Category: English

  • You No Longer Matter​

    Ten years. That’s how long I’d been living her life when my sister suddenly came back. The whole family stared at her in stunned silence. She let out a yawn, running a hand through her perfectly messy hair. “Thirteen countries,” she said, her voice dripping with casual exhaustion. “God, I’m beat.” Her eyes scanned the room, a flicker of impatience in them. “Where’s Jake? He must be in elementary school by now, right? Why isn’t he here to see his real mother?” Jake. Her son. The son she gave birth to, only to fake her own death on her wedding day, leaving him and her fiancé behind. The fiancé was from the Stone family—old money, one of New York’s unshakeable dynasties. My parents, terrified of the fallout, decided to solve the problem by packing me, a fresh college graduate, into a wedding dress and sending me down the aisle in her place. For ten years, I had been the perfect wife, the devoted mother. Now, watching my sister stand there, radiating an unshakeable sense of entitlement, I felt my parents’ anxious gaze shift to me. I offered a faint, placid smile. “Jake and his father are in Miami for the weekend.” … At my words, my sister Vera’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you I was coming home? Why didn’t you tell Ethan I was back?” I took a calm, measured sip of my tea. The years had forged me into something new; I was no longer the invisible girl living in her sister’s shadow. My silence seemed to infuriate her. She shot to her feet, her voice sharp and piercing. “Nora Collins! What is that supposed to mean? Don’t you forget, the engagement was with me. Now that I’m back, do you really think you get to keep your place as Mrs. Stone?” I glanced up at her, a small smile playing on my lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Vera. My husband and I are very happy.” It was true, in a way. Over the last decade, I had stood by Ethan Stone’s side at countless charity galas and corporate dinners. Our reputation as a loving, devoted couple was cemented in our circle. Ethan himself had leveraged his image as a dedicated family man to win over numerous business partners. There might not have been passionate love between us, but we were bound by something far more resilient: mutual interest. And that was the source of my confidence. Vera’s face twisted in disbelief. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Nora! Have you no shame? He’s your brother-in-law!” I set my teacup down with a quiet click. “No,” I said, my voice even and calm. “He’s my legally wedded husband.” My gaze was steady. I rose from my chair, unwilling to continue this charade. My parents stood by, wringing their hands, utterly lost. Vera whirled on our mother, clutching her sleeve. “Mom, she’s lost her mind! Ethan and I were college sweethearts! If it weren’t for me, if it weren’t for the Stones, how do you think our family’s company would have ever gotten this big?” My parents had always favored Vera. But now, my mother risked a nervous glance in my direction before speaking, her voice barely a whisper. “But… you ran out on the wedding, Vera. You faked your death. We didn’t hear a single word from you for ten years.” “There was no bride,” she continued, gaining a sliver of courage. “If it wasn’t for Nora stepping in, the Stones would have become a laughingstock. They would have ruined us! Our company would have been finished!” Vera’s face froze. “I… I just wasn’t ready to get married,” she stammered. “But I’m back now, aren’t I?” She tried a different tactic. “And you know how arrogant the Stones are. They already looked down on our family, and I was pregnant before we were married. If I’d gone through with it then, they would have tormented me!” My own voice was cold as ice. “Why did you come back?” Vera looked at me as if the answer was obvious. “They’ve accepted you now, so they’ll have to accept me. It’s perfect! If I marry Ethan now, his parents won’t dare treat me poorly. And Jake can finally be with his real mother. It’s better for everyone.” She closed the distance between us in two quick steps, grabbing my hands. Her eyes, the same almond shape as mine, were filled with a guileless sincerity—a naivete born from a lifetime of being spoiled and adored. A cruelly innocent naivete. “You’re free, Nora!” she declared, squeezing my hands. “You can finally go find your own happiness.” I stared into her eyes, my face a mask of stone. She truly believed it. She believed that I, the overlooked younger sister, existed only to sacrifice for her. A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I wrenched my hands from her grasp. “I’m perfectly happy with my life, Vera,” I said, my voice low and sharp. “You’re the one who needs to face reality.” With that, I turned and walked out of the house that had never felt like a home. I didn’t know what Vera was feeling, but I could guess it wasn’t pleasant. And I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t give up this easily. I drove back to the Stone residence, a bone-deep exhaustion settling over me. The last few weeks had been a blur of late nights at the office, pushing a new project over the finish line. When my parents’ message—Vera’s back—had arrived an hour ago, my body had gone rigid. I always knew this day might come, but the reality of it still left me breathless. I stepped inside, shrugging off my coat and hanging my bag. My eyes fell on a pair of men’s dress shoes by the door. I froze for a second before schooling my features into a practiced, welcoming smile. “You’re back?” a warm voice called out. I turned to see Ethan. He was dressed in simple black silk pajamas that did little to hide his broad shoulders and trim waist. He was a handsome man—tall, with refined features and kind eyes framed by gold-rimmed glasses. He was frowning slightly, a look of concern on his face. “You look exhausted. Haven’t you been sleeping?” I managed a smile. “Just a lot going on at work. Did you and Jake have a good time?” Ethan closed the distance between us, pulling me gently into his arms. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his warm breath ghosting across my neck. His long fingers traced patterns on my back. “Jake had a blast,” he murmured. “He’s already crashed. The only thing missing was you. We’ll have to go again, all three of us.” His voice dropped lower, a current of intimacy running through it. “I missed you.” I leaned against the warmth of his chest, but inside, I felt a chilling cold spread through me. As his lips brushed the nape of my neck, my body tensed. All I could hear were Vera’s words, echoing in my head. Before, I would have responded to his affection. Tonight, I couldn’t. I pushed back gently, creating a small space between us. “I…” I trailed off, because I felt it—the subtle, instantaneous stiffening of his body. I sensed his displeasure immediately. After a moment’s silence, Ethan smoothly finished my sentence for me. “You’ve been working too hard,” he said with a smile. “Go take a hot shower. You need a good night’s sleep.” He had given me an out. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. I nodded and turned, heading for the stairs. Behind me, the man standing in the shadows watched my retreating form, his expression unreadable, the air around him turning heavy and cold. The next morning, I left for work as usual. Just as I was pulling out of our gated community, I saw a familiar figure. My hands tightened on the steering wheel, my brow creasing. Vera saw my car and darted right in front of it. I slammed on the brakes as a chorus of angry horns erupted from the cars behind me. It was the peak of rush hour. A security guard hurried over, trying to pull Vera away. But she clung to her spot, her voice rising to a frantic shriek. “Nora Collins! Stop ignoring me! How can you live with yourself, sleeping with your own sister’s husband?!” Her shrill accusations drew stares from every direction. I pulled the car over to the side, out of the flow of traffic, and got out. My face was a cold mask. Vera, seeing she had won, flashed a triumphant smile and casually tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s the matter?” she taunted. “Embarrassed? Or are you just scared Ethan will kick you out when he finds out I’m back?” “Vera,” I said, my voice like ice. “You are seriously disrupting my life. This is your final warning. Stay away from me.” She laughed, completely unfazed. “Oh, stop pretending. You’re terrified. You’ve spent your entire life in my shadow, jealous of everything I had. It’s only natural you’d want to take my place.” She took a step closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But here’s the thing about imposters, little sister. They always get found out. I’ll wait right here for Ethan. Once I explain everything, he’ll forgive me. I know he will.” Her eyes gleamed. “And Jake… he’s my son. I carried him. We have a bond of blood that you can never, ever break. You will never replace me.” I said nothing. I just got back in my car. This time, she didn’t stop me. In the rearview mirror, I saw her standing there, a confident smirk on her face. A shiver ran down my spine. Vera had always been a spoiled brat, a giant toddler who threw world-ending tantrums whenever she didn’t get her way. I took a deep breath, trying to force her from my mind. I had spent ten years carefully building this life, this marriage, this career. A divorce wouldn’t just hurt me; it would damage Ethan, too. We were a brand, and our interests were intertwined. But Ethan had the Stone empire to fall back on. I had only myself. Sitting in my office, my mind drifted back. When we were kids, Vera would spend every school break running wild outside. On the first day of a new term, her homework would be untouched. Terrified of being scolded, she would simply take mine. My parents enabled it. Nora’s grades are so good, they’d say. The teachers won’t mind if she doesn’t turn in her homework. But Vera’s different. To protect Vera’s fragile ego, my efforts were hers to claim. After that, I learned to do two sets of homework every holiday. In high school, she dove headfirst into teenage rebellion—dramatically chasing the captain of the football team, getting into fights, and charming her way into every teacher’s good graces. Her grades were terrible, but her personality was magnetic. She had a legion of friends and a safety net for every mistake. I, on the other hand, had to be careful. Every step I took was calculated. In college, she met Ethan at an off-campus music festival. They formed a pop-up band, playing gigs in dimly lit bars. While I was juggling three part-time jobs to pay my tuition, they were on stage, drenched in sweat and spotlight, living out some wild, youthful fantasy. I thought graduation would be my escape. I would save up some money and finally break free from my family. Then came the night Vera stumbled home late, her face caked in heavy makeup, wearing a crop top and shorts that left nothing to the imagination. She was drunk, and she was sick. My parents rushed her to the hospital in a panic. The test results came back. Vera was pregnant. A heavy silence fell over our house in the weeks that followed. While my parents scrambled to handle the crisis, I was busy working every shift I could get to save for my last year of tuition. The only calm person in the house was Vera herself, utterly oblivious to the new life growing inside her. My parents confined her to the house, plying her with nutritional supplements and fresh fruit. A deal was struck with the Stones: once the baby was born and a paternity test confirmed it was Ethan’s, there would be a wedding. The Stones, backed into a corner to avoid a scandal that could tank their company’s stock, reluctantly agreed. The night before the wedding, I took a four-hour train home. The next morning, the limousines arrived. But Vera was gone. All that was left was a swaddled, sleeping Jake and a room full of furious, humiliated Stones. Ethan’s face was like thunder. My parents stood frozen, their eyes darting around frantically until they landed on me like a drowning woman spotting a lifeline. “We have another daughter!” my mother blurted out. “She’s a good girl! She’s never even dated!” “That’s right! Nora!” my father chimed in, his voice desperate. “Your sister’s gone! You have to take her place. There’s no other choice!” I stood there, stunned, my mind unable to process their words. They were already grabbing my arms, trying to drag me into the dressing room to force me into Vera’s wedding gown. I fought back, a cold fury rising in me. The first twenty years of my life had been lived in her shadow, and now they wanted the rest of it, too? Tears of rage and betrayal stung my eyes. For the first time in my life, I broke. I screamed, wrenching myself free. “Why me?! Why do I always have to be the one to pay for her mistakes? It’s always been this way!” My father slapped me, hard. “She is your sister!” I stumbled back, my cheek burning. My mother was sobbing. “What your sister did was terrible, Nora, we know that. But you can’t just stand by and watch our family be destroyed! The guests are all waiting for a bride!” I felt hollowed out, dead inside. “I won’t do it,” I bit out from between clenched teeth. “I will not get married.” No matter how much they begged or threatened, I refused. Finally, in a last, desperate act, I grabbed a fruit knife from a platter and pressed the cool blade to my throat. “If anyone tries to force me,” I whispered, my eyes wild, “I’ll die right here.” Everyone froze. I didn’t know if they were afraid of me dying, or just afraid of the scandal a death would cause. I didn’t care. I was about to graduate. I was so close to being free. The standoff was broken by Ethan. He asked to speak with me alone. They cleared the room. It was just the two of us. Half an hour later, the door opened. I emerged, dressed in the white gown, my face blank. I placed my hand in his. I walked down the aisle with a smile more painful than any tears, and completed the ceremony. Snapping back to the present, I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of my office, gazing down at the city below. It had taken me ten years of clawing my way up to earn this view. A sudden chill ran through me, followed by a pair of arms wrapping around me from behind. I jumped, but the familiar, warm scent of sandalwood relaxed me. “What are you thinking about?” Ethan’s deep voice murmured beside my ear. “I came in and you didn’t even notice.” I smiled. “Just thinking about the investor conference tomorrow.” He turned me to face him, his hands gentle on my shoulders. “I have complete faith in you. Everyone knows how capable you are.” I tilted my head. “What brings you to my office? Isn’t the head office busy?” “Things are quiet. I came to pick you up. And to tell you Jake wants to see that new animated movie tomorrow.” I nodded, my mind elsewhere. Ethan leaned down and brushed his lips against mine. I returned the kiss with a sweet smile. When we got home that night, there was no sign of Vera. Her silence was unsettling. I figured my parents, desperate to protect the family company, had finally decided to lock her down. The past few days had left me mentally and physically drained. I fell into bed and was asleep almost instantly. Sometime in the dead of night, a strong arm pulled me close. I murmured a complaint, my eyelids too heavy to open. The next day, the conference hall was a glittering sea of champagne flutes and influential figures. I moved through the crowd, networking, shaking hands, before finally slipping away to the private lounge in the back for a moment of peace. Jake was sitting patiently on the sofa. His face lit up when he saw me. “Mommy! Are we going to the movies right after this?” I smiled, tweaking his nose playfully. “Of course. When have Mommy and Daddy ever broken a promise to you?” His giggle was a balm to my frayed nerves. Seeing him eased the sense of dread that had been clinging to me all morning. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open to head back out. My eyes landed on a familiar figure across the ballroom, and I froze. Vera was clinging to Ethan’s arm, talking animatedly. His back was to me, so I couldn’t see his expression. Then Vera saw me. She pointed a dramatic finger in my direction, her voice a raw, desperate cry that sliced through the ambient chatter. “I’m his wife! She’s a shameless imposter who stole you and our child from me!” In an instant, every eye in the room was on me. The entire ballroom fell silent, as if someone had hit a mute button. The clinking of glasses, the hum of conversation—it all vanished. Dozens of gazes hit me like spotlights. I saw the flicker of shock in the eyes of business partners, the confused whispers among my own employees. Worse, the event photographers had already swiveled their cameras in our direction, ready to capture every micro-expression for public dissection. Blood rushed to my head, then drained away, leaving my limbs cold and heavy. Vera stood beside Ethan, her face a mask of tragic victimhood, tears welling in her eyes. She clutched his arm, her voice choked with sobs but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Ethan, tell them! Tell everyone we were the ones in love! I was just foolish back then, I wasn’t ready… but that doesn’t give Nora the right to steal my life!” A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. “Who is that woman? I thought Mr. and Mrs. Stone were the perfect couple.” “Did you hear that? She said their son is hers…” “Get this, get this! This is tonight’s headline!” Ethan remained silent. My hand, holding a champagne flute, tightened until my knuckles were white. Vera’s venomous gaze found me. “Nora! You knew about Ethan and me! You knew Jake was my baby! How could you be so opportunistic? Are you that desperate for a man? You’d even steal your own sister’s fiancé just to marry into money!” Her words ignited the room. The whispers grew louder, full of speculation and judgment. I felt their gazes bore into me, dissecting me. It took me a moment to find my voice. “Vera, this is not the place for your theatrics,” I said, my tone dangerously low. “What you’re doing is slander. I can sue you.” She smirked. “Really?” Just then, two figures emerged from the crowd. My nails dug into my palms, but I felt no pain. My parents. They walked forward, and my mother began pleading with me. “Nora, honey, just get a divorce. This marriage was a mistake from the start! Don’t let it ruin your entire life!” My father added, his voice thick with disappointment, “Have you no heart? Your sister has never known hardship. How can you bear to make her watch the man she loves spend his life with her own sister? You’ll… you’ll drive her into a depression!” A sarcastic smile twisted my lips. Who was it that begged me to be the substitute bride? Vera never knew hardship, so I deserved it? My entire life had been ruined by them. At that moment, Ethan stepped forward. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, his voice deep and resonant, cutting through the chaos. “My wife, from the beginning to the end, has only been one person: Nora Collins.” Vera’s face contorted with rage. “Ethan! You… have you forgotten everything we had?” My expression was glacial. “Had?” I repeated, each word deliberate. “What did you have, Vera? Let me say this one more time. This is not a stage for your drama, nor is it a ladder for you to climb.” Vera looked at me as if I’d said something utterly hilarious. “Climb?” she scoffed. “Yes. Or did you not come here because you saw how successful your ‘brother-in-law’ has become and decided you wanted a piece of it?” My words shifted the entire dynamic of the room. A wave of understanding passed over the faces in the crowd. “So the sister is just jealous of the younger one’s success.” “No wonder we’ve never heard that Mrs. Stone even had a sister.” “And those parents… clearly they have a favorite. They’re playing favorites so hard it’s pathetic.” “Making a scene like this today… they were trying to publicly humiliate Mrs. Stone.” Vera was speechless. My parents’ faces grew paler by the second. She gritted her teeth, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Nora! Don’t you dare slander me!” Then she turned her gaze back to Ethan, her eyes filled with a desperate, pleading love. “Ethan, do you really feel nothing for me? Not even a little bit of what we used to have?” The air around Ethan grew dangerously cold. His eyes, sharp and unforgiving, locked onto Vera’s tear-filled ones. He said nothing. Within moments, several security guards were rushing toward us. The head of security, sweating profusely, addressed Ethan. “Mr. Stone, my apologies. This woman claimed she was a relative of Mrs. Stone. That’s the only reason we let her in.” Vera’s eyes darted around warily. “What do you think you’re doing?! I’m Jake’s biological mother! I have a blood tie to this family!” I cut in sharply. “Do you have an invitation to this conference?” My sudden question left Vera momentarily stunned. I pressed my advantage, my voice ringing with authority. “You don’t even have an invitation, yet you come here and cause a scene. Security, please escort her out.” There were too many reporters here. Above all else, the Stone family’s reputation had to be protected. The financial stakes were immense. I watched, stone-faced, as the guards dragged a hysterical, screaming Vera from the ballroom. I let out a slow, shaky breath. Ethan gently squeezed my hand, a silent gesture of comfort. I managed a weak smile in return. The guests, all seasoned professionals, quickly moved on, the drama of a few moments ago already fading into the background hum of business. Ethan led me toward the lounge. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice calm as ever. “The tabloids won’t touch this. Tomorrow’s headlines will only be about what a strong, united couple we are.” He was always so composed. I met his deep, steady gaze and saw not a flicker of lost control. It was the cool, calculating calm of the Stone heir, the man who had long since shed his youthful recklessness. It was terrifyingly rational. A bitter smile touched my lips. Wasn’t that the very reason I’d agreed to this partnership in the first place? Composing myself, I reached the door to the lounge. Ethan paused, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Rest for a bit. We’ll go home together after the conference ends.” I smiled and pushed the door open. The scene inside made my blood run cold. My voice came out as a strangled cry. “Ethan! Jake’s gone!”

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385501”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

  • Stolen Sunlight

    The acceptance list for the grad school fast-track program dropped, and my academic advisor sent out a QR code for a group chat. “For everyone accepted through the National Collegiate Science Innovators Challenge, please scan to join the group for further instructions.” I’d just gotten out of the lab, my phone buzzing back to life. I quickly scanned the code and sent a request to join. A minute later, a rejection notification popped up: Not on the approved list. I stared at my screen, completely bewildered. I fired back a message. “There must be a mistake. My project won the Grand Prize in the competition. How can I not be on the list?” The reply came with a snarky, eye-rolling emoji. “Dream on, buddy. The only person from your dorm on that list is your RA.” Then another message, dripping with condescension. “And please, don’t spread rumors that someone else’s work is yours just because you’re jealous.” I was floored. Utterly shocked. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I drafted an email to the Dean and posted on the university’s official subreddit. Subject: A Humble Suggestion to Exclude MIT and Stanford from Future Competitions. Body: “I propose that in the future, our university no longer competes against schools like MIT or Stanford. It’s clear they can’t keep up. After all, my RA, a business major, just managed to win the Grand Prize in the National Chemistry Competition. It really says a lot about the ‘talent’ at those top-tier schools, doesn’t it?” 1 It didn’t take long after my post went viral on the university subreddit for my advisor, Mr. Davies, to call me, his voice practically shaking with rage. “What do you think you’re doing, posting things like that without talking to me? Do you have any idea how much trouble this could cause the department?” I almost laughed. “The competition’s official website announced my project as the Grand Prize winner. I have meticulous lab records for every single step of my research. Now, suddenly, the author’s name is changed, and I’m not supposed to fight for what’s mine?” Mr. Davies’s tone shifted to one of strained patience. “There might be a misunderstanding, Liam. You need to give the department time to investigate.” Before I could argue, his voice dropped, turning menacing. “You’re a college student. You should understand that the relationship between a student and his advisor is a partnership. If you make my job difficult, don’t be surprised if I make your graduation difficult.” Mr. Davies had a reputation for this. Every year, students who got on his bad side found themselves navigating a minefield. He’d “forget” to forward important emails about deadlines or “misplace” crucial paperwork, only to blame the student later. Pissing him off meant adding a mountain of obstacles to your path to graduation. Backed into a corner, I swallowed my anger and agreed to take down the Reddit post. Only then did he sound pleased. “Don’t you worry, Liam. We’ll get to the bottom of this. We’ll make sure justice is served.” 2 Hanging up, I felt a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I couldn’t just sit around and trust him. I immediately opened my laptop and started organizing my files. My project was on an artificial photosynthesis system. Basically, I’d developed a method to create a synthetic chlorophyll analog that dramatically increases carbon conversion efficiency—it could absorb greenhouse gases faster and in greater quantities. This project was my baby, the result of over a year spent living in the lab. I had documented everything. Even though Davies promised an investigation, I needed a Plan B. If the university wouldn’t give me justice… I’d package all my lab records and send them directly to the competition’s organizing committee. If this were some minor campus award, maybe I could let it go. But this was my ticket to grad school. This Grand Prize was the key to getting into Dr. Alistair Finch’s research group at MIT—the holy grail for any chemistry student. I wasn’t just going to roll over. Just then, my roommate, Alex, walked in. “Dude, I heard someone stole your Grand Prize? What the hell happened?” Alex was also a chem major. He’d seen me slaving away in the lab all year. I nodded grimly. “The official site shows my project, but the winner’s list has our RA’s name on it.” Alex looked concerned. “So what are you gonna do? Ethan’s a decent guy, and he’s been a good RA to us. Is it really worth blowing things up over this?” My eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? This is my future we’re talking about! That prize gets me into Dr. Finch’s lab!” Alex knew how big of a deal that was. He changed his tune. “Right, right. Did you talk to your advisor? What did Davies say?” “He said he’d look into it, but I don’t trust him. I’m compiling all my lab data to send to the competition organizers just in case.” Alex nodded. “Good call. With your evidence, no one can argue with you.” He saw me hunched over my laptop, looking stressed. “Hey, let me help. We can get this done faster.” I was grateful. “Okay, thanks. Can you just do a first pass and filter out anything not directly related to the final project?” “No problem,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I got your back. You can count on me.” 3 With Alex’s help, we had everything organized in a day. But in that time, I heard nothing but radio silence from Mr. Davies. I decided it was time to email the organizers. As I was about to hit send, Alex stopped me. “Whoa, hold on. You’re having Davies investigate and you’re going over his head to the national committee? You know what kind of person he is, man. Do you even want to graduate?” He had a point. It was the exact thing I was worried about. An academic advisor doesn’t have absolute power, but if they want to screw you over, they can make your life a living hell. “So I should call him and ask for an update?” Alex glanced at his phone. “It’s after five. He’s probably already home. You really want to bother him after hours? Maybe just wait and ask him tomorrow morning.” It sounded reasonable, so I agreed and put it off. In the days that followed, I would curse myself for making that decision. That night, Ethan, our RA, didn’t come back to the dorm. Probably feeling guilty and couldn’t face me. I sent him a hundred texts. He read every single one and replied to none. It was like screaming into the void. The next morning, I called Mr. Davies the second I thought he’d be in his office. He told me the department had completed its review and confirmed the project rightfully belonged to Ethan. The list was correct. I was furious. “How is that possible? He’s a business major! What does he know about synthesizing artificial chlorophyll?” Davies sounded completely unbothered. “What’s so strange about that? Some people are gifted. They have interests outside their major and can achieve great things. You shouldn’t question others just because you couldn’t do it yourself.” “I don’t accept this!” I stated flatly. “This competition is a huge deal, and it’s my ticket to grad school. I will not let someone steal my work.” “I told you, it’s his work. You need to stop throwing around baseless accusations of theft.” I was about to retort, but he cut me off, his voice final. “The decision has been made. If you still have a problem with it, you can come to my office to discuss it in person. I have a meeting now, goodbye.” The line went dead. I bolted from the lab and sprinted to his office. When I arrived, I found he wasn’t alone. 4 “So, this is the young man who’s trying to steal Ethan’s award?” The older man sitting across from Mr. Davies’s desk smiled, but his words hit me like a ton of bricks. It was Dean Albright, the head of our college. I took a deep breath. “Sir, with all due respect, you know how prestigious this award is. Does it seem reasonable that a business major could win it? I have all my experimental data to prove this project is mine.” The Dean just chuckled, a dismissive, patronizing sound. “If it were your project, why would Ethan’s name be on it? It seems to me that you saw your roommate achieve something great, got jealous, and decided to claim it for yourself.” Davies chimed in. “You heard him, Liam. The Dean has spoken. Just drop it.” I couldn’t believe it. “As educators, are you really going to make a decision without a proper investigation?” Davies’s face hardened. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t believe me, and you don’t believe the Dean? Do you think a man of his stature would conspire against a single student?” The Dean put on his fake, understanding smile again. “I was your age once, Liam. I know how competitive young people can be. How about this: you can join my research group, and I’ll personally mentor you for next year’s competition. We’ll make sure you get a prize. How does that sound?” “No! Why should I wait until next year when I won the Grand Prize this year?” Seeing that I wouldn’t be placated, the Dean’s expression soured. “Listen to me, young man. Right now, you are slandering your roommate out of jealousy. If I were to follow the university’s code of conduct, I could have you put on academic probation. Do you understand?” Watching the Dean’s righteous act, a thought began to form in my mind. No matter which student won, it was a win for the university. And I was a chemistry major, while Ethan was in the business school. If they were going to play favorites, they should be backing me. Why was he so adamant about protecting Ethan? And Davies was just sitting there, nodding along to everything the Dean said, like his loyal little foot soldier. Was this the Dean’s decision from the start? I decided to test my theory. “Even if you found out now that Ethan plagiarized my work, the award would still go to me, and the university would still get the credit. Why are you so unwilling to find out the truth?” The Dean slammed his hand on the desk, making the coffee mug jump. “I’m not going to repeat myself. The truth is that this project was Ethan’s from start to finish. You are the one spreading lies out of jealousy. I may be the Dean of the College of Sciences, but that doesn’t mean I’ll protect you when you’re in the wrong!” Before I could say another word, Davies, reading the Dean’s mood, started ushering me out. “That’s enough. If you want to get ahead, spend more time in the lab and less time trying to tear down your roommate.” The Dean delivered the final blow. “If you persist with this, I will see to it that you are formally reprimanded. That goes on your permanent record. And you will be banned from every lab in this college. Permanently.” 5 It was clear the Dean and my advisor weren’t going to help. I left their office, their threats ringing in my ears. But I wasn’t giving up. Back in my dorm, I went straight to Reddit and Twitter and laid out the entire story, with screenshots and timelines. I’d deleted the first post to appease Davies, but now the gloves were off. If I didn’t fight back, I was the one who would lose everything. A business major winning a national chemistry competition was the kind of headline that got clicks. Support started pouring in. “What university is this? This is insane.” “As someone who’s competed in these things, I can tell you the level is incredibly high. No way a business major wins without some serious foul play.” “The advisor and the Dean sound shady AF. Smells like someone got paid off.” But there were dissenters, of course. “Let’s wait for all the facts. Maybe he’s a double major or something.” “An advisor, maybe. But I find it hard to believe a Dean would risk his career to target one student. Doesn’t add up.” “This is either a hoax for clout or a total lie. Only an idiot would believe this without proof.” Regardless, the post was gaining traction. The comment count climbed, and so did the upvotes. Soon enough, my phone rang. It was Davies again. “What is the meaning of this? I told you to drop it! You’re making promises to my face and then stabbing me in the back? How am I supposed to explain this to the Dean?” When I posted, I knew I was burning that bridge. I wasn’t surprised by his call. “Mr. Davies, all I want is what’s fair. And I have the email records showing that I was the one who submitted the project proposal and all the preliminary data directly to you. It’s funny how my name suddenly disappeared after that, isn’t it?” He exploded. “Are you accusing me of giving your work to Ethan? That is slander! Libel! I could sue you for that!” “I’ll be waiting for the summons,” I said and hung up. I immediately went back to my post, hoping to find some helpful advice in the comments. But in the few minutes I was on the phone, the entire narrative had flipped. The comments were now a firestorm directed at me. “You’re just jealous of someone else’s success, you pathetic loser.” “And you guys live in the same dorm? Ethan has been so nice to you, and this is how you repay him? By trashing his name online?” “EVERYONE, READ THIS. DON’T BE FOOLED. HIS ROOMMATE JUST POSTED PROOF THAT THE WORK IS HIS.” My hand trembled as I clicked the link. It led to a new post by Ethan. “Hey everyone, I’m the ‘business major’ who supposedly stole a chemistry prize. I’m here to provide some of the evidence from my experimental research. The rest has been sent to the competition organizers to prove my innocence.” Below his text were a series of screenshots. They were my lab notes. My data. Every step, every breakthrough, marked and annotated exactly as I had done it. I felt the blood drain from my face. I read his final sentence: “My roommate Liam is a very hardworking chemistry student. It’s understandable that he’d feel upset seeing an outsider like me win this award. I hope everyone can find it in their hearts to forgive him.” Compared to my angry, accusatory posts, his calm, generous tone made him look like a saint. And it made me look like a monster. “Hardworking but stupid, I guess? The OP is way too nice. If it were me, I’d sue him for defamation.” “The records are crystal clear. There’s no way you’d have this data unless you did the experiments. This guy is obviously innocent. The other one is just a jealous snake.” “This is disgusting. If I had a roommate like that, I’d be scared he’d poison my food.” At the same time, a notification popped up in my class group chat. “Official Notice: Liam Carter (Chemistry Dept.) has been issued a formal reprimand for making false and defamatory statements online against a fellow student, causing significant harm to the community. He will be placed on academic probation and is disqualified from all university honors and awards.” 6 Just then, the dorm room door opened. It was Alex. He wouldn’t look at me, his eyes fixed on the floor. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. After my first attempt to join the winners’ group chat was rejected, the only person I’d told about the conflict with Davies was Alex. He’d never shown the slightest interest in my research, yet he had eagerly offered to help me organize my data. He was bought. Ethan must have paid him off. That’s why he was so desperate to stop me from emailing the organizers—to buy Ethan time to get ahead of the story. And the data, my data… of course, Alex had made a copy and sent it straight to Ethan. Watching him avoid my gaze as he started packing a bag, I knew I was right. But I had to hear it. “Why?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “We’ve known each other for years. How could you do this?” Alex pulled a few shirts from his closet and stuffed them into a backpack. He was quiet for a long moment before finally mumbling, “It’s just a dorm, man. Why’d you have to make such a big deal out of it? Ethan’s our RA, he’s always been cool to us. Why couldn’t you just let it go?” “So this is my fault?” I was in disbelief. This was a level of absurdity I couldn’t comprehend. Alex shifted uncomfortably. “Look, whatever the truth is, the winners were already announced. By making a scene, you’re just trying to ruin Ethan’s life. Did you ever stop to think about how this would make him look?” “Make him look? He didn’t seem to care about his ‘look’ when he was stealing my goddamn research!” I shot back. “Do you have any idea what that prize means? It’s my entire future! If this was your future on the line, would you be spouting this ‘whatever the truth is’ bullshit?” Alex’s brow furrowed in frustration. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and shoved past me. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. I’m staying somewhere else for a while.”

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385517”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

  • The Autobiography of a Killer

    Eight years ago, my entire family was dismembered and murdered. I was the only survivor. Eight years later, my crime novel, written from the killer’s first-person perspective, became a national bestseller. At a book signing, a talk show host, known for his probing questions, cornered me. “Mr. Vance,” he began, “this novel, written with such chilling intimacy from the perspective of a killer… would you say it’s a form of revenge against the person who murdered your family?” My fans, fearing the question would upset me, started booing, yelling at the host for being so insensitive. But I just held up a hand to quiet them. My eyes held a strange mix of relief and anticipation. “Of course not,” I said with a calm smile. “This isn’t revenge. It’s an autobiography, documenting my own crimes from eight years ago.” “After all,” I added, my voice dropping just enough for the microphone to pick it up, “I was the one who killed them. How could I take revenge on myself?” 1. A stunned silence fell over the room. Then, chaos. “Did I hear him right? What did Asher Vance just say?” “Hahaha, what a jokester. Of course a great writer would have a great sense of humor…” “But look at his face. He’s dead serious.” The crowd was a sea of confusion. I tossed my pen on the table, leaned back in my chair, and crossed my arms, my voice lazy. “There’s nothing to joke about. I’d been wanting to kill them for a long time. The cops, though… they’re pretty useless, aren’t they? Letting me walk free for eight years. If I hadn’t said something myself today, they’d still be scratching their heads over that cold case in another eight years.” Reporters in the audience gasped, a collective intake of breath. They smelled a career-making story. Cameras and microphones surged forward. “Mr. Vance, are you serious? You really murdered your family?!” “Why did you do it? And why confess now?” “Aren’t you afraid of the legal consequences…” My agent, Mark, a burly, perpetually stressed man, threw himself in front of me, trying to hold back the press. “Of course it’s not true!” he yelled. “Asher would never do something like that!” He shot me a look of pure terror, as if he were seeing a madman. “Asher, what the hell are you talking about?” I ignored Mark’s panic, my gaze sweeping over the shocked faces in the crowd. My voice was as calm as if I were describing the plot of my book. “Eight years ago, in our family home, I murdered my parents and my younger sister. Then, piece by piece, I took them apart.” A flicker of something dark and pleasurable crossed my face. I was remembering something I was proud of. “My technique was quite good, I have to say. It took the medical examiner three full days just to reassemble the bodies.” The audience, a mix of fans and reporters, stared in horrified silence. Then, the anger erupted. “Is he a monster?” “He’s proud of killing his own family!” “My uncle was a detective on that case eight years ago! He said the scene was a slaughterhouse! Blood everywhere, body parts scattered all over the house!” “So that’s why Asher, who was away at college, was the only survivor! He was the killer all along!” I tapped the cover of my new book, The Fog. It was a novella I’d spent three years crafting. “So,” I said, a small smile playing on my lips. “I’m sure my fans can now appreciate the stunning authenticity of my work. It’s a shame, really. If I wasn’t worried about the police catching on, I could have made the methods and motives even more true to life.” The crowd went wild. “You’re a monster, Vance! And I used to admire you!” “I own every one of your books! I can’t believe I was a fan of a murderer!” “Your most successful book is a how-to guide for murdering your family? You’re not even human!” If it weren’t for the security guards, they would have stormed the stage and dismembered me right then and there. Mark was sweating profusely, his voice hoarse. “Everyone, please, stay calm! The police will get to the bottom of this!” I saw them blocking the exits. I wasn’t going anywhere. Someone had already called 911. My atonement was about to begin. 2. The police were fast. The Vance family massacre was one of the state’s most infamous unsolved crimes. They had chased their tails for years on that one. In the interrogation room, an older detective hurried in. “Captain Miller, you’re here.” Miller. I looked up at the square-jawed, kind-faced detective. He was the lead investigator on my family’s case all those years ago. The pressure to solve it had been immense, and his failure to do so had stalled his career. “Asher. It’s been a while,” he said, sitting across from me. I gave a weak smile. “It has. Your department’s incompetence is truly remarkable.” Back then, he had been the one to guide me through the initial shock and grief, a steady presence in the chaos. Eight years had not been kind to him. “Asher, why did you kill your family? And why confess now, after all this time?” I adopted a careless, flippant tone. “What’s to understand? We were dirt poor, but they still wanted to blow a fortune sending my sister, Chloe, to art school in New York. The money in that house was for my education. Why should she get to live her dream while I was scraping by on student loans and financial aid?” My voice rose, the calm, collected author disappearing, replaced by a raw, resentful young man. The junior detective taking notes couldn’t help but interject. “But they were your family! Our investigation at the time showed you were all very close!” “Close?” I sneered. “When it comes to your own future, what does ‘close’ even mean? Let’s say you and I were close. If I asked you to give me your pension right now, would you do it?” The young detective’s face turned red. He was speechless. Captain Miller just watched me, his gaze steady. “I reviewed the old case file. The estimated time of death for your family doesn’t line up with the time you were confirmed to be at home.” I gave him a mysterious smile. “Well, you’re the detective. I’m sure you can figure it out. I have my ways of creating an alibi.” 3. Miller left, replaced by another officer who asked for a formal statement. I closed my eyes, letting the memories wash over me. “July 3rd, 2015. I was home from college for the summer. My parents told me their plan to send Chloe to Parsons. I told them no way. I worked my ass off to get into a top university, to win scholarships and grants. Why should she get to piss away our money on an art degree?” “So you argued?” the officer prompted. “Yes. I smashed a glass on my father’s head.” I pictured the wound, the way the blood matted his hair. “I took him down first. My mother and sister were screaming. I went to the kitchen, got a knife, and killed them both.” The officer frowned at my detached tone. “And why did you dismember them?” A slow smile spread across my face. “Misdirection, of course. Everyone knew what a good, loving family we were. What kind of a dutiful son would do something so monstrous to the people he loved?” “You animal,” the officer muttered under his breath. When they left me alone, I just sat there, replaying the plot of The Fog in my head. Before its release, I was a moderately successful writer. The Fog made me a star. And as its fame grew, so did the public’s fascination with the unsolved crime that inspired it. This book signing… it was all part of my plan. Soon, Miller returned. He was sweating, like he’d been running. 4. “You’re lying.” I looked up at him, a half-smile on my face. “What did you find?” “We contacted your old professors. Their stories haven’t changed. On the day of the murders, you were on campus, working on your thesis. We pulled the security footage from that day. You were in the library, the cafeteria, and your dorm. You never left campus. Your university is a thousand miles from your hometown. Without a flight or a train, you couldn’t have made it back in time.” He leaned forward. “So, you weren’t there. You’re lying.” “Is that all you have?” I asked. Miller’s frustration was palpable. “Asher, what are you doing? You’ve incited a public panic, you’re on the verge of destroying your life. All our evidence confirms you weren’t there. You didn’t kill them.” He paused. “Unless you had an accomplice.” I just looked at him, not confirming, not denying. My 24 hours were up. They had nothing. Reluctantly, they had to let me go. As I walked out of the station, I saw a familiar face waiting for me. My uncle. Miller explained, “He’s been here for hours.” My uncle was well-dressed, his hair graying at the temples, a successful businessman. “Asher, what’s gotten into you? Why would you say those things?” He turned to the police. “Officers, please, you have to clear my nephew’s name!” He looked distraught, but his eyes were cold. I turned to Miller with a wry smile. “You want to know who the killer is?” He looked at me, confused. My gaze drifted past him and settled on my uncle. “You don’t have to look far.” 5. The moment I got home, my agent, Mark, was on the phone. “Asher! Do you know what you’ve done? Your book sales have plummeted! Online retailers and bookstores are getting mass returns! The publisher has pulled the book!” He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “I’m sitting on my sofa, watching my name being dragged through the mud on every news channel.” [Why did they let him go? Don’t they have any evidence?] [The book is practically a confession! Who else could it be?] [Don’t let this killer walk free!] [The Author’s Guild needs to blacklist Asher Vance! We can’t have his sick fantasies on the market!] [CancelAsherVance] Mark was shaking me by the shoulders. “It’s the end of the world and you’re just sitting there! Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut and make your money?” I pushed him away gently. “Mark, I wasn’t crazy. I really did kill them.” Mark just scoffed. “And I’m the King of England. I’d believe that before I’d believe you’re a killer.” After he left, he called back. “Asher, prepare yourself. This is a huge scandal. The publisher’s worried about their reputation. They might drop you.” I just nodded. The hunger for fame and success that had driven me in my twenties had faded. All I cared about now was the truth. As expected, I got another call from the police. “Mr. Vance, we need you to come back to the station.” When I got there, my uncle was already there, his face livid. “Asher, I don’t know what lies you’ve been telling these officers, but I would never, ever harm my own brother’s family!” Miller looked at me. “Asher, are you accusing your uncle, Robert Vance, of the murders?” “Officers, don’t listen to him!” Robert shouted. I ignored him and spoke to Miller. “A month before the murders, I heard him arguing with my father.”

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385533”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

  • The Prodigal Daughter’s Curse​

    The first day I returned to the Ashford family as their long-lost daughter, I heard the voice of our family’s guardian spirit: 【Stop your father from investing in the Westwood project. There’s an ancient tomb underneath. He’ll lose every last cent.】 I convinced my father to abandon the project and invest in the Northgate Industrial Park instead. But who could have known that the factory next to Northgate would have a toxic gas leak? Dozens of employees died overnight. My father was wiped out, financially ruined. As despair settled over our home, the guardian spirit spoke again: 【Money is fleeting. But it’s a shame your mother will die in a car crash while going to borrow money from an old friend.】 I immediately stopped my mother from leaving the house. But she dodged the car crash only to die from a sudden heart attack. My father, weeping, told me she had been feeling chest pains for days. She couldn’t bear it any longer and had decided that morning to go to the hospital. The blood in my veins ran cold. By stopping her from leaving, I had sealed her fate. Overcome with grief, my father swallowed poison and died on the spot. Overnight, the only ones left were me and the adopted daughter, Bella Ashford. To pay off the debts, Bella worked three jobs a day, just so I could stay in school. Then the guardian spirit warned me again: 【Your sister is being dragged into an alley. You must save her.】 I ran as fast as I could to the location it described, but I was too late. My sister lay in a pool of her own blood, her last breath gone. 【Clara, this is all your fault. You are a harbinger of doom. You should be the one to die…】 In my despair, I leaped from a high-rise, ending my tragic life. But even as I fell, I couldn’t understand. It was supposed to be the Ashford family’s guardian spirit. Why had every one of its warnings pushed my family toward utter destruction? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I first heard the guardian spirit’s voice. 【You are the true heir of the Ashford family. Your birth parents are coming to take you home.】 My hands, halfway through hauling out a bag of kitchen waste, froze. My heart hammered against my ribs. I had been reborn. In my last life, I was working my way through college in the campus cafeteria when I first heard this voice. It claimed to be the Ashford family’s guardian spirit and correctly predicted several small events. That’s why I trusted it when it warned me about my father’s project. But it was this same spirit that led my family to ruin. This time, I didn’t glance around in confusion, asking who was there. I pretended I heard nothing and quickened my pace. 【Clara, you have the Ashford blood. I know you can hear me.】 【You may not believe me now, but you will soon learn the truth…】 Before it could finish, the screech of tires cut through the air. “My daughter, my daughter—” A regal, elegantly dressed woman threw herself at me, her face streaked with tears as she pulled me into a tight embrace. “I’ve finally found you. My child, you’ve suffered so much.” 【See? Now do you believe me? I am the true guardian of the Ashfords.】 I felt the warmth of my mother’s hug, a gentle current flowing through my heart, and I hugged her back. Just like last time, she didn’t care that my clothes were dirty or that I smelled of garbage. I made a silent vow: this time, I would protect my family. I went home with my parents. On the way, the guardian spirit spoke again. 【There is an adopted daughter at home, but do not worry. She is a good person.】 【She knows she has been occupying your place all these years and is preparing to leave.】 Hearing these familiar words, I studied my parents’ faces, but saw no hint of anything unusual. My mother felt my intense gaze and gently stroked my hair. “What is it, sweetheart?” “Mom,” I asked, “do you hear someone talking?” She looked at me, then at my father, a bewildered expression on her face. She slowly shook her head. “No one is talking, dear.” It was just like my past life. I was the only one who could hear the voice. The moment I stepped through the front door, I saw a girl my age, suitcase in hand, her eyes brimming with tears. “Sister, you’ve suffered so much,” she said, her voice trembling. “For all these years, it was I who stole the beautiful life that should have been yours. Don’t worry, now that you’re back, I’ll get out of your way immediately.” She made a move to leave with her suitcase. My parents’ eyes held a trace of reluctance, but they didn’t stop her. Having lived this once before, I knew Bella wasn’t just putting on a show. Her suitcase contained nothing but a few cheap sets of clothes. She genuinely felt she owed me everything. And in my previous life, after my parents died because of my trust in the spirit, it was Bella who worked three jobs to keep me in school. The memory of her brutal death flashed through my mind. I grabbed her hand, my voice filled with sincerity. “You don’t have to go. You will always be Mom and Dad’s daughter, and my sister.” My mother wiped her eyes and pulled us both into her arms. “Clara, you are my only biological daughter. But Bella was never a replacement for you. After you were lost, we searched desperately, but we couldn’t find you. Bella is the abandoned daughter of a distant relative. We only brought her home because we pitied her.” I nodded. This all matched what the guardian spirit had told me. In my last life, I was skeptical at first, until it correctly predicted a few more minor events. That evening at dinner, the spirit made another prediction. 【Your father is about to spill his water glass. He will then change into his blue pajamas.】 A minute later, my father knocked over his glass. The spirit’s voice was laced with regret. 【If only you had stopped him from picking up the glass, he wouldn’t have been scalded.】 It was this very sentence that convinced me last time to start using its predictions to avert disaster for my parents. But in the end, my father went bankrupt, my mother died of a heart attack, and my sister was murdered… This time, I swore I would change our fate. The next morning, I used the hundred thousand dollars my father gave me as pocket money to hire a private investigator to thoroughly look into the Westwood project. Our city wasn’t a historical landmark; no dynasty had ever made it their capital. The investigator reported back: “We had a history professor survey the site. He confirmed it’s virtually impossible for any ancient tombs to be there.” I finally breathed a sigh of relief. A few days later, my father was beaming at the dinner table. “The Westwood deal is sealed,” he announced joyfully. “The guaranteed profit is at least a hundred million.” He looked at me, his eyes shining. “My daughter Clara will get seventy million, and Bella will get thirty. I won’t favor one over the other.” Bella immediately waved her hands. “I’ve already enjoyed so many years of the good life that should have been my sister’s. Please, give my share to her.” My mother watched us with a gentle smile, and my father roared with laughter. A warmth spread through my chest. This time, I had finally protected my family, hadn’t I? The next morning, the headline of the news screamed: Major Ancient Tombs Discovered at Westwood Site; All Development Halted Indefinitely. An icy chill shot through me, plunging me into a frozen abyss. Why? Why were there suddenly tombs at Westwood in this life? There was nothing there last time. I had defied the guardian spirit, so why was my father… bankrupt again? At that moment, a scream came from the living room. “Dad! What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The news had hit my father so hard he’d collapsed, the shock so great he coughed up blood. My mother and Bella frantically rushed him to the hospital. My mother cried until she fainted, and Bella stayed by his bedside for days. When my father returned, his hair had turned white overnight, but he didn’t say a single word of blame to me. My chest felt tight, as if something was lodged in my throat, and I couldn’t breathe. Just then, the haunting voice returned. 【Your mother is going out to borrow money tomorrow. You must not let her leave, or she will be in a car accident.】 I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. Last time, I stopped her from leaving, and her heart gave out. This time, I would not make the same mistake. I had to save her. I knocked on her door. “Mom,” I asked directly, “is your heart bothering you?” Her face was pale, but she shook her head. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me… cough cough… The most important thing now is to figure out how to pay back your father’s debts. The house is already mortgaged, but I worry about you and Bella…” Her eyes welled up as she took my hand. “My poor child. You just came home, and our family is ruined. I haven’t been able to give you a single good day.” Tears blurred my vision. “Don’t say that, Mom. Just being back with you is all that matters to me. Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.” I immediately took out my phone and dialed for an ambulance. The spirit said the accident would happen tomorrow. If I got her to the hospital tonight, she would be safe. My mother insisted she was fine, but I was firm. “Mom, your health is the most important thing. Don’t worry about the money. My… my boyfriend’s family is very wealthy. I can borrow from him. You’re going to be okay.” She looked at me, a grateful smile on her face as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Clara, you are such a blessing. Having you back is the best thing that’s ever happened to me…” To be safe, I rode in the ambulance with her. The entire way, my palms were slick with nervous sweat. But the journey was smooth. Nothing happened. As the hospital came into view, I finally allowed myself to relax. Suddenly, a deafening BANG! rocked the vehicle. The world spun violently. It happened again. The car crash. Before I lost consciousness, only one thought screamed in my mind: Why… why is it happening again… I tried to crawl towards my mother, but my body wouldn’t obey. With a heart full of despair, I succumbed to the darkness. When I woke again, it was to the sound of my father’s and sister’s suppressed sobs. I forced my eyes open and turned my head. On the bed next to mine, a figure was covered by a white sheet. Mom… was gone. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Was the guardian spirit telling the truth all along? My eyes shot to my father, terrified he would do what he did in my last life. I’ve already lost my mother; I couldn’t lose him too. Just then, he noticed I was awake. The love in his eyes was gone, replaced by bloodshot despair. “Why?” he rasped, his voice raw. “Why did you have to kill your mother?! You hate us, don’t you? You hate us for losing you, so you came back for revenge! You want to destroy our family, don’t you?!” Tears streamed down my face as I tried to tell him about the guardian spirit. But as the words “guardian spirit” formed on my lips, nothing came out. My father just saw my mouth moving silently. “Clara, what are you trying to do?” he demanded. “This is no time for games…” Desperate, I turned to Bella and tried to say the words again. She just stared at me, confused, and said she couldn’t hear anything. “Enough!” my father roared. He lunged at me, his eyes crimson, his hands closing around my neck. “You curse! You’re still lying! Once you’re dead, our family will finally have peace!” A crushing pressure on my windpipe made me choke, my vision turning black at the edges. Just as I was about to pass out, Bella threw herself at him. “Dad, calm down! She’s your daughter! Sister was just worried about Mom’s health, that’s why she sent her to the hospital! The crash was an accident!” My father’s grip loosened. His eyes went vacant. “An accident… it was all an accident… The company is gone, we’re bankrupt, the house, the cars, everything… and the debt collectors will be here at the end of the month… It’s not her fault… so whose fault is it? Mine?!” His expression turned blank, and then he burst into a fit of insane laughter. “Yes, it’s my fault! It’s all my fault!” A terrible premonition seized me. I reached out to grab him, but before my fingers could touch his sleeve, he let out a chilling shriek and threw himself headfirst against the wall. My father was dead, too. Bella and I numbly went through the motions of arranging their funerals. Afterwards, she held me tight. “Sister, I’ll earn the money for your tuition. You have to finish your degree.” I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “No. I’m the one who destroyed our family. I should be the one to work and atone for my sins.” Bella gently stroked my hair, forcing a smile. “Sister, your grades are better than mine, and you have a rich boyfriend. Only with a degree can you marry into a powerful family and change your future… Then you can restore the Ashford name. Mom and Dad would be so proud.” After much hesitation, I agreed to continue my studies. But a persistent, gnawing anxiety wouldn’t leave me. Remembering Bella’s fate from my past life, I swallowed my pride and asked my boyfriend, Julian, to hire a bodyguard to secretly protect her. I had always been aware of the class difference between us and never asked for anything, but this time, I had no choice. The bodyguard reported to me daily. Bella’s routine was simple: work and home. As I slowly started to feel at ease, the guardian spirit spoke one last time. 【Your sister will be cornered by thugs tonight. She will be killed.】 Panic seized me. I frantically dialed the bodyguard’s number, but it wouldn’t go through. I had no choice but to run towards Bella’s workplace myself. And once again, I arrived to a scene of utter despair. Bella was lying in a pool of blood. With her last ounce of strength, she gasped, “Sister… run…”

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385550”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

  • The Price of a Frappuccino

    It was day three of freshman orientation, and the August heat was brutal. I paid a few of the guys from our orientation group to help me haul the Starbucks order from the campus cafe. “Dismissed!” the orientation leader finally yelled. The sun was beating down, and a couple of kids had already tapped out with heatstroke. I figured a round of Frappuccinos was in order. Honestly, I was mostly just craving one myself, but drinking alone felt kind of lame. Plus, my older brother, Evan, had been on my case about “making connections” and “building a network,” so this was a perfect excuse. It also didn’t hurt that the Starbucks on campus was technically one of my brother’s investments. He’s a total health nut and got paranoid about the syrups and additives at other coffee shops, so he had his executive assistant, Jessica, arrange for a high-end, organic-focused franchise right on campus. At least this way, he knew the stuff I was drinking wasn’t complete poison. After the guys helped me set down the cardboard trays, I started handing out the drinks, giving the first few to them as a thank-you. As I moved on to the rest of our group, a sharp scoff cut through the chatter. “Wow, can’t even hand out coffee without sucking up to the guys first. Pathetic.” I frowned, trying to pinpoint where the voice came from, but everyone was crowding around, grabbing for the icy drinks. It was impossible to see who’d said it. I sighed. Whatever. Haters gonna hate, right? I kept passing out the Frappuccinos, and everyone who got one was ecstatic. “Zoe, you’re the best!” “All hail Queen Zoe! You have my undying loyalty for the next four years!” I laughed, joking back with them. But then, that same snide voice piped up again. “College students, and you’re all bought for the price of a sugary drink. What a bunch of short-sighted sheep.” This time, before I could even react, other people jumped in. “Says the person hiding in the back and whispering insults. Got something to say? Say it to her face!” another girl shot back. “Seriously! Zoe’s just being nice because we’re all melting out here. What’s your problem? Don’t like it, don’t drink it. God, what a jerk.” I stood there, feeling awkward with the last tray of drinks in my hands. I suddenly remembered what Evan had told me before I left for school. “Zo, be friendly, but don’t be too flashy. You never know who you’re dealing with, and sometimes people get jealous. You can do something nice and still get burned for it.” Maybe this is what he was talking about. It takes all kinds, I guess. Trying to de-escalate, I spoke to the anonymous voice in the crowd. “Hey, I’m not trying to buy anyone’s friendship. I just genuinely wanted to do something nice since it’s so hot. I really do want to be friends with everyone.” My explanation was met with a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Genuinely?” the voice sneered. “You call showing off with your brother’s hard-earned money ‘genuine’?” A skinny girl with a severe haircut pushed her way out of the crowd. She marched right up to me and, without a word, slapped the Frappuccino right out of my hand. The plastic cup hit the track, splitting open on impact. Caramel-colored slush splattered all over the rubberized surface, a good amount of it soaking into the cuff of my orientation-issued sweatpants. It was sticky and gross, and I was so stunned I just stood there frozen. “Zoe, I know your family has money,” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “But that’s your brother’s money, earned through his hard work! What gives you the right to just throw it away like this?” “I can’t stand entitled princesses like you who’ve never worked a day in their lives!” she continued, her voice rising. “Orientation is supposed to build character, to teach us discipline! And what do you do? You disrupt everything, encouraging everyone to indulge in lazy consumerism. Don’t you see how desperate you look for attention?” “You call it genuine? I call it flexing. You just wanted to show off!” Before I could process what was happening, she kicked the cardboard tray, sending the remaining dozen Frappuccinos flying. Then, she pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. “Our orientation leader is out sick, so she appointed me as the temporary group leader.” She held up the paper, which had some scribbled handwriting on it. “From now on, everyone in this group listens to me. Nobody is allowed to drink the coffee Zoe bought! Anyone who does, I’m reporting you for disorderly conduct during orientation.” The group went silent. Everyone stared, wide-eyed and heartbroken, at the sugary puddles on the ground. The girl, however, seemed to be high on her own power trip. She even started introducing herself. Her name was Sarah Jenkins, she said. She was a scholarship student from a poor town in Appalachia. She’d known real hardship, which is why she couldn’t stand to see people like us squandering our privilege. “You people can’t handle a little heat? The men in my town work in factories in hundred-degree weather, and you don’t see them whining for five-dollar coffees!” she lectured. “If our universities are just churning out spoiled brats like you, what’s the future of this country? I may not be able to change everyone, but as long as I’m in charge here, I will not let this culture of extravagance take root in our group!” She turned back to me, her eyes burning. “Zoe, you started this. After today’s session, you will write a five-thousand-word apology. And whatever you spent on these drinks, you will deposit that same amount into a group fund. You love showing off your money? Fine. That money will now be used to buy bottled water for everyone for the rest of the week. I will be the one to distribute it. Frugally.” Her speech left everyone speechless. She’d taken my simple gesture of buying coffee and twisted it into a national crisis. The moral high ground she’d claimed was so extreme, no one knew how to argue. The few guys who’d already started their drinks quietly put them down. Everyone shuffled back to their spots on the field. I started to walk back, too. As I passed her, our eyes met for a split second. And in that moment, I remembered a photo. It was a headshot on a file in my brother’s office, under a stack of papers for his foundation’s scholarship program. He had even mentioned her to me. “Zo, this girl is going to the same university as you, same major and everything. The foundation is sponsoring her. When you get to campus, maybe she can show you the ropes, help you out.” So, this was Sarah. The girl my brother was paying to go to college. At lunch, my new roommate, Riley, was still fuming about the morning’s disaster as we sat in the dining hall. “I still can’t believe that girl! You do something nice for everyone, and Sarah just goes completely psycho,” she complained, stabbing a French fry with her fork. “And what’s with the ‘temporary leader’ power trip? Acting like she’s a drill sergeant. Ugh, I was so looking forward to that Frappuccino!” Riley threw her head back and pretended to cry. I pushed a piece of my fried chicken onto her plate. “Here, have this. I’ll get you another one later, I promise.” “Maybe she’s just… intense,” I offered, trying to be charitable. “Different backgrounds, you know? We can’t really relate, so maybe we should just steer clear.” As I spoke, I accidentally nudged Riley’s arm, and the piece of chicken I’d just given her tumbled onto the table. We looked at each other, and then both said at the same time: “Five-second rule!” Riley was just about to snatch it up and rinse it off when Sarah appeared at our table. She slammed her tray down with a loud bang that made half the dining hall look over. Riley and I just stared at her, completely confused. Here we go again. “Zoe, was I not clear enough on the field this morning?” she began, her voice dripping with condescension. “You think because you’re rich, you can just be wasteful? Do you have any idea what it takes to raise a chicken, the labor that goes into getting this food on our plates? People work their fingers to the bone so we can eat, and you just toss a perfectly good piece of chicken away because it touched the table for a second? Are you even human? Do you deserve to be in college?” I officially retracted my earlier statement about her being “intense.” She was just a straight-up lunatic who loved to hear herself talk. I was done being nice. I stood up. “First of all,” I said, my voice sharp and clear. “We didn’t throw it away. We were about to apply the five-second rule and eat it before you showed up and started your unhinged rant. Secondly, while I may not know the ins and outs of poultry farming, I do know not to waste food. Unlike you, who kicked over an entire box of perfectly good drinks that people worked to make. What, in your mind, the labor of a barista doesn’t count as ‘real work’? Is it okay to trample on their efforts?” I leaned in closer. “And finally, when you slammed your tray down, you spilled rice all over the floor. Since you’re such an expert on thrift and appreciating every grain, why don’t you pick it up and eat it?” Riley, catching on, quickly grabbed the piece of chicken, ran it under the water fountain, and popped it in her mouth. She chewed dramatically, swallowed, and then pointed to the grains of rice on the floor by Sarah’s feet, raising an eyebrow. “See? I ate it. No food wasted here,” Riley said with a smirk. “Your turn.” Sarah’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. With a furious scream, she swept everything off our table—trays, plates, cups—sending a shower of food and soda across the floor. My white sneakers and Riley’s jeans were instantly splattered with greasy, sticky stains. She stood there, glaring at our ruined clothes, a triumphant smirk flashing across her face before it melted back into a mask of victimhood. “Zoe! Riley! You are going too far!” she cried, her voice cracking. “I was just trying to make a point about not wasting food, and you—you publicly humiliate me like this! I know you rich people look down on us, but do you have to be so cruel?” I almost laughed. We had no intention of actually making her eat rice off the floor; we were just trying to get her to back off. But she had to escalate, had to turn everything into some grand class struggle. We’re all just college students here. Nobody cares where you came from until you make it your entire personality. Was I supposed to feel guilty for being born into a good family? My patience was completely gone. “How did we humiliate you?” I shot back. “You’re the one who preaches about waste. Riley ate the chicken. She practiced what you preached. But when it’s your turn, suddenly all your high-and-mighty principles don’t apply?” “You know what, Sarah? I was going to let the whole Frappuccino thing go, but you just had to keep pushing. So, let’s settle this. This morning, you destroyed thirty-five drinks. At seven dollars a pop, that’s two hundred and forty-five dollars. Then there are my shoes.” I pointed to my ruined designer sneakers. “These are fifteen hundred dollars. They’re covered in your mess. I won’t even make you replace them. Just pay for the specialty cleaning. The place I go charges fifty bucks. So that’s… let’s call it an even three hundred dollars you owe me. Pay up.” If she wanted me to be the spoiled rich girl, fine. I could play that part. Riley chimed in. “Oh, yeah, me too. My jeans aren’t as expensive as Zoe’s shoes, but they’re not cheap. The cleaning fee will be twenty bucks.” If I remembered correctly, my brother had only transferred one month of living expenses to Sarah so far—about five hundred dollars. Given how frugal she claimed to be, she should have more than enough left to cover this. And honestly, this was just my way of getting my family’s money back. If she was so high and mighty, so in love with the struggle, she didn’t need our charity. I have a soft spot for helping people achieve their goals, and Sarah’s goal was clearly to suffer. Who was I to stand in her way? I looked her dead in the eye and used her own favorite weapon against her. “A group leader should lead by example. You’re not going to skip out on your debt, are you?” The other students in the dining hall started chiming in. “Yeah, leaders should be responsible!” “I thought the whole point was ‘poor but proud.’ Is that only for show?” “Seriously, Zoe and Riley’s money didn’t just appear out of thin air. You wrecked their stuff. If you don’t pay, they should just call campus security.” Cornered and outnumbered, Sarah had no choice. She pulled out her phone and, with a pained expression, Venmoed me and Riley the money. I watched the notification pop up on my screen and smiled. Then I held up my phone for everyone to see. “This afternoon,” I announced, “the Frappuccinos are on me again!” During the afternoon orientation session, I went up to our leader and explained the situation. He was surprisingly cool about it and gave me permission to get more drinks for the group, even assigning a few people to help me carry them. When we got back, I started handing them out. To my surprise, Sarah was standing in line. I was looking down as I passed out the cups, so I didn’t see her until it was her turn. When I looked up, she had the same condescending expression on her face. “I’m not here because I want one of your drinks,” she said haughtily. “I just think since you already bought them, it would be wasteful not to take one. So I’m queuing up. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even bother.” She sniffed. “After all, I’m not like you people, always chasing cheap thrills.” I nodded slowly, a small smile playing on my lips. Then I snatched the Frappuccino back out of her hand. “Oh, in that case, I wouldn’t want to force you to indulge with the rest of us hedonists,” I said sweetly. “I only bought thirty-four this time anyway, so I didn’t have one for you to begin with. Could you please step aside? You’re holding up the line.” The guy behind her didn’t even wait for her to move. He just hip-checked her out of the way and took the drink I offered him. He happened to be one of the guys who’d helped me that morning and gotten cheated out of his coffee, so he shot Sarah a nasty look. He walked right up to her, took a long, exaggerated sip, and sighed with pleasure. “Mmm, delicious. What’s wrong, Sarah? Don’t like Frappuccinos? Or just can’t afford one?” Sarah’s face turned beet red. She clenched her fists, glared at me for a long moment, and then finally yelled, “You’ll regret this, Zoe! Don’t you dare underestimate me!” That evening, Riley and I were in our dorm room, binging a new show on Netflix, when she suddenly shot up from her chair. “OMG, OMG, OMG!” she shrieked. “What is it?” I asked, startled. She swallowed hard. “I was just scrolling through the campus Yik Yak, and there’s a huge rumor going around that Evan Holt’s secret fiancée is a freshman here at our school!” “Zoe, you know who Evan Holt is, right? The CEO of Holt Holdings?” She shoved her phone in my face, showing me the anonymous message board. “Look, people are saying she’s in the class of ’29! Holy crap, can you imagine? Who is that lucky? I heard he’s ridiculously hot.” She paused, looking at me. “Wait, why are you so calm? Don’t tell me you don’t know who Evan Holt is.” Riley shook my shoulder. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a little awkward. How was I supposed to tell her that not only did I know who Evan Holt was, but he was also my brother? But that wasn’t the main issue. The main issue was, since when did my brother have a fiancée? Wasn’t he… gay? I grabbed Riley’s arm to stop her from vibrating with excitement. “Riley, calm down. Evan Holt… he’s my brother.” “Holt Holdings is named after him, and my name, Zoe Holt, is where the ‘Z.H.’ in the logo comes from.” Riley just stared at me. She grabbed me, spun me around three times like she was inspecting me for alien markings. “Are you serious? Evan Holt is your brother? But your last name isn’t Holt.” “I use my mom’s last name,” I explained. “But he’s like, six-foot-three, and you’re… five-foot-three.” Ugh, why does everyone always bring up my height? It’s not my fault I didn’t win the genetic lottery in that department. Just then, my phone buzzed with a video call from Evan. I answered, and his handsome face filled the screen. Oh, wait. Two handsome faces. My brother, and his movie-star boyfriend, Leo Vance. The moment they both said “Hey, Zo!” Riley let out a squeal that could shatter glass. “NO WAY! Zoe, you really are Evan Holt’s sister!” she whisper-shouted. “Wait a minute… why is he with Leo Vance? The Leo Vance? Isn’t he, like, super private about his dating life?” I nodded awkwardly. “Yeah. My brother’s even more private.” Riley’s eyes went wide. “So the whole fiancée rumor on Yik Yak is fake?” “One hundred percent.” Hearing the word “fiancée,” Evan immediately turned to Leo and dropped to his knees on the floor of their hotel room. “Babe, I swear on my life, you’re the only one for me.” Leo just laughed. “Zoe, you’d better screenshot this. You can use it to blackmail him for money later.” “Done and done!” I said, snapping a picture. After a few more jokes, Evan got serious. “So, how’s school, Zo? You look like you’ve lost weight. Is the food in the dining hall that bad?” He scanned my dorm room through the camera. “And what is with this room? It’s so… basic. Are you sure you’re okay here? I told you, you could pick any condo you wanted near campus. Why did you insist on living in a dorm? Look at this hardship you’re enduring.” I glanced around our room. Sure, it was a far cry from my bedroom at home, but it was a pretty standard dorm. Maybe even a little nicer than average. Plus, didn’t he tell me to “integrate with my peers” before I left? Now he was second-guessing. Besides, I really liked Riley. If I moved out, I’d be all alone again. Unless she wanted to move with me, but that was a conversation for after orientation week. “I’m fine, Evan. It’s totally fine,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “Look, we have AC and our own washing machine. I heard from friends at other schools that they have to use a communal laundry room for the whole building. This is practically luxury. Besides, someone already gave us a lecture today about how spoiled we are and how we need to embrace hardship to prepare for the ‘real world.’” Leo immediately jumped in. “Who says everyone has to suffer? If you have the means to be comfortable, choosing to suffer is just stupid. It’s called manufacturing misery. And besides, you have two older brothers. Who would dare give you a hard time?” As Leo was talking, I panned the camera around to give them the full tour. When the lens passed over our bunk beds, both of them frowned. “Wait, are those bunk beds? Is that what college dorms are like now?” Evan asked, horrified. “How is anyone supposed to sleep on a bed that narrow? You know what? If you’re really determined to stay on campus and not get ‘special treatment,’ then fine. Tomorrow, I’ll have the foundation’s finance department wire a donation to the university to renovate all the freshman dorms.” And just like that, it was decided. A corporate donation, in the company’s name. It was actually a smart move—good PR, and it might even attract some top graduates to work for Holt Holdings. I just never imagined that my brother’s act of generosity would end up making the girl pretending to be his fiancée look like the real deal. My brother moves fast. The very next day, during our morning session on the field, we saw a fleet of trucks with the Holt Holdings logo pulling up to the freshman dorms. Swarms of construction workers followed, ready to begin the renovations. The project was being overseen by Evan’s assistant, Jessica. If there’s one thing I can say about my brother, it’s that he absolutely spoils me. Growing up, anything I wanted, he made sure I got it. If I’d asked for the moon, he would’ve found a way to build a ladder. So, in a way, Sarah wasn’t entirely wrong. I’d never really known hardship. Man, I was suddenly missing my brother a lot. My thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of whispers from the girls next to me. “Oh my God, it must be true! The rumor about Evan Holt’s fiancée being here? It was posted yesterday, and today Holt Holdings is renovating the dorms! He’s totally doing it for her. He can’t stand to see his queen suffer in a crappy dorm room.” “I’m so jealous! When will it be my turn to be that lucky?” It was our break time, so the whole group was gossiping. Riley and I just sat and listened. Last night, I’d asked her to keep my connection to Evan a secret for now. I wanted to see who was behind this ridiculous rumor. Just then, Sarah stood up. She had a strange, smug look on her face as she addressed the gossiping girls with disdain. “You’re all so pathetic. Have you never seen real money before?” Then, she stalked over to where Riley and I were sitting on the grass, looming over us. “Zoe, I thought your family was rich. How come they aren’t donating money to renovate the dorms? All you know how to do is buy cheap coffee to win people over. Such a tacky, new-money move.” She smirked. “See? People with real wealth are discreet. They don’t need to flash their cash around like you do.” Her gaze swept over Riley and the others. “And you people,” she sneered, “are just as pathetic. Bought for the price of a Frappuccino. I bet you all feel pretty stupid right now.” Riley, who never backs down from a fight, jumped to her feet. “Stop calling people pathetic! And what’s wrong with a Frappuccino? At least Zoe was being nice, trying to help us cool down. Unlike some people, who are just bitter because they can’t have any.” Someone else chimed in. “Yeah, with the way you’re acting, anyone would think you’re Evan Holt’s fiancée.” Sarah let out a cold, knowing laugh. “Whether I am or not is none of your business. All you need to know is that it could never be any of you.” Riley was about to fire back, but I pulled her down. Her temper was a short fuse, and I was afraid she’d blow our cover. “Riley, not yet,” I whispered. “Don’t scare the snake out of its hole.” And I had a feeling this particular snake was about to make its move.

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385567”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

  • A Wind Blows In

    The girl who murdered three people had my face. So, they arrested me. They extracted my memories for a global live stream. Turns out, my brain is full of things that need a censor bar to be shown. The judge, red-faced with anger, demanded, “What on earth do you spend your time watching?” I feigned surprise. “Why? You want the links?” The internet audience: LMAO. They let me go, admitting they’d arrested the wrong person. But did they really? 1 In the courtroom, the judge’s voice boomed. “Defendant, the surveillance footage is crystal clear. Are you still going to deny it?” I licked my dry lips, repeating the same words I’d said a thousand times over the past few days. “I didn’t kill anyone. That wasn’t me!” But the evidence was right there. A wave of murmurs rippled through the gallery. “Tch, three lives lost. If it wasn’t her, who was it?” “The nerve of her. The Smiths were such decent, hardworking people, and she just butchered them!” “And that poor girl, Jessica. Same age as her. Such a tragedy…” The judge slammed his gavel, and the room fell silent. I delivered my final statement. “Memories don’t lie. I will submit to a Memory Trial to prove my innocence.” In this age of advanced technology, the memories of the most heinous criminals were extracted and broadcast live as a warning to the world. It was a brutal process. The subject endured not only excruciating physical pain but also the complete annihilation of their private self under the public gaze. For humanitarian reasons, the Memory Trial was reserved only for those already sentenced to death. I was the first person in history to demand it for myself during a trial. 2 The courtroom, which had just quieted down, erupted again. The judge stared at me, his eyes unblinking. I met his gaze, my jaw set, my intention clear. The case of a fragile-looking eighteen-year-old girl accused of murdering three people, boiling their remains, and feeding them to dogs was too sensational to ignore. The public, driven by a morbid curiosity, craved the gruesome details more than the truth itself. The judge was only human. He was no exception. After he gave his consent, I was led into a massive, sterile chamber. The only sounds in the white room were the steady beeps of machinery. Orderlies and technicians strapped me onto a bed. In a few minutes, my entire life, my every thought, would be on display for the world to see. I felt a strange thrill, like opening a mystery box. I was actually a little excited to see what they would find. A rainbow of wires was attached to my body, and a searing pain shot through my skull. Within seconds, my body started convulsing uncontrollably. Then, an image flickered to life on the massive screen, accompanied by text transcribing my thoughts. These were my memories. 3 In a dimly lit room, I was burrowed under my covers, the sound of rain tapping against the window. The faint glow of my phone illuminated my face, revealing a sly, almost perverted grin. Whispers broke out in the gallery. “Creepy. Is she researching murder techniques?” “Look at that smile. She has to be!” Before they could finish their sentence, the contents of my screen filled the broadcast. Android x Female CEO, Multiple Scenarios… What I was browsing made jaws drop, both in the courtroom and in homes across the world. Well, damn. Everyone sat up straighter, their faces flushing as they continued to watch, utterly captivated. Hours passed. My memories consisted of nothing but browsing websites, binge-watching anime, and reading web fiction. The judge was gritting his teeth, his face a thundercloud. Incest tropes, silver-haired love interests, groveling exes, gender-bender, male suffering… Where were the details of the murder? 4 Once a live stream starts, it can’t be stopped without a result. If his superiors accused him of incompetence, his career would be over. With that thought, the judge steeled himself and ordered the trial to continue. He had the technicians fast-forward, selecting memories from the days surrounding the murders and playing them at high speed. It was a way to save time, but for me, it multiplied the agony. “She’s only in pain for a little while,” a comment flashed on screen. “Those three people lost their lives.” Everyone had already decided I was a cold-blooded killer. The more I suffered, the more they reveled in it. The hum of the machine intensified, and a picture-in-picture display showed my writhing form alongside my memories. I was screaming, my voice raw with pain. People online were cheering, thoroughly enjoying the show. Their sick pleasure didn’t last long. The selected memories finished playing. There wasn’t a single shred of evidence that I had killed anyone. Not even a passing thought of murder. Aside from the… questionable start, the rest of the broadcast painted a clear picture: I was just a normal high school senior on break. Besides my phone, the places I frequented were the local park and the apartment of my elderly blind neighbor, Mrs. Gable. The time of the murder, according to the security footage, was 6 PM. At that exact moment, my memory showed me walking back from the park and eating dinner at Mrs. Gable’s. “Come on, they seriously got the wrong person.” “If it wasn’t for the Memory Trial, this poor girl would have been wrongfully convicted.” The live chat flooded with questions and outrage. The judge was sweating bullets. The murderer in the footage was a 99.9% match to me. Yet my memories proved I was completely innocent. If I wasn’t the killer, then who was? As he grappled with this, a middle-aged woman burst through the courtroom doors. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Before the judge could speak, she let out a choked cry. “She’s the only daughter I have left! Are you trying to kill her? If Chloe dies, I’ll die with her!” My mother’s voice, broadcast into the chamber. The “Chloe” she was talking about was me. The judge seized on a key phrase. He cut her off. “Wait. What do you mean, ‘the only daughter you have left’?” His career, his reputation—it all hinged on this case. A glint appeared behind his glasses as he frantically shuffled through the papers on his desk. In the section for my family members, there was a note: a twin sister, missing for twelve years. The judge’s voice was grim. “Take her memories back twelve years. I want to see what happened!” 5 The crackle of electricity filled the air. My head felt like it was being split open with an axe. This time, the pain was so intense I couldn’t even scream. A powerful electrical current tore through my consciousness, pulling everyone deep into my past. The screen flickered, showing a grainy, washed-out image. It felt like watching an old, forgotten film. In a crowded, chaotic train station, I was six years old, holding my sister on my lap as we sat on the floor. Not far from us, our parents were locked in a bitter argument. Suddenly, a couple holding their own daughter’s hand walked over to us, their smiles overly friendly. “Hey there, little ones. Where are your mommy and daddy?” The memory had been playing for less than a minute, but the audience was already in shock. The couple was none other than the murder victims, Mr. and Mrs. Smith. And the little girl with them was the third victim, Jessica, as a child. According to the investigation, the Smiths had no connection to Jessica. How did they know each other? Hooked, everyone leaned in closer. In my memory, my sister was always more outgoing than me. She wasn’t shy. She nodded and answered the couple’s questions. They offered her candy, and she chased after their daughter, giggling. As soon as my sister was out of sight, the couple tried to grab me. That’s when I realized they weren’t nice people at all. Terrified, I clung to our luggage and started wailing, my shrill cries finally drawing the attention of the people around us. My oblivious parents finally noticed something was wrong. But it was too late. The traffickers vanished into the crowd, and my sister disappeared with them, like a drop of rain into the ocean. A wave of sympathy and horror washed over the gallery. So, the sister was a kidnapping victim. Those traffickers deserved to die. Wait. The traffickers were dead. This was premeditated murder. The killer was clearly avenging the kidnapping from all those years ago. 6 The scene shifted. My father, unshaven and reeking of stale alcohol, stood over my six-year-old self, screaming. “This is all your fault! You were supposed to watch your sister!” he bellowed. “Why wasn’t it you who got taken? You must have let her go on purpose! You’re a curse, just like your useless mother! Why don’t you just die…” The audience was furious. I glanced at the live chat; it was a stream of question marks and outrage. “He has the nerve to blame a six-year-old child when he’s the one who wasn’t watching them?” “Calling him a moron is an insult to morons.” “I was saving up my daily quota of rage, but I’ll spend it all on this guy.” Their furious comments were almost funny enough to make me forget the pain. My father was a monster, but he was right about one thing. I hadn’t watched her closely enough. If I had been more alert, if I had stopped her from following them, if I had just started crying sooner… That thought had tortured me every single day for twelve years. Not a day went by that I wasn’t drowning in regret. I closed my eyes on the medical bed, unable to watch this soul-crushing memory any longer. My immense emotional distress caused the live feed to flicker and distort. The technician quickly switched to a different time period, and my near-breakdown state began to stabilize. What they had seen was more than enough to prove my innocence. The technician spoke up, his voice piped into the courtroom. “The Memory Trial is extremely damaging to the subject. May I request permission to terminate the procedure?” By now, any sympathy the audience had for the deceased had transformed into a profound sense of guilt and pity for me. They echoed the technician’s sentiment in the chat. “Chloe didn’t kill anyone! Stop the broadcast!” “They should have stopped when they went back twelve years. An innocent person shouldn’t have to endure this.” 7 My voice trembled. “Please, I don’t want to continue.” After all, the more they saw, the more of my private life was exposed. At this rate, I’d never be able to show my face in public again. The judge, however, was high on the thrill of nearing the truth. He ignored everyone. He wanted more, more clues, anything to wrap up this nationally sensationalized case as quickly as possible. Most people would assume that, with a missing twin and a solid alibi, I was simply a case of mistaken identity. The judge didn’t think so. He snorted, speaking deliberately for the audience to hear. “Chloe never mentioned having a twin sister during her interrogation. It’s highly likely she is harboring a fugitive!” It was true. I hadn’t said a word about my sister to the police. He was using that as leverage to keep me here. With no proof that I hadn’t been in contact with my sister, the tide of public opinion turned once more. “What if they’re accomplices? The judge has a point…” “If she’s truly innocent, she has nothing to hide. Let’s see more.” It was all speculation. I had the right to stop the trial. But then a thought crossed my mind. Isn’t the purpose of a Memory Trial to serve as a warning to the world? So, I said nothing. The broadcast now showed my father’s relentless abuse of my mother and me. My younger self was a tiny, wounded kitten, curled in a corner, terrified to move, lest any action trigger another beating. The man was slurring his words. “Give me the money, you bitch! I know you hid it from me…” My mother was sobbing hysterically. “Gambling again! If you hadn’t lost all our money, I wouldn’t have been fighting with you at the station that day! My Diana never would have been lost!” He bent down and slapped her across the face, then kicked her harder. The audience had been feeling sorry for my mother, but when they heard the name “Diana,” that sympathy evaporated. 8 “Anyone with half a brain knows that passing on your genes is what matters, not having a son.” “This man treats her like dirt, and she still won’t leave him?” Seeing the comments, my mother, in the courtroom, lowered her head in shame. Was she regretting not leaving him sooner? No. She was just embarrassed. She’d been brainwashed for too long, always thinking, Men mature late. In a few more years, for the sake of the kids, he’ll change. I just have to endure a little longer. If my father were still alive, she would have endured it for a lifetime, dragging me down into his shadow with her. But thankfully, my father was dead. At that thought, a small, pleased smile touched my lips. The technician gave me a strange look. I quickly snapped out of it, scrunching up my face. “Ow, it hurts so much…” I groaned. The judge scowled impatiently. “Skip this! Find any connection between Chloe and her sister!” He waved his hand dismissively, urging the technician to speed it up. The technician was a tall, handsome man. When I was first brought in, he’d looked at me as if I were a monster. But after seeing my memories, his demeanor had softened completely. Now, his eyes were full of pity. He spoke to me gently. “This next part might be very difficult. You should… brace yourself.” I nodded, trying to give him a reassuring smile. He turned back to the console, his long fingers dancing across the keyboard. My memories began to flash by like a chaotic film reel. Even in the blur, it was clear that some of those memories were the kind you only revisit tucked away under the covers. 9 I caught a glimpse of a smirk on the technician’s face. Then, the judge’s exasperated voice crackled through the speakers. “Chloe, you’re so young! What on earth are you spending all your time looking at?” You’re the ones who insisted on digging through my private life, and now you’re judging me for it? I kept the thought to myself, putting on an innocent expression. “Why? You want the links?” Of course, I said it on purpose. The judge fell silent, shooting a venomous glare at my image on the screen. The live chat went wild. “I came here for a murder investigation, not to look in a mirror.” “Hey, it’s my one hobby. I’m not killing anyone or setting fires. Leave me alone, lol.” Even through the pain, I had to stifle a laugh. But I knew they wouldn’t be laughing for much longer. Because my sister was about to show the entire world what happens to a child who is stolen. The technician hit a key, and the broadcast locked onto a single, clear memory. A girl with my face appeared on screen. She stood before me, her expression calm as she showed me the scars on her body. My hand trembled as I reached out, tracing the dense, raised keloid scars that crisscrossed her skin, a testament to years of untreated wounds. They were hideous. So hideous it shattered me. This wasn’t the body of a normal eighteen-year-old girl. Staring at the horrific marks, tears streamed down my face. My voice was a choked whisper. “Diana… does it hurt?” I’d never liked the name our parents gave her. I always called her Diana.

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385583”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

  • The Locket

    I was with his mother, picking out wedding bands, when I saw Aris with another woman. We were at Cartier. Through the reinforced glass, I watched him emerge from a high-end bistro across the promenade. He held the woman’s coat for her; she smiled and nodded. As they reached the main doors, he jogged a step ahead to push the heavy glass door open for her. There was no physical contact. No lingering looks. It was all perfectly polite, standard social etiquette. But a bride-to-be has a particularly sharp sense of danger. I knew, instantly, who she was. Beside me, Aris’s mother, Mrs. Thorne, stiffened. She’d seen my focus shift. She didn’t offer a single word of explanation for her son. Instead, after a long silence, she reached into her purse and pulled out a heavy, vintage gold locket. “Maya,” she said, pressing it into my palm. “Let’s add this to your set. A little something extra.” 1 I looked down. The locket was heavy, easily three ounces of antique gold, intricately carved with filigree. It was a serious, substantial piece. Mrs. Thorne closed her hand over mine, clasping the locket tightly. “Maya, dear. I am so fond of you. I just want you and Aris to be happy.” Mrs. Thorne is a classic academic’s wife—a Vassar woman, elegant, impeccably dressed, and always composed. But now, her voice was strained. Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine, darting instead to the window where Aris had been. A cold, sad feeling settled in my stomach. Was this a bribe? Was she giving me this heavy, beautiful thing to lock me down? The sales associate, oblivious to the undercurrent, beamed. “A locket is such a beautiful choice. To lock in the love, the fortune.” She smiled at Mrs. Thorne. “You have wonderful taste, and you are so generous to your new daughter.” “And it’s your lucky day,” the associate continued. “We have a trunk show event…” I tuned her out. My mind was replaying the scene. We were at the Prudential Center. The restaurant was right across from the jeweler. Aris couldn’t have missed us. He chose not to see us. His attention had been entirely on the woman, Eva. They walked past, laughing, like any other couple, and disappeared into the crowd. They looked perfect together—if only he weren’t my fiancé. By the time I tuned back in, Mrs. Thorne was handing over her credit card. She had the sales associate box the locket separately and pushed it across the glass counter toward me. “Maya,” she said, her voice quiet. “Will you accept this? From me?” I didn’t know how to react. It was a classic, unspoken, high-society contract. Take the gift, and agree to forget what you just saw. I didn’t want to accept it, but I wouldn’t embarrass her in public. I nodded, my voice tight. “Thank you, Mrs. Thorne. It’s beautiful.” 2 Aris got home at 11 PM. I was in the study, organizing my camera equipment. He rushed in, dropped his briefcase, and wrapped me in a hug from behind. “Sorry, Maya. The tenure committee dinner ran forever. They insisted on drinks after.” I leaned back into his chest, but I frowned. Aris always had a specific, intoxicating scent—like old books and clean rain after a storm. It was the reason I loved hugging him. My friends called me a lunatic, said the “professor scent” was just my own pheromonal delusion. But tonight, it was gone. “Where did you eat?” I asked, stepping away. His body went rigid. Oh, that’s right. I never ask about his work. I’m a photographer; I don’t care about academic politics. That disinterest had always been the perfect cover for him. He never expected me to follow up. “Uh, the faculty club. Downtown. It was fine. We’ll go sometime.” He quickly changed the subject. “Did you and Mom find the bands?” He was supposed to come with me. But he’d claimed this “tenure dinner” was mandatory. I nodded. “We went to the Cartier at the Pru. We found them.” I emphasized the name of the mall. The same one he’d been at. A flicker of panic crossed his face. He picked up one of the boxes, fumbling with the ribbon. “Great. They look… great. The color is perfect for you.” I tilted my head. “Gold comes in different colors now, Professor?” He blinked, then forced a laugh, rubbing his temples. “God, I’m tired. I’m talking nonsense.” He put the box down and gave me a light, dry kiss on the forehead. “I’m going to shower. Don’t wait up.” He walked into the bathroom without looking me in the eye. 3 The water started running. I looked at the entryway table. His briefcase, his keys. I looked at the kitchen counter. I looked at the coffee table. No phone. There was only one other place it could be. I looked at the bathroom door. He took his phone into the shower. Aris, who treats his electronics like Fabergé eggs, had just taken his phone into a steam-filled room. I felt a sudden, bitter laugh rise in my throat. This was pathetic. I went back to the bedroom. I was scrolling through Instagram, waiting for sleep, when a post made me stop. It was from a postdoc in Aris’s lab, a guy named Chen I’d met a few times. He’d been at the “tenure dinner.” It was a group photo of seven people, captioned: [So honored to be at this symposium with such brilliant minds!] My finger slowly scrolled down. In the comments, Chen had added: [And great to finally meet the legendary Dr. Eva Cole! Congrats on the new post!] My heart stopped. I zoomed in on the photo. Aris was in the center. To his left was Eva. The woman from the restaurant. She had short, ash-brown hair and a brilliant smile. Her hand was resting, casually and confidently, on Aris’s shoulder. I looked at the “likes” on the post. Aris’s name was at the top. I pressed the heart icon, my thumbprint landing right next to his. I turned off the phone and lay in the dark. Eva Cole. I knew that name. 4 I first saw her name last year, on Aris’s birthday. I was using his phone to take a picture of him with his cake when a notification popped up. Eva Cole: [Happy birthday. Sorry to bother you.] We’d only been together a couple of months. I was in that giddy, teasing phase. “Eva Cole,” I’d said, “sounds beautiful. She remembers your birthday, but she’s so formal. Is she an ex-girlfriend?” I was joking. But Aris didn’t laugh. He was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he said. My smile vanished. I didn’t want to be that girlfriend, the jealous, insecure one. But I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. He’d been horrified. He’d unlocked his phone, handed it to me, and told me everything, right there in the private dining room. They were college sweethearts at Harvard. They’d dated through their PhDs. But after graduation, she’d taken a post in California. The long-distance hadn’t worked. She needed more emotional validation than he could give over the phone, and she’d ended it. He said he’d been heartbroken, but he got over it when he heard she was dating someone new. I scrolled through their messages. The last one was from two years prior. Just as he said. A clean break. “If it’s over, why is she still in your contacts?” I’d asked. He’d given me a very Aris-like answer. “Every experience, even a failed relationship, is just data that shapes who we are. Without that data, I wouldn’t be the man you fell in love with.” He saw my tear-streaked face and softened. “If you want, I’ll delete her right now. You’re the only person I care about.” He was always so rational, so academic, that it made my emotional reactions feel stupid. So I’d backed down. I told him not to delete her. I was afraid of making her a martyr. After all, you can’t compete with a ghost. …Lying in bed now, I laughed at my own naiveté. Maybe the moment I’d failed to say “Yes, delete her,” our ending was already written.

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385599”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

  • Heiress

    I woke up on the cold marble floor of Hollywood’s “Zen Prince,” Liam Pierce. He handed me my torn silk slip, his voice a low purr. “Put this back on. It looks good.” As I reached for it, a pop-up, like a chat box, flashed in front of my eyes. 【Heiress, drop it! That predator thinks torn silk is trashy. He saves the good stuff for his ‘White Moonlight.’ He’s just tricking you into wearing it.】 【Tomorrow, at your mother’s funeral, he’s going to publicly announce his relationship with her.】 【Seraphina, this dog is only after your company. Ditch him!】 … Liam knelt at my feet, all perfect angles and feigned concern. “What’s wrong? Did I rip it badly?” I smiled. I wrapped the silk slip tightly around his neck. “Are you trying to die?” 1 Liam Pierce’s perfect, camera-ready face instantly turned crimson. I waited until he was about to pass out before I let go. He looked at me, stunned and terrified. I patted his cheek. “You only love me?” Gasping for air, he looked up at me with an expression more devoted than a puppy’s. “Of course.” I was momentarily lost. When I was ten, my mother took me to some ridiculous spiritual retreat in Ojai. I saw him there—Liam, LA’s “Zen Prince.” Years later, when he announced he was entering show business, I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. I chased him 999 times, using every resource at my disposal, before he finally agreed to date me. And now this… I was about to ask who his “White Moonlight” was when my butler, Alfred, called. “Miss Seraphina. It’s… it’s your mother. She’s not going to make it.” I dropped Liam, threw on my clothes, and redlined my McLaren all the way home. I made it. I saw her for one last time. My “biological father,” however, was nowhere to be found. I sat vigil by her bed all night. Around 3 AM, I asked Alfred, “Has Arthur Chen died somewhere?” Alfred, ever respectful, replied, “He is at his usual place, Miss. With Ms. Summers.” I gritted my teeth. “He can join her. Permanently.” Alfred cleared his throat. “Miss Seraphina, please remember your mother’s final instructions.” I took a deep breath. “…Fine.” 2 After the funeral, I was kneeling in front of the casket in my black veil, saying my final goodbye. Arthur Chen—my father—stormed in, dragging a girl with him. He looked down on me. “Seraphina, this is your sister, Isabelle. She’s a year older than you. From now on, she is the eldest Miss Jiang. Understood?” I remained expressionless. “Arthur, a trophy husband should…” “Shut up!” He practically shrieked, terrified of being exposed as the family’s powerless add-on in front of Isabelle. I smirked. “Then take your bastard daughter and get out. Don’t disturb my mother’s peace.” “You insolent girl!” He postured, but he quickly ushered Isabelle out of the chapel. I returned to kneeling. Half an hour later, Alfred appeared at my elbow. “Miss Seraphina, he is currently hosting a ‘welcome’ party for Miss Isabelle. He wasn’t able to get any A-listers, but he has invited several reporters from the tabloids.” “Let him,” I said, my voice flat. Arthur thinks my mother was the tree that sheltered me, and that with her gone, he can finally control me and seize the Jiang family empire. He’s wrong. My mother was the only thing suppressing my worst impulses. 3 Arthur’s announcement that Isabelle was his daughter just became gossip fodder. No one in our circle acknowledged her. Because Alfred ran the house, Isabelle was forced to stay in the servants’ quarters. As a result, she came to bother me at the family mausoleum every single day. On the 49th day, I decided I was bored enough to play along. I let her in. She put on a show of polite concern. “Sister, I know you’re grieving, but Mom has been gone for 49 days. It’s time to move on. I’d like to talk.” I could see her stupidity from a mile away. This was the girl Arthur adored? I walked past her, out of the mausoleum. She followed closely. When we reached the reflecting pool, I stepped up onto the ledge, looking down at her. “Talk.” Isabelle nervously clutched her dress, then stepped up on the ledge opposite me, trying to be my equal. “Sister, Dad only ever loved my mom. He brought me back to the Jiang estate to replace you. You’ve been the heiress for twenty-three years. That’s enough. You need to tell the staff to respect me. Don’t make this difficult, okay?” I laughed. Did she really not know her father was just a kept man? And with that, she thought she could replace me? Her “true strength” was so pathetic it was boring. I was done. I shoved her into the pool. “Splash!” She flailed, shrieking. “Seraphina! How dare you! Dad will kill you for this! Pull me up… ugh! Pull me up right now and I’ll… I’ll forgive you!” I walked away without looking back. While waiting at a red light, I made one international call, then continued on my way to find Liam. He hadn’t contacted me in 49 days. It was time for him to pay. 4 At 7 PM, I arrived at the wrap party for his new movie. The first person I saw was Isabelle, dressed to the nines. She was wearing a Chanel 2025 couture gown, Christian Louboutin heels, and the new Tiffany High Jewelry collection. Not a trace of the drowned rat from this afternoon. And Liam. He was kneeling at her feet, taking off her shoe, gently massaging her ankle. Isabelle looked down, blushing demurely. So. She was his White Moonlight. Two crew members nearby were gossiping. “I always thought Liam Pierce was this cold, untouchable ‘Zen Prince.’ I never knew he could be so sweet to his girlfriend.” “Are you kidding? That’s Isabelle Jiang. The real Jiang heiress. That dress probably costs more than your car, and she’ll wear it once and throw it away.” … I started to walk over. One of the crew members stopped me. “Hey, this is a private wrap party. If you’re not cast or crew, you can’t be here.” I pointed at Liam. “I’m here for him.” The other crew member sneered. “Are you one of his psycho stans? Get lost. We don’t want you here.” “Liam Pierce.” My voice cut through the noise. The entire party went silent. Liam looked up, panicked, and dropped Isabelle’s foot. He stared at me in disbelief. Isabelle quickly put her shoe on and linked her arm through his, forcing him to walk over and face me. Liam looked guilty. He was probably used to obeying me. Isabelle, however, held up her hand, flashing a diamond ring that matched his. “Sister, I forgot to tell you. Liam and I have been together for years. He’s already asked me to marry him. I’m taking him to see Dad next week.” I had to laugh. While I was funding his entire career, I’d asked him to marry me. He said, “Wait. Just wait until I’m a global star. I’ll propose to you on a live global broadcast.” And I actually believed him. Isabelle leaned in, her voice a low, triumphant hiss. “Does that hurt? Seraphina, this is just the beginning. I will make everyone remember that I am the real heiress. You’re not even worthy of carrying my shoes.” “RIIIIIP!” I grabbed the front of her gown and tore it open. She screamed, clutching the fabric to her chest. “My dress! Why did you rip my dress? This is the new season! It’s priceless!” I smiled. “It was a press sample that was delivered to my house this morning. I can rip my own clothes if I want to, can’t I?” She panicked, terrified I’d expose her for stealing my clothes and jewelry. She immediately burst into tears. “Sister, first you pushed me in the pool, and now you embarrass me at my own party… We’re family, not enemies…” She looked so pitiful. I was unmoved. Liam, however, looked heartbroken. He immediately took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, scowling at me. “Seraphina, are you trying to kill her?” I raised an eyebrow. “It’s her fault, you mean? Did she get that name from my mom’s memorial, or did you find her just to please me?” Liam said, seriously, “Isabelle is not a ‘her.’ She’s not a toy. She’s my girlfriend of three years, the woman I’ve loved for ten.” I smiled. “Then what am I?” Isabelle clutched his hand. He squeezed back, his voice firm. “You were a mistake, Seraphina. We’re over.” My smile faded. “I was a mistake?” He looked scared. But the thought of finally being free of me, of marrying Isabelle, must have given him courage. “Seraphina, I’m grateful for your… love. But as LA’s ‘Zen Prince,’ I need to be pure. Even though you’ve insulted me, I thank you for the money you spent paving my way in Hollywood. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back. Every cent.” “But I can’t give you myself.” “I love Isabelle. I’m going to marry her. Don’t harass me, and stop attacking her. Just let us go.” He seemed to forget: without me, he was nothing.

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385615”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

  • The Road to Success

    For the company retreat, I was in charge of booking the restaurant. To save some money, I chose my family’s place, then posted it in the group chat to get everyone’s approval. Just as the chorus of “looks goods” was rolling in, the new intern, a Gen Z kid named Chloe, dropped a voice memo in the chat. “Hey, Sarah,” her voice dripped with condescending sweetness. “No offense, but I was just wondering… how big of a kickback are you getting for this?” “I mean, it’s our bonus money paying for this retreat. So, that kickback you’re getting? You should probably give it back to us, right?” One by one, my coworkers started liking her message. Fine. I immediately dropped the responsibility and passed the whole task over to her. The day of the retreat, from the senior VPs down to the interns, everyone was either puking their guts out or sprinting to the bathroom. The client we were trying to impress went into anaphylactic shock and ended up in the ER. Just like that, the company lost an eight-figure contract. 1 The task of planning the company retreat had once again landed on my desk. My boss, Mr. Harrison, had been very clear. “The company’s expenses are tight right now, Sarah. Let’s not go overboard.” As the company accountant for the last ten years, I knew exactly what that meant: make it look good, but spend next to nothing. I scrolled through Yelp until my eyes glazed over. Everything was either way too expensive or had questionable reviews about food quality. To cut costs and guarantee freshness, I decided to book my family’s restaurant. It was a nice little Italian place my parents ran. They offered to do it at cost—fresh, delicious, and cheap. After confirming, I dropped the details in the company-wide Slack channel: *【Hey everyone, here’s the plan for the retreat dinner. Let me know if you have any objections.】* A lot of my coworkers had eaten there before and loved it. The channel quickly filled with a sea of 👍 and “Sounds great!” emojis. Just as I was about to finalize the booking, Chloe, the new intern, dropped her little bombshell of a voice memo. “Hey, Sarah, no offense or anything, but I was just wondering, since we’re going to *your* family’s restaurant… how big of a kickback are you getting?” “Because, you know, it’s our bonus money paying for this. That kickback you’re pocketing? I think you should probably give it back to us, don’t you?” … I felt a migraine coming on. Chloe was the new intern in the sales department. She had walked in on her first day and announced she was here to “disrupt the corporate grind.” Any time a late night or extra work was mentioned, she was the first one to pipe up, quoting labor laws and talking about “quiet quitting.” She was a walking HR nightmare. It’s not that people didn’t complain about her. But every complaint sent to management just seemed to vanish into a black hole. The general consensus was that for a rookie to be this bold, she had to have some serious connections. And now, she was accusing me, the accountant, of embezzlement. That was the kind of accusation that could get my CPA license revoked. I quickly typed back in the channel: *【The expenses for the retreat are fully transparent and itemized. No one’s bonus money is being used, and I am not receiving any kickback.】* 2 I thought that would be the end of it. But the next morning, as soon as I walked into the office, all eyes were on me. The second I looked up, everyone immediately averted their gaze. My gut told me something was up. Sure enough, the moment I sat down, the Slack channel started blowing up my notifications. It was Chloe again, spamming the chat. *【@Sarah, you said you’re not getting a kickback, but I found a Groupon for your family’s restaurant. The party menu is $19.99 a person.】* *【I thought Mr. Harrison said the budget was $300 a head?】* *【Still want to say you’re not skimming off the top?】* *【If you don’t want us to report you, you should probably just refund us the difference. Kthxbye!】* She ended it with a cutesy, tongue-out emoji. Combined with the weird vibe in the office, I finally understood. And I was trapped. On paper, the budget was $300 per person. But Mr. Harrison had quietly told me to keep it under $50. The company was struggling, and this whole retreat was a dog-and-pony show for a major potential client. If we landed this contract, the bonuses and raises would come. We had to look impressive without actually spending any money. If the deal fell through, it would be my head on the chopping block. If it succeeded, all the credit would go to the sales team. It was a thankless, impossible task, which is why it always fell to me. I was caught between my boss’s orders and my coworkers’ suspicions. I spent a long time at my desk, trying to figure out a way out of this mess. Finally, I decided the only option was to talk to Chloe in private and tell her the truth. 3 I found her in the breakroom during lunch. I explained the real budget, the client, everything. By the end of it, my throat was dry. “So, you get it now, right?” Chloe’s brow was furrowed, and I thought I had finally gotten through to her. But as I turned to leave, she let out a cold, cynical laugh. “Wow, Sarah. You’ve really put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?” I froze. Her tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Making up some story about the company being broke just to cover up your little scam.” “You don’t really think I’m that naive, do you? I’m not just some dumb intern.” “You accounting types… you might not make a huge salary, but you know all the tricks for lining your own pockets.” She looked at me like she was the smartest person in the room. “Everyone knows the company is about to close an eight-figure deal. And you’re telling me we’re broke?” “Couldn’t you have come up with a more believable lie?” My head was spinning. Chloe stepped closer, stilettos clicking on the linoleum, and looked down her nose at me. “As long as I’m here,” she said, her voice low and menacing, “I won’t let corporate parasites like you get away with anything.” In that moment, something in me snapped. I hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Why was I bothering to explain myself to her? When the lunch break was over, Chloe decided it was time for a public spectacle. 4 She shot up from her desk and shouted, “There are a hundred and twenty people in this company! The budget is three hundred dollars a person!” “That means someone is pocketing over thirty thousand dollars in kickbacks!” “Think about it! With that money, how many lattes could we buy? How many cupcakes? Why should we let one person steal that from us?” A few people, emboldened, started to murmur their agreement. “She has a point. We’re the ones grinding out here, and someone in accounting is making a thirty-grand bonus in one day?” “That’s messed up.” Once one person spoke up, others followed. Fueled by Chloe’s righteous crusade and the rumors of her powerful connections, the office turned into a mob. And of course, Mr. Harrison was out of the office, meeting with the client. There was no one to control them. Or, more likely, no one wanted to get involved. “Sarah, don’t you think you owe us an explanation?” someone called out. Great. Now I wasn’t even “Sarah” anymore. I had already said what I needed to say. If they didn’t believe me, there was nothing more I could do. Mr. Harrison signed my paychecks, not Chloe. I didn’t care what connections she had. “I’ve already explained everything. If you have a problem, take it up with Mr. Harrison,” I said, turning back to my monitor. My dismissal clearly enraged her. She stormed over to my desk and slammed her hands down on it. “What’s wrong? Did you get caught and now you’re scared?” “I can’t stand old-timers like you who think you can just push everyone around because you’ve been here forever!” She was practically vibrating with self-righteous anger, casting herself as the office savior. “I can’t stand people like you!” “Sarah,” she declared, “I am your karma!” 5 I really didn’t get it. I’m an accountant. All I do is crunch numbers. How did I become the office villain? My expression hardened. I’ve been in this business for a long time, and I can be intimidating when I want to be. One of my coworkers finally spoke up for me. “Chloe, I don’t think Sarah is like that. Maybe there’s just been a misunderstanding?” I gave Chloe a look that was anything but friendly. She knew exactly what was going on. Why she was so determined to crucify me was a mystery, but she wasn’t ignorant. Seeing someone defend me, Chloe looked betrayed. “I’m fighting for all of you! Are you really going to stab me in the back?” The coworker who had spoken up immediately fell silent. I was done with this drama. “What is it you want, Chloe?” 6 My question, in Chloe’s mind, was a sign of surrender. She looked down at me, a triumphant smirk on her face. “It’s simple. Give us back the money you were going to steal.” She held up her phone, her Venmo QR code displayed on the screen. She shoved it in my face. “You can start with me.” I pushed her phone away with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Like I said, I didn’t take a single cent from this company. Believe it or not.” With that, I grabbed my purse from my desk and walked out. With Mr. Harrison gone, there was no way I was staying in that toxic environment for another minute. I went to a coffee shop and sent Mr. Harrison a quick email detailing the mutiny that had just occurred. While I waited for his reply, I scrolled through my social media. And there it was. Chloe’s victory post on Instagram. *【Called out the corporate accountant for embezzling funds and she literally ran out of the office. Just another day of being a brave little lamb fighting for justice! 🐑 CorporateLife Disruptor】* I laughed out loud. I immediately changed my profile picture to a wolf. Wolves eat little lambs for breakfast. I didn’t expect that changing my profile picture would be the thing that sent her completely over the edge.

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385310”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

  • My House, My Rules

    1 The very first day I met my birth family, I knew my real enemy wasn’t the girl who’d taken my place. It was her sycophantic cousin, standing right beside her. When Sophie, the girl who’d grown up in my stead, was clearing out the master bedroom for me, my cousin Isabelle quietly slipped in and started unpacking her own luggage. She actually thought I would just swallow that. “You’ve just arrived, you’re probably not used to it yet. You can stay in my room for now,” she’d said with a saccharine smile. I walked into the room, grabbed her suitcase, and threw it right out the window. “Now that I’m back,” I announced, my voice calm but cold, “I’m the one who makes the rules in this house.” Behind me, Sophie, who had been bullied and pushed around by Isabelle for more than a decade, started weeping. Tears streamed down her face in two thick, dramatic lines. “I knew you’d come,” she sobbed. “I’m so glad I never gave up hope!” Please. Call me a control freak, I don’t care. If I was going to run the lives of a family I had no blood ties to, you better believe I was going to run this one. … I’ve had this inexplicable urge to control everything around me for as long as I can remember. By the age of three, I was already the tiny, tyrannical matriarch of my household. My adoptive parents and my two older brothers would just scratch their heads in my presence, always repeating the same mantra: “Chloe’s the smartest one in the family. Whatever Chloe says, goes.” I remember when I was a kid, I once stormed into my brothers’ school brandishing two kitchen knives to take care of the punks who were bullying them. The gossip spread through our small town like wildfire. “The Davises are all so quiet and honest,” people would whisper, “but that youngest daughter of theirs is a little terror. You sure she’s really theirs?” Turns out, they were right. The summer I turned nineteen, I was told my birth parents were the Walters family, from the city of Auburndale. Coincidentally, that’s where I was going to college. The Walters family called me repeatedly, making up endless excuses to get me to visit. Curiosity finally got the better of me, and I agreed to go see them. They were well-off, living in a large villa in a gated community, and apparently owned a small company. The day I arrived just so happened to be Mrs. Walters’ birthday, and they were having a small dinner party with relatives. Before the meal, the guests mingled in small groups. Among the younger crowd, one girl, dolled up to an almost painful degree, caught my eye. She was Isabelle, the daughter of Mr. Walters’ younger brother. I couldn’t figure out why a cousin, who was neither the birthday girl nor the host, was dressed like a Christmas tree. She fit my stereotype of a schemer perfectly. And sure enough, it didn’t take long for Isabelle to start showing her true colors. It wasn’t even noon yet, but Sophie had already prepared several hot dishes. She approached me timidly. “Um… I cleaned out the room for you this morning. You can move in whenever you’re ready.” She pointed to the largest bedroom on the second floor. I was surprised; the girl who took my place was more sensible than I’d expected. My gaze shifted from the mountain of plates stacked by the stove to Sophie’s hands, which were covered in small burns. “All this food… did you cook it all by yourself? Didn’t you guys think of going to a restaurant or hiring a caterer?” Sophie managed a shy, awkward smile. “Mom and Dad say homemade food is cleaner. And it shows our sincerity to the relatives.” Sincerity? They were making a young girl cook a three-course meal for a dozen people. If they were so sincere, why didn’t they lift a finger themselves? For the first time, I took a proper look at the girl whose life had been switched with mine. Sophie had her dark hair tied back in a low ponytail. She was thin, with a dark complexion, not very tall, with a pear-shaped figure and a round, plain face. I sighed internally. She was a Davis, through and through; she had our family’s face. Unaware of my thoughts, Sophie said hesitantly, “Chloe… want me to show you to your room?” I smiled and followed her upstairs. The moment we opened the door, the color drained from Sophie’s face. The room was filled with someone else’s luggage. “This isn’t my stuff!” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I swear, I emptied the room for you.” She was on the verge of tears. I just watched her calmly. “So, you’re saying you’ve already given this room to me, which means I can do whatever I want with it, right?” Sophie blinked, then nodded even more vigorously. With her confirmation, I walked in, picked up the duvet and pillows from the bed, and tossed them out the window into the garden below. Then, as Sophie stared in stunned silence, I picked up a laptop from the desk, snapped the screen back until it cracked, and threw it out the window, too. Afterward, I turned to Sophie and smiled. “Don’t worry,” I said, my eyes crinkling. “I know this isn’t your stuff.” “It belongs to your dear cousin, Isabelle.” 2 I’d seen Isabelle sneaking upstairs earlier, dragging her bags into the room. She wanted to claim the best bedroom for herself, thinking she could pull a fast one while I was distracted. I almost laughed out loud. Just how much had the Walters family spoiled this niece of theirs? Did she really think she was so special that I, the actual daughter, would just roll over and accept this insult? Sophie looked at the chaos, then back at me, her eyes shining with pure adoration. I dusted off my hands. “If you really want to thank me, you can help me unpack.” I had only brought a small backpack with some toiletries. The only valuable item was a small aromatherapy diffuser. I have trouble sleeping, and I can’t get a wink without it. Seeing Sophie actually start to reach for my bag, I couldn’t help but pat her on the shoulder. “I’m kidding,” I said, my tone softening. “It was just a joke. You don’t have to act like a maid.” I gently steered her out of the room and downstairs, intending for her to finally sit down and rest. But the girl was pathologically diligent; she scurried right back into the kitchen. The Davis work ethic was clearly hardwired into our genes. Honestly, I had come here with a whole playbook of strategies to deal with the “fake daughter.” I never expected her to be so… disarmingly simple. Luckily, my performative cousin, Isabelle, was still flitting about the party, a big, bright sign on her forehead that practically screamed, “Come at me.” Less than ten minutes after I’d disposed of her luggage, I noticed Isabelle heading back upstairs, probably to bring in more of her things. It was only a matter of time before she discovered her belongings scattered across the lawn. I was curious to see if she would come down and scream at me. That would give me the perfect opening to ask exactly what gave her, a mere cousin, the right to act like the queen of her uncle’s house. But Isabelle was more cunning than that. She decided to give me a taste of my own medicine. A moment later, my things came crashing down from the second-floor window. Then, she came downstairs and sat right across from me without a word. As our eyes met, she shot me a quick, venomous glare. The object she’d thrown was my aromatherapy diffuser. So, later, as she was pouring drinks, she made a point of running her fingers over a glass tumbler and saying to Sophie, “Glass things are just so fragile, aren’t they? Next time you go shopping, you should get the plastic kind. They don’t break, and they last for years.” A command disguised as a suggestion. And Sophie, bless her meek heart, just replied, “Oh, okay. I’ll remember that.” A great-aunt overheard and immediately started fawning over Isabelle. “Isabelle is not only beautiful, but she’s so sensible! Already thinking about being thrifty at her age.” Others chimed in. “I’ve watched this girl grow up. She’s been brilliant since she was a child. Reciting poetry at six, knew her multiplication tables backward and forward at seven.” “I bought her a Lego set once, and she finished it in an afternoon. I knew right then she was going to be successful.” Isabelle’s mother, my Aunt Carol, was a woman whose phoniness was practically an art form. She wrapped an arm around Isabelle’s shoulder and feigned humility. “Well, if she were as smart as you all say, she’d be getting a full scholarship to Auburndale University.” I remembered then—the results for the college entrance exams were being released today. At Aunt Carol’s reminder, everyone started predicting that Isabelle was a shoo-in for A.U. Isabelle smiled demurely. “It’s all thanks to Uncle and Aunt’s guidance. And, of course, the good Walters family genes.” It was a backhanded slap at Sophie—implying she wasn’t smart, wasn’t capable, wasn’t pretty, and now, that her genes were inferior. Sophie sat in silence through it all, her head bowed so low her chin was practically touching her chest. And what were her parents—my parents—doing while this was happening? 3 As the relatives anointed Isabelle the shining star of the family, my own father, Mr. Walters, beamed with pride—at his niece. “That’s just Isabelle being her brilliant self,” he said. “Not like Sophie, who can’t seem to do anything right.” The birthday girl herself, Mrs. Walters, added, “Sophie just isn’t cut out for academics.” Aunt Carol was positively glowing. She raised her glass. “My dear sister-in-law, Isabelle has lived with you for so many years, eaten your food, been shaped by your wisdom… you’ve raised her into such an outstanding young woman. I’m almost ashamed to call myself her mother.” The other relatives piled on. “It’s true! The clothes Isabelle wears, the school supplies she uses—always the best brands.” “Even after my brother’s family made it big, they never forgot about us poor relatives.” “And my sister-in-law is a senior teacher in the district! She treats Isabelle even better than her own daughter, sparing no expense or effort for her education.” An elder of the family nodded sagely. “He’s the head of our generation, after all. He hasn’t forgotten his roots.” My birth parents soaked it all in, sitting at the center of the table, trying and failing to suppress their smug smiles. My suspicions were confirmed. This couple was the type to sacrifice their own child for the sake of appearances, all while patting themselves on the back for their magnanimity. They would bend over backward for a relative just to earn a good reputation. Isabelle knew them inside and out. That’s why she had the audacity to take over my room on the very day I arrived. She knew that even if I made a fuss, they would force me to back down for the sake of their precious public image. And right on cue, my clueless mother opened her mouth. “I treat Isabelle well because she deserves it,” she declared. “Sophie doesn’t look good in anything, unlike her cousin.” Isabelle looked absolutely triumphant. Perhaps tired of picking on the ever-passive Sophie, she decided to set a trap for me. “Chloe has a great figure, too,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “You can tell she’s a Walters girl. Now you can wear my old clothes!” I had to stop myself from laughing. She wanted to fight a control freak for territory? I asked her, my voice light and casual, “Why would I wear your hand-me-downs? Do you think you’re worthy?” I was the one who controlled others. No one controlled me. Isabelle froze for a second, then quickly recovered. “Chloe, you just got here, so you don’t know. Sophie could never fit into my clothes, but you’re much thinner than her.” I set down my chopsticks. “What does my being new here have to do with you offering someone your second-hand clothes?” “Or are you saying that Sophie, who was raised as their own daughter for nineteen years, isn’t even worthy of her cousin’s old clothes?” “But me, the daughter who just walked in the door—I’m just barely worthy enough to receive them?” Isabelle started to panic. “Chloe, what are you talking about? You’re their real daughter!” “I’m just a guest here, I don’t have that kind of power.” “Anyone who didn’t know better would think I was bullying my own cousin.” “You’re being too sensitive. You’re probably just not used to things yet. It’s okay, I don’t blame you.” When people know they’re in the wrong, they resort to playing the victim. Too bad for her, we control freaks are masters at spinning the narrative. I folded my hands on the table. “Am I being too sensitive? Or are you, in your own subtle way, trying to lay down the law for me? Telling me that in this house, all the kids have to use your leftovers.” Isabelle shot up from her chair. “Chloe, that’s outrageous! I never meant that at all!” I immediately glanced at the heads of the household, Mr. and Mrs. Walters, whose faces had darkened. They were obsessed with their reputation. The moment they sensed this girl wasn’t as docile as they thought, they would start revoking her privileges. For people like them, their public image was more important than anything. It must be the Walters family’s control-freak gene. As a fellow sufferer, I knew exactly how to treat the symptoms. “Cousin, why are you so angry? Perhaps you should have some soup to cool down.” “We’re celebrating a birthday here. Aren’t you being a little spoiled, raising your voice at someone else’s party? It’s almost like you have no respect for the hosts.” “All the relatives were just saying how sensible you are. Don’t you think you’re making them look bad now?” After a moment of tense silence, my father, Mr. Walters, finally spoke, his voice tinged with displeasure. “Isabelle. Chloe just got home. Some things are for the adults to arrange.” At his words, my cousin froze in place. The rest of the relatives, who had just witnessed my verbal assault, stared in stunned silence. And Sophie… Sophie was looking at me with a newfound reverence. 4 Isabelle didn’t dare say another word. The heads of the Walters household were her patrons, after all. Her parents, my uncle and aunt, worked out of town and only came back for holidays, leaving Isabelle entirely in the care of my parents. Their financial situation was significantly worse than that of my birth family. Originally, Isabelle’s plan was to stir up conflict between me and Sophie, then sit back and reap the benefits. She never imagined I could dismantle her scheme with just a few sentences and leave her completely cornered. My Aunt Carol’s eyes darted around, and she quickly came up with a new tactic. “You’ve misunderstood, brother. Isabelle is just used to being the big sister; she instinctively wants to take care of her younger cousins.” “Isabelle just finished her exams, she’ll be off to college in September. She’s just going to miss Chloe, that’s why she’s being a little overbearing.” This family was certainly good at sweet-talking. No wonder they’d managed to convince my parents to dote on their niece instead of their own daughter. The other relatives quickly jumped in to smooth things over. “If Isabelle gets into A.U., she won’t be able to come home as often.” “Some of her clothes probably won’t be suitable for college anyway, so it makes sense she’d want to leave them for her cousins.” “That’s right, I haven’t even asked yet. Isabelle, what do you think you scored on your exams?” Isabelle casually brushed her hair back. “Well, in all the practice exams, I was scoring over 600.” A few of the male cousins chimed in, “The exams in our district are notoriously hard. Isabelle definitely broke 650, maybe even 700!” Isabelle, sensing another opportunity, turned her attention back to me under the guise of concern. “Sophie and I both took the exams this year. We don’t need to talk about Sophie’s results, but what about you, Chloe? What did you estimate your score to be?” We don’t need to talk about Sophie’s results? Sophie awkwardly stood up. “There are still a few dishes to finish. I’ll just go check on the stove.” No one answered her. No one cared about her feelings. Aunt Carol, however, was fixated on my academic performance. She moved her chair closer to mine. “Don’t be afraid to say, Chloe. No one will blame you if you’re wrong.” One of the cousins added with a smirk, “Yeah, the schools in the countryside don’t have many resources. Just doing your best is enough.” Amid their gleeful, expectant gazes, I answered clearly, “Seven hundred and thirty-five.” The table fell silent for a few seconds, then Isabelle let out a sudden, sharp laugh. She quickly apologized, claiming she’d choked on her water. “I was just so surprised,” she said, feigning innocence. “Chloe, honey, I asked for an estimate. Why did you give such a precise number, down to the single digit?” “Do you have any idea what that score means? You could get into the best program at A.U. with that.” My birth mother, Mrs. Walters, adopted the tone of a seasoned educator. “Don’t the teachers in your town ever analyze the admission scores from previous years?” She was implying my high school teachers were unprofessional, that they couldn’t grasp the exam’s key concepts and gave their students overly simple tests. Aunt Carol seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She patted my shoulder. “It’s good for young people to have dreams.” Then she started offering “advice.” “If you’re really set on A.U., the Hamiltons’ son next door goes there. You can ask him for some pointers; he’ll give you a reality check.” Mrs. Walters added, “I just ran into Mr. Hamilton yesterday. He said Ethan just got home.” My eyes narrowed slightly. “The Hamiltons? Are you talking about Ethan Hamilton?” The moment I said his name, Isabelle’s face lit up. “He’s a famous e-sports player, on the A.U. team! Do you watch his streams? If you want his autograph, I can get it for you.” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you two close?” Isabelle exchanged a look with my parents, then lowered her head and bit her lip coyly. “I guess you could say that. If you want to retake the exams next year to get into A.U., I can ask Ethan to help you study.” I couldn’t tell if her little act of blushing modesty was for my benefit or for my parents’. Aunt Carol leaned in, her eyes glinting with cunning. “Ethan and our Isabelle are practically childhood sweethearts,” she whispered conspiratorially. “The Hamiltons are very wealthy, you know. Twenty years ago, they had a chandelier that cost a million dollars. Their son has all the debutantes chasing after him, but he’s always preferred to hang out with our Isabelle.” This was a wealthy neighborhood, home to multi-millionaires. The Walters had snagged this villa, one of the least desirable ones in the corner of the development, purely to network with the upper crust. Their own daughter, Sophie, lacked the charm to do so, but their pretty, tall niece Isabelle was a social asset. A single business deal with the Hamiltons could sustain the Walters’ company for a year. Of course they preferred the niece who could help them. In the end, Aunt Carol’s bragging about exam scores and the boy next door was all about putting me down. She was terrified her daughter would lose her favored status and the perks that came with it. To cement her daughter’s image as an irresistible siren, she continued, her voice full of pride, “Ethan is such a proud boy; he won’t give other girls the time of day. But the moment he sees our Isabelle, it’s ‘Izzy, Izzy’ this and ‘Izzy’ that. He absolutely adores her.” I closed my eyes for a moment, a slow smile spreading across my face. Then I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Ethan Hamilton. Heard you have a lot of little “sisters” throwing themselves at you?

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385326”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel