Category: English

I won $8.88 million in the lottery. When I went to claim my prize, the presenter handed me a donation form. “Sir, as is customary, winners of large prizes are expected to make a charitable donation. The minimum is five thousand dollars. How much would you like to contribute?” I shook my head. “I’m not donating.” “Sir, this is standard procedure. It’s for a good cause.” Her smile vanished. “You shouldn’t be so selfish. You’ve come into all this money for nothing. What’s wrong with giving a little back?” “I’m not donating. Not a single cent.” “What a cheapskate,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “If you’re not going to donate, then you can just wait for your prize money to be processed.” She confiscated my original lottery ticket and had security throw me out. That night, “The Greediest Lottery Winner in History” trended on social media. I became public enemy number one. “He’s rich and heartless! Let’s find him!” “We should go to his house and livestream, force him to donate!” Angry netizens swarmed towards my home. The next day, the lottery commission respectfully delivered the check to my door. 1. Two security guards grabbed me by the arms, one on each side, and dragged me out of the prize claim center. “Get out of here, you pathetic loser!” I was thrown onto the marble floor, my knees slamming into the hard surface. Behind me, the presenter, a woman named Lisa, sneered. “Look at this trash. Wins a bit of money and forgets who he is.” “Let him go through the official process. The long process. Until he agrees to donate.” I scrambled to my feet and rushed back to the entrance, but the guards blocked my way. “Give me back my ticket!” I screamed at them. “That’s my money! I need it urgently!” Lisa crossed her arms, a smug smile on her face. “Urgent? In a hurry to buy a luxury car or a mansion?” “Mr. Cole, I’ll give you one last chance. Sign the donation form. Five thousand dollars is nothing to you.” Her voice boomed through the hall’s sound system. “I said, I’m not donating,” I repeated, refusing to back down. Lisa’s expression turned cold. “Fine. Very well.” “Have it your way.” “We’ll follow the procedure then. Identity verification, tax processing, financial review… best-case scenario, it’ll take a month. Worst case, half a year.” A month? Half a year? My heart sank into an icy pit. No. I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t even wait a single day. “Please,” I begged, pressing my forehead against the glass door. “Give me the money. I really… I really need it!” “Get lost!” was her only reply. The guards shoved me away again, this time with more force. I stumbled back and fell to the ground. People in the crowd pointed and whispered, their eyes filled with disdain. It was as if I wasn’t a lucky lottery winner, but a despicable thief. I pulled out my five-year-old phone, its screen crisscrossed with cracks. I opened a news app. A bold headline popped up. 【The Greediest Lottery Winner in History is Born! Wins $8.88 Million, Refuses to Donate $5,000 to Charity!】 Below it was a high-resolution photo of me being dragged out of the lottery commission, looking utterly pathetic. 2. I clicked on the article. The comment section was already a warzone. “What the hell! Who is this guy? Does he have a soul?” “$8.88 million! And he won’t even donate five grand? Is he that cheap?” “Does this kind of person even deserve to win? God must be blind!” “He looks like a bum, and he’s rotten on the inside too.” “【Angry emoji】Someone find this guy! Let’s see what this piece of trash is really made of!” I turned off the screen and took a deep breath. My lungs ached as if they were filled with ice. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Joel! You’re on TV! Did you really win the lottery?!” Her voice was filled with unrestrained joy. “Mom, I…” “Eight point eight-eight million dollars! Oh my God! Why didn’t you tell us sooner, son!” “Your brother needs to get married, and his fiancée’s family is asking for a thirty-thousand-dollar dowry. I was so worried! This money came at the perfect time!” Before I could say anything, she had already planned everything out. “And your uncle needs fifty thousand for his new house, and your cousin needs ten thousand for college, and…” “Mom,” I interrupted, my voice hoarse. “I need this money for something else.” The line went silent. A few seconds later, my mom’s tone changed. “Joel! What are you trying to say?” “Mom, I’m not giving this money to anyone.” Her anger flared. “You think you’re so big now, don’t you? You win a little money and forget your own family?” “I raised you for nothing! You won’t even share your winnings with us? You’re going to be cursed!” She started screaming at me, her words more vicious than any of the online comments. I quietly hung up and switched my phone to silent. The world was quiet again. But my heart was in turmoil. I leaned against the cold wall and pulled a faded photograph from my pocket. In the picture, a group of young men stood with their arms around each other, their faces beaming with joy. The one in the center was me. Back when I still had two legs. I gently traced the faces in the photo with my thumb. I whispered their names, a silent prayer. “Wait for me. I’m almost there.” My phone screen lit up again. A text from an unknown number. 【Joel Cole, right? We have your address. Apartment 401, 3rd building, XX complex.】 【So you won’t donate, huh? We’re coming to deliver some justice.】 【We’re going live. The whole country is going to see your ugly, greedy face!】 My pupils constricted. They had found my home. I clutched my phone tightly. No. I couldn’t let them go there. I wasn’t the only one living in that apartment. I staggered to my feet and ran towards the subway station, a single thought pounding in my head. Go back. I had to get back before they did. 3. I burst out of the subway station and ran like a madman towards home. The walk that usually took ten minutes, I covered in five. A crowd had already gathered at the foot of my old apartment building. A group of flashy-looking young people were delivering a righteous speech to their phone cameras. “We’re here, everyone! This is the cheapskate’s nest!” “Today, on behalf of all the good-hearted people out there, we’re going to bring this immoral bastard to justice!” The livestream chat was scrolling wildly, filled with messages of “support,” “go for it,” and “get him.” I pushed through the crowd, trying to get to the stairs. “He’s back! That’s him!” someone shouted. Dozens of phone cameras swiveled to face me. “You have the nerve to show your face?” “Donate the money! Or you’re not going anywhere!” “Get him! People like him deserve a beating!” A man lunged forward and grabbed me by the collar. His face was contorted with righteous fury. I didn’t fight back. I just looked at him and said, word by word: “Let me go upstairs.” “Go to hell! You’re not going anywhere until you donate that money!” He punched me in the face. “This one’s for the children in the mountains!” Another punch landed on my shoulder. “This one’s for the lonely elderly!” I didn’t dodge or retaliate. I just wanted to go upstairs. There was something up there that I had to protect. In the chaos, people started pushing and pulling at me. I swayed in the crowd like a lone boat in a storm. “Don’t let him get away!” “Let’s go to his apartment! Let’s expose what he’s hiding!” They were jealous. Why did I win the lottery, and not them? Why didn’t I just donate the money and live a quiet, subservient life? My refusal to donate was the perfect excuse for their jealousy to masquerade as justice. The crowd went wild. They pushed me along, forcing their way up the stairs. The stairwell echoed with their excited shouts and my ragged breaths. I pressed my body against the door of apartment 401, holding it shut with all my might. “Get out!” I roared. BANG! Someone kicked the door. The old wooden door groaned in protest. BANG! BANG! Again and again. Each impact felt like a kick to my heart. BANG! One final, deafening crash. The door burst open. The crowd surged in like a tidal wave. I was knocked to the ground. 4. My small, dilapidated apartment was instantly packed. Phone lights flashed in my face, accompanied by a torrent of insults. “Holy shit! He’s rich but lives in this dump?” “This place is a garbage heap. Are we sure we have the right address?” “The address is right. He’s probably just pretending to be poor! He must have hidden all the valuable stuff!” “Search the place! Search it carefully! Find it and expose him!” The leader of the group, a streamer with bleached blond hair, kicked over a nearby cardboard box. Instant noodle containers rolled across the floor. “Look at this, everyone! This is the genius of a millionaire. Rents a crappy apartment to pretend he’s poor so he doesn’t have to donate, and he can avoid friends and relatives asking for money. Smart!” The livestream chat erupted in laughter. They were like a band of robbers, ransacking my home. My clothes, my books, everything I owned was thrown to the floor. I tried to get up, but someone pinned me down. “Stay put!” I lay on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold concrete. Humiliation and rage churned in my chest. But I couldn’t fight back. If I did, things would only get worse. I just needed them to leave. “Hey? What’s this?” Someone with sharp eyes pulled a locked wooden box from under my bed. “Found it! The good stuff must be in here!” They all got excited, like they’d discovered a treasure chest. They surrounded the box, kicking it, trying to pry it open with a crowbar. “No!” I screamed. “Don’t touch that box!” I lunged forward, shielding the box with my body. “Get away! All of you, get away!” “He’s panicking! He’s panicking!” The blond streamer laughed even more maniacally. He ordered two of his cronies to grab me. “Pull him away!” Two large men grabbed my arms and dragged me back. My fingernails scraped bloody lines on the wooden box. “Let me go!” I struggled with all my might, my legs kicking against the floor. In the chaotic struggle, I suddenly felt my right leg go light. I lost my balance and fell to the side. Clunk. It wasn’t the sound of flesh and bone. In the noisy room, the sound was unnaturally clear. Everyone froze. The livestream chat, which had been scrolling frantically, paused for a moment. All eyes were on my empty right pant leg. And on the object that had fallen to the floor beside it… my prosthetic leg.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389190”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was arrested for running a late-night street stall without a permit. The police officer at the station pulled up my file and gave me a confused look. “You graduated from Harvard. Why are you selling trinkets on the street at 2 AM?” That’s when I saw it. The Social Security number on the file was mine, but the photo was of her. Bianca White. Twenty years ago, I got into Harvard! I stumbled home in a daze, only to hear my husband, Gabe Jenkins, talking on the phone. “Bianca, don’t worry. I won’t let Claire disturb your life. You can go abroad with peace of mind.” It was him! Gabe helped Bianca steal my life! Nausea roiled in my stomach. I turned to expose him and Bianca, but before I could scream, Gabe strangled me with his belt. “I’m sorry, Claire. You can’t ruin Bianca’s future…” When I opened my eyes again, I was back in high school. The homeroom teacher was handing out college application forms. This time, I’m taking back my life! Chapter 1 “Claire, have you decided which college you’re going to?” My desk mate’s voice snapped me back to reality. A second ago, I was suffocating, dying. I looked at the young, unfamiliar face of the girl next to me and realized I had been reborn. “Claire, are you okay?” Joy surged through me. I shook my head vigorously. The homeroom teacher spoke up. “Fill out these forms first. Let me get an idea of your choices.” I stared at the teacher, Mr. Jenkins. He just happened to be Gabe Jenkins’s father. Scores were already out. We didn’t need to fill out paper forms; we could just do it online at home. Mr. Jenkins was just finding an excuse to gather everyone. He was scouting for a victim to sacrifice for Bianca. I clenched my fists, remembering my past life. This was exactly when Gabe started pursuing me. I stared at the form and filled it out randomly. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt Mr. Jenkins glance at me. Sure enough, after collecting the forms, he said, “Claire Lewis, come to my office.” Then he left with the papers. My desk mate grabbed my arm. “You did so well this time. You’ll definitely get into Harvard.” I had the highest score in the class, a perfect 1600 SAT (equivalent). Yet, I ended up rejected everywhere. I went to Mr. Jenkins many times. He said I aimed too high and messed up my application. But he was the one who suggested Pre-Law. I glanced at Gabe, who was sleeping in the corner, and nodded to my desk mate. Yes. In this life, I won’t make the same mistake. I pushed open the office door. Mr. Jenkins looked at me. “Claire, you did great. Why did you pick these community colleges?” I had filled in random vocational schools. “High employment rate,” I said, enunciating every word. Mr. Jenkins fell silent, then spoke earnestly. “Don’t fill it out randomly. Law is a better path for a girl.” As he spoke, he opened his computer and pulled up the application portal. I stared at the screen, sarcasm in my eyes. Seeing I wasn’t cooperating, was he planning to force me? To eventually swap me with Bianca? “No thanks, Mr. Jenkins. I just really want to drive a tractor.” With that, I turned to leave and bumped right into Gabe walking in. “Claire, if you have any questions about colleges, you can ask me. I’ve always wanted to study Law.” Hearing this, my alarm bells rang. So that’s how it was. Both father and son were hinting at Law. But this time, I wouldn’t let them have their way. I nodded. “Thanks, but no need. I have a major in mind.” Gabe looked down and smiled. “Okay.” I ran out of the office, saw Gabe close the door instinctively, and doubled back to eavesdrop. “Dad, if Claire doesn’t cooperate, can’t we choose someone else?” My heart skipped a beat. Gabe wanted to harm another student! Mr. Jenkins’s voice was cold. “Claire has the best grades. She’s the safest bet. Our family owes Bianca. You understand that.” I turned and left, sneering internally. They owed Bianca, so they had to pay with my life? In my past life, after I got together with Gabe, I worked day and night preparing to retake the exams. Gabe said he’d help me register, but “failed.” He claimed they weren’t allowing retakes anymore, that regulations were strict. I believed him. Later, I wanted to take adult education exams. He said it was useless, but I insisted. But on the day of the exam, my alarm didn’t go off. I was late. I asked Gabe if he turned it off. He looked innocent and said he was worried about me not getting enough rest. I trembled with rage. Gabe hugged me and said, “Claire, let’s get married. Whether you pass or not, I’ll always love you.” I cried in his arms for a long time. Even in my dreams, I was solving math problems. How could I accept this? Later, Gabe said his business owed a huge debt. Love-struck me worked three or four jobs a day to pay it off. Thinking back, Gabe only got with me to control me. He was afraid I’d affect Bianca’s future. That’s why he blocked my path at every turn. Back in the classroom, I packed my bag and left. When I got home, my desk mate texted me saying Gabe was looking for me everywhere. I replied casually. He hadn’t given up yet. My parents worked out of state all year. After hearing my scores, they sent me money and ordered a cake, saying they’d be back next month. I understood. They worked construction. A day off meant a day without pay. I wasn’t worried about the application. I had two days left. But while I wasn’t anxious, someone else was. That evening, I went for a walk and bumped into Gabe. Gabe smiled at me. “Claire! What a coincidence.” “I remember you live on the west side.” Gabe looked natural. “Here for some business. Where are you going? I’ll walk with you.” I said coldly, “No need. Stay away from me.” Gabe froze, looking hurt. “Do you… hate me?” I stared him down. “Yes, I hate you. Stay away from me.” Gabe’s breath hitched. Maybe he couldn’t understand why the popular Prom King was so detested by me. If it weren’t illegal, I would have stabbed him right there. I wanted him dead. “Claire, if you hate me, give me a reason.” Gabe’s voice was low, his eyes fixed on me. He did have a good face. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have fallen for him in my past life. Suddenly, a voice came from nearby. “Gabe? What are you doing here?” Bianca jogged over and hugged Gabe’s arm. I saw him stiffen. This was the first time I saw Bianca up close—the person who stole my future. “Who are you?” Bianca looked at me warily. I smiled. “Claire Lewis. Gabe’s classmate.” Bianca’s face changed slightly. “Didn’t you say you were buying me snacks?” So it really was a coincidence. Gabe reacted smoothly. “Forgot. You go home first; I have something to do here.” Bianca raised her voice. “Gabe, what do you mean?” Gabe pushed Bianca away. I don’t know what he whispered to her, but he came back. “Claire, she’s the daughter of my mom’s friend.” I asked back, “Why tell me?” Gabe sounded serious. “I like you. I don’t want you to misunderstand.” Hearing this, I felt sick to my stomach. Here we go again. “I don’t like you. Seeing you makes me nauseous,” I said coldly. Gabe’s face turned visibly pale. He clenched his fists. “What did I do wrong?” I stared at him. “You’re too ugly.” And despicable. Gabe’s mouth opened slightly. I didn’t want to engage further and kept walking. “Claire! I won’t give up!” Gabe shouted behind me. I sneered internally. Two days left. What can you do? I’ll submit my application at the very last second. They won’t have a chance to swap anything. Chapter 2 The next day after school, I found a pile of roses at my door. Gabe stood in the hallway, tall and elegant. He stared at me intently. “Claire, yesterday was too hasty. I want to be serious now.” I said coldly, “No matter how serious you are, I won’t like you.” “Then who do you like? Is there anyone better looking than me?” Gabe sounded urgent. I took out my key to open the door, but Gabe blocked me. “Claire, I really like you. I want to go to Law School with you.” I looked at him strangely. When did I ever say I wanted to study Law? I laughed. “Sorry, your scores aren’t high enough. Give it a rest, garbage.” Gabe’s tone leveled out. “Claire, can you stop being so mean?” I stared at him silently. “Since you’ve decided on Law, you should fill out the application soon.” A sudden urge to tease him rose in me. “No. I want to drive a tractor.” I saw a vein throb in Gabe’s temple. I opened the door, stepped in, and slammed it shut, almost hitting his nose. The next day, I received tons of texts. The Prom King confessed to me, and the whole school knew. Gabe spread the news, obviously. Mr. Jenkins called me many times. I didn’t answer. Seconds later, he called again. He cut to the chase. “Claire, you’re a good kid. I have no objection to you dating Gabe.” He had no objection in my past life either. Back then, I was happy he didn’t mind that I “failed” getting into college. “My son has always wanted to study Law and become a great lawyer. I hope you can work hard together.” I smiled, a glint in my eyes. “Sure.” Mr. Jenkins paused, then his voice filled with smiles. “It’s great that you agree.” I hung up, almost laughing maniacally. Just now, I changed my mind. Playing them would be fun. I want to make sure Bianca never goes to college. Without me, I worry there will be another victim. Knowing I agreed to date him, Gabe came to find me immediately. He asked, “Did you submit the application?” “Not yet. Tomorrow.” Gabe breathed a sigh of relief. “Want to hang out? My friends are having a dinner party.” I nodded. “Okay.” Gabe looked at me, still uneasy, not understanding my sudden change. But so what? He was the one running out of time. Bianca was there too. She rolled her eyes hard when she saw me. I said bluntly, “Bianca, is your eye twitching?” “What?” Bianca was stunned. Me: “Why roll your eyes at me? Do it again, and I’ll poke them out.” Bianca stood up abruptly but was pushed down by Gabe. “Bianca, behave.” Bianca’s eyes turned red with anger. “Gabe, how can you talk to me like that?” I raised my hand and slapped her. The room froze. Bianca covered her face. Gabe’s expression changed. “Claire! You dare hit me!” Bianca lunged at me like a madwoman but was blocked by Gabe. “Bianca! Calm down! Endure it!” Gabe’s words calmed her down. She glared at me viciously. “Claire! Just wait! You’ll cry soon enough.” I smiled and sat down to eat, ignoring everyone else’s stares. I told Gabe to peel shrimp for me. He obeyed obediently. Bianca couldn’t stand it and excused herself to the restroom. Gabe followed shortly after. “Valedictorian, how did you make the Prom King so devoted to you?” a classmate asked. I looked up. “Score high enough, and he’ll suck up to you too.” The person laughed awkwardly, not believing me. Sometimes I wonder, if Bianca and I were both boys, would Gabe sacrifice himself for college? I put down my chopsticks and walked to the restroom. Bianca was leaning in Gabe’s arms, crying. “Gabe, why are you always taking her side?” Gabe held her. “Bianca, endure it. It’ll be over tomorrow.” “I’m doing this for your college dream. I’ll get you into Law School.” Bianca finally smiled, but her expression froze seconds later. Our eyes met. Bianca scrambled out of Gabe’s arms. She said dryly, “Claire, you misunderstand. He was just comforting me.” Gabe saw me and went blank for a few seconds. “Claire…” “Listen to your explanation?” I looked mocking and sneered. “Let’s break up.” Agreeing to date him was just to play him. Gabe begged immediately. “I love you! I don’t want to break up!” He wasn’t sure how much I heard, so he didn’t dare say more. I feigned hurt and pointed at Bianca. “Then why were you hugging her?” Sure enough, Gabe breathed a sigh of relief. He walked slowly toward me. “She was upset just now. I was comforting her.” Bianca chimed in. “Yes, he was just comforting me.” Even if she hated me, she had to win me back right now. I covered my face to stop myself from laughing. “No. I want to break up. I don’t want dirty things.” Gabe’s expression twisted. I left the restaurant and walked straight into the police station. I looked troubled. “Officer, I don’t have a computer at home. Can you help me submit my college application?” The female officer was very helpful and let me use their computer immediately. She asked, “What was your score?” “1600.” The officer was shocked and smiled. “That high? You must be going to Harvard.” I nodded. “I want to study Finance at Harvard.” After submitting, I received several small gifts. The officer said, “Let us know when you get your acceptance letter. We’ll celebrate.” Tears welled up in my eyes. “I will.” What I longed for in my past life, I must get in this one. When I got home, I saw Gabe squatting at my door. Seeing me, he ran over. “Claire, listen to me. There’s nothing between me and Bianca. She’s just my mom’s friend’s daughter.” I took a step back. “Stop harassing me. I’ll just consider myself unlucky to meet a scumbag, okay?” “No…” Gabe put on a soulful face. Suddenly his phone rang. He saw it was his dad and wanted to hang up. I smiled. “Answer it.” Gabe stared at me and obediently answered. He instinctively turned his back to me. The volume was low; I couldn’t hear. But I knew what Mr. Jenkins would say. I spoke up from behind him. “I already submitted my application.” Gabe held the phone. The other end went silent. I smiled. “Are you guys still coveting my score?” Gabe’s expression changed. “What are you talking about?” “Want Bianca to go to my college?” My voice was light. “No way.” Gabe hung up. “You’re overthinking it.” Seeing him play dumb, I slapped him hard. “Gabe, you’re shameless. Trying to use my future to please Bianca? Disgusting.” Gabe’s cheek reddened. He stared at me. “Claire, you misunderstand.” “I applied to Harvard, not Law School. Your sweetheart can’t be a lawyer now.” Gabe finally panicked. He grabbed my shoulders. “Claire, I beg you. Give this college spot to Bianca.” “I’ll give you whatever you want.” I shook him off violently. “Give me ten billion dollars.” “What?” “Give me ten billion, and I’ll give her the spot.” Gabe froze. I laughed. “Can’t afford it? Then don’t ask. Shameless.” Gabe seemed indifferent to the insults now. He said bluntly, “Claire, Bianca’s parents died saving me. I owe her this.” I kicked him hard, raising my voice. “Your family owes her! What does that have to do with me? Why should I pay your debt?” Gabe tried to grab me. I screamed, agitated. “Get out! Don’t touch me! You people are nauseating!” Gabe looked hurt. “I’m sorry, Claire. I beg you to change your application…” How could he say such disgusting things? “Get lost. If you want to repay her, trade your own future.” I took out my key and opened the door. Gabe hugged me, begging incessantly. “If you give it to her, I won’t go to college either. I’ll stay with you forever.” I backhanded him across the face. “Get off! Filth!” Not satisfied, I kicked him repeatedly. Gabe dodged and begged, his thick skin appalling. Finally, I kicked him in the stomach, sending him rolling down the stairs. I stood at the top, watching coldly as Gabe struggled to stand up in pain. I turned and went inside. I wasn’t afraid Mr. Jenkins would secretly change my application; I had changed the password long ago. Maybe Gabe gave up. He didn’t come to harass me again. Chapter 3 I waited half a month but didn’t receive an acceptance letter. I realized my college spot was stolen after all. So, Bianca gave up on Law School and decided to go to Harvard. Anger surged in my heart. I forced myself to calm down. I dialed 911, crying, “My college admission was stolen.” The same female officer responded. She asked, “Are you sure?” I nodded. “I didn’t get a letter, but Bianca did.” “I scored 1600. She only got 900 something.” It was obvious. Something was wrong. The officer and her partner went to Mr. Jenkins’s house. I followed. Mr. Jenkins looked panicked seeing us. I cried, “It’s him! He replaced me!” Mr. Jenkins feigned calm. “Claire, what are you talking about?” “I didn’t receive my acceptance letter.” I stared at him, enunciating clearly. Mr. Jenkins argued, “Is it possible you aimed too high? You can’t blame me for replacing you if you just didn’t get in.” The officer spoke up. “Claire submitted her application right in front of me. Her score is enough for Harvard.” Mr. Jenkins’s face changed. He looked sharply at me. I gave him a sly smile. I knew what you were doing all along. At this moment, Bianca and Gabe walked out. Seeing me, Gabe panicked. I raised my voice. “Bianca! Where is your acceptance letter?” Seeing the police, Bianca realized something was wrong. “Acceptance letter? I haven’t received it yet.” I stared at her. “Impossible.” The officer patted my back gently to comfort me. “It’s okay, Claire. We’ll solve this.” Mr. Jenkins straightened his back. “Claire, if you suspect me, you need evidence.” I wiped my tears. “The letter is evidence.” It has my social security number on it. Back then, online verification wasn’t as robust. If it were, identity theft wouldn’t be possible. Bianca turned pale, looking at Gabe instinctively. Gabe hung his head silently. The officer walked in. “Bianca, please bring out your acceptance letter.” Bianca looked panicked. “You have no right to see my letter.” The officer smiled and showed her badge. Bianca finally broke down crying. “Dad, what do I do…” Mr. Jenkins closed his eyes. Hearing “Dad,” Gabe asked blankly, “What did you call him?” Bianca shut up, shaking her head frantically, just crying. I looked at Bianca, then at Mr. Jenkins. They did look alike. I realized they were likely biological father and daughter. “Mr. Jenkins, is Bianca your daughter?” As soon as I said it, Gabe’s voice cracked. “Dad, Bianca is your daughter?” He stared at Mr. Jenkins fiercely. “Dad! How could you do this to me? To Mom?” “You cheated on Mom with that woman!” Mr. Jenkins took a deep breath, his face gray, offering no explanation. Bianca cried, trying to grab Gabe’s hand, but he flung her away violently. Bianca fell to the ground, sobbing. “Get away! You make me sick!” I never expected Gabe to say Bianca made him sick. In my past life, Gabe lit up whenever he mentioned Bianca. If I got jealous, he’d say he used to like her, but it was in the past. Sometimes he celebrated her birthday. I fought with him about it. He said Bianca was like a daughter to his dad, that he went for social reasons. When I asked to go with him, he always found excuses to keep me away from her. I suddenly remembered Bianca used my identity, and nominally my name too. Now that Bianca was really Mr. Jenkins’s daughter, why wasn’t Gabe happy? Gabe kept screaming, “Get out! You disgust me!” Bianca crawled up, crying, trying to touch him. “Gabe, I…” Gabe laughed, eyes bloodshot. “No wonder! No wonder you rejected me when I confessed! You’re my dad’s bastard daughter!” I leaned against the door, enjoying the chaotic scene. The police took Bianca, Mr. Jenkins, and Gabe away. Investigation revealed Mr. Jenkins was a repeat offender. Suddenly, my case became the small one. After giving my statement, I walked out of the police station. Gabe followed me. He looked terrible. He called out to me. “Claire.” I turned to look at him. “I’m sorry. Are you satisfied now?” Gabe looked ready to cry. I looked at the living Gabe and shook my head. “No. I’ll only be satisfied if you die.” Gabe looked hurt. I was confused. Why keep pretending at this point? “Claire, I liked you. Since a year ago, I’ve been watching you.” Hearing this, I felt disgusted. I exposed him mercilessly. “You just picked me as the sacrifice.” Gabe shook his head violently, crying. “No! I really liked you! You like the food from the last window in the cafeteria. You memorize vocab while looking out the window. I know so many of your habits.” I realized past-life Gabe really did know me well. If he liked me, why kill me? I didn’t think he liked me. “Do you want me to forgive your dad and Bianca?” My tone was subtle. Gabe paused. “No, I don’t mean that.” “Why do you always think the worst of me?” I laughed. “I know people like you too well. Despicable, shameless, low.” “Others like you because they’re deceived by your mask. You look human, but inside you’re dirtier than a public toilet.” Maybe my words were too harsh; Gabe’s expression shifted constantly. Finally, he asked, “Can we still be together?” I looked at him like he was mentally challenged. Psycho. My parents rushed back when they heard the news. Just like in my past life, they listened to me firmly. Even without money, they scraped together tuition. Dad sat aside smoking, sighing. Mom kept crying, terrified. I comforted her softly. “Mom, I got into college.” Mom broke down, hugging me. “It’s been hard on you. Your dad and I don’t know anything; you had to solve this yourself. I don’t know how to be a parent.” I patted Mom’s hand. Dad finished his cigarette, eyes red. I knew they blamed themselves, but this was all because of Gabe and his family. In my past life, I didn’t know how broken they were when they heard I died. To stop me from hindering Bianca’s future, he went that far. In this life, would he still love Bianca that much? After calming my parents, I went back to the station. Several reporters were waiting outside. This kind of news naturally attracted media. They stopped me. “Are you Claire Lewis?” I said calmly, “I am.” “How do you feel about your college spot being stolen?” I twitched my lips. “Anger. Because my teacher conspired with his son to deceive me, trying to use my future to compensate someone else.” “Is that someone your teacher’s illegitimate daughter?” I nodded and was pulled away by the officer. I wanted Bianca’s whole family to be shunned by society. The college entrance exam is sensitive. This scandal would be remembered for years. I learned the truth about Bianca’s parents saving Gabe from the officer. The Jenkins house caught fire because Mr. Jenkins was with Bianca’s mom and forgot the stove. Bianca’s dad discovered the fire and ran in to help. Mr. Jenkins had to flee out the window to avoid being seen. Young Gabe was napping inside. Bianca’s dad saved Gabe, then went back for his wife, but it was too late. Both of Bianca’s parents burned to death. Hearing this, I sighed. When I got my actual acceptance letter, a tear rolled down my cheek. In this life, I finally made it to college. Chapter 4 After the media reports, the Jenkins family became notorious. People cursed them daily. With the internet, the spit of the public almost drowned them. But the sentences for Mr. Jenkins and Bianca hadn’t come down yet. I relaxed, thinking the dust had settled. I didn’t expect Gabe to find me again. He blocked me on my way to buy groceries. He looked haggard, head down, blocking me silently. I gripped the butterfly knife in my pocket, alert. “What do you want?” Gabe looked up, eyes complex, voice hoarse. “Claire…” I didn’t speak. Did he want me to forgive them? “You were reborn, right?” My expression changed drastically. I turned to run. “I… I won’t hurt you!” Gabe said urgently. I stopped, staring at him. “Gabe, you’re disgusting.” He accepted my abuse. “I’m sorry. I regret it. I really loved you…” I stared at him with hatred and slapped him hard. My palm stung. Gabe knelt before me, covering his face and crying. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened that day. I really regret it…” I stood there, looking down at him, my heart a barren wasteland. “After you died, I turned myself in. I loved you…” “For so many years, I was held hostage by that debt of gratitude. I couldn’t breathe. Turns out I was the biggest joke.” “I used to like Bianca, but I moved on long ago. Every minute with you, I was happy.” He couldn’t accept that Bianca was his half-sister. He couldn’t imagine his gentle father had betrayed his mother long ago. How much his mother must be suffering in the afterlife. My tone was flat. “Why should someone else pay for your debt of gratitude?” “What about my ten years of deception?” I couldn’t find a decent job. Even if I got into a bigger company, I’d get fired for inexplicable reasons. It turned out it was all Gabe’s doing. Gabe burst into tears. He said he didn’t expect forgiveness anymore. He asked what he could do to make me feel better. I smiled. “Get lost. I never want to see you again.” Gabe’s face turned white, shattering. I returned home. The class group chat was buzzing daily. Everyone was shocked by Mr. Jenkins’s actions. They were terrified their spots might have been stolen too. Someone asked how I was doing. I replied simply: Everything is good. My parents made a big meal and stayed a few extra days before leaving for work. After that, gifts appeared at my door daily. All from Gabe. Annoyed, I threw them all away. Did Gabe not understand human language? Just stay away. In this life, I want to shine. I don’t want to deal with trash people. Maybe because I threw them away every time, Gabe stopped sending them. The verdict came down. Bianca got five months detention. Mr. Jenkins got three years. Hearing this, I smiled. Bianca, who wanted to study Law, finally paid for her actions.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389207”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My eight-year-old son was in a car crash. He was dying, and he needed a rare blood type: RH-negative. Panda blood. I rolled up my sleeve. “Doctor, take mine. I’m a match.” But my husband, Julian, grabbed my arm, his grip like steel. “Wait! I’ll call someone else! She has it, too!” I slapped the divorce papers onto his chest. “Fine. Let her come. But you sign these first.” He clutched the papers, his voice cracking. “Evelyn, are you fucking insane? Our son is lying in there fighting for his life, and you’re talking about divorce?” I stared at him, my face a cold mask. “I am.” His mother rushed forward, her hand flying to my face. The crack of the slap echoed in the sterile hallway. “You venomous bitch! Julian is just worried about your health, and you throw a tantrum!” I didn’t flinch. I walked to the door of the operating room and made an announcement that froze the world. “Doctor! Stop all pre-op preparations. The patient’s family is refusing the blood transfusion, and we are refusing the surgery.” Julian and his mother went rigid. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “You almost died in this hospital to save him. Evelyn, are you trying to kill him now?” I met his gaze, too tired to even show an expression. “I remember. But that was then. Now, I don’t want him anymore.” 1 The doctors and nurses stared at us, their movements ceasing. The air in the hallway outside the ER turned thick and heavy, punctuated only by the faint beeping of machinery. Julian’s eyes were shot with blood as he jabbed a finger in my direction. “Evelyn, say that again.” “I said, stop the surgery,” I repeated, my voice quiet but slicing through the silence. His mother snapped out of her shock and lunged at me again, but Julian caught her around the waist. She clawed at the air, her face contorted. “You heartless monster! Artie is in there! He’s your own flesh and blood! How could you say something so vile!” I watched her, silent. Struggling to restrain his mother, Julian roared at me, “What the hell do you want? Is this because I called Rachel? There’s nothing between us! It’s just… she has the same rare blood type, and I didn’t want you to go through that again!” “You didn’t want me to suffer?” I asked, my voice dripping with ice. “Julian, can you say that and actually believe it?” He choked on his words, his face darkening. “Is now the time for this? Our son’s life is on the line! Whatever you’re upset about, we can talk about it at home after the surgery is over!” “Home?” I looked at him. “Julian, we don’t have a home anymore.” I held the divorce papers out to him again. “Sign them. I’ve already contacted the blood bank and several volunteers. The second you sign, they’ll be on their way. There will be more than enough blood for Artie’s surgery.” His mother’s wailing stopped. Both she and Julian stared at me as if I were a madwoman. “To force a divorce, you’d gamble with our son’s life?” Julian asked, each word squeezed through clenched teeth. “I told you,” I said, unyielding. “Sign the papers, and the blood will be here.” Bystanders began to gather, their whispers turning into a chorus of judgment. “What is wrong with that woman? She’s so cruel.” “I know, right? Even a wolf won’t eat its own cub. Her husband was just trying to protect her, and she’s holding her own kid’s life for ransom.” The words washed over me, but I felt nothing. Julian’s chest heaved. “Fine, Evelyn. You’re ruthless. You win.” He let go of his mother, snatched the papers and pen from my hand, and scrawled his name across the signature line. Then he threw the agreement back at me, hitting me squarely in the chest. “Are you satisfied now? Can we save our son?” I picked up the papers from the floor, verified his signature, and tucked them into my purse. I turned to the nearest doctor. “You can prepare for surgery. The blood supply will be here shortly.” With that, I turned and walked away. Julian screamed after me, “Where are you going? You’re not going to stay for his surgery?” I didn’t look back. “Whether he lives or dies is no longer my concern.” 2 As I stepped out of the hospital’s main entrance, a car screeched to a halt in front of me. The passenger door flew open, and a woman in a white sundress scrambled out, her face a mask of worry. It was Rachel. She saw me and froze for a second before rushing over. “Evelyn, how’s Artie? Julian called me, he said there was an accident.” I looked at her—the woman who had lingered in the shadow of my marriage for a decade. “He’ll live.” I tossed the words at her and moved to walk away. But Rachel grabbed my wrist, her eyes welling with tears. “Evelyn, I know you’ve always misunderstood my relationship with Julian, but the child is what’s important right now. Please don’t be angry with him. He was just so worried about you.” Her voice was soft, but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. An older woman passing by stopped to scold me. “What kind of wife are you? This young lady is trying to talk sense into you, and you’re just standing there with that sour face! Have you no conscience, abandoning your own son?” Rachel quickly intervened. “Ma’am, please don’t say that. Evelyn is just exhausted.” The more “reasonable” she acted, the more monstrous I appeared. I ripped my hand from her grasp. “Don’t touch me.” Rachel stumbled back, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m sorry, Evelyn, I didn’t mean to.” Just then, Julian came running out of the hospital. Seeing the scene, he immediately rushed to Rachel’s side, shielding her behind him. He glared at me, his face a thundercloud. “Evelyn! Have you not caused enough trouble? Rachel came here out of the goodness of her heart, and you attack her?” His mother followed, her eyes landing on Rachel as if she were a savior. She grabbed Rachel’s hands. “Oh, you dear girl, you’re finally here! You have to go see Artie. That witch has abandoned him. We only have you now!” Rachel soothed Julian’s mother while telling him, “Julian, don’t blame Evelyn. This must be a terrible shock for her.” The three of them stood there, a perfect picture of a loving, concerned family. And I was the wicked outsider. Looking at them, I felt my ten-year marriage crumble into a bitter joke. I didn’t say another word. I hailed a cab and left. As the car pulled away, I could see Julian holding Rachel in his arms in the rearview mirror, his mother dabbing her eyes beside them. Back at the apartment—my apartment, bought before the marriage and solely in my name—I started packing my things. For ten years, I had poured my soul into making this place a home, but now I realized it held not a single ounce of warmth for me. That evening, my mother called. The moment I answered, a torrent of accusations hit me. “Evelyn! Have you lost your mind? Artie is in a horrific accident, and you’re at the hospital fighting with his father over a divorce? You’ve brought nothing but shame on me and your father!” “Mom, I—” “Don’t you call me Mom! I don’t have a heartless daughter like you!” Her voice was shrill. “Julian told me everything. He didn’t want you to give blood because he was worried about you! You hemorrhaged so badly when you had Artie, your health has been fragile ever since. How can you be so ungrateful!” I stood there, phone in hand, unable to speak. “Now you get yourself back to that hospital immediately! Apologize to Julian and go see Artie! If you still consider me your mother, you will go now!” She hung up. I stared at the black screen, a cold hand squeezing my heart. It was true. I almost died giving birth to Artie. But no one in that family ever knew why I had bled so much. 3 I didn’t go back to the hospital. The next day, Julian showed up at my apartment with my parents in tow. The moment I opened the door, my father’s hand struck my face. “You animal! You dare show your face here!” he roared, his finger shaking with fury. “Artie had a raging fever last night, calling for his mommy over and over. Where were you? Is your heart made of stone?” My mother held onto my father, tears streaming down her face. “Evelyn, please, come to the hospital with us. The child is innocent. Whatever problems you have with Julian, you can’t take it out on your son.” Julian stood behind them, his expression one of profound pain. “Honey, I know I was wrong. I never should have called Rachel. Please, come back with me. Artie can’t lose you.” His performance was so convincing, even my parents were completely taken in. I touched my stinging cheek and looked at the three of them. “Are you finished?” My father stared. “What kind of attitude is that?” “If you’re finished, then get out. I need to rest.” I pointed to the door. “You!” He raised his hand to strike me again, but my mother desperately held him back. Julian stepped in front of me. “Uncle, please don’t be angry. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who mishandled things and upset Evelyn.” He turned to me, his eyes red-rimmed. “Honey, hit me, scream at me, do whatever you want. Just don’t abandon me and our son. After all these years together, how can you just throw it all away?” He reached for my hand, but I stepped back, avoiding his touch. “Julian, stop acting. Aren’t you tired?” His face went stiff for a fraction of a second before being consumed by an even greater sorrow. “Evelyn, how did you become like this? This isn’t you. You used to love Artie so much. You would have done anything to give him the world.” “Yes,” I nodded. “I used to be quite the fool.” My parents, seeing my impenetrable resolve, finally gave up. “Evelyn,” my mother said through her tears, “if you insist on this divorce, then don’t you ever step foot in our house again. We’ll act as if we never had a daughter.” My father pointed at Julian. “From now on, Julian is our son!” I looked at them, the last flicker of warmth in my heart extinguishing. “Fine.” That single word left my parents and Julian stunned. They must have thought threatening me with family ties would make me yield, just as it had every other time for the past decade. They were wrong. After they left, I got a call from my lawyer. “Ms. Hayes, Mr. Thorne has been served with the court summons. However, he’s leaked a story to the press. He’s claiming you’ve been mistreating your son, and that due to a marital dispute, you refused to provide a life-saving transfusion, leaving the boy in critical condition.” I opened my phone. The news was everywhere. “The Ice-Cold Heiress: Why She Let Her Own Son Suffer.” “‘Mommy Doesn’t Want Me Anymore,’ Cries 8-Year-Old Crash Victim.” The comments were a firestorm of hatred. My photo, my workplace, even my home address had been doxxed. A crowd of self-proclaimed “justice warriors” was already gathered outside my office building, holding signs demanding I be fired. Soon after, my boss called and told me to take an indefinite leave of absence. In the afternoon, Rachel called me. Her voice was a soft, innocent whisper. “Evelyn, please don’t blame Julian. You pushed him to this.” “Artie isn’t doing well. He needs his mother. Could you please… just come see him?” “In what capacity are you calling me?” I asked. A few seconds of silence. “I… I’m Artie’s aunt. And your friend.” “Friend?” I laughed out loud. “Rachel, you don’t even deserve the word.” I hung up. A moment later, my phone buzzed. It was a picture from Rachel. In the photo, Artie was lying in his hospital bed. Rachel was leaning over him, gently wiping his face with a cloth. Julian and his mother stood beside them, their faces glowing with adoration as they watched. The scene was sickeningly perfect. Beneath the photo was a single line of text. “Evelyn, we’re all waiting for you to come home.” 4 The day of the hearing, the courtroom was packed. Reporters, social justice advocates, and a host of my so-called friends and relatives were all there to witness my downfall. Julian arrived with Artie and Rachel. Artie was in a wheelchair, pale and fragile, his arm in a cast. The moment he saw me, his eyes filled with tears. “Mommy, please don’t divorce Daddy. It’s all my fault. I promise I won’t ever get sick again.” His pathetic cries elicited a wave of sympathy from the gallery. Julian’s mother was putting on her own show, wailing and pointing at me. “You’re a curse! A curse on our family! What did we ever do to deserve you?” Julian held Artie, playing the part of the tragic hero. “Evelyn, after all this, are you still going to be so stubborn? Are you really willing to destroy your son’s future for your own selfish pride?” Rachel stood by his side, ready with a tissue, whispering words of comfort. I watched their performance, my face an emotionless slate. Julian’s lawyer stood and began to list my “crimes.” From forgetting to buy Julian an anniversary gift, to not personally cooking for my mother-in-law’s birthday, all the way to my “refusal to save” Artie after the accident. Every detail was crafted to paint me as a selfish, cold-hearted, and unreasonable monster. Finally, the lawyer presented a medical report. “Your Honor, my client’s son, Arthur Thorne, suffered from cerebral hypoxia due to the defendant’s deliberate delay. He may suffer from permanent neurological damage as a result.” “Furthermore, the defendant has engaged in long-term emotional abuse, causing the child severe psychological trauma. We petition the court to grant full custody to Mr. Thorne and demand the defendant pay one million dollars in damages for emotional distress.” The judge looked at me, his eyes filled with disapproval. “Defendant, do you have anything to say in response to these allegations?” Every eye in the room was on me, waiting to see how I would squirm my way out of this. I rose to my feet. I didn’t look at Julian. I looked at the witness stand, directly at Rachel. “I have a question for Ms. Rachel Miller.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389223”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

11:00 AM. That’s when HR let me go. The official reason? A “major project failure” requiring a scapegoat. I didn’t argue. By 11:10 AM, I’d finished the full handover, computer still running. I exited every work group and blocked my manager and all my colleagues. That afternoon, an ex-coworker contacted me via a burner account, begging me to take a call. They said the director was authorizing a $100,000 bonus. I just smiled. The real trouble I’d set was ten minutes from detonation. 01 The HR office was a cage of corporate sterility. The venetian blinds sliced the sunlight into sharp blades of white light, and the air hung thick with the sickly sweet perfume of toner and cheap corporate panic. “Sloan Kennedy, regarding the critical data interface anomaly on the project, the company has, after careful deliberation, decided…” Brenda, the HR manager, her lips permanently painted that lifeless mauve, kept talking, but I tuned her out. My focus was on the pathetic, near-dead pothos plant behind her desk. Its leaves were sickly yellow, wilting. Just like me, a consumable asset in this gilded cage. Garrett Powell, the director, stood beside Brenda, arms crossed, trying to look appropriately grim. He sighed, the sound heavy and performative, like it was squeezed out of him. “Sloan, it’s not that I don’t value you, but the impact here is too significant. The investors are breathing down our necks; we have to show accountability. You… well, you’re still young. Chalk it up as a lesson learned.” I finally raised my eyes, meeting Garrett’s gaze calmly, cutting right past Brenda. In those calculating eyes, beneath the veneer of false sympathy, I saw it: triumph and massive relief. He was rid of me. “Understood.” Three words. No defense, no argument, not a hint of emotion. My chilling calm seemed to choke off the rest of the script they’d clearly rehearsed. Brenda blinked, then mechanically slid the termination notice and the severance agreement across the desk. “Well, then… just sign here, and we can start the handover process.” I picked up the pen and signed my name with a flourish, the signature steady and unbroken. Walking out of that office, the open-plan floor felt unnaturally quiet. Dozens of eyes—some pitying, some curious, some gleeful—pricked at me like invisible needles, desperate to gauge my emotional state. I felt the gaze of Cassandra “Cassie” Bell, the senior manager, particularly sticky and triumphant, like a snake coiled on my back. The barely perceptible smirk on her face, harsh under the fluorescent lights, was a punch to the gut. She was the one who had taken the mess she created and expertly packaged it as my “major failure.” I walked straight to my desk. It was a corner fortress, cluttered with technical books and code references—my only sanctuary in this entire high-rise. Now, that fortress was being dismantled. Ignoring the silent audience, I sat down and got to work. I opened my laptop and started a new document: “Project Handoff.” My fingers flew across the keyboard, the rhythmic clack a sharp, clean sound in the silence. Logins, passwords, server paths, testing environments… Everything they would need, the non-essential stuff, I documented clearly and categorized meticulously. Except for the one crucial thing. The perfect going-away gift I’d engineered for them. Liv Chen, my apprentice, a nervous recent grad in the cube next to me, watched with teary eyes, her lips trembling. I gave her a small, reassuring look: don’t move. 11:09 AM. I finished the last word and emailed the Handoff document to Garrett, copying the entire project team and HR. Subject line: [Sloan Kennedy – Handoff – 10/27/2023]. 11:10 AM. I stood up. Everything on the desk belonged to the company—the computer, the monitors, the keyboard, even the half-dead succulent. The only thing that was mine was a black mug that read “Hello World.” I picked it up. It was still warm. As the entire office stared, stunned and confused by my efficiency, I turned and walked toward the exit. No scene, no tears, not even a wave goodbye. In ten minutes, I had completed a textbook-perfect exit, surgically removing myself from their ecosystem. The elevator doors slid shut, sealing me off from the prying eyes. I leaned against the cold metal, pulling out my phone. I opened my messaging app, found the “Project Warriors (28)” group, and hit Exit Group. “Tech Department Banter (54)”—Exit. “Corporate Softball League (15)”—Exit. Then, I went to my contacts: “Garrett Powell – Director”—Block. “Cassie Bell – Senior Manager”—Block. “Brenda – HR”—Block. One by one, expressionless, I tossed every single corporate contact into the digital trash heap. Finishing, I felt a fraction of the suffocating feeling of being betrayed and slandered finally lift from my chest. The screen lit up: 11:15 AM. My lock screen showed a simple countdown widget I’d installed. [T-minus 2 hours, 45 minutes until the 2 PM Investor Demo.] I looked at the cold numbers and, for the first and only time all morning, a subtle, cold curve touched the corner of my mouth. Garrett. Cassie. You thought kicking the “stumbling block” out of the way meant you could coast to the finish line? The overture is over. 02 I didn’t go home. Instead, I crossed the street to an artisanal coffee shop. I snagged a window seat, letting the warm, gentle sunlight chase away the building’s stale chill. “What can I get for you?” “A pour-over Geisha, please. Black.” I ordered the most expensive coffee on the menu. A proper toast to my imminent, absolute freedom. The barista worked methodically. The water hit the grounds, blooming them, and an intoxicating, complex aroma filled the air. It was pure. Unlike the complicated cocktail of cigar smoke, cologne, and political ambition that perpetually clung to Garrett’s office. My phone vibrated softly. It was an incoming message from an unfamiliar cartoon avatar: “It’s me, Liv. Your apprentice.” I accepted the request. Immediately, her messages poured in, shaking with barely contained fury. “They are absolutely vile, Sloan! You barely walked out the door before Garrett sent a message to the group!” A screenshot followed. It was the “Project Warriors” group I’d just left. Garrett’s profile picture hovered above a self-congratulatory block of text: “The recent issue has been addressed, and the core vulnerability has been completely neutralized. Thank you to Sloan for her cooperation, which proves our error correction mechanism is effective. Chin up, everyone. The afternoon demo must be a success!” Below that, Cassie had added a pumping fist emoji and a line: “Brilliant, Garrett! So glad we caught that in time!” Followed by a few lukewarm “Roger that” and “Way to go, boss” replies from the rest of the team. I could practically see Garrett’s smug, self-satisfied face. Neutralized the vulnerability? I almost laughed out loud. They’d just kicked the fire marshal out of the burning building and were now congratulating themselves on putting out the flames. The sheer audacity was staggering. The phone vibrated again. Liv’s text: “They’re saying the handover document you left was incredibly clear. Garrett even ‘praised’ you publicly for your ‘professionalism and attitude.’ I’m going to throw up.” I picked up the Geisha, blew on the surface, and took a careful sip. The coffee’s citrus and floral notes exploded in my mouth—sharp, acidic, with a slow, rich finish. Clear? Of course it was clear. I had made the irrelevant parts—the stuff they could eventually figure out—painfully transparent. It was like handing them an instruction manual for a complex machine, where I meticulously detailed how to turn it on, but omitted the critical chapter on how to prevent it from self-destructing. My mind drifted back a week. Late Friday night. I was alone, running a final code review ahead of the system stress test. That’s when I found it: the logical flaw, buried deep in the foundational database architecture. It was insidious. It wouldn’t trigger under normal load. But at a specific time—between 1:50 PM and 2:00 PM—if the system hit high-intensity stress from over ten thousand concurrent requests, it would trigger a catastrophic, irreversible, chain-reaction data deletion. All linked tables, wiped clean instantly, beyond conventional recovery. A cold sweat broke out on my neck. That project was the company’s lifeblood. The major investor was arriving the following Friday at 2 PM for the final demonstration. And the full-link stress test was scheduled to begin at 1:40 PM. It was a ticking time bomb, set with chilling precision. I immediately wrote an emergency fix proposal and a detailed bug analysis. Monday morning, I was about to send the report to Garrett when Cassie rushed up, looking frantic, holding her coffee. “Sloan, fire in the hole! The user profile module I’m running is totally borked. The data is all over the place. Could you please take a look?” Cassie had been at the company longer than me. Her technical skills were mediocre, but she was a master of corporate politics and was tight with Garrett. Seeing her genuinely panicked, I agreed without thinking. The issue was simple—she’d confused a parameter in an API call. I spent less than thirty minutes fixing it and handed her the solution. She practically groveled in thanks and rushed off. I didn’t realize I’d just handed her the very knife she would plunge into my back. That afternoon, Garrett called me into his office. He slammed a printed report on the desk: “Report on Major Data Vulnerability in Project User Module.” In the report, Cassie had leveraged her minor screw-up, exaggerated it, and dressed it up as a “catastrophic vulnerability” that could have derailed the entire project. Then, using cleverly falsified communication logs and code submission timestamps, she had strongly implied the “vulnerability” was a mistake I made during the final code integration. I was stunned. I tried to explain, but Garrett cut me off, emphasizing that the project was too close to launch to risk any instability. Someone had to be accountable for this “major risk.” He looked at me like I was a piece of trash he was finally authorized to throw out. Now I understand. Garrett had always resented my technical ability, even as he depended on me for the core work. He wanted me gone so he could claim all the credit for himself. Cassie’s lie was the perfect excuse he’d been dreaming of. They thought by eliminating the one person who knew too much and firing their way to an “unblemished” project, they had secured their perfect trophy. They had, in fact, just stripped the entire project of its only fuse. My actual, critical fix for the real ticking time bomb was still sitting in the draft folder on my personal laptop. “Sloan? Are you there?” Liv’s message snapped me back. I tapped a quick reply. “Don’t worry. Just watch the show.” I set my phone face down. My wrist watch read 1:40 PM. The gentle jazz music played on in the café. Outside, the traffic flowed. The sun was bright. The countdown had begun. Ten minutes left. I picked up the coffee, felt the warm liquid slide down my throat. Deep inside, a cold, clinical, and fiercely satisfying anticipation was growing. 03 1:50 PM, on the dot. My phone, face down on the table, vibrated, its alarm a soft, single tone. I calmly reached out, silenced it, and slowly took a sip of the now-lukewarm coffee. It was still rich. In that very instant, Liv’s cartoon avatar began frantic, full-screen jumping. A barrage of exclamation points hit my screen like machine-gun fire. “IT’S CRASHED! SLOAN! IT’S ALL CRASHED!!!!” “Everyone’s test screens just went white! Everything is gone!” “Database access is DENIED! The admin portal is down! Nobody can log in!” “Cassie’s face just went sheet-white! Seriously, whiter than the wall! She was just bragging to Garrett that everything was fine, totally locked down!” I watched the text scroll by, observing a distant catastrophe. I could vividly picture the pandemonium in the office where I’d spent the last three years. The frantic click of mice, the hysterical tap of keyboards, peppered with programmers’ shocked shouts of “What the actual hell?” Moments later, Liv sent a shaky, 10-second video clip. The camera was jumping; it was clearly a stealth recording. In the background, Garrett’s voice was sharp and hysterical, his professional composure utterly shattered by rage and terror. “What is this! What in God’s name is happening! Where is the data! I had gigabytes of data! It was fine a minute ago!” The camera quickly panned across the tech floor: chaos. Some were slamming their keyboards, others futilely hitting the refresh button on blank screens, still others just staring into space. The last two seconds framed Cassie. She was slumped at her desk, eyes hollow, her lips bloodless. A broken puppet, muttering over and over: “No way… that’s impossible… I checked everything…” Liv immediately followed up with a voice memo, her voice low but trembling with excitement. “Sloan, the entire department is losing it! Nobody knows what the glitch is! They’ve checked all the logs, and there’s no trace of an abnormal operation! Garrett is reading your handoff document for the tenth time, and it says nothing about this!” My lips curved into a cold, satisfied smile. Of course it didn’t. Why would I write the instructions for your final, glorious exit in the owner’s manual? “The investors are arriving in ten minutes! They’ve called the front desk! Garrett is purple with rage, I swear! He looks like a bruised plum!” Liv’s commentary was pure cinema. I picked up my small spoon and gently stirred the last bit of coffee in my cup, watching the miniature whirlpool. My mind was profoundly, utterly calm. I slowly typed my reply to Liv. “Does this affect you?” “You’re new. They can’t blame you.” “Keep your head down, Liv. Protect yourself.” I sent the message, flipped the phone over, and settled back in the chair. The sunlight outside seemed even brighter. I closed my eyes and drew a long, slow breath. Coffee aroma, warm sunlight. The profound satisfaction of justified payback washed over me in warm, steady waves. Garrett. Cassie. You engineered a plan to steal my livelihood and smear my name. Now, at the peak of your arrogance, I have shattered the thing you coveted most. And this, I knew, was only the opening act. 04 The world fell silent. My phone, face down on the table, had stopped vibrating. The block list was working flawlessly, intercepting all attempts at panicked communication. I could imagine Garrett and the company HR, boiling in terror, frantically dialing a number that would never connect. After about half an hour, just as I was considering a refill, Liv’s message came in. No more excited exclamation points, just a carefully typed plea. “Sloan, Garrett has the entire team trying to call you, but he doesn’t know you blocked everyone.” “He’s screaming and trashing his office right now. I just walked past, I heard glass shatter. He’s calling Cassie a worthless liability who ruined everything.” “The investors are downstairs, being stalled by the front desk with a terrible excuse about ‘conference room network issues.’ They’re already suspicious.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389239”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Caleb Sterling was the city’s most notorious playboy prince. He treated every girlfriend well, giving them whatever they wanted. Except marriage. Everyone knew he had broken up with his first love and was still hung up on her. He couldn’t take that final step with any other girl. In the fifth month of our relationship, my family was pressuring me to settle down. So I bid him farewell: “I heard your first love is coming back. Congratulations.” He smiled. “Yeah.” That night, his friends threw him a “singles again” party. The venue was huge and lively. Someone mentioned me: “Caleb, I think I just saw Harper. She was with a guy, looked pretty handsome.” As soon as the words fell, everyone started gossiping, making a ruckus. But Caleb suddenly exploded. He crushed the cigarette in his hand and sneered: “She said we were together, and she was the one who broke up with me. “Where in the world does such a good thing exist?” 1 When I first started dating Caleb, his friends placed bets. They played big, betting on whether our relationship would last more than a month. With his prominent family background and reputation, when I first met him, my roommate warned me: “The Sterling family in New York isn’t just anyone. They’re not to be trifled with.” “But this Third Young Master Sterling is a bit different. I heard he’s easy to pursue, never loses his temper with girls, and parts amicably with every ex.” This was no lie. But between us, there wasn’t really a question of who pursued whom. I was in my second year of grad school, doing research with my advisor. I needed an out-of-print English monograph that was impossible to find. I posted on many forums, all sinking like stones in the ocean. Just when I thought it was hopeless, someone finally replied. With a tone that was slightly cynical yet quite serious— [My old man seems to have it. Contact me if you want it. Just consider it my good deed for the day.] I contacted him immediately. Later, to thank him, we met twice more. We got along very well. The last time, he stood under a streetlamp, handsome features illuminated, and asked me with a raised eyebrow, “Will we see each other again?” In the future, spring turns to autumn, year after year, would we meet again? The moonlight was cool, the scenery perfect. If I said no, it would inevitably be disappointing. Like a ghost possessed me, I smiled, unwilling to show weakness, and asked him: “I heard you’re easy to pursue. Is it true?” He looked at me, unable to stop smiling: “Why don’t you try?” When you are naive and inexperienced, meeting someone like that—unrestrained, calm, and powerful—you unconsciously want to get closer. Besides, I had seen him long ago. I had just arrived in this city, had my wallet stolen at the station, had nothing on me. After reporting it, I walked out into the rain, looking pathetic and crying hard. He drove past me, speaking slowly: “Where to? I’ll give you a ride.” Naturally, I didn’t dare get in his car. He remained calm, patiently persuading me: “I’m not a bad guy. Trust me this once. Stop crying, okay?” Later, I always wanted to thank him, but we never met again. In a city with so many people, having a chance encounter and exchanging a few words is truly difficult. Not long after this day, we got together. When my roommate found out, she was surprised for a while, finally saying: “Dating someone like him must feel pretty good, right? But I heard he never stays with any girlfriend for more than two weeks. “Just enjoy it while it lasts.” I said, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts. People always have times of naivety. Back then, I thought dating was just following your heart. When I liked him, I didn’t care about his past, only wanted a future with him. But later I discovered, that wasn’t the case. Like that bet. Clearly, Caleb’s girlfriends never lasted more than two weeks. Why did his friends, those rich kids, bet on one month? A long time later. I learned that the extra two weeks were because I looked thirty percent like his first love. 2 Most people lost that bet. Because, contrary to everyone’s expectations, Caleb and I had a great relationship. It was different from his previous ones. He was rarely proactive, but he came to find me every day for lunch or dinner. There was a time when I was extremely busy; he waited at the school gate for me, sometimes for an hour and a half. I felt embarrassed and dragged him saying I’d treat him to a good meal. He tugged my sleeve, suppressing a laugh: “Your boyfriend wants to eat at the cafeteria.” After speaking, he paused, asking for my opinion: “Okay?” Actually, I understood. He didn’t want me to go through the trouble of traveling, because before this, I had heard that when he was in school, he was very precious and never ate at the cafeteria. The young master of the Sterling family had the capital to look down on everything. We didn’t break up. Our relationship was so good it was surprising. In the third month we were together, he moved near my school. We spent more and more time together. He specially set up a home theater, and in our spare time, we curled up on the sofa watching movies. He wasn’t really interested in these things, but I liked them. He would patiently accompany me from beginning to end every time. When we encountered a film I particularly liked, he would seriously take notes and write reviews. His grandfather was a famous painter. He had been influenced for a few years and had some attainments. In those days, he occasionally painted me. There was one painting I remember vividly—a girl standing under a camphor tree, holding a stack of books, with delicate features and a bright smile. But I actually always wanted to ask him, when we first met, I was still very introverted. How could I have smiled so brightly? Later, late one night. That was our first time. My research encountered some problems. After he knew, he patiently guided me through the maze, his fingers tapping lightly on my waist, his posture relaxed: “Understood?” I suddenly realized, then hugged him back in surprise. He looked at me, his gaze slowly deepening, finally pressing forward, thin lips moving slightly, touch cold. He was a little nervous, but on the surface, he was still casual, gripping my hand tightly: “Harper.” “Mm.” Halfway through, he lowered his voice, mentioning that painting, saying: “When we first met, you stood there, and I really wanted to capture it.” I smiled, kissing his neck, pointing out: “Were you like this with your previous girlfriends too?” Whispering in the tender intimacy, recounting the scene of our first meeting. He tsked, pressing against me roguishly: “Go ask around, have I ever gotten to this step with anyone?” Ambiguity flowed silently. By the end, I couldn’t smile anymore, held in his arms, crying softly. September in New York, autumn colors connecting in waves. Online videos of tourists going to pray were everywhere. I pestered him to go with me. He stayed up several nights to finish his work, specially clearing a day to accompany me. Winding mountain roads, he held my hand up hundreds of stone steps, staring at my every move, afraid I would step on air. But after leaving him, I thought again, where in life does one not stumble? At that time, I really liked him. 3 When did things start to change? Probably, starting from seeing that photo. It was the fifth month we were together. Caleb had many friends. For his birthday, everyone was eager to celebrate for him. They started preparing more than ten days in advance. I happened to be on break then, so I joined in the hustle. We interacted a lot, and they never avoided me when chatting. Slowly, I learned that when Caleb treated feelings, he had also put in his heart. He proposed seriously, chose the ring seriously, chose the engagement venue. It was just that in the end, because of a small matter, the girl still felt he didn’t love her enough. After a big fight, both were tired. One left in anger, one didn’t stay, and they broke up just like that. They almost got married. Hearing the end, someone showed me the photo without evasion: “Speaking of which, you look a bit like Sarah. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have started a betting pool because of you.” In the photo, Sarah smiled cheerfully. She looked so similar to the girl standing under the camphor tree in that painting. When I first learned about the bet, I just thought they were bored. Looking back now, I feel the real fool was actually me. Everyone knew he broke up with his first love and was still unwilling to let go. He still paid attention to her updates. Every year on her birthday, he would specially send someone thousands of miles to deliver the most precious jewelry. If she had any trouble there, someone would tell him soon, and no matter what, he would go there, then quietly settle everything for her. Not letting her know, not contacting, but not letting go either. Only I naively thought that I was truly different to him. Finally, someone laughed: “After Sarah left, Caleb has been dating girlfriends continuously, but we all guess he’s doing this to force Sarah back.” After speaking, everyone present laughed. Caleb came back from his call, sat beside me, pinched my palm, and laughed low: “What are you talking about? So happy.” I looked at him, my heart cold, and said woodenly: “Talking about your first love.” He froze, rarely dazed, and didn’t say that name until the end, only speaking lightly: “What’s there to mention?” This was the first time I had the thought of breaking up with him. Actually, I should thank his friends for not keeping me in the dark. Precisely because they didn’t care about my feelings and told me these things, I could wake up and see the situation clearly. Letting me understand, I was just a passerby to Caleb, a means for him to love another person. 4 After this day, I vaguely felt something had changed between Caleb and me. But neither of us actively mentioned Sarah. He didn’t have any intention of explaining to me. He became more and more generous to me. He took me to various auctions. As long as I looked at something a bit longer, someone would soon deliver it to me. I forget who said it. Saying Caleb treated every ex-girlfriend well, never stingy when breaking up. Whatever the other party wanted, he gave, whether it was money or resources. It had a bit of a transactional meaning. The night before his birthday, he had someone send me two transfer contracts. A villa, and a car. When I received them, my fingertips were cold. Then I trembled and called him. He picked up quickly. I pretended nothing was wrong and asked him: “Sending such a big gift for your birthday, don’t you feel it’s a loss?” “What loss? I like you, want to be good to you.” He responded, his tone rising slightly, with a hint of a smile. Like a flirtation when affection is strong. I pinched my palm, forcing myself to calm down. “These things are too expensive, almost catching up to a dowry.” He didn’t speak for a long time. I pursed my lips, tears falling silently. Finally, his tone paused slightly, casually saying: “Harper. “Don’t overthink it. Sleep early, I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.” Should I believe it? He did these things because he liked me, not because he wanted to separate from me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389256”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

To show off to the boys, Brody started calling his “girlfriends” one by one. I was number thirteen. When the call connected, I turned on the sickly-sweet charm, giving him plenty of face in front of his crew. Just as I was about to hang up, a low, unfamiliar chuckle came from the background. Someone asked him, “What’s so funny, Declan?” “I’m laughing because all thirteen girlfriends are the same person.” The air went dead silent. Then, the other end of the line exploded into chaos. “I was just thinking they all sounded similar! It turns out it’s one person doing different voices!” “Brody, that girl is playing you like a fiddle!” Later, when I cornered Declan—the guy who exposed my hustle—I gritted my teeth and held out my hand. “You owe me…” Before I could finish saying money, the man placed his own hand into my palm. “Deal.” Deal, my ass! I wanted him to compensate me for the cash I lost, not compensate me with a boyfriend! 1 When Brody called again, I spit out the cough drop I was using to soothe my throat. “Heyyy Brody~ Why are you calling me so late?” A roar of hooting and hollering erupted on his end. “Whoa! This one is even more high-pitched! Brody, you better comfort her!” I kept my face completely blank while listening to the noise. Brody cleared his throat, clearly pleased with himself. “Just having dinner with the boys. Missed you. Do you miss me?” My throat was practically smoking from doing this “baby voice” all night. This guy was a total piece of work—calling twelve times in one night with the exact same pickup line. He didn’t change his script, so I had to change mine. I racked my brain, thinking of something different from the previous twelve flatteries. “I miss you to death! My heart literally trembles when I think of you.” More cheering. Brody clearly felt like the man. Ding. My phone buzzed with a Venmo notification. “Sorry I woke you up. Go buy yourself a bag. Go back to sleep.” My eyes lit up. I accepted the payment immediately, but didn’t forget to stay in character. “Don’t drink too much, okay? I’ll be worried sick…” Suddenly, a cold, sharp laugh cut through the noise. I heard it clearly through the phone, and the noisy VIP room instantly went quiet. “Declan? …What are you laughing at?” Brody asked. Clearly, this “Declan” guy had a higher status than Brody. Everyone was walking on eggshells around him. And anyone who could make a group of trust fund babies act this humble definitely had serious money. Brody didn’t hang up, and as the perfect girlfriend, I couldn’t hang up first. I took a sip of water, bored out of my mind. Being rich must be nice. If my thirteen accounts were dating him, I’d probably be making way more than I was skimming off Brody. While thinking this, I pulled out my ledger and started tallying up what Brody sent me tonight. Account Crystal: $520. Account Tiffany: $520. … Account Amber: $1,340. I was calculating the total when I finally heard the man on the other end answer. “I’m laughing because all thirteen girlfriends are the same person.” Whether on his side or mine, the silence was deafening. The pen tip bled ink onto my paper. My pupils constricted. Holy sht???* Chaos erupted on the other end. Brody’s voice came first. “Declan, what are you saying? How could…” Someone cut him off. “If Declan says it, it must be true! Brody, I was just thinking that! Why are their vocal tones so similar? It’s just one girl pinching her throat tighter each time!” “Yeah, I definitely heard a motorcycle revving in the background for both girlfriend number three and number seven.” “Brody, you let one girl play you like a fool?” The more I heard, the more panicked I got. I hung up without a word. I should have taken voice acting classes! Rookie mistake! I forgot that not everyone in this world is as dumb as Brody. 2 I looked down at my cat, Luna, who was purring loudly. “You little motorcycle,” I whispered. “Do you know you just blew my cover?” Brody’s texts started bombing my phone. [?] [I’ve been dating you this whole time? All of them are you?] [Speak! Crystal! Jessica! Tiffany! Sarah! Amber?!!! Which one is your real name!] [F*ck!] It seemed he really liked Amber, considering he used three exclamation points for her. So, I switched to the Amber account to reply. “Listen to my excuse… I mean, listen to my explanation.” Brody called immediately. I cleared my throat and answered. “Brody~” He snapped instantly. “Don’t call me that! Stop with the baby voice! Speak to me in your normal voice!” I coughed lightly. If I used my real voice, he’d recognize me instantly as his errand girl at school. No way. So, I started lying through my teeth. “It’s not like that, Brody. I didn’t lie to you. I actually have Dissociative Identity Disorder. But all thirteen of my personalities fell in love with you.” Brody hesitated. “Really…?” I kept buttering him up. “Of course. Didn’t you notice their personalities were different? Tiffany is bubbly, Sarah is shy… but I, Amber, am the most gentle and understanding.” Before I could finish, the room on his end erupted in laughter. I didn’t realize he still had me on speaker. Clearly, Brody’s brain, which I had just confused, was snapped back to reality by his friends’ mockery. “You’re still lying to me! You were just after my money?!” Since I couldn’t trick him anymore, I made up a random excuse and hung up. “Believe what you want. I’m using this money to treat my illness. Once I successfully summon the thirteen souls into one body, I’ll come back for you.” I collapsed on the bed and rolled my eyes. These past three months had exhausted me. I had been planning to break up with a few personas to lighten the workload, but this worked out—a mass layoff. I’d made a decent amount in three months. Enough to last a while. I wasn’t worried about Brody calling the cops. Nobody knew him better than I did. Brody cares about his reputation more than life itself. He’s been collecting “followers” since high school. Four years later, only I—the invisible nobody—remained by his side as his gofer. Not because of loyalty, but because I have a high tolerance for nonsense. His friends already knew he got catfished. If he called the police, the whole school would know. So, I slept soundly. The next day, I saw Brody looking like he was constipated. His face was a mess. “What kind of bagel is this?! It tastes terrible!” He tossed the bagel into the trash, taking out yesterday’s anger on me. I lowered my head, looking submissive. “Sorry, Brody.” Internally, I was rolling my eyes so hard I saw my brain. “Whatever. You haven’t eaten either, right? Go buy yourself something.” Brody couldn’t stay mad at someone as pathetic-looking as me. He annoyedly Venmoed me fifty bucks and went back to sulking. I accepted it happily. This was my main job. The side hustle had high returns but high risks. My main job was stable. “Come on, it’s not a big deal. You got scammed, so what? Drinks tonight?” One of Brody’s friends draped an arm around him. “No mood. Not going.” “Declan is going to be there. You’re not going to buy him a round? Doesn’t your family have a project pending with his family? If you miss this chance, good luck getting close to Declan again.” My ears perked up. Declan. That must be the guy with the big mouth from yesterday. Brody looked conflicted, but eventually kicked a pebble at his feet. “Fine.” After classes, I continued to trail Brody, but he stopped me before he got into his car. “Don’t follow me tonight. Go have fun.” He casually transferred me two hundred bucks and drove off. Looking at the nice sum on my phone, I hailed a cab and followed him. 3 I had to see what this guy who ruined my business looked like. I needed to memorize his face! And then… when I went to the temple to pray for wealth, I’d ask the universe to transfer all his financial luck to me. I watched Brody get out of his car, adjusting his jacket and trying to look cool. Seeing the golden facade of the club and the intense security, my curiosity suddenly waned. But just as I turned to leave, I saw Brody coming back out. At the same time, a sleek black car pulled up slowly beside me. “Declan, thanks for…” Brody’s suck-up expression froze on his face. His eyes met mine. I spun around, startled. When did someone stand behind me? The man was tall, wearing a black trench coat. He looked about the same age as Brody and me, but he carried an invisible aura of authority. I looked up at him. When our eyes met, my liver quivered. He was devastatingly handsome. “Riley? What are you doing here?” Brody interrupted my thoughts, looking at me weirdly. I was about to make up a lie about passing by, but then I felt a burning gaze on the back of my neck. I shut my mouth immediately. No. My voice was recognized yesterday. If I spoke now, in front of him, Brody would tear me apart right here. I pressed my lips together tight, pointed in a random direction, and bolted. “Does your family live around here?” Brody shouted after me. I nodded vigorously while sprinting away as if a pack of wolves were chasing me. Luckily, Brody is dense. He’ll make up an excuse for me. I ran three blocks before stopping. When I turned back, they were gone. I had seen his face clearly. It was the kind of face you don’t forget. His gaze was sharp—he was obviously miles smarter than Brody. Hopefully, we’d never meet again. But the moment I got home, Brody called. I hung up. He started spamming texts. “Blah blah Riley blah blah, I’m drunk blah blah.” I frowned and held the phone away. “Don’t you live nearby? Come pick me up.” He was drunk out of his mind, but he remembered to transfer money. $1,200. He probably added an extra zero by mistake. I wanted to pretend I didn’t see it, but my fingers had already claimed the cash before my brain could stop them. Well, can’t pretend now. When I arrived, Brody was the only one left in the private room. I let out a huge sigh of relief. “Brody?” Brody looked up, dazed, his cheeks flushed red from alcohol. “Waaaaah! Why did she leave me! Why did she lie to a pure-hearted boy like me?!” He wailed like a ghost, twisting around on the couch. I twitched my lip, ruthlessly exposing him. “A pure-hearted boy who dates thirteen girls at once?” Brody didn’t understand. He just kept mooing like a cow. “Amber!” See? He really liked Amber the best. I sat on the sofa, planning to call an Uber to haul him back. But Brody, snot running down his face, tried to snuggle into my leg. “Demon! Do not desecrate me!” I slapped him away, stepped on his head to keep him down, and continued operating my phone. He wouldn’t remember this tomorrow anyway. Stepping on a capitalist dog felt pretty good. 4 However, I was too naive. The door opened. I turned my head and locked eyes with a man whose expression was cool as ice. He raised an eyebrow, looking at Brody, who was crying under my foot. Forgive my ignorance, but why is there a secret door in a restaurant VIP room? Who puts a restroom inside the suite?! My vision went black. I quickly retracted my foot and tried to pull Brody up. But Brody hugged my leg and wouldn’t let go. “Amber! Tiffany! You don’t leave until you give me an explanation!” My scalp went numb. Do I speak? Do I not speak? Declan didn’t help. He pulled out a wet wipe, cleaned his hands, sat opposite us, and watched the drama with amusement. If I didn’t speak… oh god, Brody was about to wipe his nose on my jeans! I crouched down and whispered into Brody’s ear like a demon. “Brody, it’s me, Riley.” Brody had a moment of clarity. He looked up, studied my face seriously, and then looked horrified. “Riley! Why does your voice sound like Darth Vader?!” Me: “…” Too low. “Are you taking him home?” The spectator finally spoke. Declan looked at me lazily. I don’t know why, but under that half-smiling gaze, I felt completely exposed. I nodded. But looking at the notification that my fourth Uber driver had canceled, I wasn’t so sure. “Unless you want to take him?” I hated hearing my own artificially lowered voice. It didn’t sound like Darth Vader; it sounded like a lonely cow mooing at midnight. “My driver is out front,” he said, sending a text. Relieved, I turned to flee, but a hand clamped onto my arm. Brody was crying like a 200-pound toddler. “Amber! Don’t leave!” Helpless, I had to get into the luxury car with them. It was my first time in a Rolls Royce, but I couldn’t enjoy it because Brody kept trying to bury his face in my chest. I had to use both hands to hold his head back. “Scammer! Waaah! Thirteen girlfriends and they all lied to me! Why is my life so hard! I lost love thirteen times in one second!” Brody cried louder and louder. Declan, in the passenger seat, rubbed his temples and opened the window. Fresh air rushed in. Finally, I didn’t have to smell Brody’s booze breath in the cramped back seat. I took a deep breath, but when I looked up, I saw those cold eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. My heart skipped a beat. Why was he staring at me? Before I could overthink it, Declan spoke. “Thirteen girlfriends. Brody really got played hard.” I didn’t reply. But he seemed determined to make me speak. “Is your voice always like that?” I let out another low moo, speaking with the speed of a sloth. “Huh? What… did… you… say?” He seemed amused, covering half his face with his knuckles and looking away. Suddenly, Brody sat bolt upright. “No! I still miss that evil woman! I need to ask her if she ever loved me!” I turned around in shock. What is this idiot doing? The next second, he pulled out his phone and dialed Amber. My phone, in my pocket, started ringing loudly. The air froze.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389272”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The scion of the powerful Donovan dynasty crashed his car, and with the resulting amnesia, he erased all memory of the gentle woman who had been his anchor during his darkest days. The family elders, seizing the power vacuum, played matchmaker and pushed me—the perfectly respectable, “suitable” society princess—into the role of his emergency fiancée. I was well aware that when Gabe Donovan was scraping the bottom, treated like the family’s unacknowledged bastard, I was part of the gallery of rich, cruel kids who watched him squirm. Only the housekeeper’s daughter had seen him as a treasure. Now, two years later, his savior is back. And Gabe’s memory is on the verge of returning. Everyone is waiting for the spectacle, anticipating the moment I’ll be cast out like garbage, expecting him to settle the score. But there’s an awkward hitch: right at this critical moment, I found out I’m pregnant. 1 When the news broke that Gabe Donovan had been rushed to the hospital after a blinding headache at the company, my heart seized up. I rushed to the VIP wing, but just as I was about to push open the door to his room, Logan Keller, his sharp-eyed special assistant, blocked me. His expression was troubled. He leaned in and delivered the quiet blow: “Clem, I think the boss is about to get his memory back.” My hand twitched. Before I could even process the weight of the disaster, I heard voices from inside. It wasn’t just Gabe. There was a man and a woman. The man was Brooks Donovan, Gabe’s hostile stepbrother. The woman was dressed modestly, radiating an almost fragile innocence—the legendary Sierra West, the ghost of his first love. Her voice was trembling: “I’m Sierra West. I’m back, Gabe. Do you remember who I am?” I pushed the door open, bracing myself for a tearful, cinematic reunion. Instead, Gabe wasn’t in the bed. Even in a hospital gown, the man radiated an effortless aura of cold, old-money arrogance. He was sprawled on the small sofa, his long legs casually crossed, absently toying with a Zippo lighter. Apart from a slight pallor, he looked nothing like a patient. Faced with Sierra’s desperate plea, he didn’t even lift his gaze. He simply spoke to Brooks, his voice a block of ice: “Next time, don’t bring every random woman who claims to be my ‘true love’ into my private room.” Then, he waved a dismissive hand, signaling Logan to send them out. Brooks was furious. He dragged Sierra out, spitting venom at Gabe: “You’ll regret this, Donovan. You’ll regret it forever!” Once the unnecessary drama had cleared, the room was silent. Just him and me. As the current—and supposedly perfect—fiancée, I had to play the part of the dutiful partner. “Does your head still hurt?” Gabe paused his rotation of the lighter. “I’m fine,” he said flatly. “Logan mentioned… you might be remembering things?” I asked tentatively. He rubbed his temples, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. “A few fragments, flashes. They won’t connect. I can’t grasp them.” He put his legs down, pulled me sharply onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around me. We’d been engaged for nearly eighteen months. We were adults, and what needed to happen had long ago happened. He cupped my chin, his tone casually cruel. “Brooks has lost his mind. He’ll trot out any girl he finds to claim she’s my great love.” He leaned in, his lips brushing my earlobe, his breath hot. “Compared to that sort of timid, plain-Jane type, I much prefer a woman who knows how to be compliant. You, Clem, are much more to my taste.” It sounded like a dark kind of flirtation, but I knew the truth: he still hadn’t remembered. If he realized the woman he had just scornfully dismissed was the one he’d once cherished above all others, he might very well throttle me on the spot. That night, Gabe insisted on checking out and going home. Later, in the quiet darkness, he held me from behind, his hands hot on my skin. “Can you?” he asked, his voice rough with desire. I hesitated, then gave a tiny nod. “Just… be gentle.” In this, at least, Gabe was an impeccable lover, perhaps even the perfect potential husband. If I cried out in pain, he would immediately stop and soothe me. Grandma Donovan had been blunt when she chose me: “Clem, be agreeable and compliant, and no man can resist you.” Her plan was simple: get me cemented in place before Gabe’s memory returned, thereby permanently displacing the housekeeper’s daughter. And it seemed to be working. Gabe clearly enjoyed my presence. But the truth was, his preference was shallow. It was based only on my physical presence and our compatibility in the bedroom. What Grandma Donovan didn’t know was that when Gabe was the most abused pariah in the Donovan household, I had absolutely been one of the privileged, rotten kids who laughed at his humiliation. When his memory returns, survival, let alone displacing his savior, will be a miracle. 2 Gabe Donovan is now the undisputed Prince of this city’s elite. But years ago, he lived worse than a dog in the Donovan estate. His mother died young, and his father ignored him. Everyone bowed to Brooks, the son of the stepmother. Brooks and I were high school classmates. Everyone in our circle orbited Brooks, and naturally, we all followed suit, kicking Gabe when he was down. Brooks was especially malicious. The worst incident was at his eighteenth birthday party. He had his lackeys drag Gabe out and pin him down, insisting Gabe shine my shoes. Brooks was chasing me then, and he thought this display of humiliation would win me over. I was startled. I instinctively stepped back and said coldly, “Don’t touch me.” Goddess knows, I was repulsed by Brooks and the whole sickening display, and I didn’t want to get involved. But the crowd of spectators roared with laughter, pointing at Gabe. “Hear that, Clementine? She thinks you’re filthy!” Gabe then was rail-thin, pressed onto the ground and utterly humiliated, yet his back remained rigidly straight. His head was bowed; no one saw the deep-seated hatred in his eyes. I later found out he kept a mental ledger of every single person who had laughed that day. It was during those dark, endless days that Sierra West was his lifeline. Sierra was the daughter of the Donovan housekeeper, humble in status, but completely devoted to him. In a place as vicious as the Donovan family, Gabe’s eventual rise was entirely thanks to Sierra, who was his spy, his shield, and who almost lost her life protecting him. When Gabe finally took over, his methods were ruthless. Every rich kid who had scorned him paid a steep price. Brooks’s downfall was the most spectacular. With only myself and a few others yet to face his reckoning, Sierra was forcibly shipped overseas by Grandma Donovan because her low status wasn’t acceptable. Gabe drove out into a blizzard to chase her. He crashed his car. The accident destroyed his memory and wiped Sierra clean from his mind. The Donovans sealed off the incident. No one dared utter her name around him. For the amnesiac Gabe, marrying me—the ‘perfect’ daughter of a family with matching wealth—was the ideal corporate merger. But my conscience was a constantly throbbing wound. I am technically only the stepdaughter of the Marsh family. The Marshes’ biological daughter was lost as a child and never found. If not for that tragedy, this colossal fortune—and this engagement—would never have fallen into my lap. That night, I slept fitfully, dreaming of Gabe’s recovered memory, his hands around my throat. I woke up in a cold sweat. Gabe sensed it. He reached out, touching my forehead, then glanced at my stomach, his brow furrowed. “Clem, is it… your time of the month?” I looked down. There was a small, unmistakable red stain on the sheet. My cycle was usually erratic, but this was a surprisingly light flow, accompanied by a dull ache in my abdomen. My guilt made me bury my face in the pillow. “I’m sorry. I messed up the sheets.” Gabe didn’t say a word. He went to the closet for a towel, then carried me to the bathroom to clean me up. Look how good he is to me. But this kindness was a sandcastle, waiting for a single wave to wash it all away. Midday during the week, Grandma Donovan assigned me a task: deliver a homemade lunch to Gabe at his office. I arrived just as his meeting was wrapping up. Gabe, in a perfectly tailored suit, took the lunchbox from my hands and immediately passed it to Logan. In the small crowd of executives, my eyes instantly landed on a familiar face. Sierra West. The project director for the collaborating company chuckled as he introduced her: “Mr. Donovan, this is Ms. Lin. She just returned from overseas and will be handling the daily interface on this project.” A vice president, clearly unaware of the tension, smiled and teased: “Mr. Donovan, I hear wedding bells are coming soon?” Gabe gave a faint smile. He reached out, circled my waist, and pulled me close. The public declaration felt like a lead weight in my gut. “Yes, it’s time to settle down. The wedding is set for three months from now. We look forward to seeing you all.” I distinctly saw Sierra’s face drain of all color. After lunch, Gabe dismissed everyone, keeping me in his massive corner office. I decided to address the subject weighing on my mind. “Grandma wants me to quit teaching piano and focus on wedding planning.” I taught at an international prep school—a light, fulfilling job. But Grandma Donovan was intensely controlling, and her demands were non-negotiable. Gabe saw right through me. “If you don’t want to quit, then don’t. I’ll handle my grandmother.” A man like Gabe never offered anything for free. Immediately, he pressed me against his huge mahogany desk, demanding his payment. We were kissing fiercely when the door was abruptly knocked. Logan walked in, carrying a file. My face was a ripe tomato, but Gabe was unperturbed. He simply pulled me tighter into his embrace, shielding my disheveled collar. Logan kept his eyes respectfully averted, his tone strictly professional. “Sir, the file you requested on Sierra West.” My heart plummeted. He was investigating Sierra? He had acted completely dismissive at the hospital. Had his subconscious taken over? Did he suspect something? Once Logan left, Gabe smiled at my obvious tension. “Clem, why do you think I asked for her file?” I shook my head, my palms slick with sweat. Gabe said casually, “Your stepbrother specifically reached out, asking me to give this Sierra a professional leg-up. He called it ‘mentoring.’ And then, the other shoe dropped.” He dropped the real bomb. “The long-lost Marsh daughter has been found.” My mind exploded. “Is it Sierra?” Gabe nodded, his tone possessive and utterly logical. “You and I are a united front now. I have to protect you. I needed to know her background. If she turns out to be difficult, I’ll be prepared to shield my fiancée.” In that moment, I felt an excruciating mix of guilt and pity. I had entered the Marsh family when my mother remarried. I never intended to steal anything. But fate was a terrible writer of fiction. I glanced at the file on the desk. It glossed over Sierra’s adoption by the housekeeper and completely omitted her history with Gabe. Gabe believed he was protecting me from a simple rich-girl vs. imposter drama. He had no idea that when Sierra West reclaimed her identity as the Marsh heiress, the first thing she would come for was the engagement that was supposed to be hers. 3 I returned to the school that afternoon and called my mother to confirm. My mother, Vivian, sighed. “Your stepfather plans to announce it at the family dinner next week. Clem, I wasn’t intentionally hiding this… By the way, are you feeling alright lately?” I was about to say yes when a sudden, sharp pang hit my lower abdomen. It was a strange, pulling ache, nothing like my usual cramps. Combined with the intermittent spotting over the last few days, a terrible premonition took hold. I took the rest of the day off and went to a clinic. The doctor peered over her glasses at the results. “Congratulations. You’re approximately four weeks pregnant.” “However, you’re experiencing early-term spotting. You need to be on strict bedrest, and absolutely no intercourse.” I clutched the printout, my hands shaking. This child could not have picked a worse time. Gabe and I were always careful. The only variable was the herbal medicine I’d been taking recently for general wellness, which included some auxiliary pills. At the Marsh family dinner, I pulled my mother aside for an anxious confrontation. She finally confessed. “The Marshes set up this engagement for their birth daughter. Now, your stepfather wants to make amends, to switch the fiancé back before the wedding. I didn’t want you to have sacrificed for nothing, so…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “About a month ago, I had your birth control swapped with placebos.” I felt a cold dread wash over me. This was my own mother, willing to manipulate me into pregnancy to secure my spot as Mrs. Donovan. Not long after, Gabe arrived. He walked over, naturally taking my hand. He frowned. “Why are your hands so cold?” He turned and asked a servant to fetch me a shawl. My little stepbrother, a chubby terror, ran over and hugged Gabe’s leg. “Gabe!” Gabe managed a rare, gentle smile, patting the boy’s cheek. “I heard you failed your last exam? Next time you make the top ten, your sister’s fiancé will buy you anything you want.” The boy, who was uncontrollable otherwise, was putty in Gabe’s hands. My mother seized the opportunity, smiling broadly. “Gabe, you’ll be such a wonderful father. You two should hurry up. Clem, why the flats tonight? Are you pregnant?” The warmth instantly drained from Gabe’s face. His voice was flat. “No. She was on her cycle last week.” Once we were alone, I couldn’t help but ask him. “Marriage and children are inevitable, aren’t they? Do you just… dislike the idea of having kids?” Gabe was arranging the shawl around my shoulders. His movement froze. He looked detached. “No rush. I’m not thinking about it for a few more years. We’re young. I’m not ready to be a father yet.” Looking at his cold indifference, a bitter ache spread through me. Of course. In a dynastic family as cold as the Donovans, where ties of blood meant so little, he probably had zero expectation for a family of his own. Just then, the clatter of heels echoed down the stairs. The Sierra West of today—or rather, Sierra Marsh—was a different woman entirely. She wore an exquisite designer gown and flawless makeup. She was unrecognizable from the fragile figure in the hospital room. She glided down the stairs, her eyes fixed directly on Gabe. “Gabe…” she called softly. Gabe glanced up. There was no flicker of recognition or warmth in his eyes. He held my shoulder tighter, his voice utterly professional and distant. “Clem is only two months older than you, Sierra, but by family standards, you should probably call me your brother-in-law.” That single, casual designation was a brutal slap across Sierra’s face. The dinner was a grand announcement of the true heiress’s return. But my mother’s maneuvering was masterful. She ensured Gabe and I stayed the night in my old bedroom. Gabe emerged from the shower, smelling of clean, expensive soap. He came toward me, kissing me, his hands immediately exploring beneath my clothes. I flinched, quickly pressing his hand down. “Not tonight. I’m still not feeling well.” Gabe’s throat worked. He saw my slightly pale face and relented. He buried his face in my neck, his voice muffled. “You’ve been off for a while. I’m going for my follow-up check tomorrow. Come with me?” I went rigid. Gabe had been in intensive treatment for his amnesia, recently with a top European specialist. Logan had hinted the treatment was starting to show significant progress. His memory could fully return any day now. If he remembered, this child in my belly was a ticking time bomb. I quickly made an excuse about a morning class and refused to go to the hospital. The next morning, however, Sierra Marsh came directly to my school. In a discreet café, she elegantly stirred her espresso. “Clementine, I’m not here to fight over a man.” She smiled thinly. “I know your secret. Besides the history of humiliating Gabe, you’ve kept an even bigger time bomb from him.” She leaned forward, dropping her voice. “Logan Keller, the assistant Gabe trusts the most. He’s your grandfather’s sponsored student, isn’t he?” I gripped my coffee cup hard. Sierra’s smile widened, radiating victory. “With him running interference, no wonder Gabe couldn’t dig up my history. You seem so obedient, Clem, but you have a wild streak. To avoid this engagement, you tried to run away with Logan, right?” “When you were dragged back, you agreed to marry Gabe to keep the Marshes from retaliating against Logan.” “I can keep your secret. Just cooperate with me. Let’s put everything back where it belongs.” “The four of us can simply switch partners.” Just as the cascade of information left me reeling, the cell phone on the table buzzed. A long-unseen name flashed on the screen: Logan. The man I supposedly ran away with, who was now Gabe’s trusted confidant. I answered. Logan’s usually steady voice was laced with frantic urgency. “Clem, something’s wrong.” “Gabe collapsed in the treatment room. When he woke up… he remembers everything.” I hung up, feeling like a shot of liquid nitrogen had hit my spine. Sierra looked at my ashen face, the corner of her mouth curling into a triumphant smile. She took a dainty sip of coffee. “Well. It seems I didn’t have to lift a finger. Fate is on my side.” I ignored her spite. I grabbed my purse and bolted for the door. I wanted to run. Honestly, what other choice did I have? Stay and let Gabe take his revenge? I had coldly observed his humiliation. I had taken the place of his savior for two years. I had slept with him for two years. And now, I was potentially pregnant with the child of the man he trusted most—or so he would think. With this stack of debts, death was a certainty. I raced back to the penthouse to grab my essentials: passport, cash, jewelry. I crammed everything into a suitcase. Just as I dragged the luggage to the front door, the lock clicked. BEEP. Standing outside was Gabe Donovan, who was supposedly “recovering his memory” at the hospital. Behind him, Logan stood with a face devoid of emotion. Our eyes met. The air thickened into concrete. Gabe wasn’t wearing a hospital gown. He had changed into a sharp black dress shirt, the collar slightly open, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the taut lines of his forearm. But his face was like a chunk of ice carved from a glacier. His eyes no longer held the recent possessiveness or the former indifference. They were filled with an intense, invasive, and deeply sullen scrutiny. This was the terrifying, calculating look of the resurrected Gabe. “Where are you going?” He spoke, his voice hoarse, impossible to read. My palms were sweating cold. I forced a look of strained composure. “S-school field trip. I’m going on a sketching retreat.” “Sketching?” Gabe took long strides into the room, closing the distance. The sheer power and dominance in his posture made me instinctively back away until my knees hit the sofa edge and I collapsed onto the cushion. He bent over me, bracing his hands on the sofa back, caging me in the small space. His deep eyes burned into mine. A cruel smirk touched his lips. “Clementine Marsh, did you think the accident turned my brain to mush? That I was stupid?” His long fingers hooked under my chin, his grip painful. “You’re taking my money and planning to run off with who, exactly? Hmm?” “Logan?” My heart squeezed. I looked instinctively toward Logan, who stood by the door, head down, refusing to meet my eyes. I was sold out. That traitor, Logan, must have told him everything to save himself! “No… Gabe, let me explain…” I reached for his sleeve, trembling. “Explain what?” Gabe violently shook off my hand as if I were something vile. He straightened up, looking down on me, his eyes churning with a storm I couldn’t decipher. “Explain how you thought I was disgusting back then? Explain how you were forced to ‘sacrifice’ yourself to me because of Logan? Or explain…” His gaze slowly drifted downward, settling on my abdomen. The look was a physical probe, a surgical knife slicing into me to discover the truth. “Explain who the father of the bastard child inside you really is?” My head exploded in a deafening WHOOSH. He knew? Yes, if Logan betrayed me, he must have mentioned the pregnancy. But I never expected him to jump to the conclusion that it was Logan’s. I opened my mouth, ready to blurt out, It’s yours. But the words caught in my throat. Tell him it’s his? And risk him demanding I keep the child as an heir, only to be discarded myself? Or worse, have him think I was using the baby as leverage, compounding his hatred? If he believed it wasn’t his, I could disappear with the child, and we’d both be safe from the machinations of the Donovan world. My silence intensified the rage in his eyes. He gave a cold laugh, turned to the liquor cabinet, poured a tumbler of whiskey, and tossed it back. “Good. This is perfect.” “Clementine, you have nerve.” “Logan,” he called out without turning around. Logan stepped forward instantly. “Sir.” “Seal this house. No one in, no one out. Not even a fly.” Gabe turned back to me, his voice a razor’s edge. “You want to run, Clem? You’ll never get the chance. The debt you owe me from the past, we’ll settle it, account by account.” I was officially under house arrest. My phone was confiscated, the internet cable cut. Two grim-faced bodyguards stood watch 24/7. Apart from the nanny delivering meals, I had no one to speak to. Gabe didn’t return. But I knew what he was doing. The news channels were filled with the Donovan Group’s lightning-fast movements. He was ruthlessly purging the company’s senior management. Several old-guard directors were ejected, and the Marsh family’s joint projects were abruptly suspended. The Marshes were in utter chaos. My mother tried to visit but was turned away. Sierra Marsh, however, managed to get through. I don’t know what she did, but the guards let her in. A few days without seeing her, and she was even more radiant, clutching a limited-edition Hermès bag, strutting like a proud peacock. “Tsk, tsk, sister. Why are you letting yourself go like this?” Sierra sat opposite me, looking down her nose at my wrinkled house clothes. I met her eyes coldly. “Spit it out.” Sierra wasn’t offended. She merely smiled and tossed a document onto the coffee table. “Gabe asked me to deliver this. Sign it.” I looked down. The Dissolution of Engagement Agreement. Though we hadn’t married yet, the engagement party had been elaborate. This document covered the termination of the contract and the division of assets. It was crystal clear: I was leaving with nothing. “Gabe said that out of respect for your two years together, he won’t pursue fraud charges. Just sign it and disappear from the city. He’ll even go easy on the Marshes.” Sierra played with her freshly manicured nails. “Don’t feel wronged. This was never your spot. If I hadn’t gone abroad, you’d never have had it.” I opened the document, flipping straight to the last page. Gabe’s signature was missing. I closed the file and threw it back at her. “Tell him to come speak to me himself.” Sierra’s expression darkened. “Clementine, don’t be unreasonable! Gabe can barely stand the sight of you. Do you honestly think he’ll meet with you?” “Then he can just keep feeling sick.” I touched my flat stomach and suddenly smiled. “I have nothing left to lose. Tell Gabe this: if he wants me to clear out, fine.” “He has to come here, look me in the eye, and explain the last two years. Otherwise, I will die in this house. Two bodies. Let’s see if the Donovan name can withstand that scandal.” Sierra flinched, startled by the manic edge in my voice. She clearly hadn’t expected the quiet, compliant fiancée to be capable of such an outburst. “Lunatic! You are a complete lunatic!” Sierra stormed out, spewing insults. I didn’t actually expect to leverage a threat against Gabe. I was gambling. Gambling that he still held a shred of regard for me—even if it was hatred interwoven with obsession. Or, perhaps, gambling on his possessive need to control the disposal of the “bastard child.” Gabe returned that evening. He brought the chill of the night and a strong smell of whiskey. I was curled up on the sofa watching a trashy reality show when he entered. He didn’t turn on the lights. His tall frame loomed over me, suffocating. “You wanted to see me?” He tore off his tie, letting it drop to the floor. His voice was deep and husky. I kept my eyes on the screen. “Sierra brought a document. Since your signature wasn’t on it, I didn’t dare sign.” “Huh.” A cold, mocking laugh. The next second, he hauled me off the sofa and threw me back hard against the soft cushions. He lunged onto me, pinning my shoulders down, his eyes bloodshot, feral. “Clementine, do you think I won’t touch you?” “Two lives? You think you can blackmail me with that bastard?” His hand slid down my torso, coming to rest on my lower abdomen. His palm was scorching hot, yet I felt a deeper chill. “Since you’re so attached to this bastard, how about I help you get rid of it?” My eyes widened in terror. I thrashed wildly. “Gabe, you’re crazy! This is—” “What is it?” He clamped down on my jaw, forcing me to meet his furious gaze. “Logan’s? Or some random man’s?” “Clementine. You’re filthy.” The words were three sharp nails hammering into my heart. Tears sprang to my eyes. I stopped fighting, biting my lip hard to stifle a cry. Seeing my defeated stillness, the violence in Gabe’s eyes seemed to recede, replaced by a deeper disgust—and a subtle, almost invisible trace of pain. He released me, stood up, and straightened his clothes, instantly resuming his aloof, dominant posture. “Tomorrow morning, a doctor will be here to perform the procedure.” “After it’s done, take the money and leave this city.” “Don’t let me see you again.” He slammed the door behind him. 4 I stayed awake all night. I touched my belly, still flat, and made a decision. If he wants to play dirty, so will I. The next morning, the doctor arrived as promised. She was a severe-looking, middle-aged woman, accompanied by two nurses and professional equipment. Logan was there too, standing by the door like a silent sentinel. “Ms. Marsh, please cooperate. It’s a simple procedure, it will be over quickly,” the doctor said coolly, pulling on her gloves. I sat on the bed, my hand tightly clutching a small fruit knife I had hidden under my pillow. “Stay back!” I pressed the blade against my neck. The sharp edge broke the skin, and a bead of blood instantly welled up. “Get Gabe here! Or I swear, I will kill myself right now!” The doctor and nurses gasped, frozen in place. Logan rushed in, his face going pale when he saw the knife. “Clem, don’t do this!” “Call Gabe!” I screamed. “I have something to tell him! About what happened back then, about Sierra, and… about this child!” Logan hesitated, then quickly dialed Gabe’s number. Gabe’s impatient voice came through the receiver. “Is it done?” “Sir, Ms. Marsh is threatening suicide. She demands to see you…” Silence. A terrifying, dead silence. After what felt like an eternity, a cold laugh echoed from the phone. “Let her.” Click. Click. Click. The line went dead. The knife clattered to the floor in my numb hand. This was what true heartbreak felt like. To him, I was truly less than nothing. Logan looked at my devastation, sighed, and waved the medical team out of the room. We were alone. “Clem,” Logan suddenly used my first name, his tone complicated. “Gabe… he never actually intended for you to lose the baby.” I looked up at him blankly. Logan offered a wry, bitter smile. “That doctor is a top-tier fertility specialist. The medication they brought is the best treatment for early-term spotting. Gabe was furious yesterday, but he only believes the child is mine.” “He told you to leave because he wanted to protect you. Sierra… she is far more dangerous than she seems.” I stared, feeling like I was listening to an alien language. “What are you saying?” Logan took a deep breath, like he was finally lifting an unbearable weight. “Gabe already knew the truth about everything. He knew you pulled away during the shoe incident because Brooks had smeared itching powder on your shoe, and you were trying to push Brooks away, not insult Gabe.” “He also knew your time with me was because I promised to help you find information about your birth parents.” “As for Sierra… the person who actually saved him was the mute nanny, not Sierra. Sierra simply stole the token and took her place.” My eyes were wide as saucers. “Then why…?” “Because he was setting a trap.” Logan lowered his voice. “The old Donovan board members are still watching him. Sierra has powerful backers. If he didn’t act disgusted with you, they would target you. As for the child… he was genuinely jealous.” Logan threw his hands up in exasperation. “After all, you did try to run away with me once, and he’s never gotten over it. That’s his ego.” I stared at him. “…” The man’s possessiveness was staggering. Just then, a commotion erupted downstairs. Then, the sound of splintering wood and a woman’s shriek. Logan’s face changed instantly. He rushed to the window and looked down. “Damn it! Sierra brought people in!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389288”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At my own engagement party. The new designer my fiancé’s company had just hired took a pair of scissors to my gown and cut it to ribbons. “Your neck is too short for a high collar.” “And your proportions are all wrong for this conservative cut. A hemline two inches below the hips would be much more suitable.” She held the scissors, a defiant smirk playing on her lips. “Ms. Preston, Mr. Bernstein assured me when he hired me that I would have the freedom to create anytime, anywhere. Consider this my wedding gift to you.” The crowd fell silent, stunned. My fiancé, Richard, rushed to my side, his voice placating. “She’s just a prodigy I scouted from design school. She’s young, Olivia. Don’t take it personally.” Seeing the protective glint in his eyes, I let out a bitter laugh. “Fine. This gown was designed personally by Catherine. It was custom-made for me and is valued at three hundred thousand dollars. Since you’ve destroyed it, you can be the one to pay for it.” Richard started to speak, but I cut him off before he could utter a word. “And by the way,” I said, my voice clear and cold. “The engagement? It’s off.” 1 “Pfft.” Ava, the designer, let out a derisive snort from the side, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Seriously, Richard? Your fiancée really knows how to make a mountain out of a molehill. It’s just a dress. Why the huge drama?” A flicker of irritation crossed Richard’s face, and his tone hardened. “Olivia, stop it. Ava’s design talent is praised by some of the most respected names in the industry. Giving her creative freedom is an investment in our company’s future. If you keep this up, I’m going to get angry.” He paused, then turned to Ava, his voice softening. “Ava, Olivia is a bit more… traditional. She doesn’t understand your creative process. Why don’t you apologize to her, and we can put this behind us.” Ava shrugged, hands spread in a gesture of mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I mean, I obviously did nothing wrong. Art is blameless, right? But since the boss is asking…” She plastered on a fake, saccharine smile and drew out her words with deliberate slowness. “Sooorry, princess. I guess I shouldn’t have failed to appreciate your… outdated—oh, I mean, traditional—approach to design. Are we happy now?” My face was a mask of fury, but Richard seemed satisfied with this resolution. “There. Now, Olivia, go change. The guests are waiting.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Richard, that was the most insincere apology I’ve ever heard, and you expect me to just let it go?” “Don’t push it,” he hissed, grabbing my arm. His grip was tight, a silent command to back down. I refused to move. He pulled harder, practically dragging me. I never thought he would treat me like this. My high heel twisted, and I stumbled, collapsing onto the floor in a heap. Riiip— The already tattered hem of my gown ripped completely, and the neckline was yanked askew, exposing a wide swath of my shoulder and collarbone. A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. Richard froze for a second, then quickly shrugged off his suit jacket, intending to cover me. But then Ava let out a delicate little “hiss,” her voice high and sharp. “Achoo! Richard, is the air conditioning on too high in here? I’m freezing.” Richard’s hand, reaching for me, stopped mid-air. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned and draped the jacket over Ava’s shoulders, even taking a moment to carefully pull the lapels together. “You should have said something sooner if you were cold,” he chided her gently. It wasn’t anger in his voice. It was annoyance that she hadn’t told him what she needed, and even more, annoyance at himself for not noticing. I had always believed that I was the only one who received that kind of special, focused affection from him. Apparently, I was wrong. His love was cheap. My throat suddenly felt too dry to speak. “I’m not that delicate,” Ava said, snuggling into his jacket with a sweet, triumphant smile. She tilted her head back like a spoiled child. “Richard, you said you’d introduce me to Mr. Alistair today. Is that true?” Richard’s face softened into a doting smile. “Of course. Do you think I could have gotten him to come if it wasn’t for our engagement party?” So that was it. Mr. Alistair, a titan of the design world, a man nearly impossible to meet. Richard had moved mountains, using his status as my “future son-in-law,” just to get the old master to make an appearance. The engagement party I had been so excited for, the one I had planned for months, was nothing more than a career launchpad for Miss Ava. Of course. Everyone knew Olivia Preston was a sweet, pliable pushover. A few comforting words and I’d swallow any humiliation. What was a little hurt feelings in the grand scheme of things? Richard patted Ava’s back. “I’ll take you over in a minute. With my introduction, I’m sure he’ll offer you some guidance.” They started to walk toward the center of the ballroom. “Richard.” I called his name. He turned back, the tenderness on his face not yet faded. When his eyes landed on me, it twisted into a flicker of impatience. “What is it now? You’re a grown woman, do you need me to help you up? Get up and change. Don’t just sit there on the floor, it’s pathetic.” Hearing his words, I slowly pushed myself up from the ground. Then, I raised my left hand and pulled the diamond ring off my finger. The ring he had designed himself, the one he had chosen just for me. I placed it back in the palm of his hand. “The engagement,” I said, my voice steady, “is over.” 2 Richard stared at me for a few seconds, a look of weary frustration on his face. “What’s gotten into you today? You’re not usually like this.” He casually slipped the ring into his pocket and reached out, as he had countless times before, to pinch my cheek. “Olivia, I know you’re the most understanding person in the world. Stop acting like a child.” He lowered his voice, trying to coax me. “All our guests are here. Don’t make this difficult for me. Ava is incredibly talented, you’ve seen her work. It’s brilliant. Our goal is to make her the next Catherine. This is my business, my future. Just support me in this, okay?” The next Catherine? By shredding a gown handmade for me by Catherine herself? That’s how she was going to start her “path to stardom”? I looked at his handsome, familiar face, and my heart turned to ice. He said it all so matter-of-factly. My humiliation, my pain, meant nothing to him. Or perhaps, on his scales of importance, my feelings had always been lighter than dust. I’d just never had a reason to weigh them before. I was trembling with rage, about to refuse, when Ava’s sharp, indignant voice cut in. “Hey! Princess!” She stepped up beside Richard, her chin held high. “I already apologized! What more do you want? You rich girls are the absolute worst! It’s just a dress. I’ll pay you back. Do you have to be so relentless and embarrass your fiancé in front of everyone?” I gave her a cold stare. “Three hundred thousand dollars. How do you plan on paying for that?” She sputtered, “That’s extortion! You get some kind of sick pleasure out of bullying a recent graduate with big dreams, don’t you? You’re so out of touch with reality.” After her tirade, Ava turned to Richard, her voice dripping with undisguised grievance and entitlement. “Richard! If I had known your fiancée was this impossible, I never would have taken the job! The line of people wanting to hire me could stretch from my school all the way to Paris! I feel so suffocated here!” Her small frame was swallowed by his large suit jacket, her thick, curly hair framing a face with eyes now red and brimming with defiant tears. Richard immediately began to soothe her. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I didn’t handle it well. Don’t be angry. Didn’t you say you wanted to try the signature Beef Wellington at that revolving restaurant? I’ll take you tonight to make it up to you, how about that?” As he spoke, he pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. A moment later, my own phone buzzed. A bank notification: an incoming transfer of $300,000. The memo read: “Gown Compensation.” Only after he had done all this did Richard look at me again, the last trace of warmth in his eyes completely gone. “The money’s been transferred. I paid for it. Are you satisfied now? You’ve made your scene, you should have blown off enough steam. Ava and I need to go say hello to Mr. Alistair. Don’t keep the guests waiting.” He lifted his hand, as if to put it on my shoulder, but paused mid-air and let it drop. His gaze then shifted back to Ava, his tone softening once more. “Let’s go.” Ava let out a small, triumphant huff from her nose, clutching the suit jacket tighter as she turned to leave with Richard. As she passed me, she deliberately bumped my shoulder. It wasn’t a light tap. Caught off guard in my high heels, I stumbled back a step before catching my balance. I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms they felt like they might touch bone. The sharp pain was the only thing that kept me from screaming. I could hear Ava’s plaintive voice drifting back from the hallway. “Richard.” “Your fiancée is such a tyrant. Is it because she’s a rich heiress? I can handle her bullying me, but I’m worried she’ll treat you this way in the future.” Richard tilted his head, his voice low as he said something to her. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew they were meant to reassure her, to take her side. Then, I saw Ava look up at him, her smile radiant and blinding. From the corner of her eye, she shot a look in my direction—a final, victorious glance. I slowly unclenched my fists. Fine. Just fine. I pulled my phone from my purse, my own expressionless face reflected on the dark screen. “Mr. Alistair.” “Olivia, my dear! How is your father? I was just about to leave for your engagement party. I was hoping to see him as well.” “Mr. Alistair, the engagement party has been… postponed. There’s been an incident.” I gripped the phone tighter. “And there’s something else. A small favor I’d like to ask.” “Oh? Go on.” “Tonight, Richard Bernstein will be introducing someone to you…” 3 Even Richard would have found it hard to believe. That I, Olivia Preston, would be so vindictive toward some up-and-coming ingenue. Mr. Alistair’s critique at the party that night utterly humiliated Ava. The story spread through our entire social circle like wildfire. “This is nothing but a pastiche of imitation. You can’t even articulate the theme of your own work.” “Your fundamentals are abysmal. A child making clothes for a doll shows better stitchwork than this.” “Are you deliberately trying to insult my intelligence?” These comments, embellished by the gossips in attendance, became the season’s hottest joke. Richard’s grand “star-making” project, along with several key deals he was about to close, evaporated overnight. He was in a panic. He knew I was behind it. I was waiting for him to come and confront me. But the next afternoon, he showed up at my door, holding a limited-edition gift box from a top-tier jewelry brand, a placating smile on his face. I stared at him coldly for a long moment. “Come in.” He placed the box on the coffee table and opened it. Inside lay a diamond necklace, glittering under the light. “I was wrong yesterday. I let you down. This is for you, to apologize.” I sat on the sofa, not even glancing at the necklace. I just looked at him. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, then sighed and sat down beside me. He tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away. He didn’t seem annoyed, just started talking. “Olivia, why do you have to go after a young girl like that? You could ruin her.” A scornful smile touched my lips. I asked him, point-blank, with no room for evasion. “This special attention you’re giving Ava… is it really just about admiring her talent? You graduated from Parsons, Richard. I don’t believe for a second you can’t see the truth.” His expression shifted. “Olivia, have you lost your trust in me? She’s seven years younger than me. I see her as a kid.” “Yesterday was a huge blow to Ava. She’s young, and talented people have their pride. I’m worried a fall like this will be too much for her to handle.” He watched my face, his voice growing more earnest. “So, I was thinking… could we borrow your family’s art gallery on the Riverside? I want to organize a solo exhibition for her as soon as possible. I’ll cover all the costs, for the venue, the setup, everything.” I finally looked up at him. The sunlight caught his face, still as handsome as the day I fell for him. But the Richard I loved would never defend someone else at my expense. And he certainly wouldn’t have such filthy thoughts about a ‘kid.’ “Richard, she ruined my engagement party. She publicly humiliated me and destroyed my gown. And now you’re asking me to use my family’s gallery, my family’s name, to host an exhibition for her? To prop her up?” The smile on his face faded. “Olivia, it was a misunderstanding. Ava apologized, and I compensated you. The important thing now is to solve the problem. Are you really going to stand by and watch a promising young talent be destroyed by rumors? That’s not good for the company, or for my career.” “Can’t you just be the bigger person and help me out this one time? We’re going to be family, sooner or later.” “Family?” I almost laughed out loud. Before I could speak, the living room door burst open. Ava stormed in. Her eyes were red and swollen, tear tracks staining her cheeks, her hair a mess. She didn’t even look at me, marching straight to Richard. “Richard! I’ve had enough!” “I’ve been winning awards my whole life! My professors called me a once-in-a-decade genius! I have never been so humiliated! Everyone is treating me like a joke! Do you have any idea what they’re saying about me behind my back?!” Richard stood up immediately, trying to calm her. “Ava, don’t get worked up, I’m trying to find a solution…” Ava violently shook off his hand, fresh tears rolling down her face. “What solution?! Richard, I’m telling you, even if you offer me a fortune, I don’t want to stay here anymore! You people make me sick!” She pointed a trembling finger at me, her eyes filled with venom, before turning back to him. “Don’t ever come looking for me again! I’m not good enough for you!” With that, she covered her face and ran out, sobbing, her retreat a picture of finality. “Ava!” Richard’s face contorted in panic. Without a second thought, he started to chase after her. “Richard.” I stopped him, my nails digging into my palms. He turned back. His face was a mask of urgency and impatience, his eyes holding a ferocity I had never seen before. My voice was quiet, even. This was his last chance. “If you walk out that door, we are really, truly over.” He stood there, staring at me for a few seconds, and then a cold, disappointed sneer twisted his lips. “You know what, Olivia? She has never once cried in front of me.” “Do you have any idea what a disgusting thing you’ve done?” “This exhibition is happening. Whether you agree to it or not.” He strode out after her. The living room fell silent. Slowly, I sank back into the sofa. I opened my hand. The pain in my palm seemed to spread, reaching all the way to my heart. 4 Ava’s fashion exhibition went ahead as scheduled. Because I allowed it. Richard, thinking he had won, ended our cold war and came to see me, even bringing Ava along. “Olivia, thank you for being so understanding. You’ll see, Ava is going to be a sensation. This will blow over all those earlier misunderstandings.” I sat in the large armchair in my study and gave them a detached glance. Understanding? I scoffed internally, my face remaining a placid mask. Ava presented a beautifully wrapped gift box to me with both hands. “Ms. Preston, I really want to thank you for generously lending us the gallery. This is a thank-you gift I designed especially for you. I hope you like it.” Inside the box was an exquisite gown. I looked at it, then lifted my eyes to meet Ava’s. “Miss Ava,” I said. “Since you designed this gown especially for me, you must have forgotten that I’m allergic to fiber blends. Are you careless, or did you choose this material on purpose?” The smile on Ava’s face froze. Richard frowned. “Ava was being thoughtful, designing a gown just for you. Why must you always assume the worst in people? An allergy? What a convenient excuse. You just have a prejudice against her!” Perhaps. A prejudice against stupidity and malice. I had worn the mask of a sweet, gentle woman for so long, they had actually started to believe I was the naive, easygoing heiress they could push around. I picked up the gown and, with a casual tug, ripped the fabric. The embellishments scattered across the floor. Then I tossed the ruined dress into the wastebasket in the corner. “I don’t need it,” I said. Ava’s eyes welled with tears. “You’re horrible!” Richard’s expression turned thunderous. But I never imagined he would actually raise a hand to me. I didn’t even see it coming. All I felt was a searing pain across my left cheek. My ears rang. The force of the slap sent me stumbling sideways. My cheek immediately began to swell. “Olivia! You’ve gone too far!” he roared. “The Prestons might have been rich and powerful once, but after your mother died and your father got sick, what’s left of your family?! Even if you were still that same heiress, you have no right to trample on someone’s kindness and dignity!” I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and tasted blood. “Richard, tell me, who is bullying whom here?” He ignored me, his chest heaving with rage. “To teach you a lesson, our engagement is postponed. Indefinitely! Until you learn what respect and an apology are!” He didn’t look at me again, grabbing Ava’s arm. “Ava, let’s go. There’s no point talking to someone this unreasonable.” The stinging in my cheek was a constant throb. I stood motionless in the silent room long after they had gone. As darkness fell, my phone screen lit up in the dim room. A new message from an anonymous number. An encrypted video file. I opened it. The footage was blurry but clear enough. A hotel room, clothes strewn on the floor, two entangled figures. It was Richard. And Ava. I watched it to the end, then turned off the screen. People who aren’t worth loving, along with their pathetic little affairs, deserve to rot in the ground together. In the days that followed, Richard threw all his resources behind Ava’s debut show. Subway light boxes, jumbo screens in commercial districts, trending topics online… ads for “design genius Ava” and her “subversive, brilliant vision” were everywhere. Ava’s social media was a constant stream of bragging. On the day of the exhibition, the Riverside Arts District was buzzing. The entrance to Ava’s gallery was flanked by congratulatory flower arrangements. She and Richard stood proudly at the door, giving interviews. And right across the street, a gallery that had been closed for renovations for weeks was finally unveiled. I stood at the entrance of the building, a structure that dwarfed Ava’s gallery, and looked up at the large letters on the facade. A slow smile spread across my face. CATHERINE: RETROSPECTION & REBIRTH · WORLD TOUR PREMIERE

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389304”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My grandma passed away, so I went to the bank to close her account. The final balance: forty-two cents. The teller flashed a practiced, plastic smile, pushing forty cents in dimes across the counter toward me. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we don’t have any loose pennies right now. Can we owe you the last two cents?” “No,” I said. “I’d like them now.” A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, and she sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Ma’am, you’re holding up the line.” The next thing I knew, she hit a button under the counter. A security guard materialized and politely “escorted” me out. I immediately got on my phone and filed a formal complaint. That night, she put me on blast on Instagram. “Just dealt with a total psycho who filed a complaint against me over two cents. She must be broke as a joke.” She attached a photo of the transaction slip, clumsily blacked out— But my Social Security Number was perfectly clear. Overnight, my phone was so overwhelmed with hate messages it became unusable. The next morning, I stood in front of the bank and dialed 911. “I’d like to report a crime. Someone has illegally disclosed my personal information.” I paused, my voice steady. “And while you’re at it, you should probably take a look at this bank’s books. I have a feeling my two cents aren’t the only thing they’ve ’rounded down’.” 1. The police were quick to arrive. As two officers walked into the lobby, the branch manager was in the middle of trying to placate me. “Miss Pierce, look, there’s really no need to make such a scene over a small matter like this.” “This was our mistake, I admit. We’re prepared to offer you five hundred dollars for your trouble. How does that sound?” I just stared at him, saying nothing. The officers approached me. “Ma’am, are you the one who called?” “I am.” I handed over my phone, open to the Instagram post from the teller, Jessica. The transaction slip was there for all to see, my SSN clear as day. “This woman, Jessica, one of your tellers, leaked my private information on social media,” I explained. “The comments section is already flooded with thousands of abusive messages directed at me. I’ve been doxxed, and my phone has been bombarded with threats.” The older officer’s expression hardened. He turned to the manager. “Get your teller, Jessica, out here.” The manager, a Mr. Evans, was a heavyset man whose face was already beading with sweat. He hunched his shoulders slightly. “Officers, please, there must be some misunderstanding. Jessica’s just a kid, fresh out of college. She was probably just venting after a long day, she doesn’t know any better.” “Leaking a citizen’s personal information isn’t ‘not knowing any better’,” I cut in, answering for the officer. “It’s a federal crime.” Mr. Evans’s face paled. A moment later, Jessica emerged from a staff hallway. She froze when she saw the police, but the moment her eyes landed on me, she put on a performance worthy of an Oscar, looking like the world’s greatest victim. “Officers, I… I was just complaining to my friends! I had no idea it was illegal!” she stammered. “I can delete the post! I’ll apologize to her!” She made a show of starting to bow toward me. I took a sharp step back, dodging the gesture. The younger officer, who had been taking notes, looked up at her. “Your actions are a serious violation of federal privacy laws and could constitute felony identity theft. Please come with us to the station for questioning.” Jessica’s knees buckled. “Wait… Mr. Evans, say something! Mr. Evans!” Mr. Evans was busy wiping sweat from his brow, trying to sweet-talk the officers. “Gentlemen, can’t we just handle this internally? We’ll come to a private settlement, I promise Miss Pierce will be satisfied.” “This is a criminal matter now. It’s out of your hands,” the older officer said flatly, waving his partner to take her away. As they led her out, Jessica started sobbing, snot and tears streaming down her face as she screamed at me. “You lunatic! Was it worth it? Over two cents! You’ll get what’s coming to you!” I ignored her curses and turned to the officer who had stayed behind. “Officer, besides the data breach, I have something else to report.” “Go on.” “I suspect this bank branch is systematically skimming small amounts of money from customer accounts.” Mr. Evans, who had just started to relax, went rigid. The officer looked at me. “Do you have any proof?” “Yesterday afternoon, your teller Jessica, while closing an account for me, explicitly stated that of the forty-two cents remaining, she would only return forty. The other two cents, she said, ‘didn’t matter’.” “I don’t believe this was an isolated incident. I believe it’s common practice at this branch. Two cents from thousands of customers can add up to a significant sum. The question is, where did that money go?” Mr. Evans immediately shot back. “That’s absurd! Our bank’s accounting is all computerized. Every single cent is accounted for. It’s impossible!” “Is it?” I challenged him. “Then let’s pull up yesterday’s cash flow records and the system logs right now. Let’s see if my two cents were the only ‘unimportant’ pennies that went missing.” The officer seemed to agree. He looked at Mr. Evans. “Sir, if you would please cooperate and show us yesterday’s records.” Mr. Evans nervously fumbled with his tie, pulling it askew. “Officer, accessing those kinds of logs requires authorization from corporate. A single branch doesn’t have that kind of authority…” “Don’t worry,” I interrupted, my voice cool. “I’ve already filed a formal complaint with the Banking Commission. I imagine their investigators will be here soon enough, with all the authorization they need.” Mr. Evans stared at me, his mouth hanging open, speechless. I held his gaze. “I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Sophie Pierce. I’m a financial auditor. And tearing through bank records is what I do best.” 2. Jessica was detained for five days and fined five hundred dollars for illegal disclosure of personal information. The very next day, I got a call from the Banking Commission. They had formed a special task force to investigate my claim of “systematic skimming of customer assets.” The bank’s corporate office reacted swiftly. Mr. Evans was suspended, and a Vice President named Coleman called me personally. His tone was incredibly apologetic, promising a full internal investigation and assuring me I would be given a satisfactory resolution. I hung up the phone, not believing a word of it. With institutions this big, the first instinct is always damage control. Sure enough, that evening, my phone began ringing off the hook. At first, it was blocked numbers. When I answered, I was met with a torrent of screamed obscenities. I enabled a feature to block all unknown callers. Then came Jessica’s friends and family. They’d somehow gotten my number and used it to find every social media profile I had. A woman claiming to be Jessica’s cousin sent me over a hundred voice messages. “How can you be so heartless? You got our Jessica thrown in jail, and you still won’t let it go?” “You’re going to ruin a young woman’s entire future over two cents? Are you even human?” “Have you ever heard of showing a little mercy? Or do you just want to destroy her completely?” And of course, there was Jessica’s boyfriend. He was more direct. “Listen up, you bitch. Drop the charges now, or I’ll find you and kill you.” He sent a selfie of himself holding a baseball bat. In the background, I could clearly see the entrance to my apartment building. I didn’t reply. I just screenshotted everything. Then came a text from Mr. Evans. “Miss Pierce, let’s be reasonable. Jessica has been fired. You got what you wanted. The bank is willing to offer you fifty thousand dollars to let this go. Think about it.” “If you keep pushing this, it won’t end well for either of us. You’re a young woman with a long career ahead of you. You understand.” The threat was clear. I screenshotted that too. They were working fast. New posts were popping up all over Instagram and Reddit. The headlines were all variations on a theme: “The Ice-Cold Auditor Who Drove a Bank Teller to Suicide Over 2 Cents.” “BREAKING: Teller in 2-Cent Dispute Attempts Suicide Amidst Relentless Harassment!” “Is the ‘2-Cent Avenger’ a Hero or a Monster?” The posts were written with dramatic flair, claiming Jessica had lost her job because of my complaint and, unable to handle my continued “persecution,” had slit her wrists and was now fighting for her life in the hospital. They included a photo of a wrist wrapped in bloody bandages, the person lying in a hospital bed. It was blurry, but the distinct purple-dyed hair was unmistakably Jessica’s. The comment sections exploded. “OMG, for real? Someone tried to kill themselves over two cents? This woman is a demon.” “This is terrifying. What kind of person does this?” “My friend is a nurse at that hospital. She said the teller lost a lot of blood, it’s really bad.” “So what if she’s an auditor? She’s just a bully on a power trip. People like her are the worst!” My name, my employer, even photos from my college yearbook were plastered everywhere. My phone was unusable. The receptionist’s desk at my company was flooded with angry calls. I stared at the venomous words scrolling across my screen, then calmly turned off my phone. Did they really think this would make me back down? I opened my laptop, navigated to an encrypted forum on the dark web, and posted a new thread. The title was: “$10,000 USD Bounty for Information on ‘Backdoors’ or Artificially Created Financial Loopholes in a Certain Commercial Bank’s Software System.” It was a long shot. But it was the fastest way I could think of to find out where the money went.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389321”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My arranged fiancé, the heir to the family empire, kept a trophy girlfriend on the side, spoiling her rotten. Just as I was preparing to break off the engagement, I suddenly saw comments scrolling across my vision: [What did the Crown Prince do wrong? He just wants to get your attention.] [Don’t break off the engagement, baby! If you just shed a few tears, he’ll give you the world immediately.] I turned my head and looked out the window. The trophy girlfriend, wearing expensive jewelry, clung to Ethan Sterling’s arm with a radiant smile. Ethan lowered his eyes lazily, a look of casual indulgence on his face. I smiled and replied to my lawyer’s message: [Continue drafting the annulment agreement.] 01 As soon as I sent the message, the comments exploded: [How can you be so cruel? The poor Crown Prince is probably getting drunk at a bar right now…] [Sigh, the Crown Prince is just a bit proud and stubborn, and now he’s lost his wife.] [It’s fine. The Crown Prince will just bankrupt her family, then she’ll have no choice but to beg him obediently.] [Then she’ll have to fight other women for his attention every day. The Crown Prince will be so happy!] I stared at the comments, laughing coldly in anger. I looked sideways again, locking eyes with Ethan Sterling. He raised an eyebrow slightly, letting the girl continue to cling to him, showing no guilt at being caught. Seeming to notice my ugly expression, the corner of his lips quirked up. The trophy girlfriend Ethan kept was a small-time influencer. Walking together, they looked like a perfect match. Many people stopped to watch and take photos. The glass of the cafe I was in was transparent. I didn’t know if I had been photographed too. I cursed silently in my heart. Picked up my bag and called the driver. Changed the location for him to pick me up. Who knew, as soon as I stepped out, I bumped straight into Ethan. Me: ? “Did you walk this way on purpose?” I asked. “Paying that much attention to me?” Ethan smiled lazily. The girl beside him looked at me vigilantly but didn’t speak due to her status. Thinking of the comments just now, I felt annoyed. I tried to walk around them but was grabbed by the wrist. I turned back. Ethan lowered his voice: “Unhappy?” I glanced down at the girl hugging him. “Not unhappy. I wish you a long and happy life together.” After speaking, he still didn’t let go. The girl rolled her eyes. “Where did you come from? Still disturbing others shopping?” She shook the expensive bracelet on her wrist and looked at Ethan coquettishly. “Are you just jealous no one bought you one?” I said calmly: “Do you know I’m his fiancée?” She froze for a moment, then scoffed: “Family arrangement, what feelings are there? If Ethan really liked her, would he be with me?” Ethan sneered. Then he lowered his eyelids, his dark eyes staring straight at me. My expression didn’t change, and I nodded. Then I glanced at the hand still holding my wrist, with its distinct knuckles: “Let go.” Ethan didn’t move, looking at me: “Find another male partner for the banquet the day after tomorrow.” Hearing this, the girl was stunned for a moment. Then she sized me up, and after a while, giggled: “Oh, so you’re his fiancée. So what? Ethan will accompany me the day after tomorrow.” I calculated. The annulment agreement should be sent to the Sterling family tomorrow. “Okay,” I said. “Can you let go now?” Ethan paused, his face darkening. “Who will you find?” Several young men with good family backgrounds, looks, and figures flashed through my mind. I said sincerely: “Haven’t decided yet, but I can pick one out when I get home.” The silence in the air was palpable. Besides the bustling commercial street, various gazes were cast towards us. The comments popped up again: [Oh my god, the Crown Prince is pissed off.] [Crown Prince: Can’t you just cry and submit? Must you make me angry?] [Baby, act coquettish, cry! Don’t waste your beauty and the Crown Prince’s love for you!] [Seriously, don’t be stubborn, baby. If the Crown Prince goes crazy, who knows what he’ll do… Bankrupting your family and locking you up will make you behave.] “Chloe, well done.” Ethan ground his teeth, his voice dropping to freezing point. He let go of my hand. I stepped forward, looked at the necklace on the girl’s neck, and looked deeply at Ethan: “You said before you would give this necklace to me.” With that, I turned and left. Ethan chased after me, his tone unclear. “You still remember?” “But I don’t need it now.” “She acts coquettish with me, revolves around me every day… and calls me hubby.” Ethan’s voice was deep. So you gave her the necklace you promised me? My throat and stomach churned. The comments boiled over with this sentence: [He’s hinting at you!] [The Crown Prince finally couldn’t hold back, hehe. Baby, call him hubby once, and he’ll give you his life.] [The Crown Prince dreams of being called hubby by baby. He probably has to change the sheets when he wakes up…] I stopped, locked eyes with Ethan, and said word by word: “Right. In the future, I will act coquettish with other men and call other men hubby. Then he will also satisfy my demands.” “Say that again.” There was a coldness in Ethan’s voice I had never heard before. His big hand gripped my shoulder bone, with force as if trying to crush my bones. At this moment, the girl who followed timidly spoke: “Ethan, what’s wrong?” Ethan didn’t spare her a glance, still staring at me dead on. She pouted and glared at me: “Did you make Ethan angry? When Ethan is with me, he’s never unhappy.” I felt more and more disgusted inside. Turned my head away, not wanting to say another word. After a long time, Ethan’s hand dropped. He closed his eyes irritably, shrouded in gloom. “Even she knows not to make me angry, Chloe.” He left this sentence coldly and turned to leave. The girl immediately followed, coaxing him with a sweet voice. Their backs looked like a match made in heaven. Comments surged: [Baby just refuses to submit, pushing away the person who loves her with her own hands.] [Wouldn’t it be fine just to say a few nice words to the Crown Prince? Insisting on giving that white lotus a chance.] [I’m speechless. Look at the trending search! Passersby posted photos and videos online.] 02 After getting into the driver’s car, I opened my phone. By this time, several friends had already messaged me: [Oh my god, how are you on the trending search? That woman beside your fiancé is an influencer, did you know?] [Are you okay, babe? Someone just sent me photos. Why does Ethan Sterling parade his mistress in front of you? Scumbag!] [That influencer next to your fiancé says in her live streams every day that she has a man who loves her very much and buys her everything… turns out it’s Ethan Sterling.] [I’m speechless. Ethan Sterling didn’t even have a female mosquito around him before. We said he kept himself clean; why did he suddenly start keeping a little influencer?] I considered my words, replied one by one, and clicked on the trending search. Clear photos and videos captured the pulling and pushing between Ethan and me perfectly. The comments below were uniformly defending the influencer: [Is this woman just jealous of our Lily? Trying to seduce someone else’s boyfriend.] [Didn’t you see Lily’s boyfriend’s attitude towards her? So fierce. In contrast, he spoils Lily so much.] [This woman still lingered around them. After they left, she kept staring. Pretending to be deeply affectionate?] [Speechless, ahhh, green tea stay away, don’t seduce someone else’s boyfriend.] So my fiancé has already become someone else’s boyfriend. I curled up in the back seat, staring blankly into space. For this trending topic to stay until now, and even intensify, it definitely had Ethan’s authorization. Does he really like me as much as those comments say? If he likes me, would he tolerate people on the internet twisting right and wrong and endlessly abusing me? I closed my eyes in pain. After a long time, I dialed a number, my voice hoarse: “Get someone to remove the trending search, quickly.” The comments became active again: [Heartbroken for baby, can’t take it anymore. If only baby submitted and acted coquettish, it wouldn’t be like this now…] [A bunch of brainless netizens, just following the trend. Lily is the mistress! Pissing me off.] [The Crown Prince is indeed a bit excessive, but baby is too independent. He just wants to see baby rely on him and show she can’t do without him.] [Feels like this trending search is hard to remove. Someone is already shorting baby’s stocks. People from the Chloe Group saw it; it will definitely affect the stock market.] My gaze lingered on the last comment for a long time. Sure enough, not long after, the phone rang. The other end said helplessly: “Someone keeps buying the trending search. We are removing it here, but the effect is minimal.” I didn’t speak. The other end sighed, “Did you provoke someone? This trending search keeps refreshing and won’t go down. This is a big spender. Your fiancé isn’t removing it either? Just watching?” Because the person buying the trending search is my fiancé. But… soon he won’t be. My dad’s call came right after. His voice was full of anger: “Chloe! What’s going on with you? Do I need people to ask me? I didn’t even know!” I was silent for a moment. “Ethan cheated. Is that my fault too?” “Men cheating is common, but how could you let this kind of thing get out! And let that woman be safe and sound in front of you, showing off?!” My dad’s voice suddenly rose. I explained patiently, “Ethan bought this trending search, and he keeps the mistress. Dad, this has nothing to do with me. I’m already asking people to remove the trending search.” My dad sneered, “Not being able to control a man’s heart is your fault.” After saying this, he hung up. The car stopped steadily. The driver turned back to remind me: “Miss Chloe, we’re at the villa.” Like a walking corpse, I pushed open the car door and walked step by step towards the pitch-black villa. My dad’s words were so high-sounding. When he cheated and kept a bunch of people outside, he turned around and blamed my mom for being old and charmless. But he forgot who supported his business with all her dowry and who paid silently behind the scenes. 03 Late at night. I called Ethan. It connected almost instantly. “What?” His tone was lazy. “Stop buying the trending search,” I whispered. He paused on the other end, his tone rising, “Why so listless? Are you sad?” “What exactly do you want?” I couldn’t control it, my voice breaking. He didn’t speak. I said hoarsely: “Watching my identity get exposed, being called a mistress, Chloe Group’s stock price falling, are you happy? Are you satisfied?” When saying this, I couldn’t help trembling all over. How could there be such an unreasonable lunatic? After a while, Ethan spoke slowly: “Don’t cry, baby. Want to see me? I can come to you now.” I opened my mouth. But couldn’t make a sound. I stood on the balcony. The cool night wind blew past, cooling the tears that had just fallen. I was like a complete joke. Finally, only two difficult and dry words remained: “Don’t come.” Ethan repeated with unclear emotion: “Don’t come?” “What do you mean, Chloe?” His voice turned cold. “I don’t want to see you.” Using my last bit of strength, I hung up the phone. I lay back in bed in a daze, unable to sleep for a long time. The trending search still hung high. Relatives in the family WeChat group tagged me one after another, their tones full of blame. Until a cousin sent: [Let me say, cousin, if you can’t keep Brother Ethan, don’t hog the toilet. Don’t you know how much impact this has caused?] Once started, peers in the group chimed in. A younger cousin sent a facepalm emoji: [Too embarrassing, being ridden on the head by a mistress. If I were Cousin Chloe, I wouldn’t have the face to go out.] [Brother Ethan spent money on that influencer. Didn’t he spend any money on you, cousin?] [If not, just change the engagement partner, right? Anyway, Brother Ethan doesn’t like Cousin Chloe.] With the last sentence sent, the chattering group instantly fell silent. I smiled bitterly. I wished I could just change partners. But my dad was still in charge of the Chloe Group, and I was his only daughter. He wouldn’t be willing to let go of this opportunity to curry favor with the Sterling family. I muted the group messages and scrolled through my Moments. The first one was a group photo posted by a rich kid. Standing in the center were… Ethan and Lily. Ethan intimately held Lily’s waist, lazily raising an eyebrow at the camera. The former and a crowd of brothers toasted happily on both sides. What does it look like? Right, like an official announcement photo. I liked it and turned off my phone. Comments surged like a tide at this time: [Baby don’t be sad, the Crown Prince is faking it! We all know the Crown Prince loves you the most.] [Yeah, after his bro posted this, he checks every minute to see if you liked it.] [He really wants to see you. You rejected him tonight; he’s almost dying of sadness.] [Baby call him quickly, tell him you’re jealous, he’ll come to find you immediately hehe!] I closed my eyes numbly. Driving all these comments out of my mind. I didn’t know how long passed. I propped up my cold body, got up, and sent a message to the lawyer: [Give me the annulment agreement first. I’ll find a chance to give it to Ethan later.] I needed a day to transfer assets and couldn’t be disturbed by anyone. After attending the banquet, taking the early morning flight, I would fly to another country. By then, the annulment agreement would be in duplicate, sent to my father and Ethan respectively. Staying in the country, even if I refused to marry Ethan to death, I wouldn’t have a peaceful life; sooner or later, my dad would marry me off to someone else. 04 Everything went smoothly. … I even carefully selected a mermaid dress. Stepping into the banquet hall in high heels, I smiled. My friends came over to ask how I was doing recently. One even poked me with her elbow, “No male partner, right? I’ll lend you my brother.” I thought for a moment, “Forget it, I don’t think being alone is shameful.” “True, having a man around hinders our chatting!” she said smilingly. Suddenly, there was an uproar in the distance. We looked towards the source of the sound— Ethan in a silver-gray suit, looking lazy, with a faint smile on his lips. His arm was held by Lily, who also curved her eyes prettily. Ah… I thought Ethan said he would accompany Lily, meaning shopping or something. Turns out he’s accompanying her to this banquet. My gaze fell on Lily’s dress. Identical to my mermaid dress. When I ordered it, I was told there was only one in the country. The one on Lily… was shipped overnight from abroad? Ethan intended to embarrass me. Sure enough, as soon as Lily saw me, her face changed immediately. She bit her lip and turned to say something to Ethan before Ethan looked over unhurriedly. Lily walked over on her small heels, glaring at me with almond eyes: “Did you send someone to find out what dress Ethan ordered for me? Did you do it on purpose?!” Hearing the commotion, other scattered people at the banquet gradually gathered around. My friend was shocked: “Don’t talk nonsense…” Lily scoffed, “Just jealous that Ethan treats me well! This kind of method is really disgusting, and you don’t even look as good as me in it.” My friend said silently: “Better looking than you.” Lily was anxious, went back to Ethan and shook his arm, “Ethan, look at them!” Ethan’s eyes were pitch black, his gaze lingering on me for a long time. After a while, he hooked his lips and smiled. The comments suddenly became noisy: [Ahhhhh, the Crown Prince smiled! He thinks baby looks better!] [Eyes are the most honest indeed, hehe, Crown Prince and Baby forever! I bet on it.] [But wait a minute… The Crown Prince wants to stimulate baby, make baby go to him obediently and pitifully, wait a minute…] While I was still confused about the meaning of the last comment, the microphone suddenly rang. Everyone looked over. The senior secretary of the Sterling Group held the microphone and a card, saying: “Thank you all for coming to this banquet. There is an important matter I declare here—Mr. Sterling has decided with the board that 2% of the shares of Sterling Group will be gifted to Miss Lily for free.” The whole audience was in an uproar! I looked up sharply, in disbelief. Ethan held important shares, but I didn’t know exactly how much. But another 2%, given to an un-fiancée… even if only 2%, in the huge Sterling Group, the annual net income is a very considerable figure. He gave it to Lily. And had someone announce it at this time. Comments were scrolling crazily: [Here it comes, the crazy Crown Prince’s big move! Poor baby is being laughed at by everyone, can only obediently beg the Crown Prince!] [Yeah, then baby helplessly stays by the Crown Prince’s side, being endlessly demanded… so spicy.] [What is baby insisting on! The Crown Prince loves you so much, slap Lily quickly, then hold the Crown Prince and act cute.] Bearing everyone’s sarcastic and gloating gazes, I walked towards Ethan step by step. His gaze followed me tightly. I walked up to him. He lowered his eyes, a hint of an arc on his lips. I also curved my lips, words rolling out of my throat one by one: “The annulment agreement is already on the way. It won’t be long before it reaches your hands. Whether the cooperation with the Chloe Group continues is up to you to decide. “I’m out.” I locked eyes with Ethan. After saying the last sentence expressionlessly, I turned to leave. Ethan grabbed my wrist violently, his fingertips trembling slightly from too much force, “What do you mean? Chloe, what do you mean?” I didn’t look back: “Annulment. Don’t understand?” “I don’t agree!” He roared low, his voice tight, “Are you blaming me for giving the shares to someone else…” I frowned, “I have nothing to do with you. What does the whereabouts of Sterling shares have to do with me?” “Of course it does—” I turned around impatiently. The bottom of his eyes was a turbulent ink color, “As long as you want, everything is yours. No need for annulment.” Ethan’s gaze locked onto me tightly, his voice hoarse. I didn’t want to say more to him, “Let go.” “I won’t let you go.” He increased his strength, almost stubborn. I grunted in pain. At this moment, my friend blocked him, gnashing her teeth, “Ethan Sterling, you keep a mistress outside yourself, and won’t allow Chloe to annul the engagement? Does that make sense?” Lily screamed: “Who are you calling a mistress? Ethan loves me the most!” My friend sneered, “Then why isn’t he willing to let Chloe go and marry you instead?” Lily froze, looked at Ethan, choking with sobs: “Ethan, what are you doing? You didn’t like her anyway. Isn’t annulment just right?” Ethan didn’t look at anyone else from beginning to end. The corners of his eyes were slightly red, “Chloe, stop messing around. Shares, necklace, they are all yours.” “Why do you think I would care?” I asked back. I shook off his hand fiercely. Entangling with him further would only delay my schedule. I said lightly: “Wish you happiness, a long life together, and a son soon.” Ethan moved his lips. I took a step back, “Don’t stop me. Don’t make me look down on you.” Walking towards the banquet hall gate, the comments in front of me refreshed continuously: [Huh? What is this direction? Is it the grand finale? Isn’t baby going to live happily with the Crown Prince?] [The Crown Prince played too hard… Baby seems to be really jealous.] [Baby just annulled the engagement like this. Who knows what the crazy Crown Prince will do? Maybe kidnap baby tomorrow.] [What? Captivity play? Waiting…] Of course, I was afraid of Ethan going crazy, so now or never. In a few hours, I would cross half the globe to another country.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389337”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel