Category: English

A week after I bought my boyfriend his Tesla, he suddenly had a “carpool buddy.” He’d pick her up and drop her off, rain or shine. In return, she took it upon herself to redecorate the car’s interior, like she was the lady of the house. She put in her favorite air fresheners and even threw out the flats I kept in the passenger-side map pocket, replacing them with her own. One night, during a torrential downpour, I waited an hour at my office curb. He finally rolled up with her in the passenger seat. She turned around, smiling sweetly. “Mia, I’m so sorry. I’m such a slow eater, I made Leo late picking you up. Please don’t be mad at him.” Before I could answer, Leo playfully flicked her forehead. “Mia’s mature. She gets it. Not like you, needing to be coaxed just to finish your lunch. You’re such a kid.” 1 It was a nightmare outside. Thunder, lightning, the works. I stood under the flimsy awning of my office building, frantically checking my phone. Getting an Uber in this weather was impossible; my coworkers were all complaining about 30-minute wait times. My own car was in the shop, but I wasn’t worried. I’d just bought my boyfriend, Leo, a brand-new Tesla Model 3 last month. Tonight, that felt like a brilliant move. I waited. And waited. One by one, my colleagues got picked up until I was the only one left. Finally, his car glided silently to the curb. The window lowered. “Mia! Sorry, you’ve been waiting long?” He hit the button to open the rear door. “Hop in!” I leaned down and saw her. A girl with long hair and round cheeks was sitting comfortably in my seat. The rain was turning to sleet, so I just got in the back and folded my dripping umbrella. “Whoa, water!” the girl in the passenger seat yelped, twisting around. She pointed at my umbrella. “Hey, can you stick that in the door pocket? You’re getting water all over the floor mats. This car is brand new, and the seats are vegan leather.” Her tone—like she owned the place—set my teeth on edge. I’m not known for my patience. “Miss,” I said, my voice dripping ice, “it’s my boyfriend’s car. If the floor mats get wet, it’s our problem. Why are you so worried about it?” She flushed. Leo, settling into the driver’s seat, chimed in. “Mia, come on. She’s just trying to help, looking out for our car. Don’t be rude.” I stared at him. “So, who is she?” “Oh!” Leo fumbled with his seatbelt. “This is who I was telling you about. My carpool buddy, Chloe. She works in my building and lives in our complex. It’s totally on the way, so I just give her a lift. No big deal, right?” The car behind us honked. Leo cursed, struggling with the seatbelt buckle. Chloe leaned over, her body close to his, and clicked it in for him. She turned back to me, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I’m really sorry, Mia. We shouldn’t have been this late. It’s all my fault, I’m such a slow eater. I made Leo wait, which made you wait. You can’t be mad at him.” “What are you talking about?” Leo reached over and tapped her on the nose. “Mia’s way more mature than you. She’s not a little kid who needs to be entertained at lunch.” “I was just on my period and didn’t have an appetite!” Chloe whined. She playfully reached up and ruffled Leo’s hair. “And I told you, don’t call me a ‘little kid’ in front of other people!” 2 Chloe wasn’t overweight, just soft, with a “baby face” that made her look perpetually innocent. When she pouted, Leo reached over and pinched her cheek. They were flirting. Right in front of me. I went numb, Chloe’s words echoing in my head: “in front of other people.” That’s what I was. Other people. No, I was the clown. Leo had mentioned his “carpool buddy.” “Mia, no time for breakfast, gotta run. Chloe’s waiting downstairs.” “Chloe’s working late, so I’m gonna wait for her. Be home a little late, ‘kay?” “Babe, Chloe loved the sandwiches you made. She said she wants to try more of your cooking. Can you make an extra one tomorrow?” Chloe. Chloe. Chloe. I never, ever imagined “Chloe” was a girl. For a month, Leo had been her free chauffeur. More reliable than Uber. And tonight, in this awful weather, knowing I was waiting in the cold, he still let her finish her dinner at her own pace before moseying over to pick me up. 3 “Mia, you’re quiet,” Leo said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Everything okay?” “Mia,” Chloe chirped, “are you frozen? I checked the weather, it’s, like, 35 degrees out. You must be so cold. Oh my god, if you get sick, I’ll feel so guilty.” As if on cue, I sneezed. “You really are cold,” Leo fretted. “Your immune system is shot. This is what happens. I keep telling you to go running with me in the morning, but you never listen.” “I have some Vitamin C!” Chloe said, digging in her purse. She held up a fancy-looking bottle. “Here! Leo got this for me. He said it’s great for boosting your immunity. Take a couple.” Leo was a health nut. He’d tried to get me to join his 6 AM runs, but I value my sleep. And yes, he always bought me Vitamin C. But I stared at the bottle in her hand. It was one of those $60 imported wellness brands. The Vitamin C Leo bought me was always the $2.99 CVS-brand bottle. When I’d complained, he said the expensive ones were “a scam for suckers.” Apparently, my boyfriend didn’t mind being a sucker for someone else. 4 I didn’t take the bottle. I looked around the car. My eyes landed on the pillows. I liked a minimalist aesthetic. The simple, charcoal gray cushions I’d bought were gone. In their place were four, bright blue, fuzzy Stitch pillows. “Where are my gray cushions?” I asked. “Oh… those.” Leo cleared his throat. “They’re in the trunk.” “What?” Chloe chimed in, wide-eyed. “Those were yours, Mia? They were so ugly, I thought they were just some free swag the dealership threw in! I tossed them in the dumpster yesterday.” …It’s amazing, the little laugh that escapes you when you’re completely, utterly speechless. I’d been so busy with a project that I hadn’t been in his car for weeks. Now, I saw it. The entire interior was… different. The passenger seat I was supposed to be in had a cheap, cartoon-character air freshener clipped to the vent, pumping out a sickeningly sweet vanilla smell. The little charm I’d hung from the rearview mirror was now wrapped in a colorful hair tie that wasn’t mine. Even the Tesla’s system name, which I’d set as “Mia’s Ride,” had been changed. It now read: “Leo & Chloe’s Tesi.” This was a total violation. Every corner of the car screamed her presence. I was the intruder. 5 Just then, Chloe glanced at the navigation. “Ugh, this rain is making traffic insane. And we had to go so far out of the way to pick you up. My feet are killing me in these heels.” “So change them,” Leo said, not missing a beat. “Your flats are in the back, aren’t they?” Chloe nodded, pointing over her shoulder. “Mia, can you grab those white flats for me? They’re in the seat-back pocket.” I looked. And there, in the pocket of the passenger seat, was a pair of white flats. My face went cold. “Where are my black flats?” “Oh, those were yours?” Chloe said, performing surprise again. “I was wondering where that big, old-fashioned pair of shoes came from! I’m so sorry, Mia. I… I accidentally threw those out, too. But don’t worry! I’ll have Leo buy you a new pair. Exactly the same!” Okay. That was it. I had planned to wait until we got home, to have this fight in private. But I could not believe the audacity. If I let this slide, I was a doormat. “You want to change shoes,” I said. I pulled two tissues from the box, leaned forward, and picked up her flats like they were toxic waste. Then I wound up and threw them as hard as I could, right at her face. “Fine! Change! CHANGE!” “AHHH!” she screamed. The hard sole of the shoe caught her on the chin. “Chloe!” Leo slammed the car into park, right in the middle of the street. He unbuckled and lunged over to her. “Are you okay? Let me see!” Chloe burst into tears, her hand flying to her face. “Leo, am I bleeding? Am I scarred? It hurts!” He saw the red mark on her chin and turned on me, his face purple with rage. “Mia, what the HELL is wrong with you? She just asked you to pass her shoes! Are you insane?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386001”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had just checked into my hotel after a long-haul flight when I saw the post on a forum I scroll through. [My husband brings home stuff from his office every day. What should I do?] The latest reply caught my eye: [Crucify him. Seriously. Compile the evidence into a PowerPoint presentation. Trust me.] I laughed. Who would ever be that intense? A second later, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my wife, Lina. It was a single file. The filename: Report on the Misappropriation of Company Property by Captain Jack Connelly. I opened it. A sixty-five-page PowerPoint presentation. 1 The title slide was my corporate headshot. My name and employee ID were outlined in a thick, red box. The background was the deep blue of the Apex Air logo, which made the whole thing feel unnervingly official. Slide two: [FOREWORD]. In calm, restrained prose, Lina detailed how she, as my wife, had been “heartbroken” to discover my “illicit activities.” She wrote: “To protect the interests of the company, and more importantly, to save a soul teetering on the brink of corruption, I, Lina Connelly, have chosen to report this, regardless of our personal relationship.” I nearly crushed my phone in my hand. Save a soul? Because I brought home some leftover napkins, bottled water, and a pair of disposable slippers from the plane? I swiped to the next slide. [EVIDENCE LOG]. From this point on, the presentation took a surreal turn. Every single “stolen” item I had brought home was photographed in high-definition with a DSLR camera. Each was laid out on a sterile white cloth, a ruler placed next to it for scale. An unopened packet of wet naps. A plastic cup with the Apex Air logo. Two small bags of pretzels, extras from the in-flight snack service. There was even a photo of a half-used roll of toilet paper I’d pocketed from the galley, planning to use at the hotel. Beneath every image, a detailed description: [Item Name]: Apex Air In-Flight Moist Towelette. [Date of Acquisition]: October 2025, procured from flight rotation. [Estimated Market Value]: Approx. $0.75/unit. [Behavioral Analysis]: This act constitutes the preliminary requirements for a charge of corporate asset misappropriation. Sixty-five pages. An exhaustive catalog of every trivial item I’d brought home in two years. From a single strand of dental floss to an unworn pair of slippers from First Class. She had even attached my complete flight schedule for the past two years, cross-referencing it to prove that her “Date of Acquisition” for each item was deadly accurate. The blood rushed to my head, hot and loud. My phone buzzed again. Lina: [Jack, I’ve already sent the presentation to the corporate email for the Professional Standards Committee.] A second message followed. [I’m doing this for your own good. A person can’t lose their way.] I dialed her number immediately. It went straight to voicemail. Then, another text. [I’m busy. Don’t bother me. Also, I’m preparing a hard copy of this report to be couriered to the FAA.] I was grounded. The official notice came faster than I could have imagined. The very next morning, my lead captain called me, her voice a tightrope of confusion and protocol. “Jack, don’t come to the airport today. The Standards Committee wants to speak with you. Your… your wife reported you?” The question was heavy with disbelief. “Yeah,” I managed, my throat too dry to form any other words. Captain Rostova was silent for a moment on the other end. “She said you’ve been stealing from the company? And she made a PowerPoint? Jack, what the hell is going on? What did you steal?” “A few packs of napkins. Some bottled water.” “…That’s it?” “And a couple of mini-muffins.” 2 Another stretch of silence from Captain Rostova. “Okay. I’ll be in touch. Just… hang tight.” The line went dead. I sat on the cold, unforgiving chair in my hotel room, watching planes take off and land outside my window. For the first time, the sky felt a million miles away. The group chat for my pilot cohort was already on fire. No one was tagging me directly, but the frantic flashing of icons and the rapid-fire messages felt like a public execution. [You guys hear about Connelly? His wife turned him in for stealing company property.] [Stealing what? A fucking engine?] [I heard she sent in a 65-page PPT. Hard evidence. Photos and everything.] [Jesus Christ, that’s next level. What did he do to her? Is she a fed or something?] [Well, this is a new one. Connelly’s going to be the first pilot in Apex history to get grounded for taking napkins.] I shut off my phone and buried my face in my hands. Shame and rage were two hands wrapped tight around my throat, squeezing. I flew home as a passenger. During the flight, a flight attendant I knew saw me. Her expression was a painful mix of shock and pity. When she handed me my meal, her movements were tentative, as if I might shatter. I kept my hat and mask on for the entire three-hour flight, which felt like a century. When I pushed open the door to our apartment, Lina was sitting on the sofa, sipping tea with an air of perfect tranquility. She glanced at me, her eyes as calm and still as a frozen lake. “You’re back.” I dropped my duffel bag on the floor. It landed with a heavy, satisfying thud. “Lina, what the hell are you trying to do?” She set down her teacup and pointed to a cardboard box next to the coffee table. “Your ‘stolen goods.’ I’ve organized them all for you. This is the physical evidence. I have an appointment with your company’s committee tomorrow. I’ll be delivering it to them personally.” I walked over and stared into the box. Inside, stacked with obsessive neatness, were all the items she had photographed for her report. The “evidence” of my crimes. “Are you insane?” I stared into her eyes. “You’re going to ruin my career over this?” Lina stood up, her expression filled with a kind of compassionate, sorrowful righteousness. “I’m not ruining you, Jack. I’m saving you.” She stepped toward me, her voice low but every word a poisoned dart. “Today, you dare to take a pack of napkins. Tomorrow, you’ll take a bottle of premium whiskey from the galley. And the day after that? What’s next, Jack? Are you going to start dismantling the plane for spare parts to take home?” The absurdity of her logic made me want to laugh. “Do you really think that’s possible? You think my character, my integrity, is worth a few bags of pretzels?” “Evil begins with the smallest of steps,” she said, her face a mask of solemnity. “I can’t just stand by and watch you slide into that abyss. My husband must be a man of integrity. Upstanding. Incorruptible.” I looked at her face, flushed and almost ecstatic with her own sense of justice, and a deep, profound chill spread from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. We had been married for three years, and in that moment, I realized I didn’t know this woman at all. Lina’s parents called while I was packing a suitcase, ready to leave this house. It was her mother, and she got straight to the point. “Jack, I heard you’ve been taking things from your company. Lina told me everything, and she did the right thing!” I held the phone to my ear, silent. “The foundation of our family is integrity. To live honestly, to work cleanly. Since you married our Lina, you’re expected to uphold those same standards. This kind of behavior… it’s disgraceful.” “Ma’am,” I finally said, my voice hoarse. “I took a few disposable items from the plane. They were worthless.” “Does being worthless make it right?” her mother’s voice shot up, sharp and accusatory. “This is about principle! Lina is trying to pull you back from the edge! You should be thanking her, not getting angry with her!” 3 Listening to the lecture from the other end of the line, I felt a wave of bitter amusement. This entire family was drowning in a sea of self-congratulatory “justice.” I hung up and dragged my suitcase out of the bedroom. Lina blocked my path. “Where are you going?” “This home is a little too ‘righteous’ for me. I can’t afford to live here.” I tried to step around her. She grabbed my arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “Jack, this is just you refusing to face your mistakes! Do you think you can run away from the problem just by moving out?” I yanked my arm free. “I’ll go to the office tomorrow and explain everything. As for you, Lina… we’re done.” I turned, pulled open the front door, and walked out without looking back. Her cold voice followed me into the hallway. “Fine. That’s fine. It seems the only way you’ll truly wake up is if I make this an even bigger deal.” The atmosphere in the Professional Standards Committee meeting room was suffocating. Two investigators sat across from me, their faces grim. On the table between us lay my death sentence: a printed, full-color copy of the sixty-five-page PowerPoint. “Mr. Connelly, we’ve received a formal, signed complaint from your wife, Ms. Lina Connelly. We’ve reviewed the materials,” the older of the two men began. “Do you have an explanation for the behaviors detailed in this presentation?” I took a deep breath. “I admit, I took these items home from the aircraft. But they were all disposable supplies, leftovers that weren’t used by the crew or passengers. Standard procedure is for these things to be thrown out anyway.” “Standard procedure?” the younger investigator pushed his glasses up his nose. “Can you point to a specific clause in the employee handbook that states staff are permitted to take home items designated for ‘disposal’?” I had no answer. “No.” “Then it’s a violation of policy,” he concluded flatly. The older man tapped the table. “Jack, we know you’re one of our best pilots. Your technical skills are superb, your flight record is flawless. But this report… the implications are extremely serious.” He flipped through the presentation, stopping on one page. “Look at this. Your wife was very… ‘thorough.’ She even took a picture of a half-empty bottle of water, noted the ‘approximate remaining volume of 150ml,’ and calculated its value.” I stared at the image, my stomach churning. “This report came from your wife,” the younger man added. “That forces us to take it with the utmost gravity. A normal person wouldn’t do this to their own husband.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Therefore, we have reason to suspect that the problem may be far more severe than what’s on these pages.” I understood. To them, a report this detailed, this obsessive, coming from a man’s own wife, was in itself proof of a much deeper issue. No sane person would go to these lengths over a few napkins. Unless I had committed some unforgivable sin that she was using this to expose. Lina had achieved her goal. Through her twisted, fanatical crusade, she had successfully branded me a man with something to hide. A man guilty of something terrible. The meeting ended. I was instructed to suspend all flight duties and await the committee’s final decision at home. Stepping out of the corporate building, the sunlight was blinding. I pulled out my phone and saw that a friend had forwarded me a link to an anonymous online forum. [Dude, you need to see this. Your wife is being hailed as some kind of hero.] I clicked the link. It led to a popular Reddit community. A post at the top had thousands of upvotes. The title: [AITA for reporting my pilot husband for his habit of petty theft?] In the main post, the user “ClearConscience88” wrote in a hesitant, conflicted tone about how she discovered her husband was “pilfering” company property, how torn she was, and how she ultimately decided to act for the sake of “justice” and to “save her husband from himself.” The writing style was identical to the foreword of Lina’s PowerPoint. The comment section was a thousand replies deep. The vast majority were praising her. 4 [NTA. Your principles are rock solid! You’re saving your husband!] [SUPPORT! People like him need a harsh lesson, or this will escalate into something much worse.] [A pilot? They make great money and he’s still this cheap? That’s a serious character flaw. OP, you need to run!] Of course, there were a few voices of dissent. [It’s just some napkins and cups, right? Isn’t this a massive overreaction?] [Oh, please. Don’t be an enabler. A small leak can sink a great ship! OP did the right thing!] Reading the supportive comments sent a chill through my entire body. Lina was out there, on a public stage, curating a new identity for herself: the noble wife, forced to sacrifice her love for the greater good. And I was the villain. The cautionary tale to be scorned and nailed to a public cross. She wasn’t just trying to destroy my career. She was trying to destroy my name. I moved into a corporate apartment hotel near the airport. I had just finished unpacking when the preliminary disciplinary notice arrived from Apex Air. A company-wide written reprimand. A three-month suspension from all flight duties, with forfeiture of all salary and benefits during this period. A $5,000 fine as restitution for the “misappropriated assets.” Upon completion of the suspension, mandatory attendance at a one-week professional ethics seminar, with a passing grade required to be reinstated for flight duty. For a pilot, this was a career-killer. It would be a permanent black mark on my professional record. I held my phone, staring at the digital notice, my fingers trembling. Right on cue, Lina called. I answered, saying nothing. “Did you get the decision?” Her voice was devoid of emotion. “Are you satisfied now?” I asked. “No.” My heart sank. “Jack, this punishment is far too light. It’s not nearly enough to make you understand the gravity of your mistake.” Her voice turned to ice. “I feel it’s my duty to forward my report to the media. Let the public decide if Apex Air’s response is just, and if your behavior should be let off so easily.” I finally understood. She didn’t want to “save” me. She wanted me dead and buried. I ended the call, my chest so tight I could barely breathe. I collapsed onto the sofa, my gaze falling blankly on the box of “evidence” I had brought with me from our apartment. The box Lina had packed herself, telling me to keep it in sight, to use it for “self-reflection.” It was a bitter fucking joke. I stood up, intending to hurl the whole disgusting box into the nearest dumpster. I ripped it open. On top were the neatly arranged napkins, cups, and bags of pretzels from her photoshoot. I dug through them in disgust, wanting to grab the box from the bottom and dump its contents. That’s when my fingers brushed against a small, hard, cold object. It was buried at the very bottom, hidden beneath a pair of disposable slippers. I pulled it out. It was a small, deep blue velvet jewelry box, embossed with the logo of a luxury brand I didn’t recognize. I had never bought Lina anything like this. A cold knot formed in my stomach. I opened it. The box was empty, except for a small, folded receipt. I carefully unfolded it. [Item: Custom “Tears of Starlight” Diamond Necklace] [Amount: $18,500.00] [Purchaser: Mr. Cole] [Date: Two weeks ago] Mr. Cole? My mind went blank with a roar like static. Just then, my phone screen lit up. It was a text from my childhood friend, Dave. [Jack, you need to see this NOW. Your wife’s “ClearConscience88” account just got doxxed! Someone posted pictures of her with another guy!] Beneath the text was a photo.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386017”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was scrolling through social media when I stumbled upon a thread about a guy who had fallen for a married woman. His posts were absolutely unhinged. “If you knew the woman I love belongs to someone else, you’d pity me too.” “People say I have no morals. You know who has no morals? That dog of a husband who married her without notifying me first!” I was just about to leave a comment telling him to seek therapy when I accidentally clicked on his profile. His pinned post was a photo of a woman’s back. I froze. That was my back. 1 There was no mistaking it. My best friend, Fiona, took that photo of me. I had only ever posted it on my private Instagram story. I scoured this guy’s entire profile. Nothing. Just the ramblings of a desperate, lovesick secret admirer. Probably because his latest post was so unhinged, the thread had gone viral. The comment section was a war zone. Most people were just there for the drama, but the moral police were out in full force. “First time I’ve seen someone romanticize being a homewrecker. That couple is unlucky to have a stalker like you.” “They are a legitimate couple. What’s a sewer rat like you doing trying to break up a happy home?” “Male jealousy is terrifying. You’re already attacking the husband?” The poster, clearly triggered, started defending himself in the comments. “Who’s a homewrecker? This is unrequited love. Is it illegal to crush on a married woman?” “The woman I love married someone else. Can’t I even cry about it?” You can cry. But you can’t cry about things that aren’t true. Since when was I married? Who started this rumor? Seeing the view count tick higher and higher, and terrified that someone I knew might see it, I prepared to DM him to take my photo down. But when I refreshed the page, the pinned photo was gone. It had been replaced by a text post: Manifesting their divorce: Day 1. Dude. Stop manifesting. Can you maybe do a background check first? How do you mess up the intel this badly while stalking someone? I couldn’t help it. I commented: “Are you sure she’s actually married?” A minute later, he replied: “You don’t need to comfort me. I’m sure.” Nobody is comforting you, weirdo! I was actually laughing out of sheer confusion. Who was this? Who is this inexplicable person? I spent the whole night going through my contacts list. Everyone seemed normal. No one looked like the type to run an anonymous simp account. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next day, I dragged my corpse-like body to the office. I ordered a coffee and, seeing a “Buy 4 Get 1 Free” deal, grabbed a few extra for my team. When I got back from the lobby, the entire office was crowding around the conference room glass. I peeked in. And immediately locked eyes with the man inside. It took me one second to recognize him. Julian. The hottest illustrator of the moment. His face was even more legendary than his art. My Editor-in-Chief (EIC) had moved heaven and earth to get an exclusive interview with him. Seeing the human mountain blocking the door, the EIC frowned. One sharp look sent everyone scattering back to their cubicles. I started handing out the coffees. When I got to the last two, I turned around and bumped right into Julian and the EIC. Julian looked at me, then his gaze dropped to the coffee in my hand. He stared at it like it was the Holy Grail. I felt awkward under his intense stare. Out of politeness, I offered, “Do you want one?” I expected him to say no. Instead, he nodded immediately, his eyes lighting up with an emotion I couldn’t place. I paused for a second, then mechanically handed him the cup. He took it without hesitation, the corners of his mouth tilting up. I gave the other one to my boss and sat down at my desk, totally confused. I opened the app. “Secret Admirer Guy” had updated his thread. “She gave me a coffee today.” I stared at the screen. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Wait. Is “Secret Admirer Guy” my coworker? I lowered my head, scanning the room like a spy. Everyone looked normal. Typing away, looking bored. This was weird. Since when were my coworkers Oscar-worthy actors? The poster seemed ecstatic. He fired off three updates in a row. “This is the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.” “Do you think the fact that she gave me coffee means she likes me?” This level of delusion triggered the trolls in the comments. “This isn’t even crumbs, bro. You’re starving.” “Maybe her husband ordered it for her and she didn’t want it, so she treated you like a trash can.” “Stop dreaming. A happy life isn’t meant for you.” He refused to accept defeat. “What do you know? She gave coffee to a lot of people, but when she handed it to me, she smiled.” My mouth twitched. Is it possible that I just have a resting nice face? Whatever the commenters said, he ignored them, drowning in his own fantasy. Looking at him fighting the world, I became obsessed with finding out who he was. 2 I pretended to work while secretly profiling everyone in the office. I was about to give up when Justin, the shy intern, walked up to my desk. He looked like he was about to defuse a bomb. He shoved a box of chocolates at me. He stammered, eyes glued to the floor. “Zoe… thanks for the coffee.” Right. I forgot about him. His face was tomato red. The rest of the office pretended to work, but I could feel their eyes darting toward us. They lived for this drama. He looked like he would stand there until the end of time if I didn’t take it. To save him from embarrassment, I took the box. I opened it. A giant heart-shaped chocolate sat in the middle. Case closed. This kid had to be the Secret Admirer. You really can’t judge a book by its cover. He looks so introverted offline, but online he’s a total maniac. I put the chocolate away and refreshed the thread, expecting a victory post. Updated 1 minute ago. “My world is collapsing. Someone gave her chocolates.” “That pink packaging… could he be any more obvious?” “I haven’t even stolen her from her husband yet, and now I have a rival?!” …What? Is this guy a ghost? Is he living in the ceiling tiles? The commenters were having a field day. “Two guys lining up to be homewreckers. What a time to be alive.” “Does her husband know his wife isn’t going to work, but entering the Lion’s Den?” “Fighting over who gets to be Side Piece #1 and Side Piece #2?” “They are a happy couple! Leave them alone!” The poster snapped back. “Actually, I don’t think her husband is a good guy. She never posts him on social media. If he was presentable, she’d show him off.” “Also, it seems like a secret marriage. If she were my wife, I’d never hide it! It’s definitely the guy’s fault!” Look, buddy. I’d love to post him. The problem is, he doesn’t exist. Every time this guy posted, I got more confused. I scoured his following list, his likes, everything. Nothing. I almost DM’d him, “WHO ARE YOU?” but my boss pinged me. Since everyone else was busy, the Julian interview fell into my lap. My assistant for the project? Justin, the intern. He sent me twelve messages in a row, practically vibrating with excitement. He really had zero poker face. Unlike the Secret Admirer, who was apparently a ninja. I gave Justin some busy work and went to contact Julian. I got his contact info from the boss and went to add him on WeChat. But a contact popped up. No nickname. I clicked the chat history. Empty, except for the default “I’ve accepted your friend request” message from years ago. I racked my brain. I had no memory of adding him. I assumed he was one of those spam accounts or a delivery driver I’d added and forgot to delete. It turned out to be Julian. I sent a tentative message: “Are you Julian?” Seconds later: “I am.” I politely asked how we were already friends. He said he forgot, too. We added too many people for work; it happens. I stopped worrying about it and started discussing the interview prep. Julian was… different than I expected. He was too easy. Whatever request I made, whatever question I proposed, he just said, “No problem.” My boss told me he was “temperamental” and to be patient. Where was the temper? Because he was so cooperative, the prep was smooth sailing. I posted on my timeline: “Met a dream colleague today.” Ten minutes later, the Secret Admirer updated. “She said she met a dream colleague. Is it possible she means me? We just chatted for thirty minutes.” “Even though she forgot how she added me, we talked for half an hour. Who wouldn’t call that chemistry?” “Pure talent. Can’t be taught.” I stared at the text. My hands started to shake. No way. Is the Secret Admirer… Julian?! 3 Thanks to Julian, I had another sleepless night. The idea that Julian was the unhinged poster was about as plausible as a fish riding a bicycle. The next morning, I walked into the office to find a group of colleagues huddled around a phone, debating something heatedly. “Zoe!” One of them shoved the phone in my face. “Don’t you think the woman in Julian’s new painting looks familiar?” “We all feel like we’ve seen her, but we can’t place her.” I lifted my heavy eyelids. I was instantly awake. The eyes. The nose. That was me. I was sweating bullets looking at a painting that was a 70% match to my face. My mouth twitched. My colleague took that as agreement. “See? You think so too, right?” Yeah. Familiar. Too familiar. I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, looks familiar. Can’t place her though.” My colleague looked disappointed. “It’s so weird. It feels like I just saw her.” Stop talking. Please. I should have been safe. Julian’s art style is abstract enough that people were only suspicious, not certain. But I forgot one variable. Fiona. My best friend who recently became a die-hard Julian fan. When Fiona sent me the painting, I knew the game was over. Before I could deny it, she texted: “Don’t tell me that’s not you. He drew the mole on your earlobe. He drew the tiny birthmark by your hairline.” “He even drew the earrings I gave you for your birthday.” “Others might be blind, but I’m not.” Until she pointed it out, I hadn’t realized how detailed it was. How could a guy who observed me this closely make the rookie mistake of thinking I was married? Fiona was blowing up my phone. I couldn’t explain it in text, so I just forwarded the viral thread to her. She sent back a string of question marks. “Don’t change the subject. I know this guy is funny, but this isn’t the time.” I typed slowly: “This is Julian.” Fiona went silent for a full ten minutes. She needed time to process this glitch in the matrix. “You’re telling me this guy, who is actively plotting to steal a married woman, is Julian? The famous artist?” “Is he schizophrenic?” Then, Fiona realized the biggest plot hole. “Wait. When did you get married? Why wasn’t I invited?” “I didn’t know I was married either!” I yelled at my phone. “Apparently, only Julian knows!” “So Julian created an imaginary enemy online and wrote dozens of posts fighting him?” “Is this the same cool, mysterious artist I see in magazines?” Fiona declared she had been scammed. “I am unstanning. Actually, no. I’m becoming an anti-fan.” 4 I don’t know if Fiona actually unstanned, but she definitely decided to stir the pot. The night before the interview, Julian was nervous. He posted continuously. Asking about outfits, cologne, body language. He didn’t look like he was prepping for an interview; he looked like a mistress prepping to confront the wife. The netizens were roasting him alive. But one comment stood out among the mockery. “Working together is the perfect chance to make your move. I support you pursuing true love. Who cares about ‘homewrecker’ labels? Just don’t get caught.” “Besides, from your description, her husband sounds awful. You’re basically saving her.” I recognized Fiona’s chaotic energy immediately. Her comments drew massive aggro. People started attacking her. “Are homewreckers organizing online now?” “Look at her profile, she’s a Julian fan. Typical. Trash fans for a trash artist.” “Wait, what does Julian have to do with this? This anonymous poster isn’t Julian.” Except he is. In just a few sentences, Fiona had turned the comment section into a battlefield between Julian’s fans and his haters. This was high-level manipulation. In a corner of the internet nobody noticed, Julian quietly liked Fiona’s comments. He even jumped in to defend her. “Why are you scolding her? She’s just a kind netizen supporting true love. What did she do wrong?” “And what’s wrong with liking Julian? He’s handsome and talented. Isn’t it natural to like him?” Bro. This is not the time to stroke your own ego. The comment section was a mess. I woke up to find Julian was still arguing with his own anti-fans at 3 AM. I was worried he’d look like a zombie for the interview. I was wrong. He looked radiant. He looked better on three hours of sleep than I did on ten. Online, he was a keyboard warrior. Offline, he didn’t dare look me in the eye. He only dared to glare silently at Justin, who was standing next to me. Justin noticed. “Zoe, does Mr. Julian hate me?” Obviously. He thinks you’re competition for the position of “Side Piece.” I smiled and told him not to overthink it. Justin nodded, looked at Julian, and subconsciously took a step closer to me. Julian’s eyes narrowed. Despite being insane online, Julian was a pro. His answers were insightful and eloquent. He went from “Crazy Guy” back to “Cultured Artist” in my brain. At the end, the EIC let him speak freely. He thought for a moment, then looked up at me. I had a very bad feeling.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386033”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After Adam Croft left me at the altar for a scholarship student, his father froze all his assets and blacklisted him from every major corporation. The golden boy of the Croft empire became a pauper. In less than six months, the scholarship student was in bed with a rich old man. Adam, broken and gravely ill, came back home to marry me. He reverted to the cold, ruthless heir he was always meant to be. For ten years, we maintained a marriage of polite distance, a model couple in the eyes of society. I believed the rest of our lives would be a smooth road to happiness. Until the day I found ten love letters Adam had written to Serena Vance, hidden in our safe. The first letter began: “Even if you’re a bad woman, I’m all in.” The last one ended: “If I die before you, all my money is yours.” It turned out that throughout our entire marriage, he had been steadfastly in love with another woman. That night, I scheduled an abortion. 1 “Are you certain you want to terminate this pregnancy?” Dr. Evans held my hand, her gaze falling on the skin riddled with tiny needle marks. Her voice was full of pity. For years, I had desperately wanted a child with Adam. The mountain of empty medicine bottles and used syringes in my bathroom could attest to that. I signed the consent form and lay down on the cold steel of the operating table. My mind drifted back to the rainy night ten years ago when Adam came home. He was drenched and burning with a high fever, muttering deliriously, “Don’t leave me… please, don’t leave.” I held him in my arms all night, patting his back and singing soft lullabies as if he were a child. When he woke up the next morning, we went to the courthouse and got married. He even gave me the wedding he’d denied me. A spectacular, city-stopping event that silenced all the gossip. I went from being the laughingstock of high society to the object of everyone’s envy. A girl who had been abandoned once thought her years of secret adoration had finally paid off. It was nothing but a delusion, born from a desperate need to be loved. Just as the surgical instrument was about to touch me, the baby kicked. Tears streamed down my face. I sat up, stopping the procedure. When I got home, Adam was in his study, working late as usual. He sat perfectly upright, meticulously reviewing documents, the top button of his suit still fastened. Who would have guessed that this man, as cold and unyielding as a glacier, would resort to something as cliché as writing letters to pour out his longing for a girl? I walked over silently and slid the divorce papers in front of him. A flicker of disbelief crossed Adam’s eyes. “Is this because I didn’t go with you to the prenatal appointment today?” He had no idea I’d almost ended the pregnancy. I smiled, a sharp pain lancing through my heart. “Yes. That’s exactly why.” The man tore the papers to shreds without a change in expression and offered me a black credit card. “I’ve been busy. If you’re going to throw a tantrum, pick a better time.” I didn’t take it. I looked him straight in the eye. “Serena Vance is divorced and back in the country. Did you know?” A flicker of something unnatural crossed his brow. “No. And I don’t care.” How could he not know? He was the one who hired her divorce lawyer. He was the one who personally met her at the airport. He did it on our wedding anniversary. I threw my phone down in front of him. The screen showed a gossip article titled, “Croft CEO Rekindles Old Flame.” The comment section was exploding. 2 “GRANDMA, THE SHIP YOU’VE BEEN PRAYING FOR HAS SAILED AGAIN!” “Ten years ago, he chose love over his empire. Ten years later, he hears she’s unhappy, hires a top international lawyer to handle her divorce, and personally escorts her home. Adam Croft is still the same knight in shining armor, charging into battle for love.” “I hear the current Mrs. Croft is the one who broke them up in the first place. Can the homewrecker just die already!” “…” Thousands of comments were still flooding in. Everyone was celebrating their epic, class-defying love story, while I, the lawfully wedded wife, was being painted as the villain who stood in their way. I gave a weak, tired laugh. “Mr. Croft, don’t you have anything you’d like to explain?” Adam was silent for a long time before finally speaking, his voice heavy. “Serena was being abused by her husband. She called me for help. We knew each other once, so I helped her out. That’s all.” He looked at me, his gaze hardening. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d overthink it.” Such a perfect, unimpeachable reason. My smile felt uglier than a grimace. A gaping wound had opened in my chest. Just then, his phone rang. It was a ringtone I’d never heard before. Adam answered it instantly. A few seconds later, he grabbed his car keys from the desk and headed for the door, so rushed he didn’t even offer a single word of explanation. It had always been like this. Adam Croft never needed to explain his actions to Clara Moon. Not even when he was running off to meet the ex-girlfriend he had dated for seven years. A few hours later, Adam called me. “Get the guest room ready. And make some ginger tea and a hot meal. I’m bringing Serena home.” I held the phone, my hand trembling with disbelief. “You’re bringing her to our house?” A woman’s soft sobbing came through the line. “Adam, maybe we shouldn’t. I don’t want to upset your wife.” Adam soothed her, and when he spoke to me again, his voice was laced with impatience. “Her ex-husband just showed up and harassed her. It’s not safe for her to be alone. What’s the problem with her staying with us for a while?” “Besides,” he added coldly, “you’ve always been good at taking care of people. Serena is emotionally fragile right now. Take a leave from work and look after her properly.” 3 I was so angry I could barely hold the phone. “You can take care of her yourself. I’m done.” I hung up and immediately started packing a suitcase. When my eyes fell on the wedding photo on our bedside table, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. From the moment I could remember, everyone told me I would one day be Adam Croft’s wife, the matriarch of the Croft family. My gaze never strayed from him, the most dazzling man in any room. I remember in high school, I’d secretly watch to see which cafeteria line he chose, and then order the exact same meal, feeling a secret thrill of connection. The first clumsy flutterings of a teenage crush, all because he’d once casually handed me his jacket. For him, I learned to cook, to arrange flowers, to give massages, to master etiquette. And now, all those skills were meant to be used to serve Serena Vance. Tears streamed down my face as I pulled the photo from its frame, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it in the trash. I was dragging my suitcase to the door when it opened. Adam stood there, with Serena cradled in his arms. The scarf I’d spent months knitting for him was now wrapped around her foot. My numb heart was pierced again. Adam frowned at me, his voice sharp with disapproval. “We have a guest and you’re leaving? Is this how you show hospitality?” “Is the room ready? And the food? Go heat it up and bring it here.” Serena struggled to get down, stepping on the scarf as she gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Clara. But would you mind drawing me a foot bath? My feet got muddy when I stepped outside.” Adam carried her to the sofa without so much as a glance in my direction. “Well? Aren’t you going to get it?” I paused for a moment, then walked to the kitchen, poured a glass of cold water, and walked back and threw it directly in Serena’s face. “Ah—!” she shrieked, recoiling. “Are you insane?” Adam roared, staring at me in disbelief. “You’re the one who’s insane,” I said with a soft, chilling laugh. “Ten years ago, when you were cast out, she left you because you couldn’t afford her Chanel bags anymore and ran off with another man.” Serena froze, her eyes burning with venomous hatred for me. Adam’s face turned grim. “You were sick, lying in bed calling her name all night, and when you woke up, it was me holding you.” “You said you would forget her. You said you would build a good life with me.” “Adam Croft, you broke your promise.” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice steady. “So, the promises I made to you? I’m breaking them, too.” For a split second, he looked like he might grab me, but the sound of sobbing behind him held him back. “It wasn’t like that…” 4 Serena looked at Adam, her eyes welling with tears. “I just didn’t want you to sell your plasma to buy me a diamond ring. I didn’t want you working on a construction site to pay the rent. I didn’t want to see you haggling over pennies at the market.” She choked back a sob. “Adam, whether you believe me or not, everything I did, I did it for you.” A violent tremor ran through Adam. A flash of pain crossed his eyes before the mask of indifference slipped back into place. “What’s the point of saying any of this now?” Serena bit her lip, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Adam turned his cold gaze on me. “What happened between us back then was complicated. We don’t need you here stirring up trouble.” The next thing I knew, he had dragged me to the bathroom and slammed my head into the sink, turning on the cold tap full blast. My feet left the floor as I struggled wildly, splashing water everywhere. But Adam was relentless, holding me down with brutal force. Ice-cold water flooded my senses, my lungs screaming for air. Just before I blacked out, he let go. I collapsed to the floor like a rag doll, gasping for breath, the terror of near-drowning shaking my entire body. He looked down at me, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “For the sake of the child, I’ll let this go.” “But there won’t be a next time,” he continued, his tone chilling. “If you harm her again, I’ll repay you tenfold.” “Be the good Mrs. Croft. Don’t cross the line.” I slowly pulled myself up, looking at the man I’d known since childhood, the man I’d loved for over a decade. And I smiled. As I smiled, my eyes filled with tears again. “I understand.” Thank you, Adam Croft. Thank you for helping me make up my mind. He took off his jacket, draped it over his shoulders, and went to comfort Serena. I stumbled out of the house and made a call. “I need to schedule a D&C. As soon as possible.” 5 A day later, I was back on the operating table. This time, I was calm. The heart that had beaten for Adam Croft for more than a decade finally fell silent. After the procedure, I saw I had over a dozen missed calls from Adam. I hadn’t answered any of them. There were also two texts. “Where did you go? You shouldn’t be running around in your condition.” “Family dinner tonight. Don’t be late.” I scrolled up. Our chat history was a long list of my multi-line messages and voice notes, each met with a single, curt “Ok” from him. I smiled faintly and blocked his number. After speaking with my lawyer, I drove to the Croft family estate. The dinner was timely. There were a few things that needed to be said. When I arrived, Serena was already seated in my usual place at the table, laughing and chatting with the other guests. Adam had actually brought her to a formal family gathering. I took a seat at the far end of the table, enduring the pitying and mocking glances from around the room. There was a time when no one in this family would have given Serena the time of day. But times had changed. Adam was now the one in charge. So, even though his parents’ faces were dark with fury, no one dared to ask her to leave. Serena picked up a cup of tea, walked over to me, and then, with a clumsy “oops,” spilled the scalding liquid all over my hand. The back of my hand instantly turned red. She covered her mouth in mock horror. “Oh, Clara, I am so sorry…” Adam’s mother slammed her hand on the table, her voice shaking with rage as she pointed at Serena. “Get out of my house!” “Mother, accidents happen. There’s no need to get so upset.” Adam had arrived. The room fell silent. He glanced at my hand, his brow furrowing slightly, and had someone bring over some burn cream for me. Then he escorted Serena to her seat. Some watched the drama unfold, some snickered, some mocked my weakness. I remained silent. The meal was a tense affair. Adam’s mother had me sit beside her, holding my hand. “My dear girl, take good care of yourself. We need a healthy grandson soon.” A rare warmth flickered in Adam’s eyes. He put his arm around me, his voice gentle. “We haven’t had the right time to announce it, but Clara is eight weeks pregnant.” He smiled at the room. “The Croft family will soon have an heir.” Gasps of surprise filled the room. Adam’s mother was overjoyed. Serena’s face went white, her body swaying. I pushed Adam’s arm off me. He froze. Then, I spoke, my voice quiet but clear. “I’m sorry, but your heir… I got rid of him this afternoon.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386050”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The shipment had been sitting in the warehouse for a month. We were on the final day of the payment window, and our company’s finance department still hadn’t released the funds. I had chased them countless times. Finally, the finance director snapped. “The money is tied up in a short-term investment! Every day it’s out early, we lose a hundred dollars! If I pay for your shipment, who’s going to compensate the company for that loss?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Just tell them we’ll be a little late. As soon as the investment matures, we’ll pay them.” I tried to explain that our supplier didn’t do credit; they wouldn’t release the goods without payment. She gave me a slow, condescending look from head to toe. “Aren’t women in sales supposed to sweet-talk their way into a deal? Go bat your eyelashes a little, and I’m sure they’ll give you the goods. Don’t play the saint with me.” I just stood there, stunned. Then I turned around, walked out, and mortgaged my brand-new apartment. The shipment was worth half a million dollars. I could double that on the resale. … I wasn’t even back from my annual leave when I got the call from Mr. Carter, the owner of our supplier, Carter Tech. “Mina, I’m at my wit’s end here!” he said, his voice strained. “These parts have been sitting in my warehouse for two months. Your payment still hasn’t arrived. If this continues, it’s going to cause a serious cash flow problem for me.” “That’s impossible,” I said instinctively. “I confirmed it with finance before I left. They promised to make the payment on the first day back. Can you have your people double-check their accounts?” He sighed heavily. “You know there’s a line out the door for our components. I’ve been working with your company for this long purely out of respect for you, Mina.” “I can give you three more days. If the money isn’t here by then, don’t blame me for what happens next.” Before I could say anything else, the line went dead. I immediately called my colleague in procurement, Tanya. After what felt like an eternity, she answered, her voice immediately hostile. “What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?” “The Carter Tech payment—” She hung up on me. Next, I tried the intern, Leo. He sounded apologetic. “Mina, I’ve asked them so many times. Kim in finance is going to kill me if I ask again.” I tried calling the finance director, Kimberly “Kim” Vance, directly, but it went straight to voicemail. My gut told me this was more than just a simple delay. I canceled the rest of my vacation and booked the next flight home. The moment I walked into the office, another sales rep, Mark, cornered me. “Our buyer has already paid the 10% deposit,” he said, his face grim. “Your components haven’t even hit the factory floor. If we miss the delivery deadline, the penalty clauses are going to be brutal.” My brow furrowed. I headed straight for the finance department. Kim looked up, surprised to see me. “What are you doing back?” I forced a smile. “Hi Kim. Carter Tech says they still haven’t received the payment. I tried calling, but you must have been busy. Could you give me the payment confirmation so I can have them trace it?” She rolled her eyes, annoyed. “There was no payment, so there’s no confirmation.” I froze. “No payment? But we agreed before the break that it would be sent the day we got back. Why hasn’t it been paid?” She ignored me, turning to bark at a new accountant. “I asked you for the accounts payable report yesterday! Is it so hard to get it done? Do you even want to pass your probation?” The young woman flinched, muttering apologies. I placed a small gift bag from the airport duty-free on Kim’s desk. She finally glanced at it. “I appreciate you following up on this,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Today is the final deadline. The payment absolutely has to be sent before the end of the day.” I spent the entire afternoon on edge at my desk, but no payment confirmation ever came. As Kim started packing up to leave, I shot out of my chair and blocked her path. “You said the Carter Tech payment would be made today. Why hasn’t it been sent?” “I never promised you I’d pay it,” she said flatly. Her attitude was so infuriating I almost laughed. I dropped the polite act and laid out the facts. “Delaying this payment will jeopardize our future business with them. If the company loses millions because of you, do you think you can handle the fallout when the partners start asking questions?” That hit a nerve. “Don’t you dare try to pin this on me!” she snapped. “It has nothing to do with me!” “The money is tied up in a short-term investment! We lose a hundred dollars for every day it’s out early! If I pay for your shipment, who’s going to compensate the company for that loss?” “Just tell them we’ll be a little late. As soon as the investment matures, we’ll pay them!” Tanya leaned against the doorframe, a stack of expense reports in her hand. “Mina, Kim has made her point. Why don’t you just give her a break? Besides, you and Mr. Carter are so close. I’m sure if you ask him nicely, he’ll agree.” I ignored her, my eyes locked on Kim. “Carter Tech doesn’t do credit. No money, no components.” “I followed the standard payment procedure. Every manager signed off on it. If you’re not going to pay, you need to give me a valid reason.” I expected some bureaucratic excuse. Instead, she exchanged a look with Tanya, then gave me that same condescending, head-to-toe scan. “Aren’t women in sales supposed to sweet-talk their way into a deal? Go bat your eyelashes a little, and I’m sure they’ll give you the goods. Don’t play the saint with me.” I was speechless. Instantly, the way everyone in the office looked at me changed. Our company processes high-precision instrument components. Six months ago, the head of procurement, Grant, had resigned. Procurement is usually a coveted position, but our industry is different. The profit margins on our finished products are huge, which means the price of raw components is constantly skyrocketing. There are only a handful of suppliers, and getting a contract depends entirely on relationships. Grant had secured our deal with Carter Tech because he was a distant relative of Mr. Carter’s. It was the only reason we were getting components below market price. After Grant left, headquarters sent a team to assess the situation. When they learned Grant had been my mentor, they transferred me from sales to take over procurement, hoping Mr. Carter would extend me the same courtesy. If I could keep the supply chain running smoothly, a promotion to Vice President was on the table for next year. Realizing tomorrow was the final, non-negotiable deadline, I stormed into the General Manager’s office. Mr. Shaw was on the phone. Seeing me, he quickly wrapped it up. “Mina, have a seat.” I poured out the entire story—Kim deliberately withholding payment, the condescending remarks, my growing panic. He listened patiently, then took a slow sip of tea. “Kim already spoke to me about the payment.” He set his cup down. “And she has a point. She has her own considerations. You need to be more understanding.” I just stared at him, my mind refusing to process what I was hearing. “Mina, let me be frank,” he said. “Take the Carter Tech payment. Why can’t we just pay them after we’ve processed the components, sold the final product, and received payment from our own client?” “That cash, which would have been paid out, can be earning interest in our account. Over a few months, that adds up to a nice little profit. Why do we always have to dance to someone else’s tune?” My head was spinning. “But… Carter Tech doesn’t allow that! The industry standard is cash on delivery. You know that rule!” He slammed his tea mug down on the desk. Hot tea splashed onto the back of my hand, stinging. “If you’re going to run procurement, you need to deliver results! Letting Carter Tech lead you around by the nose is not a result. Don’t forget, you work for Apex Industries! You are our procurement manager!” Mr. Shaw had been in his position for five years. He knew the industry inside and out. He was saying this for one reason: headquarters had chosen me, Grant’s protégé, for the VP track over his own preferred candidate, Jason. He was playing dumb to make my life difficult. I decided to be direct. “Mr. Shaw, if we lose this shipment because of non-payment, the company will suffer a catastrophic loss. Who is going to take responsibility for that?” His face hardened. “Is that a threat?” “No, sir,” I said quickly. “It’s a statement of fact.” He dropped the pretense, a cold sneer on his face. “If you fail to secure those components, the responsibility will be yours and yours alone. You’re on the brink of a major promotion, Mina. Don’t let the company down.” I walked back to my desk in a daze, the signed contract with Carter Tech feeling like a lead weight in my hands. Mr. Carter couldn’t wait, the company wouldn’t pay, and I was caught in the middle. Shaw and Kim were deliberately trying to ruin me. I wasn’t going to let them. I refused to be their scapegoat. The next morning, I drafted a detailed report of the situation to send to headquarters. On my way to pick up a package from reception, I passed Shaw’s office. I heard Kim’s unrestrained laughter from inside. “That little bitch, dripping in designer clothes, she’s definitely skimming off the top! If I don’t teach her a lesson, she’ll think she can walk all over me!” Shaw chuckled, a nasty, wheezing sound. “Once we push her out, your nephew can take over as head of procurement.” “You promise! Don’t let that little fox whisper a few sweet words in your ear and make you go soft!” I stood frozen outside the door, my nails digging so deep into my palms I thought I might draw blood. Reporting them to corporate would be letting them off too easy. They wanted to block my payment? Fine. Let’s play. Back home, I pulled out the deed to my apartment. I had poured my entire life savings into buying this place. My parents had even given me their retirement fund. It was the result of a decade of hard work. What was one more gamble? What Shaw and Kim didn’t know was that in that moment, I decided the rules of the game were about to change. In a small, discreet office on a financial side street, a man was scrolling through his phone, looking bored. “Ma’am, looking for a mortgage loan?” I placed the deed on his desk. “1,500 square feet, brand new, fully furnished. No existing loans. I need half a million. Not a penny less.” He took the document, typed a few things into his computer, and nodded. “Done.” “Interest is one percent a month. If that works, we sign.” “Make it two percent,” I said. “I need the cash now.” He stepped out, made a few calls, and came back to draw up the contract. Two hours later, $500,000 was sitting in my bank account. I called Mr. Carter. Before I could speak, he started pleading. “Mina, don’t do this to me! I haven’t even charged you the late fees for warehouse storage! Today is the absolute final deadline!” “Mr. Carter, that’s not why I’m calling,” I said quickly. “Apex breached the contract by not paying. You’ve already been more than patient. We’ll proceed according to the contract’s penalty clauses.” I took a breath. “I’m calling because I want to know… can you sell that shipment to me?” There was a long silence on the other end, then the sharp click of a lighter. “You mean, to you personally?” “Mina, this shipment is worth over two hundred thousand dollars. Are you sure you have that kind of money?” A small smile touched my lips. “If you agree, we can sign the contract right now. The money will be in your account in ten minutes.” He hesitated. “As a thank you,” I added, “I’ll give you a 5% commission.” A 5% commission was high. It was better than the hassle of finding another reliable buyer. Just as I predicted, he chuckled. “Alright, Mina. I trust you.” After signing the contract with Mr. Carter, I casually strolled back into the office.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386066”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was sketching caricatures on the sidewalk with my daughters when I ran into my old college roommate. She looked me up and down, a mix of pity and smugness on her face. “Wow, Sarah. I never thought I’d see you reduced to street art to make a living.” Then, her expression shifted to something more complex. “But hey, your luck might be turning around. Is that your daughter with Kyle? You know, Kyle Sterling is huge now. He’s not the same guy anymore.” “And get this—even though he’s married, he’s been looking for you all these years. He said if you just apologize, he’ll take you back as his mistress.” Kyle Sterling was my ex. We met in high school, fell in love in college, and were supposed to get married. But on our anniversary, to please his rich fiancée, he slapped me so hard I fell and miscarried. And now he wants me back as a mistress? The next moment, a sleek black sports car pulled up. The Prince of New York stepped out. His voice was low and dangerous. “Excuse me? That’s my wife and daughter you’re talking about.” 1 “Sarah?” I looked up from my easel to see my old college roommate, Jessica, standing there, scanning me from head to toe. “It really is you! It’s been forever. What are you doing in New York? And look at you… reduced to selling sketches on the street to survive?” She shook her head, her expression shifting into a weird mix of pity and excitement. “Is that little girl yours and Kyle’s? You have no idea… Kyle’s business exploded. He’s a big deal now. And the crazy thing is, even though he got married, he never forgot you. He’s been searching for you since you left. He said if you just swallow your pride and apologize, he’ll forgive everything and keep you by his side! You won’t have to struggle with the kid anymore.” I put down my charcoal stick and stared at her. Jessica. College roommate. And “Kyle” was Kyle Sterling. My ex-boyfriend. He’s a married man now. What does “keep me by his side” mean? It means being a mistress. I looked her dead in the eye. “I’m not going back to Kyle. I stopped loving him a long time ago.” Under her shocked gaze, memories flooded back. Kyle and I met in high school. Back then, the Sterling family business was on the verge of bankruptcy. The rich kid became a poor kid, just like me. We were outcasts, bullied and mocked. That trauma bonded us. We huddled together for warmth. We got into the same college and fell in love. I studied Art; he studied Finance. We worked part-time jobs and rented a tiny, damp apartment near campus. It was small, but under the warm yellow light, we dreamed big. After graduation, Kyle wanted to get his MBA. I gave up my art dreams. I worked two jobs to support us while he studied. But right after he got his master’s, the Sterling family business miraculously recovered. They were back in the elite circle. Kyle’s value skyrocketed. Then, he met Chloe Vanderbilt. They were inseparable. Once, when I went to Kyle’s family home to see him, I overheard his mother. “Kyle, you’re at that age. The Vanderbilt girl likes you. Why don’t we arrange a marriage?” When Kyle stayed silent, she frowned. “That delivery girl? The waitress? She’s not worthy of you. People will laugh!” She was talking about me. 2 Hearing that, my heart soured. I turned to leave. But I bumped right into Chloe Vanderbilt. She sneered, “What is the help doing snooping around?” Kyle rushed over. Hearing this, he quickly said, “She’s not the help!” Chloe looked confused. I looked at him, waiting for him to claim me. To say, This is my girlfriend. Instead, guilt flashed across his face. “This is my college classmate. She’s just here to drop off some textbooks.” My heart dropped. A dull, throbbing pain spread through my chest. Chloe ignored me, laughing as she linked arms with him. “Kyle, look! I baked cookies!” She held one up to his mouth. “Try it! Is it good?” Kyle smiled. “Delicious.” I clenched my fists, staring at him in disappointment. “Kyle, what is the meaning of this?” Kyle frowned, terrified Chloe would misunderstand. He grabbed my arm and dragged me outside. “Stop making a scene! That’s the Vanderbilt heiress. We can’t offend her!” I pulled away angrily. “Your mom wants you to marry someone of your status. What do you think?” “Do you also think I’m not good enough for you?” He grabbed my hands. “Don’t be crazy! I only love you!” He guided my hand to his pocket, making me touch the ceramic charm inside. “I keep our token with me always.” “How could I marry anyone else?” I pulled out my matching charm and smiled weakly. “Good. Don’t forget your promise.” When he was in grad school, I was working two jobs with a fever. He cried seeing me suffer and made these matching ceramic charms. He gave one to me and said, “Sarah, you’ve suffered so much for me. I promise I’ll marry you and you’ll never suffer again.” Those charms were his vow. Just then, Chloe ran out, pouting. “Kyle! Why aren’t you coming back in?” “Talking to a girl… I’m jealous!” Kyle dropped my hand instantly. “Coming!” He turned to me. “You go home first. I’ll come find you when I’m free.” Then he walked over to Chloe, voice soft. “Don’t be mad. I’m here now.” 3 After that day, Kyle never came to find me. The apartment meant for two became lonely. Then I started feeling sick. I went to the clinic. Pregnant. I held the test result, shaking with excitement. I texted him immediately. I started daydreaming about our wedding, our baby. Kyle didn’t reply. Maybe he was busy. Tomorrow was our six-year anniversary. The next day, I bought flowers and a cake and went to Kyle’s house. But when I got to the door, I saw Kyle kneeling on the floor, applying ointment to Chloe’s ankle. Chloe whined about the pain, burying her face in his neck. Kyle smiled, his voice dripping with affection. “Don’t be scared. It’s almost done. Be good. Even though it’s your birthday, you hurt your foot, so you have to rest.” His friends around them cheered and teased. The scene stabbed my heart. So this is what he was busy with. It was our six-year anniversary. He didn’t send a single text. He was celebrating Chloe’s birthday. I stood frozen at the door. Someone noticed me. “Hey, who’s that? Who are you looking for? Flowers and cake?” Another guy sneered. “Look at her clothes. So cheap… she probably has the wrong house.” Everyone looked at me. “But she’s looking at Kyle. Is she here for him?” “Huh? Kyle knows someone that poor?” “No way. Don’t insult Kyle like that!” Under their scrutiny, I forced my legs to move toward him. “Kyle… today is our six…” Kyle’s face flashed with embarrassment. He frowned, cutting me off sharply. “It’s the delivery I ordered!” He snatched the flowers and cake from my hands. He presented my anniversary gifts to Chloe with both hands. “Chloe, I know you like me too. Will you be my girlfriend?” 4 Chloe blushed instantly. She covered her mouth. “Kyle! Yes, I will!” Everyone clapped and cheered. Except me. It felt like a nightmare. I couldn’t tell if it was real. Kyle saw I hadn’t left and glared at me. “What are you staring at? Delivery girl, get lost!” I looked at him in disbelief. “Kyle Sterling, who are you calling a delivery girl? I am your girlfriend…” I thought he was just placating his mother and the Vanderbilts. I didn’t know he was cheating on me. Before he could speak, the room went silent. Everyone stared at me. “Didn’t Kyle say she was a delivery girl? How is she his girlfriend?” “Impossible. Why would Kyle be with a broke girl like that?” “Well, the Sterlings were poor for a while. Maybe it’s an old fling…” Amidst the whispers, Kyle’s face turned red with shame. Chloe snapped, bratty and loud: “What are you talking about? I saw you pestering Kyle last time. You’re just a stalker! Now you’re delusional enough to claim you’re his girlfriend? How shameless can you be? Kyle is my boyfriend now. Are you trying to be a homewrecker?” Her explanation satisfied the crowd. “Oh, a stalker. That makes sense. No way Kyle would date her.” “Look at her sweater, it’s unraveling. Desperate.” “So shameless. Kyle and Chloe are together, and she’s still clinging on.” Everyone pointed fingers, looking at me like I was a rat. But she was the other woman. I looked at her furiously. “Who’s the stalker? Who’s the third party? Do you know Kyle and I have been together for…” Slap! Kyle slapped me across the face. His chest heaved, face dark. “Shut up! We were just college classmates! I pitied you because you were poor, so I gave you some delivery jobs to make money. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you! Lying to my girlfriend to ruin our relationship?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386083”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On our wedding day, my fiancée Molly stood by the limousine, refusing to get in. “I’m not marrying you, Noah.” Stunned, I watched as her bridesmaids laughed: “Game over—I won! You really tamed this unattainable prize, Molly. Pay up—bets and gifts, transfer everything, no shortcuts.” Then my brother Jason Sterling stepped out of another car, in the same suit as me. He took Molly’s hand and led her into the limo. As it sped off, my family surrounded me. My A-list sister Claire blocked my way: “Molly loves Jason—today’s their wedding. Behave.” My Oscar-winning mother gripped my hand: “Noah, Jason has severe depression, even suicidal thoughts. Molly’s the only one who calms him. Let him have this.” My father, one of the nation’s richest men, snorted: “He’s already lived Jason’s first 18 years. Giving up one woman is nothing.” They had security lock me in the house to stop me from ruining the hotel wedding. I didn’t cry or scream. In fact, I could barely hold back a smile. 1 As the bodyguards shoved me into the villa, a system notification chimed in my mind. Host, do you confirm you wish to exit this world via death? Confirm. Please select a method of death. I’ll jump from a building. I want to die right in front of Molly and the Sterlings. To haunt them forever. Generating death method… Method confirmed. Upon successful completion, the Host will receive a system reward of one hundred million dollars. This selection cannot be changed. Confirm. This was my twenty-first year in this world, and the third year since Jason Sterling had been found. I was a transmigrator. My current identity was that of the fake young master of a billionaire family. My brother, Jason, was the true heir, switched at birth. Having been an orphan in my previous life, I felt incredibly lucky when I first arrived here. I had a mother, a father, and a sister who loved and protected me. But everything changed on my eighteenth birthday, the day my father brought Jason home. The doors and windows of the villa were locked from the outside. They had several people watching me. “Second Young Master, you’d best stay put, or you’ll regret it.” Mrs. Petrova, the head housekeeper, stood before me, brandishing a baseball bat. Her expression was that of a cruel prison warden. I took two steps toward the door, and the bat cracked against my shin. The pain was so sharp I collapsed to my knees. “The Young Master specifically told me,” she sneered, “if you dare to disobey, I’m to break your legs.” Suddenly, she shrieked, “The Second Young Master is trying to escape to ruin the wedding! Stop him!” Several bodyguards immediately grabbed their own batons and advanced on me. 2 I scrambled backward in terror. “What are you doing? I wasn’t running! You can’t just attack me!” “Oh, we know what you’re thinking, Second Young Master. Even if you’re not running now, who’s to say you won’t in a minute?” a guard said. “It’s safer to just break your legs now and be done with it. As long as I’m here, you won’t be ruining the Young Master’s wedding!” “Do you think I won’t tell my parents?” I gasped. “And what if you do?” Mrs. Petrova laughed. “I’ll just say you were so desperate to escape you jumped from the second-floor window and broke them yourself. They won’t do a thing!” “Do it!” They swarmed me, their clubs and batons rising and falling. I could hear the sickening crunch of my own bones. My white shirt was stained crimson, and even my black suit jacket was dark with a damp, sticky sheen. But they didn’t stop, as if determined to beat me to death. “If I die here today, the Sterlings will not spare you!” I choked out. “You still think you’re the precious young master? You’re just some bastard they found! If they didn’t pity you, they’d have thrown you out long ago!” one of them spat. “When the real young master came back, they wanted to send you away. If Miss Claire hadn’t begged them, saying they could just keep you ‘like a stray dog’, you think you’d still be in this house?” “And you dare to compete with the Young Master for his wife? In your dreams!” A horrifying realization dawned on me, and I started to laugh. “So, you’re not just trying to stop me from ruining the wedding… you’re trying to kill me!” “It’s not impossible for you to have ‘fallen to your death during an escape attempt’, is it, Second Young Master?” Panic seized me. I was ready to die, but not like this. This wasn’t the method I had chosen. What if I couldn’t go back? I don’t know where the strength came from, but I lunged forward, tackling the man in front of me. We crashed into a high table, knocking over a large memorial candle my mother had lit for Jason’s good fortune. The candle fell to the floor, its flame instantly igniting the heavy velvet curtains. The villa erupted in fire. “You damned little bastard! How dare you set a fire!” In their moment of panic, I dragged my broken leg and scrambled out of the house. The entire villa district was covered in security cameras; they wouldn’t dare chase me outside. Dressed in a blood-soaked suit, I limped onto the main road, trying to hail a taxi to the hotel. My appearance was so ghastly that car after car swerved around me. Finally, a kind young man pulled over and asked if I needed help. I begged him to take me to the hotel. The hotel was one of my father’s properties, and the staff all knew me. Even seeing my horrific state, the security guards and front desk staff didn’t dare stop me. When I reached the entrance to the grand ballroom, my sister and parents were there, warmly greeting the wedding guests, their faces beaming with happiness. The moment they saw me, their smiles froze. 3 This was the wedding of the year, and media outlets from across the country were present. When they saw me stumble in, a frenzy of flashing cameras swarmed me like vultures. Claire marched up to me, her face a mask of fury. “What are you doing here?” She muttered under her breath, “A bunch of useless fools, can’t even watch one person!” Then she hissed at me, “Look at the state of you! Did you do this to yourself on purpose, just to bring bad luck to this day?” “Are you that desperate for the headlines? Is this what you’ll do to be famous?” My mother rushed over, her eyes wide with what looked like concern. “Noah, what happened? Is that blood on your suit?” “Yes, it’s blood. My blood. The men Jason hired beat me half to death. I barely escaped.” My father’s hand cracked across my face. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. “You shameless liar! Can’t you stand to see your brother happy for one single day?” My mother grabbed my hand. “Noah, you said Jason’s men beat you?” Claire pulled her away. “Mom, don’t be ridiculous! It’s obviously paint. He loves pulling these stunts for the media!” She grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me away. I stumbled and fell to the floor. My broken leg was now exposed for everyone to see. A collective gasp went through the hall. The bone of my shin had pierced through the skin, stark white against the blood. I had dragged myself here on that leg. Any normal person would have passed out from the pain long ago. Thankfully, the system had taken pity on me and activated a pain-dampening feature. I couldn’t feel a thing. My mother covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. “Noah, how did you get so hurt?” Even my father’s eyes flickered with a hint of pain. “How could you do this to yourself?” Even Claire, who had been so hostile just moments before, was speechless. Molly pushed through the crowd and saw me lying on the floor. “Noah?” I lifted my blood-streaked face to look at her. “Good, you’re here. I have a few questions for you.” Jason rushed to her side, his handsome face tear-stained, his posture a picture of saintly sorrow. “Noah, today is the most important day of my life. Must you destroy it?” he cried, his body trembling. “Why are you always targeting me? You’ve already stolen everything that was mine! All I wanted was Molly! Can’t you just let us be happy?” Claire reached for me. “I’ll take you to the hospital.” “Claire!” Jason’s voice cracked with a sob. “The ceremony is about to start. Are you leaving?” He looked at me with wounded eyes. “This is just one of his sick games, isn’t it? Do you really believe I would have my own brother beaten like this?” Claire snatched her hand back. “Noah Sterling, you are truly twisted. To frame your own brother, you would inflict this kind of harm on yourself.” Her voice was cold. “Go to the hospital on your own. And don’t worry, the Sterling family won’t tolerate a cripple. We’ll find the best doctors to fix your leg.” I knew nothing I said would matter. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to stand. “I just have a few things to say. Then I’ll leave.” I looked straight at Molly. “From the very beginning, our entire relationship was just a bet between you and your friends. You never had any real feelings for me, did you?” 4 “That’s right,” she said without hesitation. Tears streamed down my face. I once thought I was the luckiest person in the world, with a loving family and a partner who cherished me. It was all an illusion, a reflection on water, shattered with a single touch. I could have chosen to stay in this world forever, with this family. But now, my resolve to go back was absolute. “One last question,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You had already won the bet. Why did you wait until our wedding day to tell me the truth?” “Because Jason was afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle it,” she replied. “He asked me to keep it from you.” I laughed, a loud, ragged sound. “How kind of him! My dear brother, so worried about my feelings that he waited until my wedding day to reveal it was all a game. Making me stand here in a suit like a fool, watching you two get married… that wasn’t meant to humiliate me at all, was it?” “Nonsense!” Claire snapped. “Jason is not that manipulative!” “Not that manipulative?” I shot back with a bitter smile. “Since he came home, he’s faked suicide attempts no less than a hundred times. And how many of those times did he actually die? Someone who truly wants to die doesn’t need to be rescued!” “Shut your mouth! How dare you speak about your brother that way!” My father raised his hand to strike me again, but my mother stopped him. “That’s enough! Noah is badly hurt, don’t hit him!” “Dad,” I cried out, “I’m your son too! The son you raised and doted on for eighteen years. Just because I’m not your biological child, does that mean I don’t deserve your trust?” “You stand there and claim your brother had you beaten! Do you expect me to believe such a ridiculous lie?” At the accusation, Jason immediately had one of his “episodes.” He clutched his chest and stumbled backward. “Noah, how could you slander me like this? Are you trying to drive me to my death?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385633”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’m a stay-at-home dad. I had no idea the teacher’s home visit was being livestreamed to the entire school community, a camera pinned discreetly to her collar. The lens panned across our living room, a space where every available inch of wall was a shrine to the nation’s sweetheart, Catherine Shaw—autographed photos, posters, and magazine covers. The teacher and the top student’s mother exchanged a look of cold disdain. “So, you’re a Catherine Shaw fan?” “Catherine Shaw,” I said, “is my wife.” The live chat immediately blew up. 【No wonder their kid is failing. The dad’s a delusional shut-in! And he dares to claim our goddess?】 Just then, the front door opened. Catherine Shaw, known to the world for her elegant and cool demeanor, stepped inside. Her voice, however, was a warm, gentle melody meant only for me. “Honey, do we have guests?” 1 A few months ago, our daughter’s school sent home a consent form for a livestreamed home visit series. The teacher assured us it was just a project comparing the home environments of a top-performing student and a struggling one. I signed it without a second thought and promptly forgot about it. A struggling student? What did that have to do with my daughter? She wasn’t a genius, but she was hardly at the bottom of her class. I was in the middle of preparing dinner when the doorbell rang. “Who is it?” My daughter, Sophie, usually just burst in on her own. I had just set a dish down when the front door swung open. Sophie skipped in and started changing into her slippers. Still in my apron, I swept her up into a big hug, lifting her high into the air. “Sophie-bear! Did you have a good day at school? Eat lots of yummy food? Did you get your money’s worth out of that school lunch?” Because this was a mandated school viewing, the live chat was still sparse, filled mostly with skeptical parents who weren’t expecting much from the “underachiever’s” family. 【Ah, so this is the struggling student’s home. Figures.】 【They call it ‘positive reinforcement parenting.’ I call it not giving a damn about grades.】 【Sophie is so cute, though. Who cares if she can’t read? She can just…】 【Whoa, someone should check that last comment. Doesn’t sound like they’re joking.】 I was so focused on my daughter that I didn’t even notice the teacher and another family standing awkwardly in the doorway. Sophie’s sweet, soft voice finally broke through my bubble. “Daddy, the teacher is here.” I hoisted her onto my hip and turned. A flustered-looking woman stood by the door, next to a stern-faced mother and her son. “Ms. Evans, please, come in,” I said calmly. “Don’t worry about your shoes.” Ms. Evans hesitated, her eyes darting around the spacious, open-plan apartment before landing on the mother and son beside her. “This is Sophie’s classmate, Julian, who placed first on the last exam, and his mother, Diana.” I gave them a slight nod, still holding Sophie. “Nice to meet you. You’re here for the…” 【Seriously? This guy doesn’t even know to offer his kid’s teacher a drink? What terrible manners.】 【No wonder the kid’s grades are in the toilet. The father has zero social skills.】 Ms. Evans finally stepped inside, looking uncomfortable. “Mr… uh, Sophie’s dad. Are you aware of Sophie’s score on the last exam?” As if just remembering, I put Sophie down and gestured to the sofa. “Please, make yourselves comfortable! I’ve got something on the stove. My wife will be home any minute, and she gets a little grumpy if dinner isn’t hot and ready when she walks in.” 2 I disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Sophie alone with our guests. Diana’s eyes, filled with undisguised contempt, scanned the apartment. Her voice was sharp, dripping with condescension. “So, a house husband. The woman is the breadwinner, and the man stays home. How… pathetic.” Ms. Evans said nothing. She, too, was taken aback by the situation. It explained why Sophie always talked about her dad at school, but never her mom. Still, this apartment was in one of the most expensive school districts in the city. A place like this had to be worth millions. The dad was handsome enough; maybe he was a kept man, a trophy husband. She wondered about the age gap between him and Sophie’s mother. A sudden, nasty thought seemed to occur to Diana. “Wait a minute. Is he some boy toy she keeps on the side? Is the little girl… illegitimate?” She made two loud, disgusted “tsk” sounds. Ms. Evans quickly tried to change the subject. She scooped Sophie into her lap. “Sophie, all these pictures of Catherine Shaw… is she your daddy’s favorite actress?” Sophie beamed, her smile pure sunshine. “She’s my mommy!” The live chat erupted in outrage. 【What? They’re even poisoning the kid’s mind?】 【What kind of values are they teaching her? Letting a child this young get obsessed with celebrity culture? Is that even legal?】 I emerged from the kitchen carrying a platter of food just in time to hear Sophie’s proud declaration. I smiled. “That’s right, sweetie. She’s your mommy.” To protect Catherine’s career, we’d always been careful about letting Sophie call her “mommy” in public. But here, in our own home, it should have been fine. Ms. Evans looked at me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. “What are you talking about? She’s just a child. Saying things like that will have a terrible impact on her development. And it’s incredibly unfair to her real mother. The woman is out there working hard to support this family, and you’re not just erasing her contribution, you’re stealing her very title.” I let out a soft laugh, guessing exactly what they were thinking. With a touch of theatrical flair, I said, “No, you don’t understand. Catherine Shaw really is my wife.” The three of them stared at me. After a long pause, Ms. Evans asked hesitantly, “She… isn’t?” It was clear they still didn’t believe a word of it. I looked at my daughter. “Sophie, can you entertain Ms. Evans and our guests for a minute? I’ll be right back with our marriage certificate.” 3 I went into our bedroom. The marriage certificate was locked away in a safe, the combination being the date we officially tied the knot. I never imagined that even with the document in my hands, they would still refuse to believe me. I placed it on the coffee table. Ms. Evans’s eyes widened, and she quickly covered the certificate with her hand. “Mr… uh, Sophie’s dad. You know that forging official documents is a felony, right?” Diana picked it up, scrutinizing the paper. “Wow, this is a pretty convincing fake. Looks almost identical to ours.” Even with physical proof, the online audience remained convinced I was a liar. 【This guy is walking a thin line. He’s certifiably insane.】 【LOL, this freeloader probably has no idea this is being broadcast to thousands of people.】 【Already called the cops. Can’t wait to see him get arrested live on air.】 【You sure about that? What if you’re the one filing a false report?】 【Come on. You really think our goddess would marry some deadbeat stay-at-home dad? That’s the stuff of cheap romance novels!】 I couldn’t help but chuckle at Ms. Evans’s accusation. “It’s real.” I grabbed a tablet lying on the end table and pulled up the official government services portal. “Here, let’s take a look. The national database doesn’t lie…” Before I could finish, the soft click of the front door was followed by the beep of the keypad. A warm, familiar voice, tinged with exhaustion, floated into the room. “Honey, do we have guests?” I set the tablet down, a wave of relief washing over me. “Well, the woman herself is here. I guess we don’t need any more proof.” The moment she heard her mother’s voice, Sophie shot up and sprinted towards the door. The pitter-patter of her little feet was followed by a squeal of “Mommy!” that could melt the coldest of hearts. The voice was familiar to the viewers, but Catherine’s public persona was so cool and composed that no one recognized this soft, gentle tone. 【Aww, her dad might be a lost cause, but that little girl is an absolute angel.】 【My goddess? Are you kidding me? Everyone knows she’s the epitome of ice-cold elegance. That sweet, syrupy voice? No way!】 【Ugh, this loser. What gives him the right to even dream? He’s not worthy of breathing the same air as her.】 Ms. Evans’s chest-mounted camera was still angled down, so the viewers could only see the lower half of Catherine’s face. But the palpable shock on the faces of the teacher and Diana told the whole story. “You… you two are…” Ms. Evans shot up from the sofa. In that instant, the camera jerked upwards, and the full picture came into view: Catherine Shaw, the nation’s sweetheart, holding little Sophie in her arms. The live chat froze for a split second, then exploded. 【!!!!!!!!】 【WAIT. MY GODDESS IS MARRIED?!】 【NO, CATHERINE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! What do you see in him? Is it his poverty? His ugliness?】 A tidal wave of comments flooded the screen. The world had gone mad. This was supposed to be a simple school documentary. Most of the parents watching were married themselves, but this revelation hit them like a freight train. Simultaneously, on every social media platform, the hashtag #CatherineShawMarried shot to the top of the trending charts. Millions of fans refused to believe the devastating news. But they followed the links, flooding the educational channel’s livestream. And there she was. The stream’s viewership skyrocketed, growing exponentially until it hit the server’s maximum capacity. The moment she saw Catherine, Ms. Evans panicked. She spoke into her earpiece, her voice trembling. “We have a situation. Should I cut the feed?” Before anyone could answer, Catherine gently set Sophie down. She walked over to Ms. Evans and gave a slight shake of her head. Then, she extended her hand. “Hello. I’m Sophie’s mother, Catherine Shaw.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385650”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After graduation, the whole family went on a trip to the coast. My sister, having forgotten her favorite bikini, demanded I make the two-hour drive back home to get it. When I refused, my father slapped me so hard my lip split. My mother blamed me for not reminding my sister, insisting I had to be the one to go back. Humiliated and heartbroken, I broke down sobbing. My parents, calling me a disgrace, locked me in the vacation condo to “think about what I’d done.” When the three-hundred-foot tsunami came, I had no way to escape. I was swallowed alive by the wave. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that moment, with my sister demanding I go home and get her bikini. I nodded meekly. “Of course. I’ll go get it. You guys have fun at the beach.” 1 “Sadie, are you listening? Get in the car and go get my bikini. The blue one. I need it if I’m going to get in the water!” The familiar, imperious voice snapped me back to reality. A tremor went through my entire body. I stared, breathless, at my sister, Brooke. She was tearing through her suitcase, frustration etched on her perfect face. She couldn’t find the designer bikini she’d bought specifically for this trip. My parents were fluttering around her, trying to help, their words a useless balm. They urged me to just go, to make the drive before Brooke started to cry. This was… My head whipped around to look at the window, at the calm, sapphire-blue ocean. A sharp, phantom pain prickled my skin. It became hard to breathe, as if a giant hand were squeezing my lungs shut. Down below, on the street, a little girl on her father’s shoulders was squealing with delight. “The ocean is so pretty, Daddy!” It was all too familiar. Frighteningly familiar. I was back. I had been reborn into the first day of our family vacation. Reborn four hours before a three-hundred-foot tsunami would obliterate everything. We had only been in the condo for ten minutes when Brooke started her tantrum about the bikini. I get carsick. I’d already thrown up twice on the way here. The thought of another four hours in a car, alone, was a special kind of hell. In my first life, I had refused. I told them I felt sick, that we could just buy her a new one at any of the countless shops lining the boardwalk. After all, the swimsuit they’d bought for me was a twenty-dollar afterthought from a roadside stand. My refusal was met with a barrage of parental fury. “Do you have any idea what the material in those cheap suits could do to your sister’s skin? What if she has an allergic reaction?” “You’re the older sister, Sadie. Is it so hard for you to help her out for once? I swear, you’re just selfish, always in a rush to have your own fun. You’re eighteen years old, act like it!” The usual lecture. The usual comparisons. Brooke was bubbly and adored; I was quiet and withdrawn. Brooke could talk her way into anything; I was silent and sullen. I could only stand there, my jaw tight, saying nothing. “Look at you with that dead-fish expression,” my father had sneered. “No wonder you only got into community college. “Your sister is going to Duke. She has a real future. And you? What’s the point of you? Running an errand is the most useful thing you can do, and you can’t even do that without complaining!” My silence always enraged my father. His words grew sharper, more venomous. He had conveniently forgotten why I was only going to community college. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten. Maybe he just didn’t care that he’d ended up in the hospital from a drinking binge the week before my SATs. My mother and Brooke had both claimed they were too exhausted to deal with him, so I was the one who spent my nights in a hospital chair instead of studying. Running on no sleep, I bombed the exams. My family refused to even consider letting me retake them or apply again next year. They wanted me in a two-year program, out, and earning money as soon as possible. They all remembered. They just thought it was perfectly reasonable. As long as Brooke got into a good school, that’s all that mattered. As long as Brooke was happy. When Brooke wanted a beach vacation after graduation, my parents booked it instantly. I was just lucky enough to be brought along. The first real vacation they’d ever taken me on in my nineteen years of life. Of course, I was the one who had to carry almost all the luggage up three flights of stairs. And now, I was supposed to drive two hours back to get a bikini. 2 “Sadie, are you deaf? I told you to go get my bikini!” Brooke’s voice turned shrill, slicing through my daze. I pulled back from the window, a cold dread washing over me. The peaceful, sun-drenched ocean outside might as well have been a monster baring its teeth. Who could possibly imagine that in four hours, a terrifying wave would surge from the deep and destroy everything in its path? “Sadie, this is your fault for not reminding her. You know how she gets. Now go!” my mother snapped, glaring at me. I took a deep breath, trying to push away the paralyzing fear of the wave. I looked at my mother. Why would I remind her? I didn’t know she’d forget. And why is it my job to remember for her? The last time, I had dared to ask that question out loud. In response, my father had lunged, the back of his hand catching my mouth. The blow sent me sprawling to the floor. “When I tell you to do something, you do it! Can’t you see your sister is upset?” he had roared, ignoring the blood trickling from my lip. That slap had shattered me. For nineteen years, I had tried to understand what I had done wrong, why my own family treated me with such disdain. The injustice of it all finally broke me, and I started to wail, a raw, hysterical sound that I couldn’t control, sobbing until I nearly passed out. This only annoyed Brooke more. She stormed out of the condo, shouting that she was going to the beach and I had better have her bikini ready when she got back. They were staying for three days; if she couldn’t wear it today, she would wear it tomorrow. My parents, looking disgusted, kicked me a few times for good measure before locking me in the room. “Crying won’t solve anything,” they’d spat. “You stay in here and think about your attitude. You can come out when you’re ready to go get the damn swimsuit.” Then they left, the sound of the lock clicking shut echoing in the silent room. As if I were a piece of luggage to be left behind. I had huddled on the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees, my body shaking with silent, soul-crushing sobs. Hours later, as dusk began to fall, the calm ocean suddenly churned. The tide pulled back with an unnatural speed, and then, the water began to boil. By the time I realized what was happening, a colossal, three-hundred-foot wave was charging toward the shore like an avenging god. I screamed, throwing myself at the door, twisting the locked knob until my skin was raw. It wouldn’t budge. I ran to the window, shouting for help, just in time to see my parents dragging Brooke to the car. They glanced up. I know they did. We were only on the third floor. They saw me. But they didn’t hesitate. They jumped in the car and sped away without a backward glance, disappearing in seconds. I died in a tsunami that felt like the end of the world. 3 “Sadie, are you mute? I’m asking you one last time. Are you going to get my bikini or not?” This was Brooke’s third demand. She was officially furious, her face flushed and blotchy. Because I hadn’t said a word. My father was already moving toward me, his hand raised to strike. The scene was about to repeat itself. I would be beaten, locked up, and left to die. I quickly sidestepped, forcing a smile onto my face. “Brooke, don’t be mad. This trip is all about you. I’ll do whatever you want.” I turned to my father. “Dad, while I’m home, should I grab that bottle of Maker’s Mark you like? You could have some with dinner tonight.” My father’s hand froze mid-air. The anger on his face lessened. “That’s more like it. Go on, then. Four hours round trip. You’ll be back before dark, plenty of time to have some fun.” He lowered his arm and turned to Brooke. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. Dad will take you out on the jet skis.” “I want to go on the helicopter tour, too. For pictures,” Brooke demanded. I knew about the helicopter tour. Eight hundred dollars for ten minutes. If I had ever asked for something like that, my father would have kicked me out of the room. But for Brooke, he agreed instantly. My mother beamed, giving Brooke a thumbs-up. “Look at you, so brave! A helicopter ride!” Brooke shot me a triumphant, smug glance. She was showing off, flaunting the love that was reserved only for her. The only thing I had ever received was a slap or a shove. A familiar pang of pain twisted in my chest, but it was quickly replaced by an icy numbness. A person who has already died once has no time to mourn the love they never had. “Mom, Dad, Brooke, you guys have a great time at the beach. I’m leaving now to get the swimsuit.” I turned and walked away, the picture of obedience. They were satisfied. They would wait for me, expecting me to return in four hours. But they didn’t know that in four hours, the tide would recede with a horrifying silence, only to return with the force of a thousand storms. Maybe it was an undersea earthquake, or a volcanic eruption. Whatever the cause, an unprecedented tsunami was about to descend upon this entire resort town. I remembered it clearly. The wave was taller than our hotel building. At least three hundred feet. A wave that high was almost unheard of in human history. The 2004 Indonesian tsunami that shocked the world, devastating 14 countries and leaving over 270,000 dead or missing, had a maximum height of just over 150 feet. Of course, terrain and elevation play a huge role. But this wave… this wave was three hundred feet tall. Even if our town, Seabrook, was situated on higher ground, with hills and forests to break the impact… I couldn’t let myself think about it. The image of the apocalypse was already burned into my mind. I had to hurry. Four hours. How was I going to survive? 4 I had seen the tsunami with my own eyes. I knew what that monstrous wall of water was capable of. I had to assume the worst-case scenario: that the entire city of Seabrook and the neighboring coastal towns would be wiped out. Ideally, I would get on a plane and fly a thousand miles away. But there wasn’t time. It would be a miracle if I could even get out of Seabrook itself. It was the day after high school graduation; the roads were choked with tourists. We’d been stuck in traffic for half the drive here. Driving back to my house in two hours was a fantasy. So, escape wasn’t the answer. I had to think about immediate shelter. A high-rise building? I dismissed the thought instantly. In the face of that apocalyptic wave, any man-made structure was a joke. The tallest skyscraper would crumble like a sandcastle. No, the shelter had to be solid. It had to be high. A mountain. On the east side of Seabrook was Shepherd’s Peak State Park. Its highest point was over four thousand feet above sea level. It had well-maintained infrastructure, and at the summit, there was an old stone lodge that could serve as a shelter. I’d volunteered there once for a park cleanup day; I knew the layout. Better yet, it was only a forty-minute drive from here, and I could take the highway. It was 2:00 PM now. If I could get to the base of Shepherd’s Peak, I’d still have time to stock up on supplies and get to the top. There was enough time. That was the plan. As I walked out of the condo complex, I saw a maintenance worker passing by, carrying a large tool bag. A box of roofing nails was visible inside. I stopped him. Ten dollars later, I had a pocketful of nails. I walked to the ground-level parking lot and found our family’s SUV. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I scattered the nails on the ground behind all four tires, points facing up. The second the car moved, the tires would be shredded. I imagined my family frantically trying to escape, the hiss of the tires deflating. The image was almost beautiful. I dusted off my hands and hurried away. Time was wasting. I had to get to Shepherd’s Peak, get supplies, and get up that mountain. 5 The Uber I called sped along the highway. I had hoped it would be clearer than the local roads, but it was still bumper-to-bumper in places. A drive that should have taken forty minutes dragged on for an hour and a half. Panic clawed at my throat. I could only pray for the traffic to move faster, just a little faster. Finally, we got off the highway. From here, it was only five minutes to the park entrance. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. It was 3:35 PM. The tsunami would hit around 6:00 PM. I had two and a half hours. I didn’t need much. Just enough food and water for a week. A tsunami, for all its destructive power, is fast. Once the initial surge passed, I just had to wait for the national guard and rescue teams. It wasn’t ideal—if I had more time and help, I’d stockpile for a month—but I was alone. Carrying a week’s worth of supplies up a mountain was the absolute limit of my strength. As the car passed a small residential area, I had the driver pull over. I ran into the local grocery store. I filled a backpack with high-energy, low-volume foods: canned goods, beef jerky, protein bars. Then, I grabbed two reusable shopping bags and loaded them with self-heating meals, dried fruit, and nuts. The last stop was a pharmacy for a basic first-aid kit: ibuprofen, antibiotics, band-aids. By the time I was done, the backpack was a dead weight on my shoulders and the bags were cutting into my hands. My back ached. But this was enough to last me a while if I was careful. The most important thing was water, but it was too heavy. I only bought three bottles. I remembered there was a natural spring-fed waterfall near the summit of Shepherd’s Peak. I wouldn’t be without water. I checked my supplies one last time, called another Uber, and gave the driver the address for the park. It was now 4:36 PM. One hour and twenty-four minutes until the tsunami. My phone rang. It was Brooke. I answered. She didn’t even say hello. “Are you home yet? I need you to bring my white sun hat, too. If you’ve already left, turn around and go back. I have to have that hat.” 6 Listening to Brooke’s commanding tone, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a bitter, exhausted laugh. For my entire life, she had treated me like a servant. I was so used to it, so conditioned to cater to her every whim, to placate her, to do anything to avoid her anger and the punishment that would follow. If I hadn’t already died once, her voice would still fill me with a familiar dread. But Brooke couldn’t scare me anymore. Still, I didn’t argue. Not yet. There was still over an hour until the wave. If I provoked her now, knowing her temper, she might throw a fit, decide she didn’t want to be at the beach anymore, and start heading home to confront me. That would give my family a much better chance of survival. “Okay, Brooke. I’ll turn around and get your hat. It might just take me a little longer to get back to the beach,” I said, my voice dripping with false compliance. I could hear her sneer through the phone. “I love how pathetic you sound. Keep it up.” In the background, my mother’s voice chimed in. “Sadie, since you’re making another trip anyway, you might as well bring my makeup bag. I was going to bring it but it was too much of a hassle.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Of course, Mom. I’ll get it. See you soon.” “That’s a good girl,” my father added. “See? When you’re not difficult, everyone’s happy.” It was the closest thing to praise I’d heard from him in years. I hung up the phone. The car pulled up to Shepherd’s Peak State Park. I didn’t have the driver drop me at the main entrance, but at a service gate on the west side. It led to an employee access trail. I remembered it from my volunteer days. I looked up at the towering peak, a profound sense of safety washing over me. There was no safer place in the world right now. I took a deep breath and started up the trail with my supplies. The ranger in the gatehouse was napping, oblivious. The heat was oppressive, easily over 90 degrees. Only a fool would be hiking in the middle of the afternoon. As a result, the trail was completely deserted. There were probably other tourists in the park, but they’d be on the main trails, near the visitor center. I was panting, my lungs burning. I had to stop every twenty feet. My vision started to swim. Finally, dizzy and exhausted, I reached the halfway point. There was a large plaza here and a station for the cable car that ran to the summit. The plaza was empty, but the cable car was running. I got in, wiping sweat from my forehead, and checked the time on my phone. 5:26 PM. Thirty-four minutes until the tsunami. The sun was still beating down. There was no wind. No sign at all of the impending doom. But my heart was starting to pound, the memory of that apocalyptic day wrapping around me like a shroud. I closed my eyes and breathed deep, feeling the small breeze created by the moving cable car. I could almost smell it—a strange, metallic tang in the air. The wave was already forming, out in the deep ocean, still miles away. At 5:47 PM, the cable car reached the summit. Before me stood the old stone lodge, its slate roof shimmering in the heat. It was just as deserted as the trail had been. I didn’t waste time looking for anyone else. I found a small, unused chapel off the main hall and slipped inside. It was dedicated to some forgotten local saint. I remembered dusting the pews during my volunteer work. I offered a silent nod to the statue, then sat down heavily on a bench. My head was spinning, my limbs felt like lead. The climb, the heat, the stress—it had all taken its toll. But I was here. I was safe. I was in a stone building, four thousand feet above sea level. It was 5:52 PM. Eight minutes to go. I twisted the cap off a bottle of water and began to chug it. My phone rang again. It was Brooke. 7 The moment I answered, she started screaming. “Did you lose a leg? What is taking so long? I want to wear my bikini and my hat and take pictures in the ocean! I’m dying of boredom here!” My parents were in the background, their voices adding to the chorus. “The sun is about to set! We want to get pictures of Brooke in the golden hour! Get back here now!” A cold, sharp smile spread across my face. The sunset? Pictures? In a few minutes, you’re all going to be dead. All my caution vanished, replaced by a liberating rush of adrenaline. “I’m not coming back to the beach,” I said, my voice calm. “I’m at home, enjoying the air conditioning.” “What?” Brooke was stunned into silence for a second, before erupting. “Sadie, are you messing with me? If you’re not coming back, who’s going to bring me my bikini and my hat?” “Are you disabled? Do you need me to do everything for you? You’re eighteen years old, but you have the brain of a spoiled toddler.” “What?” Brooke sounded genuinely confused. The line went quiet. I could practically hear the gears grinding in her head. Then, a roar of pure fury. “Sadie, what did you just say? Did you call me disabled? Did you say I have the brain of a toddler?” Her shriek brought my parents into the conversation. My father snatched the phone, his voice a low growl. “Sadie. You dare talk to your sister like that? Have you lost your mind?” My mother’s voice, shrill and panicked, joined in. “Sadie, what did you say about your sister? Say it again! I dare you!” “Your sister is a spoiled, helpless child. A spoiled, helpless child. A spoiled, helpless child…” I repeated it, over and over. “You… you… Sadie!” My mother was hysterical. The precious angel she had coddled for eighteen years had never been criticized, let alone by the family slave. My father bellowed, “Sadie, you just wait. I’m going to come home and I’m going to chop you into pieces and feed you to the dogs!” Click. I hung up. I wasn’t going to listen to any more of that. I waited for the final three minutes to pass. 5:57 PM.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385666”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The TMZ headline blew up my phone: [MEGASTAR FINN WILDER’S STOLEN ID USED IN SHAM MARRIAGE]. That’s how I found out Finn Wilder had forgotten we got married three years ago. The entire internet started digging. They found me, a single mom, and our son, Leo. Finn Wilder himself tagged me in a public statement: [@AnnaHayes I get that fans are passionate, but this is next level. Can we get this annulled, like, yesterday?] I replied: [Okay.] But we scheduled the divorce three times, and Finn never showed. The first time, his assistant called. “Mr. Wilder was held up on set. Pyrotechnics issue. We’ll have to reschedule.” The second time, his publicist texted me. “Mr. Wilder was rushed to the hospital with a high fever. We’re rescheduling.” The third time, my son Leo brought me his iPad, pointing at a news alert. “Mommy, Daddy got a booboo. He hit his head in a car.” 1 Before Finn Wilder was Finn Wilder, we dated. We were young, stupid, and in love. He dragged me to a 24-hour chapel in Las Vegas. His eyes were brighter than the neon strip. “This way, you’re stuck with me,” he’d said, his hands framing my face. “Not even God can tear us apart now.” He’d kissed me, smug, like he’d just conquered the world. “You’re mine. Next life, too.” That same day, he got in a car accident. And he forgot me. His family, who always hated me, saw their chance. They erased every trace of me from his life. So when the [SHAM MARRIAGE] headline dropped, I wasn’t surprised. It had his family’s fingerprints all over it. Since he’d forgotten, his family could write whatever history they wanted. I was recast as a delusional, psycho fan who’d “found” his lost wallet and somehow, magically, married him. It was a clean, believable narrative. I stared at the blurry screenshot of the marriage certificate on the gossip blogs. The ID number was magnified. The internet did its work. Within hours, my crappy apartment building, my name, and grainy photos of me struggling with a stroller were plastered all over Twitter. I’d found out I was pregnant right after he lost his memory. Leo is two and a half. He looks just like me. No one, not even Finn, suspected he was the father. The whole world was waiting for me to break down, to start screaming, to fight for him. My DMs were a dumpster fire of 99+ messages. They called me a psycho. They called me a gold-digging whore. They said I was trash trying to cling to a god. I’ve watched his movies. I watched the reckless, beautiful boy I knew turn into “The Finn Wilder,” an untouchable megastar. I know how this business works. A secret wife and a toddler don’t help that brand. I’d waited three years for him to remember. I gave up hope a long time ago. I stared at his public post for five minutes, then typed: [Okay.] My heart had died three years ago. It was time to bury it. 2 I actually met his older brother, Julian, first. I was the “swapped at birth” cliché. The true heiress to the Landry fortune, raised in a trailer park, and “rescued” at seventeen. I was a country bumpkin who only knew how to get good grades. I didn’t fit in with the prep school kids. To make it worse, I was part of an old “family arrangement” to marry Julian Wilder. Everyone laughed at me. But Julian pulled me aside at one of those awful garden parties. “This arrangement,” he said, “I intend to honor it. Get your grades up. You’ll come to New York with me.” I didn’t have a single friend. His words were a lifeline. My new “parents” were so embarrassed by me they wouldn’t even publicly acknowledge me. The fake heiress, Sierra, told everyone at school I was the new maid’s daughter. My parents didn’t deny it. The whole school treated me like a charity case. They isolated me, they whispered about me. I finally snapped. “I’m not the maid’s daughter. I’m Anna Landry. Sierra is the fake one!” A group of girls cornered me in the bathroom. They slapped me, hard. “You trash. Just because Sierra’s too nice to put you in your place doesn’t mean we are.” The leader pulled my hair, forcing me to my knees. “Look at yourself. You’ll never be one of us.” I went to the principal. He just sighed. “Why do they only bully you, Anna? Maybe you should look at your own behavior. Stop spreading these fantasies. The Landrys are paying your tuition. You should be grateful.” I cried myself to sleep every night. And I studied. I was going to get out. I was going to go to New York with Julian. My SAT scores were high enough. Julian himself flew back and convinced my parents. He was the one who brought me to NewY ork. He was how I met Finn. 3 Julian set me up in a quiet apartment near my new school. He was always the perfect gentleman. “Is the money enough?” “Are you keeping up with your classes?” “Is anyone giving you trouble?” He was five years older. He was at Columbia; I was finishing high school. He was a guardian, a big brother. One evening, he was on my tiny balcony, watching the sunset. “I brought you here to show you a bigger world, Anna,” he said. “Not to trap you with some outdated promise. They laugh at you? Then you become so successful they can’t ignore you. As for the arrangement… it’s a responsibility I take seriously, not a romance. You understand?” I understood. He didn’t love me. He would never marry me. But he was my savior. He’d pulled me out of the mud. I was just grateful. I never expected his brother. Finn Wilder was a hurricane. He blew into my quiet, lonely life and tore it apart. We lived together for four years. 4 It started because I could cook. It was a Saturday, pouring rain. A knock. He was in a baseball cap, trying to hide that ridiculously beautiful face. His arm was in a cast. He looked like a stray wolf, soaked and starving. “My brother says you can cook. I need food. Pot roast. And something spicy. Like, really spicy.” “Who’s your brother?” I asked. “Julian. My actual brother.” He pushed past me, dripping, and started opening cabinets. He was like a raccoon. “I’m calling Julian,” I said. Julian just sighed on the phone. “He escaped from the hospital. I’m on my way.” By the time Julian arrived, Finn was inhaling a plate of my spicy Kung Pao Chicken, practically vibrating. He ate the whole thing, then obediently followed Julian out. Before he left, he grabbed my phone and added his number. That night, he texted: [Tomorrow. I want ribs.] He moved in. His school (NYU) was an hour downtown, but he made the commute every day, just for my cooking. He was loud. He was obnoxious. But he also sat on the couch playing video games while I studied, just so I wouldn’t be alone. “I’m here, what are you scared of?” He was the one who went, mortified, to the drugstore to buy me tampons. “This is so embarrassing, Anna.” And then, one night, everything changed. Julian showed up. He wanted to talk about the “family arrangement” again. “It’s time,” he said. “We’re going home to announce our engagement.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385682”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel