a woman like her?!” “Sis, you don’t understand. She’s the most special girl I’ve met in my twenty-five years.” I almost choked: “She’s an actress! What can’t she act out? Let me tell you, I know exactly what kind of person Chloe is. Break up with her right now!” “She’s not acting!” Arthur sounded completely self-righteous: “Even when she’s drunk, she tells me she loves me!” I felt a block in my chest: “What’s so hard about that? I can act that out too. I love you, I love you, I love you!” “Are you crazy? What kind of psychotic fit is this?!” Arthur got goosebumps and hung up the phone directly. Puffing my cheeks in anger, I turned around, only to find someone already standing at the door of my dressing room. Chloe had one hand covering her mouth and the other holding her phone, looking incredibly innocent: “Sister, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here too.” I sneered: “Funny, I seem to recall you staring right at me when I walked into this room.” “Sister, you…” Chloe’s eyes instantly turned red. The live chat went crazy: [Ahhh! You psycho, stay away from Chloe!] [I’m so sick of this fake bitch. Terrible acting, terrible personality. She’s the one who tried to steal Chloe’s boyfriend first!] I had no interest in playing these petty games, so I turned and left. But unexpectedly, in the short time it took me to touch up my makeup, the trending topics exploded again. I clicked on it. It was a three-second video of my “confession” to Arthur. Trending Title: Arthur Vance: Are you crazy? What kind of psychotic fit is this?! Elena attempts to be the other woman, gets fiercely reprimanded as a psycho by Arthur Vance. My vision went black. 2 The dressing room had excellent soundproofing and privacy. The only person who could have filmed that video was Chloe, who opened the door at the very end. The video started recording exactly when I “confessed.” It made it look like I was crazily telling Arthur “I love you,” only for him to avoid me like the plague. Thinking of this, I sought out Chloe and showed her the three-second video: “You secretly recorded me?” Chloe quickly smiled: “Sister, don’t misunderstand. I just happened to be taking a selfie and accidentally…” “If you were taking a selfie, why was the camera pointed at me? And if it was an accident, why did you post it?” Chloe’s face paled. She just realized that admitting she filmed it was the same as admitting she leaked it. But her persona had always been the harmless, innocent little white flower. Her eyes reddened, and tears suddenly fell: “Sister, I’m begging you, please stop pestering my boyfriend, okay? I’ve tried to persuade you for so long, but you wouldn’t listen. I’m not good at arguing, and I really didn’t have any other choice, that’s why I… “This is the first time I’ve met a boy I like so much. I’m begging you…” I cut her off: “That act works on him, but it doesn’t work on me. “Play enough dirty tricks, and you’ll eventually be found out. It’s only a matter of time before he dumps you. Watch yourself.” With that, I turned and walked away. The premise of this variety show was experiencing rural life. As I was preparing for the next leg of our trip into the countryside, my manager called me: “My little troublemaker, can you please lay low? It’s only been a little while, and you’re already on your third trending topic!” I hurriedly opened my phone. The number one trending topic had a glaring “Explosive” tag next to it: Elena threatens Chloe Just moments ago, an audio recording was leaked, supposedly by a staff member of the show. It was the exact conversation I just had with Chloe. But I was absolutely certain that only Chloe and I were present at the time. My social media was being bombarded. [Lady, take a good look. Chloe is the girlfriend personally acknowledged by CEO Vance! And you’re telling her to watch herself?] [Homewreckers deserve to die, along with their whole families.] [I was wondering who it was. Turns out it’s you, you fake bitch. Well, that’s not surprising then. Hope your whole family drops dead soon.] … Meanwhile, Chloe started a live stream from her car. The corners of her eyes were slightly red, tears glimmering in them, yet she smiled “stubbornly”: “Everyone, please stop saying that. There must be some misunderstanding between me and Sister. “If anyone else gets hurt because of me, I’ll be very sad too.” The netizens were heartbroken: [Ahhh, baby, you can’t be too kind! Elena is targeting you on purpose! Don’t speak up for her! Ahhh!] [Baby is so sweet, my heart aches for her sob! I’m going straight to Elena’s page to curse her out!] [Protect the best baby in the world! Elena deserves to die a horrible death!] I sat in my car, my vision darkening repeatedly. So, I called Arthur. 3 “Break up with her. Break up with her right now!” I got straight to the point. Arthur was completely confused: “Sis, I told you, this is true love.” “Are you completely blind to her ability to manipulate public opinion against me? Have you even looked at the trending topics?” “Oh come on, Sis, when are you not getting cursed out online? I’m used to it for you.” …He actually had a point. “It’s fine, Sis. When I get back, I’ll treat you both to dinner and clear up the misunderstanding. Chloe is a really good person. She’s definitely not what you think.” “Forget it. I have more experience surviving in the entertainment industry than you have signed contracts.” “Isn’t your ‘experience’ just getting yelled at?” “You!” “Alright, alright, Sis. How about you just retire from the industry? Look at the terrible movies you’ve been starring in.” I argued back vehemently: “What do you mean terrible movies?! If I put effort into acting in them, they’re not terrible!” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you put effort in, but you inherited Mom’s acting skills!” I had no comeback for that. Arthur laughed: “Alright, Sis, come back and take over the family business. You’d earn way more doing this than struggling in the entertainment industry. And it would make my life easier. Why suffer out there?” “No! I didn’t join the entertainment industry to make money. I did it for Liam!” “…” 4 It’s true, I had no need to enter the entertainment industry. My parents nagged me every day to take over the family business and work with Arthur to make the company even bigger and stronger. But I stubbornly chose the entertainment industry, all so I could get up close and personal with my idol, Liam Sterling. The star who was the same age as me and whom I had been a fan of for five years. To avoid unnecessary trouble, I never publicly announced my relationship with Arthur. I took my mother’s maiden name, while Arthur took our father’s. So for all these years, no one ever suspected we were related. I never expected things to turn into such a massive farce now. I suddenly felt deeply regretful. As the guiding figure in my younger brother’s life, I used to watch him like a hawk to ensure he didn’t date in high school. I didn’t realize that the consequence of missing out on young romance would make him so easily seduced by a manipulative woman. I sat in the car, rubbing my forehead in regret: “If I had known, I would have let him date more back then!” 5 However, the gloom in my heart was quickly swept away. Because the moment I stepped out of the car, I learned the identity of today’s mystery guest. “Liam?!” I cried out in surprise: “Is it him? Is it really him?” A staff member gave me a disdainful look, snorted coldly, and walked away. The entire production crew had been treating me coldly ever since I supposedly “stole” Chloe’s boyfriend. Later, when they realized this attitude earned them unanimous praise from netizens, they looked down on me even more. I didn’t care. After surviving in this industry for so long, I had endured plenty of eye rolls and mockery. Liam was the only one worth my attention. The moment Liam stepped out of his car, everyone let out a piercing scream of excitement. I dashed forward and handed him a gold-rimmed photo card: “Mr. Sterling, I’m a huge fan! Could I get an autograph?” He pulled down his mask and smiled: “Sure.” He took the card, casually scribbled something on it, and handed it back to me. Just as I was about to carefully put it away as a treasure, I saw what he wrote. Two words: [Dumb bitch] I froze. I looked up. He was glaring at me with contempt, letting out a cold laugh. “Liam!” An excited voice interrupted my thoughts. Chloe’s car had also arrived. The moment she stepped out of the car, she dashed over and threw herself into his arms: “It’s really you! Weren’t you filming somewhere else?” Liam caught her and spun her around in a circle: “I knew you were here, so I came specifically for you. Or, I just had a sudden whim to join this variety show. Which one do you want to hear?” The live chat scrolled frantically: [Let me say it! Let me say it! He came specifically for you! For you, for you, for you!] [So smooth! sobs…] Chloe pouted her lips, furrowed her brows, and feigned anger: “You’re teasing me again!” Liam smiled and tapped her nose: “Still so easily angered.” I frowned: “Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Liam protectively shielded Chloe behind him and gave me a disdainful smile: “Chloe and I are childhood sweethearts. We’ve supported each other since we were kids to get where we are today. “I hope Ms. Elena doesn’t project her own dirty mind onto everything she sees.” 6 The live chat started its carnival again: [Classic Liam! He can spot a bitch from a mile away!] [Quote of the day: Just because someone likes being a homewrecker doesn’t mean everyone else does, okay?!] [They are childhood sweethearts, they’ve always been like this. A certain someone named Elena shouldn’t be so quick to project her own flaws onto others.] I was furious. Just as I was about to say something, my assistant suddenly pulled me aside: “Elena, calm down. He just landed the lead role in a massive Hollywood IP. So many people are willing to back him up. If you clash with him, you’ll be the one who loses out.” “Massive IP?” I laughed out of pure anger. My assistant nodded: “Yes, a mysterious billionaire fan of his invested a fortune in him. I heard the billionaire has very high hopes for him. If you anger him, we can’t afford the consequences.” “Hah! The investment was because they respected his acting skills. Who said he gets to walk sideways and act like he owns the place?” My assistant smiled, looking at me with a hint of pity: “Elena, it’s better not to try and guess the thoughts of billionaires.” “I don’t need to guess,” I laughed coldly. “I’m withdrawing the investment right now.” “Elena, you… sigh!” My assistant sighed and shook her head: “How have you become so delusional that you can’t even tell who you are anymore?” With that, she turned and walked away. When she met a colleague, there was another sigh: “Elena has lost her mind. She actually thinks she’s Mr. Sterling’s investor. “Do you think getting yelled at so much recently has driven her crazy? First, she thought she was CEO Vance’s girlfriend, and now she’s hallucinating that she’s an investor.” I was already puffing with anger as I grabbed my phone and dialed my secretary, my tone decisive: “Withdraw the investment. You heard me right, withdraw the investment!” The secretary on the other end froze for a moment: “But President Vance, aren’t you Mr. Sterling’s biggest fan?” “Consider me previously blind. Withdraw the investment immediately. Cancel every single bid related to him!” “Yes, President Vance.” After hanging up, I finally felt a little better. As I walked towards the soundstage, the sight before me almost made me drop my phone— Liam was drinking a bubble tea, and on the straw was a lipstick mark in the exact same shade as Chloe’s! He took a sip and handed the bubble tea back to Chloe: “It is a bit too sweet. This place didn’t make it right.” Chloe naturally put the straw in her mouth: “I thought so too, but since you bought it, Liam, I guess I’ll just have to force myself to take a couple of sips~” “You’re so mischievous.” “Hold on…” I interrupted them both: “You have a boyfriend right now. Even if you are childhood sweethearts, shouldn’t you keep some distance?” Liam very naturally shielded Chloe behind him again: “I told you before, Ms. Elena, don’t project your own dirty mind onto everything.” My temper flared. I raised an eyebrow: “If some people are just inherently dirty, then anyone looking at them would find it disgusting, wouldn’t they?” “You!” Liam was genuinely angry now. Chloe’s eyes instantly turned red: “Sister, are you calling me dirty?” I raised an eyebrow: “Is there anyone else here besides you two?” Liam’s face instantly darkened. Thankfully, the director arrived just in time to stop the situation from escalating further. Terrified that I would “cause trouble” again, the production team unprecedentedly gave me a private room. But just as I had finished unpacking my luggage into the room, someone came to notify me: “You don’t need to film anymore.” My assistant was stunned: “Why? We signed a contract!” The staff member was utterly dismissive: “This is Mr. Sterling’s request.” My assistant deflated. She turned to me and sighed: “Elena, it looks like we really have to go.” I was so angry I laughed: “Fine. So he’s making arrangements for me now? “If I have to leave, I leave. Perfect timing, anyway. I’ve had enough of playing around in this entertainment industry!” That very day, I hit the trending topics once again: Elena finally forced to retire from the entertainment industry.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391370”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Everyone’s a Villain? My Secret Identity is Leaking. I was standing in the middle of a “Welcome Home” gala for a long-lost heiress when the comments started flickering across my vision like a glitch in the Matrix. [This girl is a disaster. To get back at the “fake” heiress, she actually stole the engagement heirloom? Talk about desperate.] [Even if she’s technically the “real” daughter, look at her. The hero has taste; he knows the “fake” sister is his true soulmate.] [What fiancée? She’s just a common thief. Someone kick her back to the slums where she belongs.] Maya Montgomery, the girl currently wearing a princess-cut gown and surrounded by the city’s elite, glided toward me. She looked like a dream—the kind of girl who’d never known a day of hunger in her life. “Sister, you’re finally home,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial honey. “Mom, Dad, and I have missed you so much. From now on, we’re a family.” I didn’t say a word. I just kept chewing on my buffalo wing. When I didn’t respond, Maya’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. With a practiced, sudden movement, she reached into my battered backpack and pulled out a diamond-encrusted women’s watch. “Why would you do this?” she sobbed, holding the watch up for everyone to see. “I know you’re bitter about being replaced, but you can’t just steal the engagement gift Harrison gave me! I wanted us to be sisters, but you’re a criminal!” Harrison Kent, the golden boy of the city’s tech scene and my supposed fiancé, stepped forward with a look of pure disgust. “Give it back to Maya right now, then get the hell out of this house.” Under the judgmental glares of the 1%, I looked up at the stage where my boss was currently clinking glasses with Maya’s father. I tilted my head, genuinely confused. “Steal what?” I asked. “I’m not here for a family reunion. I’m just here because my boss invited me for the free catering.” The comments went into a frenzy: [LMAO, too awkward! She’s not the daughter, she’s just an employee?!] 1 Maya’s eyes widened, her voice hitting a sharp, frantic pitch. “Employee? How could you be an employee!” She turned back to Harrison, the tears flowing even faster now. “Harrison, look at her! She’s still lying! She’s so jealous of everything I have that she’s invented this whole persona just to save face!” Harrison took a step closer, his tall shadow looming over me like a self-appointed judge. “Enough. Stop the act.” His tone was dripping with condescension. “Did you really think such a pathetic lie would work here?” I swallowed the last of my chicken, took a napkin, and wiped my mouth. This was getting ridiculous. My father is actually the wealthiest man in the state. However, because I work at his firm and hate being treated like a “nepo baby,” I keep my identity hidden and refer to him simply as “my boss” in public. When the Montgomerys invited him to this gala, he turned them down, citing his busy schedule. I was the one who wanted a change of pace, so I begged him to let me go in his place just to see how the other half lived—and to eat some high-end appetizers. I didn’t expect to become the main course of the drama. “Why would I be acting?” I asked calmly. “Mr. Montgomery invited my boss. My boss was busy, so he sent me. Is there a problem with that?” I met their eyes directly, refusing to flinch. The comments exploded again. [Lol, what a reach. “Sent her”? What kind of boss sends an entry-level employee to a private family gala?] [She’s just digging her own grave. Does she think playing dumb will help?] [She’s probably trying to imply her boss is more powerful than the Montgomerys. Delusional.] Maya caught onto my words, her face contorting into a mask of faux concern. “Sister, stop it. You look exactly like Mom and Dad. How could you not be my sister?” That one sentence silenced the room. Every eye settled on my face. Internally, I sighed. People with good genes tend to look alike. My father and mother are strikingly attractive people. Maya’s mother, Mrs. Montgomery, did share a passing resemblance to my own mother, but her aura was miles away from my mother’s grace. “Look at them! Everyone sees it!” Maya pointed at the whispering guests, a twisted sense of triumph in her voice. “You’re family. You’re the daughter who grew up in that trailer park! I know it’s a lot to take in, but you can’t let jealousy turn you into a thief!” Her rhetoric was flawless. First, she forced the “family” connection, then she branded me as the “trashy girl from the sticks,” and finally, she cemented the crime of theft. Harrison scoffed, his eyes burning with loathing. “Don’t waste your breath on her, Maya.” He pointed a finger at my chest. “Give the watch back, and get out. The Montgomerys don’t welcome thieves.” The socialites around us began to chirp like vultures. “So she’s the one from the country? No wonder she’s so classless.” “How embarrassing for the Montgomerys to have a daughter like this.” “Look at her outfit. Does that cost even fifty bucks? Of course she’d go for Maya’s watch.” I looked down at my work blazer. It was a company uniform, sure, but the quality was top-tier—my dad doesn’t skimp on his staff. I took a breath, trying to be the adult in the room. “First, this watch belongs to me. Second, you’ve got the wrong person. The ‘real’ daughter you’re looking for is probably out there somewhere, waiting for you.” I caught a glimpse of a movement in the corner of the ballroom. A thin girl in a server’s uniform was watching the scene with wide, terrified eyes. Her features were a 90% match for Mrs. Montgomery. 2 Harrison lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with a bruising grip. “Give Maya her bag back! Don’t make me get physical.” A sharp pain shot up my arm, and I felt my temper flare. “Let go of me.” “It’s my watch,” I snapped. “Why would I give it to her?” [Whoa, she’s fighting back? The audacity of this girl!] [Harrison is so hot! Alpha energy! That’s how you handle a woman with no shame!] [Snatch the bag! Let’s see what else she’s pilfered!] I remembered my dad’s voice on the phone a few hours ago: “Ava, Arthur Montgomery is a bit of a social climber. I’ve never liked his vibe. Go there, see if their ‘family values’ are as solid as they claim, and just enjoy the food.” Well, Dad. The values are non-existent, and the vibe is toxic. Seeing that Harrison had me pinned, Maya grew bolder. she reached out to snatch my backpack. “Get off! This is my bag!” I struggled, twisting my other arm to shield my belongings. In the middle of the scuffle, a woman draped in diamonds and silk approached. It was Victoria Montgomery, Maya’s mother. She immediately pulled Maya into a protective embrace, as if I were a rabid animal. “Maya, darling, what’s happening?” She looked at me with cold, aristocratic disdain. “Mom!” Maya wailed, burying her face in Victoria’s shoulder. “She’s the one… the girl from the country! She stole the watch Harrison gave me, and now she’s attacking us!” Victoria’s expression shifted from confusion to pure vitriol. “So, it’s you.” She patted Maya’s back, her voice soothing for her daughter but venomous for me. “Oh, honey, of course she won’t admit it. Look at her. She reeks of desperation. She’s not fit to be a Montgomery.” She paused, raising her voice so the entire room could hear. “I see now. It was a mistake. The hospital must have been wrong. My Maya is the only daughter I need. As for you…” She pointed a manicured finger at me. “A creature who crawled out of the dirt shouldn’t expect to keep things that don’t belong to her. You’re delusional.” [Burn! Go Mrs. Montgomery!] [This is the reality check she needed. Know your place!] [The ‘fake’ is the real queen. Twenty years of breeding vs. blood—breeding wins every time!] I actually laughed. The absurdity was too much. “Mrs. Montgomery, you might want to watch your tone.” “On what grounds are you claiming I’m a thief? Or that I’m from the ‘dirt’?” Victoria blinked, stunned by my defiance. Her face turned a mottled purple. “You dare talk back to me?!” She turned to Harrison. “Harrison, why are you just standing there? Take what’s ours! I feel sick just looking at her.” Harrison took the cue, his grip tightening until I thought my bone might crack. “I’m not asking again. Give. Me. The. Bag.” “No!” The pain sparked a white-hot anger. I swung my leg and kicked him square in the shin. Harrison groaned, stumbling back, but he didn’t let go. Maya shrieked, “Oh my god! She’s violent! Harrison, she’s attacking you!” The entire ballroom felt like it was closing in on me. The whispers turned into a roar of condemnation. My dad was upstairs in the study, likely closing a deal with some high-level contact, completely unaware that his daughter was being lynched in the lobby. 3 Victoria watched Harrison stumble and her eyes turned murderous. She folded her arms, looking down at me as if I were a bug she was about to squash. “Shameless. And a brat to boot.” She addressed the crowd. “I apologize for the scene, everyone. We thought we were bringing home a long-lost relative, but it turns out we just invited a viper into our home.” With those words, my fate was sealed in the eyes of the guests. [Mrs. Montgomery is so poised. She’s handling this like a pro.] [By comparison, this girl looks like a street brawler.] [Call the cops already. Stop talking to her.] Harrison, bolstered by Victoria’s support, yanked my arm again, trying to drag me toward the corner. “You heard her! Give it back!” I lost my balance, stumbling into a table. Enough was enough. I used every ounce of strength to shove him away. “Don’t touch me!” Harrison wasn’t expecting me to fight back so hard. He crashed into a dessert table, sending a champagne tower wobbling. Maya saw her opening. With the timing of an Oscar-winner, she let out a theatrical gasp and threw herself backward. “Ah!” She didn’t hit the floor. She landed perfectly in Harrison’s arms. “You’re actually hitting people now?” Harrison roared, holding a ‘trembling’ Maya. Victoria was shaking with rage. “This is it! You ungrateful little peasant! We were going to give you a life, and this is how you repay us? Stealing, lying, and now assault? You’re a common thug!” I looked at this family of actors and felt a wave of nausea. “I hit someone? He put his hands on me first. That’s self-defense. I shoved him because he was trying to rob me.” I pointed at Maya. “And as for her? That fall was the fakest thing I’ve seen since her last Botox appointment.” “You!” Maya turned white. “Liar! I was terrified!” She huddled closer to Harrison. “Harrison, I’m so scared… she’s crazy… what if she has a knife?” Harrison’s eyes were filled with murderous intent. “Security!” he bellowed. “Where is security?!” “We have a thief and a violent trespasser! Get her out of here and call the police!” Two uniformed guards came running. Victoria added coldly, “Pin her down. Don’t let her run. When her ‘boss’ comes down from his meeting with my husband, I want him to see exactly what kind of trash he’s employing.” The guests parted, their faces filled with a sick kind of excitement. [Finally, the handcuffs! So satisfying!] [She needs to go to jail to learn a lesson.] [Let her rot! Make her pay for ruining the gala!] The guards closed in. I backed up until my spine hit a cold marble pillar. There was nowhere left to go. My heart sank. My dad was just a floor away, but he was being kept in the dark while his daughter was being humiliated. “Get her!” Harrison urged. A rough hand reached for my shoulder. I gritted my teeth and reached into my bag for my phone. If logic wouldn’t work, I’d have to call in the cavalry. I had to call my dad. 4 Just as I unlocked my screen to dial the number I knew by heart, a dark shape blurred in front of me. Smack! My phone was swatted out of my hand. It skidded across the polished floor, hitting a wall with a sickening crack. The screen shattered instantly. It was Harrison. “Looking to call for backup?” He sneered. “Who do you think you are? A thief from the gutter—who’s coming to save you? Even if your ‘boss’ shows up, what is he compared to the Montgomerys and the Kents?” My heart went cold. He’d cut off my only lifeline. [Good move! Shut her down!] [Let her feel the despair! Hahaha!] [Harrison is such a boss. This is how a real man protects his woman!] Maya leaned into Harrison’s chest, watching my face pale. She mouthed two words at me: You lose. Victoria folded her arms, gesturing to the guards. “Stop wasting time. Bind her hands. When the police get here, we’ll have the stolen goods and the witnesses. I want to see her try to lie her way out of a cell.” The guards moved in again, zip-ties in hand. I was pinned against the pillar, alone, surrounded by a sea of cold, mocking faces. Humiliation and fury bubbled in my chest. I had done nothing wrong, yet I was being treated like a criminal because I didn’t look the part. Why? Because I looked “poor”? Because I didn’t have their “status”? A hand grabbed my forearm, twisting it behind my back. I struggled, but I was no match for two trained men. The cold plastic of the zip-tie touched my skin. Harrison spoke, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. “Regretting it now? If you had just played nice and given the watch back, you could have slunk away with a little dignity.” Maya chimed in with her fake pity. “It’s true, sister. I didn’t want it to end like this. But you’re just so stubborn.” The guard yanked my arm harder, forcing me into a painful wince. “Ow—” Suddenly, a voice like a thunderclap erupted from the top of the grand staircase, vibrating through the very bones of the building. “STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HER!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391387”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was killing time on the drive back to my hometown for the holidays, scrolling through TikTok, when I hit a post that made my blood boil. “How to handle your ‘needs’ during the holidays back home, girls? Watch and learn.” The video was a series of text overlays: “Step one: Pick a target and start a rumor. Everyone’s back in town—friends, family, the whole neighborhood. His parents will be so obsessed with their ‘reputation’ that they’ll practically gift-wrap him for me.” “Result? A free space-heater for my bed, and I don’t even have to pay for dinner. Absolute perfection.” In the comments, someone asked: “But Tiff, are you actually gonna marry him?” The creator replied: “LMAO. You know me. I’m all about that new-car smell. Once the holidays are over, he’s trade-in value.” I felt a surge of genuine disgust. I closed the app, trying to shake off the ick. But the moment I stepped through the front door of my childhood home, I didn’t get a “Welcome Home.” My father was standing in the foyer, his face a dark, stormy mask of resentment. “I didn’t think after a few years in the city you’d turn into such a degenerate,” he spat, his voice trembling with shame. “Living with a woman, getting her pregnant, forcing her into a back-alley clinic?” I froze, my suitcase halfway over the threshold. “What are you talking about?” “Don’t play dumb!” he roared. “You’re moving into her place tonight. You’re going to make this right before the whole town finds out what a coward I raised.” My heart did a slow, sickening thud against my ribs. Wait. Why did this script sound so familiar? 1. My head was spinning. Was I… was I being set up? The absurdity of it almost made me want to laugh. Almost. “Dad, you can’t seriously believe that crap,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. He stepped toward me, his jaw set. “It’s not ‘crap’ when the whole parish is talking about it! Besides, why would a woman like her—a successful CEO—make something like that up?” CEO? “Her?” I asked, squinting. “Are we talking about Tiffany Snyder? Tiffany is a CEO now?” How long had I been away? Had I missed a total shift in the space-time continuum? My father’s face reddened further. “You’re supposed to be the one with the college degree. We worked ourselves to the bone to send you off to school, and what do you have to show for it? Nothing. Tiffany barely finished high school and she’s already buying property in the city. And look at you. You’ve been ‘grinding’ for years and you can’t even afford a decent car.” The contempt in his eyes was a physical weight. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have wasted a dime on your tuition. I should’ve just put you to work and saved my money.” My sister, Lexie, didn’t even look up from her gaming headset on the couch. “Told you, Dad. You should’ve bought me that high-end PC instead. I could’ve been a pro-streamer by now. Investing in Brooks was a total loss.” My father nodded in grim agreement. “I expected you to be our ticket out of this place. Now, after this scandal, I’ll be lucky if I don’t have to pay her family to take you off my hands. Your mother should have listened to her gut when she was pregnant with you.” The cruelty of it hit me like a physical blow. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but my father cut me off. “I’ve already called her. You’re heading over there tonight.” “Excuse me?” I stood up, my pulse hammering in my ears. “What choice do we have? You think you have options after what you did? She’s willing to take you in despite the disgrace. You should be thanking your lucky stars.” I felt like I was losing my mind. Was I back in the nineteenth century? Some woman spreads a baseless lie about me, and my own family decides to sell me into domestic servitude to save face? I pulled out my phone. Tiffany’s TikTok had just updated. “Update, girls! He’s coming over today. Get ready for some ‘content.’” She panned the camera to a sheer, lacy nightgown laid out on her bed and added a suggestive, greasy smirk. “If you know, you know~” The comments were flooding in: “God, I wish I had your moves!” “Doing the Lord’s work for us single girls!” “Don’t forget to livestream the good parts!” I gripped my phone so hard I thought the screen might crack. This was not happening. 2. My first instinct was to grab the tire iron from my trunk and go settle this the old-fashioned way. But I stopped. That’s exactly what she wanted. If I showed up screaming, it would just look like a lover’s quarrel. It would validate her narrative. I took a deep breath and opened a burner account on TikTok. I commented: “How are you so sure he’ll show up? This sounds like slander. He could literally call the cops.” Tiffany replied almost instantly: “Sweetie, you clearly don’t know how small towns work. Let me educate you.” She was so arrogant she didn’t even realize she was talking to her target. “His dad is a widower who lives and dies by what the neighbors think,” she wrote. “And it’s the holidays. The pressure is ten times worse. Unless his family wants to be pariahs, they’ll practically force-feed him to me. News travels faster than a wildfire here.” Then she added: “Besides, I’m ‘rich’ now. People around here worship anyone with a dollar. My word is gospel.” The sheer, calculated coldness of it made my stomach turn. “I tap a few keys, tell a few stories, and a man gets delivered to my door for free. No dating apps, no effort. Maximum ROI.” I was shaking with rage. Tiffany sent one more message to the thread: “You want in on this, girlie? Venmo me $500 and I’ll coach you on how to land a ‘Holiday Rental’ of your own.” Before I could reply, my father came behind me with a broom, literally shooing me toward the door. “Move! You’re bringing bad luck into this house just standing there!” Fine. I’d go. I wanted to see this train wreck with my own eyes. I pushed open the front door and was hit by a blast of freezing wind and sleet. My shoes were soaked through within seconds. I cursed Tiffany Snyder with every step. If it weren’t for her pathetic little scheme, I’d be curled up by the fireplace with a beer and a book, not trudging through the slush. I hit a hidden pothole, and freezing water filled my shoe. My phone buzzed. “Breaking News: The ‘husband’ has arrived on foot! Look at that charm.” I clicked the link. She had filmed me from her window—stumbling, soaked, and looking utterly miserable. “He couldn’t wait to get into my bed. Look at him running to me in the cold. That’s the Snyder Magic™.” The comments were a cesspool of admiration. “Iconic.” “Queen behavior.” “Post the bedroom pics later!” I was vibrating with fury. It felt like she had stripped me naked in front of the whole world. But then, I noticed something in the background of her video. One of her followers had commented: “Umm, forget the guy, is that a Porsche in the driveway??” “Is that the new Taycan? That’s like a hundred-thousand-dollar car!” “Tiff, how are you so loaded? Teach us your secrets!” The car. I stopped in the middle of the slushy road and squinted at the sleek, matte-pink vehicle parked in front of Tiffany’s house. I rubbed my eyes. I knew that car. I snapped a photo and messaged my Head of Operations at the firm. “Is this the car you just bought? The one you were bragging about in the Slack channel?” I’d recognize those custom neon-pink brake calipers anywhere. A minute later, the reply came: “Yeah, that’s mine! How’d you see it? I’m back home for the break, so I put it on a luxury rental app for the week to cover the insurance. Some girl paid a premium for it.” A rental. I felt a slow, predatory smile spread across my face. Oh, this was going to be fun. 3. The anger was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. I pushed open Tiffany’s front door without knocking. Inside, the house smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. Tiffany was sprawled on a velvet sofa, wearing a tight, ill-fitting designer blazer. She had a massive, obviously fake Rolex on her wrist. “You’re here,” she said, her voice dripping with mock-boredom. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.” She looked at me with a greasy, self-satisfied grin. “Brooks Miller. Long time no see. Remember when I used to chase you in high school and you acted like you were too good for me? Look at us now. One little ‘update’ and you’re right where you belong.” I stared at her. “You know exactly what you’ve done, Tiffany.” She shrugged, checking her nails. “So I used a little leverage. Big deal. I’m a success story now. You’re lucky I’m even interested. If you play your cards right and keep me happy, maybe I’ll let you ride in the Porsche.” She looked down at her phone, and a second later, the TikTok updated: “Training the husband. He’s so obedient, he’s afraid to even breathe without my permission.” ‘Husband’? I felt a wave of nausea. “Don’t just stand there,” she barked, pointing to a corner. “Grab the broom. My relatives are coming over soon, and I need this place spotless. Then you’re starting on dinner.” She kicked off a boot and peeled off a damp sock, tossing it at my feet. “Wash these, too. By hand.” She immediately went back to her phone: “Having a man around is so convenient. He’s already doing my laundry. Life is good.” The comments hailed her as a ‘General’ and a ‘Boss Babe.’ It was surreal. This woman was a slob, a liar, and a thief of other people’s reputations. And her family was just as bad. Her mother walked into the room, looking at me like I was something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. “Well, at least he’s pretty,” the mother said. “Even if he is a little tramp. I don’t know why my daughter wants a ‘used’ man like you when she’s a CEO.” “Exactly,” her father added, stepping in from the kitchen. “She’s a world-class executive. Look at her clothes—high-end custom couture. You better count your blessings.” These people were delusional. They were clearly reciting the script Tiffany had fed them. I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. “So, Tiffany is a ‘big boss,’ huh?” The mother puffed out her chest. “The biggest. She owns a Fortune 500 company.” I almost laughed. “Is that so? Which one?” Before she could answer, the front door swung open. A group of extended relatives filed in, buzzing with excitement. They were all gravitating toward Tiffany, kissing her ring, acting like she was the Second Coming. “Brooks, what are you waiting for?” Tiffany’s father hissed. “Get to the kitchen and start the appetizers! Don’t embarrass us!” The audacity was breathtaking. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to my Head of Ops. “I need a favor. I’m about to dismantle a fraud. Give me full access to the rental logs and the employee database. Now.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391404”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband, a decorated undercover agent, was on a mission to dismantle a drug cartel. To rescue a hostage girl, he endured a month of torture at the hands of drug dealers. When he was finally rescued, his body was not only covered in scars, but he also developed a severe physiological disorder. The doctor said it was psychological trauma and couldn’t be forced. My heart ached for him. For three years, I didn’t even dare to breathe loudly in my sleep, afraid of disturbing his fragile nerves. I not only spent all our savings on his treatment but also supported the poor rescued girl through school. On the day of the police commendation ceremony, the large screen mistakenly played an unreleased surveillance video. In the footage, the man who was so meek and mild with me was pinning the girl to a table, wildly unleashing his frustrations. His mouth was full of obscenities, and his movements were as violent as a beast. He frantically covered my eyes. “Don’t look! That was just an act to gain the drug lord’s trust!” “Tech team! Who put that video on?! Shut it down immediately!” Chief Miller’s roar echoed through the auditorium. The blinding white light vanished from the large screen, and the entire hall plunged into a dead, silent darkness. I was frozen in my seat, my hands and feet icy cold. The hand covering my eyes carried the familiar scent of his tobacco. But it was this very hand that, moments ago on the screen, had been fiercely clutching another girl’s hair. “Eleanor, don’t look.” Ethan’s voice was in my ear, as steady as ever, but with a hint of imperceptible tension. I didn’t move, nor did I speak. My fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of my dress, wringing the soft fabric into a hard knot. This was my nervous habit. The lights flickered back on with a ‘snap’, stinging my eyes. The gazes of colleagues, family members, everyone around me, focused on me like spotlights. Pity, curiosity, disdain, schadenfreude. Ethan released my eyes, his face pale under the lights, but his gaze remained calm. He took off his crisp police jacket and draped it over me, shielding my slightly trembling shoulders. “It’s a misunderstanding. Just a special tactic during an interrogation.” He explained to the people around him, his voice not loud, but clear enough for the first few rows to hear. “Everyone, please continue. Don’t let this little interruption affect the commendation ceremony.” His tone was calm, as if the video on the screen, which bordered on explicit, was truly just an inconsequential work recording. Chief Miller hurried over, his face etched with apology and concern. “Eleanor, are you okay? Those tech guys messed up; I’ll deal with them later!” His gaze towards me was one of pure, elder-like concern. For three years, the entire police force knew about Ethan’s condition. They also knew that to care for him, I had quit my job and stayed by his side constantly. In their eyes, I was a great, enduring, self-sacrificing police wife. But now, that greatness had become a huge joke. “I’m fine, Chief Miller.” I spoke, my voice dry. Ethan put his arm around my shoulder, his grip firm, with an undeniable force. “I’ll take her back to rest first.” He didn’t give anyone a chance to ask further questions, moving through countless complex gazes and leaving the auditorium. Cold wind gusted into the hallway, and I shivered. It wasn’t until we were in the car that he released me. The space in the car was narrow. The scent of sweat and wildness mixed on him now smelled incredibly nauseating. I turned to look out the window, my stomach churning. “That was fake.” He started the car, finally speaking. “What was fake?” “What happened in the video was an act for the drug dealer, to gain trust.” His explanation was exactly as I had expected: calm, rational, and flawless. “That girl, Maya, she was deeply entrenched at the time. Without some special tactics, she wouldn’t have spoken.” “I thought that kind of material had been destroyed long ago. I didn’t expect the tech team to make such a mistake.” He drove, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “I know it’s hard for you to accept, but that’s my job.” “Eleanor, you need to understand me.” Understand. Those two words again. For three years, I had understood the trauma he suffered from his failed mission, understood his physiological disorder, understood all his sensitivities and vulnerabilities. I cared for him like a fragile porcelain doll. But I couldn’t understand how he could, with a poker face, be intimate with another woman on a table. In front of me, even a touch felt like torture. The car stopped downstairs. I didn’t move. Ethan unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over. His face was very close to mine. The eyes that once captivated me were now filled with fatigue and a complex emotion I couldn’t decipher. “Don’t sulk, okay?” His voice was gentle, coaxing. “Maya is still waiting for us upstairs. She was terrified today.” This sentence was like a bucket of ice water poured over my head. I suddenly turned, staring intently at him. “Why is she in our house?” Ethan’s brows furrowed, and a hint of impatience flashed in his eyes. “She’s scared to live alone. She just moved in a few days ago.” “I thought I told you.” He said it as if it were a given, as if this wasn’t my home, but just a hotel that could take in anyone. I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms. He hadn’t said anything, he hadn’t said a word. I pushed open the car door, stumbling upstairs. The key slid into the lock, taking several turns before it clicked. As the door opened, an unfamiliar perfume scent wafted out. In the entryway, a pair of pink high heels, not mine, stood. On the living room sofa, a woman’s jacket was tossed. On the coffee table, half-eaten snacks and a fashion magazine lay. Everything here announced the presence of another mistress. Maya emerged from the master bedroom, wearing my pajamas. That silk nightgown was something I had bought for my birthday, gritting my teeth, never daring to wear it. Now, it hung loosely on Maya’s slender body, the neckline wide, revealing large patches of intimate red marks. “Ethan, Eleanor, you’re back?” She saw us, her face showing a terrified, rabbit-like expression, and instinctively pulled at her neckline. “I’m sorry, Eleanor, your pajamas… all my clothes were in the wash. Ethan told me to wear yours for now.” She looked at me timidly, her eyes watery, as if I were the villain who had usurped her place. Ethan walked in, naturally taking the water glass from Maya’s hand and taking a sip. “Scared, weren’t you? It’s okay now.” He patted Maya’s head, a gesture intimate and natural. That kind of tenderness, I had only seen in him when he first returned from his mission, when he was at his most vulnerable. “I’m going to cook.” I dropped the words, fleeing into the kitchen. Cold water rinsed my hands, but I felt no coolness at all. My body was like a ball of lit cotton, burning from the inside out. I could hear them talking in low voices in the living room. “Ethan, is Eleanor angry? It’s all my fault.” Maya’s voice was tearful. “Don’t overthink it, she’s just having trouble processing it.” Ethan’s voice was heavy. “You’ve been through a fright today. Go back to your room and rest early.” “But I’m scared. The moment I close my eyes, I see the images from the surveillance footage.” “Then I’ll keep you company for a while.” The door closed softly. I turned off the tap, leaning against the cold countertop, trembling all over. So, he wasn’t unable to perform. He just… couldn’t perform for me. For dinner, I made three dishes and a soup, all of Ethan’s favorites. At the dinner table, for the first time, I didn’t serve him as usual. The atmosphere was terribly stifling. Maya kept her head down, picking at her rice in small bites, her eyes red. Ethan’s face wasn’t good either. He put down his chopsticks after only a few bites. “I’m full.” He stood up, pulled a wad of money from his wallet, and placed it on the table. “This month’s living expenses. Let me know if it’s not enough.” I looked at the stack of crisp red banknotes, finding them incredibly jarring. Since when had our relationship been reduced to this? “Maya’s tuition and rent, are they also coming from this?” I asked on a whim. Ethan’s movements paused. He turned to look at me, his eyes turning cold. “She’s just a girl, alone and helpless. It’s only right that I help her.” “Eleanor, I thought you weren’t so petty.” Petty? I had spent all our savings on his so-called “illness.” I had sold the jewelry my mother left me to support the “poor” girl he spoke of through school. In the end, all I got was being called petty. My heart felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing it, aching to the point of breathless. “Yes, I am petty.” I looked up, meeting his gaze. “Ethan, make her move out.” “This is our home.” Maya’s chopsticks clattered to the floor. She flinched, her shoulders hunched, and tears fell. Ethan’s face completely darkened. He didn’t look at me. Instead, he walked to Maya, bent down, and picked up the chopsticks. “Don’t be scared.” He pulled Maya up, shielding her behind him, as if facing some heinous enemy. “Eleanor, have you made enough of a scene?” I looked at him protecting another woman, and let out a laugh, though tears streamed down my face against my will. “Ethan, who’s making a scene?” “For three years, because of you, I’ve lived like a ghost.” “I didn’t dare to speak loudly, didn’t dare to sleep with the lights off, afraid of disturbing your fragile nerves.” “I treated you as my world, my everything, but what about you?” “You were intimate with other women outside, then came home and told me it was for work!” “How can I believe that? How can I understand?” My voice grew louder and louder, almost a scream. Three years of accumulated grievances and pain completely erupted at this moment. Maya trembled even more violently behind him, crying, “Eleanor, don’t blame Ethan. It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for saving me, he wouldn’t have…” “Shut up!” Ethan suddenly roared, cutting Maya off. The coldness in his eyes almost froze me. “Eleanor, do you think I’m lying to you?” I bit my lip, not speaking, but the distrust in my eyes said it all. He suddenly smiled, a smile filled with self-mockery and an indescribable weariness. “Fine, since you don’t believe me, I’ll show you the evidence.” He took out his phone, rapidly tapped the screen a few times, then threw the phone in front of me. On the screen was a hospital diagnostic report: severe PTSD, accompanied by serious physiological dysfunction. The words, stark black on white, stung my eyes. Below it were several videos, recordings of his psychological hypnotherapy sessions. In the videos, he was like a helpless child, curled up in a ball on the sofa, covered in cold sweat, babbling words I couldn’t understand. It was a side of Ethan I had never seen, his most vulnerable. “Did you see?” His voice was extremely hoarse. “The doctor said my trauma stemmed from that month of torment. I have an instinctive aversion and fear of all intimate contact.” “The reason for the ‘accident’ with Maya.” He paused, seemingly searching for the right words. “The doctor analyzed that it might be because she went through the same hell as me; my subconscious saw her as safe, so it deactivated its defense mechanism.” “This is a pathological reaction, not a betrayal.” His explanation sounded flawless, even with scientific rigor. It turned out I wasn’t his exception. I was the unsafe factor that was excluded. “So, I’m the cause of your illness, am I right?” I mumbled. Ethan seemed not to expect me to say that, and he paused. He walked over, tried to hug me, but I abruptly took a step back. His outstretched hand froze in mid-air, his expression complex. “Eleanor, it’s not what you think.” “I love you. I just want to live a good life with you.” “Give me some time, okay? I’ll cure myself.” His voice was very soft, with a hint of pleading. I felt like I was going crazy. That night, for the first time, Ethan didn’t sleep in the study. He lay beside me, his body rigid, but our hearts were separated by an uncrossable chasm. The next morning, I woke up, and Ethan was already gone. I listlessly packed a few clothes into my suitcase. I needed to leave here and cool down. I sent Ethan a message, telling him I was going to stay at my mother’s for a few days. He didn’t reply. I dragged my suitcase downstairs. At the community gate, I saw Ethan’s car parked not far away. He hadn’t left. A mix of emotions flashed through me. I pulled my suitcase, walking step by step towards his car. The car window rolled down, but it wasn’t Ethan’s face that appeared. It was Chief Miller. “Eleanor, where are you going?” Chief Miller’s expression was very serious. “I… I’m going home to stay for a few days.” Chief Miller sighed and opened the car door. “Get in, let’s talk.” The car didn’t head towards my parents’ house. Instead, it circled the city’s most congested main road, round and round. “That kid, Ethan, he’s stubborn and difficult.” Chief Miller said, driving. “I know you’ve been wronged, but you also know what he’s been through these past three years.” “That month was hell; if it were me, I might have gone crazy long ago.” I lowered my head, my fingers again unconsciously twisting the hem of my dress. I had heard these words countless times. “I know.” “Not only do you know, but you’ve done very well.” Chief Miller glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Everyone in the team says Ethan accumulated good karma for eight lifetimes to marry such a good wife like you.” “But Eleanor, some things can’t be solved just by being ‘good’.” My heart clenched sharply. “Chief Miller, do you know something?” Chief Miller was silent for a long time, so long that I thought he wouldn’t speak again. He parked the car by the river and lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag. “Regarding Maya, what Ethan told you wasn’t entirely true.” My stomach suddenly cramped, and a wave of nausea washed over me. This physical reaction was even faster than my brain. I didn’t expect his next words to completely push me into the abyss.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391205”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Walking past the stairwell, I overheard two interns whispering about their salaries. “Take a guess, what did I get? $85,000!” “Not bad! I just cleared $75,000.” I froze in my tracks. I have been at this company for exactly seven years. My first year, my starting salary was $35,000. My second year, it bumped to $36,000. The boss called it an “exceptional exception.” My third year, I started leading teams independently. My salary went to $39,000. Years four, five, and six… my salary didn’t budge a single cent. During that time, I personally closed eight major enterprise contracts for the company. This year, my seventh year, the boss said the macroeconomic environment was tough, and my salary was cut to $36,000. Those two new hires, the ones I personally trained, were making more than double what I was making after seven years of bleeding for this place. I let out a bitter laugh and walked straight to the HR Director’s office to hand in my resignation. The HR Director, Brenda, looked shocked. “Why?” “The pay is low, and I’m not happy.” Brenda sighed, her tone heavy with manufactured grief. “Chloe, I know you’ve worked hard these past few years. But the company has its struggles too. The market is brutal right now. Just surviving is an achievement. You’re a veteran here; you, of all people, should be more understanding.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391223”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The notary’s voice was perfectly calm, as if he were reading from a completely ordinary document. My older sister received five million dollars. My younger brother received five million dollars. Then it was my turn. The notary paused for three seconds and looked up at me. “A photograph.” I froze. “What photograph?” He slid a manila envelope across the polished mahogany table. I opened it. Inside was a picture taken twenty years ago. In the photo, I was seventeen, standing in the backyard of our old house, smiling like an idiot. On the back, written in my father’s handwriting, was a single line— “To my middle girl: Good luck on your SATs.” My sister and brother exchanged a look. Nobody said a word. 1. I stared at that photograph for a very long time. Seventeen-year-old me, hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing my high school track jacket, standing under the old oak tree in our backyard. It was a month before the SATs. Dad had come home from his construction job out of state—a rare occurrence—and said he wanted to take a picture of me. “When you get into a good college, I’m going to blow this picture up and hang it right in the living room.” He was smiling so brightly that day. He had even put on a clean white button-down shirt specifically for the occasion. It was the only photograph he ever took of me in his entire life. And it was the last time he ever said “good luck” to me. “Hey,” my brother’s voice pulled me back to the present. “Are you okay?” I looked up at him. His expression was complicated. He looked like he wanted to comfort me, but had no idea what to say. “I’m fine.” I slid the photo back into the envelope and stood up. “The reading is done, right? I’m going to head out.” “Wait,” my sister called out. “You’re not going to say anything?” I turned around to look at her. My sister was wearing a beige cashmere coat and a pair of heels that looked incredibly expensive. She had moved back from Europe two years ago and bought a condo in downtown Seattle. Supposedly, her in-laws covered the down payment. “Say what?” “I mean…” She hesitated. “Dad splitting it up like this… don’t you think it’s…” “No. I don’t.” I picked up my purse. “It was Dad’s estate. He got to decide what to do with it. The legal work is done. There’s nothing left to say.” “But—” “Look,” I cut her off. “You take your five million, I’ll take my picture, and we all go back to our own lives. Sounds good to me.” My sister opened her mouth but didn’t say anything. My brother stood to the side, looking down at his shoes, lost in thought. I didn’t look at them again. I pushed the door open and walked out. It was drizzling outside, the damp cold biting straight into my bones. I stood under the awning of the law firm and lit a cigarette. I had quit three years ago. Today, I started again. Five million. Five million. A photograph. I let out a short laugh, though I didn’t even know what I was laughing at. Twenty years. From seventeen to thirty-seven, I had sacrificed exactly twenty years of my life for this family. And in the end, what my father gave me was a twenty-year-old picture. My phone rang. It was my mother. “Are you done with the lawyer?” “Yeah, it’s done.” “Where are your sister and brother?” “I don’t know. I left.” “Why didn’t you wait for them?” “Mom.” I took a deep drag of my cigarette. “I’m exhausted. I just want to go home and rest.” “Home? Which home are you going to?” I froze for a second. Right. Which home was I going to? The family house back in our hometown—Dad had written it out crystal clear in the will: it went to my brother. The apartment I rented in the city was five hundred square feet and cost me two thousand five hundred a month. I didn’t own a home. I am thirty-seven years old. Divorced for five years. No kids. My total life savings amount to less than twenty thousand dollars. And the starting point of all of this was that exact photograph. It was that summer when I was seventeen. I had scored in the top one percent of the state on my SATs. My dream was to go to the state’s flagship university and major in English Literature. My dad took one look at my acceptance letter and financial aid package, and said a single sentence— “What does a girl need to read so many books for? Your brother is going to college next year too. Where is this family going to find the money to put two kids through college?” That night, I hid under my covers and cried until dawn. The next morning, I ripped up my acceptance letter and walked down to the local textile factory to apply for a job on the assembly line. That year, I was seventeen. My brother was sixteen. From that day forward, I handed my paycheck directly to my mother. I kept fifty bucks a month for my own living expenses. The rest of it, I sent home. To pay for my brother’s SAT prep courses. To pay for my brother’s college tuition. To pay for his master’s degree. To pay for the down payment on his house. To pay for his wedding. I funded his life for fifteen straight years. “Hello? Are you still there?” My mom’s voice came through the speaker. “I’m here.” “Your sister said she wants to take everyone out to dinner tonight. Sort of a memorial dinner for your dad…” “I’m not going.” “What do you mean you’re not going?!” “Mom. I’m tired.” I hung up the phone. I stood in the rain and lit another cigarette. The photograph was still in my purse. I touched the manila envelope from the outside but didn’t take it out to look at it. Twenty years. I finally knew exactly how much I was worth in my father’s eyes. Not five million. Not fifty thousand. Not five thousand. I was worth a single photograph. A photograph he hadn’t looked at in twenty years. 2. I hailed a cab back to my apartment. The driver asked, “Where to?” I gave him the address. He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You alright, miss? You look a little pale.” “I’m fine. Probably just caught a chill in the rain.” “You gotta take care of yourself in this weather.” I hummed in response, leaned back against the seat, and closed my eyes. My mind was a chaotic mess, flooded entirely with the past. I thought about the day my SAT scores came out. I scored a 1550. My high school guidance counselor called the house, practically screaming with excitement. “Maya! You have the highest score this town has seen in years! You’re a lock for the state university!” My parents were genuinely thrilled for a few days. During that week, a lot of relatives stopped by the house to congratulate us. My uncle said, “Mark, your daughter is going places! She’s gonna make something of herself!” My aunt said, “The flagship state university! She’s the only kid in our whole neighborhood to ever get in!” My mom couldn’t stop grinning, constantly offering everyone slices of watermelon and snacks. My dad just sat on the porch smoking his cigarettes, not saying much, but I could tell he was proud. Those were the happiest few days of my entire memory. And then, the acceptance letter arrived. I remember it vividly. It was mid-April. The mail carrier pulled up in his truck and yelled from the street: “Maya! Your thick envelope is here!” I ran out of the house and took that manila envelope from him, my hands literally shaking. I tore it open. Inside was the formal acceptance packet. “State University, Department of English Literature.” I stared at those words, tears welling up in my eyes. I did it. I really did it. Then my dad took the letter from my hands and looked at the financial aid breakdown. His expression shifted. “How much is the tuition?” I said, “Twelve thousand a year after the scholarships.” “Room and board?” “Eight thousand.” “Living expenses?” “…Probably another few hundred a month for food and books.” My dad didn’t say anything. He set the letter down on the kitchen table and lit a cigarette. That night, my parents stayed in their bedroom talking for a very long time. I pressed my ear against the crack in the door to listen. My mom said, “Let her go. The kid is smart, she’s definitely going to have a good career.” My dad said, “What good is a career? A daughter eventually belongs to another family anyway. Look at the Miller’s girl down the street—she graduated college and still just ended up getting married and staying home. Wasn’t all that tuition money just thrown in the trash?” My mom said, “But…” “Leo has his SATs next year,” my dad interrupted her. “If Maya goes to college, it’s gonna cost us twenty grand a year minimum. What about Leo? If he doesn’t get into a good college, his life is ruined. Maya is a girl. She can just find a husband even if she doesn’t get a degree.” My mom fell silent. Then she asked, “So… how are we going to tell her?” “I’ll tell her.” The next morning, my dad called me out to the backyard. He stood under the oak tree, a cigarette pinched between his fingers, looking out at the distant hills. “Maya.” “Yeah, Dad.” “Your brother has his SATs next year. We don’t have enough money. You…” He didn’t finish the sentence. I understood everything immediately. “Dad. You’re telling me I can’t go, aren’t you?” He didn’t answer. He just dropped his cigarette butt onto the dirt and crushed it with his boot. “You’re a girl. Reading all those books won’t do you any good. Finding a good family to marry into down the road is better than any degree.” I stood there, unable to force a single word out of my mouth. The tears fell, drop by drop, onto the grass. My dad glanced at me and frowned. “What are you crying for? I’m doing this for your own good.” For my own good. He actually said “for my own good.” That night, I put my acceptance letter in the deepest corner of my bottom drawer. I didn’t tear it up. I didn’t burn it. I just left it there. It has been twenty years. I have never opened that drawer again. The cab came to a halt. “We’re here, miss,” the driver said. I snapped out of my daze, paid the fare, and got out. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still an oppressive, heavy gray. I stood outside my apartment building and looked up at my window. Fifth floor. Facing north. Terrible natural light. I’ve lived here for five years. Five years ago, I moved from my hometown to this city. Why did I move? Because my dad got sick. A massive stroke. The doctors said he needed long-term, round-the-clock care. My sister was living in Europe. My brother had just bought a house. My mom was too old to handle the physical labor of caring for a paralyzed man. So, I came. I was thirty-two that year. I had worked at the textile factory in my hometown for fifteen years, finally clawing my way up to shift supervisor. I quit my job, sold the beat-up used Honda I had driven for eight years, moved to this expensive city, rented this cramped apartment, and dedicated my life to taking care of my father. And I took care of him. For five straight years. 3. I unlocked the door. The apartment still smelled exactly the same. Rubbing alcohol, the distinct scent of an elderly invalid, and a faint undertone of mildew. Five years. The smell had seeped into the drywall; it was never going to wash out. I sat down on the cheap futon and pulled the photograph out of my purse. Seventeen-year-old me, smiling so happily. I had no idea back then that three days after that picture was taken, my entire destiny would be derailed. I actually thought getting into college was going to be the beginning of my life. I flipped the photo over and looked at the handwriting on the back. “To my middle girl: Good luck on your SATs.” My dad’s handwriting was sloppy, the penmanship of a man who hadn’t spent much time in school. But I memorized those words for twenty years. Isn’t it hilarious? The man who shattered my dream of going to college was the same man who wrote “Good luck on your SATs” to me. I suddenly remembered exactly how this picture came to be. It was a month before the test. My dad rarely came home from his out-of-state contracting jobs. That day, he came home carrying a camera. It was one of those cheap point-and-shoots. Someone had given it to him; I didn’t even know if it was bought used. “Come here. Let your old man take a picture of you.” I stood under the oak tree, and he held the camera up. “Smile.” I smiled. He clicked the shutter. Then he said, “When you get into a good college, I’m going to blow this picture up and hang it right in the living room.” I nodded, my heart practically bursting with pride. But what happened after that? I didn’t go to college. No, I got in. But I didn’t get to go. The picture was never blown up. It was never hung in the living room. I didn’t even know where it had ended up. I assumed it was lost to time decades ago. Twenty years later, it reappeared in my father’s last will and testament. As the sole inheritance he left me. My phone buzzed. It was a text message. From my brother, Leo. “Maya, the way Dad split things up… I don’t think it’s fair either. How about this, I’ll give you half of my five million?” I stared at the text message, unmoving for a long time. Half. Two and a half million dollars. Enough to buy a nice house in this city. Enough to live comfortably for the rest of my life. I thought about it, then typed out a reply. “No need.” Send. A few seconds later, my phone started ringing. It was Leo. “Maya! Don’t do this out of spite, I’m being completely serious!” “I’m not doing it out of spite.” “Then why won’t you take it?” “Because it’s not your money to give.” Leo fell silent. “What do you mean?” “That five million was left to you by Dad. If Dad decided to split it that way, he obviously had his reasons. You keep it.” “But…” “Leo.” I cut him off. “Do you remember who paid your tuition when you went to college?” Dead silence on the other end of the line. “I paid it,” I said. “Three years of high school test prep, four years of undergrad, two years of your master’s program. Your tuition, your rent, your groceries, even the expensive LSAT prep courses you took. I paid for all of it.” “Maya, I know, I’ve always remembered—” “As long as you remember, that’s enough,” I said. “But I don’t need you to pay me back. I gave you that money willingly back then. Consider it a gift from your big sister.” “Maya…” “When you got married, do you remember how much the wedding and the down payment on your house cost?” Leo didn’t say anything. “A hundred thousand dollars,” I said. “I gave you twenty thousand out of pocket. The other eighty thousand came from Mom and Dad, and forty thousand of that was from the paychecks I had been sending home for years.” “Maya, I…” “And what about when I got married? How much did Mom and Dad give me?” Leo still didn’t speak. “Four hundred bucks,” I answered my own question. “In a red envelope. And they only gave it to me at the reception in front of the extended family so they wouldn’t lose face.” “Maya, things were really tight for the family back then—” “Tight for who?!” My voice rose involuntarily. “The year you bought your house, Mom and Dad magically produced eighty thousand dollars in cash. But the year I got married, things were so ‘tight’ they could only scrape together four hundred bucks?” “I didn’t mean it like that…” “Leo.” I took a deep breath. “I’m not bringing this up to demand money from you. I’m telling you this so you understand: I have already given enough to this family for one lifetime.” “Maya…” “You keep the five million. From now on, you and Chloe can figure out what to do with Mom. I wash my hands of it.” “What are you talking about?” “I’m tired.” I hung up the phone. I leaned back against the futon and stared at the water stains on the ceiling. I’m tired. I am so, incredibly tired. 4. I picked up the photograph again. Seventeen-year-old me, standing under the oak tree, smiling so radiantly. Back then, I truly believed that as long as I worked hard, I could change my destiny. Back then, I truly believed my parents wouldn’t let me go to college because we were genuinely poor. But what happened later? The year my brother got into college, my parents not only paid his tuition in full, but they also bought him a brand-new MacBook. That was in 2008. A MacBook cost almost two thousand dollars. I had been working at the textile factory for five years at that point, and my monthly salary was barely six hundred dollars. The year my brother graduated with his master’s, my parents paid the down payment on his house in the city. Eighty thousand dollars. Half of it was the money I had been sending home for years, combined with whatever my parents had saved. Even then, I still naively thought: Oh, the family’s financial situation has improved, Mom and Dad have more breathing room now, so they can help Leo. I never let myself think about how much of that money was built on my own blood, sweat, and tears. Now, I understand. From the very beginning, my dad never intended to let me go to college. It wasn’t because we didn’t have the money. It was because I was a daughter. “What does a girl need to read so many books for?” When he said those words, his eyes were perfectly calm. Like he was stating a universal law of nature. A daughter is meant to step aside for her brother. A daughter is meant to be sacrificed for her brother. A daughter is meant to marry someone and have kids. That was his philosophy. And it’s the philosophy of a lot of people. I looked down at the photo. “To my middle girl: Good luck on your SATs.” Heh. That was the absolute limit of my father’s expectations for me. Good luck. And then what? Then he told me I wasn’t allowed to go. I tossed the photo onto the coffee table, stood up, and went to the tiny kitchenette to pour a glass of tap water. It was pitch black outside, and the rain had started up again. I thought back to five years ago. That day, my brother called me in a panic, saying Dad was in the hospital after a massive stroke. “Maya, the doctors say it’s really bad. Can you come home?” I took a red-eye Greyhound bus back that same night. When I got to the hospital, my dad was lying in the ICU, the entire right side of his body paralyzed. My mom sat next to the bed, her eyes swollen from crying. Where was my sister? In Europe. She made a five-minute phone call saying she “absolutely couldn’t get time off work” and told my mom to “take care of herself.” Where was my brother? Pacing the hallway outside the room, aggressively whispering into his phone. I walked closer and caught snippets of his conversation: “The mortgage is due next month… with Dad being sick like this, I literally do not have the cash flow right now…” That night, the attending physician called us into his office. “The patient’s prognosis isn’t great. He’s going to require long-term, intensive rehabilitation and 24/7 care. Your family needs to discuss who will be assuming the role of primary caregiver.” I looked at my mom. She was in her late sixties and her own health was failing. I looked at my brother. He had just gotten married, and his wife was pregnant with their first child. My sister was in Europe, so she wasn’t even an option. “I’ll do it.” When I said those words, I didn’t hesitate. Because I knew there was no one else. Growing up, whenever anything went wrong in this family, I was always the safety net. “Maya, what about your job at the factory?” my brother asked. “I’ll quit.” “But—” “There’s no ‘buts,’” I said. “You focus on your new family. Mom is too old, and Chloe can’t come back. I’ll take care of Dad.” Leo opened his mouth but didn’t say anything to stop me. My mom grabbed my hands and cried. “Maya, I’m so sorry to put this burden on you…” “Mom, I’m his daughter. Isn’t taking care of him my duty?” When I said that, I actually believed it. Looking back now, it’s hilarious. Taking care of him was my “duty,” but when it came to his estate, what exactly was my share? Five years. Over one thousand eight hundred days. I rolled him over in bed to prevent bedsores. I sponge-bathed him. I spoon-fed him. I did his physical therapy exercises with him. I dragged him to the hospital for check-ups, for physical therapy, for prescription refills, for emergency admissions. I woke up every two to three hours every single night to make sure he hadn’t kicked his blankets off, or accidentally pulled out his catheter. I didn’t sleep through the night once in five years. I didn’t take a single vacation or travel anywhere. I didn’t make a single friend in this city. I quit my job at thirty-two. Now, at thirty-seven, I found out I was completely unemployable. —Who wants to hire a thirty-seven-year-old woman with no college degree and a massive five-year gap on her resume? And the origin point of all of this was that photograph. It was that summer when I was seventeen. It was my dad asking, “What does a girl need to read so many books for?” And now? My dad is dead. His estate was liquidated for ten million dollars. My sister got five million. My brother got five million. And me? A twenty-year-old picture. I stood by the window holding my glass of water, watching the rain hit the glass. I finally understood. That photograph was proof of the very last time my father ever truly “saw” me. Twenty years ago, he still remembered to take a picture of me and tell me “good luck.” For the next twenty years, the only people he saw were my sister and my brother. What he gave me wasn’t an inheritance. It was a reminder. A reminder that said: You were never important. ***

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391240”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day the earth shook, my fiancé’s “charity case,” Daisy Miller, insisted on finishing her last bite of Beef Wellington. Dominic Blackwood’s voice was like ice as he issued the order to our security detail: “No one moves until she’s finished. We leave together.” My hearing has always been unnaturally sharp—a curse of hyper-sensitivity. I heard it before anyone else: the sickening crack of structural stone deep within the foundation. I didn’t wait. I signaled the guards to grab Dominic and evacuate the VIP lounge immediately. When Daisy finally stood up to chase after him, crying out his name, a massive slab of the ceiling mirrored her movement, pinning her to the polished marble floor. She died instantly. Months later, during what was supposed to be our honeymoon, Dominic dragged me to the edge of a jagged cliff. He didn’t use a gun. He used stones. He pelted me, his face twisted in a mask of grief-driven rage, until I broke. “It’s your fault!” he screamed as I fell. “If you hadn’t forced me out, Daisy would still be alive. She was just a girl who liked nice things! What was her crime? Being hungry?” He knew I was three months pregnant with his child. He didn’t care. I woke up with a gasp, the phantom pain of stones crushing my ribs still echoing in my chest. I was back in that high-end restaurant. The air smelled of expensive wine and buttery pastry. This time, if he wants to wait for her to finish her steak, he can wait until the world ends. 1 “What’s the rush?” Dominic snapped, his eyes scanning the room with arrogant dismissal. “We aren’t in a major fault zone. It’s just a tremor. We wait until Daisy finishes her meal.” He leaned back, adjusting his silk tie. “If anyone tries to sneak out before then, consider your career with Blackwood Industries over.” He was used to being a god, a man whose word could stop the rotation of the earth. I sat across from him, my heart hammering against my ribs, the memory of my own death still burning in my veins. I quietly reached into my clutch and hit the record button on my phone. The sound of fracturing stone was getting louder. I knew the rhythm of this disaster. In exactly two minutes, the ceiling would come down. At a nearby table, a service dog began to whine and pace, its hackles raised. Its owner looked panicked. “Mr. Blackwood, please. We should get to the street. The steak can wait.” The Beef Wellington was still steaming. Daisy sliced a piece, her eyes wide and innocent, the very picture of a waifish girl who had never known luxury until Dominic plucked her from a community college scholarship pool. “The meat is so tender,” she whispered, looking at Dominic with hero-worship. “I’ve never had anything like this in my life.” Dominic’s expression softened into something sickeningly doting. “It’s top-shelf Wagyu, flown in from Japan this morning. It would be a tragedy to let it go to waste.” In my last life, I had obsessively tracked the shipping records of that “imported” beef, wanting to leave some at her grave out of a twisted sense of guilt. I never found a record. It wasn’t until much later that I learned Dominic had raised that cow himself on a private estate—a strange, obsessive project. He had slaughtered it specifically for her. The restaurant manager looked at me, pleading. “Ms. West, please. Talk to him. If this is a real quake, lives are at stake.” I took a slow, deliberate sip of my Cabernet, feeling the cool liquid coat my throat. I wasn’t going to save him this time. I wasn’t going to save anyone. Before Daisy entered the picture, Dominic and I were the “it” couple of the city—the power duo. But the moment he started “mentoring” her, the dynamic shifted. I became the cold, demanding corporate shark, and she was the soft, “pure” light he needed to protect. I looked up at the ornate ceiling, my voice calm. “The CEO said we wait. Everyone stay in your seats. I’m sure everything is under control.” As the guests began to murmur in protest, the first major jolt hit. A massive ornamental medallion tore free from the ceiling, crashing between two tables with a sound like a bomb going off. A shard of flying plaster sliced across Daisy’s calf, leaving a thin red line of blood. She let out a piercing, theatrical sob. “Dominic! It hurts… I think my leg is broken!” “Hold on, I’ve got you,” Dominic moved faster than I’d ever seen, his movements frantic and tender. He scooped her up like she was made of glass. Then, he turned on me, his face contorted with fury. “Margot! You’re supposed to have those ‘super-ears,’ aren’t you? You heard the ceiling cracking! Why didn’t you tell us to move? You let her get hurt!” I lowered my gaze, masking the cold smile touching my lips behind my wine glass. “I’m so sorry. I must have misjudged the frequency. I’ll hold myself accountable.” It seems I was the only one who came back. What a wonderful, terrifying gift. Dominic reached out and slapped the wine glass from my hand. The red liquid sprayed across my white Dior gown like a fresh wound. “Stop acting like a statue and get out! Move! Before something else falls!” A tremor shook the floor, causing me to lose my balance on the debris. I slipped, my ankle twisting sharply. Dominic didn’t even look back. He carried Daisy toward the emergency exit, casting one final, icy glance over his shoulder. “Stop being dramatic, Margot. It’s just a fall. If you don’t want to die, get up.” I sat on the floor, my palms pressed into the grit and dust, watching his back disappear. My fingers curled into fists. Dominic seemed to have forgotten that we were here for our engagement party. I was supposed to be the lead, but I had been relegated to a background extra in the story of his “pure” obsession. That was fine. This time, the ending wouldn’t be a cliffside in the rain. It would be something much worse. 2 I hauled myself up using the edge of the table, my white dress ruined by wine and soot. Outside, the air was thick with sirens. Dominic had already commandeered the only available ambulance for Daisy’s “scratch,” taking all his bodyguards with him. His last words to me before slamming the door were, “Find your own way home, Margot. I have a crisis to handle.” He drove off into the chaos. I didn’t have my keys, and the restaurant was on a secluded ridge—miles from the city center. In the wake of a tremor, Uber was non-existent. The remaining guests were trickling out, snapping photos of the damage for Instagram, whispering as they passed me. “What is Margot West still doing here? This was her engagement night, wasn’t it?” “Did you see her just sitting there drinking while that girl was bleeding? She’s a sociopath. I heard Dominic’s been looking for a way out of the engagement for months.” I ignored them. My phone buzzed. It was a notification from Instagram. Daisy had tagged me in a post. It was a photo of her in the back of the ambulance, leaning her head on Dominic’s shoulder. The caption read: I never imagined someone would be willing to stay in a collapsing building just so I could finish a meal. Thank you for choosing me, Dominic. My hero. I almost laughed. The girl was an amateur. If the press got hold of the fact that the CEO of Blackwood Industries risked a hundred lives for a steak, the stock would plummet by morning. As I began calculating exactly how to ruin him, a black SUV pulled up. Three men in suits stepped out. “Ms. West. You’re coming with us.” “Where?” I took a step back, my pulse quickening. “Mr. Blackwood’s orders. We’re taking you to the hospital.” I started to refuse, but they didn’t give me the chance. They gripped my arms, one on each side, with a bruising strength that told me this wasn’t an invitation. “Let go of me! I can walk!” When we arrived at the ER, Dominic was standing by the entrance. The look on his face wasn’t relief. It was pure, unadulterated disgust. Daisy was slumped against him, limping theatrically. “She’s here, Dominic,” Daisy whispered, her voice a fragile reed. I gritted my teeth. “Why am I here, Dominic?” “Because you love to put on a show, don’t you?” He stepped toward me, his voice a low hiss. “The scene tonight felt incomplete without your brand of calculated ice.” He swung his hand. The slap was so hard my ears rang. My lip split instantly, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. “You have ‘gifted’ hearing, Margot. You knew that ceiling was coming down. Why didn’t you speak? Why did you sit there and watch her get hit?” My swollen ankle gave out. I stumbled, tumbling down the three stone steps leading to the hospital entrance. I landed in a heap, my ruined dress Tangled around my legs. Dominic loomed over me. “You wanted her dead, didn’t you? Or maybe you rigged the damn ceiling yourself. It’s exactly the kind of cold-blooded move you’re famous for.” The speed of his turn made it clear: someone had been whispering in his ear. In my previous life, the “friends” who wanted to stay in Dominic’s good graces had lined up to trash my reputation the moment they saw him favor Daisy. I looked up at him, my eyes shimmering with fake tears. “If I had told you to move, you would have called me a killjoy. You told the room that anyone who left would be fired. You remember that, don’t you?” In my last life, saving him was a crime. In this life, letting him stay was a sin. There was no winning with a man who had already decided you were the villain. Daisy’s eyes welled up. “Dominic, look at her… she always has an excuse. I just wanted one nice meal, and she wanted me to die for it. Why do you hate me so much, Margot?” I didn’t think. I hauled myself up and delivered a stinging slap across Daisy’s face. “Daisy, shut up. I am still the woman who holds the contracts to his name. I am still his fiancée.” Daisy gasped, clutching her cheek. “Dominic… she hit me…” 3 “Margot!” Dominic’s voice was thick with hatred. “You dare lay a hand on her in front of me? Have you lost your mind?” I laughed, a jagged, cold sound. “She opened her mouth first. I’m just reclaiming my dignity. And you? You should check the news. There was an actual earthquake. I don’t control the tectonic plates, Dominic. I’m not that powerful.” “Fine,” he said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly soft register. He turned to Daisy. “Hit her back.” Daisy blinked, stunned. “Hit her,” he repeated. “She thinks she can touch what’s mine without consequences. Don’t be afraid. I’m right here.” Daisy looked at me, a flicker of triumph dancing in the depths of her “innocent” eyes. She stepped forward, pretending to be hesitant, but as she reached for me, she didn’t aim for my face. She grabbed the neckline of my dress, yanking downward. The delicate silk shredded. The front of my gown tore open, exposing me to the crowded hospital entrance. Dominic didn’t stop her. He didn’t even flinch. I scrambled to cover myself, my face burning with a mix of fury and humiliation. “Daisy! What the hell are you doing?” “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Daisy squeaked, her hands flying to her mouth. “I was just trying to talk to her, and she got so aggressive… she must have torn it herself to make me look bad…” “You lying little—” “Enough!” Dominic roared. “I saw everything. You’re pathetic, Margot. Tearing your own clothes to frame a girl who has nothing? You’ve lost your shame, and I’ve lost my patience.” “Dominic, it’s my leg,” Daisy moaned, clutching her calf where the tiny scratch had long since stopped bleeding. “The stress… I can’t breathe… it hurts so much…” “We’re going,” Dominic said, immediately draping his suit jacket over her shoulders. “I’m getting you a full trauma sweep.” Before they turned away, Dominic’s eyes lingered on my swollen, purple ankle for a split second. A shadow of a frown crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He turned to a nearby hospital administrator. “This woman is not to be treated. Not tonight. Consider it a lesson in humility. If I find out a single doctor touched her, I’ll pull my funding from this wing.” I watched them disappear into the private elevators. I ended up buying a tube of ointment from a 24-hour pharmacy and limping back to the apartment I paid for with my own salary. Late that night, the sound of a key in the lock startled me. It was Dominic. He smelled of Scotch and bitterness. Before I could speak, he was on me. His hands were heavy, roaming over me with a possessiveness that felt like an assault. “Dominic! Stop!” My voice trembled. “What are you doing?” He pinned my wrists to the headboard, his weight crushing the breath out of me. “That little performance at the hospital? That was about being desperate, wasn’t it? You’re starved for attention.” I struggled, screaming for him to get off. “Let me go!” He laughed against my neck. “Why the act? You’ve been in my bed for three years. You think you’re a virgin now because you’re mad at me?” He forced a kiss on me, his mouth tasting of expensive liquor and resentment. Memory hit me like a physical blow. In my previous life, he had come home drunk after Daisy died, sobbing her name while he forced himself on me. That was the night I got pregnant. But in this life, Daisy was alive. Why was he here? I bit his lip, hard. The metallic tang of blood filled the air. “You bit me?” The pain seemed to ignite something darker in him. He pressed down harder. “Fine. I like it when you fight. It makes it feel like you actually have a soul.” I screamed, my hand fumbling blindly on the nightstand. My fingers closed around a heavy crystal water glass. I swung it with every ounce of strength I had left. CRACK. He slumped to the side, dazed. I pushed him off with a guttural cry, grabbing a shard of the broken glass as I scrambled off the bed. I backed into the corner, clutching my torn robe, my ankle throbbing. “Touch me again,” I hissed, “and I will end this. For both of us.” Dominic wiped a smear of blood from his forehead, staring at me with a mix of shock and mounting rage. “You hit me. You actually hit me.” He stood up, his voice trembling. “We’re done, Margot. The engagement is over. You won’t get another dime, another contract, or another second of my time. You’re nothing without the Blackwood name.” 4 The next morning, my phone chimed. It was a DM from Daisy. It was a photo of her and Dominic in bed—a mess of tangled sheets and smug smiles. He came to me last night, Margot. He was calling your name at first, but by the end, he knew exactly who he was with. It was my peak ovulation window. Maybe I’ll be the one carrying the Blackwood heir soon. Good luck with the ‘ex’ title. I didn’t bother getting angry. I just replied: Keep him. He’s a depreciating asset. By noon, the media was in a frenzy. [BREAKING: Dominic Blackwood Calls Off Engagement to Tech Heiress Margot West] [Who is Daisy Miller? The Mystery Girl Set to Become the New Queen of Blackwood Industries] My social feeds were a graveyard of my past life. Photos of me were being cropped out of gala shots, replaced by blurry candids of Daisy smiling. I was the “scorned woman,” the “cold-hearted ice queen” who had finally been thawed out of the picture. I didn’t care. I was waiting. At 10:00 AM, I received a call from a blocked number. “Ms. West? It’s the firm. There’s an auction tonight at The Obsidian Room. It involves a major transition project for Blackwood Industries. Mr. Blackwood insisted you attend as a ‘special guest.’ We’ll have a car for you.” After my father died, I had funneled almost my entire inheritance into Blackwood stock to help Dominic build his empire. Even if we were over, I still owned a significant chunk of that company. I figured I owed it to my bank account to show up one last time. But I knew Dominic. He didn’t do “special guests” out of kindness. I made a phone call of my own first, setting a different set of wheels in motion. When I arrived at the auction, the atmosphere was predatory. The auctioneer took the stage, his voice booming: “Tonight’s first item is a gift from Mr. Blackwood to Ms. Miller. A pair of rare Qing Dynasty vases. Opening bid: three million!” Dominic didn’t even look at the catalog. “Ten million.” Daisy sat beside him in a champagne gold gown that looked three sizes too small for her dignity. She looked like a child playing dress-up, radiating a desperate, nouveau-riche energy that made the old money in the room cringe. A Tang bronze censer. A Song Dynasty tea bowl. A Ming era hairpin. For every item, Dominic raised his paddle without blinking. “Item number 48, sold to Mr. Blackwood for Ms. Miller.” “Item 72, sold.” “Item 89, sold.” Daisy clutched a gold hairpin, her eyes gleaming. “Dominic, are you really going to buy me 99 items?” He squeezed her hand, his voice loud enough for the front three rows to hear. “I promised you a ‘House of Gold,’ didn’t I? You deserve a legacy that isn’t built on ice.” I sat in the shadows of the back row, my knuckles white. He had said those exact words to me four years ago. I waited for the “business” portion of the evening, but it never came. It was just a public humiliation ritual. I stood to leave, but a waiter blocked my path. “Ms. West, you can’t leave. You’re the grand finale. Mr. Blackwood’s orders.” “The grand finale?” The waiter looked uncomfortable. “You’ll see.” A cold pit formed in my stomach. Suddenly, the house lights dimmed, and a single, piercing spotlight hit me. The stage floor beneath me began to rise, lifting me up until I was center stage, exposed to the entire elite of the city. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer announced, his voice tinged with a cruel mirth. “Our 100th and final ‘item’ of the night. A special surprise curated by Mr. Blackwood himself… the lovely Ms. Margot West.” The room erupted in hushed laughter and mocking whispers. “Is he actually auctioning off his ex-fiancée?” “Look at her face. From CEO to a charity lot. Talk about a fall from grace.” Daisy was preening, leaning into Dominic’s chest. “Oh, Dominic, she looks so sad. Do you think anyone will actually bid on her? It’s almost a mercy killing at this point.” My watch vibrated. A text from my contact: It’s done. I looked down at Dominic. I let a slow, predatory smile spread across my face. The game was over. “I’m afraid,” I said, my voice amplified by the stage mic, “that this auction is officially cancelled.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391270”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After the fake heiress died, her diary—left at a local shelter—was leaked online. It chronicled her silent suffering, her resilience, and her “selfless” love for the family. In an instant, the internet was in tears, and my family was drowning in regret. I, the one who had hidden the fact that she had terminal cancer, became the ultimate villain. My brother screamed at me: “I would have stayed broke for the rest of my life just to keep Maya alive!” My parents were livid: “Who gave you the right to choose for us? We didn’t want the money; we wanted our daughter!” I was blacklisted, cyberbullied, and kicked out of the house. I eventually died on the streets, cold and alone. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Maya received her terminal diagnosis. 1 “Promise me, Chloe. Don’t tell anyone I’m sick, okay?” Maya was clutching my hand, her eyes swimming in tears. Her voice trembled with a humility that bordered on begging. Even with the bitterness of my past life, seeing her look this fragile made me hesitate for a heartbeat. “Dad lost everything in that venture capital deal. The house is gone, Mom is confined to her bed with depression, and Caleb is working three jobs just to keep Dad out of legal trouble. If they find out I have cancer, it will destroy them. I can’t be another burden… I just can’t.” What a tragic script: the bankrupt father, the fragile mother, the protective brother, and her—the dying saint. In my last life, I fell for it. Shortly after she told me this, she “ran away.” To make sure the family wouldn’t look for her, she rebranded herself as a shallow gold-digger. She posted photos partying at clubs with questionable men, told Caleb she was done with being poor, and was seen on the arms of wealthy older men at high-end galas. She broke their hearts to “save” them. And she made sure every single detail of her “noble sacrifice” was recorded in that diary. Three years after she died, Caleb became the new titan of the tech industry. My parents got new investments and rebuilt their lives. And I, who had worked double shifts in silence to support them through the dark times, finally took my place as the “real” daughter of the Vance family. But the good life lasted only a few days. A famous “missing persons” influencer found her diary and read it live to millions. Overnight, Maya became a martyr. My parents and Caleb, unable to handle their own guilt, turned their grief into a weapon and aimed it at me. “Why did you hide it? I don’t care if she’s gone; you will never replace her! I only have one sister, and it’s Maya!” Caleb had shouted during a press conference where he publicly disowned me. I had tried to argue: “Maya begged me! She didn’t want to be a burden! I wanted you guys to have a future! We only had enough money left for one of us to start over, and I respected her choice!” Caleb threw me aside, roaring, “Did you respect my choice? You knew how much she meant to me! Don’t pretend you did it for me—you did it for the money! That money could have bought her more time! Who gives a damn about a career?” I turned to my parents, but the locks were already changed. My suitcases were tossed onto the sidewalk like trash. “If it wasn’t for Maya, we never would have brought you home from the foster system,” my mother hissed. “You’re a curse. If it weren’t for you, she’d still be here. Get out before we do something we won’t regret.” The hatred in their eyes was seared into my soul. That was the moment I realized: no matter how hard I worked, I would never belong. Success makes people forget the grit of the past; they prefer to believe their glory is due to talent, not the luck of someone else’s sacrifice. But this time, I won’t let them live with “what ifs.” 2 “What’s going on in here?” Caleb pushed the door open and walked toward us. Maya tightened her grip on my arm, whispering one last time, “Please, Chloe…” I didn’t let her finish. I shook her hand off. Maya froze, confused. “Chloe, why…” Because I know you’re a diary writer, and I’m tired of being the villain. I turned to Caleb and blurted out, “Maya is sick. It’s stage four cancer.” Caleb stopped dead, the exhaustion on his face replaced by sheer terror. Maya started shaking her head frantically. “No, no, I’m fine. Chloe is just stressed, she’s joking…” I stayed cold and clinical. “She has the biopsy results in her pocket. Look for yourself. We need to tell Mom and Dad immediately. She needs treatment now.” Maya instinctively clutched her pocket. Caleb lunged forward and snatched the crumpled medical report from her hand. As his eyes scanned the words “Malignant” and “Metastasized,” he actually swayed on his feet. Maya burst into tears. “Please, don’t tell them! Mom can’t handle this, and Dad is already at his breaking point with the bankruptcy… Caleb, please,姐姐 (Sister), please…” She sobbed until she couldn’t breathe, and then, a spray of blood erupted from her nose, staining the floor. Caleb’s face went ghost-white. “We’re going to the hospital,” I said. Maya kept protesting, saying it was a waste of money, but Caleb scooped her up in a protective, commanding hold. “Maya, enough. We’re going.” First, they ran a full diagnostic panel. The results were undeniable. “It’s aggressive,” the oncologist explained. “It’s spread to multiple organs. We can try a combination of surgery, radiation, and chemo, but she’s young—it’s hard to say how she’ll respond. And frankly, the costs will be astronomical.” Caleb didn’t hesitate. “We’ll do whatever it takes.” The doctor nodded and handed over the admission forms. “You’ll need to pay the initial deposit at the billing office. She’ll need 24-hour care.” Caleb took the stack of papers and led Maya to the inpatient wing. “The initial deposit is $5,000. Will that be card or insurance?” the clerk asked. Caleb’s jaw tightened. Our insurance had lapsed after the company went under. “Give me a minute. I need to make a phone call.” I sat with Maya on a plastic bench, watching Caleb pace outside. I saw him looking desperate, then forced to smile, then kicking a trash can in rage. It took him until the office was nearly closed to scrape together that $5,000. I knew exactly what he did. He had to swallow his pride and beg the “trust fund kids” he used to look down on for a loan. In my last life, he would have starved for a week before asking them for a dime. This time, his “noble pride” was the first thing to go. “Don’t worry,” Caleb told Maya, his voice thick with emotion. “Money isn’t an issue. As long as you’re okay, I’ll handle everything.” Maya looked at him with worshipful eyes. I looked at the hospital walls, smelling the bleach. To the rich, this is a place of healing. To the poor, it’s a meat grinder for your soul and your bank account. 3 The $5,000 was just the cover charge to get into the game. From here on out, every breath Maya took inside those walls would cost a fortune. The bed, the IV, the saline, the oxygen—it would all add up to a mountain of debt a ruined family could never climb. When we arrived at the hospital, we took an Uber because it was an “emergency.” When we left, we walked to the bus stop. On the cramped, smelly bus, Maya cried again, begging Caleb to let her die. But Caleb, fueled by the “hero” narrative, just poured more “never give up” rhetoric into her head. “We’re family, Maya! We don’t quit on each other! You just fight the cancer; I’ll fight the world!” “Caleb… I don’t deserve a brother like you…” They hugged. It was like a scene from a low-budget soap opera, if you could ignore the smell of the city bus and the tired commuters staring at them. When we got back to the cramped apartment we were renting, my parents were sitting on a small cot. On the table was a stack of cash—$300,000. My dad had sold his vintage Rolex collection; my mother had sold every designer bag and pair of heels she owned. It was exactly $300,000. In my last life, this was the seed money. Caleb used this $300,000 to invest in his college roommate’s startup, “RiceTech.” That company eventually went public, making my brother a billionaire and saving the Vance legacy. Dad looked at Caleb with weary eyes. “Caleb, we got the money. Take it to your friend, Sam. Invest it in RiceTech. We’re betting everything on this. We need this win to get back on our feet.” Caleb looked at the money, then at the hospital forms in his hand. He walked over and handed the medical reports to Dad. “What is this?” Dad asked. As they read the words “Stage IV,” the room went silent. Mom started to wail. Dad’s lips thinned into a hard line. Maya’s tears fell onto the floor. “Dad, Mom… we can make money later,” Caleb said, his voice cracking. “But Maya is running out of time.” Dad looked at the $300,000—their last hope of ever being “important” again. Then he looked at Maya. “We treat it,” Dad said, his voice dead. “We have to.” 4 With that one sentence, the “Vance Family Renaissance” was dead. The “Maya Recovery Project” began. Dad got a job at a construction site. Mom started waitressing at a diner. Caleb went to work at RiceTech, but not as a partner—as a lowly entry-level salesman on commission. And me? In my last life, I dropped out to work three jobs to keep the lights on while they grieved. This time, I took a formal leave of absence from college to be Maya’s 24-hour hospital companion. “Chloe, since I got sick, everyone has cried. Even the nurses. But you haven’t. Why?” Maya asked me one day from her hospital bed. I was busy organizing her meds. I didn’t look up. “Crying doesn’t pay the bills, Maya. Why waste the energy?” She gave a sad little smile. “I know you’ve hated me since you came home. I just don’t understand why you told them. If I had just disappeared, you all would be rich by now. You’d be the only daughter. You’d be happy.” I used to think that too. But I’ve learned that the “unloved” child is never happy, regardless of the money. But what about the “beloved” child? Let’s see how that goes. “Don’t overthink it,” I said, tucking her in. “Just focus on the ‘heroic battle’ everyone expects of you.” I stayed on the tiny cot in her room every night. Not out of love, but because I had to make sure she didn’t try to pull her “disappearing act.” Every time she tried to crawl out of bed to run away, I “caught” her and called the nurses to “save” her. The first surgery cost $100,000. Then came the targeted radiation. Then the experimental chemo. The “pure love” of the family was at its peak during the first month. They visited every day with flowers and prayers. But the bills kept coming. By the second month, Maya’s organs started to fail. She needed a kidney. Mom and I weren’t matches. Dad and Caleb were. Dad was too old for the stress of the surgery, so Caleb, the “noble brother,” went under the knife. Maya woke up to Caleb’s missing kidney. She cried with gratitude. The family was “united.” Only I heard the surgeon’s hushed warning in the hallway: “Kidney failure is just the beginning. Next will be the liver, then the heart. You’re pouring money into a sinking ship. You’re mutilating a healthy young man to give a terminal patient a few more months of agony. I strongly suggest hospice.” 5 Once Caleb recovered, he went back to work. But things at RiceTech were moving fast. The company was hitting its stride, but Caleb couldn’t keep up. He couldn’t go to the late-night networking drinks because of his health. He couldn’t travel for the big deals. He was grumpy and exhausted. Eventually, his friend Sam had to hire someone else to lead the sales team. Caleb was sidelined. His dreams of being a “tech mogul” were dying in a cubicle. “It’s not fair!” he roared one night in our cramped kitchen. “My vision was right! I should be the one on the cover of Forbes! Instead, I’m selling software for peanuts just to pay for another round of chemo!” The resentment was starting to rot the “noble” facade. Mom, who used to have weekly manicures, now had cracked, bleeding hands from scrubbing floors. She had to dig out clogged drains with her bare hands. She started bringing home leftover scraps from the diner for our dinner. Dad, the former executive, was being belittled by a foreman half his age. Every cent he made went into the black hole of Maya’s medical bills. By the fifth month of treatment, their memories improved. They finally started “remembering” what the doctor said about the chances of success. “Maya, the doctors… they say it’s not looking good,” Mom whispered during a visit. “Maybe we’re just making you suffer for nothing.” “We did our best, honey,” Dad added. “We really did. We gave everything.” Maya couldn’t even speak. She had lost her hair, her skin was yellow, and she was skeletal. She just watched them with tears leaking from her eyes. During those months, she had been “washed” five times—full blood transfusions. Every major organ had been poked and prodded. She was in a living hell. She had begged to stop. She had begged them to let her go. But back then, they were “too noble” to listen. They had forced her to stay alive. Now, she was a vegetable with a price tag. Caleb held her hand, crying—but they weren’t tears of love anymore. They were tears of mourning for his lost life. “I’m sorry, Maya. I can’t do this anymore. Next time your heart stops, I’m signing the DNR. Go to heaven, okay? Be happy there. I love you.” Maya nodded weakly. She was ready to die. But the universe has a sick sense of humor. Maya didn’t die. She started to get better. Against all odds, the experimental treatment worked. She stabilized. She could eat. She could sit up. She could talk. The doctor was amazed. “It’s a miracle. She can go home. She’ll need years of expensive rehab, and she’ll never be 100% independent, but she’s alive.” Maya cried with joy. She thought she had been given a second chance. But when I looked at my parents and Caleb… I didn’t see joy. I saw the look of people who had just been told their life sentence was being extended. 6 “How is she still alive?” I heard my mother whisper it in the middle of the night. We were all squeezed into a one-bedroom apartment. Parents on the bed, Caleb on the sofa, Maya and I on a mattress on the floor. Dad sighed heavily. “I don’t know. We prayed for her to live, and now she is. But how do we pay for the $10,000-a-month rehab? We’re already a million in debt.” “She’s a burden,” Mom hissed. “A million dollars to keep a cripple alive. If we had just invested that money three years ago, we’d be in a mansion in the Hamptons right now.” “Don’t say that,” Dad muttered. “But… yeah. Life is over for us. We’re just ATMs for a ghost.” They didn’t realize Maya was awake. I saw her shoulders shaking. I saw the silent tears soaking the pillow. The “Saint” was finally seeing the “noble” family for what they were. I patted her shoulder and mouthed: “It’ll get better.” She nodded, trying to believe me. The next morning, Mom didn’t make her usual sad oatmeal. She went to the bakery and got expensive donuts and coffee. “Everything looks so good,” I remarked, reaching for a donut to give to Maya. But Mom pulled the tray toward Dad and Caleb. “Let them eat first. They have to go work twelve hours. Maya can have the leftovers.” Maya saw the coldness in Mom’s eyes. She shook her head and said she wasn’t hungry. “You have to eat to get better,” Mom said, her voice sharp. “If you don’t get better, you can’t work. We need another income. We can’t support two freeloaders forever. Chloe needs to go back to work too.” Caleb frowned. “Mom, Maya can barely walk. And who’s going to take care of her if Chloe works?” “We’ll rotate,” Mom said firmly. “I’ll do Mondays, Dad will do Tuesdays, you do weekends. We have to make this work. We need the money.” Maya whispered, “Was it a mistake to save me?” No one answered. Dad just bit into his donut and said, “We’ve made a lot of mistakes. We can’t afford any more.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391286”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the very first day the “real” heiress, Chloe Miller, returned to the family, she threw all my belongings out of my bedroom. “I am Mom and Dad’s biological daughter. You’re just a fake. You can pack your bags and get out.” “Oh, by the way, before you leave, I need you to refund all the money you’ve spent in our house for the past twenty years. Let’s call it $500,000 a year. That’s ten million dollars total. Just wire it directly to my account.” I silently handed her a QR code for the “Family Reunion Queue.” “Understood, Miss Miller. But before we get to that, you need to scan this, join the queue, and wait for your identity verification.” Chloe slapped the QR code out of my hand. “Evelyn Vance! Who the hell do you think you are?! How dare you block me from reuniting with my family?!” I sighed helplessly, trying to explain. “I’m not blocking you. You just need to wait in line.” But Chloe, desperate to claim her billionaire status, refused to listen. “You think I need to wait in line?! Just wait until I find Mom and Dad! You’re going to be kicked out on the street, you imposter!” However, what Chloe didn’t know was that before her, exactly 499 other people had shown up claiming to be the long-lost daughter. My parents were so overwhelmed they had long since delegated the entire “Family Reunion” department to me. … Chloe ambushed my mother by the elevator just as she finished a board meeting. “Mom!” She dropped to her knees right there in the lobby. “I’m your real, biological daughter!” My mother didn’t even bat an eyelid. Her assistant, Mark, immediately stepped forward. “Miss, if you are here for a family reunion, please make an appointment online.” Tears streamed down Chloe’s face on command. “Mom! Look at me! I’ve suffered so much all these years…” My mother finally looked up. She glanced at her Rolex. “Thirty-six seconds. You started crying five seconds slower than the girl last month. You didn’t break the record, kid.” Chloe was dumbfounded. “What?” My mother pulled out her iPad and swiped a few times. “Applicant YM-37. Chloe Miller, twenty-two years old. Lives in a low-income housing complex on the East Side. Parents deceased. Finished college on financial aid.” Chloe’s face paled. “You… you investigated me?” My mother patted her shoulder. “Kid, your acting isn’t bad, but your lines are too cliché. I recommend you go watch Season 2 of The Crown. Their dramatic monologues are much better written than yours.” With that, she stepped into the elevator and left. At 3:00 PM, my dad went to inspect one of the Vance department stores. Chloe showed up again. This time, she changed her strategy. “Dad!” She held up a photograph. “Look, I looked exactly like you when I was a kid!” My dad took the photo and inspected it. “Nice Photoshop,” he said. “But next time, remember to make the ears a little smaller. Nobody in the Vance family has ears that big.” Chloe panicked. “This is a real picture of me as a baby!” “Kid, last year we had someone bring in a highly sophisticated AI deepfake video claiming to be my daughter.” My dad sighed. “Their tech was way more professional than yours.” He handed the photo back to her. “Go find Evelyn. She handles this department.” Chloe stomped her foot in frustration. “Dad! How can you be so heartless?!” My dad didn’t even look back. “Call me Mr. Vance.” At 8:00 PM, my grandmother’s private jet landed. Chloe had been squatting in the VIP arrivals lounge all afternoon. “Grandma!” She literally threw herself onto the floor. “I am your real granddaughter!” Grandma Vance had just gotten off a transatlantic flight and was still severely jet-lagged. She squinted at her. “What number is this one for the year?” Her bodyguard replied, “Fifty-seven, Ma’am.” Grandma nodded. “Do you have an appointment?” Chloe was stunned. “N-No…” “Then I can’t help you.” Grandma waved her hand dismissively. “Last year, a girl camped out at the airport for three days before we made an exception and squeezed her in.” She gestured for her bodyguard to help Chloe up and shoved a business card into her hand. “This is my granddaughter’s contact info. Make an appointment with her first.” Chloe looked down at the business card. It read: Evelyn Vance – Director of True Heiress Verification Project. Her face turned a sickly shade of green. The next day, Chloe stormed into our family estate. “I want a DNA test!” She slammed her hands on the table. “Right here! Right now!” My parents exchanged a look, both looking a bit exhausted. “Kid,” my mom said, “It’s not that we don’t want to…” “You’re guilty, aren’t you?!” Chloe sneered. “You’re afraid the test will prove I’m the real one!” My dad rubbed his temples. “Last year, I had blood drawn thirty times. It’s only the beginning of the year, and I’ve already had blood drawn fifteen times. My doctor told me if I give any more blood, I’m going to become severely anemic.” Chloe choked on her words. I walked over, carrying a cup of tea. “Actually, there’s another way.” “What way?” She looked at me suspiciously. “We can use hair or nail clippings,” I said. “The technology is very advanced now; we don’t strictly need a blood draw.” Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Then let’s do it right now!” I smiled. “Sure, but you still have to wait in line.” “Wait in what line?!” “My parents only have a limited quota of hair and nail clippings to give out each month, and this month’s quota is already maxed out. There are over two hundred samples ahead of yours waiting for lab results. The earliest we can get to yours is next month.” Chloe exploded. “Evelyn Vance! You’re doing this on purpose!” I shrugged. “Just following protocol.” Chloe couldn’t wait a single second. She paid a scalper twenty thousand dollars to buy an expedited VIP queue ticket. Then, she was escorted to the third floor, into the “Heirloom Authentication Room.” She strutted in, chest puffed out like a proud peacock. “I have an heirloom!” She pulled out half of a jade pendant. “The nurse at the hospital gave this to me back then! It’s one of a kind!” The authentication clerk, Sarah, took the pendant and scanned the barcode on Chloe’s VIP ticket. “Applicant YM-37, Chloe Miller. Heirloom Category: Jade Pendant.” Sarah read from her screen, “Currently, there are 287 jade pendants registered in our database.” Chloe’s smile froze. “How many?” “287.” Sarah pulled up the data visualizer. “Among them, 143 are half-pendants, and 144 are complete pendants.” Chloe flipped out. “That’s impossible!” Sarah smiled politely. “In the beginning, it was just two halves that could fit together. Later, people started bringing in quarter-pieces.” She clicked open a web browser. “Now there’s even a ‘Jade Pendant Fragment Puzzle’ service on Amazon. Only $9.99, free shipping.” Chloe looked like she was going to be sick. I spoke to her through the intercom from the surveillance room. “Miss Miller, your pendant is a standard mass-produced model. Retail value is about thirty-eight bucks at the flea market.” Chloe looked up, searching for the camera. “Evelyn! You set me up!” I laughed. “It’s called market research.” Chloe refused to give up. “I have a birthmark!” She aggressively pulled her collar down. “A butterfly shape on my left shoulder! One of a kind!” Sarah sighed and opened another database. “Out of the 500 ‘heiresses’ who applied this year, 108 claimed to have a butterfly-shaped birthmark.” Chloe’s eyes widened. “How many?!” “108.” Sarah zoomed in on the pie chart. “76 on the left shoulder, 32 on the right shoulder.” Chloe panicked. “My birthmark is different! It has a unique shape!” Sarah nodded. “Yes, Applicants #43, #87, and #201 said the exact same thing.” She clicked open a photo gallery. “Number 43’s butterfly has polka dots. Number 87’s has tiger stripes. Number 201’s is a 3D optical illusion.” Chloe’s lips trembled. “Impossible…” I delivered the final blow over the intercom. “Miss Miller, maybe you should try getting a tattoo? Tattoos are accepted as heirlooms now too.” Furious, Chloe grabbed the teacup off the table and smashed it on the floor. “That’ll be a damage fee,” Sarah immediately printed an invoice. “Custom imported porcelain. Two hundred and eighty dollars.” Chloe still wasn’t dead yet. “I look exactly like Mrs. Vance when she was young!” She pointed at a vintage family portrait on the wall. “Look!” Sarah sighed heavily and turned on the projector. “Please observe this ‘heiress.’” A photo of a girl appeared on the massive screen. She didn’t just look like my mom. She looked like my dad, and she even looked like my grandma. “We call her the ‘Family Portrait Chimera,’” Sarah said. “She won the ‘Most Resembling the Vance Family’ award last year.” Chloe stayed quiet for three days. But I knew she wasn’t just sitting around twiddling her thumbs. Sure enough, she showed up at the Vance Family’s quarterly gala. Halfway through the banquet, Chloe suddenly let out a piercing scream. “My necklace is missing!” She covered her face and sobbed loudly. “That was the birthday present my adoptive mother gave me! Sob!” The entire ballroom went dead silent. Everyone turned to look at her. Chloe sniffled and hiccuped. “It was just here a minute ago…” Her gaze swept across the room and landed perfectly on me. “Miss Vance,” she said timidly. “You went to the restroom just now, didn’t you?” I raised an eyebrow. “I did.” “Then…” She hesitated dramatically. “Could I please look inside your purse?” The crowd erupted in shocked murmurs. My mother frowned. “Young lady, what are you implying?” Tears streamed down Chloe’s face perfectly on cue. “Mom, I don’t mean anything by it! I just want to find it…” I laughed. “Sure.” I handed her my purse. “Look all you want.” Chloe took the purse and pretended to rummage through it. Then, she “accidentally” dumped the entire contents onto the floor. Clatter— Lipstick, keys, and my phone scattered across the marble. And sitting right in the middle was a diamond necklace. “I found it!” Chloe gasped in shock. “This is it!” She snatched the necklace up, looking at me with tear-filled, betrayed eyes. “Miss Vance… why would you…” I cut her off. “Miss Miller. Do you know why the Vance family banquet hall is equipped with 128 high-definition security cameras?” Chloe froze. “What?” I pulled out my phone and cast the security feed to the massive screens around the room. The footage clearly showed Chloe sneaking up behind me and slipping the necklace into my open purse. “Over the past three years,” I scrolled through the incident database, “exactly 47 ‘heiresses’ have tried this exact trick.” My assistant chimed in through the PA system: “This is the 48th time. Can we please get some new material?” I bent down and picked up the necklace. “Also… I bought this necklace last week at Cartier. I still have the receipt.” I looked at her. “Where’s yours?” Chloe’s face turned green. “Is this how the Vance family treats its biological daughter?!” Grandma Vance let out a cold laugh. “The last person who said that to me is currently serving three to five in federal prison.” Chloe fled the ballroom in absolute humiliation. The next day, Twitter exploded. #VanceHeiressSecretMidnightRendezvousWithRivalCEO# The post included a blurry photo of me helping a man into a car. The angle was incredibly deceptive; it looked exactly like we were kissing. I checked the account that posted it. A notorious paparazzi blog. I clicked into the comments. “Here we go again. Which number is this one for the year?” “The last guy who spread rumors about her got sued for five million dollars.” “Sis, delete the post. The Vance family’s cease-and-desist letters arrive faster than Amazon Prime.” I posted a tweet of my own: “Thank you, Miss Miller, for helping me promote our new clean energy project, and for helping me break my personal record for ‘Fastest Defamation Lawsuit Filed.’” Attached was a photo of the filed court documents. Chloe panicked and immediately deleted her post and deactivated her account. On the third day, Chloe somehow managed to forge a security pass and infiltrated the corporate headquarters. She walked into my office carrying a cup of coffee. “Miss Vance,” she said, looking down submissively. “I’m so sorry about yesterday…” I didn’t take the cup. “Put it on the desk.” She set the coffee down but didn’t leave. “Did you need something else?” I asked. She bit her lip. “Can you ever forgive me?” I smiled. “You can leave now.” She turned to leave, clearly unwilling. I picked up the coffee, sniffed it, and pressed a button under my desk. “Miss Miller is suspected of attempted poisoning,” I said into the intercom. “Please escort her to security for questioning.” Chloe exploded. “You’re making baseless accusations!” I pointed at the coffee mug. “Did you know that all the mugs in the Vance executive suites are custom-engineered?” She froze. “The bottom of the mug has a built-in chemical detection sensor.” I showed her the notification on my phone. “It can identify common drugs and toxins.” The screen read: Laxative compounds detected. Incident #23 of the fiscal year. Chloe went ghost pale. “Y-You’re lying!” Security guards burst into the room. “You have no right to arrest me!” she shrieked. I pulled out a thick binder of legal files. “Based on this,” I said calmly. “Over the past five years, exactly 89 people have tried to drug me. Every single one of them went to jail.” As the guards dragged her away, she was still screaming: “Evelyn Vance! Just you wait! I’ll be back!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391302”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day of the client dinner, my boss insisted we go to The Sterling Steakhouse, a place where the tasting menu starts at $300 a head. When the check came, he had me put the $1,250 on my personal card. But when I submitted the receipt for reimbursement, the finance department told me the absolute maximum they could approve was $500. I went back to my boss, Walter, to explain. He just glanced dismissively at the receipt in my hand. “That extra $750? That’s on you for being incompetent.” I didn’t get angry. I smiled. Then I walked out of the office and called the client to split the remaining $750 with me. 1 “Now, Jessica, I see your potential, I really do,” Walter began, his tone dripping with condescension. “But you know the company’s expense policy. The limit is $500. Anything over that is a clear violation.” I stared at the $1,250 receipt in my hand and the notification on my phone confirming a $500 deposit from the company. Suddenly, the memory of myself in the restaurant bathroom last night, forcing myself to throw up so I could go back out and keep drinking for the deal, felt like a sick joke. “Mr. Davis, you were the one who insisted on The Sterling Steakhouse,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “A place that costs $300 per person. There were three of us from the company. We were over the limit before we even ordered appetizers.” “You’re also the one who told me to pay for it, who promised the company would reimburse me in full. Why the sudden change of heart?” I clutched the receipt, my hand trembling with barely suppressed rage. Walter just tapped his pen impatiently on the polished surface of his desk. “You know the rules. If I make an exception for you, what kind of message does that send to the rest of the staff? Don’t think that landing one big account puts you on my level.” He leaned forward, his voice turning sharp. “Don’t blame the system for your own incompetence. Now, it’s working hours. You should be at your desk, not wasting my time.” He buzzed his assistant to show me out. The heavy oak door clicked shut behind me, a final, unceremonious dismissal. My mind was a whirlwind of fury, replaying the scene from the night before. Walter, expansive and magnanimous, slapping me on the back. “Jess, my girl! You landed us the biggest account of the year! As a reward, we’ll take Mr. Grayson to The Sterling Steakhouse tonight! Time you saw how the big leagues operate.” Even then, I had tried to stop him. “Mr. Davis, that place is $300 a head. Even if we’re careful, we’ll blow past the $500 reimbursement limit.” He acted as if he hadn’t heard me. He was already on the phone with the client. “Robert! All set for tonight. The Sterling… yes, that’s the one. See you at eight!” He hung up and immediately texted Mr. Grayson the location, following up with a string of voice notes confirming the restaurant, as if our most important client was incapable of reading a map. I tried one last time. “The reimbursement limit is $500. Will the company cover the overage? Besides, The Sterling is almost impossible to book on short notice…” He cut me off, slamming his hand on the table. “I already told the man where we’re going. Are you going to make me a liar? Make the reservation!” I’m just an employee. I did what I was told. The Sterling was impossible to book. I had to call in a massive favor, begging and pleading until a private room was miraculously made available. And this was my reward. A passing coworker saw me standing outside Walter’s closed door and sidled up to me, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, your commission on that deal is over three grand, not to mention the bonus. The company’s been good to you. Is it really worth fighting over a few hundred bucks? You’re starting to sound greedy.” Before I could even respond, the sharp voice of Linda from Finance cut through the air. “Jessica. We need to discuss your last expense report. There are some… discrepancies.” 2 Being summoned by Linda was never a good thing. My coworkers were already rubbernecking, sensing drama. I was about to follow her to her office, hoping to plead my case about the dinner again, when she stopped in the middle of the open-plan floor and decided to make it a public execution. “Jessica Pierce!” she shrieked, her voice echoing off the cubicle walls. “How dare you submit an expense report for $1,800 for a three-day trip! Who do you think you are, the CEO?” The entire office fell silent. Her voice was a drill in my ear. “So young, and already trying to cheat the company! You think this is your personal piggy bank? First, you try to expense a $1,250 dinner you knew was over the limit, and now I find this? An $1,800 travel bill? You’ve got a lot of nerve!” A murmur rippled through the office. “Wow, she seems so innocent, but she’s skimming off the expense reports?” “I know, right? Tacky. And who spends $1,250 on one dinner?” Walter emerged from his office, a cigarette dangling from his lips, drawn by the commotion. He saw me, and his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “You again? What’s this about $1,800?” Linda seized her moment. “Mr. Davis! It’s her! Three days on the road! The train tickets for her and the client were $650! Shipping for the samples was another $150! And the hotel… she submitted a bill for $750!” Her voice rose to a screech. “Were you staying in a hotel made of solid gold?” At the mention of the hotel bill, Walter’s face darkened. He stalked over and flicked his cigarette onto my shoe, grinding the embers into the leather with a look of utter contempt. “A $750 hotel bill, you say?” He smirked. “Fine. We’ll approve a payment that starts with a seven.” Linda understood immediately. She scribbled on an approval form and handed it to me. The approved amount was $75. “Company policy is company policy,” Walter said, his voice dripping with fake sincerity. “You’re a smart girl, Jessica. Don’t think landing one big deal means the rules don’t apply to you. You need to learn to think before you act.” A bitter, hysterical laugh escaped my lips. That “one big deal” was worth millions. Walter’s personal cut alone would exceed the company’s profits from the previous year. My commission was a paltry $3,100—the “over three grand” my coworker had mentioned. To close that deal, I had pulled a month of all-nighters. I’d lost count of the weekends I’d worked. When the contract was finally signed, all Walter said was, “Good job. This is what you’re paid for.” He never saw the endless revisions, the canceled plans, the nights I spent sleeping at my desk. I’d been to the doctor three times for a stress-induced stomach ulcer, but I still showed up to every client dinner, smiling and drinking until the deal was done. Before that business trip, I had followed protocol. I had specifically requested approval for the higher hotel costs. “Mr. Davis,” I’d said, “the client has very specific accommodation requirements. It’s going to be more expensive than our usual rate…” He had cut me off before I could finish. “Rules are for schmucks, Jessica. People are what matter. You land this deal, and I’ll approve whatever it takes. Just keep the client happy. Money is no object!” I had the entire conversation recorded, just in case. But it didn’t matter. He was denying it anyway. Every single receipt was legitimate. Every expense was pre-approved, verbally at least. $1,800 was two months’ salary for me. After rent, my last paycheck was almost gone. Now, with the dinner bill added on top, my bank account was practically empty. 3 Just as I was about to argue, to play the recording, Linda slid my monthly pay slip onto my desk. I looked at the number. $75. I felt my mind go blank. “Linda, is this a mistake?” She didn’t even look at me, already moving on to the next person. The other employees shot me pitying, scornful looks. I was now officially the office pariah, the greedy grifter. “A mistake?” she said without turning around. “Don’t you remember what you did last month? Or do I need to humiliate you in front of everyone again? I’m doing you a favor by not making a scene. Don’t push it.” I crumpled the pay slip in my fist, the last of my control snapping. I threw it at her head. “What did I do?” I snarled, my voice shaking. “I worked every single night for a month on that deal. I was on the road, visiting construction sites. I ended up in the emergency room with a bleeding ulcer! You told me yourself to take it easy! Did you forget? We can check the security footage if you need a reminder!” Linda was not one to back down. The sight of the pay slip fluttering to the floor sent her into a rage. She slapped me, hard, across the face. “Don’t you dare, Jessica! Your monthly salary is $4,000! That includes a $500 attendance bonus and a $1,000 performance bonus!” Right. A $2,500 base salary. After taxes, it came to just over three thousand a month. I could accept losing the attendance bonus; I had been sick. My head was ringing from the slap. I stared at the floor. “What about my commission for closing the deal?” Linda snorted. “Commission? Has the client even paid the first invoice? You don’t get a bonus until the money is in our account. And since that deal was your only performance metric last month and it hasn’t paid out yet, you get zero for your performance bonus. You were also absent, so that’s another five hundred gone.” “Oh, and you broke a printer. That’s a deduction for damaging company property. You’re lucky to be getting seventy-five bucks at all. I was being generous.” Her voice echoed in the silent office. My coworkers stared at their own pay slips, not daring to breathe, lest their own meager salaries be targeted next. “That printer was broken before I got there,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I told you, it started smoking the second I walked near it. I never even touched it.” “And my expense report… every single item is within company guidelines. Every receipt is accounted for. You’re refusing to reimburse me?” My final question was so calm it seemed to unnerve her. She froze, at a loss for words. But Walter stepped in from behind me with a cold laugh. “Reimburse you? You’re lucky you still have a job.” I turned slowly to face him. “Oh, I’m not quitting. In fact, Mr. Grayson said he wants me to personally handle his next project. I wouldn’t want to miss out on that bonus.” I gave him a smile that was all teeth. It worked. He nodded, his mood instantly shifting. He even patted me on the shoulder. “See? That’s the spirit. Look, Jess, don’t take it personally. But rules are rules. I can’t bend them, even for a star employee. You understand, right?” He shoved a copy of the company’s official expense policy handbook into my hands. I took it, my smile widening. “Of course, Mr. Davis. I understand completely. Rules are rules.” The moment I stepped out of the building, I took the handbook, drove straight to Mr. Grayson’s office, and laid it on his desk. “Mr. Grayson,” I said. “About dinner last night. The bill came to $1,250. My company’s policy only covers $500. I was hoping we could split the difference.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391318”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel