Category: English

I was working a dead-end job at a fried chicken joint when a delivery driver’s wife started a vicious rumor that I was sleeping with him. All because I’d given him an extra Coke on the house. I thought she was insane, so I just ignored it. But then she posted a secretly-shot, revealing photo of me changing in the locker room, and it went viral, racking up a million comments. Men started lurking outside the restaurant late at night. One night, they dragged me into an alley and assaulted me. I called the police, but the internet just called me a slut who was asking for it. My spirit broken, I threw myself off the Blackwood Bridge. The next thing I knew, my eyes shot open. I was back at the restaurant, on the exact day the delivery driver came to pick up his order. 1 “Hey, sweetie, is that order ready? How about you toss in an extra Coke for your favorite driver…” A delivery guy pushed open the door, phone pressed to his ear, shouting over at the counter. “Unbelievable,” my coworker, Tim, muttered beside me with a sarcastic laugh. “The nerve of some people, always trying to get something for free.” “He’s calling for you, sweetie. You handle it,” he said, nudging me. “I’ll go get the Coke. Better than getting a one-star review from this jerk.” He turned and grabbed an empty cup. A jolt shot through me. My eyes locked onto the familiar face walking toward us. It was him. The driver’s name was Kevin. His route was in our area, so he was a regular. And in that instant, it hit me. I had been reborn. In my past life, on this very day, Kevin had flirted with me while picking up an order. I felt sorry for him, sweating in the summer heat, so I gave him an extra Coke. I never imagined his wife would storm into the store, screaming that I was trying to steal her husband. I’d thought she was crazy and refused to engage. But then she pulled out the photo—the one she’d somehow taken of me changing into my uniform—and claimed I was a waitress by day and a prostitute by night. The post exploded online. The cyberbullying was relentless. Then came the assault in the alley. The crushing weight of the world’s malice broke me, made me doubt my own worth, and stole my will to live. Hopeless, I’d leaped from the bridge. The suffocating sensation of the cold river water filled my lungs all over again. “No!” I lunged forward and smacked the paper cup out of Tim’s hand. “We have to follow the store policy! The combo comes with one Coke, so he only gets one!” Tim’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Annie, what’s gotten into you today? You’re acting nuts.” He gestured vaguely. “You were just spacing out a second ago. It’s just a Coke. We’ve given them out before.” I watched Kevin’s approaching figure, taking a deep breath to calm the storm raging inside me. “Tim, I heard corporate is sending secret shoppers around. If we get caught, they’ll dock our pay.” I fabricated an excuse, my mind racing. “Besides, what if every driver starts demanding free stuff?” Tim just shrugged, bending down to toss the fallen cup in the trash. “Ugh, if my mom wasn’t sick, I’d be so out of this place. All these targets, all this ‘customer is always right’ crap. I’m not just worried about complaints anymore, now I’ve gotta worry about pissing off the delivery guys, too…” He grumbled for a bit before moving to pack the next order. I ignored him, carefully placing Kevin’s meal into the delivery bag. “God, it’s hot as hell out there,” Kevin said, leaning against the counter. He looked me up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. “That last one was for me. Did you sneak an extra Coke in there?” He leaned closer. “A pretty thing like you, I can tell you’ve got a good heart. We should get bubble tea after your shift.” He clicked his tongue. “Seriously, a total waste of those long legs, slinging chicken.” I pretended not to hear him and turned to the prep station to bag an order of nuggets. His phone was on speaker, and a woman’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Who are you talking to, honey? I’m warning you, if you’re messing with some little tramp… Full house! I win!” “It’s nothing, babe. Just grabbing the food. I’m on my way back,” he cooed into the phone. Through the front window, I saw him snatch the bag from the counter and head for the door. A wave of relief washed over me. This time, I was in the clear. The lunch rush was over, leaving only a couple of occupied tables. At one of them, a stylishly dressed girl had her phone propped up, live-streaming a foodie review. Our place had a trendy, artsy vibe and our signature snacks were popular with the younger crowd, so we often had influencers filming here. In my past life, Kevin had lingered at the counter, chatting me up, and I’d been too flustered to notice the streamer. On impulse, I walked over to the girl’s table, refilled her lemonade, and made a bit of small talk. The moment I returned to the counter, Tim leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “Hey, while you were busy, I felt bad for the guy. Looked like he was having a rough day. I threw in that extra Coke and repacked the bag for him.” My body went rigid. I shot up from my stool. “Tim, are you trying to get me killed?” My voice was so sharp it made him flinch. He stammered, “W-what’s the big deal? Why are you freaking out?” There was no time to explain. I bolted out the door, desperate to get that damn Coke back. If he left with it, history would repeat itself. I would die again, and Tim would lose his job. But it was too late. The street was empty. Kevin was gone. “What is wrong with you?” Tim demanded when I walked back in, looking completely defeated. “It’s one soda. You don’t have to make a federal case out of it.” I looked up at him, the words caught in my throat. I felt an invisible force pushing me back onto the same dark path I’d walked before. “Ding-dong! You have a new order…” The bright chime of the order system pierced the silence. An idea sparked in my mind. “The system has his contact info,” I muttered to myself. “I can call him. I’ll just tell him the Coke was from you, Tim.” I rushed to the terminal and started scrolling through the recent orders. Tim’s face darkened. “You’re sick,” he grumbled. “Fine, I’ll pay for the damn Coke myself.” I couldn’t explain something as insane as being reborn, and I couldn’t think of another lie. All I could do was offer him a weak, apologetic smile. “Tim, it’s… it’s not what you think.” But Kevin didn’t answer. I called again and again, but it went straight to voicemail every time. The rest of the afternoon, I was a wreck, completely out of it. Tim was getting annoyed. He pointed out it was just the two of us on shift, and he couldn’t do all the work. I forced myself to snap out of it and went with him to the walk-in freezer to prep for the dinner rush. On the way, I brushed past the main power panel and my hand instinctively flicked a switch. “Weird,” Tim muttered, picking up a loose plug from the floor. “Didn’t the manager just fix the security cameras before she left for the weekend? How is the power cord busted again?” His words struck me like a bolt of lightning, unlocking a forgotten memory. In my past life, I had tried to pull the security footage to prove my innocence, to show I’d only exchanged a few harmless words with Kevin. But the cameras had been broken. A seed of suspicion took root in my mind, but before I could process it, the landline on the counter began to ring, shrill and insistent. “Hello, is this The Crispy Coop? You shameless little homewrecker, you think you can get away with seducing my husband? You just wait! I’m coming down there to rip your face off!” Tim had barely lifted the receiver when a screeching female voice erupted from the earpiece. It was Kevin’s wife, Brenda. “Ma’am, I think you have the wrong…” Before Tim could finish, the line went dead with a loud click. My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn’t remember Brenda calling to threaten me last time. The script had changed. Was it because I was reborn, or was it something else? Then I remembered the frantic calls I’d made to Kevin’s phone. Brenda must have checked his call log, seen my number, and taken it as proof. Damn it. I slapped my forehead in frustration. Tim looked bewildered. “Annie, who was that?” He slammed the phone down. “I swear, the crazies are out in full force today. I’m so done with this job.” “Tim,” I said, my voice low and serious, “if someone comes here looking for a fight, you have to stop her.” The inevitable was coming. If I tried to run from it like last time, I’d only be feeding the flames of that madwoman’s rage. Tim frowned, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Did you get into some kind of trouble? You’ve been acting strange all day.” I shook my head. “How could I? I’m here all day. It’s about that delivery driver from earlier…” Just as I was about to explain, a group of customers walked in. The conversation was cut short as we scrambled to take their orders. The minutes ticked by. The dinner rush hit, and I moved on autopilot, taking orders, serving food, a practiced smile on my face. But beneath the surface, a primal fear was clawing its way up my throat. Memories from my past life flooded back. The venomous online comments. The slimy feel of a stranger’s hands forcing their way under my clothes in that dark alley. The bone-deep despair as I stood alone on the edge of the bridge. I’d had no family since my parents died. I worked hard, I was kind to everyone, I smiled even when I didn’t feel like it. All I wanted was a small, quiet place in this city where I could support myself. But no one ever told me that kindness without a spine is just weakness. No one told me my good intentions would only feed someone else’s malice. “Welcome to The Crispy Coop!” The door swung open again. A woman in a red dress and heavy, garish makeup stormed in. Even with the caked-on foundation, I recognized her immediately. It was Brenda. She stalked toward the counter, her head held high, the sharp clicks of her heels echoing through the quiet restaurant. The few customers still dining shot her annoyed glances. “You!” she shrieked, her bloodshot eyes locking onto me. “You’re the one! You feel proud of yourself, you little slut, chasing after another woman’s husband?” I was holding a tray, about to deliver an order, and her shove sent me stumbling backward. Tim stepped between us. “Ma’am, let’s all just calm down…” I quickly set the tray down and looked her straight in the eye. “I think you have the wrong person.” “The wrong person?” Brenda’s voice climbed to a hysterical pitch, spit flying from her lips. “You look so innocent, don’t you? But you’re nothing but trash! You thought my husband was hot, so you decided you’d just climb into his bed, is that it? Let me tell you something, you little bitch, I see trash like you, and I take it out!” It was happening again. The exact same words she’d used before. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Ma’am, if you don’t stop, I’m calling the police. You can have your husband come down here right now and we can sort this out. But you will not stand here and slander me.” Brenda just laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “You have the nerve to call the cops? You’re the one who was flirting with him, giving him free Cokes! I don’t see you giving free drinks to any other drivers, do I? Shameless whore!” Understanding finally dawned on Tim’s face. He realized this was the wife of the driver from earlier. He jumped to my defense. “It was your husband who was begging for free stuff! He’s the cheapskate! This has nothing to do with Annie!” Brenda sneered and pulled a stack of photos from her purse. She slammed them down on the counter with a loud smack. “Everyone, look! Here’s the proof!” she yelled to the gawking customers. The photos scattered across the floor. A few curious onlookers picked them up. Most were of a young woman’s back, dressed in shorts and a tank top. But one photo was perfectly clear. It was me. In the employee locker room, changing out of my uniform. Someone had taken it a few days ago. Brenda pointed a trembling, crimson-nailed finger at the photo of me. “No wonder my husband’s been coming home so late,” she wailed, her voice thick with fake tears. “No wonder he’s been giving me less money. I knew something was wrong when I heard about that Coke, and then I find out you asked him to get bubble tea with you… You all know what ‘getting bubble tea’ really means! It’s just a code for doing that!” A murmur went through the crowd. “No way. I come here all the time. She doesn’t seem like that kind of girl.” “But a wife wouldn’t just show up and make a scene for no reason, right?” “What would she want with a delivery driver, though? That doesn’t make sense.” Brenda shot a glare at the person who’d spoken. “What’s wrong with a delivery driver? He’s handsome, that’s what! This bitch will spread her legs for anyone! She needs to be exposed for the trash she is!” With that, she advanced on me, her eyes wild. Suddenly, she reached into her handbag and pulled out a black plastic bag. I knew what was inside. In my last life, I hadn’t seen it coming. She’d thrown it right in my face. The image of myself, standing there humiliated, covered in rotting food scraps and stinking like a garbage can, flashed before my eyes. #FriedChickenHomewreckerGetsTrashed Someone had filmed it, and the video went viral. To the world, I was the villain. Not this time. I wasn’t going to be a victim again. SMACK! My hand cracked across Brenda’s face, the sound echoing through the stunned silence. “Who is this lunatic?” I yelled. “Somebody call an ambulance, I think she’s having a breakdown!” The slap caught her completely off guard. She stumbled back, losing her grip on the bag. It burst open, and a wave of rancid, foul-smelling kitchen slop splattered all over her red dress. The stench was overwhelming. Her face contorted in a mask of shock and rage. A piercing scream tore from her throat as she lunged at me. “You hit me? I’m going to tear you apart!” I joined the other onlookers, pinching my nose and backing away in disgust. That one slap had been for all the pain, all the humiliation, all the despair she had caused me in my past life. “Y-you just wait! I’ll destroy you!” Brenda gagged, finally retreating. She shot me one last venomous glare and stormed out, leaving a trail of filth and fury in her wake. The next day, she showed up at the restaurant bright and early. She didn’t yell, she didn’t break anything. She just ordered the cheapest item on the menu—a lemonade—sat at a table by the door, and started a live stream. With tears streaming down her face, she told her phone camera all about me, the “homewrecker,” and how I had destroyed her perfect, happy family. Our business plummeted. A few days later, the manager pulled me aside outside the restaurant. She sighed, her face etched with worry. “Annie, you’re a good kid. I believe you,” she said. “But look at the situation. The store is going under.” I said nothing, just watched her. She hesitated, then finally spit it out. “Why don’t you… take a few days off? Go home and rest.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385363”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Leo Vance married me to piss off my sister. After the wedding, he found a million little ways to get under my skin. No fork at dinner, no blanket at bedtime, and I had to report my every move like I was on parole. I was miserable, but too much of a coward to fight back. Until one night, I accidentally overheard him on the phone with my sister, Chloe. He was practically screaming. “Your sister is a block of wood! A beautiful, infuriating block of wood!” “Come on! A block of wood should’ve caught fire by now! I’ve tried everything!” “Fine! The Westgate development deal is yours! Just figure out a way to get your sister to jump my bones tonight!” I just stood there. “Huh?” It had all started when my sister, Chloe, bailed on her own wedding. It was spectacular. A full-blown, Hollywood-style runaway bride situation, leaving the groom standing alone at the altar. In front of the grand ballroom, guests whispered behind their champagne flutes. Backstage, my father was turning purple, jabbing a finger at Chloe. “Are you getting married or not?” “Not!” Chloe’s voice echoed, sharp and final. My dad clutched his chest, looking like he was about to have a heart attack. He fumbled for his nitroglycerin pills, stuffing them into his mouth. I peeked through the curtain. Leo Vance stood on the stage, a vision in a custom white tux with a subtle damask pattern. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, facing a hundred tables of the East Coast’s elite with a look of pure, unadulterated boredom. If this wedding didn’t happen, the Vance family’s reputation would be toast. The ceremony was supposed to have started an hour ago. Chloe, completely unfazed, was already taking off her makeup. Everyone was talking at once, trying to reason with her. “This merger has been in the works for months! Why back out now?” “You can’t just call it off! What about our family’s company, the Jennings Corporation?” “Leo Vance holds a grudge. He’ll ruin you!” “Think about the family, Chloe! Not just yourself!” “Chloe Jennings, aren’t you scared?” My sister just scoffed and rolled her eyes, continuing to wipe off her foundation with a vengeance. I was in awe. That was my sister, alright. If it were me, the family coward, I’d have just nodded meekly and walked down the aisle. Speaking of which… was that makeup remover irritating her skin? Her face was getting all red. I should probably run to CVS and get her something better. The moment I stood up, my dad’s desperate gaze landed on me. “If you won’t marry him, are we supposed to send your space-cadet sister out there?” Chloe stopped cold. She stood up, her perfectly sculpted brows knitted together, hands on her hips. “Who are you calling a space cadet? My sister is more than good enough for him! Claire!” I flinched. “Here!” “Marry him!” “What? Me?” The room went silent for a second. It was like they all suddenly realized that my sister and I were identical twins, with faces about 80% the same. It was their life raft. They practically ripped the Vera Wang gown off Chloe and stuffed me into it. A frantic five-minute makeup job later, I was pushed onto the stage. 2 My brain basically blue-screened. I stood at the entrance, clinging to my dad’s arm, the officiant’s words turning into meaningless noise. Then I saw Leo. His eyes lit up, and the first genuine smile of the evening spread across his face. A collective sigh of relief went through the crowd. The officiant, bless his heart, stumbled through the rest of the ceremony. Leo took my hand from my father’s, his lips curling into a smirk. During the ring exchange, he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand with an almost religious fervor. I snatched my hand back like I’d been burned. This was so, so weird. I was a walking, talking mannequin for the rest of the wedding. Finally, I was bundled into Leo’s car, headed for our new home. I sat there, stiff as a board, my sister’s promise echoing in my head: Don’t worry, Claire-bear, I’ll come rescue you. Would she, though? I wondered, feeling small, pathetic, and utterly helpless. The man beside me shifted, moving a little closer. I jumped, sitting ramrod straight. Leo chuckled. “You seem terrified of me.” Well, duh. The guy had a reputation. Ruthless, unpredictable, mercurial… that’s why our family sent Chloe, the firecracker, to handle the “merger.” Chloe and I were twins, born ten minutes apart, but it felt like she’d absorbed all the guts and brains in the womb, leaving me with… well, me. She was always the one leading the charge while I cheered from the sidelines. Chloe wouldn’t be afraid of Leo Vance. “Hmm?” The low hum from his throat pulled me back. He was leaning in, his face unnervingly close. I could smell the faint, expensive scent of his cologne. I snapped back to reality, my eyes meeting his. I almost scrambled onto the roof of the car. “Uh, Mr. Vance… you’re a little too close.” 3 Leo’s brow furrowed. He swiped his tongue across the inside of his cheek, the smile vanishing from his eyes. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Vance. You’re the one I’m married to now.” I blinked. There was an edge to his voice, something I couldn’t quite place. The rumor was that Leo had seen a picture of my sister and fallen for her instantly, agreeing to the business marriage on the spot. But somehow, in the month leading up to the wedding, they’d never actually met in person. Today was the first time. Obviously, Chloe wasn’t impressed, hence the great escape. She’d caused him a massive public humiliation. He probably couldn’t stand hearing anything related to her right now. Remembering his reputation, I figured it was best for Chloe’s sake if I just played along. I lowered my eyes. “Okay.” “So what should you call me?” he coaxed, his deep brown eyes fixed on me. “Huh?” I looked up, meeting his teasing, almost intimate gaze, and my mind went totally blank. What else was I supposed to call him? I blinked a couple of times, then ventured, “Leo?” He stared at me for a solid two seconds before letting out a short, humorless laugh. He leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes and lacing his fingers over his lap. Since he didn’t say anything, I took it as a yes. The drive to our new penthouse was long. I stared out the window, but I couldn’t ignore the heat radiating from the man beside me. I decided to just endure it, pressing myself so hard against the car door I was practically fused to it. I don’t know when Leo opened his eyes or how long he’d been watching me. All I knew was that I got this prickly feeling on the back of my neck, and when I turned to find the source, his eyes were locked on mine. “Claire Jennings,” he said. “Yes, Mr. Vance.” He took a deep, slow breath, like he was steeling himself for something. “Don’t call me Mr. Vance. We’re married. Do you know how to say the word ‘husband’?” “Yes.” “Say it for me.” “Excuse me?” 4 Why did he want me to say that? I frowned, instinctively reaching for my phone. “Hang on, let me ask my sister.” Leo’s face went blank. I ignored him, my thumbs flying across the screen. Me: Chloe, he wants me to call him ‘husband’. She replied instantly. Chloe: In his dreams! Don’t you dare, Claire-bear. Don’t let him push you around. If he tries anything weird, you call me! Me: Okay! With my sister’s blessing, I felt a surge of confidence. I put my phone away and met Leo’s expectant, encouraging gaze. I opened my mouth, hesitated, and then slowly said, “Mr. Vance.” The light in Leo’s eyes died. He laughed again, but this time it sounded like it was being squeezed out from between his teeth. “Your sister told you not to?” I just hummed noncommittally and turned to look out the window. I saw him clench his fists in his lap out of the corner of my eye. The temperature in the car dropped about twenty degrees. After a moment, he took a deep, angry sigh and pulled out his own phone. Two minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was Chloe. Chloe: You know, sweetie, a marriage is your own thing. I can’t really interfere. You do you, boo. Smooches! “What?” I looked from my phone to Leo, then back again. Something was fishy. Given his reputation, a lightbulb went off in my head. You bastard. You threatened my sister! Leo leaned in again, a triumphant glint in his eye. “Ready to try again?” No way. I had to protect my sister. My newfound courage rose up… and then immediately fizzled out. It wasn’t that I was scared of him; I was scared of what he’d do to Chloe. I looked down. “Can we maybe… not do that right now?” I mumbled. Leo actually laughed, a real laugh this time. He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely defeated. “Fine. But no more ‘Mr. Vance.’ Call me by my name if you have to.” I nodded. “Okay, Mr. Vance.” Oops. I slapped a hand over my mouth, glancing at him guiltily. Our eyes met. He looked completely and utterly hopeless. 5 We finally arrived at the penthouse. I remembered scouting this place out. Chloe was too busy with the company, and our dear “groom-to-be” said he’d be happy with whatever his bride wanted. So they sent me, the unemployed freeloader, to pick out the marital home. And now, here I was, living in it. I sighed quietly, got myself ready, and burrowed under the covers. Weddings are exhausting. I was out the second my head hit the pillow. Or so I thought. Just as I was drifting off, the mattress dipped beside me. The comforter was yanked away, and a blast of cold air hit my skin. I blinked my eyes open just in time to see Leo sliding into bed next to me. My brain stalled. Our bodies were inches apart under the sheets. I could feel the heat rolling off him. I didn’t dare move. I didn’t even dare breathe too loudly. I just lay there, hands folded primly on my stomach, staring at the ceiling. My lips moved. “Mr. Vance.” No reply. Then I remembered his rule from the car. I struggled internally for a few seconds until my leg went numb. Swallowing hard, I tried again. “L-Leo.” “What?” Thank god. He was talking to me. I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Could you maybe sleep in another room?” “No.” His refusal was instant and absolute. I picked at a loose thread on the sheet. “Why not?” “We’re married. Married people sleep in the same room.” He had a point. I couldn’t think of a comeback. I swallowed my pride. “Okay… then could you get another comforter? I can’t sleep sharing one.” Only Chloe gets to share my bed. Not her angry husband! A soft chuckle came from beside me. I whipped my head around to see Leo looking at me, his eyes full of amusement. He was propped up on his elbow, looking down at me. “Say ‘husband’ and I’ll go get it.” “Seriously?” We just went over this! Are you trying to bully me, Leo Vance? I must have looked as indignant as I felt, because his smile widened. He sat up, ruffled my hair, and then swung his legs out of bed. He went to the linen closet and came back with another comforter. He even pulled our pillows further apart, creating a respectable no-man’s-land down the middle of the king-sized bed. A veritable River Styx. “Go to sleep,” he said softly, turning his back to me. The room fell silent again. I smoothed down the hair his big, warm hand had just touched. Was this one of the “weird things” Chloe was talking about? … continued in the next response.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385379”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My wife and I have a wild side. One night, on a whim, we decided to do some role-playing at an exclusive nightclub. She was kneeling between my legs, her voluptuous figure in a French maid outfit brushing against my thighs. “Oh, sir,” she cooed, “won’t you take pity on me? Take me home?” Just then, a man pointed a finger at my wife and shouted, “I thought I had my pick of the models here. I want that one!” I quickly tried to explain. “Sir, you misunderstand, this is my—” He cut me off. “What do you mean, yours? She’s with me tonight. Get lost.” A staff member pulled me aside, whispering urgently, “That’s Preston Vance, the Vance family heir. I hear Isabelle Hawthorne, the Hawthorne heiress, is chasing after him. We can’t afford to cross him. Just let him have her. We’ll set you up with someone even better.” I looked at Isabelle. Her eyes were welling up with tears, and her lip trembled. “I didn’t do anything, darling,” she whispered, perfectly in character. … Isabelle and I had just wrapped up a major project at our company and were looking forward to a long, relaxing holiday weekend. Who could have predicted this? The man, Preston, was now berating a server. “Didn’t I tell you to bring any new talent to me first?” Then his gaze, slick with avarice, landed back on Isabelle. “Now this one… what a pretty face. And that body…” Isabelle quickly draped my suit jacket over her maid outfit, looking at me with wide, pleading eyes. “Sir, I don’t want to go with him. Please, you have to protect me.” She even ducked behind me for effect. I had to suppress a groan. She was really getting into this. We’ve always shared a taste for the theatrical—doctor and patient, boss and secretary, cop and criminal… no scenario was off-limits. I just never thought we’d be so convincing that someone would actually mistake us. Isabelle and I exchanged a look. I cleared my throat. “My good sir,” I began, “I believe I was here first. There’s a certain etiquette to these things. Besides, the young lady clearly isn’t interested in your company. Perhaps after I’ve had my fun…” Isabelle pinched me hard from behind. Preston tossed his head back, his voice dripping with contempt. “Who the hell do you think you are? In Miami, if a coin drops from the sky, it lands in a Vance’s pocket. Got it? I don’t care. She’s serving me tonight.” With that, he pulled out a thick wad of cash and slapped it across Isabelle’s face. A red welt immediately appeared on her cheek. “Come with me, sweetheart,” he sneered. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll triple it.” Isabelle’s expression darkened for a split second. No one, besides me, had ever dared to be so insolent to her. Her knuckles turned white—a telltale sign she was about to lose her temper. I was afraid she’d blow our cover. We’d agreed to keep a low profile on this trip, bringing nothing that would identify us, just wanting to enjoy some time alone. If the paparazzi caught Isabelle Hawthorne, the sole heiress to the Hawthorne global empire, in a sexy maid outfit at a nightclub, her father’s blood pressure would skyrocket. I quickly stepped in front of her, stroking her hair soothingly. Before I could speak, Preston shoved me hard. “Get lost, you little punk, before I make you disappear from Miami by morning. Bodyguards! Throw him out. I’m having this woman tonight.” The onlookers seemed unfazed, whispering among themselves. “Damn, that guy must be from out of town. Trying to steal a girl from Preston Vance? He’s got a death wish.” “He’s finished. The Vances run this city. He won’t see the sunrise tomorrow.” My mind raced. The Vances of Miami? I was aware of them, but I didn’t recall their influence being quite so absolute. “I’d like to see you try,” I said, my voice low and cold, stopping the advancing bodyguards in their tracks. It was a tone accustomed to command, and for a moment, the large men hesitated. Preston just laughed, more arrogant than ever. He reached out and tipped Isabelle’s chin up. “Fine, I won’t touch him,” he purred. “You spend the night with me. You please me, and I’ll let him go. Otherwise… well, you know what happens.” Isabelle’s face was glacial. She jerked her head away, but that only seemed to fuel Preston’s desire to conquer her. He blew a ring of smoke in her face. “A spicy one, are we? Does your family know you do this for a living?” My lips twitched. If they knew, all hell would break loose. Playing the hero, I stepped between them again. “Who are you? She’s the top girl here. You’ll have to get in line.” Preston looked outraged, as if I’d uttered the highest form of blasphemy. He reached to pull Isabelle toward him. She let out a theatrical gasp, as if truly terrified. “Sir, save me!” We were both deep in the performance now. I swept my arm out, pulling Isabelle into my embrace. “I’d like to see anyone try and take her from me tonight.” Preston was practically hyperventilating with rage. He snapped at the club manager. “Find out when she was hired. How can she be so insubordinate?” The manager returned a moment later, looking flustered. “Sir… it appears she doesn’t work for us.” Preston smirked. “Well, she does now.” He grew more animated, barking orders at the manager. “Since she’s not on your payroll, sign her up. Take her for training. Teach her properly how to please her master.” The manager wiped sweat from his brow, bowing obsequiously as he produced a file. I glanced at it. It was a detailed profile of Preston Vance’s… particular sexual preferences and favorite positions. The content was so graphic I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. “Mr. Vance,” I said dryly, “you certainly know yourself well.” Isabelle, looking disgusted, snatched the paper, tore it to shreds, and threw it in the trash. “Mr. Vance, I have no interest in knowing any of that.” She muttered a curse in French, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. I glanced at my watch. We were scheduled to attend a financial summit later tonight. There was no more time to play games with this fool. Opting for the path of least resistance, I decided to tell him the truth. “Mr. Vance, we’re husband and wife. We’re just tourists here, and what you saw was just a bit of private fun between us.” Preston scoffed. “Spare me the bullshit. I don’t care what your relationship is. I saw her, I want her. There’s never been a woman I couldn’t have.” His threats were so empty they were almost laughable. “Mr. Vance, this is kidnapping. There are security cameras everywhere. Are you not afraid of us calling the police?” At the mention of the police, he became even more brazen. “Go ahead. Even if they show up, you think they’ll take your side?” He gestured to his bodyguards, who moved to pull us apart. He had the manager shove another document at my wife, then grabbed her by the hair, forcing her head down to look at it. “Study up,” he hissed. “We’ll be putting this to practice tonight. Ditch this pathetic loser and stick with me. I’ll make sure you’re satisfied every single night. But you know the rules—no drama in front of the Hawthorne heiress. You know how she’s dying to be with me.” A sudden, intense chill emanated from Isabelle. She slowly lifted her head, her eyes like chips of ice. “Satisfied every night? That sounds interesting. I just wonder, Mr. Vance, if you’ll live long enough to enjoy it.” Preston was taken aback, his hand instinctively loosening its grip on her hair. He even took a half-step back. I poked his arm, my face a mask of curiosity. “Mr. Vance, are you referring to Isabelle Hawthorne, from the Hawthorne family?” He snapped back to his senses, his confidence returning. He puffed out his chest. “Of course. Look, this is the token of her love she gave me.” I followed his gaze. A sapphire ring the size of a robin’s egg glittered on a chain around his neck, looking almost identical to the one on my own finger. He noticed my ring and sneered. “Your fake is pretty convincing. But I hate it when people copy my things.” A vicious look entered his eyes. He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. Isabelle struggled against the bodyguards holding her, but they were professionals. Two more guards pinned me as Preston crudely ripped the ring from my finger and tossed it into a nearby drain grate. I slowly raised my hand, rubbing the red marks on my wrist, a cold smile playing on my lips. That ring was custom-designed by Isabelle herself. She’d gone through more than a dozen sketches to finalize the design. The flawless blue sapphire at its center was one she’d acquired at auction for an eight-figure sum. I never took it off unless absolutely necessary. But some people just love to stare down the barrel of a gun. I sighed. “Mr. Vance, you couldn’t afford to replace that ring if you sold your entire family’s company.” Preston’s smile widened. “It’s just a knockoff, you peasant. Tell her to stay, and I’ll toss you a couple hundred for your trouble.” Isabelle stopped struggling, her eyes fixed in disbelief on the drain. That ring was a symbol of our love. She’d get upset if I even took it off to shower. Preston chuckled, picking up a glass of red wine and pouring it over Isabelle’s head. “Imagine, someone imitating the ring my Isabelle gave me. That’s the limit of your pathetic world.” “Stop looking for it. Be my woman, and I’ll buy you a hundred real gemstone rings.” Isabelle looked up, her eyes blazing with a crimson fury. She slapped the glass from his hand. I had never seen her lose her composure like this. “I don’t know who this ‘Hawthorne heiress’ you speak of is,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “But I am the sole heir to the Hawthorne family.” Preston just laughed, his eyes roaming over her wine-soaked dress. “Alright, sweetheart, anyone can pretend to be a Hawthorne. You must hate me, right? Why don’t you take it out on me in bed?” Then, another thought seemed to strike him. He ordered his men to tie her up. “I only want children born from Hawthorne blood. To prevent any accidents, you’re going to have a little procedure done right now. A sterilization.” Isabelle’s voice was low, steady, and colder than death. “Mr. Vance, I’ll warn you one last time. I am Isabelle Hawthorne. You should let us go. Now.” Preston waved a dismissive hand. “Sure, sure, whatever you say.” He grabbed her hand and forced her thumbprint onto a binding contract. “There. Black and white. You’re mine now. Try to break it, and you’ll be paying a hefty penalty.” Isabelle radiated pure frustration. “Mr. Vance, the Vance Corporation has been struggling to innovate for years, hasn’t it? Does your father really let you run wild like this?” Preston’s eyebrow shot up. “So what? The Hawthorne heiress and I are practically engaged. My father will definitely secure her investment at the summit tonight.” Isabelle laughed, a chilling sound. “I imagine the summit is in complete chaos right about now.” I glanced nervously at the clock on the wall. “What do we do now?” I asked her in French. She shook her head, her voice devoid of emotion. “The gala can’t start without us. The guests will be arriving soon. I’ve already given instructions. Someone will be here for us shortly.” I checked my watch. We really had to go. It wouldn’t do to keep our guests waiting. We truly had no more time to waste on this madman. Preston’s shrill voice interrupted us as he yanked Isabelle’s head around. “What gibberish are you two speaking?” I mustered my remaining patience. “Mr. Vance, we’re in a hurry. There are a lot of people waiting for our investment at the Miami Gala. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.” He looked at me like I was insane. “Are you crazy? The Hawthorne family is hosting the financial summit tonight. You can lie to me, but don’t start believing your own delusions. You really think you’re Isabelle Hawthorne?” They bound Isabelle and put tape over her mouth, preparing to drag her to a back-alley clinic for the procedure. I pulled out my phone, quickly snapped a photo, and sent it to a group chat. “Anyone want to claim their lost puppy? The gala is delayed. Isabelle is currently… indisposed.” Before I could get a reply, Preston slapped the phone from my hand. It shattered on the floor. “You little piece of trash,” he sneered. “Calling for backup? Not even God can help you now. Don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of her from now on.” He started to lead Isabelle away, pausing to pat his hands together with satisfaction and shoot me a triumphant look. “Once she’s been… cleaned up, she’ll be all mine.” My expression didn’t change. “Preston Vance,” I repeated, “she is the sole heir of the Hawthorne family. If a single hair on her head is harmed, the Hawthornes will not let you go.” He laughed contemptuously. “Still talking tough. You’ve got a death wish, impersonating the Hawthorne heiress.” I looked him straight in the eye. “You should let us go now. Our people are about to arrive.” Preston roared with laughter. “You just can’t stop pretending, can you? Were you two born in a dumpster? Because you’re full of trash.” At that exact moment, a series of crisp, coordinated footsteps echoed from the entrance. Everyone turned to look. A phalanx of men in black custom-tailored suits appeared as if from nowhere, swiftly securing every exit in the corridor. Someone in the crowd gasped. “Oh my god, isn’t that the Hawthorne security detail? I’ve only ever seen them in the news.” “That’s them! Look at the crest on their jackets. That’s the elite team that only serves the core members of the Hawthorne family.” Preston was startled at first, but then his face broke into a massive, triumphant grin. He waved at the imposing woman being escorted at the center of the detail. “Darling, I’m over here! Quick, get rid of this troublesome man for me.” The woman’s face froze in confusion. “Preston? What are you doing here?” Then, another cry went up from the crowd. Outside, a fleet of hundreds of luxury cars was pulling up, a river of polished chrome and tinted windows. A helicopter was descending onto the rooftop. It was every single VIP guest scheduled to attend the gala. After all, everyone wanted to see who was audacious enough to delay the Hawthornes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385395”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day the Blackwood empire crumbled, the staff scattered like roaches in the light. The maids, the gardeners, the chef—all gone. They left nothing behind but dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun and Ethan Blackwood, the heir, silent in his bed. A living ghost in a house suddenly dead. And me? I was Sadie, his caregiver, and I was just about to join the exodus. My last sweater was folded in my worn-out suitcase. My hand was on the zipper. That’s when the words appeared, shimmering in the air right in front of my face. A cascade of ghostly text messages, like a live-stream chat for my life. [THE MOST CRITICAL PLOT POINT IS HERE! The Blackwoods faking bankruptcy is a genius move. Best way to smoke out the traitor in the company!] [My heart breaks for the male lead. Pretending to be in a coma to fly under the radar is tough enough, but now he’s completely alone. ] [Where the hell is his fiancée? Isn’t she supposed to show up now? I’m here for the romance between the main characters!] My brain screeched to a halt. Then, a different kind of plan clicked into place. I zipped my suitcase, spun around, and sprinted back up the grand staircase. I found Ethan lying still, as always, and eased his limp body into his wheelchair. With my suitcase handle in one hand and the wheelchair in the other, I made my escape. As I pushed him down the long, gravel driveway, I made sure to produce a few fat, theatrical tears. “Don’t you worry, Ethan,” I wailed, my voice cracking just so. “Even if the Blackwood name is mud, even if we’re broke and have nothing, I will never, ever leave you!” 1 My name is Sadie, and my mouth has always run a mile a minute. It’s a habit I picked up at the group home where I grew up. When I was eight, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood came to the home looking for a “companion” for their son. As the director pushed me forward, she hissed in my ear, “Try to keep it down, Sadie. Don’t scare them off.” The moment I saw Ethan Blackwood, I forgot every word she said. It was my first time inside a real mansion. Ethan was lying in a small bed in a room filled with more toys than I had ever seen. He wore pajamas patterned with little white bears, his skin as pale as porcelain, every strand of his soft brown hair perfectly in place. Mrs. Blackwood knelt down and smoothed my messy ponytail. “Sadie, our Ethan is sick,” she said, her voice soft and sad. “Would you be willing to come here and just… talk to him? For an hour every day? We’ll enroll you in a good school. We’ll buy you new dresses.” I stared at Ethan’s still, beautiful face and nodded so hard my neck hurt. I moved in that same day. That night, they set up a little cot for me in the corner of Ethan’s room. I crept over to his bed, my small hand hovering before gently touching the back of his. “Hi, Ethan,” I whispered. “I’m Sadie. I’m going to be your friend now. The director says I talk too much, but I don’t think so. Oh, and guess what? The stray cat at the home, Daisy, had her kittens today. There are three of them, and one is orange, like a little puffball. I’ll bring you a picture next time, okay?” He didn’t move, but I wasn’t discouraged. Every night became our ritual. I’d lean against his bed and tell him everything: how I got a C on my math quiz because I swore 3+5 was 10; how my drawing of a sunflower got taped to the classroom door for everyone to see; how the boy from the next class over tried to pick a rose for a girl and got stung by a bee. Sometimes, I’d take the old, worn-out barrette my mom left me and gently clip it behind his ear, just to see how it looked in his hair. I’d stare at his perfect features and sigh. “If you were awake,” I’d mumble, “you’d be the most popular boy in school. A hundred times more handsome than Mark from social studies.” One time, a wild idea took hold of me. I pulled out the frilly pink dress Mrs. Blackwood had bought me, convinced it would look hilarious on him. I’d just undone the top two buttons of his pajama shirt when Mrs. Blackwood rushed in, her face a mask of gentle panic. She put a hand over mine. “Oh, Sadie, honey! We don’t put dresses on boys!” I blinked up at her. “Why not?” She fumbled for words. “Because… because dresses are for girls. Ethan wouldn’t be happy about it.” I sort of understood. I never tried the dress again, but I would often tuck my favorite worn teddy bear into the crook of his arm. “Here,” I’d whisper. “He can keep you company when I’m not here. You can talk to him, okay?” When I started middle school, I was finally tall enough to pivot him from the bed to his wheelchair by myself. Every sunny weekend, I’d push him out to the rose garden. I figured if sunlight helped flowers grow, it had to be good for Ethan, too. I’d spread a blanket on the grass at his feet, my textbooks scattered around me, and stumble through my French vocabulary. “Pomme… apple,” I’d recite. “Banane… banana… Ethan, do you think I have any chance of passing my next exam?” The wind would carry my voice away. Sometimes, I’d see his finger twitch and dismiss it as a trick of the light. But once, I fell asleep while trying to memorize a history chapter, my head pillowed on my textbook. When I woke up, his hand was resting on my hair, the tips of his fingers radiating a faint, surprising warmth. My heart hammered against my ribs. I held my breath, afraid to move, until Mrs. Blackwood called us in for dinner. His hand slowly slid away. When I left for college, I moved into a dorm near campus, and my time with Ethan dwindled. But I still came back to the Blackwood mansion once a week. I’d bring him those warm, cinnamon-dusted nuts they sell from a cart near campus and sit by his bed, telling him all about the drama in my creative writing club. I always believed he would wake up. That one day, he’d open his eyes, and we’d be able to talk for real. We could go get those cinnamon nuts together. Today’s visit was just a whim, a sudden urge to see him. I hadn’t expected to walk into the final act of the Blackwoods’ financial ruin. If it weren’t for those impossible, shimmering words that appeared in the air, I would have been long gone with the rest of them. But now… being the caregiver to the Blackwood heir was one thing. Being his savior? That was a promotion I was willing to work for. The wheels of his chair crunched over the gravel, leaving two thin tracks behind us. And I knew, in that moment, that the real story of Ethan Blackwood and me was just beginning. 2 As I pushed Ethan toward my tiny rental apartment, the ghostly comments kept scrolling past my eyes. [No way. Is this side character seriously kidnapping the male lead? Where’s the heroine? She’s supposed to be the one to save him!] [OMG the plot is going off the rails! The fiancée was supposed to rescue him, not some random caregiver!] [Anyone notice his hands? The fingers on his lap… I think they just moved! Did this girl’s terrible acting make him cringe? LOL] [Hey, be nice! I think he’s secretly relieved. At least this caregiver is more reliable than his runaway fiancée. She didn’t abandon him!] I froze on that last comment and glanced down at Ethan’s hands. His fingers had indeed curled slightly, a movement as subtle as a feather stirring in a breeze. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I would have missed it completely. So the comments were right. He was faking it. My apartment was on the second floor of a walk-up. There was no elevator. I wrapped an arm around Ethan’s waist, letting him lean his weight against me as we shuffled up the narrow staircase, one grueling step at a time. He still smelled of the Blackwood mansion—cedar and old money—a scent that mingled strangely with the smell of fried onions from the hot dog cart downstairs. It was a surreal combination. I gritted my teeth and whispered a threat into his ear, giving his side a little pinch. “Ethan Blackwood, if you’re playing dead on me and not pulling your own weight, I swear I’ll leave you in this hallway for the mosquitos to feast on.” This time, his reaction was undeniable. Though his eyes stayed shut, the hand gripping my arm tightened, taking a fraction of the burden off me. The comments exploded. [He responded! He actually responded! I ship it! This is way cuter than anything with the actual heroine!] [Can we not break up the OTP, please? I’m holding out for the main couple!] [This girl has guts, pinching the male lead like that. Isn’t she afraid he’ll get revenge later?] Revenge? I wasn’t scared. I knew his secret now. If he tried anything, I’d expose his little charade to the world. Of course, I was just bluffing. If I did that, I’d lose my leverage as his “savior.” When we finally stumbled into my apartment, I collapsed onto the bench by the door, gasping for breath. My place was barely five hundred square feet, a simple one-bedroom with a living room window that faced south. The sun warmed the cheap laminate flooring. Ethan sat in his wheelchair, eyes still closed, but I knew he was taking in the cramped space. He was used to a sprawling mansion with manicured gardens. This shoebox must have been a shock. The next morning, a harsh reality hit me: I was unemployed. The Blackwood “bankruptcy” meant my caregiver job was gone. To cover rent and food for two, I needed to find work, fast. I landed a part-time gig at the convenience store down the street. Eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, fifteen bucks an hour. It would barely cover our expenses. My life became a frantic loop. I’d wake up at six to make breakfast for Ethan and give him a sponge bath. Dash off to work at eight. Clock out at four, grab groceries, cook dinner, feed him, and change his clothes. At night, I’d massage his arms and legs, terrified his muscles would atrophy from the act. One night, while I was rubbing his ankles, exhaustion hit me like a tidal wave. I slumped forward and fell asleep with my head resting on his legs. In the hazy space between dreams and waking, I felt a hand gently stroke my hair. The touch was familiar, warm. A moment later, a jacket was draped over my shoulders. My eyes flew open. Ethan was exactly as I’d left him, eyes closed, seemingly oblivious. But the jacket on my back was definitely the one he’d been wearing that morning. The comments flared to life again. [He covered her with his jacket! He totally feels bad for her!] [Awww, he’s so gentle! I wish she had woken up a second sooner!] [Can the fiancée please show up already? This plot is moving so slowly.] Half a month crept by with no news from the Blackwoods. Online gossip about their bankruptcy intensified, with tabloids publishing photos of Mr. Blackwood meeting with shady-looking men in coffee shops, speculating he was “liquidating assets.” I watched my bank balance dwindle and felt a cold knot of panic tighten in my stomach. Were the comments real? Was this truly a ruse? What if I was the one being played? What if the Blackwoods were actually ruined, and Ethan really was in a coma? How could a recent college grad like me, buried in student loans, afford to care for him? We’d be on the street in a month. Just as despair began to set in, the comments surged. [They got the mole! It was Vice President Miller! He always seemed so loyal, but he was feeding info to a rival company the whole time!] [YES! The mole is caught! The Blackwoods are about to make their comeback, and the side character’s hard times are almost over!] [Am I the only one still waiting for the fiancée?] [Who cares about the fiancée? The ride-or-die loyalty between these two is way more compelling!] A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it almost buckled my knees. My days of counting pennies were numbered. 3 I was stocking shelves at the convenience store when the comments exploded in front of my eyes, blazing in a bright, warning red that made my heart seize. [RED ALERT! Miller, the mole, knows he was set up! He’s hired thugs to kidnap the male lead to use as leverage against Mr. Blackwood!] [T-MINUS 10 MINUTES! Their unmarked black van is already at the entrance to her apartment complex! Side character, get back there NOW!] [This is bad. She’s at work! The male lead is still in his “coma” persona; he can’t fight back!] I dropped the box of cereal and scrambled for my phone, my voice trembling as I burst into my manager’s office. “Mark! I have a family emergency, can I please take a half-day? I swear I’ll make up the hours!” Seeing the genuine panic in my eyes, he just nodded. I grabbed my jacket and bolted out the door. The store was only a few blocks from my apartment, a five-minute walk I now covered in under three, my lungs burning as if I were inhaling fire. Just as the comments said, a black van was parked under a flickering streetlight at the complex entrance. It was covered in a film of grime, the windows tinted so dark they looked like voids. Most alarmingly, it had no license plates. I didn’t dare stare. I ducked my head and ran for my building. The stairwell light was still broken, and I nearly tripped twice racing up the shadowy steps. My hands were shaking so violently it took me three tries to get the key into the lock. I threw the door open. The apartment was silent. Ethan was still in his wheelchair, his head tilted slightly, the picture of a sleeping invalid. The ten-minute warning from the comments was now down to two. I flew to the entryway closet, yanked open a drawer, and found the pepper spray Mrs. Blackwood had given me years ago. My fingers closed around the cool metal canister. Next, I ran to the balcony and grabbed the wooden baseball bat I kept for my half-hearted attempts at exercise. It was solid, heavy, and holding it settled a tiny bit of the frantic terror inside me. Just then, a loud, aggressive BANG-BANG-BANG echoed from the front door. A gruff voice yelled, “Open up! Property management, checking the meters!” My blood ran cold. The property managers here were sweet old ladies, not… this. It had to be them. “We just had our meter checked last month!” I shouted, trying to sound firm. “You don’t need to come in!” “Less talk, more opening!” the voice snarled back. “Open this damn door now, or we’re kicking it in!” I scrambled to push Ethan’s wheelchair toward the bedroom, desperate to hide him. But just as I reached the doorway, the front door splintered inward. The deadbolt flew across the room, and wood chips sprayed across the floor. Three men in black bomber jackets stormed in. The leader was broad-shouldered with a buzz cut and a nasty scar bisecting his eyebrow. In his hand, he held a gleaming switchblade. “Where’s Ethan Blackwood?” the man with the scar demanded, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on the bedroom behind me. “Hand him over!” I planted myself between them and Ethan, holding the baseball bat across my chest like a shield. “There’s no one here by that name. You have the wrong place!” “Wrong place?” Scarface sneered, taking two steps forward until the tip of his knife was inches from my throat. “I watched you wheel him in here myself. Now be a good girl and hand him over, or things are going to get messy.” His two goons fanned out, cornering me. I tightened my grip on the bat and took a half-step back, shielding Ethan more completely. Suddenly, the man lunged, grabbing my wrist in a grip so tight I felt the bones grind together. With his other hand, he slashed the switchblade toward my arm. I squeezed my eyes shut, a strangled yelp caught in my throat. I braced for the sharp, searing pain. But it never came. I opened my eyes to see Ethan Blackwood standing in front of me. His hand was clamped around the thug’s wrist, stopping the blade a mere inch from my skin. And his other arm was wrapped firmly around me, pulling me safely behind him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385411”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’m the spoiled, delicate side character in a post-apocalyptic novel. To put the hero in his place, I deliberately ruined the food in my hand. “Bad dog,” I sneered. “Lick it clean for your princess.” The hero, his entire body tense with restraint, took my sticky, cream-covered fingers into his hand. [Affection Points +10] I froze. Excuse me? The System in my head shrieked: “You idiot! He LIKED that!” Later, that same hero—a wolf in sheep’s clothing—would have me locked in a gilded cage, punishing me with the kind of passion born from obsession. He’d hold my ankle in his hand, a feral grin on his face. “Harder, Princess. Beg for it.” 1 It’s day three of the end of the world. The stale bread in my mouth tasted like cardboard and despair. I couldn’t swallow another bite. The hero will be back with something better soon, the System soothed in my mind. And get ready. You have a scene coming up. You need to slap him. That’s right. My next line, my next big move, was to slap the male lead. I’d been dropped into a book. One of those gritty, male-led apocalypse fantasies. And I was cast as Scarlett Ashford, the hero’s beautiful, cruel fiancée. The girl who despised him for his low-class origins, who treated him like a dog, and who, in the original story, gets him to break off their engagement before shoving him into a horde of zombies to clear her own path to a more powerful protector. Of course, that’s the moment the hero, Nash Donovan, awakens his ridiculously overpowered Devour ability. It’s the start of his meteoric rise, his journey of revenge and conquest until he becomes a king in the new world order. According to the script, we were still in the early chapters—Nash’s public humiliation phase. He’d just risked his life on a supply run, and the original Scarlett, furious that he hadn’t found her favorite ice cream, gives him a resounding slap. Forced to endure it because of some old debt his family owed mine, Nash was supposed to grit his teeth and deliver that classic, chilling line: “The tables will turn, Scarlett. If it weren’t for what your family did for me, you think you’d still be breathing?” Only now, the one who had to do the slapping was me. The scavenging team trudged back into the villa. As I looked up, my eyes met Nash’s. He was tall, all sharp lines and coiled energy. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. Even covered in the grime of the outside world, he stood out from the exhausted group like a panther among house cats. He looked at me with an unnerving chill in his eyes, his thin lips adding a severe edge to his face. Something felt… off. The book described him at this stage as just a regular college kid, not someone who carried this kind of intimidating presence. Now! This is your cue! the System urged. Go humiliate him! Viciously! I screwed up my courage and stepped in front of him, blocking his path to his room. I did my best to glare, channeling all my energy into my almond-shaped eyes, and chirped in my most demanding tone. “Nash. Where’s my gelato?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. He gave me a lazy, dismissive glance. “Didn’t find any.” My right hand twitched, ready for its big moment. But then, he tossed a plastic bag into my arms. “They had these, though. Frozen mochi.” I was completely thrown. This wasn’t in the script. The System frantically flipped through its virtual pages. You were too slow! In the original text, he did bring back the mochi, but the original Scarlett slapped him before he even had a chance to mention it! Improvise! Humiliate him and get those Degradation Points! My mind was a blank slate. To make matters worse, Nash snatched the mochi back and tore open the package. “Whatever,” he scoffed. “Forget it if you can’t handle commoner’s food.” “Who—who said you could insult me with this peasant trash!” The line came to me in a flash of inspiration. I lunged forward, slapped him hard across the face, and crushed the mochi in my fist. The sticky rice and cold cream exploded between my fingers. I lifted my chin, putting every ounce of arrogance I could muster into my voice. “Bad dog,” I spat. “Lick it clean for your princess.” It should have been a perfect performance. Except for one thing. I’m not built for violence. The slap hurt my hand. Nash’s jaw was like a block of granite. My nose scrunched and my eyes immediately welled up, tiny tears of pain clinging to my lashes. From his perspective, it probably looked less like a threat and more like a pout. The living room fell silent. One of Nash’s friends, Liam, finally broke the quiet. “Seriously, Miss Ashford? It’s the apocalypse, not a trip to the mall. Nash almost got his arm torn off by a zombie hiding behind a door trying to find that damn ice cream for you. Even a guy who worships the ground you walk on deserves some dignity…” “I’ll lick it.” Nash’s low voice cut him off. He knelt, taking my hand in his. He positioned himself between my legs, his knee brushing my inner thigh, every muscle in his body pulled taut. He looked for all the world like a man enduring the ultimate shame. But something still felt wrong. Determined to see the humiliation through, I held the pose, letting him hold my hand. Then I felt it. A warm, wet pressure on my fingertips. He wasn’t just licking. He was tasting, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles before he drew the tip of my finger into his mouth. A sharp, deliberate bite followed. Just as he was about to move to my palm, I snatched my hand back with a shudder. “You’re pathetic!” I squeaked, stomping on his foot for good measure. “You can’t even lick properly!” With that parting shot, I fled to my room. Ow, ow, ow! The little teeth marks on my finger throbbed, and no amount of scrubbing would make the red fade. I buried my face in my pillows and had a good, long cry. After a while, I wiped my tears away. “System,” I sniffled. “Did I complete the mission? He looked so humiliated, and he bit me to get back at me. That has to count, right?” The System was silent for a beat. Then, a line of text glowed on my mental screen: [Ding—Affection Points +10] “Huh?” I asked, confused. “What does that mean?” The System exploded. “You idiot!” it screamed. “You didn’t humiliate him. You turned him on!” 2 I was completely baffled. I couldn’t wrap my head around why getting slapped would make Nash happy. Our mission is to DEGRADE him, not to get him off! the System lectured sternly. Next time, you need to be more vicious. Grind him under your heel! My chance came sooner than I expected. At dinner, I stayed in my room, refusing to eat with the others. Soon enough, there was a knock on my door. It was Nash, holding a plate with a steak on it. His apology was delivered with zero sincerity. “Sorry I bit you earlier,” he said, his voice flat. “This was the most expensive frozen steak in the supermarket. For you, Princess.” This was another deviation. In the original story, he just brought her a cup of instant noodles. She’d responded by dumping it over his head, which led to him going to the villa’s pool to wash up, where he’d stumble upon a great fortune. But now… the rich, savory scent of grilled meat filled my room. My stomach rumbled, loud and insistent. Throwing away a perfectly good steak seemed like a criminal waste. My face must have shown my conflict. A soft chuckle escaped him. That did it. My temper flared. “What’s so funny?” I snapped. “You hurt me. You should be on your knees begging for forgiveness!” Nash’s eyes narrowed slightly. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t push it, Scarlett. This isn’t a game. Piss me off, and you wouldn’t survive a single day out here.” He was threatening me. As the hero, he was known for being vindictive. Unfortunately for him, I was the clueless, cruel fiancée. I wasn’t supposed to understand subtext. I tilted my head back, channeling the arrogance of a swan. I gave his knee a petulant kick. “Excuse me? I’m a goddamn Ashford. You and all those other commoners are living in my villa. How dare you be disrespectful!” I leaned in, delivering the final blow. “You owe my family, Nash. You owe us everything.” A sharp hiss escaped him. His body went rigid, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere below my waist, and he clenched his jaw. Oh my god. Seriously? Is that all it takes? He was rattled. He slammed the plate down on my bedside table, turned on his heel, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. [Degradation Points +10] Success! I had no idea which part of my tirade had hit a nerve, but finally, Nash felt properly humiliated. I was about to dig into my steak with relish when the System let out a piercing shriek. “No, no, no! The plot is going off the rails! His clothes are still clean! If he doesn’t go to the pool, he’ll miss his big opportunity!” “Relax,” I said, swallowing my last bite of beef with a confident smile. I deliberately dripped some of the steak juice onto my pristine white sundress, slipped on my sandals, and padded over to Nash’s room, flinging the door open. “Nash!” I commanded. “Get up. You’re coming with me while I take a bath.” 3 Nash’s room was dark. He had his shirt lifted, revealing a set of perfectly sculpted abs and the sharp V-lines that disappeared into his cargo pants. He was just about to unbuckle his belt when I barged in. His eyebrow twitched violently. “Get out.” I ignored him, pointing a regal finger in his direction. “And my dress is dirty. You’re going to wash it for me. By hand. At the pool.” I smirked. “You’re my fiancé, Nash. Surely you can handle a small task like that, can’t you?” The city’s water supply had been cut off since the apocalypse began. The villa had a reserve of drinking water, but for bathing or laundry, the only option was the large, open-air swimming pool outside. To conserve water, everyone else just made do with sponge baths. But I was the delicate, spoiled side character, wasn’t I? I gloated to the System internally. See? I humiliated him AND I got him to the pool. Pretty smart, right? The System was silent for a moment. …Are you sure you’re not rewarding him? I didn’t understand. A second later, Nash lowered his head, his expression one of perfect submission. “Of course, Princess. Should I wash your underwear as well?” “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” I screeched, feeling like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on. After Nash had heated the water for my bath, I shooed him out of the poolside shower area. It wasn’t long before I regretted it. The branches of the trees outside the window scraped against the glass. The single overhead light flickered, the generator struggling. It felt like the opening scene of a horror movie. According to the plot, this is when a mutated zombie was supposed to burst in. Nash would fight it, win, and acquire a Level 3 crystal core, which would unlock the pocket dimension and spiritual spring hidden within his family’s ancestral jade pendant. It was the trump card that allowed him to survive after the original Scarlett pushed him into the zombie horde. Remembering that a zombie was on its way, my body started to tremble. “Nash? Are you out there?” No answer. Then, a guttural roar echoed from outside. I scrambled out of the bathtub in a panic, not even bothering to dry my hair. I threw on a silk nightgown, looking for a corner to hide in. In my haste, I banged my knee hard against a bench, the pain bringing fresh tears to my eyes. I nearly cried out. The foul stench of decay grew stronger. It was right outside the door. I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought I might suffocate. Just as my lungs were about to burst, the door opened. Nash walked in, holding a washboard dripping with black zombie blood. He looked completely unfazed. “Princess,” he said, his voice calm. “Your dress is clean.” 4. Systema je to odjelo. The System was stunned. Wait, what happened to my giant, mutated zombie? In the book, Nash barely managed to kill it by using the terrain to his advantage. How did it get one-shotted the second it showed up?! A wave of relief washed over me. I stumbled forward and threw myself into Nash’s arms, burying my face in the solid warmth of his chest. “What took you so long?” I mumbled, my voice thick with tears. I had just bathed, and the scent of my floral body wash filled the air around us. Nash’s Adam’s apple bobbed again, a nervous tick. The bloodlust seemed to drain from his eyes, replaced by something softer. He waited until my sobs subsided before his hand moved to my leg. “How did you hurt your knee?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. I was too embarrassed to admit I’d been scared. I sniffled, trying to maintain my composure. “None of your business. Now carry me back to my room and dry my hair… Ah!” I let out a small gasp as he swept me up into his arms with one arm. I started to struggle, but he tightened his grip around my waist. “Don’t move,” he murmured, his voice husky. “The floor is covered in zombie blood.” I squeezed my eyes shut and went completely still against his shoulder, quiet as a mouse. After the scare, I was physically and emotionally drained. As Nash awkwardly dried my hair with a towel, I drifted off to sleep. My sleep was restless. In my dreams, I sensed Nash trying to leave. I clung to his arm, whimpering, refusing to let go. He made a soft “tsk” sound. The rough pads of his fingers brushed against my cheek. The skin was so soft he couldn’t resist giving it a couple of gentle pinches, leaving faint red marks behind. “So damn delicate,” he muttered. “Such a little coward. Who else is going to put up with you in this world but me?” Nash retrieved a small bottle from his pocket dimension and dabbed the cool liquid—water from the spiritual spring—onto the scrape on my knee. The angry red mark faded, leaving the skin smooth and flawless. The System had a sinking feeling. Sure enough, Nash glanced toward the window and waved his hand. Dozens of thick vines erupted from the ground outside, silently piercing the skulls of a zombie pack that had been drawn to the villa. With his left hand, he gently soothed me back to sleep. With his right, he casually sorted through a handful of crystal cores of various types, absorbing them all. The power of the Devourer was terrifying. The System let out a silent, horrified scream. Holy crap! Don’t tell me the hero was reborn! 5 When I woke up, the System was in full-blown panic mode. The Devour ability is only supposed to awaken AFTER you betray him! His power level is still low, but he’s using it with way too much skill! Something is very, very wrong! I looked into the kitchen, where Nash, wearing an apron, was cooking shrimp porridge for me. The picture of domestic bliss. “He’s still doing everything I say,” I pointed out. “He doesn’t seem like he’s been reborn.” He’s only cooking for you because you were mumbling about wanting shrimp in your sleep last night, the System retorted. And while you were asleep, you were also groping his abs. It was horrifying. A wave of embarrassment washed over me. I did vaguely remember dreaming I was hungry and reaching for something. Honestly, his abs had felt pretty great. “But after Nash awakens his power, isn’t he supposed to be ruthless and vengeful?” I thought back on everything I’d done to him, a growing sense of dread creeping in. “…Why am I not dead yet?” The Degradation meter remained stubbornly at zero. The Affection meter, however, had been steadily climbing. The System fell into a thoughtful silence. Don’t panic. He’s just pretending to be completely obsessed with you. It’s all part of his plan to bide his time. He’s playing the long game! The System advised me to stick to the script. My next mission: steal Nash’s ancestral jade pendant and use it to blackmail him into being my slave. This was going to be impossible. I was so preoccupied that even the delicious shrimp porridge tasted bland. Nash took the half-eaten bowl from me and finished the rest without batting an eye. Then, he casually made the pot disappear back into his pocket dimension. Everyone at the table stared in shock. Nash’s friend, Marco, was practically drooling. “Hey, where’d the porridge go?” Liam asked cautiously, “Nash, man… did you awaken an ability?” Nash gave a noncommittal hum. “Spatial type. I’ve gathered enough supplies. We head for Haven Base after this.” So cool. Such a typical hero move. Except… he had used my spoon! I stared at him, at a loss for words. He finally noticed my gaze. “My apologies, Princess. I forgot to pack extra utensils. You don’t mind that I used yours, do you?” he asked, the picture of innocence. Bullshit! He did it on purpose! the System raged. He couldn’t sleep last night after you felt him up, so he went and cleaned out an entire supermarket! He has everything in that dimension of his! He even cleared all the zombies on the road out of town! “You… you pervert!” I finally managed, my face burning. I announced that I was giving him the silent treatment. My plan was to sneak into his tent tonight, steal the pendant, and then make him suffer. The SUV had a smooth ride, stopping in a clearing on the outskirts of the city just before sunset. Nash and the others set up tents for the night. Since I didn’t have any powers, I got to sleep in the car. The moon was bright, and the sound of snoring already filled the air. I crept out of the car, tiptoeing over to Nash’s tent and quietly unzipping it. His eyes were closed, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He appeared to be fast asleep. “Nash? Are you sleeping?” I whispered close to his ear. When he didn’t respond, I relaxed and reached for the jade pendant around his neck, fumbling for the clasp. I realized too late that it was tied in a knot. A dead knot. I should have brought scissors. I sighed in frustration. My fingertips accidentally brushed against his throat. Instantly, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. In one fluid motion, he flipped me onto my back and pinned me beneath him. “Getting hungry again, Princess?” His eyes were dark with a raw hunger, his gaze locked on my lips. He took my hand and pressed it against his chiseled stomach, guiding it lower with a low, knowing laugh. “Changed your mind about me being a pervert?” 6 The summer night was warm, our clothes thin. I could feel the searing heat of his body as if our skin were pressed together. Flustered and furious, I squirmed beneath him. “Get off of me!” I hissed. The wilderness was quiet, and his ragged breaths sounded deafeningly loud. Even with the tent walls, I knew any loud noise would be heard. I bit my lip and forced myself to stay still. He didn’t let go. His hot breath ghosted over my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. “Not satisfied with my abs, Princess?” he murmured, his voice thick. “Or… were you after something else?” My eyes went wide. It was over. It was better for him to think I was a horny teenager than a thief trying to steal his most prized possession. “I… I just wasn’t ready,” I stammered, awkwardly leaning in to press my lips against his. I fully expected him to pull away. In the book, the hero was practically a monk. But the moment my lips touched the corner of his mouth, he froze for a split second before his mouth crashed down on mine. He was like a starving animal, fierce and demanding, his tongue prying my lips apart. He kissed me until my whole body trembled and my jaw ached. Tears welled in my eyes as I weakly tried to push him away. “No… stop. I want to go back.” He didn’t seem to hear me, just grunted against my mouth. Suddenly, I felt something wrap around my ankle. It was thick and rough, and it was trying to slither up under my nightgown. I clung to his shirt, a terrified sob escaping my lips as I started babbling his name incoherently. “Nash, Nash…” He finally stopped, his lips moving to gently kiss the tears from the corner of my eye. “Don’t cry. I’ll be gentle.” “No, it’s—it’s my foot,” I stammered, my body shaking. “There’s something on my foot.” It was too dark to see. Nash covered my eyes with one hand and, with the other, tore away the vine that had wrapped itself around my calf. “It’s nothing. Just a mutated plant,” he soothed, pulling me into his arms and patting my back. “Don’t be scared, Princess. I’ll protect you. Just sleep here tonight.” This new world was terrifying. I nodded tearfully, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, desperate for the feeling of safety. For the sake of my pride, I added in a small, reluctant voice, “But… no more kissing.” Nash’s tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth. A long moment passed before a hoarse sound escaped his throat. Exhausted, I didn’t care about the cramped, hard floor of the tent. I closed my eyes and fell asleep almost instantly. In a hazy, dreamlike state, I felt as if I were lying on a soft bed. Someone gently brushed the damp strands of hair from my collarbone and wiped the sweat from my brow with a cool cloth.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385427”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The whole family was overjoyed when I got my acceptance letter to Duke. That night, to celebrate, I cooked for them. A real feast. To thank them for everything they’d done for me. The next morning, they were all dead. My parents, my grandma, my sister, my uncle’s family next door. The poison was fast and merciless. Not a single one survived. I confessed on the spot. Told the sheriff I did it, told him exactly how. But he just stared at me from across the cold metal table of the interrogation room, his eyes sharp and knowing. “I know you’re lying, Casey,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Now tell me. Who’s the real killer?” 1 For as long as I can remember, Grandma Maeve had one obsession: a grandson. A boy to carry on the Miller name. But my mama, it seemed, wasn’t built for it. Two pregnancies, two daughters. Me and my older sister, Clara. In our small, dusty corner of Georgia, a woman who only bore daughters was a dead end. A “barren branch,” they’d call her. Lower than a stray dog in the town’s pecking order. After Mama’s third miscarriage, something in Grandma Maeve snapped. On the night of my tenth birthday, she called my Uncle Ray over. Daddy pushed a slice of dry cake into my hands and told me to stay in the woodshed and not make a peep. I didn’t understand what was happening at first. I just remember Uncle Ray, stinking of cheap whiskey, stumbling toward Clara’s room. Then came Mama’s choked sobs from outside the shed, followed by Grandma Maeve’s venomous hiss. “Useless. God cursed this family the day my son brought you into it. The Miller line will not end with you. If you can’t give me a grandson, your girl will. And she’ll keep trying until she does.” Panic seized me. I started screaming, clawing at the woodshed door, but Daddy yanked it open just to slap me hard across the face, sending me sprawling into the dirt. Then, I heard Uncle Ray’s voice, a drunken roar from inside the house. “You little bitch! You dare scratch me? I’ll beat the hell out of you!” The next morning, when I crept into Clara’s room, she was huddled under the window, clutching her blanket like a shield. Her eyes were swollen and red from a night of crying. Her fingernails were broken, the beds dark with dried blood. His, or hers, I couldn’t tell. Her arms were a canvas of angry purple bruises. I reached out and touched her shoulder. “Clara?” She flinched like I’d burned her, letting out a sharp, terrified cry. When she saw it was me, she collapsed into my arms, her body shaking with silent, ragged sobs. From the hallway, Grandma Maeve’s voice drifted in, cold and bored. “Every woman goes through it. What’s all the screaming about? Pushing out a baby hurts a hell of a lot more. You should see what you did to your uncle’s back, you little heathen. Should’ve tied you to the bedpost.” 2 The nightmare didn’t end. Uncle Ray came over for the next several days. Sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes late at night. Grandma Maeve had consulted some old root doctor who told her the best times for conceiving a boy. Each time he came, Mama and Clara would cry. And when their crying got on Daddy’s nerves, he’d take Mama outside and beat her quiet. I stopped going to school. I’d stand watch by the front door, and the second I saw Uncle Ray’s pickup truck kicking up dust down the road, I’d bolt the door. It only earned me a beating from Grandma Maeve, who’d grab me by my braids and thrash me. “You little snake! You tryin’ to keep me from my grandson?” “You’re the snake! I hope you never get one!” I screamed back one day, fueled by a courage I didn’t know I had. The world went fuzzy as my head slammed against the stone wall of the well. “Good-for-nothing brat!” she shrieked, banging my head against the stone again and again. “I’ll teach you to talk back!” If Mama hadn’t run out and pulled her off, she would have killed me right there. … The universe has a funny way of settling debts. After a few days, Uncle Ray stopped coming. Grandma Maeve paced the porch, muttering, “Where’s he got to? These are the last good days this month.” They found him in the old dry well at the edge of the woods. Starved to death. The town just figured he’d been drunk and fallen in. When she heard her precious son was dead, Grandma Maeve wailed like a banshee. Daddy just stood by her, a silent, stoic statue. Clara insisted on going to see. When they pulled his body out, she just stared, her face a blank mask. Mama held her. “It’s over now, baby girl,” she whispered. “That animal can’t hurt you anymore.” But Clara’s eyes were locked on me. A strange, unnerving stare that made my skin crawl. “Clara? What is it?” I asked. She didn’t answer. Just then, we heard the sirens. Sheriff Brody arrived, his face grim. The scene was a mess. Half the town had come to gawk, trampling any evidence, leaving a carpet of sunflower seed shells and cigarette butts. A few of the braver men had left greasy handprints on the well’s edge when they’d peered in. “Whose boot prints are these?” Brody demanded. “Don’t make me check every man in this town.” “Mine, Sheriff,” a farmer drawled. “Went to take a piss this morning and nearly watered your crime scene.” Brody held up a small scrap of floral fabric. “Anyone recognize this?” Silence. Then one of the men chuckled. “Sheriff, half the women in this county got a pair of panties made from that cloth. You wanna start checkin’?” The crowd roared with laughter. Brody’s face turned red. He started taking statements. When he asked if Ray had any enemies, I pushed my way to the front. I had to tell him what he’d done to Clara. But before I could speak, Grandma Maeve’s hand shot out and yanked my hair. “Your uncle loved you more than anything!” she howled for the crowd. “Aren’t you gonna cry for him?” Her grip tightened, and a sharp slap stung my cheek, bringing tears to my eyes. Sheriff Brody started walking toward me. “Not. A. Word,” Grandma whispered fiercely in my ear. “You keep your mouth shut, I’ll fry you up some bacon when we get home. You say anything, I’ll skin you alive.” Ray was dead. He couldn’t hurt Clara anymore. I nodded, turned to his bloated corpse, and started to sob. Brody gave my grandma a hard look but moved on. No one in town liked Uncle Ray, but you don’t speak ill of the dead. He got nothing. A few weeks later, the official report came back: suicide. Grandma Maeve let out a long sigh of relief and had Daddy arrange the cremation immediately. 3 With Uncle Ray gone, you’d think Grandma Maeve would be miserable. But she was happier than I’d ever seen her. Because Ray had left the Miller family a parting gift. Clara was pregnant. Suddenly, nothing was too good for my sister. The best cuts of meat, fresh eggs every morning, a new mattress so she wouldn’t “catch a chill.” Grandma was convinced her grandson was finally on his way. Clara and I would share secret smiles when she’d sneak me one of her eggs. But the waiting was killing Grandma. She had to know if it was a boy. A trip to the hospital in the city was too expensive, especially if the news was bad. So she went to see the root doctor again. The old woman looked at Clara, felt her belly, and shook her head. “It’s a girl,” she declared. Grandma Maeve’s face turned to thunder. Daddy grabbed a thick stick, ready to bring it down on Clara’s stomach. “I’ll get rid of it right now!” he roared. “Hold on!” the root doctor said, stopping him. “I said it’s a girl now. I didn’t say it had to stay one.” She produced a small vial of dark, oily liquid. “This here is ‘turnin’ oil,’” she said. “One drop in her tea every night at the stroke of midnight. It’ll turn that girl baby into a proper boy. Twenty dollars a bottle. You’ll need three.” Sixty dollars. It was a fortune to us. But for a grandson, Daddy paid without a second thought. Grandma Maeve forced the vile stuff down Clara’s throat every night. But before the first bottle was even empty, Clara started bleeding. We rushed her to the clinic. The doctor said she’d been poisoned. The “turnin’ oil” was loaded with nightshade. If we’d waited any longer, it would’ve killed them both. They saved Clara, but the baby was gone. The doctor held up the tiny, lifeless form. It had been a boy. Grandma Maeve collapsed, wailing about her lost grandson, cursing Clara for being too weak to hold onto him even with the magic oil. The worst news came later. The doctor said the poison had ruined Clara’s womb. She’d never be able to have children. When Clara heard that, a small, relieved smile touched her lips. At least the torture was finally over. Grandma Maeve’s hope died that day, replaced by a simmering, silent rage. And sometimes, when she thought no one was looking, I’d catch her staring at me. A long, calculating stare that sent a shiver down my spine. Her eyes were darker and more terrifying than the unlit country roads at night. I started staying out late after school, doing anything to avoid being home alone with her.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385443”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At my own lavish, once-in-a-lifetime wedding, my sister drugged herself with an aphrodisiac and begged me to “lend” her my new husband, a decorated military major general. I called her childhood friend to help. But when my sister, Julia, woke up and realized it wasn’t Captain Hayes beside her, she threw herself from a balcony in a fit of shame and fury. James Hayes didn’t blame me. He treated me the same as he always had. Racked with guilt, I sang his praises to my father, the Commander in Chief of the armed forces. But the day he was promoted to General, the very first thing he did was have his men force-feed me the same drug and dump me in an enemy encampment. “If it weren’t for you, Julia would never have suffered like that,” he hissed, his face a mask of hatred. “You’re going to pay for it a thousand times over.” I was tortured to death, my body and the baby inside me cremated as a sacrifice on my sister’s altar. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my wedding day, my sister weeping at my feet, begging me to give her James. 1. “Please, Ava, I’m begging you. If word of this gets out, how could the Thorne family ever show its face in public again? And it happened at your wedding, of all places. We’re family, just… just lend me your husband this one time…?” My sister’s face was flushed a deeper red than a boiled lobster. She clung to my leg, her pleas a desperate, shameless whimper. I stared down at her, my disgust a cold, hard knot in my stomach as I wrenched my leg free. In my last life, her tears had thrown me into a panic. I’d been desperate to protect her reputation, to spare her the embarrassment of facing James again. So I had called her childhood friend, the man she’d secretly loved for years, to help. But when Julia woke up the next morning, she flew into a rage, blaming me for everything before making a grand, public spectacle of leaping from a balcony. James had said nothing. I thought he was unaffected. But on the day of his promotion to General—a promotion I had helped him secure—he gave the order. His men forced an aphrodisiac down my throat and threw me to our enemies. As I was defiled, my flesh carved from my bones, I saw him watching, his face twisted with a sick, triumphant hatred. “After what you did to Julia,” he spat, “no amount of suffering is enough for you.” The sound of hurried footsteps pulled me back to the present. James, still in his groom’s tuxedo, appeared in the doorway. His eyes, when they fell on Julia, were filled with an unmistakable ache. The moment Julia saw him, she scrambled across the floor, sobbing, and clutched his leg. “Help me…” she whimpered, her face burning with a mixture of shame and desperate need. A dark blush crept up James’s neck. He shot a glance at me, his jaw tight. “…Ava and I just finished our wedding ceremony. This isn’t right.” He said the words, but his tone was a lie. He was practically vibrating with the desire to pounce on her. He tugged at the collar of his uniform as if it were a noose, and the look he gave me was filled with resentment and disgust. A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. They were so obvious. How had I been so blind? This time, I would give them exactly what they wanted. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, my voice flat. “We’re both the Commander’s daughters. Marrying one is the same as marrying the other. You can always have another wedding.” James’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. He clearly hadn’t expected the woman who had been so ecstatic to marry him just hours before to say something like this. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t have time to think. Hearing my permission, Julia grew bolder, wrapping herself around his neck like an octopus and pulling him down for a kiss. James shot me one last, fleeting glance before his face turned beet red. He swept Julia into his arms and carried her into the adjoining room, shutting the door behind them. I stared at the closed door, my expression blank. My reflection in the nearby mirror showed a woman in a magnificent white gown. A laugh bubbled up from my chest. Hilarious. Utterly, ridiculously hilarious. I turned to my assistant, who was frozen in place, speechless with shock. “Help me out of this dress,” I said. I pulled out my phone and sent a single, public message announcing that the wedding was off. Then, after months of nonstop, frantic wedding preparations, I let the exhaustion claim me. I collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I had no idea that when I woke up, the world would have turned upside-down. 2. My assistant shook me awake, her face pale with panic. My phone was buzzing nonstop. Seventy-seven missed calls from my father, each more frantic than the last, culminating in a single, terse text: “GET TO THE MANSION. NOW.” “Ma’am… the Commander said I need to bring you to the family estate immediately. Your sister and… your ex-fiancé… I think they went to see him,” she stammered. My mind raced. What have those two done now? I rushed to the Thorne family mansion and was stunned by the scene. The grand hall was packed. I’d never seen so many relatives in one place, not even for a funeral. They were all sitting in stiff, perfect rows, and as I walked in, every single head turned toward me, their faces grim and accusatory. A teacup shattered at my feet. My father’s roar of rage broke the silence like a clap of thunder. “You disgraceful child, get over here! Look at what you’ve done to your sister!” Julia immediately burst into crocodile tears. A great-aunt I barely knew looked me up and down with a sneer. “Well, well, Ava. Look how you’ve upset your father. Tsk, tsk. This was your wedding, planned entirely by you. How could you let Julia drink something so… indecent?” Julia shot the aunt a look, then let out a theatrical wail, as if the words were too much to bear. “I can’t live like this!” she shrieked, making a show of running for the door. A flurry of relatives jumped up to stop her, cooing and pleading. I watched her performance with cold detachment. She was always good at playing the victim. In my last life, she’d used the same tactic, her dramatic suicide attempt nothing more than a show. She’d had a parachute hidden and had spent the next few years living it up in Europe, only to return after my death to claim my inheritance. I looked at her, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “If you really want to die, the window is faster.” A vicious slap cracked across my face, sending me sprawling to the floor. The pain was a white-hot flash. I felt a warm trickle from my nose and brought a hand to my face. It came away covered in blood. My father’s face was contorted with fury. “You think you’ve done nothing wrong? How dare you provoke your sister! Will you be happy when you’ve driven her to her death?” “Now,” he bellowed, his spittle hitting my cheek, “get on your knees and apologize! If you don’t, you are no longer a Thorne!” Behind him, nestled in the arms of our relatives, Julia looked at me, a flicker of triumph in her tear-filled eyes. This was a drama of her own making. Why was I the one being punished? Facing their universal condemnation, I clenched my jaw, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “Dad,” I asked, my voice shaking, “would Mom be proud of you right now?” 3. My mother was his lawfully wedded wife. I was supposed to be his only, cherished daughter. But when I was ten, there was an assassination attempt. At the last second, my mother threw herself in front of him, taking the bullets meant for him. She died. My only mother was gone. I remember my father holding me, his usually stoic face streaked with tears, promising he would take care of me for the rest of his life. The very next year, he brought home an illegitimate daughter—Julia. A year older than me. And just like that, I was forced to call her “sister.” The knot of injustice in my stomach was just the beginning. I had no idea how much worse things were going to get. … My eyes filled with tears as I looked at my father, my voice choked with unshed sobs. For a moment, his expression softened. He frowned, a flicker of memory in his eyes. But Julia, sensing the shift, broke free from the huddle of relatives. “Father, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault,” she cried, her eyes swimming with tears. “It would be better if I had never been born! My sister hates me so much… I might as well just die!” She lunged for the decorative sword mounted in the entryway and held it to her own throat. “Good heavens, child!” The relatives, seeing the alarm on my father’s face, scrambled to disarm her. In the ensuing chaos, my father rushed to Julia’s side. As he passed me, he aimed a vicious kick at my ribs, sending me crashing back to the floor. It was the signal for the pack to descend. “Arrogant little brat, causing all this trouble!” “I never liked you, Ava… and now this scandal at your wedding! It’s a disgrace!” “Look at her, with that sly face… always bullying poor, sweet Julia!” Fists and feet rained down on me. My dress was torn, my skin covered in bruises. They scrawled insults on my arms in lipstick. A sharp pain shot through my throat, and I coughed up a mouthful of blood. “You hypocrites…” I rasped, my vision blurring. “Don’t you have daughters of your own? Aren’t you afraid of karma?” I pulled out the jade seal my grandmother had secretly given me. “I dare you to touch me again!” I screamed. It only made them angrier. A distant male cousin brought his heel down on my ribs with a sickening crack. “Who are you cursing, you unloved little bitch?” he sneered. “You think that little trinket scares anyone?” Pain exploded through my body. As my consciousness started to fade, I saw Julia, in the middle of the chaos, “accidentally” stomp on the jade bracelet on my wrist. It was my mother’s. A multi-million dollar piece she’d given me, taken from her own wrist in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. They say jade has a spirit, that it protects its wearer. I had always thought of it as my mother’s guardian angel, sent to watch over me. And now it was shattered. How dare she? How far was she willing to go? A surge of adrenaline shot through me. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed Julia by the collar, and slapped her with all my might. The next second, a brutal kick to my stomach sent me flying. It was James. “What do you think you’re doing to Julia?” he roared. 4. I stared up at him, a hysterical laugh bubbling in my throat. “Have you forgotten? You were supposed to be my husband.” My family’s cruelty was one thing. But this, from the man I had once loved more than anything… this was a wound that cut deeper than any physical blow. He looked away, his hand tightening around Julia’s. My body ached, but my heart was frozen solid. I let out another cold laugh and, with trembling fingers, sent a text to a contact I hadn’t spoken to in years. Another piece of porcelain shattered near my head. “I told you to kneel!” my father screamed. “And you’re playing on your phone?” “I’m telling you, if you don’t kneel right now, you can forget you ever had a father!” A piece of my mother’s broken bracelet was still on my wrist. I ripped it off and threw it at him. “Fine by me,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “And I don’t have you for a sister!” my ten-year-old brother shrieked, running to hide behind Julia. My head throbbed. This was the child I had practically raised, and he was now throwing things at me, his face twisted in a mask of hatred. “Leo… you too?” I whispered, a bitter smile on my lips as I closed my eyes. It was as if my surrender was a signal. The beating started again. Soon, the pain faded into a dull throb. I lay there, limp and broken, like a corpse. Suddenly, my father’s phone rang. A relative who was standing nearby glanced at the caller ID and his face went pale. “It’s… it’s him! He’s calling!” “What do we do? He never calls unless it’s something serious!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385459”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After two years away, I came home to find my fiancé with another woman on his arm—a woman who looked just like me. They called her the sweeter, kinder version. They whispered that my illness had made me bitter and weak. They’re about to learn that the deadliest venom comes from a woman left for dead. 1 I spent two years in a Swiss wellness clinic, supposedly putting myself back together. My first day back in New York, my cousin Zoe threw me a welcome-home party. The guest list was a who’s who of the city’s trust-fund kids, the sons and daughters of the ruling class. It had been a long time. The girls I used to run with, the ones who once mirrored my every move, were unnervingly quiet, their gazes fixed on their champagne flutes. Liam, heir to the Richmond fortune and my half-brother—the kid who used to trail after me, calling me Livvy with a sweet, almost desperate adoration—was now keeping a calculated distance. It was my party, and I, the guest of honor, was a ghost at the feast. A stir at the entrance broke the tension. Ethan Hayes walked in with a woman on his arm, and the quiet room crackled like oil hitting a hot pan. My brother, Liam, was the first on his feet. “Ethan, Sophie, you finally made it.” The same heiresses who had been giving me the silent treatment suddenly sprang to life. “Sophie, over here!” one of them called out. “We saved you a seat!” The woman at the center of the sudden warmth was all radiant smiles and effortless grace. The man beside her, Ethan Hayes, watched her with a tenderness that could melt glaciers. They were a perfect portrait of love. If Ethan weren’t my fiancé, I might have even rooted for them. Zoe, ever the agent of chaos, sidled up to me and whispered, “See her? She’s the replacement they found. And from the looks of it, the understudy’s about to get top billing.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping. “If you’d stayed away any longer, she’d probably be pregnant by now.” Zoe and I grew up together. My aunt, her mother, was a master of outsourcing parenting, and Zoe spent more of her childhood in our house than her own. My mother never had the heart to say no to her sister, and with a fortune like ours, one more child at the table was hardly a rounding error. Two months ago, Zoe had sent me a picture. In it, Ethan’s arm was wrapped possessively around a young woman who shared a certain shadow of my features. Sophie Miller, I learned, was the recently acknowledged daughter of some new-money family, raised in obscurity somewhere upstate. She only appeared on the New York scene after I left for Switzerland, a constant presence at every gala and charity event. At first, she mirrored my style—the clothes, the hair. People laughed, calling her a cheap imitation. But then they noticed the differences. Where I was sharp edges and biting words, Sophie was all gentle curves and soft-spoken grace. She was, in a word, more likable. And she was a social conductor. She organized river-rafting trips in the summer, fishing retreats in the fall, and ski weekends in Aspen when the first snow fell. Soon, she wasn’t just part of the circle; she was the circle. The friends who had once orbited me were now her satellites. Liam, my own brother who had initially sneered at her, now looked at her with the same puppy-dog eyes he once saved for me, finding in her a warmth I’d apparently never offered. Even my fiancé, the untouchable Ethan Hayes, had gone from publicly chastising her for copying me to gazing at her like she was the last good thing in a wicked world. Zoe, my loyal informant, had kept me updated with a relentless stream of details, making it impossible to pretend I didn’t know. “Miss Miller. You look like me?” I asked, my voice cutting through the renewed chatter. Sophie flinched, instinctively shrinking behind Ethan. I let out a soft, contemptuous laugh. “You all need to get your eyes checked. Where’s the resemblance?” Tonight, I was in a tailored white cocktail dress. Sophie, too, wore white. Around my neck was a necklace of brilliant, impossibly rare pink diamonds. She wore a string of pink pearls. She was pretty, I’d give her that. But even dressed in the same color, adorned with similar jewels, I couldn’t see it. Our faces shared no lines, no echoes. My question hung in the air, silencing the room once more. The expressions on the faces around me were a complicated mix of pity and annoyance. Sophie was the first to recover, her face pale but her voice steady. “You’re Olivia Richmond,” she said, her tone dripping with false humility. “Your beauty is legendary in this city. How could I ever compare?” A wave of disapproval rippled through the guests, all of them moved by Sophie’s performance of meekness. “Olivia,” Liam started, his voice sharp with accusation. “You can’t control what you’re born with. It’s not Sophie’s fault she happens to look like you. You can’t just attack innocent people because you need to be the only one of everything.” I almost laughed out loud. If I were truly attacking her, none of them would be standing so comfortably. “You idiot,” I said, my words aimed at Liam but my gaze sweeping over every single person in the room. “Don’t you realize I’m insulting you?” A low murmur went through the crowd. “Two years away, and Olivia Richmond’s temper hasn’t improved a bit.” “I used to think they looked alike. But seeing them side-by-side… Olivia looks exhausted. Sophie is glowing.” “Honestly, Olivia’s looks are fine, I guess. But her personality…” My temper was legendary in our circles. My father once tried to lecture me on being more like water—gentle, yielding, life-giving. But water can also be a flood, a destructive force that carves canyons and drowns cities. I’ve always believed it’s better to burn others than to slowly consume yourself. Seeing them all squirm under my gaze, their polite facades cracking, was deeply, profoundly boring. “You call this a welcome-home party?” I said, my voice dripping with disdain. “You all look like you’re at a funeral. But you light up like a Christmas tree for a complete stranger.” I picked up my clutch. “Zoe, thank you for organizing this. In the future, if any of these people are on the guest list, don’t bother inviting me.” I started for the door. As I passed Sophie, her best friend, who was standing beside her, suddenly cried out. She stumbled, and a gift box in her hand tilted, sending a massive white quartz geode sliding out. It crashed onto Sophie’s foot, instantly turning the delicate skin of her instep a blotchy red. In a heartbeat, Ethan’s voice exploded through the room. “Olivia, what the hell are you doing!” he roared. I turned. He was already crouching by Sophie’s side, his face a mask of fury. “Sophie searched everywhere for that geode! She thought it would help purify your energy, that it would be good for your health. If you didn’t want it, you could have just said so! Why did you have to knock it out of her hands?” I had known Ethan Hayes my entire life. We were the textbook definition of childhood sweethearts, if you ignored the complete lack of warmth. He’d always been the untouchable one, a marble statue of a man who held the world at arm’s length. Even on the day he slipped a ring on my finger, his eyes held a distant chill. I had never seen him this incandescently angry. After checking her foot and confirming it wasn’t broken, he straightened up, his eyes blazing at me. “Everyone came here tonight for you, to welcome you home. And what do you do? You insult everyone, you smash a gift, you make a disgusting scene. Two years, and you’re still the same spoiled, vicious brat.” The crack of my handbag hitting his cheek was sharp and satisfying. Ethan fell silent, stunned. He looked at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. A few of the decorative studs from my clutch had come loose, clinging to the shoulder of his jacket like misplaced jewels. “You hit me?” he whispered. Did he need an appointment? “You’re still my fiancé,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “And you defend another woman in front of my face? Did you really think I’d just stand here and accept that?” I’d thought the two years away had mellowed me. The clinic taught me that rage was corrosive to the soul, and to my health. The old Olivia would have been screaming right alongside him, would have thrown the first punch. It seemed they had forgotten who I used to be. They had poked the bear, and now they were shocked it had claws. “Miss Richmond, it was all my fault,” Sophie sobbed, ever the martyr. “I… I didn’t know the gift was so fragile. If I had held it differently, it wouldn’t have broken.” “Of course it was your fault,” I sneered. “You brought a geode to my party. Am I some kind of demon that needs purifying?” Sophie’s tears flowed freely. She was good; she was a beautiful crier. As she covered her face with her hands, I saw the corner of her mouth twitch upwards in a tiny, triumphant smirk. It was angled perfectly, a private message just for me. Ethan’s face darkened further. He turned his back on me, pulling Sophie into a comforting embrace. “I never realized how unreasonable you could be,” he spat over his shoulder. My brother pointed a finger at me. “What did Sophie ever do to you? Why do you have to be so cruel?” he seethed. “I’m telling Dad about this tonight. He’ll make you pay for this!” I laughed, a real, genuine laugh. “Go ahead,” I said with a wave of my hand as I turned to leave. “Go tattle. And ‘Sophie’? Since when is any Tom, Dick, or Harry your sister?” I paused at the door and looked back. “Oh, and Ethan? Have you forgotten how our engagement came to be? Your father, dragging you to our door, practically begging for the alliance.” My eyes hardened. “You’re so fond of Sophie. I wouldn’t want to stand in your way. I agree to end the engagement. You can explain it to your father yourself.” I might as well burn it all down. I turned to Sophie. “And you,” I said, my voice soft but carrying across the silent room. “Do I look like an idiot to you? I have a temper, but I also have spatial awareness. I was nowhere near your friend when she ‘tripped.’ It was a nice little setup, though. A classic.” I gestured towards a discreet dome on the ceiling. “I’m sure the security camera on the patio caught the whole performance in perfect high-definition.” Liam’s face was sullen, Ethan’s was thunderous, and Sophie’s was a frantic kaleidoscope of red and white. The other guests looked like they’d swallowed sour milk. Their misery was my pleasure. I was used to it; they’d either whisper behind my back or to my face. Did they think I was just going to take it? “You don’t have to run to my father,” I announced to the room. “I’ll do it myself. I’ll make sure every single one of your parents gets a full report on your behavior tonight.” I held up my phone. “After all, there are plenty of cameras here. Your outfits, your makeup, your expressions…” I smiled a sharp, predatory smile. “Every little word you said. It’s all been recorded.” With that, I turned and walked out, not bothering to watch their panicked faces crumble. I almost collided with a man who was just walking in from the garden. A strong hand gripped my arm, steadying me instantly. I looked up into a face that was flawlessly, breathtakingly handsome. His cheeks flushed, and he quickly released me. I wasn’t in the mood for handsome. “Don’t touch me,” I snapped. “Get out of my way.” To my bewilderment, the man’s face turned an even deeper shade of crimson, the color spreading to the tips of his ears. I frowned. Was he into this? “Liv,” Zoe said weakly from behind me. “Let’s just go together.” She gestured at the man. “Don’t mind him. He likes it when you’re mean to him.” What kind of a weirdo was this? He was gorgeous, but clearly had some strange tastes. There was something familiar about him, though. Seeing my gaze on him, the red-faced man quickly introduced himself. “Miss Richmond. I’m Noah Jensen.” Jensen? A tier-two family. Wealthy, but not in the same stratosphere as the Richmonds or the Hayeses. Before I could respond, Noah shoved a gift box into my hands, turned, and practically fled. I was still confused as I settled into the back of the car. “Noah Jensen? Have I met him before?” Zoe leaned back against the leather seat, tapping at her phone. A crisp, AI-generated voice filled the car. “Noah Jensen. Chief Operating Officer of Jensen Industries, second child of the family patriarch. Current estimated net worth, several billion. If he inherits the primary stake, net worth could exceed twenty billion. Age 22, unmarried, height six-foot-two. Physical dimensions below the waist are unconfirmed, but speculative reports suggest a size comparable to a premium bottled water…” My face burned. “What kind of depraved AI are you using?” I demanded. “You don’t know him? You had to use your AI?” I asked. “Uh, should I? It’s my first time meeting him, too,” Zoe said, all wide-eyed innocence. I gave her a look that said, keep playing dumb. She just shrugged and grabbed the gift box from my lap. “Well, let’s see what he got you.” She tore away the wrapping paper with practiced efficiency. When the box was open, she let out a low whistle. “Whoa.” I followed her gaze. Nestled on a bed of black velvet was a jadeite bangle, the color of the deepest, most vibrant imperial green I had ever seen. It was the kind of piece that rarely even made it to auction. I took it from her, examining the flawless stone. I slid it onto my wrist. It was a perfect fit. “And you say you don’t know him,” Zoe murmured, her eyes wide. “He even knows the exact size of your wrist. And your taste.” I rotated my arm, watching the light play across the bangle’s translucent surface, a slow smile spreading across my face. The party had been a disaster, but this perfect piece of jade was a hell of a consolation prize. Perhaps it was the calming effect of the jade, but I slept soundly that night. I was up early the next day. I’d finished my entire Pilates routine before eight. After dressing, I sent one of my security team to The Gilded Sparrow, the restaurant currently favored by our crowd. I had them set up a screen, six feet tall, right by the entrance. On a continuous loop, it played a beautifully edited video from my party. There was Sophie’s friend taking her dive. There was Ethan’s furious, accusatory shouting. There was Liam’s petulant rage. And there were all the others, their catty whispers now displayed as subtitles, with helpful labels identifying each speaker by name. Passersby, restaurant patrons, and a few enterprising citizens with smartphones uploaded the video to the internet. It went viral in our circles within the hour. The group chats lit up. My name was tagged again and again, dozens of furious messages demanding to know what I thought I was doing. I replied with a single smiling emoji, then left the group. According to the report my assistant compiled, every single one of the young elites featured in my little film was dragged home and raked over the coals by their families. Who gave them the nerve, after all, to openly mock the Richmond heiress? That afternoon, my father summoned me to his study. Liam was already there, standing ramrod straight in front of the coffee table, his head bowed. He shot me a venomous look as I entered. “What are you doing here?” he muttered. I ignored him, walking past to sit beside my father on the sofa. “Dad,” I said, my voice sweet as honey. “What are you so smug about?” Liam spat. “You only get away with this because Grandpa and Dad spoil you rotten. Sophie grew up with nothing, she’s suffered so much, and the second you’re back you start attacking her.” My father patted my hand, then calmly picked up a book from the table and hurled it at Liam. “You stood there and let strangers insult your own sister, and you have the gall to complain? Get out!” he roared. Liam stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I watched the door close. “Father,” I said quietly. “Are you really sure you want him to inherit the company?” My father’s expression was grim. “Your brother is inexperienced. But you shouldn’t have made such a public scene.” He pushed a file across the table towards me. It was a compilation of social media posts and messages from the families involved, all trashing my name. The usual garbage. “These families,” I began, “they all built their fortunes on the scraps we threw them from the Richmond table, didn’t they?” I slid my own prepared file over to him. “A dog that bites is a problem. A dog that bites its master needs to be put down.” My father’s face grew darker with every page he turned. When he finished, he slammed the file down on the table. “These goddamn vultures!” My report detailed, with excruciating precision, how several of those same families had been colluding to sabotage Richmond Corp projects, undercutting us and skimming profits. I picked up my teacup and took a delicate sip. “Father, Liam has had his hands on all of these projects. Do you suppose his… oversights… were intentional or just incompetence?” I put my cup down and refilled his. “It wasn’t that long ago that these people came to us, begging for a lifeline. We gave it to them. And now, they’re trying to sink the ship.” “They’ve clearly gotten too comfortable,” my father growled. “Fine. Let them pay it all back. With interest.” My health had always been fragile, that part was true. But my two-year convalescence in Switzerland was only half the story. No one pays attention to a sick girl who isn’t in line to inherit. While I was ostensibly “recovering,” my team was quietly investigating our international holdings, sniffing out the rot. I never expected the betrayal to run so deep, to originate with the very people we had propped up. My mother died shortly after I was born, a postpartum complication that was never fully explained. Years later, my father had a son, Liam, with Eleanor Ashford. And among the families trying to gut Richmond Corp from the inside was, of course, the Ashfords. That was the part that truly enraged my father. The company was meant to go to Liam one day, yet his mother’s family was already trying to bleed it dry. “The Ashfords have been using Liam’s name to leverage deals for years,” I said softly. “Are you really going to stand by and watch the Richmond legacy get swallowed whole by them?” He understood the logic, I knew he did. But Liam was his only son. He was hesitating. He wasn’t ready to cut him out completely. He closed his eyes. “I need to think. You can go now.” I expected as much. I switched topics, informing him that I had told Ethan I was breaking the engagement. He agreed without a second thought. The Hayes family had publicly humiliated his daughter. I was a Richmond. I didn’t need to marry anyone. I could spend my nights at galas and my days on a yacht if I wanted. A few days later, news of the broken engagement reached the Hayes family. Ethan, predictably, lost his mind. He found me in the garden, having afternoon tea with Zoe. The moment Zoe saw his storm cloud of a face, she made a break for it. “I’ll just… leave you two to talk.” She scurried back towards the house, positioning herself just inside the French doors, not too close but not too far. A perfect vantage point for eavesdropping. Ethan didn’t even notice her. He strode across the lawn and dropped into the chair opposite me. “Olivia. We need to talk.” My mood was excellent, so I decided to ignore his rudeness. I pushed the teapot towards him in a silent offer. He ignored it. “Talk about what?” I asked. “Why did you break our engagement like this?” he demanded, his face tight with anger. “My father is furious with me. Do you have any idea what people are saying?” I leaned back, getting comfortable. “What could they possibly be saying? That I’m arrogant and impossible, and that my fiancé can’t stand me?” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “Or are they talking about how the great Ethan Hayes, despite being engaged to me, spends every waking moment with Sophie Miller?” At the mention of her name, he thought he’d found the root of the problem. “Nothing is going on between Sophie and me,” he said, his voice softening. “She’s just a friend, someone I can talk to. Is your jealousy really worth throwing all of this away?” His expression turned pleading. “Do you have any idea what this has done to her? She was an outcast, she finally found her place in the city, and now because of your tantrum, her family is sending her back upstate.” He shook his head. “Two years, and you’ve only gotten more cruel.” I was genuinely confused. “What does our engagement have to do with Sophie? You just said you two are innocent. So why would our breakup affect her at all?” I let a smirk play on my lips. “Anyone with eyes can see you’re in love with her, Ethan. Stop pretending to be a saint. Besides, I didn’t force her family to do anything. If she’s being sent away, that has nothing to do with me.” He shot to his feet, looming over me, his eyes blazing. “First you release that video, then you break our engagement the very next day! How do you think that makes Sophie look to everyone?” He took a deep breath, his voice trembling with rage. “Olivia, if I had known this is the person you’d become, I never would have saved you from that car crash!” He turned to leave. Ethan Hayes, my savior. Eight years ago, I was in the back of the family car on my way home from school, just like any other day. A truck ran a red light and t-boned us. The world spun, and the car landed upside down. The smell of gasoline was everywhere. The driver and I were both pinned. Blood was running into my eyes, hot and sticky, blurring everything. I heard a man’s voice shouting, but I couldn’t open my eyes. I felt him pull me, then the driver, from the wreckage. Then came the boom, a wave of heat and force that knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, Ethan was sitting by my hospital bed. He told me he had saved me. A life debt, combined with the Hayes family’s standing and Ethan’s own accomplishments, was more than enough to forge an engagement. Our families had been planning the wedding for when I returned from Switzerland. Now, here we were. My voice, when I spoke, was as cold and clear as ice. “Ethan. Was it really you who saved me that day?” I had thought, after all these years, that marrying him was something I could tolerate. But seeing him with Sophie, this cloying, deceptive dance they were doing, was sickening. I wanted out. And now he had the audacity to bring up his heroism. It was time to settle the score. He froze, turning back to look at me as if for the first time. “My eyes were blurred with blood,” I continued, my voice even and calm. “But I wasn’t deaf. The voice of the man who pulled me from that car… it wasn’t yours. And he had a gash on his arm, a deep one, had to be at least six inches long. I felt it when he lifted me.” I stood, facing him directly. “If you hadn’t been the one sitting there when I woke up, if our families weren’t already so intertwined, I would have exposed you years ago.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “If you had come here today just to defend Sophie, I would have let it go. But you had to bring that up.” A cruel smile touched my lips. “Did you really think I was so desperately in love with you, so bound by that life debt, that I would never leave you?” The color drained from his face. He hadn’t known that I knew. He hadn’t known that my feelings for him were a carefully constructed facade, not the all-consuming passion he imagined. The look in his eyes slowly shifted from anger to a dawning, primal fear. “You say you and Sophie are innocent?” I continued, pulling out my phone. “Then I suppose all of these photos were photoshopped?” I set the phone on the table, a slideshow beginning to play. Last April, Ethan and Sophie embracing under the cherry blossoms at the Botanic Garden. Last July, Ethan and Sophie in the same kayak on a river trip, her body pressed tightly against his back. Last New Year’s Eve, Ethan and Sophie kissing passionately as fireworks exploded in the sky. His face cycled through shades of white and green. He never imagined I would have proof. I smiled. “So, you see, I’ve been very restrained. I haven’t released any of these. You should both be grateful for that.” I picked up my teacup. “Now, get out of my sight. And don’t ever bother me again.” When it came to a war of words, I had yet to lose. Ethan Hayes, who had come to my home to demand an accounting, left looking like a ghost. Zoe only emerged from the house after his car had disappeared down the driveway. She was still clutching a half-eaten scone, her eyes darting to the photos still cycling on my phone. She looked like she was bursting with questions but didn’t dare ask. She couldn’t hold back the most important one, though. “Liv,” she began, her voice hesitant. “Where did you get these? Did you hire a P.I. to tail them?” I sat back down and took a sip of my tea, letting her wait. Finally, I looked at her. “What do you think?” “I… I have no idea. You’re always ten steps ahead of everyone. Do you have someone else here, in the city, watching them for you? You act like you have this crazy temper, but then you pull something like this, and I realize you’ve been playing chess the whole time.” I just smiled at her, a slow, knowing smile.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385475”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve been on TLC’s hit reality show *Last Chance Lovers* twice in one year. The first time, my husband Leo Vance and I tore each other to shreds on national television. When the season wrapped, he became my ex-husband. The second time, I was sitting in the studio as a special guest commentator. My agent, Chloe, had tried to talk me out of it. “Genevieve! You have an Oscar nomination, for God’s sake. Why are you going back to reality TV?” Why? To watch my second ex-husband-in-the-making crash and burn, of course. 1 The show’s director was practically bowing. “Ms. Reed, we’re so honored you could make time for us. Truly. Whatever you need, you just say the word. We’ll build the whole show around you.” I gave him a slight nod. Chloe quickly ushered him out of my dressing room. My, how times have changed. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. A year ago, I was here with Leo, about to film the first season of *Last Chance Lovers*. He was a nobody actor, and I was even less than that—a ghost in the Hollywood machine. Back then, I’d overheard that same director complaining in the hallway. “Tell me about it… the A-lister dropped out last minute… otherwise you think we’d be casting these Z-listers? Ugh. But hey, our show’s a hit. Everyone wants a piece of the clout.” I’d wanted to tell Leo we should just walk away. Why were we killing ourselves to claw our way up in this town? But I remembered a rare moment of tenderness from him. “Gen, being on this show doesn’t mean we actually have to get a divorce. This is a huge opportunity, babe. It’s the last year of my contract. I just want one shot to go viral, to show all those casting directors who passed on me what they’re missing.” “Gen, you’ve always talked about wanting a family, right? Once I’m a star, we can have as many kids as you want.” “Just say yes. You’ve waited for me for this long. It’s finally our time to cash in.” Leo’s eyes were sparkling. I signed the contract, and in doing so, signed myself over to the abyss. On the show, Leo became a different person. He listed my every flaw, waxing poetic about his “depression” within our marriage. He talked about how I had “trapped” him, suffocated his career, how he just needed to be free. I started trending on Twitter, but not in a good way. The comments were brutal. “OMG so THAT’S what happened to Leo Vance. I thought he was pretty good in that CW sci-fi show before it got cancelled.” “This is what happens when women don’t have their own careers. They just turn into bitter, nagging housewives.” “SO TOXIC. If I were him, I’d run for the hills. Is this woman a narcissist?” “My poor baby Leo. He deserves so much better.” Every time I tried to defend myself, Leo would shut me down with an exasperated sigh. “I already told you, it’s all scripted for drama. If you keep making a scene, I really will divorce you.” So I swallowed my rage. I started to wonder if maybe they were right. Maybe I wasn’t enough. It all culminated in the season finale, where Leo made a grand declaration in front of the cameras. “Genevieve, this journey has given me a lot of clarity. We’ve been together for so long, but do we even really know each other? I think it’s time we set each other free. The house, the car, it’s all yours. I’ll walk away with nothing.” And just like that, he divorced me. It’s been 321 days since that day. My phone buzzed. A payment reminder for the mortgage. I looked at Chloe. “Any word from the realtor?” Her face was grim. “Gen, you know the market is garbage right now. A house that big in the Hills, at that price point… it’s a tough sell. And that guy is such a bastard. It sounds so noble, saying he’s leaving you the house. Why didn’t he also mention he was leaving you the crippling debt that came with it?” Yeah. Why was he such a bastard? He never even liked me, but he was desperate to marry me. And when he wanted a divorce, the first I heard of it was when he announced it on camera. Well, now it was my turn to be the bastard. Since the whole world didn’t seem to know that the new wife he brought on this season was the same woman he’d hit on during the *last* season, I figured I’d let them in on the secret. 2 I walked into the studio wearing a floor-length black gown, as if I were attending my ex-husband’s funeral. The lights were blinding, but I could feel every eye in the room on me. An ex-wife showing up to comment on her ex-husband’s *second* televised divorce attempt? That was worth a hundred trending topics. Especially when that ex-wife had, against all odds, landed her first movie role and gotten a Best Actress nomination, staging one of the biggest comeback stories of the year. “Genevieve, what a surprise! We never thought we’d get you back on the show,” the host said, all fake smiles. “What’s more surprising is that Leo is back for a second divorce, this time with someone else,” I replied smoothly. “Who knows if he’s for real this time or not. As an expert witness, I figured I could offer his new wife some… pointers.” “Hahaha, well! Since you’re being so refreshingly honest, I know this is going to be a great show. Shall we get started? This is a live broadcast, you know.” Of course, I knew. That’s why I came. I wanted Leo to see the little surprise I’d prepared for him in real-time. The show’s intro rolled, and the camera focused on me. “Wow, it looks like the viewers are excited! We’ve just gone live and we’ve already broken the network’s streaming record. Let’s see what our viewers are saying.” What did I want to say? I wanted to say: *“Roll up, roll up! This is the ‘good guy’ you all felt so sorry for, the one who just wanted to escape his marital prison. Turns out, he was already promising the world to his next cellmate before he’d even broken out.”* *“And you, Seraphina Stone, you absolute fool. You really fell for a man who was hitting on you before his divorce was even final? Well, look at you now. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t she?”* *“I’m here today to witness the blessed event of your separation. You two better make it official.”* But I needed the money, and my reputation. The network offered me a number I couldn’t refuse, so I couldn’t completely blow things up in the first episode. *At least make it through three episodes*, I told myself. *No, just make it until my dear ex-husband sees me on his TV screen.* 3 I saw Leo on the monitor first. He was thinner than the last time I’d seen him, and he had a worn-out, haggard look. Funny how the day he divorced me was the brightest he’d looked in years. I can still picture him standing in the sunlight outside the courthouse, waving that little divorce decree, looking me up and down with a sneer. “For the record, I didn’t cheat on you, Genevieve. Even without her, we were over. Got it?” Right now, the host on screen was asking him that very same question. “Leo, we understand you and Seraphina actually met during the filming of the last season. Is that right? Do you consider what happened to be cheating?” “This past year, that question has been crushing me,” Leo said, his voice thick with fake sincerity. “I don’t get it. When the show aired, everyone agreed that Genevieve and I were a terrible match, that I was miserable. But then, suddenly, I’m the cheater? All I did was meet the love of my life at the exact moment I decided to end a relationship that was already dead.” The rest of what he said was a blur. I didn’t snap out of it until the studio lights came up and everyone was looking at me. “Genevieve, what’s your take on the situation back then?” It was time to act. Chloe had told me once, “Gen, you have a gift. Why are you letting this jerk derail your entire future?” So I smiled, a gentle, sad little smile, directly into the camera as the live comments scrolled furiously. “It all happened so long ago. Why dredge up the past? It seems like my ex is really trying to make things work this time. It wouldn’t be right for me to interfere with their life by talking about our old story. Besides…” I pressed a finger to the corner of my eye, careful not to smudge my makeup. “…I’m doing just fine now.” I glanced at the monitor showing the viewer comments. “‘I’m fine now’ is code for ‘he destroyed me back then’!!!” “Wait, so Leo is basically admitting he got with Seraphina before the divorce?” “Dude, you’re not even divorced and you’re already falling for someone else. That’s called cheating, you moron.” “Go back and watch last season. The editing was so shady. All they showed was Gen’s supposed ‘flaws,’ and most of it was just Leo complaining. Maybe he was the real problem and that’s why she felt so insecure.” “Where’s the other woman? Let’s hear her side of the story.” The producers knew good TV. The next segment was Seraphina’s one-on-one interview. 4 Seraphina sat there, not like a homewrecker, but like a beautiful, proud swan. She wasn’t just any swan, though. She was last season’s on-set host. During the mandatory “couples hike” episode, her job was to interview each couple privately at the summit. But on the way up the mountain, Seraphina was already getting a private interview with Leo. “Oh, this trail is so steep! Can someone help me?” she’d chirped. I was stronger and further up the trail, so I reached down to give her a hand. But Leo, moving faster than I’d ever seen him move in my life, shot past me and grabbed her hand first. The only other time he was that quick was in bed—right after, when he’d roll over and start snoring before I could even ask how his day was. Any other time, I could call his name a hundred times and he’d just grunt, “In a minute,” “I’m busy,” or “Can’t you do it yourself? You’re home all day, what else do you have to do?” Seraphina giggled, and their hands stayed clasped for a solid five minutes. I finally had to whisper, “Be careful, the cameras are still rolling. A scandal is not the kind of viral fame you’re looking for.” He reluctantly let go, then turned on me. “See, Genevieve? This is the problem. In your eyes, even helping someone is a crime. This hypersensitivity is what ruined our marriage.” Of course, none of that made it into the final cut. And it certainly wasn’t mentioned in Seraphina’s interview now. “It’s really hurtful that everyone misunderstands,” she said, dabbing a single tear. “Leo and I only met that one time on the show. We just politely exchanged numbers for professional reasons. I admit, I would occasionally text him to ask about his career, but I was never the ‘other woman.’ I even explained this to Genevieve, you can ask her.” “But none of that matters now,” she declared. “What matters is that I want a divorce.” *You couldn’t even make it to your one-year anniversary?* I thought. *You two should have been shackled together from that moment on the mountain.* On camera, I put on a look of deep sympathy. “Oh, sweetie, you have to be sure. My ex… he can be a handful, I know. But men, they need time to mature, don’t they? To give up so soon? Think of all the pressure you two were under to get together. To divorce this quickly seems like such a waste.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “And if you want to have kids, you have to keep trying. Sometimes, you know, it’s just the mental stress that can cause… issues.” I snapped my mouth shut, feigning a gasp, as if I’d just revealed a massive secret. Heh. I did it on purpose. The comment section exploded. “WAIT. Did Gen just say Leo has performance issues??? IS THAT THE TEA??” The viewers had caught on. 5 After the show wrapped, I checked my phone. One unknown number had called me a dozen times. Worried it was the realtor, I called it back. It was answered before the first ring. “Genevieve, are you insane? Why are you sticking your nose in my marriage?” The voice was both completely alien and painfully familiar. When he was divorcing me, I had been pathetic. I had swallowed my pride and tried to contact him in every way possible. I wrote him long, forgiving emails. I told him I understood it was a moment of weakness, that it was my fault, that I would wait for him to come back. I had waited for him to marry me; I could wait for him to return. Leo had blocked me on everything and changed his number. The only reason I knew when and where to show up for the divorce was because his agent told my agent. And now, here he was, calling me himself. “And what the hell was that comment? Are you telling the whole world I have erectile dysfunction?” “What? You must have misunderstood, Leo,” I said sweetly. “I was just talking about pressure. If your mind went somewhere else, I can’t help that.” “Why are you on that show? Do you have any idea what people are saying about me online right now?” When I was in love with him, I thought he had the most beautiful voice in the world. Now, it was just grating noise. I held the phone away from my ear and let him rant. When he finally paused for breath, I replied, “Well, the network invited me. The show was very good to me, you know. I couldn’t just turn my back on them.” And it was true. The show hadn’t just helped me see the truth about a toxic relationship; it had gotten me seen by a director. I’d come to Hollywood to be an actress. I took a nothing role as the eighteenth female lead in that CW sci-fi show, thinking it was a start. But on set, I met Leo. He was flirting with the famous lead actress, a peacock showing off all his feathers. The sun caught his hair, his perfect nose. He was beautiful. I just wished I was the one he was making laugh. At the wrap party, I finally worked up the courage to sit next to him. He was drunk, schmoozing with a producer. Finally, he turned to me. “Let me give you some advice, kid. This town is tough. If you’re not sleeping with someone important, you’re not gonna make it. I think you should just…” He tilted my chin up with his finger. “…find a nice guy and settle down while you’re still young and pretty.” I was a little drunk myself. “Would you marry me?” I blurted out. He didn’t say no. I know how stupid I was. I made chasing him my career and forgot about my own dream. It was after the reality show, after I’d been publicly humiliated, that a director contacted me. “The role isn’t very glamorous,” he’d said. “Every actress we’ve offered it to has turned it down. The ones who want it can’t act. But I saw you on that show. I think you’ve got it in you. Want to audition?” I needed the money to pay the mortgage, so I went. I played a hysterical housewife who discovers her husband is cheating. The character has a complete breakdown, murders him, and then drives her car off a cliff in a blaze of glory. It was the most cathartic experience of my life. The indie film unexpectedly got into a major European film festival, and I was a nominee for Best Actress. Leo was still screaming on the phone. I’d had enough. “And what about you?” I cut in, my voice sharp. “Is this another fake divorce just to get your name trending again? Give me a spoiler. Are you already lining up your next girlfriend?” “You’re sick, Genevieve,” he spat, and hung up. Damn it. I didn’t get to tell him, *“Actually, according to Twitter, you’re the one with the sickness.”* And I didn’t get to say, *“By the way, Seraphina’s love isn’t as unconditional as you think.”* 6 Before Leo and I officially divorced, Seraphina had requested a meeting. She sat across from me at a cafe in Beverly Hills, twisting the engagement ring he’d already given her. “Gen,” she said, “do you believe in destiny? Leo was on the brink of stardom, you know. But marrying you… it was like you stole his luck. Look at him now that you’re breaking up. He’s all anyone is talking about. Why don’t you just give him his freedom? Let him become the star he was meant to be. I’m sure he’ll even thank you in his awards speech.” “And where do you fit in?” I asked. “Oh, Leo says I’m his muse. He says I don’t need to work. My only job is to be his sanctuary.” I’d heard that line of bullshit before. “Honestly, Gen, Leo and I are so spiritually aligned on this,” she continued. “He just *gets* me. I’ve never felt like my hosting job was my true calling. It’s so exhausting. I mean, you saw me on that hike. I couldn’t have made it up that trail without help.” “It was a two-mile loop with a 500-foot elevation gain. Maybe life itself isn’t for you.” “Gen, sweetie,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “If you really love him, you should let him go. You can always love him from a distance.” That was the moment I decided to divorce Leo. Not because I was a good person, but because I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I was sickened that I had let myself fall into this trap. Sickened that I had waited for a man like that. Sickened that he had only married me to squash a nasty rumor about him and a female network executive. “You want to get married, right? Let’s do it now,” he’d said, like it was a business deal. I was sickened that he later used that to manipulate me. “If I hadn’t married you, if I’d just kept my connections happy, I’d be a leading man by now.” He would say things like that, and I would just try to love him harder. After my meeting with Seraphina, I went home and cried. A new article had just been published online with paparazzi photos of me talking to her. The headline read: “Genevieve Reed Confronts Husband’s Female Friend in Desperate Bid to Save Marriage.” And in the comments, I saw a familiar username—one of the anonymous accounts I used to use to defend Leo online. The comment said: “OMG I know Leo, he and Seraphina are just friends! Some women can’t handle their own marriage failing so they go and harass innocent people. It’s disgusting.” That was it. I was done. I didn’t want any of it anymore.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385491”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was in the middle of reviewing my company’s nine-figure revenue stream when I got the call. They had found my birth parents. They said that if I wanted to be officially welcomed into the Donovan family, I would have to pass their test. I’d have to go through five rounds of written exams and interviews to get a job at their company, prove my worth in an entry-level position, and only then would they consider accepting me. A few days later, I received the interview notification. The HR manager in charge of my assessment was none other than the fake heiress they had accidentally raised as their own. “Luna is the heiress we’ve groomed her whole life,” they’d told me. “She’s currently training in Human Resources. She’s meticulous and sharp, the perfect person to vet you.” “Frankly, she’s a better fit as a Donovan than you are. If she finds any serious flaws in your character or abilities, we’ll have to reconsider acknowledging you at all.” I had to laugh. I instructed my secretary to clear my schedule for the interview. I was dying to see just how “meticulous” the HR department of Donovan Corp—the same company that had been crying and begging for a partnership with me just last week—could possibly be. 01 At the request of Thomas and Laura Donovan, I dressed down, sitting inconspicuously in the interview waiting area of Donovan Corp while my boyfriend, Leo, chattered endlessly in my ear. “Zoe, can you believe our luck? Do you know who the lead HR interviewer is? The Donovan heiress, Luna Donovan!” “I heard she’s been the apple of their eye since she was a child, the guaranteed successor to the Donovan empire. If we can get on her good side, we’re set!” I raised an eyebrow. I had to admit, Luna’s public image was solid. No one seemed to know she was a complete fraud. Leo, annoyed by my lack of reaction, nudged me with his elbow. “You’d better be on your best behavior. I know you have a simple background, but who knows? You might get lucky.” I scoffed internally but said nothing. My boyfriend of four years had become a different person the moment he’d received this interview notice—arrogant, insufferable, already dreaming of his shortcut to the top. My patience was wearing thin. I’d tried to break up with him several times, but his relentless pleading always wore me down. The door to the waiting room swung open. Luna entered, flanked by an entourage, and glided to the microphone. “Good morning, everyone. I am Luna Donovan, the head of this recruitment cycle.” Her voice was soft and sweet. Her eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on me, her chin lifted slightly. Her next words were clearly a veiled jab. “Here at Donovan Corp, we believe in quality over quantity.” “As you know, our compensation is very generous. Many of our new hires start with a salary of around $200,000 a year. However, I don’t want people joining our group who are shortsighted, willing to do anything for a bit of money.” I almost burst out laughing. My own secretary made more than a million a year. Two hundred thousand dollars? That was less than five minutes of my company’s cash flow. Beside me, Leo nodded vigorously. He leaned in and whispered, “See? Miss Donovan is warning people not to get any funny ideas. Just be honest later. Don’t exaggerate anything. I bet she can spot a liar a mile away.” I pursed my lips, speaking just loud enough for those around us to hear. “If her eye for detail is so sharp, why is she wearing last season’s collection? I gave that same dress to my housekeeper last year.” The girl next to me let out a snort of laughter before quickly clapping a hand over her mouth, nodding at me in solidarity. On the stage, Luna, disappointed at not seeing the flustered reaction she’d expected from me, bit her lip. But time was short, so she announced the start of the interviews. “We’ll go in groups of ten. When your name is called, please enter. First group, Zoe He!” I blinked in surprise. Not only was it a group interview, but I was first. It seemed the little heiress wanted to make an example of me in front of everyone. 02 Luna picked up my resume, flicked through it with an air of impatience, and tossed it aside. “Zoe He, is it?” She scanned me from head to toe. When she spoke again, her voice was still sweet, but it dripped with a manipulative innocence. “First question. Looking at your resume, your family background is quite… ordinary.” “Walking into a major corporation like Donovan Corp for the first time, you must be nervous, right? Terrified? Don’t even know where to put your hands and feet, I imagine?” I was genuinely stunned for a second. I never imagined such a brainless, leading question would be her first attempt at an assessment. “I’m… fine?” The question was so utterly unrelated to professional competence that it actually stumped me for a moment. I had to quickly organize my thoughts to respond to her sudden bout of idiocy. “It’s just, uh, the chairs in your company are a bit firm. I guess I’m not used to it.” Luna’s face took on an expression of profound understanding. “Oh, of course. Our chairs are all made of high-quality wood, not the cheap plastic ones you’re probably used to. You’ll have to get accustomed to it.” I rolled my eyes, suddenly missing the $30,000 Italian leather sofa in my office. Seeing my silence, Luna assumed she’d hit a nerve. Suppressing a smile, she continued in a mock-sympathetic tone. “Alright, let me ask you something else. Let’s say—and this is just a hypothetical—someone from your kind of background suddenly gets incredibly lucky and wins five million dollars in the lottery. What would you do with the money?” “Would you quit your job immediately? Start splurging? Buy a luxury car, designer clothes, eat at fancy restaurants, travel the world?” This question earned a few slight frowns from the other interviewers. It was completely irrelevant to the job assessment, but this was clearly Luna’s show, and they couldn’t intervene. My mouth twitched. I was ready to walk out. But then I glanced over and saw Leo through the glass window of the waiting area, frantically waving his hands, signaling for me to answer properly. A reluctant smile played on my lips. Fine. If she wanted to play, I’d play along. Five million? The spare change I donated to a charity fund last month was more than that. “Well,” I said thoughtfully, “I suppose I would probably buy a new car.” After all, I was getting tired of the ones in my garage. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Luna covered her mouth with her hand and let out a theatrical little giggle. “That’s understandable! It’s more money than you could ever dream of seeing in your entire life, after all.” Before I could respond, she launched into her third, even more ridiculous question. “Okay, let’s follow that thought. Let’s say you’re hired as the CEO’s executive assistant, against all odds. On your first day, you need to drive the company’s Rolls-Royce to take me to meet an important client.” “You’ve never driven such a nice car before, so you’re nervous and you get into an accident. The repair costs could be over a million dollars. What do you do? Would you just burst into tears on the spot? Or would you try to sneak away?” She winked playfully. “This is a test of your ability to think on your feet, you know.” Watching her, practically salivating at the thought of my humiliation, I answered with a perfectly straight face. “That would depend on your condition, Ms. Donovan.” “If you were merely injured, I’d call a car to take you to the hospital. If you were seriously injured, I’d call an ambulance immediately. And if, god forbid, you didn’t make it…” I paused for effect. “I’d slam my head on the steering wheel too. Get some of that worker’s comp, you know?” The other candidates in my group erupted in laughter. Luna’s face turned a shade of sickly green. “You—!” Furious that her attempts to fluster me had not only failed but had backfired, she scrambled to regain control. “Someone from your background probably doesn’t even know how to open the door of a Rolls-Royce! It’s easy for you to talk big here!” “You have to understand, as the sole heiress to Donovan Corp, I’ve been surrounded by this level of luxury my entire life. My perspective, my knowledge—it’s in my blood.” Warming to her theme of superiority, she straightened her back, her chin held even higher. “My eighteenth birthday present was a custom sports car. The kind of scenario I just described could never happen to me.” “Unlike some people who think they can just change their status and become a princess overnight. When it really matters, they’re completely useless and just embarrass the company.” I was about to roll my eyes so hard they’d get stuck. Just as I was about to drop the act, the glass door opened again. 03 The newcomers were none other than Thomas and Laura Donovan, my birth parents. They were beaming, their faces plastered with fawning smiles. I was wondering what was going on when I saw who they were ushering in: a tall, impeccably dressed young man with an air of effortless command. I froze. It was Caleb Vance, the heir to the Vance Conglomerate. Luna’s eyes lit up instantly. Her face transformed into a mask of sweet innocence, her voice becoming soft and delicate. “Caleb! What are you doing here?” She instinctively fluffed her hair and tilted her head, affecting a cute, girlish pose. Thomas Donovan chuckled. “Mr. Vance is here to discuss some business and tour the facility. We happened to be passing by and thought we’d check on the interviews.” As he spoke, he gave Luna a pointed look, urging her to seize the opportunity. Laura quickly chimed in. “Yes, Luna is in charge of recruitment this year. She’s always so meticulous and serious about her work. We have complete faith in her.” Luna got the message. She immediately began shuffling papers on her desk, trying to look professional. Caleb’s gaze, however, had sailed right over her from the moment he walked in and landed squarely on me. A smirk he couldn’t quite suppress played on his lips. My stomach dropped. I felt a wave of social death wash over me. Of all the people to see me here, it had to be him. To maintain a low profile, I’d always operated from behind the scenes, letting my VP act as the public face of my company. Caleb was one of the very few outsiders who knew my true identity. After he’d figured it out, we’d become surprisingly good friends. Just last week, he’d found out about my Donovan connection and had mercilessly teased me for finally escaping poverty by building my own empire, only to be dragged back down by my “new” family. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes asking the silent question: What in the world are you doing here? I held up my resume to hide my face, feeling utterly defeated. Don’t ask. My birth parents are having a moment, and I’m here to play doctor. “Mr. Vance, you’re interested in our recruitment process?” Thomas asked, following Caleb’s gaze. He seemed to notice me, his biological daughter, for the first time, and his eyes narrowed. Laura shot me a warning glare, silently telling me not to cause trouble. Caleb tore his eyes away from me and turned back to Thomas, his expression once again cool and distant. “Yes, I happened to walk into something quite interesting. You don’t mind if I sit in, do you, Mr. Donovan?” As he spoke, he shot me a secret wink. I just… I couldn’t. Was it too late to pretend I didn’t know him? Seeing Caleb’s request to stay, Luna was ecstatic. “Of course not!” she chirped. “Caleb, please, have a seat.” She personally brought over a chair, eagerly placing it next to hers before shooting me a triumphant glance. I just wanted the floor to swallow me whole. The interview continued. I thought Luna might tone down the ridiculous questions, but she chose to double down on her foolishness. She cleared her throat. “Zoe He, let’s continue with another hypothetical. If, after this interview, you were hired by Donovan Corp against all odds, but you soon discovered that your abilities were completely inadequate for the job, what would you do?” Caleb, listening from the side, let out a low chuckle, watching me with amusement. Luna, thinking he was impressed by her sharp questioning, became even more animated. “Would you hide in the bathroom and cry every day from your own incompetence?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385507”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel