Category: English

1 After my husband, Damon, came crawling back from his affair, I started a little online project. Every day, a new post. How thrilling is it to cheat? Does a man get addicted to infidelity? After an affair, who does he feel guiltier towards: the wife or the mistress? I tagged his university in every single one. A precise delivery system for his students, his colleagues, and—of course—his mistress. Everyone told me to stop making such an ugly scene, to be the bigger person, the graceful wife. Only Damon defended me, pulling me behind him. “I’m the one who made the mistake,” he’d say, his voice a mask of contrition. “Amelia has every right to vent.” This charade continued until my ninety-ninth post. That was the day Damon stormed into my office, a wildness in his eyes I hadn’t seen before, and smashed my laptop to the floor. “Amelia, for God’s sake! I’m home now. What more do you want from me?” he roared, his voice cracking. “How long are you going to torture me?” I didn’t answer. I just calmly folded a pair of his freshly laundered boxers and placed them on the stack. I looked at him, my expression placid, and asked with a small smile, “Do you have anything else that needs washing?” 2 Damon froze, his chest heaving with a rage that had nowhere to go. His furious questions hit me and dissolved, like fists punching a pillow. When he didn’t speak, I moved toward him, taking his suit jacket from his shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “This is all wrinkled. I’ll go press it for you.” “Amelia!” he grabbed my arm, his voice tight with an irritation he couldn’t contain. “What is it you want? Can you just stop this act?” He gestured wildly at the wreckage of my computer. “Do you have any idea what those posts are doing to my reputation? I’m a human being, Amelia. I get tired, too!” My hands stilled. My breath hitched. “Are you worried about your reputation,” I asked softly, “or Brooke’s?” Her name was a spark in a room full of gasoline. The air between us crackled, ready to ignite. “Why are you bringing her up again?” he snapped. “I moved her to a different research group. I cut off all contact. You know this!” He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “Do you want to drive everyone as crazy as you are? Is that what will make you happy?” His voice climbed to a shout, but his eyes landed on the swell of my pregnant belly, and the fury deflated out of him. He looked like a punctured balloon. “I’m sorry, honey,” he whispered, his tone instantly softening as he wrapped his arms around me. Guilt washed over his features. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. That was my temper. I’ll buy you a new laptop tomorrow, the best one.” I recoiled from his touch like I’d been electrocuted, stumbling back and pressing my hand to my mouth as a wave of nausea hit me. I leaned against the doorframe, dry-heaving. “Don’t touch me,” I gasped. “You’re… filthy.” Damon’s face darkened. His eyes, already bloodshot, seemed to burn. “You think I’m filthy?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. Before I could react, he grabbed my hand, yanking me forward and pinning me against the door. He ripped at the collar of my shirt, his mouth descending on my neck in a rough, biting kiss. “The doctor said it’s fine in the last trimester, Amelia. Let’s…” “Get off me! You make me sick!” I shoved him with all my strength, collapsing to the floor and frantically scrubbing at the skin he’d touched. I rubbed until it was raw and red, but the feeling of his mouth on me wouldn’t go away. The room filled with the sound of my retching. “So dirty,” I sobbed, “I need to wash…” “Amelia! Do you hate me that much?” Damon’s voice was a raw, broken roar from behind me. “What do I have to do to make you forgive me?” I scrambled into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast, letting the icy water cascade over my clothes, over my skin. The front door slammed with enough force to shake the walls. I lifted my head and met my own gaze in the mirror. My face was a mess—pale, gaunt, streaked with tears. Suddenly, the grief I’d been holding back crashed over me in a tidal wave. I clutched my stomach, my sobs so violent I couldn’t breathe. We had been the golden couple, the envy of everyone we knew, inseparable since college. Now, his touch felt like a violation. I couldn’t forget. God, I had tried. I wanted to be the magnanimous wife, the one who forgave and moved on. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. With her. The student I had sponsored, had taken under my wing. He was with her while I was carrying his child. He was with her in our marital bed on the day of my father’s funeral. The thought sent a spasm of pain through my stomach, a phantom knife twisting in my gut. Why did he get to act like it never happened? Why was his conscience so clean while mine was in shreds? I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. 3 It was a long time before I stumbled out of the bathroom. The apartment was deathly quiet. Damon was on the sofa, his eyes red and swollen. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Tonight… I lost control. It’s all my fault. It won’t happen again.” “It doesn’t matter,” I cut him off, my voice flat. “That’s your business.” Without waiting for a reply, I turned and walked into our bedroom. I lay down, placing a gentle hand on my belly, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths. I’m sorry, little one. Mommy lost her temper again. I didn’t mean to scare you. My eyelids felt heavy as lead. As I drifted off, my mind rehearsed the same scene, over and over. The plan for one hundred days from now. Once the baby is born, I’ll be free. 4 I woke to a sharp, clenching pain deep in my abdomen. A warm wetness spread beneath me. I fumbled for the light, my heart pounding when I saw the crimson stain on the sheets. Panic seized me. I forced myself to my feet, but when I tried the bedroom door, it wouldn’t budge. He had locked me in. A cold dread washed over me. Leaning against the wall for support, I shakily dialed Damon’s number. “Damon, I’m bleeding,” I gasped into the phone. “The bedroom door is locked, I can’t get out. You have to come home. Now!” His voice on the other end was thick with exhaustion. “Amelia, it’s the university’s awards ceremony tonight. I’m swamped. Can you please not start things right now?” “Damon!” Another contraction ripped through me, and I cried out in pain. “I’m serious! I think… I think the baby’s coming!” “Oh, here we go again,” his tone sharpened, laced with accusation. “Amelia, are you really trying to ruin my awards ceremony? Is that it?” He let out a bitter laugh. “No wonder you were so calm last night. You were planning to use the baby to blackmail me!” “Damon, no, that’s not…” I tried to explain, but the relentless pain was stealing my breath, my strength. He was about to say more when another voice cut in, clear and sweet. Brooke’s voice. “Professor Miller? Is everything alright? Is it your wife again?” Her voice was a performance of concern. “Maybe you should go home… you don’t have to stay here with me…” “Don’t worry about her,” Damon’s voice was firm, reassuring her. “Work comes first.” I could hear the murmur of students laughing in the background. The line went dead. Fighting for breath, I called 911. But as I tried to push myself up to wait by the door, my legs gave out. I collapsed into the spreading pool of my own blood, hot tears streaming down my face. The paramedics were fast. When they finally broke down the door, they found me lying in a crimson heap on the floor. I lost the baby. He was almost eight months along, the doctor told me later. If they hadn’t lost time breaking down the door, they might have been able to save him. 5 Damon knelt by my hospital bed, his face a mask of anguish. He raised a hand and slapped himself, hard, across the face. Twice. “Amelia, it’s my fault. I’m a monster,” he sobbed. “I was just so afraid… afraid you’d be upset seeing me on stage with Brooke… Please, forgive me, honey. We can… we can have another baby.” The last time he knelt before me was at our wedding. He had kissed my hand, his eyes shimmering with tears as he vowed to love and cherish me for the rest of his life. That boy was gone. The man kneeling before me now was a stranger. I stared blankly at the ceiling tiles, a strange sense of relief washing over me. The baby was gone. Now I didn’t have to force myself to stay with Damon anymore. A phone buzzed, cutting through his pathetic apology. It was Brooke. To prove his loyalty, Damon immediately put the call on speaker, his voice a harsh bark. “Brooke, I told you not to contact me again!” Her voice came through, choked with sobs. “Professor Miller… I’m pregnant.” A pause. “I’m going to get rid of it, of course. I just… as the father, I thought you had a right to know.” My hand clenched into a fist, so tight my nails dug into my palm. My lips trembled uncontrollably. My baby was dead, and she was pregnant. Damon frantically ended the call, his expression a mixture of terror and shame. “Amelia,” he pleaded, “I won’t acknowledge that child. I swear.” A raw, broken laugh escaped my lips, tears streaming down my face. “Damon,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” “No! I don’t want a divorce!” He shot to his feet, grabbing me in a desperate hug. “Amelia, I love you. Please, don’t say that.” I tore his hands off me, my voice rising to a scream. “Then get her to this hospital right now! I want to watch her get the abortion!” Damon closed his eyes, unable to look at me. “She… she has severe depression. If I make her terminate the pregnancy now… I’m afraid she’ll do something to herself.” “And what about my child?” I grabbed the water cup from my bedside table and hurled it at him. “Was my baby’s life worthless? He was your son, too!” Just then, from Damon’s phone, still in his hand, I could hear Brooke’s muffled weeping. “Professor… I won’t make things difficult for you… I’m just going to die…” Damon’s face went white. He clutched his phone and bolted from the room without a second glance. Watching his retreating back, I felt a familiar arm wrap around my shoulders. My mother. “My sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice thick with pain as she held me close. “We’re not going to suffer this anymore. We’re getting a divorce. I’m going home right now to pack your things.” But the next time my mother called, her voice was a shattered cry. “Amelia! Damon sent men to demolish the house! The old house!” she wailed. “Your father built that place with his own two hands, brick by brick! It was all I had left of him!” The words were a knife in my heart. My world shattered. I ignored the cramping in my lower abdomen, my hand trembling as I dialed Damon’s number. “How could you?” I screamed into the phone. “How could you demolish my parents’ house? After everything they did for you!” His voice was ice. “If I had been a second later, Brooke would have overdosed on sleeping pills. Your mother called the university and reported her as a homewrecker. She almost killed two people.” He paused, his tone chillingly practical. “With the old house gone, she can just move into the city with you.” I understood immediately. After nearly a decade together, I knew how his mind worked. He was cutting off my mother’s escape route. He was trapping us, forcing my entire family to live under his watchful eye. “Damon,” I sobbed, the sound raw and animalistic, “why don’t you just die with her!” He muttered something about me being irrational and hung up. 6 I was still recovering from the miscarriage, not even out of my postpartum confinement, when my mother, overwhelmed by the stress, had a heart attack and was hospitalized. The blows kept coming, leaving me in a daze. I picked up my phone, my fingers moving automatically. I opened the forum and began to type my one-hundredth post. My baby is gone, but my husband’s mistress is pregnant. How do I make them pay? The post exploded. Within hours, it was trending nationally. The comments section flooded, with users swarming Damon’s faculty page. “Professor Scumbag in a tweed jacket. I hope this vile pair rots in hell!” “How does a degenerate like this get to teach? The university needs to fire him immediately!” Seeing the tide of public opinion turn in my favor, I felt a grim, satisfying release. The pain in my chest eased, just a little. And then, a new statement appeared on my account. To everyone, I am deeply sorry. The one hundred posts I’ve made were all fabricated. I apologize for the distress I have caused my husband and Ms. Brooke Collins. I tried to log in to delete it, but the password had been changed. Then I remembered. The broken laptop. Damon had taken it with him. Moments later, a post appeared on Damon’s own social media feed: “My wife has been suffering from postpartum psychosis since our pregnancy. She has been experiencing delusions that I am involved with one of my students. To ease her mind, I have already moved the student in question, Brooke Collins, to another research group, but my wife’s paranoia and fabrications have continued. I will ensure she formally apologizes to Ms. Collins. I am truly sorry for this misuse of public attention.” I couldn’t believe it. The audacity, the filth of his lies. Instantly, my direct messages were filled with a torrent of venom. “If you’re sick, crazy old woman, then just die! You’re one of those pathetic wives who thinks every woman wants her husband!” “Your baby died because of karma, you understand that, you bitch?” As I stared at the screen, my hands shaking with rage, Damon’s call came through. “Amelia,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. “Come to the university tomorrow. You’re going to apologize to Brooke.” “Why the hell should I?” I trembled. His voice dropped, laced with fury. “Brooke is innocent. What does your dead baby have to do with her? If you don’t want your mother’s heart surgery to be ‘unexpectedly canceled,’ you will be here tomorrow, and you will apologize.” My mother had treated him like her own son. And now he was using her life to protect his mistress. I squeezed my hand into a fist, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. Finally, I heard my own voice, a thin, quavering whisper. “Fine. I’ll do it.” 7 After settling things at the hospital for my mother, I took a cab to the university. Brooke was there, weeping theatrically in Damon’s arms. The moment she saw me, she broke away and lunged, her hand connecting with my cheek in a sharp slap. “Mrs. Miller, how could you try to ruin my life?” she cried. The surrounding students and faculty stared at me with open contempt. In front of me, someone held up a phone, the red light indicating they were live-streaming. Damon’s gaze was a clear warning. “Amelia,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Apologize.” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my mouth and opened my lips to speak. But before I could, someone kicked me hard from behind, right in the hollow of my knee. My leg buckled. I crashed to the ground, kneeling before Brooke. Someone yanked at my shirt, pulling it open to expose the raw, angry stretch marks crisscrossing my stomach. “Ugly on the inside and out. No wonder she has to lie to get attention.” “God, that’s disgusting. I wouldn’t touch her if you paid me.” A flash of embarrassment crossed Damon’s face. He was ashamed of me. “Don’t act so wronged, Amelia,” he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “You wrote a hundred posts. She gave you one slap. I’d say you got off easy.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ve transferred the money to your account. From now on, you’re even.” I pushed myself up from the floor, my eyes burning as I stared at him. What they owed me could never be repaid. Swallowing down the surge of hatred, I rushed back to the hospital, desperate to see my mom. But her bed was empty. A nurse stopped me in the hallway. “Your mother… she fell down a flight of stairs,” she told me, her expression grim. “She has a cerebral hemorrhage and multiple fractures. She’s in surgery now.” The security footage was clear. The person who pushed my mother was Brooke.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389320”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I chased Ethan Cole shamelessly for four years. He was annoyed beyond endurance. He pressured my family, and they sent me abroad in fear. He said, “I don’t care what you do, just make sure she never bothers me again!” “Otherwise, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” Drugs, hypnosis, electroshock therapy… Those methods really worked. I forgot how it felt to love him. Even my memory of him became blurred. He finally relented and allowed me to return. Wherever he appeared, I actively avoided him. Because Mom told me, that breathtakingly handsome man is someone I cannot afford to offend. Seeing him kissing my sister, I secretly took out my phone to take a picture. His gaze was fierce and cold. I shrank into the corner, terrified, stammering: “I’m sorry, I just thought you two were a perfect match, so shippable…” I don’t know why. The man who always hid his emotions had eyes that trembled violently. 1 After returning from abroad, I always felt my brain wasn’t working well. I spent most of the day sleeping. I thought I was sick. Mom comforted me, saying not to worry. “You’ve been a lazy little pig since you were young, unlike your disciplined sister.” “It doesn’t matter, everyone’s constitution is different. Sleep if you’re sleepy.” I poured myself a cup of black coffee, wanting to wake myself up. But it didn’t work. I knocked on my temples, feeling troubled, when the doorbell rang. The butler said: “Miss Bella brought Mr. Cole back.” Joy immediately surged in Mom and Dad’s eyes. Dad eagerly went out to welcome him. Mom was about to follow, but suddenly remembered something. She looked at me with difficulty: “Mia, you…” I nodded sensibly: “I know, Mr. Cole doesn’t like me.” “Sister’s marriage is important. I’ll go upstairs first. Just right for me to catch up on sleep.” Mom looked at me yawning with relief. I took a few steps and suddenly remembered I hadn’t taken the coffee cup. I wanted to try drinking another cup later. The moment I turned my head, I inadvertently met a cold gaze. Almost instinctively. I forgot the coffee cup and ran. As if running late would cost me my life. Running into the room, I locked the door. I also propped a table against the door. Only then did my heart, hanging in my throat, settle down. I can’t say why, but seeing Ethan Cole triggers a strong emotion in me: Fear. Mom said it’s because Ethan is a natural superior, anyone with him would feel a lot of pressure. “Especially a natural weakling like you.” Mom said I shouldn’t appear in front of Mr. Cole. “Mr. Cole doesn’t like people who look cute but are actually stupid.” “His gaze will only stay on excellent girls like your sister.” “What level is the Cole family? If we can marry into the Cole family, we can struggle a few lifetimes less.” “Mia, be sensible.” I am very sensible. So, every time Ethan came home, I actively avoided him. Mom was very gratified by this, sometimes patting my head. This is the biggest reward for me, and I cherish it very much. So, I never dared to tell Mom. Even if she didn’t say it, I would actively avoid Ethan. His aura is too aggressive. I feel very uncomfortable. Very depressed. Like my heart is being pinched hard by someone. There is also an inexplicable sourness. Laughter downstairs. Amidst this laughter, I fell asleep. 2 When I woke up again, the sky was dim. It was already evening. The villa was very quiet. Ethan should have left. My stomach was very hungry. I opened the door, wearing a white princess nightgown, barefoot downstairs to find food. The floor was cold, and I felt my brain sober up a little. I was standing by the kitchen island heating toast. The study door suddenly opened. Ethan in a sharp suit walked out of the study. Under the warm yellow light, his contours were more three-dimensional, his figure straight. Features like sculptures. Like a god with the power of life and death descending. But he was too cold. His temperament was cold, his eyes were cold. Even the lead-gray cufflinks of his suit gleamed coldly. Separated by the long living room, his gaze fell lightly on me. Thin lips pressed into a straight line. Full of pressure. Almost instantly. I snapped back to reality. Holding my head, squatting under the dining table. Hiding clumsily. Sister flew downstairs with brisk steps. She ran into Ethan’s arms, hugging his arm and shaking it. “Leaving already? You haven’t seen my new stills yet. How about leaving after eating?” Sister’s temperament has always been distant and cold. At this moment, she showed the coquettishness of a little daughter, pinching her voice, very pleasant to hear. Like a beautiful bird. Feathers bright, singing melodiously. Ethan didn’t speak; he looked coldly at me shivering under the table. Sister’s smile fell. Biting her lip, she said: “If you’re busy, another day is fine. Let’s go, I’ll walk you out.” Ethan stood still. The pressure on him was so strong, as if he wasn’t listening to Sister at all. Sister opened her mouth but didn’t dare to speak. After a long time, he spoke, voice deep: “Okay, leave after eating.” On Dad and Sister’s faces, surprised and suspicious expressions flashed at the same time. Ethan hooked his lips slightly: “What are you afraid of? Didn’t she forget everything?” Ethan walked to the dining table with long legs and squatted down. Suit pants outlined strong leg lines. “Mia, do you still know me?” I timidly raised my eyes, then lowered them, daring not to meet his gaze. Slowly nodded. But my fingertips and toes seemed to suddenly transmit needle-pricking pain. Like a stress reaction. I screamed. Closed my eyes tightly. Desperately shook my head. “Don’t know! Don’t hit me! I don’t know!” 3 At the dinner table, the atmosphere was weird. Mom and Dad tried hard to liven up the atmosphere. But Ethan just ate quietly. Posture noble. No intention of speaking. Making Mom and Dad’s enthusiasm very awkward. Sister’s face was dark, saying nothing. I didn’t dare to pick up dishes, only dared to eat rice in small bites. Finally endured until the meal was finished, Mom and Dad seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Watching Ethan’s leaving figure, I suddenly remembered something and stopped him: “Mr. Cole, wait a moment.” Everyone looked at me in surprise. Including Ethan. His brows furrowed slightly, obviously impatient. “Just a little bit. Okay?” I gestured a one-centimeter distance with my fingers. Saying that, I ran upstairs and soon ran down holding an iron box. Everyone’s eyes locked on me. I opened the iron box lid and asked: “Mr. Cole, this is yours, right?” On top of the iron box were a dozen ID photos. One-inch, two-inch. Obviously not obtained through regular channels. Because on the ID photos, some had steel stamps, some had solidified glue on the back. Visibly picked off from various places. Ethan in the photo was younger than now, still showing a bit of youthfulness between his brows. But his features had already grown very superior. Besides ID photos, there were some messy things. Candy wrappers, cigarette boxes, used pen refills, crumpled test papers, etc. Ethan looked at me with a torch-like gaze. I gritted my teeth before daring to continue: “Found in a corner of my wardrobe. Don’t know who put it there. But I recognized your photo, should be yours, right?” Ethan’s eyes moved slightly, seemingly with a bit of scrutiny. I was looked at by him, shrinking a few inches. Shoulders drooped. He spoke: “Not mine, throw it away.” “Oh, okay.” I threw it into the trash can beside me and was about to go upstairs. Ethan’s eyes suddenly contained a bit of danger. “Mia, you did it on purpose, right?” He stopped me. I was puzzled: “What?” He seemed to see through everything, eyes mocking, sneered. “Nothing. Acted well. Don’t act next time. I’m not interested in watching.” After saying that, he lifted his leg and left. 4 Mom closed the door. Sister held back all night, crying on the table in anger. Dad looked distressed, ultimately couldn’t hold back his anger, and slapped me. I was unprepared and fell to the ground awkwardly. Head hit the corner of the table. Buzzing pain. Mom hugged Sister’s shoulders heartbrokenly and said to me: “Mia, don’t blame your father for being harsh. Tonight, you really disappointed us too much!” “Did you forget Mom’s repeated instructions?” “Why go downstairs without permission? Why talk to him? Are you that cheap?!” Blood seeped from the wound on my forehead, flowing into my eyes. A blood mist before my eyes, vision blurred. Covering the bleeding wound, trying to explain: “Sorry, I thought he left. I didn’t mean to…” Sister suddenly grabbed my collar, hysterically said: “Dressed like that running downstairs, deliberately dangling bare feet in front of him, and taking a broken box trying to attract his attention. Mia, who are you trying to seduce!” “Do you know Ethan’s status? Do you know your own status? How dare you have designs on him?” “Do you know, because of your indiscretion tonight, I might lose him?” “Can’t you live without men? Even trying to seduce your own sister’s boyfriend!” After saying that, Sister opened the door and walked out. Mom hurried to pull Sister: “Bella, where are you going so late?” Bella looked at me hatefully: “In this house, either her or me. I’m leaving!” Soon, the sound of a car starting rang in the garage. Mom sighed deeply. Dad slammed the door in anger. I whispered: “I’ll stay out tonight?” Mom hesitated for a moment: “Where can you go?” “Stay in a hotel. Abroad, always stayed in hotels, I’m very familiar.” At that time, I couldn’t stand the inhuman torture, just wanted a chance to escape from the hospital. Stayed in the cheapest motel. Avoiding the painful treatment they arranged for me. Only, Sister always found me quickly and took me back. Mom was silent, after a while, nodded: “Tonight was indeed wrong of you. You go stay out. Wait until your sister calms down, Mom will pick you up.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389336”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The moment I woke up and realized I had been reincarnated as the “villainess,” my high heel was already digging into the hero’s abdomen. I jerked my foot back, trembling with guilt. “Look, I can explain! I want us to be—” The boy before me, cold and distant, slowly unzipped his blue-and-white varsity jacket. His eyes were downcast, his voice a low whisper. “Princess, I brought a box.” I scrambled to finish my sentence: “To be… to be best friends for life!!” The boy froze for two seconds. He gritted his teeth and pulled a square object from his pocket. “I brought you a box of… Choco Pies.” 1 The second my memories flooded back, my heel was grinding into Caleb’s stomach. I wasn’t holding back. I could see the deep red mark left on his pale skin. Caleb let out a muffled groan, the veins in his neck bulging from the pain. He was kneeling by the bed, his varsity jacket hanging open, revealing his sharp collarbones and the faint, defined lines of his abs. His long, pale fingers rested on his buttons, undoing them one by one. His eyes were cold, yet his skin was flushed with a strange, feverish pink. He looked like a masterpiece of repressed desire. I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face, and Caleb had been the most beautiful boy in any room since we were kids. He was an orphan; I’d spotted him at the shelter years ago and threw a literal temper tantrum until my dad agreed to sponsor him. From that day on, Caleb moved into the Sterling estate. I was a brat back then. I demanded that he only have eyes for me. I forced him to revolve his entire world around my whims. When I went through my rebellious phase and refused to go to school, Caleb was forced to stay back a year just to keep me company at home. Caleb obeyed my every command, but he never initiated contact. I always thought it was just his personality. I thought I had him figured out—which is why I had been planning to force myself on him tonight. I didn’t realize until this exact moment: I was the villainess. And in this story, the hero is destined to loathe me. Thinking back on a decade of my own entitled, reckless behavior, my vision went black. I shakily retracted my leg. Caleb looked up at me, his gaze dark and unreadable. “Princess?” Trying to play it cool, I knelt down and frantically tried to zip his jacket back up. My fingertips brushed against his warm skin, and I flinched as if I’d been electrocuted. “I—I’ve made a decision,” I said, clearing my throat and trying to sound sincere. “Caleb, I want us to be—” He reached into his pocket. The fabric of his jeans outlined the shape of a small, square box. “Princess,” he interrupted, “I brought a box.” I blurted out my finish: “BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!” The air in the room turned to ice. Caleb’s hand froze in his pocket. He didn’t pull the box out. After a long silence, he slowly looked up. Something dark and heavy settled in his eyes. “Choco Pies,” he said flatly. I patted his shoulder with fake enthusiasm, acting relieved. “I knew it! You really are my best friend. We’re totally on the same wavelength.” Caleb stood up slowly, straightening his clothes until he looked like the perfect, untouchable honors student again. “Princess, today is your eighteenth birthday. You specifically called me to your room just to tell me… that?” I forced myself to nod. I didn’t know why, but his expression seemed to get even colder, as if a layer of frost had settled over him. Right. This is good, I thought. Keep the distance. Fix the relationship. I added helpfully, “From now on, you don’t have to follow me around 24/7. You don’t have to come every time I call. I’m an adult now. It’s time I learned some independence.” Caleb stepped closer. He was a good head taller than me, and his shadow swallowed me whole. “Fine.” “Great! Go get some rest then.” “You don’t want your bedtime story?” “Nope! No more. I was being a brat before. I’m sorry for being such a hassle.” He stood silent for a few seconds, then turned toward the door. As he passed my vanity, his arm “accidentally” clipped a glass of water on the edge of the table. Clatter. The glass flipped, drenching him. His thin white t-shirt became instant-transparent, clinging to his skin and tracing every muscle of his torso. Water droplets slid down his hip bones and disappeared into his waistband. I subconsciously swallowed. Caleb turned to face me, tugging at the hem of his shirt. The fabric clung even tighter. “Princess, where are the napkins?” “Oh? They’re… right there…” “Could you help me dry off?” God, he looks so good. I want to touch. If this were yesterday, my inner predator would have pounced. But now, I forced myself to look away. “Men and women should keep their boundaries, Caleb. You… you should go to your room and change.” Caleb didn’t say anything. But I could feel his gaze heavy on my face, weighing me down like an interrogation. After a few beats, he finally moved. His hand lingered on the doorknob. “Princess,” he said softly. “Goodnight.” 2 The next day in class, I was leaning my head on my hand, contemplating my bleak future. The teacher tapped the whiteboard. “Everyone, listen up. We have a new transfer student. Meet Silas Vance.” The classroom erupted into whispers. “Holy crap, he’s gorgeous.” “He’s on the same level as Caleb.” “I heard he’s here on a scholarship from a rural town. Poor, but a genius.” “Wow, the classic ‘Poor but Hot’ protagonist trope?” The keywords hit me like a physical blow. I sat up straight. I realized my “awakening” was incomplete. Last night, only a general plot had entered my head—I didn’t have a list of names. The “story” said I would fall for a poor but beautiful hero and try to own him by force. He would endure my abuse until he became successful, then he’d reunite with the “poor but kind” Female Lead and ruin me. I had assumed Caleb was that guy. But now, looking at Silas, I realized the world was full of handsome, struggling guys. With my personality, it was entirely possible I’d move on to the next hot guy eventually. To be safe, I had to cast a wide net. I needed to stay on the good side of every potential protagonist. I whipped out my phone and texted my dad: “Dad! I have a brilliant plan. I’m going to sponsor every poor but talented guy I find. I’m feeling charitable. You won’t say no, right?” My dad replied instantly: “Sweetie, starting a harem is illegal. Didn’t you get the memo? Isn’t Caleb enough of a handful for you? And besides… is your heart strong enough for that many guys??” Before I could reply, a shadow fell over my desk. Silas Vance was standing over me, looking down with eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief. “Mind if I sit here?” I had originally shared a desk with Caleb, but to “detox” myself from my dependency on him, I had made Caleb move this morning. I nodded instinctively. I hadn’t looked at Silas closely before, but up close, the class gossip was an understatement. He smirked at me, his voice smooth as silk. “Looking forward to working with you, neighbor.” The mole under his eye seemed to dance in the sunlight. I felt my face heating up. Just as I was about to say something, I felt a heavy, piercing stare from across the room. I looked over. Caleb was watching me, his dark eyes unreadable. Silas tilted his head, perfectly blocking Caleb’s line of sight. “Is something wrong?” Silas asked softly. “You look a little flushed.” I waved my hand dismissively. “No, nothing. I’m fine.” 3 The Charity Fund was set up, the company risks were mostly cleared, and I finally felt like I could breathe. I made it back to my apartment near campus before dark. I pushed the door open to find the place in total darkness. The neon lights of the city bled through the window, outlining Caleb’s lean, tall silhouette. He sat there silently, like a statue with no heat. “Why are the lights off?” I asked tentatively. “Is everything okay?” He didn’t answer. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. I put my bag down and tried to walk past him. “So you finally decided to come home.” His voice was strained, vibrating with something he was trying to hold back. “I’ve been busy with important stuff,” I explained lamely. I tried to go to my room, but he grabbed my wrist. His skin was ice cold. Caleb looked at me, emotions swirling in his eyes. “Busy with what?” He let out a sharp, cold scoff. His grip tightened. “Spending every day with that transfer student? Is he the most important thing in your world now?” “Silas? I’m just processing his scholarship paperwork. He fits the Sterling Fund criteria—” “You’re sponsoring him too?” Caleb interrupted, his brow furrowed. “What’s next? Are you going to move him in? Just like you did with me?” He took a step closer. I backed up until I hit the cold wall. “Caleb, calm down.” I tried to pull away, but his hand was trembling. “Calm?” He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “Princess, you’ve been avoiding me for a month. You made me switch seats so you could sit with Silas. Why?” My skin crawled. “What do you mean?” “Why won’t you look at me the way you used to?” His breath was on my face now, smelling of the crisp, clean scent he always had, but now it felt scorching. “Like you have for the last ten years.” He slammed his other hand against the wall by my ear, pinning me. In the dark, he was so close I could see the quiver in his eyelashes and the desperate, almost pathological possessiveness in his eyes. “Caleb,” I tried to bluff. “I’m not avoiding you. We’re still the same.” “The same?” He twisted his lips into a smirk, his eyes suddenly rimmed with red. “Then tell me. Do you love me the most?” My brain short-circuited. He went through all this drama just to get me to say I love him best? I didn’t have time to overthink. “Of course!” I said, sweating. “We’re best friends, aren’t we?” 4 The moment the words left my lips, Caleb’s expression went stone cold. He looked at me like I was a prey animal trying to act clever. “Best friends.” He repeated the words, enunciating every syllable. Then, he let go of my wrist. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, I saw his hands go to his collar. He ripped it open. The moonlight hit his collarbones, making them look dangerously sharp. He pulled the collar down further, revealing a black leather choker around his neck. I froze. That was the “gift” I had been planning to give him on my birthday before I “woke up.” “Caleb, what are you doing—” He stepped forward, pressing his body flush against mine. I could feel his heat through my shirt. My breath hitched. “Best friends?” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. His voice was low and hoarse. “Do you think a ‘best friend’ wants to do this?” He grabbed my hand and pressed it hard against his chest. Under my palm, his heart was thumping like a drum—heavy, fast, erratic. “Does a friend feel like this?” He guided my hand down, over the hard planes of his abs, stopping right at the line of his waistband. I tried to pull back, but he held me there with terrifying strength. “Princess.” He looked down at me, his eyes overflowing with raw, naked desire. “You’re the one who taught me to be your dog.” “Now you want me to be a ‘friend’? That’s not fair.” I felt like I was seeing Caleb for the first time. The cold, obedient honors student was just a mask. “Caleb, we can’t be like this!” His pupils constricted. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Why?” “Why can’t we?” “Why don’t you want me anymore?” I couldn’t explain the “plot” to him. But I knew I couldn’t just stay silent, or he’d keep digging. I took a deep breath and put on my best “annoyed princess” face. “You ask too many questions. I’ll give you one answer. One. Ask it, and then never bother me about this again.” A long silence followed. Finally, as if making a life-altering decision, Caleb looked me in the eye. “I want to know if the Princess ever cries.” I blinked, confused. “I… of course I cry…” Caleb smirked, leaning in until our noses touched. “I mean… I want to know if I can make you cry.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389353”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My mother was convinced I’d never get married, primarily because I spent money with the reckless abandon of a trust fund kid—even though I was anything but. She blamed an $18 DoorDash delivery and a four-dollar latte. “That $18 takeout?” she’d lecture. “You could have cooked a full meal for ten dollars and had leftovers.” “A four-dollar coffee? You could just splash some cold water on your face straight from the faucet. If that doesn’t work, give yourself a good, hard slap to wake up.” She finally shut up the year I brought home a man more financially meticulous than a tax auditor: Landon Bell. 01 When I told my best friend, Jess, I was bringing Landon home for the holidays, she still couldn’t wrap her head around it. She didn’t understand how I—Vera Chen, the girl who viewed cash as disposable confetti—could possibly be with someone so ruthlessly cheap and painfully calculating. Landon insisted on splitting every joint purchase down to the very last cent. In the months we’d been dating, every single dinner, movie, or road trip was strictly split the bill. Gifts were a sterile exchange, not a romantic gesture. If I gave him a $150 designer candle, he would immediately look up the exact price and then, without fail, send me back a gift of precisely $150.00 in value. No more, no less. Jess was still staring, waiting for an explanation. I rolled my eyes, pulling my suitcase onto the bed. “A girl’s gotta love what she loves, Jess. You might not like cilantro, but I do.” I ignored her skeptical silence and focused on packing. Since graduating college and starting work, I rarely went home, usually only making the pilgrimage for a long weekend or the major winter holidays. Just a few days ago, my mother, Eleanor, had sent her usual passive-aggressive text: “Your cousin’s son is already running around. I haven’t even seen a photo of a boyfriend.” I hadn’t told her about Landon right away, afraid she’d get her hopes up for nothing. But after six solid months, I felt secure enough to present him to the family. Before we left, I gave her a quick call. “Mom, I’m on my way. And yes, I’m bringing a boyfriend this year.” As expected, she was ecstatic, cutting me off before I could finish and already shouting the news to the rest of the family—the extended clan was notoriously nosy. It wasn’t until we were almost boarding that I realized I forgot to mention one detail: “We’re taking the regional train, not the express. It’ll take a few hours longer.” The regional train was Landon’s idea. When he pulled up the ticketing site, he noted the slower, regional ticket was exactly one-third the price of the high-speed one. “The extra hours?” he’d said with a shrug. “You can watch a movie or just sleep it off. It passes quickly.” Given my mother’s lifelong crusade against my spending habits, his logic, infuriating as it was, was sound. I sent her a quick text to update her. The three dots indicating she was typing flashed on the screen for a long time. Then they disappeared. Then they came back. Finally, her reply arrived: “Just keep an eye on your luggage.” It was a small miracle. Finding out I had a boyfriend had clearly put her in an excellent mood. Usually, any self-made decision, even a minor one like swapping a shirt color she requested for one that suited her better, resulted in a verbal thrashing. Now, she was offering a rare moment of care. I couldn’t wait to get home. I had another piece of good news to tell them all. 02 When I pushed open the front door, the house was, predictably, full. Aunt Patty’s family was huddled around the dining table, shelling nuts. Uncle Gary and Aunt Brenda were dominating the living room couch, glued to the TV. Dad, Richard, was making tea, and Mom was slicing fruit. Patty, the queen of family gossip, spotted me first. Her eyes immediately scanned my hands and the floor around me. “Back from the big city, and you’re empty-handed?” Her voice, a low rumble, instantly commanded the room. “Shouldn’t you have brought a gift for every elder?” Landon, hauling my large suitcase, stepped in just behind me. When he heard Patty’s question, he paused in the doorway and asked, with genuine curiosity: “Is it a major holiday, or perhaps your birthday, ma’am?” Patty stared blankly. I clarified for her, a small, cold smile playing on my lips. “He’s asking if you expected a gratuitous, unearned handout.” Patty’s face flushed scarlet. She pushed herself up from the table just as Mom emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of cut oranges in her hand. Seeing me, Mom’s expression instantly froze, about to launch into a tirade. But her eyes landed on the tall, impeccably dressed Landon. The transformation was immediate. The thundercloud vanished, replaced by a radiant sun. “You must be Vera’s boyfriend, Landon! Come in, come in!” she chirped. In an instant, we became the focus of the entire family’s attention. We were seated on the two plastic stools by the television, facing a semicircle of judgmental relatives. Mom poured tea and pushed the fruit toward Landon. Aunt Patty, recovering from the insult, couldn’t help herself. “It’s different when you have backup, isn’t it? Having a whole family wait for you like this.” “Wait for us?” I asked, confused. “We’re staying for a week. There’s no rush. You could all have come over tomorrow if you wanted to meet him.” Patty, who had a young son from a late-in-life pregnancy, was usually putting him to bed around this hour. Before she could respond, Aunt Brenda, the most financially aggressive of the lot, jumped in, peppering Landon with questions. “What do you do? Big company? How much is your salary? I have to tell you, around here, the expectation for a down payment or a substantial ring…” “Ahem. Ahem.” Uncle Gary, Brenda’s husband, discreetly interrupted her with a loud cough and frantic eye-signals. Brenda grudgingly clamped her mouth shut. Mom, ever the mediator, tried a gentler approach. “Landon, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself? How did you and Vera meet?” Landon straightened his back slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Vera and I met at a networking event. We share similar interests, and it developed from there,” he said smoothly. “I’m just a salaried employee. Work at a standard firm.” Patty scoffed under her breath. “An ordinary office worker. I thought a college grad could do better than a nobody…” A sudden gust of cool evening air swept in from the open balcony, chilling the forced enthusiasm of the room. Mom tried to get the conversation back on track. “Do your parents mind that you’re spending the New Year with us?” Landon smiled brightly. “My mother has my sister to keep her company, ma’am.” He watched the family’s doubtful faces and added the crucial footnote. “My parents divorced a long time ago. My sister and I both chose to stay with Mom.” I felt the need to step in and defend him. “He calls it a ‘standard firm,’ but actually—and his parents—” Aunt Patty cut me off, her patience clearly gone. Her voice was sharp with dismissal. “You brought home this? I bet he doesn’t have a house, and you’ll have to be stuck living with his mother and sister.” She stood up abruptly. “Give me my cash gift. I have to get home to my son. This was a waste of time.” “Cash gift?” I asked. “Don’t you know proper etiquette? The first time you bring a boyfriend home, you give cash envelopes to the elders! What, did living in the city strip you of all courtesy?” The penny dropped. They hadn’t been waiting for me. They had been waiting for a payout. 03 I looked at my parents. Even their faces were tense. Mom finally spoke, defensive and flustered. “I thought you were just going to be a little late. I figured we’d go to the bank and pull some cash tomorrow.” Aunt Brenda, sensing the chaos, decided to play the conciliator. “Vera isn’t leaving right away. The money can wait until tomorrow. She can get a nice bundle ready.” Then she added, her eyes narrowing slightly: “But maybe you can settle up for tonight’s dinner now.” “Your parents were working today, so I went out, bought all the groceries, and cooked everything myself. Just pay me back. We’re ten people here—at a hundred dollars a head, that’s a thousand dollars.” Mom’s jaw dropped. “A thousand dollars? Brenda, what did you buy? We’re just having a simple family dinner, not a banquet!” Uncle Gary quickly stepped in to soothe Mom. “Elsa, your niece is home! As her uncle, I insisted on a high-quality meal! Nothing but the best!” Mom was instantly mollified. Her attitude flipped, and she started urging me to pay. “Vera, you’re an adult now! You can’t let your aunt and uncle foot the bill! Pay Gary back immediately!” If I’d had a wallet or cash on me, I think she would have snatched it right out of my hand. Aunt Patty, not to be outdone, chimed in with her own demand. “Vera didn’t get my little boy a gift when he was born. He waited up for her tonight! She owes him a gold charm.” Dad, who rarely spoke up but always favored his younger sister, added his voice to the chorus. “Your aunt is right, honey. A gold charm wouldn’t hurt your savings, would it?” Everyone knew gold was obscenely expensive. Aunt Brenda leaped to her feet, ready for a full-scale battle. “She only has so many cousins! You’re asking for too much, Patty!” “And you aren’t? A thousand dollars for a few hours of cooking? Did you use gold-plated rice?” Patty shot back. Suddenly, the living room had devolved into a full-scale fish market, relatives screaming over one another. Finally, Mom, utterly exasperated, turned her fury on me. “Vera! You’re a grown woman! Why do you always have to be so careless? Why do you constantly cause trouble and make your family look bad?” It was a ridiculous accusation. I had never realized that coming home was such a minefield of potential offense. But the most ridiculous part was that, even in their rage, they always reached an agreement. Like now. Brenda took a big gulp of tea to calm herself, then smiled at me with predatory sweetness. “Tell you what, Vera. Since it’s the holidays, and you’re family, just give each family five thousand dollars. That will cover everything.” My parents nodded in agreement, relieved. “Yes, that sounds fair.” They assumed I would once again quietly submit to their chaotic bookkeeping. But sitting beside me, Landon Bell had already pulled a laptop from his messenger bag, clicked open a spreadsheet, and started typing.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389369”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“How much for this human?” A circle of monsters gathered around my cage, asking for my price. I sat alone inside, lazily peeling a lychee. The monsters gasped in awe: “She can peel a lychee! Amazing!” “She can even spit out the seed! So cute!” “I want her! I want to buy her!” “I’ll buy her and breed her with my male human. They’ll make so many cute human puppies!” Breed? I do not consent! 01 This is a bizarre world ruled by monsters, where humans are kept as pets. But humans are rare and expensive; only wealthy monsters can afford them. … The lanterns were just lit. The only “Pet Human Shop” in Xia City was bustling. Because I was the hot item in the shop, the boss lady priced me at one hundred taels of gold. This was no small amount. Middle-class monsters couldn’t afford me. But looking was free. So, outside my cage, layers of monsters surrounded me, all staring with love-filled eyes— “Her fur—I mean hair—is so smooth. I really want to pet it.” “She can peel lychees! That’s incredible! Only humans can do such delicate tasks.” “Wow, she burped! Is she full?” “Humans eat so little. Five fish, three plates of roast meat, two boxes of date cakes, and a plate of lychees, and she’s full? Can that tiny bit really fill her up?” “She smiled at me! My heart is melting!” The monsters watched me again and again. But upon seeing the price tag, they all stepped back. “Too expensive. Please lower the price,” a Rabbit Demon begged with clasped hands. “I really love this little human. Today is my birthday.” The Two-Faced Ghost boss lady clicked her abacus without looking up: “One hundred and ten taels.” Not only did she not lower it, she raised it by ten. The monsters glared at the Rabbit Demon, blaming her for speaking up. “What do we do? It’s even more expensive now!” Just then. The bronze door creaked open, and the summer evening breeze blew in. Standing at the door was a Bone Demon. She wore a floor-length red dress, her skull adorned with flowers. She was about thirteen feet tall, essentially a giant, glamorous human skeleton. The Bone Demon smiled (as much as a skeleton can): “I’ll buy her! “Just right to mate with my little male human. We’ll have so many human puppies!” Saying this, she threw a silk bag onto the counter. Gold beads spilled out. The monsters looked on with envy. And the Rabbit Demon? Her fluffy ears drooped instantly, and she burst into tears. 02 I was bought by the Bone Demon. Awaiting me was— Breeding with another human she kept? Absolutely not! … My name is Lily, a 21st-century Taoist priestess. I trained at the Ethereal Peak Sect, specializing in spells, talismans, and summoning arts. I can fight! Even my master lost two front teeth to me once. To help my senior sister pay off her debts, I accepted an invitation to the Horror Game and entered this mysterious game space. Win, and get a huge sum of money. Lose, and naturally, lose my life. This time, I logged into an S-rank dungeon called “East City, West City.” My mission: [Capture the Owner’s Heart.] As soon as I logged in, I was trapped in a cage. There were 50 players in my batch. I didn’t know where they were. I only remember— As soon as I opened my eyes, I heard the system’s mechanical broadcast: [One minute passed. 18 players dead. 32 players surviving.] A bunch died right upon landing. My heart sank. Monsters are owners; humans are pets. Were the dead players tortured to death by their owners? 03 A serene mansion stood on Jujube Street. The plaque read “White Manor.” That was the Bone Demon’s home. She hummed a tune, got off the carriage, and carried my cage through the thin mist. Her skirt trailed on the ground like a drifting red flower. She had a loud voice: “Little Monk, look what I brought you? “Hehe, it’s your wife!” She was obviously talking to the other human she kept. I gripped the iron bars tightly, anxious—the system had sealed my magic. I could only unseal it by eating a Qi Fruit. If the Bone Demon forced me to do anything now, I had no way to fight back! But when we entered, I saw an old acquaintance. —The Demon Monk, Shen Yin. The number two ranked super player in Asia! A single lamp flickered. The Demon Monk leaned on a jade couch reading a scroll. Hearing the noise, he looked up. The book covered half his face, revealing only a pair of beautiful eyes and a small red mole at the corner of one eye. Seeing me, those eyes smiled, like peach blossoms dipped in wine. The livestream chat instantly exploded: [OMG, so handsome! I’m going crazy!] [Screen licking mode activated!!] [All the spring colors in the world can’t compare to one look from Shen Yin!] [Who got drunk in his gaze? Me! Me!] [The person above is just drunk; I’m drowning!] [Wait— [So the one tasked to breed with the little white flower is Lord Shen Yin?!] [Ahhh! My male god and my goddess! I’m shipping them and heartbroken at the same time.] [I’m laughing and crying, boohoo, I’m splitting apart…] Everyone is overthinking. We aren’t going to breed. I read the barrage with black lines on my forehead. 04 The Bone Demon was thirteen feet tall, so her mansion was naturally enormous. She seemed to like humans very much and had built a comfortable, elegant mini-house specifically for Shen Yin. Every item inside was exquisite— A bed made of Hibiscus Jade, cool and refreshing in summer. The bedding was soft, silk covers, mulberry silk filling. Lying on it felt like lying on a cloud, relieving all fatigue. The table was piled with delicious pastries and seasonal fruits. By the window sat a celadon vat, with pink and purple hydrangeas floating in the water. Beautiful. … I have to say, the Bone Demon was meticulous and thoughtful. Lying flat like this actually felt nice! But I couldn’t lie flat. The Bone Demon was waiting for me to make babies. 05 That night, I slept on the bed, and Shen Yin slept on the floor. It was peaceful. But halfway through the night, I reached out and touched something hard. A big block! Careful inspection confirmed it was muscle! Abdominal muscle! Whoosh— I woke up instantly, sat up, and was shocked to find a person lying beside me! It was Shen Yin. He opened his eyes, put a finger to his lips to hush me, and pointed secretly at the window. Outside the window, a giant green eye was staring at us! The eye was huge, occupying the entire window, blinking with smiles and anticipation. It was the Bone Demon’s eye. She had put Shen Yin on the bed! After doing so, she didn’t forget to watch openly, waiting to see us make babies. Chat: [That giant green eye is tanking my SAN value! Goosebumps all over.] [Right? Sleeping soundly and then a giant eyeball peeping through the window…] [Hehehe, I’m a pervert, I like it! (Auntie smile.jpg)] [The Bone Demon knows how to ship.] [This scene is both sweet and creepy.] I stiffened, too shy to move. Slowly, Shen Yin’s breathing became even, as if he fell asleep. He was quite relaxed. A full hour passed before the Bone Demon finally couldn’t hold on! After yawning several times, she reluctantly left. Seeing her leave, I rubbed my numb body, hugged my blanket to get off the bed, but Shen Yin grabbed my sleeve— “You sleep on the bed.” With that, he went back to the floor. So he hadn’t fallen asleep either.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389385”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve always had an absurdly high sense of self-worth. When my stepmother tried to gaslight me, I took it as a compliment. When my stepsister flaunted her gifts, I accepted them as my due. Then my fiancé, desperate to climb the social ladder, came to break off our engagement. “Serena, I know I’m not worthy of you…” I nodded in agreement. “You do have a face for radio, after all.” He gritted his teeth, his jaw popping. “With your beauty, you deserve the most powerful man in the world.” I thought that made a lot of sense. So, at the Grand State Gala, I asked the ruthless, icy new King: “Would you like to make me your Queen?” He narrowed his eyes and smiled softly. “Sure.” 1. The New Year’s State Gala was approaching. My stepmother, Victoria, called my stepsister in to try on custom gowns. I happened to be nearby, feeding the koi in the atrium. My stepsister, Tiffany, smirked. “Serena, why don’t you come watch?” I knew she was up to no good with just one look. But I dumped the rest of the fish food into the pond, clapped the dust off my hands, and stood up. “All right. Let’s go.” This Gala was nominally to celebrate the New Year. But everyone in the capital’s high society knew the truth. King Adrian had been on the throne for over two years, yet the Royal Palace remained devoid of a Queen. There was only one consort, a high-maintenance Duchess. Many debutantes were aiming for the crown tonight. Tiffany was no exception. Victoria had ordered eight couture gowns for her. Every color imaginable. I had none. I just sat there, watching her model them. She tried them on one by one, agonizing between a pale mint green and a vibrant coral red. I sipped my tea, nibbled on a macaron, and said idly: “Your features are too delicate. The mint green washes you out. It makes you look plain. The coral red, however, brings out your complexion.” Tiffany listened and immediately switched to the coral red gown. She preened in front of the floor-to-length mirror for ages. Victoria slammed her hand on the table. “That’s the one!” Then, as if realizing who had spoken, they both glared at me in unison. “Serena, who asked for your opinion?!” I was toying with a diamond hairpin Tiffany had discarded. “Just making conversation.” Joke’s on them. I own forty percent of the shares in the boutique Victoria ordered from. But there was no need for them to know that. Tiffany wasn’t satisfied. Seeing the purple amethyst hairpin in my hand, she gave a fake smile. “I’m so loved by Mom and Dad that my jewelry box is overflowing. Unlike you, little sister. Dad doesn’t care about you, and your birth mom passed early. You have so few nice things; it’s honestly pathetic.” “Look at how much you like that pin. Are you going to shamelessly ask me to give it to you?” I nodded approvingly. “You really are generous, Tiffany. Since you insist, I’ll take it.” Tiffany froze. “I didn’t…” Victoria glared at her and pulled her daughter behind her back, stepping into the ring herself. “Serena, you’ve always loved flashy colors. Wearing this purple pin with a bright dress would be tacky. You should stick to…” I nodded again. “Mother is absolutely right.” “In that case, I’ll take that mint green dress Tiffany rejected. It matches my ‘tacky’ vibe perfectly.” 2. The mother-daughter duo was left speechless. They watched as I walked away with the couture gown and the amethyst pin. Before I closed the door, I heard Victoria muttering to herself: “That’s not right. I insulted her taste. Why isn’t she crying?” “Mrs. Vander said when she insulted her stepdaughter’s outfit, the girl cried in her room for a day!” Tiffany joined the post-game analysis. “Mom, maybe you shouldn’t have changed the wording? Should you have used Mrs. Vander’s exact insults?” “Sigh.” Victoria sighed heavily. “I just thought calling her a ‘tramp’ was too harsh. She is still a young lady…” Then, she suddenly glared at Tiffany. “And you! How many times? Every time I buy you jewelry, you let her hustle you out of it!” Tiffany pouted. “I didn’t know her skin was that thick!” They completed their one-hundred-and-twentieth reflection meeting. Determined to learn from their mistakes. Next time, they swore, they would successfully humiliate me. I went back to my room and put away the spoils of war. I cleaned up a bit and went out to meet my fiancé, Carter. He had sent a message two days ago. He said he wanted to see the holiday lights downtown with me before the Gala. This engagement was arranged by my birth mom before she died. She was sick and worried Victoria would mistreat me after she was gone. She gave me a family heirloom and gasped out: “I once saved that family’s patriarch. Their son… he’s brilliant. He will go into politics. At least there will be a man to protect you…” I wanted to tell her I didn’t need a man to protect me. But seeing her fading away, I couldn’t say it. My mom was gentle and timid. She always said I was nothing like her. In the end, she smiled with relief. “It’s fine. being like me isn’t a good thing anyway.” To let her pass in peace, I agreed to the engagement. But I didn’t expect this. After viewing the lights, we sat down in a high-end restaurant. And Carter immediately asked to break the engagement. 3. I raised an eyebrow, looking at the engagement contract in his hand. “Why?” “Our engagement is private. Only our parents know. Calling it off won’t hurt your reputation or stop you from marrying someone else later.” He sounded so self-righteous. But my contacts at the boutique had already spilled the tea. Carter had been seen shopping with another girl. She had admired a white jade bracelet. He didn’t have enough money on him, so he wrote a poem on the spot, sold it to a collector for a grand, and bought it for her. The girl was swooning. “I hear she’s Senator Zhou’s favorite granddaughter. Doesn’t care about money, just wants ‘talent and a true heart.’” I chuckled dryly. Such a precise target demographic. Carter must have worked hard to secure that connection. I found it hilarious. “Just say you’re social climbing. I’m not desperate to marry you.” Carter looked like he had been slapped with a supreme insult. But he swallowed his pride. “Serena, I know I’m not worthy of you…” I nodded. “I agree. You really are physically underwhelming.” Crack. Did he just shatter a molar? But Carter, priding himself on being an intellectual, couldn’t bring himself to curse at me. Instead, he went passive-aggressive. “With your beauty, you naturally deserve the best man in the world.” I looked thoughtful. “You mean the King? You want me to be Queen?” He turned pale. “I didn’t say that!” “Oh? So you’re implying the King isn’t the best man in the world?” I shook my head disapprovingly. “Carter. Watch your words. That sounds like treason.” Carter almost knelt. “I’m begging you, Serena! Loose lips sink ships. I have my bar exam next year. I have eight hundred dollars on me. Take it. Consider it damages.” Why didn’t he just lead with the money? I weighed the stack of cash and the check he handed over. I nodded. “I agree to the breakup. Tomorrow, I’ll have someone return your contract and your heirloom.” “Go climb your ladder. We are strangers now.” Carter suddenly looked disappointed. “Serena, don’t you have anything else to say to me?” “I do.” I saw his eyes light up with hope. “You’re paying for this dinner.” 4. On the day of the Gala, I wore the mint green gown Tiffany rejected. I wore the jewelry Victoria “gifted” me. I stepped into the limo. Mother and daughter sat across from me, glaring like angry pufferfish. I sipped my champagne. “Why are you staring? Mesmerized by my beauty?” Tiffany’s face went dark. “Serena, do you have no shame?” “I’m just speaking the truth.” “Even if it’s true, you shouldn’t brag.” Victoria lectured me. “As a lady, you should be modest and reserved.” “You’re right, Mother. I heard Tiffany prepared a piano solo for the King. Since we’re being modest and reserved, I assume she won’t be performing?” “…” Victoria choked. She pivoted instantly. “That’s old-fashioned thinking! The Prime Minister says modern women should be bright, brave, and confident.” I smiled again. “Mother is right. So, do you think I’m beautiful?” Victoria scrunched up her face, the words dragging out of her throat. “…Beautiful.” I was satisfied. I decided to stop teasing her for the day. The limo pulled up to the Palace gates. We entered the Grand Ballroom along with other high-ranking families. Mrs. Vander, Victoria’s frenemy, sidled up to her. “Such an important event, why did you bring the illegitimate one?” Victoria sighed. “She insisted.” Mrs. Vander gasped. “She insisted, so you just brought her?” “My husband is deployed at the border. Her birth mom is dead. If I didn’t bring her, she’d be alone in that big house for the holidays.” “It’s perfectly normal for the mistress’s kid to stay home alone!” Mrs. Vander shrieked. “Victoria, you come from old money, yet you let a bastard child walk all over you! I can’t be seen with you. We’re done!” She abandoned Victoria mercilessly and went to gossip with others. Abandoned by her bestie of twenty years. Victoria stood there, stunned. Her lip wobbled. She looked ready to cry. Just then. A hush fell over the room. “Her Grace, the Duchess!” announced the herald. The crowd bowed. A languid female voice floated through the air. “Interesting. Someone dares to wear the same embroidery pattern as me.” “Drag her out. Twenty lashes. Let it be a lesson.” The girl she pointed at was the illegitimate daughter of a minor official. She went pale. “Your Grace, mercy! This dress is… is…” She looked at her stepmother in disbelief. That woman didn’t look at her. She just quietly adjusted her own biological daughter’s cape. I looked at Victoria and Tiffany. They were huddled together like frightened quails. Their faces said: People can really hurt people like that?? The girl was sobbing in despair. Her forehead was bleeding from bowing so hard on the marble floor. The Duchess didn’t flinch. I knew the score. She had been the favorite for two years, aiming for the crown. But the King wouldn’t commit. She knew he might pick a Queen tonight. This was a power move. Killing the chicken to scare the monkeys. Seeing the guards approach to drag the girl away, I couldn’t help it. “Wait.” The room went dead silent. Tiffany tugged frantically on my dress, whispering, “Serena, are you crazy?” The Duchess’s sharp gaze flew to me. “What? You want to join her?” “Your Grace misunderstands. Miss Cen dressed this way out of admiration for you.” I curtsied gracefully. “She knows she cannot compare to your radiance. But legends say before you entered the court, you were a General’s daughter who rode a red horse through the capital. That image captivated every girl in the city.” “Everyone knows the King declared a general amnesty to celebrate the victory in the North. It is the holidays. Your Grace must not listen to those who wish to stir up trouble and spill blood in the Palace tonight!” The Duchess paused. Calming down, she realized she was being used as a weapon by others who wanted her to look cruel in front of the King. “Fine. No lashes. Go kneel at the garden entrance for two hours.” Miss Cen, having escaped torture, thanked her profusely. Her stepmother was promptly kicked out by the Duchess’s security. Finally, the Duchess looked at me. She sneered. “You have a sharp tongue.” “You go kneel with her.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389401”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My mother traded my life for a headline. The heart transplant was a success, and the local news was there to cover the miracle. “Dr. Gilbert, we understand your biological son has been on the waiting list for three years…” My mother, Dr. Penelope Gilbert, Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery, cut the reporter off with a practiced, saintly smile. “As a doctor’s family, Cameron has always understood the core principle of medicine: selflessness. Putting others first. He supports this decision fully.” I remembered three months ago, when she’d told me, her voice clipped and professional, that the heart had an “unforeseen complication” and I’d “have to wait a bit longer.” But now, the recovering recipient, Fitch Connelly, was up on the stage, gazing at my mother with tearful devotion. “Dr. Gilbert is my second mother,” Fitch choked out, clasping her hands. “She waived my fees, she took me into her home, she gave me warmth…” To accommodate him, she’d told me not to come home for six months, claiming my old room was needed for “storage.” The sight of them, locked in that tearful, loving embrace, sent a searing pain through my chest. My vision tunneled. I needed my sublingual nitro. A reporter, sensing a dramatic moment, grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the stage lights. My mother’s smile vanished the moment she saw my face—a grimace of agony, not the joyful support she’d promised the cameras. She recoiled, then forced a dazzling recovery. She announced, right there, that she’d formally adopted Fitch as her “godson,” the poor, deserving student she’d mentored, and instructed me to call him my younger brother. Blood rushed to my head. My heart monitor, still strapped beneath my shirt, probably looked like a seismograph during a quake. Yet, my voice, when it came out, was terrifyingly calm. “Since you’ve found yourself a new son, I think I’ll make my exit from this family.” I looked directly at the camera. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt this touching display of motherly devotion!” 1 I slammed the microphone down and turned to leave. My mother grabbed my arm, her manicured nails digging in. “Cam, Fitch needs long-term rehabilitation. As my son, doing this in front of reporters—what will people think? How much damage will this do to his recovery?” I stared at her, utterly bewildered. My suffering, my heart failure, my agonizing wait—none of it registered. She was only afraid my departure would tarnish her precious new son’s public image. My father, Robert, rushed over to join the damage control. “Cameron, there are twenty reporters here. Where is your decorum? You have to fake it until the cameras are off, for God’s sake!” They dragged me back, forcing me toward the lights to apologize to Fitch. My mother, my father, and Fitch stood hand in hand, a perfect, glowing trinity of familial bliss. I was the interloper, a hostile ghost at someone else’s happy ending. The pressure cooker of my emotions finally blew. I stomped on the congratulatory banner the reporters had brought my mother, grinding the silk under my heel. Then, I grabbed her National Medical Excellence Award and smashed it against the edge of the stage. The gold figurine broke in half. My mother lunged, her hand raised to strike. It stopped inches from my face. “How did I raise such an ungrateful snake?” she hissed, her eyes blazing. I met her glare. “Ungrateful?” My voice sliced through the stunned silence. “When my myocarditis first flared, you called it ‘a common ailment’ and told me to go to the ER for an IV on my own.” “But when Fitch’s blood work showed a slight fluctuation, you flew in a team of specialists from the Mayo Clinic overnight.” The air in the room froze solid. The reporters’ cameras flashed non-stop. My mother rushed forward, trying to block the cameras. “Cam, let’s talk about this privately…” “Privately?” I laughed, but the sound caught in my throat and tears spilled over. “Three years ago, I was lying in the ER, my chest convulsing every time my heart beat. Did either of you visit me?” “The doctor recommended I be admitted, and you said the hospital beds were tight, better left for sicker patients.” “And now I know why.” I looked past the cameras to Fitch, who was shrinking into his chair. “That ‘tight bed’ was being held in reserve for your ‘more deserving son.’” Dad rushed me, trying to yank me away. I shook him off. “And you! You’re my biological father!” “But you knew my heart was failing, that I wouldn’t last the year, and you agreed to let her give my perfectly matched heart to a complete stranger?” I leaned in, my voice low and venomous. “What is it, Mom? Is this pauper your bastard child from some affair?” SMACK! My mother’s open hand finally connected. “You are out of control! Apologize to Fitch right now!” “Apologize?” I laughed again, the sound now raw and broken. “I’ve been rushed to the ICU in critical condition multiple times, and you couldn’t even arrange a private room for me.” “Your colleagues begged you, they offered to pull strings, and you insisted we couldn’t have ‘special treatment.’” “So why? Why is it okay to pull every string in the state for an orphan who wasn’t even terminal?” I was spiraling, trying to find a logical anchor. Even if she was a saint of medicine, wasn’t her job to save the dying? I was the one dying. Why was I forced to yield? “Since you love him so much, keep him. Let him be your son.” 2 I tried to leave, but a lightning bolt of pain shot through my chest, and I doubled over, vomiting a torrent of dark blood. When I woke again, a crushing weight was on my sternum. Each labored heartbeat felt like ripping through shattered glass. Through the glass wall of the ICU, I could hear Dr. Ben Carter, Mom’s colleague, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. “This syncope was a severe acute heart failure exacerbation. His dilated cardiomyopathy… even the most optimistic prognosis gives him less than six months. If he has another acute event like this…” The door hissed open. My mother walked in, still in her white coat. Fitch, eyes red and puffy, stood nervously in the doorway clutching a bouquet. “You’re awake?” My mother stopped by my bedside. Her tone held no concern, only a brittle exhaustion and annoyance. “I’ve managed to contain the reporters for now, but today’s stunt was extremely damaging. Fitch was surrounded, questioned, and almost had a panic attack.” I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry. “Cam, I’m so sorry…” Fitch took a tentative step forward, tears running down his face. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have accepted the surgery. I… I’ll give the heart back…” “Don’t talk nonsense!” My mother instantly turned, pulling Fitch into a tight, comforting hug. “The surgery was a complete success. You’re recovering beautifully. Don’t say such stupid things.” She rubbed his back with a tender affection I had never once received in my memory. Then she looked back at me, her expression instantly hardening. “Look at how mature Fitch is. He knows what a rare opportunity he was given, and he cooperates fully with his rehab. He never complains. And you? You created a public scene, embarrassed us all, and made things incredibly difficult for him!” My father sighed from the doorway. “Cam, your mother’s been through a lot. Try to be considerate…” “Considerate?” My cardiac monitor shrieked a warning. “I’ve been considerate for twenty-three years! Considerate of your demanding schedules, considerate of your sicker patients, considerate of your public selflessness!” Dr. Carter rushed in. “Dr. Gilbert, the patient cannot be emotionally agitated!” My mother ignored him and pressed on, her voice rising. “Do you know how hard Fitch’s life has been? An orphan, pulled himself through college, and even when he was sick, he kept it a secret because he was afraid of bothering anyone! And you? Privileged from birth, never wanting for anything! Just this one time…” “One time?” I laughed, the tears streaming now. “The first time I was hospitalized with myocarditis, I was ten. You said your department had a critical patient and dumped me on a floor nurse.” “I passed out in gym class at fifteen. The school nurse recommended a full cardiology workup, and you said studies were more important—we’d do it that summer.” “I was diagnosed with my heart condition at nineteen, and you said I was young, I’d be fine with medication.” Each word was a new stab of pain in my chest. “But for Fitch, you arranged consultations with the top specialists in the country, a private, VIP room, and the heart I waited three goddamn years for!” Fitch was sobbing harder. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… Dr. Gilbert, please give the heart to Cam. I… I can wait…” “Wait for what?” I snapped at him. “Your heart is now functioning almost normally. Wait for what? For me to die so you can feel guilty?” “Cameron!” My mother’s voice was a sharp command. “How dare you! Fitch has only the best intentions!” “Intentions?” I fixed my gaze on my mother. “Mom, you are so selfless, so dedicated to your Hippocratic oath, so willing to sacrifice everything for the greater good…” I sucked in a rattling breath. The pain was making the room spin, but I had to finish. “Then why didn’t you donate? You were a match, too. You’re his godmother. Giving Fitch your heart would have made you a true martyr. Wouldn’t that have been the truly great sacrifice?” 3 A paralyzing silence fell over the ICU room. My mother’s face was utterly drained of color. Her lips trembled, unable to form a word. “You… you…” She pointed at me, her finger shaking violently. “What about me?” I leaned back against the headboard, the pain now dull and endless. “You said your family had to understand sacrifice. You said we had to put others first. So, donate! Give Fitch your heart, and I’ll wait for mine. Then no one owes anyone anything! Wouldn’t that be the perfect scenario?” “You’ve lost your mind!” My father was shaking with pure rage. “How dare you speak to your mother like that!” Fitch slid to his knees with a loud thud. He was wailing, a sound of sheer, unadulterated distress. “It’s all my fault! I’m going to find a doctor right now! I’ll get them to arrange surgery to give the heart back to Cam! Dr. Gilbert gave me this life, I’ll return it to him!” He tried to bolt, but my mother held him in a vise-like grip. “You foolish boy, stop talking crazy!” She held Fitch tightly, patting his back. Then she looked up at me. In her eyes, beyond the disappointment, I saw a flicker of raw hatred. “Cameron Allen, I never knew you could be so utterly malicious.” She was visibly broken. “Fitch just had major surgery. You want him to undergo another one to remove the heart? You are asking for his death!” “And am I wrong to fight for my own?” Dr. Carter stepped forward, his face etched with concern. “Dr. Gilbert, the patient is highly unstable. He needs quiet…” “He needs to reflect!” My mother cut him off, walking to my bedside. “Cameron, I am making this clear: Fitch is my son now, and I will care for him until he is fully recovered. As for you…” She paused, making a final, agonizing decision. “When your attitude stabilizes, and you apologize to Fitch, then we will talk.” She took Fitch’s hand and walked out of the ICU without a backward glance. My father looked at me, his eyes full of a strange, complex mix of shame and anger, before following them. The door closed. Through the glass, I watched my mother gently wipe Fitch’s tears in the hallway. My father put an arm around Fitch’s shoulders. The three of them merged into a single silhouette under the corridor lights. I lay in the sterile silence of the ICU, listening to my own heart beat a slow, fading rhythm. Some things, it turned out, were more suffocating than heart failure. Dr. Carter hesitated, then leaned close, his voice a low whisper. “The truth is… last week, there was a brain-dead donor. A heart, fully matched to you.” “But that donor heart… your mother signed off on transferring it to another patient.” I looked at him, motionless. “W-why?” Dr. Carter’s voice shook slightly. “That patient also needed a transplant, but his case was nowhere near as critical as yours. Everyone in the department thinks… it makes no sense.” It made perfect sense. My mother had to prove she had no selfish motive. She had to prove her sacrifice was total, her judgment unimpeachable. Even if the cost was my life. “Thank you for telling me, Doctor.” My voice was muffled by the oxygen mask. “Don’t give up,” Dr. Carter said urgently. “I’ve already contacted other transplant centers out of state. We’ll find a way…” “It’s okay.” I shook my head gently. “Just get me a paper and a pen. I need to write a will to sever all ties.” I looked out at the three figures who were now gone from the corridor. “And then, I need to sign an organ donation agreement.” 4 My parents never reappeared. Fitch, however, started sending me daily video updates. He showed me my old bedroom being redecorated for him, Mom and Dad cooking him special meals, and the trash can where he’d tossed Buster the Bear, my worn-out childhood stuffed animal. Mom had bought me Buster when I was a kid and terrified of being alone during her night shifts. I’d dragged that battered bear through every hospital stay, every fever, every lonely night. Now, I didn’t need him anymore. “Cam, big brother, I don’t think Dr. Gilbert likes you very much. She and Mr. Gilbert are taking me on a little stress-relief trip, but they won’t come see you.” “Why can’t you just apologize? They brought you up, you’ve been so privileged, and you’re so ungrateful… you’re a real snake in the grass…” I stared at the screen. My heart monitor shrieked a frantic warning. Finally, I opened the social media app Pulse, changed my ID to @CamWaitingForAHeart. I posted my official diagnosis, followed by a detailed account of my mother’s lie. Then, I attached Fitch’s video. The caption was simple: What does it take for a biological son to be less important than a charity case? Three hours later, my mother burst into the ICU, her hair a mess. “Cameron Allen! What have you done!” She snatched my phone. “Delete it! Delete it right now!” The screen showed 999+ shares and tens of thousands of comments. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! Fitch has been doxed! People are tracking down the children’s home he came from! He just had surgery, he can’t handle this kind of stress!” I looked at her, calm now. “And me? I’m lying in the ICU. Do you think I can handle his daily videos mocking me?” “He was concerned about you!” “Concerned?” I smiled faintly. “Or concerned about when I would die, so he could completely replace me?” “You…” My mother raised her hand, then forced it back down. She took a deep breath, shifting into her calm, professional medical voice. “Cameron, your emotional instability and these statements have caused severe negative repercussions for the hospital and me personally. Delete the content and issue a public apology. If you do that, I will not pursue this.” “Not pursue it?” I repeated the words softly. “Mom, what will you pursue? Cutting off my medical coverage, like before?” Her eyes darted away for a millisecond. In that flicker, I had my answer. “Dr. Carter,” my mother turned to her colleague who had just rushed in, “effective immediately, Cameron Allen is discharged. This hospital does not tolerate hostile patients.” Dr. Carter was shocked. “Dr. Gilbert! His condition is critical! He cannot be discharged!” “Then transfer him.” My mother’s voice was arctic. “Our facility is too small for his drama.” She leaned down, her mouth close to my ear, her voice a low, icy chisel: “Delete the posts, apologize publicly, and admit you were emotionally unstable and fabricated the story. Otherwise, not a single hospital in this entire state will accept you.” I looked at her face, inches from mine. That face had once rested against my feverish forehead to check my temperature. That face had once held mine and promised, “Mommy will fix this.” Now, it held only cold indifference and naked threat. “As you wish,” I said. She turned and left. At the door, she looked back. “Cameron, don’t blame me for being ruthless. You destroyed Fitch’s life first.” The door closed. Dr. Carter stood by my bed. After a long moment, he whispered, “I can help you contact hospitals out of state…” “Don’t bother.” I stared at the ceiling. “Dr. Carter, thank you for taking care of me. But I’m tired.” Truly tired. I couldn’t fight anymore, and I couldn’t wait any longer. The next morning, I signed my discharge papers. The bill showed an outstanding balance of twenty-seven thousand dollars. My mother, true to her word, had cut off all coverage. I wired the hospital my last savings, signed a promissory note, and walked out. As I dragged my suitcase away from the main entrance, the pain in my chest was blinding. “Cameron!” My mother’s voice called from behind me. 5 I turned and saw her, my father, and Fitch. They stood together on the hospital steps, a picture of worried elegance. My mother was impeccably dressed and perfectly made up, wearing a look of measured concern. “Cam, why did you check yourself out?” She hurried toward me, reaching out to steady me. “You need to come back in. You’re too weak…” I sidestepped her touch. “Dr. Gilbert. State your business.” Her smile fractured for a second, then snapped back into place. “The reporters want to do a follow-up interview in the conference room. Let’s go talk. Let’s clear up this misunderstanding, okay?” “Misunderstanding?” I looked at the three of them. “What’s the misunderstanding? That I don’t have heart disease, or that you didn’t give my heart to someone else?” “Cameron Allen!” My father hissed, pulling me aside. “Must you talk like this?” Fitch stepped forward, his eyes still red. “Cam, it’s all my fault. I came here today to tell the reporters the truth. I’ll give the heart back, I’ll go back to the children’s home…” “Fitch!” My mother hugged him protectively. “Don’t say such ridiculous things!” She turned back to me, her tone softening. “Cam, your mother was wrong. Just give me a chance. Let’s solve this as a family, alright?” A family. The word was a bitter joke. I studied their faces, watching the performance of concern play out. Then, I understood. The social media post was still trending. The public anger was a firestorm. Hospital management was breathing down her neck. Her career, her honor, was in jeopardy. She wasn’t worried about me. She was worried about her reputation. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go.” In the conference room, Fitch sat glued to my mother’s side. I sat on the periphery. A reporter began the questioning. “Dr. Gilbert, can you explain your rationale at the time?” My mother took the microphone, her voice dripping with emotion. “As a doctor, I admit my professional judgment may have been overly rational, ignoring my son’s emotional needs. But as a mother, I love my child deeply…” As she spoke, she reached out to take my hand. I pulled it away. Every camera in the room captured the rejection. “Cameron Allen,” a reporter asked shrewdly, “you don’t seem to agree with your mother’s statement?” The microphone was thrust toward me. I smiled. “I agree with my mother. She does love her child very deeply.” A collective sigh of relief went through the room. But my next words sent the hearts of the guilty straight into their throats. “The child Dr. Gilbert loves is her sponsored godson, Fitch Connelly.” My mother’s face went dark. She tried to subtly signal me to shut up. I ignored her. “Of course, you could also interpret it this way: what my mother loves more is her reputation.” “It’s the endless praise she gets, always earned at the expense of my life!” “Cameron Allen!” My mother slammed her hand on the table and stood up, the fury in her eyes threatening to consume me. I stood up to meet her challenge. “You always said I couldn’t have special treatment as a family member, to avoid gossip. I accepted that.” “So, even when my heart was screaming, I checked in, paid my bills, and went to checkups all by myself.” “But why did you personally walk him through the staff entrance the first time he came to the hospital?” I pointed at Fitch. “Every follow-up appointment was with an exclusive specialist. For his surgery, you used every resource you had, even the heart that was rightfully mine…” “Enough!” My mother shot to her feet, knocking the table with a crash. “Cameron Allen! What exactly do you want?” “What do I want?” I was shaking, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. My vision dimmed, but I had to finish. “I want to ask every reporter here, and everyone watching this screen.” I turned to face the cameras, speaking slowly, deliberately: “Can you truly trust a surgeon who would sacrifice her own son’s life to save her reputation?” “Cameron! You’re lying!” My mother was shaking violently. Fitch began to cry. “No, Dr. Gilbert isn’t like that…” The room erupted in chaos. Reporters were shouting, flashbulbs were popping, and hospital executives scrambled to restore order. I couldn’t hold myself up any longer. I collapsed, rigid as a board, and the blood started bubbling from my mouth. My mother tried frantically to stop the cameras. “Don’t film this! He’s faking it! He’s trying to manipulate you!” She grabbed my collar and yanked me up, her strength terrifying. “You ungrateful leech! How could you be so manipulative? What did I ever deny you?” In that final second, I managed a satisfied smile for the camera that captured my mother’s savage, broken expression. Dr. Carter rushed in. The paddles of the defibrillator slammed onto my chest. But the monitor’s frantic beeping slowed, then settled into a single, horrifyingly straight line. “Cameron Allen, male, twenty-three years old, pronounced deceased at 10:06 a.m. following unsuccessful resuscitation.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389417”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When my little sister was born, Mom and Dad asked if I liked her. I shouted, “Yes! But I love you most!” They laughed, hugged me, and said they loved me most too. I grinned, covered my sister’s ears, and declared, “Then I’ll just love her a little extra, so we all get equal love!” But growing up slowly stole their love from me, piece by piece, giving it all to my sister. “There’s only one spot, Annie. You’re big now—let Lucy have it.” I shook my head, lip trembling, but they just sighed and took Lucy to the amusement park without me. The art supplies promised for raising my grades went to Lucy. The puppy for the next improvement went to her too. Now, the park trip for making the top ten was also for her. [Mom and Dad aren’t my mom and dad anymore.] [They don’t love me most anymore.] [Lucy gets so much more love.] [I hate my sister.] I scribbled angrily in my prize notebook, tears blurring the page. Then, I carefully crossed out the last line and wrote: [If you wake me up tomorrow and make my favorite pancakes, I’ll forgive you for not taking me today.] I tiptoed in and taped the note to their headboard. 1 “Annie Davis!” I scrambled from the doorway back to my bed, squeezed my eyes shut, and pretended to be fast asleep. BAM! My mother threw the door open and ripped the covers off me. “Ann—” “Mom, I forgive you!” I grinned, puckering my lips for a morning kiss. “You’ve gotten completely out of hand!” Her palm cracked across my cheek. She grabbed my ear and dragged me into her bedroom. In the corner, by a cabinet, lay a pile of shattered porcelain. “Very clever,” she sneered, her face a crumpled mask of fury. “Did you really think we wouldn’t find it if you hid it?” I shook my head, terrified. “It wasn’t me, Mom…” “Still lying!” She smacked the note from the headboard against my head, then with a furious sweep of her arm, sent another vase crashing to the floor. Shards flew everywhere. “I didn’t…” Before I could finish, she had grabbed the steel ruler from the desk. I screamed as the sharp pain seared across my legs. Through a haze of tears, I saw Lucy peeking around the doorframe. “It was Lucy!” I cried out, pointing a trembling finger at the corner of her dress as she tried to slip away. The ruler came down hard on my hand. “It must have been her when she was doing her homework in here…” “How dare you blame your sister!” The ruler rose higher, each strike landing harder than the last. “Mom…” Lucy reappeared in the doorway, her hands behind her back and her eyes red-rimmed. “Please stop hitting her.” I huddled in the corner, my face a mess of tears and snot. “It was me, Mom. I knocked it over last night by accident.” Lucy stepped into the room, placing herself between me and my mother. “You can hit me instead.” My mother’s trembling rage slowly subsided. Her expression shifted to surprise as she dropped the ruler. She took two steps forward and reached out. I blinked my swollen eyes, the words “it’s okay” already on my lips, but she walked right past me and scooped Lucy into her arms. “Don’t stand there, sweetie, you’ll cut yourself on the glass.” Fresh tears began to stream down my face. “You’re so smart, Lucy,” Mom cooed, “pushing the pieces under the cabinet so no one would get hurt. But next time, just tell us, okay? Mommy and Daddy would be so sad if you got hurt.” I wanted to cover my ears, but my mother’s soft, gentle voice buzzed like a mosquito, drilling its way into my head. I had to make it stop. “Mom, I didn’t do it!” I yelled. She turned, still holding Lucy, and her gaze fell on me, light as a feather but heavy enough to crush the air from my lungs. “I didn’t do it!” I screamed again, forcing myself to stand, gasping for breath. Mom set Lucy down, smoothed her hair, and walked toward me. I held my breath, watching her come closer, step by step, bending down. I reached out, desperate for a hug, but she simply grabbed a hair tie from the cabinet behind me, walked back to Lucy, and retied her hair into a perfect, pretty ponytail. “Mom, it wasn’t me…” She didn’t look back as she led Lucy out of the room, her voice flat and distant as she tossed three words over her shoulder. “I know, dear.” That wasn’t right. That wasn’t enough. “Mom, you have to say you’re sorry!” I shouted at her retreating back. She didn’t hear me. Or she didn’t care. Her steps remained steady and quick. They were going to have breakfast. Without me. I took a deep breath and blocked their path in the dining room. “Mom, you need to apologize to me.” “Annie will…” forgive you. She gestured for Lucy to go and eat, then looked at me with an exhausted sigh. “I’m already so tired, Annie. Can’t you just be a little more understanding?” My eyes began to sting again. I opened my mouth to argue, but my father, who had been quietly working at the table, spoke up without looking. “How can you be tired from just staying home all day?” he said. “You can’t even handle two kids.” “Richard! You make it sound so easy!” Mom shot back. “Do you really think I just sit around here doing nothing?” The argument exploded from there. I clamped my mouth shut and silently covered Lucy’s ears. “Let’s go back to our room.” Lucy followed me obediently, whispering “I’m sorry” the whole way. “I’ll apologize for Mom.” “Why are you always apologizing for her?” I snapped, glaring at her. Seeing her eyes well up with tears, I sighed and my anger deflated. “I’m sorry.” I looked at the purple bruises forming on my fingers. “I’m not mad at you, Lucy. It just… it hurts a little.” She nodded, not quite understanding. Before I could explain further, we heard the crash of plates and bowls from the dining room. “Don’t be scared,” I said, handing her the breakfast roll and carton of milk I’d managed to grab. “Just eat this and it’ll be okay.” “You have some, Annie.” I nodded vaguely, taking a sip from the straw she offered while keeping my eyes glued to the doorway, listening to the escalating fight outside. Slurp. The milk was so sweet. Wait. This wasn’t milk. It was soy milk. I stared blankly at the carton in Lucy’s hand. “Annie, why are you crying?” Her voice sounded distant. “Your face is getting all red!” I shook my head, bewildered. A sharp sting flared in my throat, and my breath began to catch in my lungs. “I don’t know…” The world went dark. The shouting from outside and Lucy’s panicked cries faded into a distant echo. As I collapsed, only one thought remained. They never even read my note. Neither of them read it. “…Lucy loves soy milk, I just forgot that Annie…” “You forgot? You forgot your own daughter has a severe allergy, Katherine?” “Richard, don’t you dare act like you remembered! You don’t even know how old they are!” Their angry voices seeped back into my awareness. I pried my eyes open to a sterile white ceiling. “Annie, you’re awake!” Lucy was sitting by the hospital bed, the first to notice. The fighting stopped. Mom knelt beside me, her voice still laced with anger. “Annie Davis, if you don’t look at what you’re drinking next time, then you can just suffer the consequences yourself.” I blinked slowly and nodded. “Okay,” I mumbled. Dad glanced at me, then at his watch, and turned to leave. “I have to get back to work.” “It’s always work with you…” Mom started yelling at his back, but he was already gone. I looked timidly back at my mother. She was stroking Lucy’s hair while calling for a nurse. “Mom—” My voice was a useless whisper. I watched them both disappear through the door. The clock on the wall pointed to two. It was Saturday. Time for Lucy’s art class. They just have important things to do, I told myself. I’ll have important things to do when I’m older, too. That’s how adults are. I’m a big girl now. Don’t cry anymore, Annie. I turned my head so the nurse wouldn’t see my tears and squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to fall back asleep. It would be better when I woke up. It would be better when I got home. 2 I was discharged from the hospital on Monday, just in time for mid-terms. Mom and Dad agreed that being sick wasn’t an excuse to miss a test, so I walked into the exam hall with my head feeling completely empty. That night at the dinner table, I stayed silent, shoveling plain rice into my mouth. “Eat your vegetables!” Mom snapped, slamming her hand on the table. I flinched, my hand trembling as I picked up a single green bean. “If you improve your score this time, we’ll sign you up for that writing workshop.” The writing workshop! The one I wanted more than anything! My head shot up, then slowly sank again. “Mom, what if I do really badly this time?” “Then you can stop calling me your mother,” she replied coldly, placing a piece of chicken on Lucy’s plate. “But I was sick, next time I’ll—” “That’s not an excuse,” Dad said, not even looking up from his paper. I didn’t dare say another word, just silently prayed that my teacher would be generous with her grading. Please, Mrs. Davison, please. But Mrs. Davison clearly hadn’t heard my prayers. I came in third from the bottom. “Annie Davis, you’ve really outdone yourself,” Mom said, her long fingernail jabbing at my forehead. She turned to Lucy, her voice instantly softening. “How about we take you to the aquarium this time, sweetie?” “I want to go too,” I whispered, mustering all my courage to echo the way Lucy used to ask for things. Mom’s hand struck my back, hard. “With grades like that, you have the nerve to ask for anything?” “But Mom, my art supplies, the puppy, the amusement park… they all went to Lucy…” “I knew it! I knew you were keeping score!” she shrieked, grabbing the steel ruler again. “Lucy gets first place every single time! Doesn’t she deserve those things?” “And besides,” she continued, her voice rising, “don’t you have art supplies now? Don’t we have a dog in this house? Don’t you have pictures from the amusement park?” I nodded, sobbing uncontrollably. But Mom, the art supplies I have are Lucy’s old ones. The dog was supposed to be named Buddy, not her Lucky. And the pictures from the amusement park are from when I was a tiny little girl. I can’t even remember what it feels like to be there anymore. “Mom, stop hitting her!” Lucy ran out of her room and stood in front of me, holding out her own brand-new set of colored pencils. “Here, Annie! You can have them all back!” “I don’t want them!” I shoved her hands away, and the pencils scattered across the floor. “How dare you yell at your sister! You ungrateful little brat!” Mom’s strikes became harder, more frantic. “That’s enough,” Dad finally said, stopping her arm before it could fall again. “Lucy’s right here.” Glancing at her weeping younger daughter, Mom threw the ruler back on the table and knelt to hug Lucy. Dad rolled up his sleeves and walked slowly toward me. I knew what was coming. “Dad, I’m sorry,” I pleaded, shaking my head frantically. “I won’t yell at Lucy again. I’ll get into the top ten next time, no, the top five! Please, I don’t want to go to…” “Annie.” He was already heading for the stairs. “You’re a good girl, right?” No! No! I wanted to scream, but Dad’s belt hurt even more than Mom’s ruler. All I could do was nod. I left Lucy’s muffled sobs and Mom’s comforting murmurs behind me and slowly followed my father upstairs. He led me to the room at the end of the hall. He handed me my test paper, and I sat down quietly in the chair bolted to the center of the floor. The light faded to black. The last thing I saw was the big red 54 circled on my test. 3 My father didn’t believe in corporal punishment, he said, even though he hit me harder than anyone. After the first time I failed a test, he’d broken two belts on me and then hired a designer to create my “reflection room.” It had no windows. The stark white walls were plastered with motivational posters and every single one of my report cards. [FAILURE NOW IS FAILURE FOREVER.] [IF YOU’RE NOT FIRST, YOU’RE LAST.] [SUCCESS IS THE ONLY OPTION.] It was pitch black, but I didn’t need to see. I had memorized the location of every single piece of paper. “You need to be sharper!” “How could you get such a simple question wrong?!” “Why are you so stupid?” “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” “What’s the big deal about letting her have it?” A static hiss filled my ears as my parents’ voices argued inside my head. “Stop it, stop it,” I whimpered, trying to bat away the words flashing in the darkness, but the restraints on the chair held me fast. “We love our Annie so much!” “We just want our little girl to be safe and happy.” “Annie is the best little girl in the whole wide world!” “I’m not, I’m not…” I sobbed, shaking my head violently. My body convulsed, a wave of nausea rising in my throat. I screamed until my voice was raw, and then silence fell. My brain felt like a rusted gear, straining to turn but going nowhere. I just stared into the void. Whoosh. Whose breath was that? Whoosh. Was it mine? I closed my eyes. Or did I? I couldn’t tell. It was so quiet. So dark. “Mommy, Daddy, I won’t do it again.” “I’ll be nice to Lucy.” “I’ll study harder.” “I’ll be just like her. I’ll get first place every time.” My thoughts grew fuzzy. I mumbled one last thing. “Please don’t hate me anymore.” “Can you just love me a little bit again?” “I’m a little scared.” 4 [Good news: Mom and Dad locked the reflection room.] [Bad news: They said they’re done with me.] [It’s all my fault. I’m getting dumber and dumber. I can’t remember anything. I’ve failed three tests in a row.] [If I improve by twenty spots next time, will they forgive me?] I turned to a new page and continued to write, carefully, stroke by stroke. [If Mom or Dad calls me ‘Annie’ just one more time, I’ll forgive you for saying you’re done with me.] I tore the page out neatly and tucked it under my pillow. There. Now I could love my mom, my dad, and my sister properly again. I walked out of my room and greeted my parents, who were sitting on the couch. No one answered. I knelt down and reached a hand under the sofa. “Good morning, Buddy!” “His name is Lucky,” Mom said without looking at me. My fingers curled. I corrected myself brightly. “Good morning, Lucky!” The puppy wagged his tail, and I had just started to pet his head when Mom stood up. “I’m taking Lucky out to pick up your sister.” I slowly pulled my hand back and nodded, watching them leave. “Dad, can I sit here and read with you?” He remained silent, so I tentatively sat on the other end of the couch. A small smile touched my lips, but then he stood up, rolled his magazine into a tube, and walked away. I looked around the empty living room, feeling adrift. It was like this house didn’t need me anymore. I blinked, my eyes feeling dry and sore, like I was a lemon turning sour. “Okay. I’ll get Buddy’s—Lucky’s—dinner ready.” I copied my mother, getting the bag of dog food from the cabinet. I read the label three times to make sure it was the right one before pouring it into his bowl. “What are you doing?” Mom’s cold voice came from behind me. Lucky was already gobbling up the food. “I’m helping, Mom.” “I don’t need your help.” She took Lucy’s backpack from her and disappeared around the corner. “Annie, Buddy really likes you!” Lucy chirped. “His name is Lucky,” I corrected, trying to push down the swelling feeling in my chest. Lucy opened her mouth to say something else but gasped instead. “Buddy, he’s—” The warm, furry body under my hand went stiff. Lucky started to vomit, then convulsed twice and lay still. “Lucky?” I whispered, my hand frozen on his back. “Annie! What did you do?!” Mom shoved me aside and frantically dialed the vet’s number. I looked from my stoic father to my frantic mother to my crying sister, and finally, down at Lucky’s small, still body. Mom drove Lucky to the animal hospital. When she came back, her face was grim. “He’s gone,” she said, her voice flat. Then she slapped me, hard. “The vet said he ingested some kind of poison.” Her eyes were filled with a hatred I had never seen before. “Annie, I thought you were just bad at school! I never thought you were a bad person!” “If you didn’t want him around, you should have just killed yourself! What did he ever do to you? Why did you have to kill him?!” “I didn’t… I checked the bag, it was the same one he always eats…” Mom pulled a wailing Lucy into her arms, her voice dripping with disgust as she delivered the final blow. “I regret the day you were born.” A roar filled my ears. I stumbled backward and fell to the floor, staring up at my father, who looked down on me with cold disappointment. “Annie, you are a profound disappointment.” “I don’t understand how I could have a daughter like you.” “How could I have ever thought you had potential?” “Someone like you… living is just a waste of resources.” He paused, his voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper. “Listen to your mother. Maybe you’d be better off dead.” My throat was dry. I couldn’t think. I scrambled back to my room in a daze. “I regret the day you were born—” “Living is just a waste—” “We love our Annie so much!” “How could I have a daughter like you—” “Annie is the best little girl in the world!” “You should have just killed yourself—” “Better off dead—” “Just die!” “JUST DIE!” “JUST DIE!!!” “Alright,” I whispered to the empty room. “Mom, Dad… I’ll grant your wish.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389435”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Everyone said I wouldn’t last three months in his hands. On our wedding night, he stared at me for a long time. I was born different. Intersex. In the eyes of others, I was a freak. “D-don’t… don’t look.” “What are you crying for? I paid good money for you. Serving me isn’t a hardship.” At that time, I thought he just saw me as a toy. And honestly, I treated myself like one too. I didn’t cry, I didn’t fuss. I just obeyed him. Later, I found out I was pregnant. It happened right when the rumor mill said his “first love” was coming back to town. I left the neatest note I’d ever written in my life: [We are even.] Carrying his seed, I ran away overnight to the big city in the South. Chapter 1 I was a debt payment. Nothing more. My father, Frank, had racked up gambling debts he couldn’t pay. He was planning to sell me off to some backwoods hermit in the mountains. Then Silas Vance passed by. He threw a stack of cash onto the poker table. “I’ll take this one.” Veins popped on Silas’s forearms, his bronze skin glistening with sweat. He looked at me with eyes like a feral dog that had never been tamed. I shrank back in fear, but I didn’t resist. He dragged me back to his place. Silas’s home was just a couple of run-down cabins that let the wind in. But I didn’t have to sleep on straw. He laid out a brand-new, fluffy cotton quilt for me. Rumor had it, he was saving that quilt for when he married his college sweetheart. People in town said Silas had a “one that got away.” Her name was Claire. She went off to university and left him behind. I looked a little bit like Claire. We both had pale skin and big eyes, and looked soft and weak. So, I knew my place. I was a substitute. A substitute meant to keep his bed warm. Chapter 2 On our wedding night, I was a nervous wreck. My body was unique. To the world, I was a monster. But Silas… that first night, he stripped me down and stared at that part of me for a long time. “D-don’t… don’t look.” I bit my lip, tears falling like broken beads. Silas’s large, rough hands forced my knees apart. His voice was hoarse. “Red as a peach.” “It’s pretty.” Suddenly, he looked up, his gaze fierce. “What are you crying for? I paid money for this. Serving me isn’t a punishment.” I thought he saw me as a thing. So I felt aggrieved. But I also saw myself as a thing. So I didn’t dare make a sound. I just endured it. Chapter 3 Silas was rough. But in bed, even though he talked dirty, he never actually hurt me. I thought Silas looked down on me. Because aside from the stuff in bed, I couldn’t do anything right. I tried to cook for him, but I burned my hand with hot oil. When Silas came back, I was blowing on my hand, my eyes red-rimmed. He threw his hoe onto the ground with a loud clang. Before, I would have shaken with fear. But now, I knew he just had a bad temper. Silas strode over, grabbed my hand, his brows knitted tight. “Who told you to touch the stove?” “You think I can’t make enough money to buy you dinner?” I whispered, “I wanted to save you some money…” “Save shit.” Silas cursed, turned around, and rummaged through the cabinet for a precious jar of burn ointment. He smeared it on my hand roughly. “Don’t do rough work from now on.” He tossed my hand aside, then added unnaturally: “Your hands are soft like tofu. If you ruin them, they won’t feel good to touch at night.” So, he was only good to me because this skin and flesh served him well. Like raising a cat or dog—when he was happy, he gave me a treat. But I was greedy for that little bit of sweetness. At night, the fan creaked overhead. Silas pointed the fan directly at me. He was shirtless, sweating in the heat. Looking at his solid chest muscles, I extended my foot like I was possessed. My pale toes brushed against the hard muscle of his calf. “Husband… are you hot?” I tried to mimic the tone the other wives in the village used. I wanted to call him over, to share the breeze. Silas’s breathing instantly became heavy. In the dark, his eyes shone terrifyingly bright. The next second, the world spun. He pressed me into the mattress, his lips tasting of tobacco as he kissed me fiercely. “Ellis, you started this.” That night, Silas went crazy. He panted in my ear, biting my earlobe, asking me over and over: “If one day I have no money, will you still stay with me?” I trembled in fear, daring not to answer. In the end, Silas stopped asking. He just said, “Better if you don’t follow me. You aren’t meant for a hard life…” Chapter 4 Lately, Silas had been leaving early and coming home late. I heard the old ladies in town say he was doing some risky business, moving goods. I remembered what he asked that night. I was worried and wanted to ask, but I didn’t dare. Until one day, while washing his clothes, I found a wallet in his pocket. The wallet was old, the leather peeling. Inside the fold, there was a black-and-white photo. It was a girl in a white dress, standing at a school gate, smiling brilliantly. It was Claire. Or rather, Claire before she left for the city. So, he really was still thinking about his first love. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes and brows really did look a bit like the person in the photo. My heart felt like it had been stung by a wasp—a sour, stinging pain. After thinking for a long time, I put the photo back. That night, Silas came back with a roast chicken and a jar of expensive face cream. It was high-end stuff, only sold in the department stores in the city. “Bought it for you. Put it on your face.” He tossed the items to me, his eyes dodging mine, but the tips of his ears turned red. Before, I would have been happy. But now, looking at that cream, I only felt he wanted me to maintain this face that looked like Claire. “Silas.” I gathered my courage to call him. “What? You feeling sick?” Silas immediately reached out to touch my forehead. I dodged him. Silas’s hand froze in mid-air, his face darkening. “Ellis, what are you throwing a tantrum for now? I didn’t hurt you last night.” “Are you… saving money to go to the city to find Claire?” I gripped the hem of my shirt tightly and asked. Silas’s expression instantly became weird. Like his secret was exposed, but also shocked. He went silent. That silence was an admission. My heart went cold. I don’t know how I survived that night. Silas wanted to hold me, but I pushed him away. He didn’t force it. He just turned his back to me and didn’t speak. In the middle of the night, I heard him sigh. He took the blanket that covered him and quietly tucked it around me. “Ellis, just wait a bit longer…” “Once the deal is done, everything will be fine.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389452”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My period was two months late, so I called my ex-boyfriend. “I think I might be pregnant.” He sneered. “Is this a flex?” I said weakly, “No, it’s yours.” He warned me coldly, “Don’t think just because you’re pregnant I’ll get back together with you.” “I have a girlfriend, and she would mind.” After a few seconds of stunned silence, I smacked my forehead. “Sorry, my bad. I just remembered I got my period the day we broke up.” Chapter 1 Work had been insane lately, and I just forgot. Ethan went silent on the other end of the phone for a few seconds. Then he scoffed. “Boring.” He hung up impatiently. So he already had a new girlfriend. I couldn’t help but unblock him to check his social media. I wanted to see this new girl. In the photos, the usually serious Ethan was actually making funny faces with her. The girl had a sweet smile and dimples. She looked like the kind of girl who grew up surrounded by love. Since he had someone new, I shouldn’t keep his contact info. Just as I was about to delete him, a notification popped up. Ethan: [Transfer: $10,000.00] Me: [?] I was typing to ask why he sent money when he called. “Sarah, go to the hospital and get checked properly to see if you’re pregnant.” He spoke in the tone he used with subordinates: “If you are, take this money and get an abortion.” My heart felt like it had been pricked by a needle. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not pregnant.” I regretted calling him earlier. “Besides, I got my period the day we broke up. Even if I was pregnant, you don’t have to worry about me pinning it on you.” Ethan’s voice rose, and I could feel his anger through the phone. “True. Even if it’s not mine, it could be someone else’s.” “Is that the kind of person I am to you?” Pregnant with someone else’s child two months after breaking up? And asking my ex to take responsibility? “You have a history, after all.” Ethan’s tone was contemptuous. “It’s normal to get lonely.” “Anyway, I’ve given what I should. Don’t come looking for me again.” He hung up violently. A new girlfriend just two months after breaking up. Who was the one who couldn’t handle being lonely? I tried to transfer the money back. Red exclamation mark. He blocked me on Venmo. I tried bank transfer. Limit exceeded. Luckily, Zelle worked. I found his account. The profile picture was unfamiliar. It was a cartoon character he used to despise. I double-checked it several times. He must have really found a girl he liked more. To do things he once disdained, like matching profile pictures. I transferred all the money back. Then blocked him everywhere. After doing all this, I felt drained. He broke up with me and found a sunny girl. Wasn’t this what I always hoped for? I should be happy. But why did everything feel so flavorless? Chapter 2 The next morning, I went downstairs to go to work. Ethan was standing in front of his car waiting for me. He walked straight toward me. “Get in.” “What are you doing here? I have to go to work—” Ethan frowned, his tone still cold. “Take leave.” He glanced at my abdomen. “I’m taking you to the hospital to check if you’re pregnant.” Because of my childhood trauma, I’ve always resisted hospitals. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not pregnant.” His eyes were still suspicious. “The last time we were together, the condom broke…” I couldn’t help but retort, “Aren’t you a little too confident in yourself?” “I’m worried that if there really is a baby, I’ll be kept in the dark.” Men always think they possess superpowers in this department. “I said I’m not pregnant! Even if I was, it has nothing to do with you!” Being delayed for work made me irritable, and my voice rose unconsciously. Neighbors passing by glanced at us. My face heated up instantly. Ethan’s face darkened. “Get in. I’m taking you to the hospital. I already made an appointment.” “I can go myself.” I refused further contact. “I need to see the checkup with my own eyes to be at ease.” Ethan lowered his voice, speaking in a tone asking for a punch: “If you don’t come with me, I’ll keep blocking you here. It won’t take a day for you to become famous in this neighborhood.” I gritted my teeth and got in the car. As the car started, I thought for a moment. Picked up my phone to ask for leave. [Mr. Davis, I need to take the morning off to go to the hospital.] He replied instantly. Liam Davis: [Are you okay? Where do you feel uncomfortable? Is half a day enough?] I didn’t expect my boss, Liam, to be so caring. Three questions in a row. Quite different from his usual taciturn self. I typed tremblingly: [I’m fine, just a stomach ache. The morning is enough.] Liam Davis: [Approved. If you still feel unwell, take more days off.] Me: [Okay, thank you Mr. Davis.] Ethan, driving beside me, asked coldly: “Who are you texting so intently?” “Got a situation?” Seeing I didn’t answer, he continued: “No wonder you were so eager to cut ties with me! So you’ve already found your next target.” Ethan’s words carried a subtle malice. Making me uncomfortable. “I’m asking my boss for leave.” “Oh.” He glanced at my phone casually. “Never seen a boss care so much about a subordinate asking for leave.” He held the steering wheel, speaking in a knowing tone: “We’re both men. I can tell he has other intentions for you.” Although Ethan didn’t continue. I knew him too well. His micro-expressions, his tone. I could accurately interpret his implication. He wanted to tell me that my boss just wanted to play around with me, don’t be fooled. “Is that so? Then I’ll pay more attention to his behavior in the future.” “You!” He scoffed. “You’re amazing!” Ethan gripped the steering wheel tighter, veins popping. I didn’t know where his inexplicable jealousy came from. After all, when we broke up, he roared at me: “Sarah, if I break up with you, I’ll never care about you again.” Although he said that. Mutual friends told me he was still asking about me. Asking if I was doing well. Calling him last night was actually a gamble. Ethan might ignore me, but he wouldn’t ignore a “child,” right? But I was too anxious and forgot that possibility didn’t exist at all. Ethan slammed on the brakes. Inertia almost threw me into the windshield. Luckily the seatbelt held me. Only then did I notice the toy steering wheel attached to the passenger side dashboard. He even prepared toys for a child? That’s way too early. “Don’t overthink it.” Ethan said lightly. “That toy has nothing to do with you.” Chapter 3 His eyes softened for a moment. “It’s for my girlfriend.” Ethan smiled warmly. “She gets bored in the car, so I let her play with the steering wheel.” “Isn’t it romantic?” He asked me proudly. “Forget it, why am I talking about this with someone unromantic like you.” I hesitated, but decided to speak. “Um…” Ethan looked over smugly. “I wanted to remind you, if there’s an accident, the airbag might not deploy.” “Can you discuss with your girlfriend about changing to something else…” His smile vanished, voice squeezed from his throat: “Sarah, you really are allergic to romance.” Seeing his frown, I chose to shut up. Ethan continued driving, neither of us speaking another word. The silence was terrifying. Then Ethan’s phone rang. His face softened as he cleared his throat: “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?” I don’t know what the person on the other end said. Ethan spoke nervously: “Okay, okay, I’m coming right now.” After hanging up, Ethan turned to me: “Get out.” I looked at the road outside, incredulous: “Here?” “Yes.” He unbuckled my seatbelt without explanation and reached to open the door. I pressed his hand down, confirming: “There isn’t even a bus stop here. You’re making me get out here?” Ethan nodded indifferently. “My girlfriend has an emergency, I have to go to her. Go to the hospital yourself.” “Although it’s hard to get a cab here, the hospital is only two miles away. Treat it as exercise.” He pulled me out of the car. Before driving off, he rolled down the window and instructed: “Remember to tell me the results. It’s better for both of us.” Then left me with a cloud of exhaust. I laughed in anger. Called me out early in the morning, made me take leave. Then dumped me on the road and ran. Just as I was about to call a cab. My lower abdomen hurt suddenly. Luckily there was a public restroom nearby. Sure enough, my period came. So I didn’t go to the hospital. Instead, I went back to work. On the way, I texted Ethan. Told him I wasn’t pregnant. Then blocked and deleted him again. This time, it was really goodbye. Chapter 4 Maybe because it had been too long since my last period. This time it was exceptionally painful. Finally, after Liam signed all the documents. I prepared to leave his office, when my legs gave out. I fell forward. Just as I thought I was about to hit the floor. Pain didn’t come as expected. Liam held my waist and pulled me back. “Thank you, Mr. Davis.” He scrutinized my face. “Not feeling well? Did the hospital results come out?” “I’m fine, just my period.” I answered truthfully. The company allowed half a day of menstrual leave, but I had already taken the morning off and didn’t want work to pile up. Liam averted his eyes slightly, ears turning red. “You should take leave and go home to rest. I’ll arrange the work.” I remembered the shareholder meeting in the afternoon. If I quit now, the efforts of the past few weeks would be wasted. “No need, Mr. Davis. I can handle it.” I returned to my desk to prepare materials. But the pain got worse. I worried about fainting during the meeting. “Here.” I saw a box of Ibuprofen and two heating pads on my desk. Liam looked around unnaturally. Colleagues weren’t there. “I searched online. They said these help women in pain.” “Thank you, Mr. Davis! I really needed this!” Liam nodded. “Good.” His ears turned pink again. I suddenly remembered Ethan’s words. Does Liam really have ideas about me? But I dismissed it quickly. Liam was just a considerate boss. And he saw my hard work. Yes, that’s it. Finally off work, I couldn’t wait to go home and rest. Didn’t expect to see Ethan walking towards me downstairs. “Sarah, why didn’t you go to the hospital?” “Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t pregnant?” He seemed not to understand, pulling out a pregnancy test from somewhere, grabbing my hand: “Your word doesn’t count. Come with me.” “Since you won’t go to the hospital, test it in front of me.” It was rush hour, colleagues stopped to watch. I was annoyed by his unreasonable demand. Embarrassing me at my apartment wasn’t enough. Now at my workplace too? “I said no means no! I’m on my period, how can I be pregnant?” Ethan froze. “You’re lying. Your cycle starts on the 25th, not the 8th.” I felt powerless. “What, do you want me to take off my skirt for you to check?” “Can I?” Ethan asked seriously.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389468”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel