Category: English

Five thirty PM. I was just packing up to leave when a message from my colleague, Karen, popped up on my screen. It was a document, followed by a pleading emoji. Then, the text: “Kathy, I have to run and pick up my son from school. Could you just finish this little bit for me?” I glanced at the progress bar on the document she’d sent. My brow furrowed. “Karen, this is a lot more than a ‘little bit.’ I have plans tonight.” I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong. She appeared at my desk, her voice sharp and laced with a grating, matter-of-fact entitlement. “Kathy Kim, are your plans more important than me picking up my child? Besides, it’s not like you have kids. You’re just going home to an empty house. Just stay and do a little overtime for me.” 1. Karen’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was pitched to carry across the entire open-plan office. The room fell silent. A few pairs of eyes, glinting with schadenfreude, landed on me. My fingers tightened on the mouse until my knuckles were white. “Karen, this is your work.” Her volume shot up instantly, her face a mask of disbelief as if I had committed an unforgivable sin. “Why are you being so selfish? This is for my child! For the next generation! What’s the big deal with helping out? Have you no compassion?” Another mother from a nearby desk immediately chimed in, her words dripping with passive aggression. “Yeah, Kathy. Karen’s son, Cody, is so adorable. It’s not easy being a mom.” A third colleague covered her mouth, whispering in a stagey, sympathetic tone, “People without children probably can’t understand that feeling. They can be so cold-hearted.” Every word was a needle, pricking at me from all sides. I took a deep breath and shut down my computer. “I told you. I have plans.” I grabbed my bag and, under Karen’s stunned gaze, clocked out right on time. As I stepped out of the building, the evening breeze on my face did little to clear the knot of frustration in my chest. A black sedan was parked by the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Liam Carter’s face. “Get in.” I slid into the passenger seat, and he handed me a warm corn juice. “Getting guilt-tripped again?” I didn’t answer, just wrapped my hands around the warm cup. The car pulled smoothly into the evening traffic. “She’s dumped the quarterly data on you three times now,” Liam said, his voice flat. He was my father’s most trusted executive assistant, the man who had practically watched me grow up. “Her son’s birthday is this month,” I recited, leaning back and watching the city lights blur past the window. “Next week is a parent-teacher conference, and the week after that is a field trip.” “So she’ll always have another excuse,” Liam finished for me, glancing over. “What are you going to do?” “What can I do? When I can’t take it anymore, I’ll fight back.” I managed a tired smile. Liam didn’t press further. When I got home, I had just slipped off my shoes when my phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. It was the department group chat. Karen had posted a long, tear-jerking monologue. “It’s so sad how cold young people are these days. As a mother, all I did was ask for a little help with some finishing touches so I could pick up my son, and she just stormed off. When we were new, we did everything for our seniors—got them coffee, made copies, you name it. Now? There’s just no sense of team spirit.” A few replies popped up immediately. “Don’t be angry, Karen. Some people just have no sense of responsibility.” “She’s not a mom. She can’t understand your struggles.” “I’ll mention it to the manager for you tomorrow.” I stared at the screen, my face a blank mask. Liam walked over and gently took the phone from my hand. “Stop looking at that. She’s a buffoon.” “She’s not. She’s a mirror.” I looked up at him. “One that reflects a lot of people.” 2. The moment I stepped into the office the next morning, I knew something was wrong. My desk was buried under a mountain of files, far more than a day’s worth of work. Karen sauntered over, a smug smirk on her face and a coffee in her hand. “Kathy, darling. The manager noticed you left early yesterday, so you must have plenty of energy. He said you can handle all of this today.” The manager poked his head out of his office. “That’s right, Kathy. It’s a blessing for young people to work hard.” I ignored them, sat down, and turned on my computer. Then, I stood up. I gathered the tallest stack of files from my desk and walked, step by deliberate step, over to the large office trash can. With a thunderous crash, I dumped the entire stack inside. Paper scattered like snowflakes, a few sheets drifting to rest at the manager’s feet. The office fell dead silent. Karen’s coffee cup slipped, splashing hot liquid on her hand. She let out a sharp cry. “Kathy Kim! Are you insane? Those are important documents!” “Important documents?” I turned, my gaze pinning her in place. “If they were so important, why were they piled on my desk instead of being properly filed in the archives?” I advanced on her, the click of my heels on the linoleum floor sounding like a death knell. “In this pile, there were three sets of old data that should have been archived last month, five procedural forms from other departments, and two of your own personal expense reports. Am I wrong?” Karen’s face cycled through shades of red, white, and a sickly green. “You… You’re lying!” “Am I? We can just dig through the trash and find out.” My eyes swept over her, then landed on the terrified manager. “Or, we could call down someone from the Chairman’s office to help us assess the value of these ‘important documents’.” The manager’s face turned the color of liver. He shot Karen a venomous glare before forcing a smile that was uglier than a grimace. “A misunderstanding! It’s all a misunderstanding. Kathy, don’t get worked up. Karen was just joking with you.” He scurried over to the trash can, pathetically trying to salvage the papers. I didn’t stop him. “A joke?” I looked at him, the contempt in my eyes palpable. “Joking with company work? Is that your management style?” His hands froze mid-air. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. “I… of course that’s not what I meant.” “Then what did you mean?” I pressed, my voice low but every word a dagger. The other colleagues didn’t dare breathe, desperately trying to merge with their computer screens. The ones who had cheered Karen on in the group chat last night looked like they wanted to crawl inside their monitors and disappear. Karen stood frozen, her lips trembling, unable to utter a single word. Finally, the manager broke. “It’s my fault. My management was lacking. Kathy, please, calm down. I promise I will give you a proper resolution to this.” He yanked Karen into his office, and the door slammed shut with a resounding boom. I returned to my desk. The world was finally quiet. During my lunch break, a message from Liam came through. Heard you went on a rampage this morning. I replied: Just taking out the trash. A few minutes later, another message. Well done. But now they’ll just move their attacks from the open to the shadows. I stared at the screen and typed back. I’m waiting. 3. After being reprimanded, Karen kept a low profile for a few days. She stopped openly pushing her work onto me, but the whispers and gossip about me in the office multiplied. “She thinks she can challenge her seniors and the manager just because she’s young and pretty.” “I heard she has connections. How else could she be so arrogant?” “It’s always the ones who look innocent. They’re the most calculating.” I ignored it all. That afternoon, our department was given an urgent, high-stakes assignment: design the invitation for a major charity gala. The deadline was tight, and the manager put Karen in charge. The first thing she did was come to me. This time, her posture was different. She was humble, almost pleading. “Kathy, I know you’re the strongest designer we have. This invitation is incredibly important; it’s our whole department’s reputation on the line. Can you please help me?” She paused, then added the clincher. “I’m begging you. You know I have Cody to take care of. I just don’t have the energy for something this big.” I saw the glint in her eye and asked calmly, “Help you? Does that mean I lead, or you do?” “You lead, of course!” she said quickly. “I’ll be your assistant! And the credit will all be yours in the end!” I nodded. “Fine.” I took the project and dove in headfirst. This wasn’t just an invitation; it was a representation of the entire corporation’s image. I researched extensively, and inspired by the gala’s theme, “A River of Stars,” I developed a concept that blended a celestial night sky with silhouettes of ancient architecture. To achieve the perfect effect, I even asked Liam to connect me with a master artisan, a specialist in the traditional craft of silhouette cutting. He handcrafted the silhouette portion, which I then scanned for digital post-processing. For three straight days, I practically lived at the office. Karen, my supposed “assistant,” did nothing but leave on the dot every day to pick up her son. She’d occasionally pop by my desk to ask, “How’s it coming along?” before snapping a few pictures of me hard at work. She’d then post them in the department group chat with captions like, “Kathy is working so hard! Let’s all cheer her on!” On Friday, the final proof was ready. The exquisite, hollowed-out star map, paired with the elegant, classic silhouette, was breathtaking. The manager was effusive with his praise. “This is brilliant! Karen, you’ve really hit a home run this time!” Karen beamed. “Oh, it was nothing. I just had a good initial concept, and Kathy helped out a lot, of course.” I stood to the side, silent. Karen clutched the design proofs as if they were her newborn child. “Sir, I’ll take this over to the project lead at corporate headquarters myself. It’ll be a good chance to explain my design philosophy in person.” The manager nodded eagerly. “Excellent idea, excellent.” I watched her stride triumphantly out of the office, a cold smile playing on my lips. Liam was right. They had just moved their methods into the shadows. And I had already built the stage for their performance. I opened my laptop and sent an encrypted file to Liam. It contained every draft of my design from the past three days, my inspiration notes, the communication records with the silhouette artist, and, hidden in the bottom right corner of the final design, my initials—CV—encoded in Morse code. I sent him a message. Fish is on the hook. He replied instantly. The net is ready.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386859”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The day of my mother’s surgery, I was scrolling through my phone in the hospital hallway when I saw Leo’s post: [Mom had a little heart flutter, but thankfully our caring daughter-in-law was here to help.] The photo showed my wife, Claire, the surgeon who was supposed to be operating on my mother, gently taking the blood pressure of Leo’s mom. Her text from half an hour ago was still glowing on my screen: [High-risk patient just came in. I had Dr. Shaw cover Mom’s surgery.] After my mother’s operation ended successfully, I quietly arranged for her transfer to another hospital. Then I called my divorce lawyer. … It was one in the morning when Claire finally pushed open the door to the hospital room. The harsh light from the hallway sliced into the darkness. I instinctively shifted my body, shielding my sleeping mother from the glare. She stood at the door, still in her white coat. “Jake,” she said, her voice tired. “I just finished. Let’s wake Mom up, I’ll do a check-up.” I used to be obsessed with my mother’s health. Every time she felt unwell, I wouldn’t rest until Claire had seen her personally. It made sense; my mother was critically ill, and Claire was a leading specialist in the field. But now… I gently tucked the corner of my mother’s blanket, my voice flat. “That won’t be necessary.” Claire froze, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Jake, Mrs. Davis’s heart palpitations today were serious. That’s why I had Dr. Shaw take over. Don’t get the wrong idea.” “Besides,” she added, her tone hardening, “Dr. Shaw told me the surgery went perfectly. Can you stop making a scene?” I wasn’t getting the wrong idea. And I wasn’t making a scene. “If there’s nothing else, you should go home. Don’t disturb Mom. She just had surgery and needs to rest.” A cold laugh escaped her lips. “Fine. Just don’t come crying to me later, saying I don’t care about your mother.” Care? A surgeon who walks out mid-operation. A daughter-in-law who prioritizes someone else’s mother. A “care” like that? We couldn’t afford it. Claire slammed the door on her way out. I gently smoothed the worry lines on my mother’s brow. She fluttered her eyes open for a moment before drifting back into a peaceful sleep. The next morning, I went downstairs to buy my mother breakfast and ran into Claire in the parking lot. “Jake,” she said, rolling down her window. “I made some chicken soup for Mom. Let’s go up together?” I was surprised. At this time, she was usually already at Leo’s place. Ever since Leo and his mother moved here three years ago, she had accompanied my mother to her check-ups less and less. At first, she said it was hospital meetings, emergency surgeries. I believed her. Until six months ago. I was with my mother for an appointment and saw Claire in the hospital garden. She was supposed to be in surgery, but there she was, carefully helping Leo’s mother on a walk. “Easy, Mrs. Davis, take your time.” “Oh, Claire, you’re more thoughtful than my own son.” So, it wasn’t that she didn’t have time. It was just that we were no longer worth her time. We had a massive fight that night. After that, my mother refused to let Claire take her to the hospital ever again. Even though divorce was now a certainty, the concern in her eyes looked genuine. I didn’t refuse, just sent my mom a quick text. As Claire opened her car door, my eyes caught a seat cushion on the passenger side, finely embroidered with the letter ‘D’. Hanging from the rearview mirror was a small, framed photo of Leo and his mother, dangling next to a silver charm. She noticed me looking, and her expression tightened. “Those are just some things Mrs. Davis left behind. I’m holding them for her.” Her voice became defensive. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.” The old me would have ripped that photo down and demanded to know who her real family was. But now, I just nodded. “That’s a nice charm.” She stared at me, confused. “Jake… you’re not angry?” Angry? Maybe I should have been. But all I felt was a vast, numb emptiness. This was such a blatant line she had crossed. Did she really not see it? Or did she just enjoy it? I turned away. “Let’s go. Mom will be waiting.” She pursed her lips and followed me, carrying the thermos. We hadn’t taken more than a few steps when her phone rang. The custom ringtone was Leo’s favorite piano piece. Leo’s frantic voice came through the speaker. “Claire! Where are you? My mom’s not feeling well again, you have to come back and check on her!” She didn’t even try to hide it. “I’m on my way.” Hanging up, she shoved the thermos into my hands. “It’s an emergency with Mrs. Davis. Tell Mom I’m sorry. I’ll see her another day.” In her haste, the thermos slipped and crashed to the ground. She didn’t even look back as she sped away. In the hospital room, my mother was quietly eating her porridge. I struggled to find the words. “Mom, Claire had… an emergency. She said she’ll come back…” “I know, son.” My mother’s voice was soft, her gaze calm as she cut me off. “Under anesthesia, you’re paralyzed, not deaf.” She took my hand. “The two of us… we just can’t compete with them, can we?” That evening, Claire called. She’d heard I was transferring my mother, and her voice was tight with suppressed rage. “Why are you transferring her? I’m the best doctor here, am I not taking good care of her?” “Or is this because I didn’t visit this morning? Are you really going to throw a tantrum over that?” “Jake, that’s your mother! You can’t play games with her health just because you’re upset!” “I have to stay with Mrs. Davis tonight. Since you think I’m doing such a terrible job, I won’t be coming home!” I listened calmly, then replied with a single word. “Fine.” Silence. She clearly hadn’t expected that response. She stammered for a moment before finally managing a, “You…” I hung up before she could finish. Five minutes later, my phone pinged. A message from Leo. [Hey Jake, sorry about all this. My mother hasn’t been well, and Claire has been a huge help.] [But you really shouldn’t have acted that way. You need to be more understanding. Claire is the best doctor in the city, of course she’s in high demand.] [Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her for you.] I read the message—less an apology and more a declaration of ownership—and then deleted it and blocked his number. This whole charade had been going on since Leo and his mother arrived three years ago. It started with occasional favors, then frequent care. Now, Claire was practically their private physician. Her call came again, moments later. “Jake! What the hell is wrong with you? Leo was trying to apologize, and you treat him like that?” In the background, I could faintly hear Mrs. Davis sobbing and Leo comforting her. I remained silent, listening to her vent. “How did you become so cold? Mrs. Davis is a sick woman! Don’t you have an ounce of compassion?” “I am so disappointed in you!” I ended the call, my fingertips cold. I’m the one who should be saying that to you. She was the one who kept putting others first. I hadn’t said a word, yet somehow, I was the one at fault. Back home, I started packing. The lawyer had confirmed that the division of assets from our marriage would be in my favor, more than enough to cover my mother’s medical expenses. My last hesitation was gone. I opened the closet. On the left were my mother’s simple, plain clothes. On the right, Claire’s expensive designer suits—most of them bought while shopping with Mrs. Davis. I remembered once my mother wanted a new coat. Claire had told her “next time,” then turned around and bought Mrs. Davis a cashmere one. We fought about it, and she promised to get one for Mom. That coat never appeared. Clothes, toiletries, my mother’s favorite books… I packed them all, box by box. When my fingers brushed against a wooden box deep in the closet, they trembled. I gently lifted the lid. Inside were photos from when Claire and I were dating. On top was a picture from her medical school graduation. She was beaming at me in her cap and gown. On the back, in her elegant script, she had written: [To my dearest Jake, wait for me. I’ll become a doctor you can be proud of.] My phone rang. It was Claire. Her voice was choked with tears when I answered. “Jake! Mrs. Davis took a turn for the worse, she’s in the ICU! If anything happens to her, I will never, ever forgive you!” I looked at the girl in the photo, the girl whose eyes used to be filled with only me. The girl who used to secretly text me during her night shifts to say she missed me. Now, for someone else’s mother, she was spitting venom at me. My thumb traced the smile on her face in the picture. “Do whatever you want,” I said softly. I hung up and fed the contents of the wooden box into the paper shredder. Claire didn’t come home that night. I didn’t call her, screaming and begging her to come back like I used to. I didn’t call Leo to curse him out for wrecking my marriage. Back at the hospital, my mother, as if by silent agreement, didn’t ask where Claire was. The cold war lasted for three days. Finally, my mother was stable, and the hospital transfer form needed the signature of her attending physician. I tried calling Claire, only to find she’d blocked me. I had no choice but to drive to Leo’s house to find her. When I started the car, the GPS, which had been switched to Leo’s voice at some point, gently reminded me to drive safely. I fought back a wave of nausea and typed in Leo’s address, only to see the saved location name pop up on the screen: “Our Love Nest.” Disgusting. Utterly disgusting. Claire was not only crossing every line, she was reveling in it. When I arrived, the place was empty except for a moving truck driver locking the door. I asked him for the delivery address. It was my house. The house I had bought for her. Our marital home. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. I turned the car around and raced home. From a distance, I could see the moving truck parked outside. Claire was directing workers as they carried an antique vanity into the living room. “What are you doing?” She turned, not a hint of surprise on her face. “Mrs. Davis is unwell and needs someone to look after her. It’s too much trouble going back and forth, so I’m having her move in with me.” “This is my house.” “What’s yours is mine, isn’t it?” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “The guest room is already set up.” I watched as the movers carried Leo’s suitcase into the room next to our master bedroom—the room we had planned for our future child. “Did you ask for my opinion?” Claire frowned, her patience wearing thin. “Jake, can you please be mature about this? Mrs. Davis is a patient…” “A patient?” I cut her off. “So that gives her the right to invade my home? To let you hand over the life I built for us to complete strangers?” Leo emerged from the house with a contemptuous smirk. “Claire is my mother’s devoted daughter-in-law. How is she a stranger?” How utterly ridiculous. My wife, standing with another man, claiming to be a family, making me feel like the outsider. Claire reached for my arm, but I stepped back. “Sign it.” I held out the transfer form. “Sign this, and you can do whatever you want with this house.” Claire’s face darkened. Leo saw the papers in my hand and sneered. “Everyone knows Claire is the best cardiac surgeon in the city. Transferring? Mr. Hayes, are you trying to get attention this way?” “Claire, forget it,” he said, his tone softening. “You’ve been with me and my mom all week, neglecting Jake and his mother. You should go check on them.” At his words, Claire’s expression eased. “Jake, do you have to be so childish? Using Mom’s health as an excuse? I know you’re upset, but you’re the one who stressed Mrs. Davis out and made her sick in the first place.” She pushed the form back at me. “I’m not signing it. And you owe Leo an apology.” I looked at her, defending another man, and suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to argue. “Whatever.” Back at the hospital, Dr. Shaw was doing her rounds. Her name was Anna. She knew my mother’s case well. “Let’s transfer her to University Medical Center,” she said gently. “My mentor works there. He’s even better than I am.” The paperwork was processed quickly. On the signature line of the transfer form, in neat, elegant script, were two words. [Anna Shaw.] On the day of the transfer, the transport ambulance hadn’t arrived yet. I told my mother to rest while I took our bags downstairs. As I reached the entrance of the building, a familiar white car pulled up. The passenger window rolled down, and Leo smirked at me. “Really going through with it? Jake, what other hospital has a specialist like Claire?” “Can you even afford it? If not, you can always ask our Claire. She’s very charitable; I’m sure she’d help.” I stared at him coldly. “Don’t trouble yourself. Since Dr. Adams is so busy, we wouldn’t want to take up any more of her time caring for you and your mother.” Leo’s face instantly crumpled into a look of feigned hurt as he turned to the driver’s seat. “Claire, did I say something wrong? Why is he so angry?” Claire rolled her window down. “Jake, don’t take it too far.” “I’m taking it too far?” I looked her straight in the eye. “For a man whose wife is a surgeon who abandons her patients mid-operation, I think I’ve shown remarkable restraint.” Seeing her at a loss for words, I turned to leave. But I heard Leo’s snide remark behind me. “Some people just don’t know what’s good for them…” I ignored him. The ambulance still wasn’t there, so I headed back to the room. Before I even reached the door, I could hear shouting. I burst into the room to see Leo’s mother jabbing a finger in my mother’s face. “I’m doing you a favor by letting you switch rooms! My daughter-in-law is the top surgeon here! I’ll stay in whichever room I damn well please!” “Please show some respect.” I stepped between them, shielding my mother. “The hospital has rules. You don’t get to make them.” My mother tugged at my sleeve, her voice calm but firm. “Ma’am, there’s a thing called first come, first served.” “First come, first served?” Mrs. Davis scoffed, raising her voice for effect. “My daughter-in-law is Claire Adams, the top specialist in this hospital! What I say, goes! Who the hell do you think you are, trying to take a room from me?” My mother looked around at the murmuring crowd. “Claire is my daughter-in-law,” she stated, her voice quiet but clear. “You?” Mrs. Davis yanked on my mother’s sleeve. “Look at your cheap clothes. You think you’re worthy of being Claire’s mother-in-law?” I grabbed her wrist. “Let go of her!” Just then, Claire and Leo rushed in. Seeing them, Mrs. Davis cried “Oh!” and collapsed into her son’s arms, pointing at me. “Heavens! He’s attacking me! In broad daylight!” “Son, he pushed me!” Leo shot forward. “Jake, you laid a hand on my mother?” I laughed, a cold, humorless sound. “Laid a hand on her? Are there no security cameras in this hospital? You’re just going to stand there and lie?” “I was stopping her from harassing my mother. What about you? Do you just let your mother run wild and act like a tyrant in a hospital?” The commotion drew a larger crowd. “Well, I’ve seen it all now. People fighting over inheritance, over parents, but never over a daughter-in-law.” “Look at what that old woman is wearing. Doesn’t look like she’s related to a doctor. Maybe she’s just confused?” One of the onlookers asked curiously, “Dr. Adams, which one of them is your family?” All eyes turned to Claire. I stared into her eyes, my voice low and steady. “Claire. Think very carefully before you answer. Think about how Mom has treated you all these years.” Claire’s lips trembled, her gaze darting between us. Leo suddenly grabbed her sleeve and started to sob quietly. “Claire, you know… I never had a father. My mom is all I have in this world. If anything happens to her… I don’t want to live anymore.” Claire squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, her gaze was filled with a cold resolve. “I am Mrs. Davis’s daughter-in-law.” She then turned to my mother. “Ma’am, I believe you’re mistaken.” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Eight years of marriage, and she publicly disowned her own mother-in-law. The room erupted in whispers and jeers. “What’s wrong with that old woman, claiming relatives like that!” “She probably saw they had money and wanted a piece of it…” “And her son doesn’t look like much either, just a pretty boy…” Rage flared in my chest. “Claire, have you lost your conscience? How could you say that…” Before I could finish, my mother stood and grabbed my arm. “Son, let it go.” She looked at Claire, the hope in her eyes slowly fading, dimming, until all that was left was a flat, empty calm. “I’m sorry, Dr. Adams. I’m just an old, confused woman. I seem to have mistaken you for someone else.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386252”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Over summer break, my younger brother used my account to blow $5,000 on video games. When my mom found out, she acted like the sky was falling. She frantically demanded my ID so she could file for a “minor’s unauthorized purchase” refund. “That’s five thousand dollars! Do you know how long it takes me to save that much?” she wailed. “Claire, give me your ID right now!” I comforted her, promising to fix it, and rushed home from college. On the way, I was scrolling through a local community forum when a post caught my eye: [How do I get a refund for a minor’s game purchase with the least impact on my son?] My son played games all summer and spent five figures without me knowing. Luckily, he’s under 18, so I can apply for a refund. But will this affect his credit or future? Oh, right. I have a daughter in college. If the refund fails, can I just make her pay for it? The top comment offered a “solution”: [You have a daughter? Easy. Say your son used her account. Any bans or credit hits will fall on her, not him.] The original poster liked the comment. My blood ran cold. 1 The comments section was tearing the poster apart: [Stop trying to scam the system. Take responsibility.] [If you do a chargeback like this, the tech giant will blacklist the ID. That phone number and SSN will be banned from all their services forever. It’s digital suicide.] [If your son goes to college later, he might not even be able to log into university portals if they use single sign-on!] But the poster ignored the warnings. She only liked the comment suggesting she use her daughter as a shield. My mind went blank. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Just moments ago, my mom called me, sobbing that my brother Tyler had spent $5,000 on games and begging me to come home. I had dropped everything at my dorm and sprinted to the station. My phone buzzed. A voice message from Mom. “Claire, how far away are you?” “I don’t know how Tyler got my card password. I can’t control him anymore! I just want to die!” “Claire, you’re all I have!” Her voice was desperate, filled with despair. We’re a single-parent household. Since the divorce, Mom raised Tyler and me on her own. She’s aged faster than other women her age. September was coming. Tuition was due for my sophomore year and Tyler’s senior year of high school. We needed money. I gripped my ID card so hard my knuckles turned white. A mother who suffered so much for us… how could she be the person who wrote that post? It had to be a coincidence. The subway announced my stop. I typed back quickly: [Mom, don’t worry. I’m almost there.] 2 I ran all the way from the station. When I opened the door, the house was dark. A shattered vase lay on the floor. Mom was on the sofa, wiping tears. Tyler stood in the corner, looking guilty but shooting me a glance that screamed, Save me. When Mom saw me, she grabbed my arm like a lifeline. “I looked away for one summer, and he went crazy!” she cried. “I checked the statement. Five thousand dollars! Do you know how hard I work for that? How am I going to pay your tuition?” She looked at me with intense urgency. “Claire, did you bring your ID? We have to apply for the minor refund right now!” Tyler looked at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Sis, please.” Looking at his face, I just wanted to punch him. He used to be a good kid. How did he rot so fast in one summer? I moved to scold him, but Mom blocked me. “I already yelled at him! Claire, just give me the ID!” If this were yesterday, I would have handed it over without a second thought. I did whatever she asked. But the forum post was burned into my retina. I hesitated. “Mom… maybe we should contact customer support first? Understand the consequences?” Mom gripped my wrist tighter. It hurt. “Claire, don’t worry! I already called them! You just need to hold your ID, let me take a picture, and do a facial recognition scan. Refunds take time. We have to do this now if we want the money back for tuition!” The more anxious she got, the colder I felt. I shook my head. “It’s okay, Mom. My tuition isn’t urgent. I have a 3.9 GPA; I got a scholarship this semester. You just need to worry about Tyler.” “Besides, we’ve never done this. What if we mess it up and they deny it? Let’s research first.” Seeing my resistance, Mom finally let go of my arm. She glared at me. “You’ve grown up. You don’t trust your own mother anymore.” 3 I didn’t comfort her. Instead, I took Tyler’s phone and contacted the game’s support chat to ask about the refund process. While waiting, I laughed bitterly internally. I used to see news about parents refunding thousands of dollars and thought, good for them. Now, I was the victim. Support finally sent a link. It was a form. Bank statements, birth certificate, photos of the minor playing, and a photo of the account holder (me) holding my ID. Tyler’s situation was specific. Games have strict anti-addiction measures for minors. So, during the summer, Tyler used my account to bypass the time limits. I had agreed to it back then because I was soft-hearted. So now, to get the money back, I—the adult account holder—had to claim fraud. At the bottom of the form, in bold red letters: [WARNING: Upon processing a refund for minor usage on an adult account, the account holder’s ID and phone number will be permanently banned from all services within our ecosystem.] I froze. “Ecosystem.” Mom was still buzzing in my ear. “Claire, are you done? See? It’s fine. Come here, hold the ID up.” My brain was buzzing. Mom was loud. I looked over at Tyler. He was standing in the corner, head down… playing games on a second phone hidden in his sleeve. He didn’t care. He wasn’t sorry. Something inside me snapped. I pushed Mom away. “Ouch! My stomach hurts!” I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. 4 Sitting on the toilet, shaking, I pulled out my phone. I found that forum post again. The poster’s IP address was local. The timestamp was July 10th—right at the start of summer break. I scrolled down to the comments. The poster had replied to the comment about using the daughter’s account: [So, if he uses his sister’s account, my son won’t be affected at all? You’re sure?] The reply: [100%.] The poster replied: [Great. I’ll let him play then. Boys will be boys, gaming isn’t a big deal.] My hands were trembling. I opened WeChat and searched my chat history with Tyler. July 11th. The day after the post. Tyler: [Sis, can I use your login for games? My kid account has a 3-hour limit.] I had sent him the verification code instantly, telling him to focus on studying. Tyler: [Love you, Sis.] My heart shattered. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a setup. From a month ago, my mother had planned this. She let him spend the money knowing she would burn me to get it back. The tech giant that owned this game also owned the software my university used for online electives and the portal for submitting assignments. If my ID was blacklisted, I would become a digital ghost. I wouldn’t be able to log into my classes. I would fail due to attendance. I would lose my scholarship. And Mom… she knew. She knew the consequences, or at least that someone would face consequences, and she decided it should be me. Someone pounded on the bathroom door. “Claire! Hurry up! What are you doing in there?” 5 I stepped out of the bathroom. Under the harsh living room lights, my mother looked old and tired. The words of accusation died in my throat. I felt nothing but a hollow ache. I didn’t understand. Why? I was the good child. I got scholarships. I tutored kids to buy her and Tyler new phones. I wore old clothes so they could have new ones. I saved every penny to buy her a gold necklace for Mother’s Day. Was I just a fool? “Where’s the ID?” she demanded. I took a deep breath. “I… I lost it on the way here.” Silence. Mom frowned, her eyes narrowing with genuine anger. “I told you to be careful! You’re so useless. How are we going to fix Tyler’s mess now? Fine, we’ll go to the DMV tomorrow morning to get a replacement.” “Can we just… not refund it?” I asked, my voice trembling. “He played on the official server. We can sell the account to recoup some losses.” Mom stared at me like I was insane. “Sell it? How much can we get?” I pulled up a trading app. “The items and skins he bought… market value is about $800.” “$800?! No! That’s a huge loss!” Mom screamed. “That’s how virtual items work,” I said quietly. “Mom, you said Tyler needs to learn the value of money. He spent $5,000. We sell the account for $800. The remaining $4,200… you take out of his allowance. Let him learn a lesson.” “As for my tuition… don’t worry about it. I have my job. I won’t starve.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386268”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My uncle’s family bound themselves to us with a “Double Effect” system. If my dad earned $10,000, my uncle’s stock account would mysteriously gain $20,000. If my mom got a facial, my aunt’s rough skin would become twice as smooth for no reason. My family scrimped and saved for years to buy a spacious condo. Immediately, my uncle’s family bought a townhouse in the same complex. This continued until the last subject of the college entrance exams. I accidentally drank spiked water. I endured the stomach cramps and finished the test, thinking I was done for. But the next moment, paramedics rushed past, carrying my cousin, who had uncontrollably soiled himself in another exam hall. 1 As soon as I walked out of the exam hall, my parents rushed me to the hospital. They couldn’t understand it. My grades were usually trash, so I never had test anxiety. Why would I suddenly have stomach spasms? Compared to me, my cousin, Brandon, had it much worse. His “incident” was so spectacular that experts at the city’s top hospital were treating him like a lab rat, running every test imaginable. But they couldn’t find a physical cause for why he turned into a human fountain. Finally, the experts concluded that Brandon must have succumbed to immense psychological pressure during the exam. Grandma and Grandpa were wailing in the hospital corridor. “My precious grandson! My poor baby! He’s suffered so much!” “Brandon has always been top of his class! He was Ivy League material! Who knew he was under so much pressure?!” I walked past the emergency room, watching my grandparents howl. You’d think Brandon had died. My parents exchanged glances, unsure whether to approach. The moment Grandma saw me, she charged over like a rabid chicken. “You jinx! What are you doing here? Are you here to laugh at your cousin?” So even Grandma thought it was funny. My mom shielded me, her face cold. My dad stepped forward to stop Grandma. “Mom, what are you doing? Roxy is sick too. She just came from another department.” Grandma didn’t show an ounce of concern. Instead, she glared at me with hatred. “She’s sick too? She must have passed her bad luck to Brandon! She did it on purpose so he wouldn’t get into Harvard!” My mom exploded. “My daughter getting sick is bad luck, but your precious grandson getting sick isn’t? Brandon shitting himself in the exam hall and spraying everyone’s papers—now that’s bad luck! Grandma, keep spewing nonsense, and see if karma doesn’t hit your precious grandson right in the ass!” Grandma’s eyes went wide. She looked like she’d been struck by lightning. She opened her mouth to curse but couldn’t get a word out. My mom smiled silently. “Children suffering is usually because the elders committed sins! Keep cursing, keep scolding. My daughter is tough, but your delicate grandson might not survive your bad karma!” Grandma was so angry smoke was coming out of her ears. She clenched her fists, grinding her teeth loud enough for us to hear. I could tell she was cursing us out in her head. Grandpa couldn’t take it anymore and scolded my dad. “Enough! Can’t you say something?” My dad mumbled, “Dad, I’m clumsy with words, just like you. You didn’t say anything just now either.” Grandpa’s face turned red, and he waved his hand, telling us to get lost! 2 So, we got lost. The difference was, my dad and I left with relief, while my mom left triumphantly. My mom used to be gentle. Her sharp tongue was honed over nearly two decades of fighting with Grandma. Being able to shut Grandma up would keep her happy until dinner. For years, my dad stood by my mom. Mostly because Grandma was too much. Misogyny aside, she insisted I was bad luck! Brandon and I were born around the same time, just an hour apart. But Grandma listened to some wandering fortune teller who said our fates clashed. Since Brandon was the “destined genius,” I must be the jinx suppressing him. Grandma wanted to send me away. My parents refused. From then on, Grandma never gave me a kind look. My parents were educated and didn’t believe in such superstitions. Knowing Grandma disliked me, I grew up at my maternal grandma’s house in the city. We thought distance would fade the nonsense about clashing fates. But my uncle’s family had other ideas! When I started elementary school, they moved to the city too. We bought a condo; they bought a townhouse in the same complex. We went to the same school, just different classes. Even my aunt’s boutique opened right across the street from my mom’s office. We couldn’t avoid them! Just now, as we left the hospital, Uncle’s call came in like a debt collector. My dad was driving, so my mom answered on speaker, holding the phone far away. Uncle’s furious voice roared out. “Dave! Did anything happen while you were driving just now?” My dad glanced at the phone with disdain. “No! I’m driving normally. What could happen?” Uncle asked again, “I heard Roxy is sick? Is that true?” My mom rolled her eyes. “Brother, if there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.” “Hey, hey, hey…” My mom hung up and muted the phone. “Gold miners couldn’t dig up a psycho like him! A few years ago he seemed to care, now he’s just like your mom, blaming Roxy for everything that happens to his son.” My dad said quietly, “He didn’t say that… forget it. Let’s not talk about the kids’ exams anymore.” My mom turned to look at me from the passenger seat. “Roxy, you did your best. Don’t stress.” I frowned at the frantic WeChat messages from Uncle. [Roxy, is your dad really okay driving?] Why was Uncle so nervous about my dad driving? When we got to the parking lot, my mom noticed a scratch on the rear bumper. “When did this happen?” My dad slapped a Tom & Jerry sticker over it. “Company finances are tight. Let’s leave it for now.” That night, I scrolled through my friend Lucy’s feed. [So unlucky today! Encountered a bio-weapon in the exam hall, and then got rear-ended leaving the city. Please let the rest of the trip be smooth.] The photo showed a three-car pileup on the highway. The car in front had its rear end smashed. And in the corner of the photo, my uncle was angrily holding his phone. Too much of a coincidence? 3 That night, the news reported on the exam incident with a blurry surveillance video. In the video, Brandon suddenly raised his arms and shouted, “I can’t take it anymore!” As soon as he took a step, his pants fell down. The students near him were the victims. Their exam papers were sprayed with disgusting brown liquid. The news station even thoughtfully mosaicked Brandon’s eruption. We hadn’t watched TV in ages. A friend called my dad to tell him to turn it on. The friend chuckled on the phone. “The station is useless. Why mosaic the butt? They should have mosaicked his face!” My dad was too embarrassed to speak. Even with the blur, anyone who knew Brandon recognized his “robust” figure. 6’2″, 250 pounds. Sitting on the floor, struggling to get up but failing. My mom said “Ew” and changed the channel. My dad hung up. “How could this happen to Brandon? Will it affect his score?” My mom scoffed. “If his score is affected, Grandma will blame Roxy. Even if he does well, she’ll laugh at us first, then blame Roxy. I’d rather worry about Roxy.” My dad sighed. “Everyone knows Brandon is my nephew. Don’t be so harsh…” My mom cut him off. “He’s a giant baby! Your parents spoiled him rotten. Treating the exam hall like a kindergarten potty. People are calling our house; think about how you’ll face your boss tomorrow!” While they argued, I was glued to my phone. From the moment the exam ended, Brandon’s “incident” went viral. It was trending top three on Weibo, TikTok, and Xiaohongshu. Many students in the same hall were affected. One girl vomited on the spot and cried hysterically afterward. Some students were threatening online not to let Brandon off easy. 4 The next day after work, my dad went to visit Brandon in the hospital out of kindness. In the ward, Brandon was playing video games like nothing happened. Grandma was hovering with chicken soup. “Good grandson, come, drink some soup.” Brandon looked at the greasy soup with disgust. “It smells gross! Take it away!” Grandma looked even more loving the more he rejected her. It was like she couldn’t express her love unless she spoon-fed him. “Just one sip, good boy!” Grandma held the spoon with one hand and the bowl with the other. Her long, yellow fingernails were dipping into the soup. Seeing her get closer, Brandon flailed his arm in annoyance. The hot soup splashed all over Grandma’s chest. “Ah!” “Mom!” Brandon was fed up. “I told you to stay away! Look, there’s a feather in the soup! How can I drink that?” My dad walked in and supported Grandma. “Brandon, is that any way to behave?” Brandon wasn’t afraid of my dad at all. He sneered. “Uncle Dave, why aren’t you being a corporate slave at your company? What are you doing here?” My dad was furious. “Is this how you talk to elders? Where are your parents? I need to ask them how they raised you!” Brandon pouted. “Go find them! My parents do big business. They aren’t idle like you, watching over someone else’s son.” Grandma stopped my dad from scolding him. “Brandon just recovered, don’t bully him!” A weird smell wafted from Grandma’s wet, greasy clothes, making my dad step back. Brandon sat on the bed and said, “Uncle Dave, sucking up to me now is useless!” My dad looked like he heard a joke. “Me? Suck up to you?” Brandon was arrogant. “Yeah! There’s no free lunch. My mock exam scores are Ivy League level. Even if I messed up the last subject, I can still pick any top university I want! Uncle, I understand you. You don’t have a son, and Roxy is a loser destined for community college. You’re here being nice because you want to rely on me later! The family’s future depends on me!” My dad was stunned for a second, then exploded. “You little idiot! Mom, this is the kid you spoiled! Spraying shit in the exam hall wasn’t enough, now he’s spewing shit from his mouth!” Hearing “spraying shit,” Brandon’s face turned green. Grandma was even more anxious. “Shut up! Who said you could mention that! Brandon has… Irritable Bowel Syndrome! You’re just jealous because he’s not your son!” 5 My dad got kicked out of the ward. He came home and told my mom. My mom had long lost hope for that family. “So what? Your mom has treated Roxy like this for eighteen years. Your brother and sister-in-law made money in stocks and got cocky. Now that Brandon is going to a top college, your mom doesn’t need you anymore.” My dad let out a bitter laugh. “No son, sucking up to a nephew, family glory… young people don’t talk like that. He must have heard it from my parents and brother. I thought my brother still cared about me. We lived in the same complex, kids went to the same school… I thought he was checking on me out of concern. Now I see it was just comparison and showing off!” My mom was unhappy too. “Years ago, your sister-in-law’s shop was across from my office. My colleagues went in, and she’d ask about my salary and benefits. When they didn’t want to say, she’d give them attitude and call them poor behind their backs. Who cares about relatives like that? It’s obvious: they’re afraid you’ll suffer, but they’re terrified you’ll drive a Range Rover.” I didn’t listen to the rest. Now that I think about it, my uncle’s family did pay a weird amount of attention to us. Normally, they’d ask about our income. If it was high, they looked jealous or competitive. If it was low, they looked smug. That was normal toxic relative behavior. Until Brandon and I started elementary school. I have zero talent for studying. No matter how hard I tried, I was average at best. Brandon played all day but always scored at the top. At first, my parents sent me to cram schools. But after years of effort, we accepted the truth. I am a mediocrity. Brandon is a natural genius. I was mocked for this constantly. Feeling suffocated, I started organizing my old test papers. Most students tear them up to celebrate freedom, but I wanted to sell them for scrap. My grades were worthless anyway. My phone pinged. A notification from the school’s confession wall. A hot post titled: [Don’t idealize geniuses, especially the ones who shit themselves!] Apparently, a junior girl had bid high for Brandon’s notes, hoping for wisdom. Instead, she got blank pages, doodles, and crude ratings of girls’ appearances in each class. Things like “bangable,” “needs to be trained,” “huge tits.” It was disgusting. The girl demanded a refund. Brandon refused and insulted her. “Even if I bombed the last subject, I’m scoring over 700! Worship me and shut up! Just wait for my score to slap your face, bitch!” The girl was furious and posted everything. 700? Brandon had hit that in mocks. But my grades were so bad my parents never compared us. I quickly looked up his past scores. Me: 360. Brandon: 720. Me: 356. Brandon: 712. Me: 345. Brandon: 690. My scores hovered around 350. His were always double mine. Double. Exactly double. That was too coincidental!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386284”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 For ten years, my sister called me a jinx. Because the moment I, the long-lost son, returned home, her perfect life shattered. The company went bankrupt. Our parents jumped from their office window. My sister tried to follow them more times than I can count. But when my own heart failed from exhaustion, it was her on the operating table next to mine, giving me the heart that would save my life. “Live well, Asher,” she whispered as the anesthesia took hold. “But in the next life… please, just stay away from us.” My eyes were wide open as they wheeled her into surgery. During the transplant, my body rejected her heart. I stopped breathing. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the family’s lawyer first found me. I shook my head and gave him a small, respectful salute. “Thank you for the offer, sir, but the state raised me. It’s time I started paying that debt back.” … The lawyer looked at me like I was an alien. He couldn’t comprehend someone turning down a life of unimaginable wealth for a reason like that. “The Kingstons are one of the wealthiest families in the city,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief. “Do you have any idea what you’re giving up?” I just shook my head. If they were that wealthy, why send a lawyer instead of coming themselves? It was obvious they weren’t exactly thrilled about my existence. It’s pathetic that it took me a whole other lifetime to figure that out. I refused again and again, even signing a document swearing I would never make a claim on the Kingston estate. Finally, he left. I let out a long breath and started the slow walk back to the children’s home. I’d been working delivery jobs since graduation and had saved up a decent amount of money. Enough to buy some dolls for the younger kids and a new hand cream for our house mother. But as I reached the gate, I saw a figure standing there, poised and impatient. It was my sister, Chloe. “Asher Kingston,” she said, her voice sharp. “When you get home, I’m warning you, don’t say the wrong thing. Especially not to Caleb. He’s the most important person in our family.” Her words were a lightning strike that left me stunned and reeling. She remembered, too. She had been reborn. I swallowed the bitter taste in my throat and shook my head. “You have the wrong person. My name is Asher Stone.” “I don’t know you,” I added, my voice flat. “Please leave.” Chloe’s eyes narrowed, disbelief etched on her face. “What kind of game are you playing now? Trying to be clever?” “Don’t bother. Mom and Dad still don’t even know you exist. As far as they’re concerned, Caleb is their real son.” Hearing that, a profound sense of relief washed over me. Good. At least in this life, I wouldn’t be responsible for the Kingston family’s karma. Their bankruptcy, Chloe’s death… none of it would have anything to do with me. The thought was liberating. “Miss… I’m sorry, do you need something else?” I asked, my tone polite but distant. “If not, you’re blocking the driveway. There’s a lot of traffic here; it’s dangerous.” With that, I brushed past her. Inside the yard, a group of kids playing in the mud saw me and ran over, their faces bright with excitement. “Asher! You’re back!” “Did your family come for you? Are you leaving us?” I could feel Chloe’s stare on my back as I shook my head. “They’re all gone. You guys are my family now.” Ignoring the way her body went rigid, I took one of the kid’s muddy hands and led them toward the house. “Guess what I brought you guys? I heard you’ve been craving snacks. Let’s sneak some before Mrs. Gable finds out!” Their happy shouts echoed through the yard. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so light. The next morning, I was getting ready to head to my old high school to give a speech at the assembly for the incoming freshmen. Staring out the window, my mind was filled with dreams for the future. In my last life, when I arrived at the Kingston mansion, they were in the middle of celebrating Caleb’s birthday. My sudden appearance was an awkward interruption. They already knew Caleb wasn’t their biological son, but after so many years, he was the only son they had ever wanted. They said it was good that I was back. The company needed an heir. I changed my application from West Point to the finance program at Wharton. I threw myself into Kingston Industries. They gave me all the pressure and gave Caleb all the love. And then… what happened then? Caleb sold the company’s most vital secrets. We went bankrupt overnight. My parents couldn’t handle it; they died by suicide. Even Chloe became a ghost, haunted and resentful, looking at me like I was her enemy. She always said I was a jinx. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be the beloved heiress of Kingston Industries, the happiest girl in the world. I never argued. I just worked, trying to give her the life she’d always known. I worked until my heart gave out. I closed my eyes, picturing my parents’ faces one last time. Mom, Dad. I can’t be a son to you in this life. I hope that without me, your family of four can finally be happy. When I opened my eyes again, the school gates were right in front of me, and a thrill of excitement ran through me. After the children’s home, this place was my second home. My favorite teacher, Mrs. Davis, met me at the curb. “Asher, are you still set on your plans?” I was about to smile and nod when a voice cut through the air. “Asher Kingston! I knew you hadn’t given up!” Chloe was running toward us, her face flushed. “You want to study finance, right? Well, I’ll have you know Dad already signed his shares over to Caleb. You won’t get a thing!” “The Kingston fortune belongs to Caleb!” Watching her hysterical outburst, I felt a sense of absurdity. Wasn’t I a victim in all this, too? If Caleb’s mother hadn’t switched us at birth and left me for dead, I wouldn’t have been found half-frozen on the steps of the home. If Caleb hadn’t betrayed the company, our parents wouldn’t have died. Was it all my fault? Not wanting to reveal my secret, I just lowered my head and tried to walk past her. But she grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “Our family is happy now, Asher. Why did you have to show up?” “Do you want to watch us fall apart all over again? Is that what will make you happy?” “How can you be so cruel?” I tried to pull away without hurting her. After all, she had saved my life once… Mrs. Davis stepped between us. “Excuse me, miss. Asher is my student. If you have a problem, you can speak to me.” “Please don’t harass a child.” She pulled me behind her, her eyes sharp. “Asher, do you know her?” I clung to her sleeve like a lifeline. “No! I don’t! She was at the children’s home yesterday saying all this weird stuff!” That was all Mrs. Davis needed to hear. She immediately called security. “It’s alright, Asher. I’m here.” In the security office, Chloe sat across from me, her gaze fixed on me, a storm brewing in her eyes. On my side, the school security guard, my teacher, the dean, and even the principal were all fussing over me. So this… this is what it felt like to be chosen? To be protected? “Don’t worry, Mr. Stone,” the principal said, shooting a look at Chloe. “We won’t let anyone bother you.” He cleared his throat. “Ms. Kingston, what is your business with our student?” “You know who I am?” Chloe scoffed, slamming her purse on the table. “Then you should know better than to lock me in here like a criminal! Let me out!” The principal wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his voice firm. “Asher Stone is one of our most distinguished graduates and our city’s sole acceptance to the United States Military Academy at West Point this year. We have a responsibility to ensure his safety.” “I suggest you explain yourself, or I’ll have to report this to the academy’s liaison office.” Chloe’s eyes went wide with shock. She stared at me. “West Point? I thought you were going for finance?” The principal frowned. “Mr. Stone has been working toward this goal for three years. Where did you hear about finance?” Realizing her mistake, Chloe composed herself, smoothing her hair. “A kid from a group home like him? Getting into a top university? Are you sure he didn’t cheat?” “You should probably investigate your own students before you start bragging. You’ll let any stray in these days.” Even though I was prepared for it, her words still felt like a fist clenching around my heart. Before I could speak, Mrs. Davis shot back. “What did you just say? It’s clear you’re just here to cause trouble.” “Everyone at this school knows Asher has been the top student for three years straight. Are you calling all of us liars?” “And what’s wrong with being raised in a children’s home? A grown woman like you should know better than to be so prejudiced.” The dean nodded in agreement. Our school had a partnership with the home. They waived our tuition and provided dedicated counselors. They had watched me grow up. Chloe’s words were an attack on all of them. Even the old security guard was glaring at her. “We don’t welcome people like you here. Please leave.” “And if I see you bothering Asher again, the police will be having a talk with you.” As I watched Chloe’s retreating back, a mix of emotions swirled within me. Someone tapped my shoulder. It was Mrs. Davis. “Whether your name is Stone or Kingston, you are your own person,” she said gently. “If you ever need anything, my phone is on for you 24/7.” The principal and dean nodded, their expressions telling me they understood more than they were letting on. They were giving me space, and their unspoken support was overwhelming. I tried to hold back my tears, but a few escaped and splashed onto the table. They all pretended not to notice, guiding me toward the auditorium. “The students are waiting for your speech. Go on.” I nodded and walked onto the stage. As I spoke, I could see a familiar figure in the distance, watching me intently, as if searching for a crack in my armor. She didn’t find one. Afterward, Mrs. Davis drove me back to the home. Delivery trucks were parked at the gate, unloading boxes. I walked closer and saw Chloe directing the workers, pointing them toward the main yard. She saw me and clicked over in her high heels, her voice an accusation. “You’ve been reborn too, haven’t you, Asher?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And my name is Asher Stone,” I replied calmly. “You should try to remember that.” I walked past her, glancing at the piles of neatly stacked supplies. New mattresses, pillows, toys… everything the home needed. “Let’s make a deal,” she said, appearing at my side. She held out a check. “I’ve donated a million dollars. This is another million for you.” “Two million dollars. To buy out our relationship.” So, that was my worth in her eyes. Two million dollars. Less than the sports car she’d bought Caleb, yet it was meant to sever our bond for a lifetime. When I didn’t respond, she sneered. “Not enough for you?” “Do you know how long it takes a normal person to earn that much money?” “You should learn to be content with what you have and not long for things that don’t belong to you.” I knew what she was implying. My parents. Her. Kingston Industries. The family I never had. “Is it really that hard to earn a million dollars?” She threw the check at my chest and turned to leave. That’s when I finally spoke. I bent down, picked up the check, and tucked it into her designer handbag. “It only takes me about ten days to make a million,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “And it only takes you about ten seconds to spend it.” She spun around, her face a mask of disbelief, her voice trembling. “You do remember!” “So what if I do? You’d be nothing without the Kingston name!” “Admit it! You only succeeded because Mom and Dad propped you up, because Caleb and I gave up the company for you!” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. “Did any of you ever ask me what I wanted?” “You just wanted a human ATM. Don’t make it sound so noble, like you were making some great sacrifice.” “I saw the immigration applications.” If I hadn’t stumbled upon the paperwork for their family of four in the study in my last life, I might have been fooled forever. The “family” I thought I was a part of was just another lie. Chloe clearly remembered, too. Her eyes darted away, and she fumbled for words. Finally, she managed a weak retort. “As long as you stay away from us in this life, none of that will happen!” “Really?” Hearing her still trying to evade the truth, I lost my patience. “Chloe, do you really think that as long as I don’t exist, everything will be fine?” “Do you need me to remind you what really happened?” She froze as if petrified. Shock, pain, regret—a thousand emotions flashed across her face. I knew, in that moment, she was finally ready to face the truth.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386300”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Four years into our marriage, I sent my husband’s mistress abroad and then drugged him. We spent the night together, and I became pregnant. The next morning, Julian said nothing and flew out of the country. On the first day, my family’s company went bankrupt. On the second day, I got into a car accident. Not only did I lose the baby, but my uterus was removed, leaving me unable to ever conceive again. On the third day, my parents were kidnapped, taken thousands of feet into the air, and dropped to their deaths while I begged for mercy. It wasn’t until Julian stood in front of me, holding his mistress, that I realized he was behind it all. “You should be grateful I found Bella today, Sarah. Otherwise, you would have died with your parents.” I coughed up blood and rushed forward to confront him, but his bodyguard kicked me dead before I could say a word. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day I drugged Julian. 1 “Sarah, you’re going to regret this.” His voice was accompanied by heavy, ragged breathing. I opened my eyes in disbelief, staring at the familiar scene. Julian, under the influence of the drug, looked at me with dark, lust-filled eyes. He grabbed my wrist violently. “Come here! Isn’t this what you wanted?” I instinctively jerked my hand away and ran out of the room in terror. Behind me, Julian kept calling my name like a death sentence. In my past life, this was the day I sent his mistress, Bella, abroad and drugged him so we could sleep together. Julian and I grew up together. But when we got married, he told me he only saw me as a sister. In our first year of marriage, he got himself a mistress. No matter how hard I tried to please him, he remained unmoved. Desperate for a child to secure my place, I sent Bella away and drugged him. That night, I got what I wanted. The next morning, Julian gave me a dark look and left the country. After that, disaster struck my family. Bankruptcy. Miscarriage. Hysterectomy. And finally, my parents’ brutal deaths. It was all Julian’s punishment for me sending Bella away. He had forgotten his wedding vows to cherish me forever. He forgot how my parents treated him like their own son. The Su family’s resources were always open to him. When the Qin family was on the brink of bankruptcy, it was the Su family that saved them. Yet, he destroyed my parents without hesitation. And if he hadn’t found Bella quickly, I would have died without ever knowing the truth. I shuddered at the thought. Julian was pounding on the door behind me. I knew the lock wouldn’t hold for long. But the mistake hadn’t been made yet. Bella should have just arrived at the airport. If I brought her back and sent her to his bed, everything could be saved. In this life, I didn’t want a child, and I didn’t want Julian’s love. I just wanted to stay far away from them. Without hesitation, I called my assistant. “Bring Bella back to the estate. Now!” 2 After making the call, I collapsed to the floor, weak. Soon, Bella was brought back. She looked at me with venom in her eyes. “Who are you to send me away? You’re lucky you brought me back, or Julian wouldn’t have let you off!” Bella held her head high, eyes full of triumph. I said nothing. I just opened the door and shoved her inside. “I know you and Julian are made for each other. I’m fulfilling your wish.” Hearing the heavy breathing behind her, Bella looked terrified. “You crazy bitch! Are you giving me to some random man? Even if you use such evil tricks, Julian won’t love you!” My heart ached. I shouted to Julian, “I was wrong to drug you, but I’m compensating you now. We’re even.” In my past life, I used a high dose. He went at it for a whole day. Now with the woman he truly loved, they probably wouldn’t leave the room for twenty-four hours. Seeing that the man was Julian, a smile instantly appeared on Bella’s face. She proudly took off her coat, revealing the lace lingerie underneath. Seeing my stunned expression, she gloated, “What are you looking at? Julian loves this on me. He says you’re like a dead fish in bed. Holding your hand feels like holding his own left hand.” She walked over and hugged Julian. The next second, Julian, unable to hold back any longer, tackled her to the ground. I couldn’t watch anymore and slammed the door shut. Even in a new life, seeing this still cut me like a knife. But this time, I would not repeat the same mistakes! The sounds from inside continued. I turned and walked away numbly. After gathering all my documents, I finally let out a breath. Next step: get Julian to sign the divorce papers so I can leave for good. I started drafting the agreement, word by word. Looking at his name, memories flooded back. We grew up together. He had his tender moments. He always brought me my favorite wontons. He prepared gifts for every holiday. He was the first to defend me when others hurt me. I was young and naive, thinking it was love. So I begged my parents to let us marry. Julian didn’t object, and I thought he loved me too. Until after the wedding, when he brought Bella home for the first time. He said he only loved me as a sister. If my parents hadn’t threatened him with death, he wouldn’t have married me. But he couldn’t spend his life with a “sister,” so he brought Bella home. “From now on, we are husband and wife in public, but at home, you are my sister, and Bella is my wife.” I cried, screamed, and threatened to jump off the balcony. Eventually, I forced Bella out of the estate. But driving her away didn’t win his heart. In the end, it cost me my entire family. Thinking of this, I printed the divorce agreement and clutched it tightly. Suddenly, a voice came from behind. “Sarah, what are you doing?” 3 I turned around and saw Julian holding Bella, looking at me with dark eyes, his body covered in marks. I took a deep breath and handed him the divorce papers. He slapped them away without looking, frowning at me. “Sarah, apologize to Bella.” My heart sank. I had given them what they wanted yesterday, but he still wouldn’t let it go. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Bella nestled into Julian’s arms, looking aggrieved. “Forget it, Julian. Who am I to ask the great Miss Su for an apology? What if she gets angry and sends me abroad again?” She tugged at his sleeve, voice trembling with tears, while shooting me a hateful glare. Julian hugged her tighter, turning a cold gaze on me. “Sarah, apologize to Bella. Don’t make me say it twice! Or your family’s company and your parents…” Seeing the ruthlessness in his eyes, I realized Julian might never have intended to live peacefully with me. He was coerced into marriage, and from that day on, he hated my family. Even in this life, where I didn’t send Bella away, he still threatened me with my parents and the company. He had always planned to destroy us. I swallowed the bitterness and rasped, “I’m sorry.” Bella turned her head, pouting. “She’s not sincere at all. I want her to kneel and slap herself while apologizing. Ninety-nine times. Only then will I forgive her.” Julian frowned. Bella quickly added, “If I had really been sent away last night, Julian, wouldn’t you be heartbroken? What if something happened to me abroad…” Before she could finish, Julian kissed her. “Don’t say that. You know I can’t lose you.” He looked at me coldly. “This was your fault. I know you can’t do it yourself, so just apologize, and I’ll have someone help you.” The bodyguards forced me to my knees. Slaps rained down on my face. Pain blinded me. Julian wasn’t satisfied. He grabbed my chin. His eyes were dark. “Sarah, I was too good to you before. Think of your parents. Do what Bella wants, or ninety-nine slaps will become nine hundred and ninety.” I gritted my teeth and apologized until I coughed up blood. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” After ninety-nine slaps, I collapsed, unconscious. Before I closed my eyes, I saw a flicker of pain in Julian’s eyes. 4 When I woke up, Julian was sitting by my bed. He sighed and tried to feed me warm porridge. I turned my face away. He frowned. “It was wrong to hit you, but Sarah, you started it.” I cut him off by handing him the divorce papers. “Let’s divorce. I’m giving you and Bella my blessing.” Julian snatched the papers and threw them on the floor, his face black. “You think you can marry when you want and divorce when you want? What am I to you?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Didn’t you always want to marry Bella?” He stood up, glaring at me coldly. “Sarah, playing hard to get? I told you I only see you as a sister. You want a divorce? Fine. But until the certificate is issued, don’t touch Bella. If she gets a single scratch, it’s on you.” Bella walked in, smirking at me. “Julian, that’s not nice to Sarah. If you say that, doesn’t she become my bodyguard until the divorce? But since you asked, Sarah, I’m counting on you.” Bodyguards flooded the room. Julian signed the papers, staring at me as if trying to read my mind. I was dragged out of bed silently to follow Bella. Once I get the divorce certificate, I can escape them and avoid my past fate. The next month was pure torture. Julian made out with Bella in front of me without shame. They kissed loudly in dressing rooms while I stood guard outside. Listening to their laughter, I stared blankly into the distance. Tomorrow, I get the certificate. Freedom. An hour later, Julian walked out with a disheveled Bella. He looked unhappy. After taking a call, he gave me a dark look and left. Once he was gone, Bella dropped the act. She mocked me, “Some people just have thick skin. Squatting on things that don’t belong to them, refusing to give them back even when the owner returns. Like a stray dog.” Before I could reply, a group of men rushed out and grabbed Bella. The leader looked vicious. “You’re Julian’s mistress? Today is your unlucky day!” He raised a hand to knock her out. I lunged forward and grabbed Bella’s hand. If anything happened to her, Julian would blame me. Thinking of my past life, I held on for dear life. If I let go, I’d be buried with her. The man sneered and slapped me. My head spun. “Bitch, can’t even save yourself and trying to stop me? Take them both!” Soon, amidst Bella’s screams, we were pinned to the ground. Just as we were being dragged away, a noise came from behind. “Let them go!” Julian rushed forward, eyes anxious. While the men were distracted by Julian, I tried to drag Bella toward the exit. But Bella pinched my hand hard and shoved me backward. I looked at her in shock. She whispered: “Who told you to compete with me?” The next second, I was grabbed by the thug again. “Julian! Tell your men to back off! Or I can’t guarantee her safety!” The man choked me, lifting me high. Julian looked at me, expression unreadable. “Sarah, you’re overacting. Don’t believe your own lies.” I didn’t know what he meant. I reached out to him. “Save… me.” Julian hesitated. Just then, Bella cried out in pain. “Julian, it hurts! Sarah hired these people herself, they won’t hurt her! She just pushed me, I’m worried about the baby…” I looked at Bella in disbelief. I struggled, trying to explain. But hearing Bella’s words, Julian picked her up and turned away. The thug threatened him, but he just said coldly: “Do whatever you want with her.” Seeing no escape, the thug stopped struggling. He pinned me down with a twisted expression. “Boys, this Julian guy is ruthless. Since he doesn’t want his wife, let’s taste what a CEO’s woman is like!” He tore my clothes open. “Julian! Save me!” Desperate, I used the name I called him as a child, hoping to awaken his conscience. He paused but continued walking away with the unharmed Bella. I fought with everything I had, but I was overpowered. Just before he entered me, a fierce resolve flashed in my eyes. I bit my tongue off. Blood gushed out. The man looked terrified. In the last second before passing out, memories of Julian’s past kindness flashed before my eyes. Then, they shattered. I fell into darkness. … After leaving, Julian’s heart raced. He felt like he missed something. After settling Bella in the hospital, he stood outside her room. Remembering Sarah’s dead eyes and her cry for help, he finally made a call. “Go see if Sarah is dead.” He knew she hired those people. She wouldn’t be hurt. But he frowned. He swore he would teach her a lesson when she came back. But the next second, the voice on the phone froze him. “Mr. Vance, the Madam bit her tongue and committed suicide after you left. She was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386316”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

They called me the luckiest woman in the city. An orphan, I had found a broken man in the gutters, and with a little begging here, a little borrowing there, I had somehow nursed Julian Devereux, the heir to the Devereux fortune, back to life. In return, he had lifted me from obscurity and was about to make me his wife. Everyone said he spoiled me, let me run wild with his affection. When I idly mentioned I liked pearls, a collection once belonging to British royalty appeared at my door. When I gazed at a single rose, the next morning, the entire estate was carpeted in the rare Louis XIV varietal. He was the untouchable Lord Devereux, master of his family’s empire. And then, at the zenith of my fairy tale, the day he was to make me his, I met Vivienne Pembroke. And she had my face. … Vivienne tilted my chin up with a manicured finger, her eyes a canvas of undisguised contempt. “You do have a pretty face, I’ll give you that.” Whispers erupted around us. “That’s Vivienne Pembroke… she looks exactly like her…” “Be quiet. Do you know who she is? The Pembroke heiress. She could snap her fingers and half the Capital would tremble. As for her origins…” No matter how Julian tried to hide it, the fact that I was an orphan could never be erased. They just didn’t dare say it aloud. Not after what happened to the last person who did. At a gala, when Julian first brought me into his world, a society matron had sneered about my parentage. Julian had merely glanced at her, his expression placid. The next day, that woman was found on the city’s busiest street, broken and begging, her mind gone. No one had breathed a word against me since. In the next instant, the glowing cherry of Vivienne’s cigarette was pressed against my cheek. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. I cried out in pain and shoved her away. She stumbled backward, falling gracefully into Julian Devereux’s arms. The burn on my face was agony, but a sharper pain lanced through my heart at the look in Julian’s eyes as he held her—a tempest of emotions I had never seen before. “Julian, my face,” Vivienne whimpered. “It hurts so much…” But Julian’s gaze was fixed on the cigarette still in her hand. He gently took it from her fingers. “Your lungs are delicate, Vivi. You must be more careful.” He had completely ignored me. Vivienne looked over his shoulder at me. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to this… young lady?” Only then did Julian seem to notice the weeping burn on my face. He looked away, his voice low. “This is Celine. She’s… my sister.” The ancient jade signet ring on my finger slipped from my grasp, hitting the marble floor and splitting in two. He had placed it there only last night when he’d asked me to be his wife. I looked around the grand ballroom. The crimson banners celebrating our union, the loving portrait of us at the entrance, even the interwoven gold embroidery on our formal attire—everything screamed engagement. So how had I, the fiancée, suddenly become the sister? The jade had broken cleanly, but my heart was tearing apart, a ragged, shredding agony. “Julian…” I stepped forward, wanting to demand an explanation, but he was already turning, shielding Vivienne as he led her away. The whispers swelled into a roar. “I thought this was their engagement party.” “The next lady of the Devereux estate? I wouldn’t be so sure now.” I looked to Julian, the man who couldn’t bear to hear a single bad word spoken about me. He didn’t even glance my way. His entire world was focused on Vivienne. I was invisible. In a haze of pain and medication, I felt a cool sensation on my cheek. I opened my eyes to see Julian carefully applying a salve to the burn. I threw my arms around his waist, clinging to him. “Why did you call me your sister tonight?” He didn’t answer, his voice a low rumble. “I have to go to the Capital City.” The Pembrokes… they were from the Capital. The events of the night—the canceled engagement, his sudden departure, the strange new obsession in his eyes when he looked at Vivienne—crashed over me in a suffocating wave. My heart hammered against my ribs, a painful, frantic rhythm. I couldn’t breathe. “Is it because of her? Because of Vivienne?” Julian’s gaze snapped to mine, cold and hard. “Celine. Be careful what you say.” It was the first time he had ever looked at me with anything but warmth. My voice trembled. “Then tell me why! Why are you going to the Capital? Why did you call me your sister? Why did you cancel our engagement? Why!” He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. “Take Miss Celine to the family chapel,” he commanded the guards at the door. “She will kneel there until she has calmed down.” I stared at him. The man before me was a stranger. Not the Julian who had promised to grant my every wish, to answer my every question. I knelt in the cold chapel, before the stone tombs of his ancestors. Staring at the eternal flame, I whispered a desperate prayer. “Spirits of this house, I will accept a lifetime of hardship and poverty in my next ten lives, if you will only grant me this one with Julian. Let us be together, always.” A soft, mocking laugh echoed from the doorway. Vivienne stood there, wreathed in shadow. “The Devereux ancestors,” she purred, “do you really think they’ll ever accept you?” “A woman like you, Miss Pembroke,” I retorted, my voice shaking, “has no shame, interfering in our relationship?” She laughed again, a low, throaty sound. “Interfering?” She blew a plume of smoke in my direction. “You, who appeared with my face while I was away at university and attached yourself to my childhood sweetheart. You call me the intruder?” With a flick of her wrist, she touched the lit end of her cigarette to an ancient tapestry. It smoldered for a second before catching fire. I tried to scramble away, but she grabbed my arm, her grip like steel. “You think I’m the one who came between you?” she hissed, her face illuminated by the growing flames. The fire spread with terrifying speed, smoke billowing around us. She didn’t seem to feel the heat at all. “Then let’s see who he chooses.” The fire alarms blared. Servants rushed to the chapel doors, but Vivienne pressed the sharp point of a hairpin to her own throat. “Tell Julian Devereux he has to choose between me and Celine, right now! Or we both burn!” I had inhaled too much smoke. My lungs burned, my vision swam. I collapsed to the floor. Through the distorted haze of heat and smoke, I saw Julian burst into the chapel. He swept Vivienne into his arms and ran. He was in such a hurry that he didn’t see me on the floor. His foot came down hard on my outstretched hand, crushing it as he fled. The searing pain jolted me back from the brink of unconsciousness. As the darkness closed in, his promise from the day he brought me to his home echoed in my ears. “Celine, you saved my life. I can only repay it with my own.” “I will give you a lifetime of honor, of wealth, of safety.” But here I was, broken and burning, my life hanging by a thread, abandoned by my savior. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. I waited. Day turned to night, and back to day. I sat as still as a statue, a forgotten idol waiting for a worshipper who would never come. Julian never came. Perhaps the fire had burned away his love, I thought. My heart felt like a hollow chamber of ash, no longer capable of pain. Then, he was there. He gently tried to give me a sip of water. It tasted strange, bitter. I turned my head away, but he gripped my jaw, forcing my mouth open and pouring the liquid down my throat. A fire erupted in my larynx, a pain so intense I thrashed wildly. Julian’s grip only tightened. I tried to cough, to scream, but no sound came out. I was silent. My throat felt as though it had been scoured with acid. A single tear escaped and traced a path through the soot on my cheek. I looked up at Julian. His own eyes were red, rimmed with tears. He gathered me in his arms, his voice a broken whisper. “Celine, it’s okay. From now on, I’ll be your voice. I’ll speak for you…” I bit down on his arm, hard. Blood welled up, but he didn’t flinch, letting me inflict the pain. His tears were hot on my skin, a stark contrast to the chemical fire in my throat. The twin agonies made my head swim. Through the haze, I heard him whisper again. “I’m so sorry…” “Someone has to take the blame for the chapel, Celine… Vivienne can’t… she’s too fragile. And you… you’re too stubborn. You would never have confessed for her.” “This was the only way… I’m so sorry…” When I next awoke, the room was empty. It was all a nightmare. The door opened, and the Devereux matriarch swept in. She placed a document on my bedside table. “When Julian favored you, I allowed your foolishness. But Vivienne is back now. They were meant to be. Everything is finally back on its proper course. It is time for you to leave.” With a trembling hand, I wrote on a notepad: Is this what Julian wants? “Julian’s wishes are no longer relevant.” A thousand protests rose within me—to fight, to scream, to beg. But I touched my throat, the silent, ruined flesh, and signed my name. I wrote one last thing. I have only one condition. I never want to see Julian Devereux again. The matriarch said a car would take me to the airport in the morning. But just as dawn broke, Julian’s men came for me instead. Before the charred ruins of the family chapel, Julian stood with Vivienne shielded behind him. The family elders were gathered, their faces grim. “The ancestral tablets of eighteen generations, the family registry, all of it, gone!” one of them roared. “And you still protect this woman?” Julian’s shoulders relaxed when he saw me. He pulled me before the elders. “Vivienne didn’t do it,” he announced, his voice ringing with false conviction. “Celine burned the chapel.” I wanted to scream, No! But only a strangled gasp escaped my throat. I gestured frantically, trying to explain, but no one looked at me. After a long, tense silence, the eldest patriarch sighed. “Then let the family law be served. Forty-nine lashes. Not one less.” The Devereux “family law” was a brutal tradition. One lash could break a man. I grabbed Julian’s hand, my eyes pleading with him to speak, to stop this. He pulled his hand away, refusing to look at me. “Administer the punishment,” he said softly. As the first whip fell, my mind flashed back to the day I met him. He was fleeing his enemies, bleeding and near death in the ruins of an old church. I found him. He told me he’d give me a million dollars to save him. I told him he was a liar, but I saved him anyway. Later, when he was safe in his magnificent home, he had laughed. “A million dollars is for common people, Celine.” He had offered me the entire Devereux empire. His heart. His whole world. That was to be my reward. At the tenth lash, I thought I heard his voice from the night he proposed. “From this day forward, you are the lady of this house.” “If anyone ever tries to hurt you, they will have to go through my dead body first.” A mouthful of blood escaped my lips, spattering the mended jade ring on his hand. The brilliant green was stained with crimson. A broken gem, even one set in gold, is still just a broken thing. When the forty-ninth lash fell, I was barely breathing, a bloody ruin on the stone floor. In his study, Julian’s heart gave a violent lurch. A terrible, suffocating unease washed over him. He couldn’t name the feeling, but then a frantic shout erupted from outside. “Miss Celine has no heartbeat!” Julian shot to his feet. The world tilted, the room spinning around him. The only words that cut through the chaos were: “No heartbeat!” What did that mean? A hot rush filled his throat, and he doubled over, vomiting blood. The sharp pain cleared his head for a moment. He had to get to her. He threw open the door and came face to face with his grandmother. The matriarch’s smile was glacial. “And where do you think you’re going?” “I have to see Celine…” he mumbled. “See her? Who is she to you?” Her hand cracked across his face. “Remember this! The daughter-in-law of this family, the wife of Lord Devereux, your intended, is Vivienne Pembroke! Not some gutter orphan you picked up off the street!” Julian froze as if struck by lightning. He turned. Behind him, Vivienne stood, her expression unreadable. “Are you going to abandon me for her, too?” she asked quietly. A wave of crushing despair washed over him. He collapsed into a chair, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. It had all been a lie from the start.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386332”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I woke up in a room I didn’t recognize, the air thick with a rising heat that had nothing to do with the temperature. I was drugged. And I wasn’t alone. The red pinpricks of high-definition cameras in the corners confirmed the nightmare: a live feed, streaming right now, straight onto the darkest corners of the internet. The viewers—thousands of them, the digital leeches of the dark web—were buzzing, placing bets on how long we could hold out. I had two choices laid out for me in this agonizing space. I could let the drug burn me alive from the inside out, a fever of chemical torture. Or I could sacrifice every shred of my dignity, and put on a show for the anonymous masses with the man standing a few feet away. 1 “Heh heh, welcome, everyone, to ‘How Long Can They Last?’” “Tonight, we feature the famously aloof artist and the notoriously untouchable CEO!” “We’ve been planning this event for an entire year! Hope you enjoy the show!” The synthetic, electronically processed voice echoed off the concrete walls. With a sharp clack, the enormous screen mounted on the wall flickered to life. Four brutal, industrial spotlights immediately skewered my vision with blinding white light. The searing pain made me hiss in discomfort. “Awake?” The man’s voice was rough, like gravel had been dragged across his vocal cords. I turned my head and my breath hitched, then stopped completely. It was Ethan Rhys. The heir to the Rhys BioPharma empire in Boston, known for his utterly impenetrable aloofness. We’d only met twice before, briefly, at a gallery reception for the new packaging illustrations I’d done for his company’s latest drug—an approval I’d just secured. We hadn’t exchanged more than three complete sentences. “Mr. Rhys, where are we?” “An abandoned warehouse. And we’re being streamed, live.” He spoke, then immediately shuffled backward, retreating into the farthest corner he could manage, his breathing heavy. “Does it feel hot in here to you?” I fanned myself nervously, taking in the scene. He shot me a look of pure, mortifying awkwardness, his lips moving as if to speak, but he said nothing. Odd. But he wasn’t wrong. It was a broadcast. HD-800 models—a dark web favorite, meaning the transmission distance wasn’t great, maybe a couple of miles. A peculiar, unwelcome heat was beginning to rise under my skin. I forced myself to breathe deeply, trying to distract my mind from the intensifying sensation. “Mr. Rhys, how did you get caught up in this?” It was easy enough to target an independent artist like me, with no security. But Ethan Rhys? Surrounded by security and corporate muscle? Taking him down would have required a massive operation. Why us? Why the two of us together? A suppressed groan of agony escaped Ethan’s throat. “Someone set me up…” “Who’s the bankroller? The person behind the curtain?” Anyone who could pull this off against him must have invested a fortune. “I don’t know,” Ethan ground out, each syllable a struggle to escape his gritted teeth. “But I will.” 2 On the massive screen, a dense, frantic scroll of comments flashed. [WTF! Isn’t that Sienna the Illustrator? The one they call the ‘Untouchable’?!] [Heard half of Boston’s A-list has chased her, and she’s shot them all down.] [Yep, notoriously hard to get!] [And the other one is the Hermit CEO, Ethan Rhys? They’re playing for real stakes!] [Holy hell, I’m so stoked!] [Dark web is killing it! They managed to snag these two for a live stream!] [Rumor is, they planned this for a year!] [The Ice Queen meets the Hermit. Perfect pairing!] [Heh heh, I love watching the ‘prim and proper’ finally get ‘down and dirty’…] Those comments felt like dirty, invisible hands, stripping me bare and tossing me onto the street. “Let us out of here! This is illegal!” I instinctively curled my body inward, but my voice still came out in a terrified tremor. The synthetic voice gave an exaggerated, mocking laugh. “Help me! I’m so scared!” “Heh heh, friends, guests! The countdown starts now: 30 minutes! Place your bets! Let’s see how long they can resist the urge. And… who gives in first~~~” The comments grew more brazen, more vile. [Oh, spare us the high-and-mighty act. When the drug hits, you’ll be crying for him.] [They’ve been locked up for almost half an hour. Why hasn’t the show started yet?] [Is this a fake?] [I bet twenty minutes! The girl’s dose hasn’t fully kicked in.] [Both of them are total smoke shows. Worth every penny.] [Stop messing around! Get on with it! I’m putting $200k on them not lasting.] The drug? The drug? The one I’d only read about in trashy romance novels? I risked a glance at Ethan Rhys. He was in far worse shape than I was. Cold sweat beaded on his temples. He was propped against the wall with one hand, his knuckles white and protruding. The muscles in his exposed forearm were taut and subtly shaking, like he was wrestling a silent, invisible beast. I finally understood the meaning of his earlier, hesitant look. He couldn’t speak. He was beyond opening his mouth for a casual chat. I ran to the heavy iron door and started beating on it like a maniac. “Is anyone out there? Open up! Open the door!” “Stop, Sienna… that will only make the drug take hold faster.” Ethan’s voice cut through my panic. It was raspy, yet possessed a dangerous, compelling magnetism. His breathing was ragged and hot. In this suffocating, drug-fueled situation, his voice was like a lethal aphrodisiac. A mortifying thought flashed through my mind: If he lunged at me, would I fight him, or… I shivered, realizing I had already started spiraling into the forbidden thought. I kicked the door harder. “It’s been welded shut…” Ethan spoke again. I spun around to face him, my heart hammering in my chest like a runaway train. “Then what are we supposed to do? Wait to be burned to death by this chemical torment? Or couple like animals in front of a thousand people?” The words were out before I could stop them, and I instantly regretted it. The bloody redness in his eyes flared, but he bit down hard, turning his face away. His Adam’s apple convulsed violently, almost tearing through the skin. He was clearly struggling far more than I was. My words sounded like an accusation that he would take advantage of me. “I’m sorry,” I looked down, my voice catching on a sob. “I’m just… terrified.” “Don’t worry,” Ethan said, his fists clenched so tight his skin stretched white. Sweat was pouring down his forehead, soaking the back of his shirt. “I will not touch you.” 3 “Too loud! Hmm, seems like my hospitality was lacking. I didn’t give you enough of the good stuff!” The electronic voice was cold and sinister. The next second, a cloud of rose-tinted gas hissed from the ventilation duct. It smelled sickly sweet, like melted honey and a chemical burn, snaking its way into my nostrils. My fingertips immediately started to tingle with a terrifying, delightful numbness. Ethan spun around violently, his eyes fixed on me, pupils contracted to pinpricks. My heart seized. My body trembled uncontrollably, and I felt a surge of utterly shameful anticipation. “Don’t inhale!” He roared and lunged, moving so fast he was a blur. His hand, burning hot, clamped over my mouth and nose. His touch was scalding. The calluses on his thumb grazed my lips, an act of sheer, terrifying aggression. I instinctively recoiled, but ended up driving my head straight into his chest. His face was inches from mine. His breath, erupting in ragged bursts, was a fiery, medicated inferno. The comments section exploded: [Finally! Mr. Rhys, hold her tight!] [Look at his hand! He’s about to crush her face!] [Get on with it! Stop pretending to be a gentleman!] Ethan’s fingers suddenly tightened, and I let out a sharp, muffled cry of pain. “Sorry.” He seemed to snap out of a trance, abruptly releasing me. He stumbled back a huge step, his body slamming violently against the iron door. BAM! A low, guttural moan of pain ripped from his throat. A shard of sharp, upturned metal on the door sliced a deep gash into his forearm. Blood instantly gushed out, streaming down his arm and dripping onto the pale concrete floor—a shocking, aggressive red. I gasped in horror. “Don’t be afraid!” He retreated to the corner, and I watched, paralyzed, as he dug his own fingers into the fresh wound on his arm. He let out a suppressed roar, a sound of pure, tearing agony. He was using the pain to force himself awake, to force himself away from me. The comments instantly turned crueler: [Oh, look! He’s actually bleeding! Is he trying to look pathetic? Trying to make the girl pity him?] *[Get her to lick the wound! And get it on!] * [He’s about to blow, but he’s still playing the saint. Give it up, Romeo!] 4 My own condition was no better. The earlier struggle, the panic, and now the second dose had sent the drug racing through my bloodstream. It was a waking beast, consuming my will. I bit down hard on my tongue until I tasted metal. The coppery scent of my own blood filled my mouth, a feeble attempt to use pain to fight off the shameful, burgeoning desire. Worse, my body had already surrendered. A million invisible ants seemed to crawl beneath my skin, urging me toward that specific source of pure, overwhelming male energy. Ethan’s wound was still bleeding, staining half of his shirt sleeve crimson. I gathered the last of my strength and ripped the lace trim from the hem of my cocktail dress. “Use this to tie it up.” My legs were jelly, my voice trembling and unrecognizable. I stumbled two steps and held it out to him. Ethan’s body instantly froze. He turned, his eyes bloodshot and feral, like a beast on the verge of losing control. His gaze dropped first to the scrap of fabric I offered, then slowly moved up, locking onto my face. The intensity of his stare terrified me. I instinctively tried to pull my hand back, but he suddenly clamped down on my wrist. His fingertips brushed my skin, sending a jolt of electrifying numbness up my arm. My rational mind screamed at me to push him away, but my body was a shameful traitor. All I wanted was to burrow into his arms, to feel his heat. “Please…” I bit my lip, my nails digging into my palm, clinging to the last sliver of control. “Don’t, Ethan.” The comments section went completely insane: [He finally put his hands on her! Pin her against the wall!] [The girl’s melting! What’s with the act?] [I bet they don’t last 10 seconds. Wager: $100k.] [Go! Go! Go! Stop wasting time!] A sob escaped me, and a single, scalding tear rolled down my cheek, splashing onto the back of his hand. He flinched violently, as if my tear had burned him. He abruptly let go, gasping as he staggered two steps back. “I’m sorry!” He averted his eyes, a flicker of panic in his voice. “Thank you, but I don’t need the bandage.” We both knew the score. If we gave in to this physical need, we would be reduced to rutting animals, coupling under the jeers and scorn of countless strangers. The dark web would record our humiliation and sell it. The price of a momentary surrender would be a lifetime of shame and regret. 5 Having been denied the spectacle they craved, the comments hissed like venomous snakes, dripping with malice: [Oh, he actually refused? What a pretentious gentleman!] [Loser! Can’t even get a girl when she’s doped up!] [Look at Mr. Rhys’s back! He must be rock-hard. Why the saintly act?] [Damn it! I’m out hundreds of thousands because they’re dragging their feet!] [The girl should stop faking it! Her face is flushed—she definitely wants it!] [Go jump him! Solve the problem for both of you! We’ll light up the rockets!] Just then, the warehouse loudspeaker boomed to life. The same cold, synthesized voice spoke: “Heh heh, now entering the ‘Close Proximity Challenge’ segment.” “Rule: Do what I say, or we will release more ‘Pink Bubble Air.’” Ethan’s head snapped up. Like an enraged bull, he bellowed into the speaker. “Go ahead! I’d rather die than let you scumbags get what you want!” “And what about Miss Sienna?” The voice was playfully taunting. I was riding the peak of the drug’s effect, fueled by the rush of male hormones. I could barely speak, using every ounce of my diminishing strength to hold myself together. I just shook my head violently. The electronic voice suddenly turned chilling. “It seems you two aren’t getting the hint. Very well. Miss Sienna, they say a man pursuing a woman is like climbing a mountain, but a woman pursuing a man is like pushing aside a veil. How about you take the initiative?” “Don’t rush to refuse. Do you… recognize this?” The image on the screen abruptly switched from our live feed to a close-up shot—a pink hair tie with a tiny, silver rabbit charm dangling from it. My heart sank like a stone. It was my sister Layla’s hair tie. I’d given it to her for her birthday last year, and she wore it every day. The electronic voice carried an awful, malicious chuckle: “If you don’t want anything to happen to her, you’ll kiss him. And don’t tell me you don’t want to kiss him right now.” The comments section went ballistic: [Aha! Time for the big guns!] [Kiss! Kiss! Quick!] [Whose life is more important, your sister’s or your virginity?] [Hurry! I’m betting on the position already!] [I’m betting $500k on the missionary position.] 6 Staring at that familiar hair tie, the blood ran cold in my veins. Layla was the most important person in the world to me, second only to my father. I felt like I was going insane. The last flicker of my sanity was being extinguished. “Who? Who paid you to do this?” Ethan ground out, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles twitching. The synthetic voice remained cheerfully indifferent: “That’s none of your concern, Mr. Rhys! We take people’s money; we deal with people’s problems.” “I’m starting the countdown now. If you don’t complete the task in ten seconds, I will kill the little girl! Heh heh…” I shuddered, my mind clearing slightly. “Stop! That hair tie might look like the one I made, but there are similar ones! How do I know Layla is actually with you?” The electronic voice let out a sinister laugh. The screen flashed, cutting to a new image: a familiar figure tied to a chair, gagged with cloth. Seeing the camera, she shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face. “Layla!” I screamed, trying to rush forward, but Ethan pulled me back instantly. “Ten… Nine…” The screen instantly returned to the live feed, and the synthetic voice started counting. “Ethan!” I pleaded, my voice choked with sobs and completely shattered. “Please…” I had broken. Under the dual torment of the drug and the threat, I abandoned my last shred of struggle. Ethan looked up at me sharply, his eyes wide with shock, and a trace of barely concealed heartbreak. The comments section was in a frenzy: [She’s finally come around!] [Mr. Rhys, stop standing there! Kiss her!] [Kiss her, then go straight for it! No holding back!] [Go! Go! Go!] “Eight…” But Ethan didn’t move. He turned his head away, biting down hard, trembling slightly. We both knew what that one kiss would lead to.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386348”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My wife, the CEO, had fallen for a grease monkey. To fit in with his crew, she traded her chauffeured Maybach for the back of a motorcycle. Her collection of haute couture gowns was locked away, replaced by nine-dollar graphic tees with slogans like ‘GET RICH OR DIE TRYING.’ The exclusive membership at the Sterling Club was swapped for a monthly tab at a dive bar on the wrong side of town. I tried to reason with her. “Have your fun, Audrey, but don’t let it get out of hand,” I’d said, my voice low and steady over the phone. “If you embarrass the family name, it reflects poorly on all of us.” She called me stale. Predictable. “Donovan, have you ever done one thing in your entire life just for yourself?” Her voice was laced with a kind of pitying scorn. “When I’m with Jax and his friends, it’s the only time I feel free.” Then she blocked me. I stared at the undelivered message, at the stark finality of it. A flicker of anger, hot and unfamiliar, coiled in my gut. Freedom? Was this what she called freedom? Trading a billion-dollar empire for cheap beer and asphalt? I typed out one last message from my assistant’s phone, my patience worn to a thread. “I don’t care what kind of freedom you think you’re chasing. But if you dishonor our families at the foundation gala in three days, we’re done. This marriage is over.” 1 The message was marked as ‘Read.’ No reply came. Looking at the blank screen, the whole situation felt absurd. Audrey Croft was the perennial good girl, the dutiful daughter whose life had been a blueprint drawn by her parents. She’d married me the summer after graduating from Wharton, a union of holding companies, a merger of legacies sealed with a ring. For five years, we had been the picture of a modern power couple. The Crofts and the Shaws were more than satisfied. A stable marriage meant a stable alliance. On the back of our union, Audrey had been unofficially crowned the heir apparent to the Croft empire. But then, a month ago, some grifter had thrown himself in front of her car in a clear insurance scam. Jax, the yellow-haired biker, happened to be there and played the hero, scaring the guy off. And just like that, it was as if Audrey had been put under a spell. A part of me was hurt, I’ll admit. But I could tolerate it. In the face of family legacy and market share, affection was merely a seasoning, not the main course. I never imagined she would forget who she was. She started following Jax into his world of dingy bars and back-alley brawls. Smoking, fighting, even getting caught up in a petty shakedown of some college kids. I cleaned up her messes, quietly and efficiently, urging her to come home. She responded with a quote that the tabloids ran with for a week: she would rather feel the wind on the back of Jax’s bike than be suffocated in the leather of a Maybach. In the span of thirty days, Audrey Croft, the formidable CEO, had become a running joke. And I, by extension, was the punchline. My phone buzzed, dragging me from my thoughts. It was my executive assistant, her voice tight with panic. “Mr. Shaw, you need to see the news. How do we want to respond?” I opened the browser. The headline sent a shock of ice through my veins. #CEOInLove: Society Heiress Gets Inked for Her Bad Boy# #LoveThatCrossesTheTracks# In the accompanying photo, Audrey was lying face down in a tattoo parlor, a triumphant smirk on her face. And there, emblazoned on the small of her back, were two words in a thick, blocky font that screamed cheap rebellion: JAX’S GIRL. Jax. That was his name. Almost simultaneously, a call came through from the chairman of our board. My father. “Donovan,” he began, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “I’ve managed to kill the story on the major wires for now, but the gossip sites are having a field day. How you handle this next is up to you.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was heavy. “The Shaw family values its dignity above all else.” The line went dead. I gripped the phone, a hot flush creeping up my neck. I immediately buzzed my assistant. “Find Audrey Croft,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Use any means necessary. Bring her home.” Less than an hour later, Audrey was tossed into our living room, a burlap sack pulled unceremoniously from her head. She was spitting fire. “Do you have any idea who I am?” she yelled, then her eyes focused on me and the fight seemed to drain out of her, replaced by sheer contempt. “Seriously? You had me kidnapped? What happened to respecting a woman’s autonomy, Donovan?” She fished a crumpled cigarette from her pocket, lighting it with a practiced flick of a cheap lighter. She took a long, deliberate drag, then blew the smoke directly into my face. “So,” she said, her voice dripping with insolence. “What was so important?” I looked at her—the studded crop top revealing a sliver of her stomach, the ripped jeans, the smudged eyeliner. This was my wife? I didn’t recognize the woman standing in front of me. For five years, we’d been partners. Courteous. Professional. There was a distance between us, yes, but I had always treated her with respect, with a quiet concern I thought she appreciated. We were two well-cast actors, playing our parts in a long-running production. But somewhere along the way, I had started to believe in my role. My affection held a kernel of truth. It’s why I’d defended her, why I’d cleaned up her messes without a word to her family. But the stranger before me now made me question everything. Seeing my silence, Audrey rolled her eyes. “Look, if that’s all, I’ve got places to be. I’m busy.” She turned to leave, the clunky soles of her platform boots thudding against the marble floor. “My father called me,” I said finally. The words stopped her cold. She turned back slowly, a flicker of apprehension in her eyes. “What… what did he say?” I pressed my lips into a thin line, a small measure of relief washing over me. So, she still cared. She still understood what was at stake. The lecture I had prepared died on my tongue, replaced by a softer, more familiar tone. A warning. “You need to make this scandal disappear, Audrey. If you don’t, I can’t protect you anymore.” I expected compliance. Instead, she exploded. “Because I got a tattoo?” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “I have spent my entire life doing exactly what I’m told! Am I not allowed to have one thing for myself? It’s my body! Why don’t I get to have a say over my own body?” Her accusations hammered at me, and the dam of my composure finally broke. A week of swallowed anger and humiliation surged forth. “Of course, it’s your body!” I roared, the sound echoing in the cavernous room. “But you are Audrey Croft-Shaw! And you chose to tattoo another man’s name on it! Have you forgotten? I am your husband!” She flinched as if struck. It was the first time I had ever raised my voice to her. The color drained from her face, leaving it pale and shocked. After a long, tense silence, she took a shaky breath. A hint of her old self returned, laced with a newfound guilt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just assumed… in a family like ours, feelings weren’t part of the equation.” She looked at me then, truly looked at me. “I’ll fix it. I’ll come home. I’m sorry I worried you.” Two days later, she kept her word. When I walked through the door, she was sitting on the sofa in the grand parlor. Her dark hair fell in a silken sheet over her shoulders, and she wore a tasteful cashmere set that spoke of quiet luxury. She stood as I entered, her expression placid, her voice a cool, even monotone. “Donovan. The tattoo has been removed.” She gestured to a small, fresh bandage at the small of her back, visible just above her waistband. “I will be going to the board personally to offer my apologies,” she continued. Then she retrieved a thick file from her briefcase. “I know my behavior has been… irrational. As an apology, I’m signing over 20% of my new AI venture to you.” I took the file, my eyebrows raising slightly as I scanned the first page. The company was at the forefront of generative AI, a market darling poised for an explosive IPO. The valuation was easily in the ten-billion-dollar range. It was a weighty apology, a gesture of sincere contrition. I handed the documents to my assistant, who had been waiting silently by the door, and nodded for him to handle the transfer. As I turned back, Audrey reached out, her fingers closing around the cuff of my shirt. “Are you still angry?” she asked, her voice so soft it was like a breath against my chest. “I promise, it will never happen again.” My heart gave a painful throb. I swallowed the bitter taste of the past few weeks. A crack in a vase can be glued, but the line always remains. In my mind, the perfect image of Audrey Croft was now irrevocably flawed. I closed my eyes, steeling myself. Gently, I pulled my sleeve from her grasp. “Don’t forget the foundation gala tonight,” I said, my voice colder than I intended. “The car will be here at seven.” She stood frozen, her eyes welling with a guilty red. I sighed, a long, weary breath, and handed her a gift box I’d had brought in. “A new gown,” I said. “Don’t overthink it. It’s in the past.” It was a truce. A signal that our alliance, our marriage, was still intact. She nodded, taking the box, her expression unreadable. At seven o’clock sharp, she descended the stairs. She was a vision. The gown I’d chosen, a deep emerald silk, clung to her frame, setting off her porcelain skin and cool, composed features. She turned heads the moment we arrived. With the seamless grace I’d always admired, she navigated the crowd, greeting investors and board members, her smile perfectly measured, her charm deployed with practiced efficiency. She found me by the bar and slid her arm through mine, a familiar, proprietary gesture. “Darling, I’m so sorry I’m late,” she murmured, loud enough for those around us to hear. A few of our acquaintances chuckled. “Look at them. Still newlyweds after all these years.” By silent, mutual agreement, no one mentioned the recent unpleasantness. As long as she was Mrs. Donovan Shaw, she commanded respect. The gala was proceeding flawlessly. Audrey was playing her part to perfection, a testament to her breeding. Later in the evening, after the speeches and the auction, the orchestra began to play. Audrey’s parents found me by the terrace. “Donovan,” her father began, his expression somber. “We apologize for Audrey’s recent… foolishness. It must have been difficult for you.” He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “But rest assured, she is a Croft. She knows how to weigh her options and choose what is most advantageous.” I smiled and nodded, offering the requisite polite assurances. But his words left a bitter aftertaste. I was the advantageous choice. The logical one. But he was right. In our world, love was never the bottom line. As long as the merger was profitable, the marriage would endure. I could learn to retract the small, worthless piece of my heart I had foolishly invested. Toward the end of the night, my father made his appearance. I was about to lead Audrey over to pay our respects when I turned and found she was gone. I frowned, catching my assistant’s eye. “Where is she?” He looked uneasy. “Mrs. Shaw took a call a few minutes ago, sir. She said it was an emergency and left in a hurry.” My jaw tightened. What emergency? Every major firm in the city knew this gala was happening tonight; no one would dare interrupt. And if it were a Croft family matter, her parents were right here. It could only be one person. Jax. My father’s gaze was already on me. I smoothed my expression into one of easy confidence and walked toward him. “Father. Audrey was called away for an urgent matter. She sends her deepest apologies. Allow me to toast you on her behalf.” He looked at me, his eyes sharp and knowing, but he accepted the glass. He took a sip, his gaze unwavering. “Donovan, family interests are paramount, I know. But you are my only son. Your own well-being matters more.” I was stunned. I never expected that from him, a man forged in the cold calculus of corporate warfare. For a moment, a genuine warmth spread through my chest. But I shook my head. “I appreciate that, Father. But I have it under control.” He gave me another long, meaningful look. “You always were the one with the heart, son. Be careful with it.” When I returned home after the gala, the house was dark and empty. Audrey wasn’t back. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed one. I pulled out my phone, about to call my security team to track her down, when a text from an unknown number came through. It was a video. I opened it. The scene was a filthy, cluttered apartment. Greasy takeout containers, cigarette butts, empty beer bottles, and playing cards were scattered across the floor. Audrey, who I knew to be a fastidious neat-freak, who would often have the maids re-clean a room she found unsatisfactory, was sitting cross-legged on a stained carpet. She wore a faded, cheap-looking t-shirt and her hair was thrown up in a messy ponytail. She was playing cards with a group of thugs with brightly dyed hair. “Haha, you lose again! Off with an item, Audrey-baby!” a voice jeered. It was Jax, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The other men hooted in agreement, their eyes crawling over her with a slimy, possessive hunger. My stomach clenched. Audrey? Taking her clothes off? The woman who, for all five years of our marriage, insisted on turning the lights off during intimacy, maintaining a rigid, almost puritanical modesty. I told myself she wouldn’t. But my hand had started to tremble. On the screen, Audrey just shot Jax a playful glare. But she was smiling. She reached up and pulled her shirt over her head. Her bare shoulders and collarbones were exposed to their greedy stares. She didn’t seem to care. “A bet’s a bet,” she said, her voice giddy. The game continued. She didn’t win a single hand. Her tank top, then her shorts, were tossed onto a pile on the floor. Finally, she was completely naked. Under the dim, grimy light, she looked like a priceless porcelain doll put on display in a junkyard. The stares grew more brazen. Someone shoved a beer into her hand. “You lost the game, now you gotta chug the pain!” I watched her take the bottle, a wave of self-loathing washing over me. Audrey had navigated treacherous boardrooms and hostile takeovers for years. Her perception was razor-sharp. She had to see the blatant malice in their eyes. She was doing this on purpose. Or worse, she simply didn’t care. After a few more beers, her eyes were glazed over. She suddenly threw her arms around Jax’s neck, draping herself over him. “Jax…” she slurred, her voice breathy. “Being with you… it’s the only time I feel alive…” Ah. So that’s what this was. A drunken confession. The room erupted in wolf-whistles. Jax grinned, puffed out his chest, and waved the other men away. “Alright, alright, show’s over! Everybody out!” The door clicked shut, leaving the two of them alone. Their faces smashed together in a desperate, clumsy kiss. CRACK. My phone hit the far wall, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of glass. I stood there, breathing heavily, the silence of the room pressing in on me. After a moment, I walked over and picked it up. Through the fractured screen, a new text message from the same number popped up. It was from Jax. “Heard you’re a big shot CEO too. You rich folks really get off on some weird shit, huh? Gotta say tho, your wife’s body is tight. Like a teenager’s.” The roiling nausea and white-hot rage in my chest instantly cooled, solidifying into something dense, cold, and absolute. The heir to the Shaw Corporation. Being mocked by some two-bit parasite. And it was all because of her. I walked to my desk and picked up the landline, dialing my assistant’s private number. “Liquidate and freeze every asset, every share, every joint account connected to Audrey Croft-Shaw. And put the PR team on standby. Level-one crisis protocol.” A pause on the other end. “Sir? Effective when?” “Effective now.” Three days later, in the early morning, I heard the faint click of the front door. Audrey was back. She carried with her the stale, lingering scent of cheap beer and smoke. She looked exhausted, but her eyes held a feverish, manic energy. She froze when she saw me sitting on the sofa in the living room. After a beat, she affected a casual air, slipping off her boots. “Sorry about that,” she said, her voice flat. “A last-minute project came up. Had to fly out for a few days.” I said nothing, taking a slow sip of my tea. Her own assistant, who had followed her in, was pale as a ghost. She leaned in and whispered frantically, “Ms. Croft, you need to look at the top news stories. Right now.” Audrey frowned, pulling out her phone with an annoyed sigh. A few seconds later, the color drained from her face. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the device. The number one trending topic, in bold, lurid letters: #HighSocietyScandal: Billionaire Heiress’s Wild Hotel Party# #VIDEO: Business Titan Audrey Croft’s Sex Tape Leaked# Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing with fury. “You?!” she screamed, her voice shaking with rage. “Donovan Shaw, did you do this?! Did you stoop this low?” The video was pixelated, with blurs over the most explicit parts, but her face was perfectly clear. Whoever released it wanted to destroy her reputation, not just titillate the public. It was a character assassination. And it dragged both the Shaw and Croft names through the mud with it. I leaned back against the sofa, a smirk playing on my lips. “I did. What of it?” “You—!” Audrey was trembling, speechless. She had clearly never imagined I would be capable of such a thing—of choosing scorched earth over ‘the greater good.’ She took a deep, shuddering breath, reining in her fury. “Fine! Fine, Donovan, you win! You’re ruthless. Now, get this taken down. Bury it. Erase every copy from the source. You do that, and I’ll agree to one demand. Anything you want.” She paused, her eyes glinting with what she thought was her trump card. “I’ll break it off with Jax for good. I’ll spend the rest of my life playing the part of your perfect wife.” A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. She really thought this was all some grand, manipulative gesture to force her back into line. She thought my ultimate goal was simply to maintain our respectable, hollow marriage. She had no idea. I was done wanting her. I stood up and retrieved a document from the desk drawer. “Alright,” I said, sliding it across the polished mahogany table toward her. Her eyes lit up with a flash of triumph. But then I finished my sentence. “I’ll have it all taken down the moment you sign the divorce papers.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386364”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

One week ago, the real daughter of the Sterling family showed up at our doorstep. That was when I found out I was a fraud. A placeholder. But my biological parents were long dead, so the Sterlings decided to keep me on as a charity case. The newly returned heiress, Harper, seemed to have a bone to pick with me. Not only did she reclaim the attention of Mom, Dad, and my older brother, but she also set her sights on the fiancé who was supposed to be mine. I didn’t really care. I just wanted to survive and keep a roof over my head. But when I tried to return my fiancé to her, the usually gentle Liam showed a dark expression I’d never seen before. He gripped my waist tight, looking down at me with a suffocating intensity. “Chloe, I’ve known since we were kids. You can only be mine.” Just then, Harper pushed the door open. She blinked, flashing a smile that showed off her cute canines. “Liam, didn’t you promise Mrs. Vance you’d have dinner with me?” Weirdly, I suddenly heard a roar echoing from her soul. — “Get away from the female lead, you psycho protagonist! She belongs to the second male lead, you absolute trash bag!” 1. I’ve become weird. Normal people can’t read minds, but apparently, I can. Specifically, I can only read Harper’s mind. Harper is my sister in name, but she’s the true Sterling bloodline, and I’m the fake. The day she was brought back, Mom, Dad, and my brother Ethan held her and cried their eyes out. I stood off to the side, clearly an outsider looking in. From that day on, I knew my place. No more acting spoiled. No more willful demands. I just needed to be a quiet piece of furniture in this house. The whole world started revolving around Harper. Harper hated me, the imposter, which I understood. I had lived a life of luxury in her place for nineteen years while she suffered out there. I accepted my fate. I was pretty chill about it. Mom, Dad, and Ethan were hers. My childhood fiancé, Liam Vance, should also be hers. Harper had been visiting the Vance estate a lot lately. She’d come back and flex in front of me about how nice Mrs. Vance was to her, how polite and gentle Liam was, and how lively the house was with her around. My brother, usually close to me, looked like he wanted to say something but held back. Finally, Mom came to me. “Chloe, Harper has really taken a liking to Liam. She’s knitting scarves, baking pastries… If Harper hadn’t gone missing, she would have been the one engaged to him…” Before she could finish, I cut in. “Mom, as long as my sister is happy, I’m happy.” Mom breathed a sigh of relief, then seemed to feel a delayed pang of guilt. “Good child. Mom will keep an eye out for a great guy for you in the future. We won’t mistreat you.” I nodded obediently. But everyone knew how awkward my position in the Sterling family was now. Any ‘great guy’ would probably avoid me like the plague. Whatever. I never planned on relying on a man anyway. 2. Liam must have heard the rumors. He walked into my room casually, just like he did when we were kids. We grew up together; he used to love lounging in my room while I played house, forcing him to eat ‘fried rice’ I made out of Play-Doh. But this was the first time since we grew up that he barged in without knocking. “Liam…” I barely got his name out before he yanked me up from the sofa by my wrist. His grip was rough. I realized standing in front of him that I only reached his chest. Through his thin white dress shirt, I could see the definition of his muscles rising and falling. There was a dangerous, wild edge to him. He was mischievous as a kid, but grew up to be gentle and calm. I’d never seen this side of him. My wrist throbbed. I wanted to curse him out like I used to, but then I remembered—this guy was about to become my brother-in-law. Let it go. But when I stayed silent, he escalated. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me tight against him. Even though we were engaged early on, we had never been this intimate. “Liam, are you crazy?” I couldn’t help but snap, trying to struggle free. “Shh,” his voice was low and raspy, right in my ear. “Be good. Let me hold you for a second.” I struggled harder, but against his absolute strength, it was useless. He held me for a long time, then suddenly looked down at me. His eyes were dark, like they wanted to swallow me whole. “Chloe, I’ve known since we were kids. You can only be mine.” His predatory gaze made my skin crawl. The childhood friend I knew had turned into a wolf that had been lying in wait. 3. When Harper walked in, Liam didn’t let go. I was standing in the middle of a total nightmare scenario, scalp tingling with awkwardness. But Harper, clearly a girl of deep schemes, didn’t even flinch at the scene. She just smiled. “Liam, didn’t you promise Mrs. Vance you’d have dinner with me?” At that exact moment, her lips didn’t move, but I heard a roar full of primal rage. It hit the room like a thunderclap. — “Get away from the female lead, you psycho protagonist! She belongs to the second male lead!” Liam’s expression didn’t change. I thought I was hallucinating. But then came another line. — “Toxic male, get your ass downstairs and eat. Don’t bother the heroine.” — “Or I swear to God I’ll send you to prison myself!” Me: ? I looked at Harper, who was smiling innocently, and felt my worldview shattering. She had no idea I could hear her screaming internally. — “Big sis is here. I won’t let you hurt the heroine.” — “Got it?” 4. From then on, I kept hearing these bizarre rants coming from Harper’s mind. Like the day she came back from dinner with Liam and started bragging to me as usual. “Liam is so sweet. He heard I hate de-boning fish, so he picked all the bones out for me. He said there’s this amazing seafood place he wants to take me to next time. I’m totally going to love seafood~” In reality, her mind was spewing profanity. — “Eat sht!”* — “Liam, that son of a btch. Who was he showing that long face to during dinner? It’s not like I kidnapped him!”* — “He wants the heroine but also wants the Sterling family’s political backing to secure his place in the Vance empire.” — “Trash. Absolute societal garbage.” — “Useless except for his face.” — “I sincerely hope he has a micropenis.” — “Three-second wonder.” Me: … Me: “Pfft.” Harper instantly looked at me, her fake bragging expression cracking. Her inner voice fired up again. — “? What’s she laughing at?” — “Sigh, her mental state. She must be driven crazy by me.” — “Hope she’s okay.” — “But short-term pain is better than long-term suffering. Stay away from this cheating psycho and you’ll be happy for eight hundred lifetimes.” Harper walked past me up the stairs, then suddenly turned back and gave me a provocative smirk. “Sister,” she said. “Liam… I’m going to win him, you know.” She strutted away like a peacock fanning its tail. Accompanied by her excited inner thoughts. — “Yessss!” — “I’m amazing.” — “I should go get an Oscar.” 5. My brother Ethan came back from a business trip in Chile. He brought gifts. Harper and I each got a crystal bracelet. She got an extra pair of pearl earrings. I got an extra jar of artisan chocolates—I’d specifically asked Ethan to bring them. He knew I didn’t care much for jewelry but loved sweets. Harper eyed my chocolate. She wanted the whole jar. Ethan couldn’t handle her whining and soft-soaping. He turned to me. “Chloe, Harper has never had these before. Her old family couldn’t afford them… How about you give the chocolate to her this time? I’ll buy you more later.” I never realized before how good my family was at making empty promises. The moment I handed the chocolate to Harper, a hurricane raged in her mind. — “Wow. Just wow.” — “If he’s so good at selling dreams, why doesn’t he go into marketing? Spineless coward.” — “Useless trash man. His brain fell out somewhere over the Pacific.” — “Heroine, please give up on this loser already.” — “If this guy gets a wife later, he’s just going to let her bully you too.” — “Now he asks you to ‘tolerate’ giving up chocolate. Later, if his wife slaps you, he’ll tell you to ‘tolerate’ that too.” — “Heroine! Wake up!” — “There aren’t that many things in this world worth tolerating!” I looked up at her, stunned. There aren’t that many things in this world worth tolerating. I don’t know why, but that sentence hit a nerve. Snap. Two tears rolled down my face.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386380”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel