Category: English

Ten years ago, Declan was the one who first introduced me to story-driven RPGs. Near the end of the game, I asked him, “I really liked the High Elf I met this morning. Why can’t I find her anymore?” Declan stroked my hair and explained, “She was an NPC who gave you a quest. When the NPC’s task is over, you never see them again. Even if you found a way to glitch to her location, you wouldn’t be able to talk to her.” “But if you really want to interact with her, you can always start the game over.” I sat there, gripping the controller for a long time, then I looked at him seriously. “Declan, you have to promise to marry me someday. Otherwise, you won’t ever see me again, and you won’t be able to talk to me.” The adults laughed, and Declan just smiled. No one took me seriously. Which is why, later, when he decided to marry someone else, he was so utterly reckless. But life is not a game; there are no do-overs. And I was, genuinely, the NPC who would disappear. 1 Two years after Declan and Serena married, I fought my way into the solo finals of the Zenith Siege Global Championship. When the players came on stage for the global broadcast, the esports community erupted. Since my sudden withdrawal and disappearance two years ago, everyone had assumed I’d retired due to an accident. They never imagined I’d switched to the individual circuit. I had no choice. Declan’s influence, as the CEO of Vortex Global, was too vast. If I’d stayed in team play, he would have found a way to control or manipulate my teammates. I was a lone wolf now, owning my wins and my losses. The grueling day-long Grand Finals concluded, and I smoothly secured the Global Solo Championship. In Bratislava, the golden confetti rained down on me, but there was no one to celebrate with. I was twenty-three years old. The road to future championships would only get harder. I lowered my head, kissing the trophy with a profound, quiet reverence. It was a chilly evening, and I didn’t dare walk alone in the unfamiliar city, so I sat outside the stadium entrance, trying to calm my mind. I remembered my eighteenth birthday—my first offline tournament win. When it ended, my teammates and I went to a greasy-spoon diner for an all-night celebration. Declan sat in his Maybach parked on the street, watching over me until dawn. He hated the smell of grease and smoke, so after that night, every time I had a competition, he would pre-arrange a chic restaurant and treat all my teammates and fans to a late-night feast. He wanted me to be happy playing the game, and he wanted everyone to look out for me just as he did. So he preemptively managed every person connected to my career. But now… I pulled my jacket tighter, stopping the thought. I stood up, put up my umbrella, and started walking toward my hotel. A local staff member, a young woman, rushed up to me. “Ms. Qin, Mr. He, the CEO of Vortex Global, is looking for you.” She dialed a number and held the phone out. Expected. The face-reveal broadcast had happened five hours ago—more than enough time for Declan to pull strings and contact the staff here. The call connected immediately. “Kira! Is that really you? I…” Declan hadn’t even finished his sentence when the call cut out, the signal dissolving into static. The staff member frowned and tapped the screen a few times. “Huh? The signal here is perfectly fine. What’s going on?” “Mr. He? Mr. He, can you hear me?” “I can hear you! Give the phone to Kira!” Declan’s voice was sharp, desperate, sounding like he might leap out of the speaker. The staffer quickly handed me the phone, but the moment it was near me and Declan spoke, the signal became abysmal. I quietly pressed End Call. No need to struggle. You can’t win against the universal law. The staffer took the phone back, switching SIM cards, sweat beading on her forehead. “Ms. Qin, could you give me your contact number? Mr. He sounds like he needs to reach you urgently.” I gave her my number, indifferent. Declan wouldn’t be able to get through anyway. As I turned to leave, the staffer called out again. “Ms. Qin, Mr. He just messaged me. He said he’s boarding a flight now and will arrive in Bratislava tomorrow night. He told me to tell you not to wander off. You must wait for him to find you.” “He also said…” She looked at me, a little hesitant to relay the rest. “He also said that if you insist on pursuing your career in esports, you should forget any notion of being able to run away.” Her eyes were complicated, no doubt trying to decode the drama between Declan and me. I smiled, thanked her, and walked away. The truth is, Declan shouldn’t have come. I was even more certain of this the next evening when I saw the news report about a traffic accident. The car carrying Declan inexplicably lost control and slammed into a stone pylon, flipping completely onto its side. The driver was unharmed. Declan was rushed to the hospital with a severe head injury. His assistant finally got through to my phone. “Ms. Qin, where are you? Mr. He is in the ICU, critical condition. I’ll send a car to pick you up.” I refused. “I am neither his family nor his spouse. It is not my place to visit.” I hung up and boarded the plane home. Staring out the window, I couldn’t help but wonder if Declan remembered that ordinary afternoon ten years ago. Did he remember the words he had spoken himself? The NPC’s task is over, you never see them again. Even if he found a way to glitch to my location, he wouldn’t be able to talk to me. I had given him the loophole, the solution—to marry me—but he hadn’t listened at all. The bullet fired years ago was now hitting him square in the forehead. Every world is full of NPCs. And my job was to push the relationship arc between Declan and Serena. As an NPC, I was seemingly destined to be the backdrop for the Son of Destiny, just a tool to advance the main plot through interaction. But sometimes, I wanted to be the main character. Like in the story of my love with Declan. We had an arranged childhood engagement, and he, three years my senior, was so meticulously attentive that he gave me the grand illusion that I could fight the world’s pre-scripted main arc. I knew exactly when Declan was meant to fall for Serena. So I tried to take proactive steps. During his freshman year, he was supposed to meet Serena, a classmate. They were meant to be instantly drawn to each other, both strong, intelligent, and driven. Serena came from an ordinary background, and with me—the rich girl he was engaged to—in the way, they were supposed to hesitate and struggle, even with their mutual attraction. My purpose was to create the love triangle, the emotional friction that would slowly, painfully make them realize they were each other’s true love. Then I, the NPC, would be discarded, and they would live happily ever after. That was the original script. To fight the universal script, I forced Declan to go to an international university. Everyone thought I was crazy at the time. Declan had only planned to stay stateside to be near me, fighting for the best score on the domestic college entrance exam just so he could be available. That time, I broke his heart. “If you have to train in the youth league and can’t come to Edinburgh with me, why on earth are you forcing me away?” “Do you know what that distance means to us?” “Are you… are you planning to break up with me?” I shook my head, repeating “No.” No one missed him more than I did. He was my future fiancé, but also my brother. He looked out for me more deeply than my own parents. The separation felt like peeling skin from bone. Yet everything that followed proved how futile I was. The universal script only needed a single, unexpected fellowship grant to send Serena to Edinburgh as well. My efforts were pale and pointless against the world’s rules. They still met. They still got to know each other. Six months after he left, Declan came home for the holidays. I rushed to the airport to pick him up, only to find him with Serena. Compared to my still-unpolished self, they looked perfect together—a golden couple fit for a magazine cover. The sight stung. That night at home, I was direct. “Do you like her?” Declan gave a strained, nervous laugh. “What are you talking about? She’s just a classmate.” The flicker of panic in his eyes wasn’t well-hidden. He had developed feelings. I hired someone to look into their interactions abroad, just to see how far things had gone. If they had held hands or kissed, I would have ended things immediately, played my part for a few years, endured the wedding, and quietly bowed out. But they hadn’t done anything overtly romantic. Even their dinners were always in group settings. Declan found out I had investigated Serena and exploded at me for the first time. “I told you nothing is going on. Why would you hire a PI to check up on her?” “Serena is a simple girl who earned her way through sheer effort, with help from a scholarship. Don’t you dare try to sabotage her.” The defensive look in his eyes cut me to the core. Tears welled in mine as I asked, “Is that who you think I am? A tyrant who uses her wealth to crush others?” Seeing my distress, Declan slowly calmed down. “I’m sorry, Kira. I overreacted.” I accepted his apology, placidly. But after that day, I stayed at the training base more often and rarely went home to the family mansion. Since I wouldn’t go to him, Declan came to me at the base, day after day, rain or shine. I saw him off at the airport when his break ended. He gave me a light hug. “Kira, let’s stop being angry, okay?” “I’m transferring to a university in Chicago after this semester.” My parents scolded me, saying I was immature for constantly causing trouble and making Declan rearrange his life. Declan only smiled and said it was his fault for not giving me enough security. Chicago and our home base were on opposite coasts. He’d be geographically separated from Serena. He reported his schedule to me daily and shared his location. Especially once I turned twenty-one and started entering major tournaments, Declan, a senior in college, never missed a single one of my offline competitions. The cross-country red-eye flights became as habitual as drinking water for him. I slowly started to believe that I could trust him one more time. So, on my twenty-first birthday, when Declan proposed, I accepted. “Kira, we’ll register the marriage next year when you turn twenty-two.” I held out my hand for the ring. And I told him again, seriously, “Declan, you have to keep your word.” “If you marry anyone else, I will truly disappear.” He smiled, accepted my warning, and pulled me into a soft embrace amidst the cheers of our friends. “Don’t worry. Even if you run to the ends of the earth, I’ll find you.” But only a few days after my birthday, Serena came back home. She returned the day I was scheduled for my first international competition. We’d checked my bags, and then Declan took a call from Serena. Immediately, he decided to cancel his trip to accompany me. He apologized profusely, explaining in detail that Serena was facing a terrible, complicated mess. I cut short his lengthy explanation. I knew why she was back and when she’d return better than he did. I turned and walked toward security, telling Declan just one thing: “Just remember to marry me.” Relieved that I hadn’t thrown a tantrum, Declan smiled. “Of course, I will.” He watched me go, not knowing that this single glance would be our last for several years. Two of my teammates suffered from serious jet lag and anxiety, leading to critical errors in the competition. We didn’t even make it to the podium. Vicious fans started calling us idiots, hurling obscenities. Because I was the only girl, someone even threw a piece of trash that hit me. Outside the stadium, in fifteen-degree weather, we stood bowing and apologizing until midnight, then walked back to the hotel on empty stomachs. On the way, we were held up by armed robbers and stripped of everything. One of the robbers, panicked, fired a shot. The bullet grazed my thigh. We made it to the hospital. Since it wasn’t a life-threatening injury, they told us to wait. At dawn, a teammate finally borrowed a phone to call for help, and we all called home. I’m an NPC, lacking deep emotional ties to my parents, so I called Declan directly. But the first thing he said when he picked up was: “Kira, I’m so sorry. I have to marry Serena.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388654”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For three years, since the day our son was born, my wife has suffered from unexplained mutism, a silence the doctors blamed on a severe psychological block. For three years, Jocelyn hadn’t spoken a single word to me. She’d stand by, silent, even if the carbon monoxide alarm was screaming. She never soothed our baby when he cried or fed him when he was hungry. When my small construction business went under, I didn’t have a second to mourn. I started driving for every delivery app—DoorDash, Uber Eats, you name it—just to pay the bills, all while still dragging Jocelyn to endless therapy appointments and specialists. That day, after working a grueling fourteen hours, exhaustion had turned my brain to mush. I was backing the van into our driveway and didn’t see her. I didn’t see that she’d let our three-year-old, Leo, play right behind the tires. The crunch beneath my back tire was sickeningly familiar, yet utterly foreign. A sharp, brief cry, then nothing. My legs gave out. I forced myself to move, my hands shaking so violently I could barely scoop up Leo and rush him to the car. Jocelyn just stood there. Silent, impassive, like she always did. She looked at the scene—at her own child—as if it were a scene playing out on TV, nothing to do with her. I finally snapped. I grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard, the years of silent suffering bubbling into a primal scream. “You saw him! Why couldn’t you shout? Why did you put him there? What twisted psychological problem makes you watch your own son die? Are you trying to kill me too?” I was hysterical, veins popping in my neck. But Jocelyn wouldn’t—couldn’t—open her mouth. The three years of dead silence had finally broken me. I was ready to collapse, to surrender to the despair. That’s when it happened. She pushed through the small crowd that had gathered, and for the first time in 1,095 days, she spoke. It was soft, barely a whisper, but the sound slammed into me like a physical blow. “Marcus…” Marcus Wells. Her first love. The man she never stopped calling her ‘forever ex.’ Her psychological block wasn’t a disorder. It was us. 1 I slumped against the waiting room wall at the ER, my hands clasped so tight my knuckles were white. A man like me shouldn’t beg, but I was begging. I was praying to a God I hadn’t spoken to since I was a kid. Please, let him live. Just let him live. Jocelyn? I didn’t want her anymore. Leo was so small, he could barely string a sentence together. I hadn’t taken him anywhere. I hadn’t shown him the ocean or the mountains. I hit myself, hard, across the face several times. Why was I so tired? Why was I so careless? Why didn’t I check the rearview camera one last time? The work fatigue had been instantly replaced by the raw, suffocating terror of a father. Why was fate so cruel as to make me the one to kill my own child? The emergency room light blinked off. The doctor, his scrubs soaked with blood, walked out. “He has multiple fractures. A rib pierced his heart. We stabilized him, but he needs to go to the ICU immediately. Prepare yourselves, family.” I hit the floor. The back of my head slammed against the concrete wall, and the world went dark. When I woke up, Jocelyn was standing over me, her face lined with a familiar, manufactured concern. She poured me a cup of weak hospital coffee. Still silent. I was too tired to press her. Too exhausted to chase the truth. It didn’t matter anymore. We used to dream about the day her voice came back, how happy we would be, a perfect family of three. But now I knew the truth. She wasn’t unable to speak to us; she was simply unwilling. A dead calm settled inside me. I spoke into the silence. “Jocelyn, we’re done. We are getting a divorce. Three years ago, you said you were a burden, and you were right. I hate you for it.” She recoiled as if I’d struck her. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She shook her head desperately. She typed quickly on her phone and showed me the screen. ‘I am devastated about Leo. We need to get through this together.’ Talking about Leo made my eyes burn again. How could I believe her? How could I convince myself that I had hallucinated that single, clear word? When my son’s life was hanging by a thread, she abandoned us. She broke her vow of silence for the man she never let go of. Her forever ex. I didn’t want to talk anymore. I just walked to the glass divider to look at my son. This was all my fault. Just give Daddy one chance, kid. I’m taking you away from here. We don’t need her. I swallowed the tears, forced myself into a functional state. ICU costs were crippling. I had to go back to work. That same morning, I called a realtor and listed our house. I was peddling snacks and drinks out of my delivery van later that week when a buyer called me. He was viewing the house and commented on how immaculate I kept the place, impressed by my work ethic. Then he saw a photograph of Jocelyn. His demeanor changed. “Oh, you’re a friend of Mrs. Reid? That makes this easy. Mrs. Reid is a generous woman, a true partner. Any man lucky enough to marry her gets a built-in venture capitalist. She backed her husband’s company with everything she had.” My smile froze solid. I didn’t understand what he was talking about. He chuckled, explaining. “Mr. Wells’ business is booming. He’s our biggest vendor now. I need him for my contract, so this house? Just name your price. I’ll make sure it closes.” Marcus Wells? My hands, calloused and scraped from loading up my beat-up delivery van, felt like a pathetic joke. From the conversation, I learned the horrifying truth: Jocelyn had funneled my money—our money—into Marcus’s company, becoming his silent, major shareholder, while watching my business fail and our family sink into penury. A searing pain bloomed in my chest. I excused myself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, trying to regain control.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388670”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On Mother’s Day, there was an “Exchange Love for Items” event on the roadside. My younger brother was clamoring to exchange for an ice cream. I wanted to take him to the nearby supermarket to buy one. But Mom stopped me: “Why waste that money? Just exchange your love for it, wouldn’t that be better?” I couldn’t believe it and confirmed again: “My love for you?” Mom said indifferently: “What do I need that useless thing for? Might as well exchange it for an ice cream to make your brother happy.” I glanced at the promotional poster and nodded in agreement. Fine, then I’ll satisfy Mom’s wish one last time. 1 “Are you sure you want to exchange your daughter’s love for you for an ice cream? Once confirmed, this transaction cannot be reversed,” the staff member confirmed again. Mom nodded without a trace of hesitation: “It’s just a fake thing anyway. Keeping it isn’t as useful as exchanging it for something practical.” Listening to Mom’s brisk words, my heart felt like it was being repeatedly tortured by a dull knife. But the next second, Mom’s expression changed when she got the procedure form, and she prepared to turn and leave: “Forget it, forget it.” Although I knew it was because the procedure was too cumbersome, I still breathed a sigh of relief. At least, I could still fantasize that Mom was a little bit reluctant to let go of me. Hearing this, my brother sat on the ground. At eighteen, he started throwing a tantrum like a child: “I want to exchange for ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!” I hurried to pull him up, comforting him gently: “Justin, if you want ice cream, I’ll take you to the supermarket next door to buy it.” But Justin wouldn’t agree no matter what. Sitting on the ground hugging Mom’s leg, he started wailing: “I want this one! I want this exchanged ice cream!” I instantly understood. He didn’t necessarily want to eat it; he did it on purpose. Since childhood, he liked to snatch my things and do things I didn’t want to see. He said he would be angry if I went on family trips, so I never traveled with the family. At home, my room was just his storage room. Just because he wanted to occupy my room as a toy room, I could only sleep in the utility room. And Mom never cared about my feelings, always trying her best to satisfy him. And my momentary resistance out of extreme grievance would only be met with: “He’s your brother, what’s wrong with letting him have his way?” This time, as expected, Mom compromised for him again. “Okay, okay, okay, baby!” “Get up quickly, the ground is dirty. Don’t get germs on you, my ancestor.” After Mom agreed, Justin finally stood up, looking at me with triumph in his eyes, and even mouthed provocatively: “See, I’m going to use your love to exchange for ice cream, hehe.” I involuntarily clenched my fists. Mom got back in line and said impatiently to me: “What are you standing there stupidly for? Hurry up and come over!” “I finally coaxed your brother, can’t let him cry again.” I walked to Mom somewhat distractedly, comforting myself that this “Exchange Love for Items” was just a gimmick. A person’s emotions and subjective feelings are formed over a long time. How could they be deprived so easily? Mom probably thought so too, which is why she agreed. But the next second, I heard the staff member speak. “Our event is realized by the latest technological means. It has been proven by tens of thousands of experiments. There is no room for regret. I confirm again, are you sure you want to exchange your daughter’s love for you for an ice cream?” I also saw the dense list of famous research institutes, top professors, and famous companies. The exchange process would be shown in the form of a live broadcast. I was shocked. Perhaps my love for my mother could really disappear because of an ice cream. Before I could recover from the shock, I heard Mom say: “If it’s real, then it’s real. As long as it makes my son happy, I’m willing. Everything else doesn’t matter.” 2 Everything else doesn’t matter. This sentence was like a thunderclap, exploding in my ear. It turned out that to Mom, I was just something that didn’t matter. I glanced at the line of bold red small print at the bottom of the poster: If the transaction is successful, the legal relationship between both parties will also be dissolved. Mom seemed not to have seen it or maybe didn’t care. She immediately signed the agreement, glaring at me to urge me to hurry up. My heart was sour. I finally realized that the motherly love I bitterly craved might never be obtained from Mom. Then the disappearance of this love might be the best arrangement. I didn’t hesitate anymore and signed the agreement too. Following the staff into the house, I realized this was really a studio, and I could see real-time bullet comments. Mom and I were taken to machines on both sides of the stage respectively. A voice sounded on the scene. “We will extract memories and judge whether this transaction is worth it through real-time voting.” Mom didn’t expect it to be so cumbersome, with live voting, and hesitated again. But Justin was very happy, shouting at Mom. “Mom, great! There are so many people online! You must perform well. Maybe we can become internet celebrities and never worry about food and drink by livestreaming sales in the future!” Mom, who was originally hesitant, suddenly beamed with joy. The live bullet comments also started to scroll. “Did I see it right? Exchange daughter’s love for an ice cream? Is this a joke?” “Who knows if there’s something wrong with this daughter? What mother doesn’t love her children? Maybe the mother was driven to the limit to make the transaction.” “Looks like a family that values sons over daughters at first glance.” “I think so too. Who doesn’t have money for an ice cream? The mother must have her own difficulties.” Opinions in the comments varied, and the votes were split half and half. Mom and I also learned the rules of memory extraction from the machine. Everyone can choose memory fragments to promote or prevent the transaction. Seeing that the votes were not enough, Justin drooped his eyebrows. Mom hurriedly entered a time to extract a memory. The big screen also began to play the first fragment. Little me was crying endlessly, and in front of me was an overturned table of food, a mess at a glance. “Told you to be sensible. Now great, no one can eat.” “Girls are just trouble. All day long only thinking about yourself. Now everyone can’t eat and you’re still crying!” “How many times has this been? Every time we eat, there’s no peace. How can there be such an insensible child like you?” The voices came from Mom, Dad, and Grandma respectively. From the perspective of the memory owner, I saw several adults frowning and surrounding me. And little me, hearing these harsh criticisms, dared not cry anymore, only silently lowering my head and pouting without saying a word. In the background sound, there was also my brother’s childish crying, getting louder and louder. The video ended here, and the comments started to get active. “I said she was trouble since childhood. No wonder a mother would rather exchange for an ice cream.” “I think so too. This daughter’s love might not even be worth an ice cream.” “It’s normal for such a young age not to be sensible, right?” “Not necessarily. From the video, flipping the table happened more than once. Maybe she’s born with XYY syndrome!” At this time, the real-time voting also tilted appropriately towards Mom, with 55% of people in favor of the transaction. Justin was extremely happy and winked at Mom, signaling her to pursue the victory. 3 Mom couldn’t wait to enter the second time period. The big screen began to play the second memory. This was me in middle school. In front of me was another mess. Only this time, what was overturned was not the dining table, but clothes and supplies all over the floor of the room, as well as various broken household items. Grandma pointed at me with a broom and scolded: “Prodigal girl! Only know how to bully your brother. Look at what you’ve done to this home!” Dad, lying on the sofa playing with his phone, also followed: “No peace all day long. I work hard every day to earn money for you, and come back to hear these annoying things. Can’t you let me have a peaceful day?” Mom dragged me directly by my clothes and threw me on the messy floor: “Find a way to clean it up yourself! If you don’t clean it up, don’t eat!” After she finished speaking, the background sound was still a little boy’s crying. Mom ran over distressedly to hug him, comforting him softly: “Good baby, it’s all her fault. Don’t cry.” The video ended here. The netizens who said I was born with XYY syndrome just now were more active. “See, I said it. How can there be a mother in the world who hates her own child? There must be something wrong with her!” “This girl not only flipped tables when she was little, but also smashed the house when she grew up, making the family restless. What family can withstand her doing this?” Some people wanted to defend me. “Maybe she also had reasons…” “The child became like this, don’t adults have some responsibility?” The real-time votes still didn’t increase much, but there were more and more viewers, all sticking to their own opinions. Justin panicked a little, walked to Mom’s side and whispered: “Mom, we can do without this ice cream, but we absolutely can’t lose face here! Don’t forget, if we perform well, we can livestream sales, and there will be endless money in the future!” “When we have money in the future, I’ll buy a big house for you, Dad, and Grandma. Our whole family will travel everywhere. I can also marry a beautiful wife and give you a bunch of grandsons then.” Mom seemed to fall into the beautiful future woven by Justin, and her face was full of smiles. But when she looked up at me again, her eyes were filled with thick anger and hostility. That glance made my heart tremble fiercely. I wanted to tell Mom, I am your daughter, not your enemy. I just want your love, but I never thought of harming you. But Mom didn’t seem to receive my thoughts. When Mom was about to raise her hand to press the button again, I couldn’t help shouting: “Mom!” Mom also heard my call, but her eyes flashed, and she said angrily to me: “What Mom? If it weren’t for you, a family-disrupting spirit, how could the family be in such chaos? As long as you are here, the family will never have peace! Either flipping tables and cabinets or bullying your brother! You still have the face to call me Mom?” “The family has always given you whatever we have, feeding you, clothing you, and sending you to school. But what have you done for this family until now?” Saying this, Mom actually covered her face and wept. Comments rolled. “The family didn’t treat her badly either. What is she dissatisfied with?” “This family doesn’t look rich either. Being able to give their daughter such a life is already very good. Don’t know what she’s fussing about?” “Yeah, we didn’t have such conditions before. Born in blessings but not knowing blessings!” I froze for a moment. The sourness and grievance in my chest surged from my heart, but thousands of words were stuck in my throat by Mom’s scolding, unable to dissipate or be spat out. At this time, the votes in favor of the transaction began to increase significantly, suddenly reaching 70%. 4 Seeing the votes increase, Mom had an obvious smile on her face. I couldn’t smile. I used almost all my strength to barely hold back my tears. This was my involuntary habit. Because Mom hated my crying look the most, no matter how much grievance I suffered, I habitually endured it. But I didn’t expect that when Mom looked at me with moist eyes again, there was no pity at all. She still stared at me with the eyes of looking at an enemy. At this time, some netizens raised different opinions. “Don’t you think it’s weird? If she’s so violent, why hasn’t she dared to say a harsh word to her mom until now?” “Indeed, she keeps her head down and doesn’t dare to look at people. Doesn’t look like someone who would smash things at home.” “And from the video, we didn’t see the process, only the scene of the whole family blaming her. Could there be some hidden story?” Mom also saw it and immediately turned to me to continue questioning calmly: “Say it yourself, was the dining table overturned because of you? Was the room messed up because of you?” I looked at her in disbelief. But her gaze was a threat, a coercion, a commanding from above. I couldn’t help lowering my head, daring not look into her eyes again. This was Mom’s usual method. She knew she didn’t need to do anything, just look at me calmly like this, and I would obediently listen. This was a habit I couldn’t give up. I craved her love too much, so I never dared to go against her wishes. But this time, I really didn’t want to cater to her anymore, but my throat seemed to be blocked by something, and I couldn’t say a word. Seeing me silent, Mom asked continuously: “Was flipping the table because of you? Was smashing the room because of you?” “Was flipping the table because of you? Was smashing the room because of you?” In the empty studio, only Mom’s resonant interrogation rang in my ears word by word. Even if the tone was flat, it was like big stones smashing on my head. I felt I could hardly breathe. The second time she asked, I couldn’t hold it anymore and had to whisper: “It was because of me.” At this time, the real-time voting climbed instantly, reaching 80%. Mom and Justin smiled at each other. The discussion in the comments became more and more heated. “Seems this daughter indeed has problems. Has violent tendencies since childhood. Might commit domestic violence in the future.” “Looking at her face, she’s not an honest person. Look at what she’s wearing, showing arms and legs.” “Such a girl will probably have a hard time finding a husband in the future. Who dares to marry such a woman?” “Just a family disruptor! Exchanging for an ice cream is overrating her.” Votes continued to climb, and the comments were all criticism and even abuse of me. My heart fell into an ice cave. Just when Mom and Justin were triumphant, thinking everything was under control. The mechanical sound on the scene sounded again: “Now exchange, will extract memories related to Emily.” “Emily?” “Is it the Emily I’m thinking of? The one with the name meaning ‘Bring a Brother’?” The comments rolled and repeated this name that accompanied me for twenty-five years. Every word rolling revealed shock and doubt. Mom and Justin also realized something was wrong, and their faces suddenly became poor. “I initiated the transaction. Why extract her memories?” The voting also changed, and the approval ratio was slowly decreasing.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388687”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband, Aaron Carter, and I are both failed rebounds. He proposed to my cousin, Bella, and was rejected. I was friend-zoned by his roommate. What’s sadder? Our crushes ended up together. When they got married, I was the maid of honor, and he was the best man. That day, we hugged each other and cried our eyes out. Six years later, they divorced. Aaron dressed up meticulously, picked out a gift, and asked me: “Do I look handsome? Will Bella like this gift?” He seemed to have forgotten that we were married too. I thought for a moment, complimented him on how handsome he looked, and silently contacted a lawyer to draft the divorce papers. 1 I whipped up two simple dishes, and Aaron pushed the door open just as I was setting the table. He seemed to be in a good mood, humming a tune as he bent down to change his shoes with his long legs. “You’re back? Dinner’s ready.” I placed a bowl of rice on his side of the table. He tasted a mouthful of the dish and put down his chopsticks. “It’s bland.” I instinctively replied, “I’ll add more salt and chili next time.” Actually, I knew. He hated scallions but loved spicy food. It was just that I was in a inexplicably bad mood today and thought he wouldn’t come home tonight. So, in a daze, I only cooked according to my own taste. “No need.” He said lightly, not even looking at me. “Leah, find some time tomorrow to move out.” “If she wants to come over someday and finds out about us… it’ll be hard to explain.” My hand holding the chopsticks paused. “Okay.” He remembered something, his brows relaxing. “By the way, she really liked the silk scarf you picked. She said it matches her new coat perfectly. Next time I give a gift, you have to help me choose again.” The rice in my mouth suddenly became hard, mixed with an indescribable bitterness. I chewed and swallowed hard. “It was just a coincidence.” “I can’t guess what she likes every time. Next time, just ask her directly.” Aaron finally looked up at me. His light eyes narrowed slightly, his fingertips idly playing with the wheel of his lighter. “Leah.” “You’re not jealous, are you?” I wanted to say “No,” but my lips moved without making a sound. He didn’t need my answer anyway. He continued on his own, tossing the lighter aside. “But you shouldn’t be. We’re just partners living together. You know that, and I know that.” “Besides, even if you are jealous, it’s useless. I don’t love you.” That sentence again. I almost instinctively wanted to retort, but my phone rang at that moment. Seeing the caller ID, I got up and walked to the balcony. Bella’s gentle voice came through: “Cousin, Aaron came to see me today. We just had coffee.” “Yeah, I know.” “I just… wanted to let you know.” “After all, you guys have always been close. I was afraid you’d mind.” Actually, what was there to mind? I always knew Aaron never got over her. He liked every one of her Instagram posts. Even the news of her divorce, he was the first one to tell me excitedly. After a few seconds of silence, I spoke: “Mind what?” I heard myself say: “We’re not even friends.” 2 I hung up the phone and turned around to find Aaron leaning against the sliding door, watching me. I don’t know how long he’d been listening. Hands in his pockets, he said, “Leah, not even friends? Saying that makes me a little unhappy.” His tone was strange, carrying an inexplicable sourness. I could never guess what Aaron was thinking. I forced a smile, perfunctory. “Okay, okay. Like you said, we have a pure revolutionary friendship. Is that better?” “Are you done eating? I’ll go take out the trash.” Without waiting for his response, I cleared the table and went out with the trash bag. The community dumpster was behind a building, a bit remote. Just as I turned around after throwing the trash, I saw Julian. Since he divorced Bella, I occasionally bumped into him jogging at night. But I never initiated a greeting, always rushing past with my head down. This time, he stopped me: “Leah.” I had to stop and wait for him. A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead, his breath slightly labored. He walked up to me and stopped. “I see you around here a lot lately, but you seem to be avoiding me.” I laughed dryly. “No, I just didn’t notice.” Actually, we both knew the truth. I had pursued him before, but he maintained a polite distance. For two years in college, he neither rejected nor accepted me. It wasn’t until he saw Bella and me walking side by side that he actively asked me for the first time: “Is that your cousin? Can I have her number?” After that, I was completely rejected by him. Then, they got married the year we graduated. Over the years, we tacitly never mentioned that past to Bella. Even during holidays, when he visited my parents as “Cousin-in-law,” I always found excuses to avoid him. Most of the time, I didn’t want to be alone with him. Seeing him reminded me of the disappointment of an ending before a beginning, and the awkwardness of forcing a smile in front of Bella. Instinctively, I just wanted to escape. If I hadn’t met Aaron, who was in the same boat, at that time… I would have been trapped in this emotion for a long time. Julian nodded and then asked me: “Do you know that Aaron has been very close to Bella recently?” Somewhere in my heart, it sank inexplicably, yet seemed to relax. I lowered my eyes and shook my head. “I don’t know.” “If there’s nothing else, I’m going home.” I turned to leave, but saw Aaron at the entrance of the building, seemingly waiting for me. For some reason, I felt a flicker of happiness. I walked over quickly. “Taking out the trash took this long?” “Ran into Julian. Exchanged a few words.” The hand in his pocket moved. “Oh, what did you talk about?” “He asked me if you were close to Bella recently. I said I didn’t know.” Aaron had an “I knew it” expression on his face, tinged with sarcasm. “Do you think now that he’s divorced and lonely, he remembered you, his old simp, and plans to settle for you?” I immediately retorted, “Impossible! He never looked at me before.” “True.” Aaron took over the conversation, his gaze sweeping up and down my body. “Plain looks, average figure. Personality is passable, but with a gem like Bella before him, even for a second marriage, he should find someone better.” With that, he turned and swiped his card to open the building door. I followed him into the elevator. As the elevator started to ascend, I couldn’t help but glance at him sideways. He seemed to notice, turning his head, the corner of his mouth hooking up. “What? Unhappy because I said that?” I knew he wasn’t caring about my feelings. After all, he was stating what he considered the most objective facts. I looked away, staring at the polished mirror surface of the elevator wall. It reflected my appearance: ordinary features, wearing old loungewear, hair tied up casually, a few loose strands hanging on my forehead. I looked at the utterly ordinary woman in the mirror and shook my head gently. “No, I think what you said is quite true.” 3 I have been ordinary since childhood. Mediocre grades, always unconsciously nervous and cramped in front of strangers. Bella, on the other hand, was the “child from another family”—the perfect one. Beautiful, good grades, gentle personality, and poised. Everyone unconsciously favored her. Standing together, I was the control group. Even if I wasn’t ugly, next to her, I would always be the ugly duckling. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t jealous, especially after Julian appeared. I liked him, but he fell in love with Bella at first sight. At that time, I even darkly felt that Bella stole him. But later I figured it out. I gave him her number willingly. I simped for so long with no result; the problem was indeed me. I can only blame myself for being too ordinary. But Aaron was different from me. He was naturally dazzling, from a good family, with outstanding looks. Yet, he hit a solid wall with Bella. Only later did I learn that before I gave Bella’s number to Julian, Aaron had been chasing her for a long time. I asked Bella indirectly why it was Julian and not Aaron. She thought about it then and said seriously: “Aaron… looks like a cynical playboy. Unreliable.” But now, this unreliable playboy seemed to be making her reconsider with his extraordinary devotion. 4 I went from the living room to the bedroom and started packing my things. Over the years, I seemed to have left many traces in this home. But many were things I couldn’t take away and had to throw out. It was three hours later when I finished packing. After washing up, Aaron was already leaning against the headboard. He had warmed up my side of the duvet and patted the spot next to him. I hesitated. I originally planned to sleep in the guest room. “What are you staring at? Come here.” He didn’t give me a chance to hesitate, reaching out and pulling me over, covering me tightly with the quilt. After lying down, he naturally wrapped his arms around me, his hand sliding down to hold my feet. He clicked his tongue, but his palm was scalding hot. “Why are you still so cold… No one will warm you up in the future. Remember to use a hot water bottle.” His breathing soon became even and long; he fell asleep. But I couldn’t sleep. Did Aaron… ever have a tiny bit of sincerity towards me? One winter, it snowed heavily, and I was trapped at the office. He drove to pick me up, risking the car slipping out of control. The first thing he said when he saw me was scolding: “Leah, are you stupid? Don’t you know to wear more?” My teeth chattered from the cold, but I squeezed out a smile and leaned in: “Care about me so much? Then remind me every day from now on, okay?” He immediately turned his face away. “Dream on. I don’t love you, why should I remind you? Don’t forget, we only have a revolutionary friendship.” Despite saying that, he grabbed my frozen hands and stuffed them directly into his warm sweater to warm them up. On the way back, the snow was thick. He drove slowly and carefully. When we finally reached the apartment complex. Getting out of the car, he suddenly packed a snowball and smashed it on my face. I grabbed snow to fight back too. We chased each other in the empty snow like two idiots. “Aaron Carter, are you childish?!” I shouted, panting. He laughed loudly. “Aren’t you too?” Near the building, I don’t know who lay down first, but we lay side by side in the snow. The world was quiet. Turning my head, I could see the white breath he exhaled and the snowflakes on his hair. He suddenly leaned close, close enough for me to count his eyelashes, close enough that all I could hear was my own deafening heartbeat. Then, he suddenly threw a handful of snow on my face, smiling smugly and wickedly: “Leah, you didn’t think… I was going to kiss you, did you?” I froze in place, snowflakes melting on my cheeks, cold. I grabbed snow and lunged at him. In the chaos, somehow, I pinned him in the snow. In that moment, I really wanted to kiss him. Very light, very fast. I kissed him. He didn’t push me away, just turned his face away quickly. When we both stood up, he raised his hand to wipe his cheek. “Leah, your saliva is disgusting.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388703”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was the day before Christmas Eve, a bitter December day, when I shoved eighty-year-old Mrs. Elaine Caldwell’s worn suitcase out of my condo and into the hallway. I ignored the confusion in her eyes and the shock on my husband’s face, pushing her gently but firmly through the open door. “Please, my dear…” Mrs. Caldwell’s voice was a frail, trembling whisper, her cloudy eyes swimming with tears. “I… I have nowhere to go…” My husband, Leo, rushed forward and grabbed my arm. “Are you out of your mind, Sienna? She’s Eighty. It’s freezing!” I pulled my arm free, my gaze cold as I watched the elderly woman’s cracked, fragile hands clutching the door frame. “Either she walks out herself,” I said, my voice utterly unforgiving, “or I help her go.” Leo stared at me, disbelief warring with outrage. Mrs. Caldwell, still sobbing softly, finally let go. “I’m going… I’m going right now…” She bent her back, her posture a question mark, and slowly shuffled toward the elevator. Her small, thin frame shivered visibly in the harsh overhead light of the hallway. I slammed the door shut, cutting off the sight and the sound. 1 Leo Grant stood staring at me, his eyes full of the horror and confusion you reserve for a complete stranger. “Sienna, do you have any idea what you just did?” His voice shook with barely suppressed anger. “It’s raining outside. Where is an eighty-year-old woman supposed to go?” He reached for the doorknob, but I moved faster, blocking his path. “Step aside,” he gritted out. “She can go wherever she wants, but this is my home,” I stood my ground. “No one opens this door without my permission.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to rein in his fury. “Fine. Then tell me why. Why suddenly kick out Mrs. Caldwell?” “She’s lived here for ten years, never missed a rent payment. What could she possibly have done?” Just then, my mother-in-law, Donna, emerged from the bedroom, drawn by the noise. “What in the world is all this shouting about?” “Mom, Sienna just kicked Mrs. Caldwell out,” Leo explained, his voice tight. “Threw her luggage out with her, for no reason.” Donna’s face immediately fell. “Sienna, how could you? She’s an old woman! What kind of heartless thing is this?” I looked at them, mother and son, working themselves into a coordinated lather. “This is the condo my brother left me. The title is in my name, only my name.” “I am the owner. I can rent to whomever I choose and terminate a lease when I choose. Do I need a reason?” “You are completely insane!” Leo’s face was turning a mottled shade of red. “Just because Dean left you this place, you think you can be a tyrant?” “Have you forgotten how good Mrs. Caldwell has been to us over the years?” “That’s right,” Donna chimed in, tears welling up dramatically. “She took care of me when I had the flu last year. You need to have some conscience, Sienna!” I listened to their accusations with a blank face, my inner world utterly calm. “Are you finished?” I asked quietly. “If you are, go back to your rooms. This is not up for discussion.” Leo glared at me, his jaw clenched, then stomped off to the bedroom. Donna sighed heavily and followed him. A half-hour later, Leo burst back out. “I can’t do this. I have to go check on her. It’s late, where could she possibly be?” This time, I didn’t stop him, but simply followed him down the stairs. Donna, equally distressed, trailed after us. In the lobby, we found Mrs. Caldwell sitting alone on a hard bench, her battered old suitcase beside her. Her thin, gray hair was plastered to her wrinkled forehead from the rain, and she looked impossibly small and fragile beneath the lobby’s glaring lights. “Mrs. Caldwell,” Leo hurried over, concern flooding his voice. “Let me take you to a motel for the night. We can figure things out tomorrow…” “Who told you to interfere?” I cut him off, my voice sharp. “A motel? Don’t be ridiculous.” I walked up to Mrs. Caldwell and looked down at her. “Who allowed you to sit here? This is a communal area, not a waiting room. Please leave immediately.” She looked up, her cloudy eyes full of raw tears. She tried to support herself with a trembling hand, but her strength gave out, and she sank back onto the bench. “Sienna!” Leo finally exploded. “Do you have any humanity left? It’s pouring outside! Where do you expect an old woman to go?” “I don’t care where she goes,” I said coldly. “As long as she is not in my building.” Donna was visibly upset. “Sienna, I am begging you. Let her stay tonight. Just tonight. We can talk about this tomorrow.” “No,” I refused, the word a final, absolute sound. “Fine. Fine! FINE!” Leo nodded repeatedly, his eyes burning with disappointment. “Since you’re going to be this ruthless, don’t blame me for what I do next.” He pulled out his phone and dialed the Property Manager’s office. “I want to file a complaint! Someone is illegally forcing an elderly resident out of her home. Send someone here immediately!” Within five minutes, Mr. Mendez, the Property Manager, arrived with two security guards. Seeing Mrs. Caldwell hunched and shivering on the bench, his face became grim. “Ms. Reed, what is going on?” He approached me quickly. “This woman is very elderly, and it’s pouring rain on a winter night. This handling is completely inappropriate.” Leo jumped in before I could speak. “Mr. Mendez, my wife kicked our tenant out for no reason and threw her belongings into the hall. Mrs. Caldwell is over eighty, has lived here for ten years, and now has no place to stay.” I met Mr. Mendez’s gaze calmly. “Mr. Mendez, if I recall correctly, the deed for Unit 202 in Building 3 is in my name, Sienna Reed, alone.” “I am the owner. I have the right to choose my tenants and the right to terminate any lease. That is my legal right, and I trust Property Management will not interfere with an owner’s private business.” Mr. Mendez looked uncomfortable. He glanced from the trembling Mrs. Caldwell to me. “Ms. Reed, you are correct. We cannot interfere with an owner’s lease decisions.” “But this situation is extremely alarming. Could you please make an exception and at least allow her to stay tonight?” “No.” My voice was a block of ice. “The lease is terminated. I suggest you quickly contact Social Services for temporary shelter. That is not my responsibility.” “Sienna!” Leo grabbed my arm again. “Are you really going to burn every bridge?” I sharply pulled my hand away. “Mr. Mendez, if you are not going to take any action, please leave. I have other things to deal with.” Mr. Mendez sighed and signaled to the two guards. “Since the owner has stated her position, we will not intervene further.” “However, Ms. Reed, I still urge you to reconsider.” Watching the property staff leave, Leo and Donna looked absolutely disgusted. Ignoring their furious stares, I walked directly up to Mrs. Caldwell. “You need to leave now,” my voice was pure frost. “Don’t force me to call the police.” Mrs. Caldwell used the back of the bench to steady herself and laboriously stood up. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. She just silently pulled her suitcase, shaking with every step, and headed toward the glass doors. “Wait!” Donna suddenly cried out. “Mrs. Caldwell, we’ll go with you!” Leo shot me a look of pure hatred, hurried to Donna’s side, and together they helped Mrs. Caldwell out of the lobby. Watching the three figures disappear into the rainy night, I immediately pulled out my phone and opened the Grandview Condo Owner’s Group chat. [Urgent Rental: Grandview, Building 3, Unit 202. One bedroom/one bath. Ready to move in. $2000/month. First, last, and security deposit required. DM for details.] The moment the message was sent, the group chat exploded. “Isn’t that Mrs. Caldwell’s place? Why is it suddenly for rent?” “I just saw Mrs. Caldwell being forced out! In this rain! That is horrific.” “@SiennaReed You are absolutely ruthless. Mrs. Caldwell is 80! You’re going to pay for this!” I watched the incoming messages with a blank expression, ready to reply, when a photo flooded the chat. It showed Mrs. Caldwell sitting alone on a stone pillar by the complex entrance, completely soaked, her white hair clinging to her face. Her back was hunched, and she was clutching a tattered cloth bag. Her suitcase was tipped over in a puddle next to her. Leo had posted the photo, with a caption: “This is the handiwork of my wonderful wife! An 80-year-old woman, a tenant for ten years, cruelly thrown out of her home.” “Let the community judge!” The group chat erupted. Accusations flooded in like a tide. “She’s an animal! How could anyone treat an elderly person like that?” “@SiennaReed Do you have no conscience? Mrs. Caldwell was so kind to everyone here, have you forgotten?” “People like this don’t belong in our community! Get out!” “I’ve already called the police. They’ll be there soon!” I watched the screen, my fingers trembling slightly as the insults refreshed. My phone began to vibrate incessantly, calls coming in from unknown numbers, one after the other. When I answered, all I heard was enraged screaming and cursing. “You heartless monster! You’ll be cursed!” “Just wait, the police are coming for you!” I quietly hung up and turned off my phone. I walked to the window and looked toward the complex entrance. Through the rain, I could faintly see three silhouettes still standing there. Leo held the umbrella, Donna seemed to be talking, and Mrs. Caldwell kept her head down, her thin shoulders shaking slightly in the downpour. The next morning, I was woken by a rapid, insistent ring at the door. Peeking through the peephole, I saw several strangers holding cameras, led by a woman in a sharp business suit—a reporter. Leo and Donna stood behind them, their faces grim. “Ms. Reed, we are with the City Gazette. We’d like to interview you about the eviction of your eighty-year-old tenant.” I opened the door just enough, and the cameras immediately focused on me. The reporter was aggressive. “Why did you force an elderly tenant out in the freezing rain in the middle of winter? Don’t you think that is cruel?” Leo, standing by, said in a cold voice, “The whole city knows what you did now.” I looked directly into the camera lens. “This is my property. I have the right to decide who rents it.” “But Mrs. Caldwell is eighty years old! Did you consider her safety?” “She is not my responsibility,” I finished, and tried to close the door. Just then, my phone rang. It was the Community Director. “Ms. Reed, we’ve received countless resident complaints. A generous citizen has offered Mrs. Caldwell a free place to stay in the next complex. Could you please permit her…” “No,” I cut him off immediately. “According to our contract, pending the formal termination of the lease, she is not permitted to move into any alternative property.” “What?” The voice on the other end was shocked. “But you are the one who kicked her out!” “That is a separate issue,” I said, and hung up. I saw everyone staring at me as if I were a creature from a nightmare. The female reporter shook her head, disbelieving. “I’ve covered a lot of ugly stories, but I’ve never seen anyone as… cold-blooded as you.” The story quickly went viral. “Cold-Blooded Landlord” and “Elderly Woman Evicted in Rain” dominated local headlines and social media. My photo and personal information were plastered everywhere, and the internet was a cesspool of condemnation. That afternoon, when I prepared to leave for work, I found a crowd of people gathered outside the complex gate, many live-streaming on their phones. The moment they saw me, they swarmed. “There she is! Look at the monster!” “Bullying an eighty-year-old! Shame on you!” I pushed through the crowd, heading straight for my car parked curbside. Suddenly, an egg hit the side of my head, the viscous liquid running down my hair and face. “Elder abuser! You deserve to die!” a middle-aged woman screamed. I wiped the yolk from my cheek and kept walking. That’s when I saw the Community Director leading Mrs. Caldwell out of the community service center, surrounded by several well-meaning neighbors. “Mrs. Caldwell, don’t worry, we found you a nice new place.” “Yes, right across the street. Everything’s ready for you.” I sped up, and to the shock of everyone, I grabbed Mrs. Caldwell’s frail wrist. “Who allowed you to look elsewhere?” I demanded, my grip firm. “Per the contract terms, pending formal termination, you are confined to the designated temporary residence.” “Sienna! Are you truly insane?” The Community Director shoved me away. “Are you only satisfied if Mrs. Caldwell is homeless and on the street?” Mrs. Caldwell’s lips trembled, her tear-filled eyes looking up at me. “Sienna, my dear… what did I do wrong…?” “You don’t need to know,” I fixed my eyes on hers. “You only need to remember that without my permission, you are not allowed to go anywhere.” The surrounding crowd erupted in furious shouts. “This woman isn’t human!” “Call the police! She needs to be arrested!” Ignoring the cacophony of condemnation, I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard Mrs. Caldwell’s distressed weeping and Leo’s furious yell: “Sienna, you absolute menace! We are getting a divorce if you keep this up!” The next day, I dragged myself to the office, utterly drained by the relentless online abuse and the cold stares in public. I found my manager, Mr. Harrison, and the HR Director waiting for me right at the lobby entrance, their expressions grim. “Sienna, finally,” Mr. Harrison stopped me. “Let’s go upstairs and talk.” Under the curious gaze of my colleagues, I followed them into a conference room. The HR Director slid a document across the table. “This is a notice of suspension,” she adjusted her glasses. “Your recent personal conduct has generated an extremely negative public reaction, causing severe damage to the company’s reputation.” “The management team has decided you are suspended from all duties, effective immediately. Go home and reflect.” “On what grounds?” I couldn’t help but argue, my voice shaking with agitation. “This is my private life! It has nothing to do with my work!” “Private?” Mr. Harrison scoffed. “The entire city is buzzing about the ‘Cold-Blooded Landlord’ from our firm who threw an eighty-year-old woman out into the winter rain! “Do you know how many partners called this morning to question us? The company’s image has been dragged through the mud because of you!” Looking at their angry faces, I knew any defense was futile. Clutching the suspension notice, I practically fled the office. My phone vibrated constantly, the screen filling with unknown numbers and malicious curses.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388719”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was doomscrolling through TikTok when the notification hit—a viral post about my boyfriend and his childhood friend getting married at a music festival. The video was shaky but clear. My boyfriend, Ashton Cole, the lead singer of his band, was hoisting a marriage certificate above his head, screaming at the roaring crowd. “Today! I want to announce to the world! Skylar Young is my wife!” A text from Ashton popped up on my screen, immediately followed by another. “Vera, I’m so sorry, the energy at the festival was crazy, Skylar and I were just messing around.” Then I saw Skylar’s Instagram story. A nine-panel grid, all close-ups of the certificate. The caption: “From school uniforms to a wedding dress, thank you, Ashton, for my exclusive romance.” Hundreds of likes and comments flooded in beneath, gushing: “BFF goals turned endgame!” “I’m obsessed! This is the ship we needed!” My gaze snagged on the identical matching jackets they wore, the subtle embroidery on the collar: A&S. I’d always thought the ‘S’ stood for the ‘L’ in my last name, Lane. Now, it hit me with the force of a punch. The ‘S’ had never been for Vera Lane. It was always for Skylar. I ignored the message, opened my streaming app, and hit ‘Go Live.’ As the “Queen of the Live Sell” with two million followers, I never lacked heat. The moment the camera turned on, the view count shot past a hundred thousand. “Hey, ladies. My apologies. This is an impromptu stream.” I gestured to the life-sized poster of Ashton Cole behind me, one I’d personally paid for. “See this guy? My boyfriend. Just married someone else at The Atlas Festival.” 1 The comment section exploded: “OMG! Is that the hot lead singer from the band on the trending page?” “Vera, don’t stress! Karma’s a bitch, and she’s got a list!” “Grabbed my popcorn! Time for the tea, Queen!” I picked up the lipstick on my desk and touched up my already perfect makeup. “Tea? Too boring. Tonight, we do something far more satisfying. We weaponize the livestream. This is a retail counterattack.” I opened my backend and listed the first product: Ashton Cole’s signed guitar pick, limited to 1,000, priced at $9.99. “Family, this pick was signed by my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—and was meant to be a fan giveaway. Now, however…” I dangled the pick for the camera. “Consider this his ‘wedding gift’ to me. Link is in the number one carousel. You snooze, you lose.” Before the sentence was finished, the Sold Out notification flashed. Comments raced across the screen: “Bought it! Consider it my contribution to the divorce fund!” “Vera is savage!” Next, I listed the second product: a canvas tote bag Skylar often carried, one I’d helped her move from my stock, with 5,000 units remaining. “This bag, the ‘bride’s’ favorite accessory. But I have to warn you, the zipper sticks, and the interior lining sheds fibers like crazy. I told Skylar not to sell it, but she insisted, ‘My fans buy whatever I wear.’” I zoomed the camera onto the flawed seams of the bag. “Today, it’s $39.99. Consider it my public service announcement—don’t let these online snake oil sellers fool you.” Instantly, another sell-out. Meanwhile, Skylar’s social media was on fire. Her fans swarmed my comments, calling me a “clout chaser” and an “evil rival.” I pinned one of their nastiest comments to the top of my chat. Caption: “Thanks for boosting the algorithm. Insult me again, and I’ll drop another limited-edition charity item.” Just as I finished listing the third product, Ashton’s phone call came in. I hit the speaker button. His voice, strained and furious, was amplified through my mic. “Vera Lane, are you out of your mind?! Shut the stream down right now!” “Out of my mind?” I scoffed. “Compared to you marrying your ‘best friend’ in front of ten thousand people, how crazy can I really be?” “It was an accident! Skylar and I were just messing around!” I held my phone up to the camera and waved it. “And Skylar’s caption, ‘From school uniform to wedding dress,’ was just messing around? Did the county clerk just print the wrong name on your official certificate?” I heard Skylar’s muffled, tearful voice in the background. “Vera, please don’t misunderstand, Ashton and I are just friends! The media twisted everything…” I opened my photo album and found a picture I’d taken last week. Ashton in my kitchen, making Skylar a warm cup of ginger tea. Skylar snuggled into his chest, watching a movie. I AirPlayed the image to the stream’s massive screen. “Friends wear their girlfriend’s pajamas and sleep in her bed while she’s on a business trip? Friends exchange diamond rings on Valentine’s Day?” The chat log was now a blur of all-caps. #AshtonColeSkylarYoungLie was trending number one. I watched the mounting sales figures on my dashboard, a cold smile forming on my lips. “Ashton Cole, Skylar Young. The game has just begun.” 2 I hung up on Ashton, took a long sip of ice water, and went back to the stream. The live viewer count had passed five million, and the gifts were pouring in so fast the screen was glitching. “Hang tight, family. The drama is endless, and so are the deals.” I listed the fourth item: Ashton’s band’s official merchandise T-shirt. “These T-shirts cost them $8 to produce, and they sell them for $75. Today, on my channel? $29.99 for two. And I’ll throw in a signed photo of the scumbag himself.” The inventory vanished immediately. I saw comments like “Vera is on fire!” but I felt nothing inside, just a vast, chilling emptiness. I had spent years promoting Ashton’s band, securing sponsorships, and essentially bankrolling their rise. He wouldn’t have this momentum without me. And this was my return on investment—a massive public betrayal. “A lot of you are asking why I didn’t notice sooner.” I picked up the framed picture of Ashton and me from my desk. “I did. Last year, on his birthday, I found a woman’s necklace in his car. It wasn’t mine. He told me it was Skylar’s, and he was just holding it for her.” “Another time, I called him late at night with a fever. He said he was at band practice. But Skylar posted a photo, geotagged at my apartment, with the caption, ‘Ashton’s midnight snack is the best medicine.’” I wiped a non-existent tear from my eye. “I kept telling myself, they’re childhood friends. It’s normal. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t a girlfriend; I was just the biggest fool on the internet.” The chat was a torrent of support, and users were already digging up dirt on Ashton and Skylar. Seizing the moment, I listed the fifth product: Skylar’s endorsed skincare line. “I tried this one, and it made my skin break out. I mentioned it to Skylar, and she told me my skin was ‘too sensitive.’ Today, I’m sharing the lab report with you. This product has lead and mercury levels that are three times the legal limit.” I projected the forensic report onto the screen. “Original price, $198. Today, it’s $49.99. Consider this a warning: stop letting these fake influencers ruin your health.” Just then, a DM from Ashton’s manager popped up. “Vera Lane, you’re going to destroy Ashton! Let’s discuss this privately. We’ll offer you compensation.” I took a screenshot of the message and flashed it on the live feed. “Compensation? I don’t need your money. I just need everyone to see the truth about the A-list rock star they worship.” I streamed until four in the morning. My total sales had topped ten million dollars. On the flip side, Ashton and Skylar’s world was imploding. Skylar’s endorsement deals were being terminated by brands. Ashton’s band had canceled several shows, and their fan numbers were plummeting. “Alright, family. That’s enough drama for one night.” I waved at the camera. “Same time tomorrow. I’ll be showing you the ‘love child’ of this scam: the dirty details about the shady company they run together.” I shut down the stream and leaned back in my chair, exhaling a long, shaky breath. My phone rang. It was my mother. “Vera, I saw the news. Are you okay?” “Mom, I’m fine,” I said, my voice raw. “I just finally saw someone for who he really is.” “Good, honey. Good.” My mother’s voice caught. “If you need anything, just come home. Your father and I will take care of you.” I hung up, and the tears I’d fought all night finally spilled down my cheeks. 3 For years, I had molded my life around Ashton, becoming an accessory to his dream. When I received the acceptance letter to the top business program in the country, I was filled with ambition. But then I opened the door to his cramped, moldy studio. He was sitting there, hugging his battered, peeling old guitar, his eyes clouded with uncertainty about the future. He looked up, and his eyes lit up when he saw the thick envelope in my hand. But the excitement faded quickly. He gently took my hand, his voice a quiet plea. “Vera, please stay with me? Just until the band makes it big. I promise, I’ll give you the best life.” Looking at his intense, pleading eyes, I made my choice. I walked over to the trash can and tore the acceptance letter in half. My dad didn’t speak to me for six months. He was furious. “You’re giving up a clear path to success to gamble your future on a boy who plays music in a basement? Do you have any idea what you’re throwing away?” I stood at the door to the practice space, listening to Ashton’s new melody, and whispered into the phone. “Dad, he has talent. I believe in him.” His potential consumed me. I spent every cent of my savings from years of internships on his first real professional guitar—a three-thousand-dollar instrument. I ate cheap ramen for a month, but watching the pure, unadulterated joy in his eyes when he opened the case made it all feel worthwhile. I leveraged every contact I had to book gigs. To land a crucial sponsorship, I sat through endless, agonizing dinners, forcing down shots of high-proof liquor, my stomach churning, while plastering a convincing smile on my face. I’d stumble out of the hotel clutching the contract, throwing up as the cold air hit me. The next day, I’d be back out there, popping pain meds, running to venues. To generate buzz, I started using my own beauty influencer platform—the one I’d painstakingly built over two years—to promote them. I edited their best performances into snappy short videos. I spent hours diverting my own hard-earned half-million followers, one by one, to his account. Watching his follower count climb from three digits to five, I felt more excited than I did about my own success. Skylar always used to tell me, “Vera, you are too good to Ashton. I’m almost jealous.” I realize now it wasn’t jealousy. It was a possessive appraisal. At one of the band’s small victory parties, I walked into the venue and caught Skylar, drunk, sobbing into Ashton’s shoulder, telling him she’d been waiting for him all these years. The celebratory cake I was carrying crashed to the floor. Ashton immediately pushed her away, stammering that Skylar was just drunk and talking nonsense. I looked at Skylar’s tear-streaked face and Ashton’s shifty eyes, feeling a spike of pure suspicion. But I forced myself to be the mature girlfriend. “It’s fine,” I said. “Childhood friendships run deep. I get it.” Then there was my birthday. Ashton promised a huge surprise. I waited until midnight, only to get a text saying, “Last-minute band practice. Forgot.” I found out later he was with Skylar at the emergency room, helping her bandage a tiny cut from chopping vegetables. Skylar even posted a picture on social media of Ashton sitting beside her, captioned: “Glad I have you.” When I finally confronted him, he was dismissive. “Skylar’s always been dramatic about pain. I can’t just abandon my oldest friend. You need to be mature, Vera. Don’t be so petty.” To keep the peace, I retreated, again and again, convincing myself that they were just friends. My tolerance, my quiet sacrifice, only fueled their relentless betrayal. I opened my laptop, pulling up the financial reports for Ashton and Skylar’s company. The hidden losses, the inflated metrics—these were the loopholes I’d built into the structure back when I was helping them set up the business correctly. I’d intended them to be guardrails for proper governance. Now, they were the exact blades I needed to shred their lies. 4 I was woken up the next afternoon by my phone ringing insistently. It was Ashton. I hit the answer button, but before I could speak, his voice erupted in a blind rage. “Vera Lane! Are you insane? You need to delete those recordings and release a statement saying yesterday was a huge misunderstanding! Or I will destroy your career!” I let out a slow, cold laugh and sat up in bed. “Destroy my career? Ashton, do you really think you’re in a position to threaten me?” “A position?” He sounded like I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “I have the photos of you drinking with sponsors to get money for the band. And the chat logs. I release those, and you think your fans are still going to love the ‘Queen of the Live Sell’? You’ll be the ‘Escort Influencer who Sleeps for Sponsors!’” I gripped the phone tightly. The photos were from that one celebratory dinner, taken by a malicious employee. The chat logs were doctored, completely out of context. But he kept them. He saved them to use against me. “And listen carefully,” he continued, his tone turning venomous. “Because of our three years, I’ll give you one last chance. Go live right now and apologize to me. Take all the blame on yourself. Say you were jealous of Skylar and made up the lies. If you do this, I can get the heat off, and I’ll even give you company resources. What do you say?” Skylar’s high-pitched voice chimed in nearby, adding fuel to the fire. “That’s right, Vera. Ashton is being so generous. Don’t be stupid. If you miss this chance, you are completely finished.” Ashton returned to the line. “If you don’t cooperate, I’m sending this ‘evidence’ to your parents and making sure you can never show your face in this city again! And that’s not all, I have compromising photos of you that will make sure you never recover, ever!” That last sentence hit me hard. My parents were quiet, simple people. They thought I was having a successful, easy life in the city. If they saw these vile, fabricated accusations, the worry and anxiety would crush them. Not to mention the judgmental gossip from their neighbors. I hung up and immediately checked X. Sure enough, #VeraLaneEscort and #VeraLaneSponsorScam were already trending. Ashton’s team had bought a massive wave of bots, flooding the comment sections with sludge like “Get out of the industry,” “Disgusting,” and “She slept her way to the top.” Someone had even fabricated a convincing screenshot of me accepting a large “bribe” transfer. My true fans were fighting back, desperately trying to clarify the timeline and debunk the rumors. But the onslaught was too aggressive, fueled by malicious gossip accounts. Public opinion was already turning. I took a deep breath, forcing myself into a state of chilling calm. Did Ashton truly think this would break me? Did he believe he could use my past vulnerabilities and my family to force my surrender? He was utterly naive. He forgot that Vera Lane didn’t reach this level of success through some shady deal; I earned it, one exhausting live stream at a time. The ‘evidence’ he held was just a pathetic security blanket for his own cowardice. I opened the chat with my lawyer, the tapping of my fingers on the screen firm and decisive. “Prepare the cease and desist. Also, gather all the backups of his company’s financials. It’s time for the world to see the real Ashton Cole.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388736”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On New Year’s Day, I received a document titled: Year-End Performance Review Regarding Me and Your Husband. Item 1: Annual KPI: Sleep with your husband 150 times. Status: Exceeded target. Item 2: Convince your husband to buy me a villa and a luxury car. Status: Completed. Item 3: Get your son to call me “Mom” ten times a day. Status: Exceeded target. Item 4: Bravely stand before you and fight for my happiness. Status: Achieved today. “Mrs. Sterling, I serve your husband in bed and take care of your son. Are you going to give me a year-end bonus? or are you going to step down gracefully?” She attached a photo labeled “Family Portrait.” In the picture, Lucas Sterling is holding her waist, and my seven-year-old son stands happily in front of them. This woman is my son’s piano teacher. Lucas came home and saw this unique year-end summary on my iPad. He looked nervous but quickly pivoted to defense: “Don’t go after her. I fell for her first. She didn’t do anything wrong.” “You can punish me however you want. I can give you any compensation.” My blood ran cold. I stared into his eyes and said: “I just want you to go back to how you were.” Back to the broke, unloved boy with nothing to his name. He misunderstood completely. He let out a sigh of relief. “Even with her, I won’t neglect you, Evelyn.” … He paused, then added: “Since you know about Chloe and me, let’s have her spend the holidays with us this year.” He said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I froze, unable to believe this was the man I had loved for fifteen years. How could he be this entitled? In his eyes, my silence was interpreted as gentle compliance. Lucas raised his hand, trying to ruffle my hair affectionately like he used to. I stepped back in disgust, my eyes stinging. I swallowed the bitterness and said: “Do whatever you want. I have experiments to run over the holidays.” From this moment on, neither father nor son would appear in my life ever again. Outwardly, I was calm and rational. Inside, my heart had shattered beyond repair. I turned and walked upstairs. Behind me, I heard Lucas muttering sourly: “You always put your experiments first. I’m always ranked behind your lab work.” Suddenly, he raised his voice, adopting a joking tone directed at my back: “Honey, were you secretly hoping I’d cheat so you’d have more time for work?” I stopped and looked back at him. He was smiling. When I didn’t respond, he added: “I thought you’d make a huge scene. I didn’t expect you to still be thinking about your experiments at a time like this.” I asked him, “If I asked you to cut ties with her completely, could you do it?” His smile vanished, replaced by seriousness: “Do you want the truth or the lie?” “The truth.” He answered without hesitation: “I can’t. Just like you can never give up your experiments.” He paused, a look of regret crossing his face: “If you hadn’t poured all your energy and time into the lab and ignored my needs… Chloe wouldn’t exist between us.” Ha. So his cheating is my fault? I spend my days in the lab developing new products for his pharmaceutical company, making him a leader in the industry, and that’s my sin? Since he has forgotten where he came from… I will personally send him back there. I immediately texted my lawyer: “Draft the divorce papers.” “Also, regarding all my patents and research findings—Sterling Pharmaceuticals is prohibited from using them effective immediately.” Living too comfortably really does make a man lose himself. His phone rang. Although he lowered his voice, I could hear it was Chloe Summers. He was coaxing her: “It’s fine. She didn’t make a scene. Her mind is on her experiments; she doesn’t care about me.” “Don’t send things like that again. No more pranks.” “Yes, you can come over for the holidays. I’ll satisfy you… from the living room to the bedroom.” Chapter 2 Every word was a dagger to the heart. Yet, as much as it hurt, I didn’t cry. Only my trembling hands, my suffocating throat, and my churning stomach told me I was enduring inhumane psychological torture. My lawyer replied: “I need seven business days. Please give me a little time.” Seven days. Usually, when I’m immersed in the lab, seven days feels like a blink of an eye. Now, it felt like years. I looked at my hands, bleached pale from chemicals, and my eyes, highly myopic from straining over microscopes. And the tinnitus caused by lab equipment noise. All this desperate sacrifice felt like a joke. I remembered ten years ago when the company was founded. He had no money to buy patents and no way to produce drugs. He was so anxious his hair started turning gray. As a pharmaceutical research grad, I buried myself in the lab so he would have products to sell. Years of grueling research gave him the empire he has today. He used to say I was the vital artery of his life. Hilarious. Since he doesn’t cherish the sweet fruit of our labor, I’ll just have to sever that artery. I went to the lab in the middle of the night and dismissed the entire team. Looking at the empty lab, I felt a mix of emotions. Ping. The notification sound cut through the silence. It was a provocative message from Chloe. The photo showed her bare shoulders in bed next to Lucas, who was asleep. “Mrs. Sterling, I took care of your husband for you again.” “Lucas said you support us being together. So, big sister, how about that year-end bonus?” “After all, serving a man is physical labor. Lucas acted like he’d never seen a woman before.” “You have no idea how hard he goes on me.” “Sister, I worked so hard. Send me a little bonus, won’t you?” Blood rushed to my head. I used a burner phone to record a video of the messages as evidence and sent it to my lawyer. My silence was interpreted by Chloe as weakness. Then, my son, Leo, was suddenly hospitalized with a fever. When I rushed to the hospital, Chloe was opening a bowl of steaming porridge. She said to Leo, “Good boy, listen to me. Even if you have no appetite, you have to eat a little to get better.” Lucas stood aside, hands in his pockets, shifting his adoring gaze from Chloe to Leo. “See? Look how much your mom loves you.” It felt like a knife twisting in my gut. We weren’t even divorced yet, and he was telling our son to call another woman “Mom.” “Yeah, Mom loves me the best!” Leo’s voice, full of happiness, delivered the fatal blow. My blood froze. Hearing my son call Chloe “Mom” made my breath catch in my throat. Chloe saw me. Her eyes flashed with defiance before she switched to a gentle, natural tone: “Evelyn, you’re here. You feed him.” Leo didn’t give me a second glance. He whined to Chloe: “I want you to feed me, Mom. I like it when you do it.” He glanced at me, his tone filled with disdain: “She only knows how to do experiments. She doesn’t know how to take care of people.” “Dad and I like it better when you take care of us.” My expression turned cold. I stared at Leo. “What did you call her?” Chloe pretended to be understanding, trying to trigger me: “Evelyn, don’t hold it against Leo. He’s only six.” “It’s just a title. He’s just babbling. Don’t take it to heart.” Chapter 3 Lucas stepped between Leo and me to mediate. “The boy isn’t feeling well today. Don’t make him more miserable.” He reached out to touch my back, guiding me toward the door. “Alright, go back to your lab. Chloe is here to take care of him. You don’t need to worry.” A wave of nausea hit me. I shoved Lucas’s arm away. “Don’t touch me!” He froze, surprised that I lost my temper. I was always the emotionally stable one. I rarely got angry. Leo was scared by my outburst and started wailing. Chloe fake-comforted me: “Evelyn, you scared Leo. If you’re mad, take it out on me.” “The child is innocent. Don’t hurt him, okay?” I held onto one obsession. I stared at the crying Leo and asked him: “Who do you call Mom?” I had bargained with myself a thousand times. If he said he wouldn’t call Chloe “Mom,” I would forgive him. I would take him with me when I divorced. But what I heard was Leo crying and accusing me: “You are Mom, and Auntie Chloe is Mom too.” “I like her. She treats me well. She takes care of me and teaches me piano.” “Unlike you. You only care about your experiments. This Mom is just better than you!” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. Tears rolled down my face uncontrollably. Lucas dragged me out into the hallway and yelled: “Why are you taking it out on the kid?!” “What does a child know?” “We don’t need you here. Go back to your lab!” With that, he turned and went back into the ward, locking the door from the inside to stop me from making a scene. That night, my mother-in-law came to lecture me. “Evelyn, you are a good woman and a good daughter-in-law. I’ve always approved of you.” She held my hand, patting it gently, her tone softening. “But men… which one doesn’t have a wandering eye?” “Chloe can help you take care of him, and she can take care of Leo.” “Actually, if you open your mind, you’ll see this is a good thing.” “You don’t have to serve your husband or look after your son. You just need to focus on your research. Isn’t that wonderful?” My heart was colder than ice. I showed no emotion as I pulled my hand away. “Fine. I won’t interfere with them.” My mother-in-law’s eyes lit up with joy, thinking she had successfully brainwashed me. She laughed and patted my back. “I knew it. You are absolutely a reasonable, good woman.” She was delighted and immediately ordered the maid to clean out the guest bedroom next to mine for Chloe. She didn’t even try to hide it when she called Chloe: “Chloe, move in tonight. The room is ready.” “The holidays are coming up. The sooner you move in, the livelier it will be. With you here, I’ll finally have someone to go shopping with.” Chapter 4 When Lucas brought Chloe home, I was just heading out. Seeing my grim expression, Chloe feigned embarrassment and pity. “Evelyn, you look unhappy. Maybe I shouldn’t live here.” I said coldly, “This is the Sterling house. Live here as long as you want. I won’t interfere.” I quickened my pace. Lucas chased after me and grabbed my wrist. “Do you really have no objection? If you mind, I can live elsewhere with Chloe.” I pulled my hand back. My heart was dead ashes, yet my voice remained calm. “I just have some work to handle. Regarding you and Chloe, I really have no opinion.” He sighed in relief, his tone softening. “Okay. You go get busy. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll pick you up.” He really thought he was a master of balancing act. After leaving the house, I never went back. On December 20th, Lucas’s company held its annual holiday gala. He invited everyone. Except me. It just so happened that I was running errands and passed the venue. I saw Lucas holding Chloe’s hand, and Chloe holding my son’s hand, walking onto the stage to give a speech. In everyone’s eyes, they were a happy family of three. Lucas held the microphone, his tone joyful and sincere: “This year, the company and I personally have gained so much.” “Here, I want to thank my wife. She has given me so much support and warmth.” My eyes felt like they were being pricked with needles. Even though my heart was dead, seeing this made it ache all over again. She is his wife? She gave him support? These words were like heavy slaps to my face, one after another. The microphone was handed to Leo. He smiled innocently and happily at Chloe: “The person I want to thank most is also my Mom.” “Thank you, Mom, for giving me so much love. I love you, Mom.” He hugged Chloe. The applause below was thunderous. The whispers about the “happy family” boiled like water. Only Chloe, up on stage, saw me. When I turned to leave the banquet hall, she ran out alone to confront me. “Evelyn Vance, you really can endure, can’t you?” “Even this, and you didn’t crash the party?” “I know you don’t dare to tear off the mask because you’re afraid of leaving the Sterling family and losing this luxurious life.” “Do you think just by enduring, you can keep the position of Mrs. Sterling?” I sneered and said to her: “Just wait and see.” She looked triumphant, mocking me. “Wait and see? Bring it on!” “Your son, your husband, they’ve announced my identity to the world!” “I’d like to see what you have to fight me with!” I ignored her and walked faster. Soon she would know that what she was fighting for was nothing but a pile of mud. On Christmas Eve, the Sterling house was decorated vividly. Every year, I personally cooked the holiday dinner. Lucas finally remembered to call me, but no one answered after several attempts. He felt inexplicably anxious. Chloe, ever the understanding one, said: “Honey, it’s my first Christmas at home. Let me show off my cooking skills.” “Evelyn is probably busy in the lab again. Once I’m done cooking, you can call her to come back and eat.” Lucas looked normal on the surface, but panic was rising in his chest. By the time Chloe finished a table full of food, Lucas still hadn’t gotten through to my phone. The butler brought him a courier envelope. “From the Madam.” Lucas opened the file. The words DIVORCE AGREEMENT struck him like lightning. At that moment, his assistant called, voice trembling with panic: “Mr. Sterling, it’s bad. The Madam has revoked the rights to all her patents. Without these patents, the company can’t operate.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388752”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Nine months pregnant, I suddenly craved the caramel apples my husband and I used to eat when we first started dating. I pestered him to drive me to get some, but as soon as we got in the car, the smart navigation system automatically popped up a destination. It was an unfamiliar apartment complex on the west side of the city. My husband quickly clicked the ‘X’ when the pop-up appeared, changing the subject with a casual air. I tacitly pretended nothing had happened. That night after going to bed, I connected to the car control app. In the cloud-uploaded driving records, the car had a 30-mile abnormal route every day. Just recently, the “Owner” had categorized it as a “Daily Habit.” In the video records, every night after I fell asleep, my husband would secretly get up. Under the cover of night, he would drive to the address I had accidentally seen. Every time the car arrived, a slender figure was waiting at the entrance of the apartment building. She would take his coat, dust it off, and adjust his scarf before he left. Most of the time, she would gently say: “If you’re too busy, you don’t have to come see me. I’m not like your wife, who can’t be left alone for a moment.” That night, I had insomnia. Married for five years, it took four rounds of IVF to conceive this child. I couldn’t bring myself to be ruthless. Friends also advised me that at least my husband still had feelings and responsibility for me. Marriage needs management; turn a blind eye and it will pass. But a week later, on the day of my difficult labor, inside the delivery room, my husband’s phone suddenly rang. An anxious voice came from the other end: “Sarah is standing on the edge of the roof now, saying if you don’t come, she’ll jump!” His movement to pull his hand away was faster than his brain. “She is the daughter of my late mentor…” He dared not look into my eyes, “I’m just going to persuade her to come down.” Red-eyed, I screamed hoarsely at his back: “If you dare to leave today! I will consider this child to have no father!” My husband paused, looking back at me with a pained expression. But the next second, he still rushed out of the hospital with firm steps. 1 I knew who the woman on the other end of the phone was. I had seen her countless times in Lucas’s dashcam footage. I lay on the operating table, my clothes soaked through with sweat, clinging messily to my body. The child was not yet born, but the father had already abandoned him. In my hazy consciousness, I heard my parents and in-laws arguing outside. Intense contractions hit like a tsunami, but they couldn’t compare to one ten-thousandth of the pain in my heart. My mother roared through tears: “Who is that woman? Is Lucas crazy? Leaving his wife while she’s giving birth?” The Sterling elders were frantically making calls, their voices crying: “Emily, hold on a little longer. We’ve sent people to find that disgrace. If he doesn’t come back today, we’ll pretend we never had this son!” My wedding ring slipped off my finger during the struggle and rolled under the bed, kicked into the shadows by rushing medical staff. The contractions became more urgent, and the alarms of the machines rose and fell. “Fetal heart rate dropping!” The doctor’s shout pierced the air, and my vision went black. When I opened my eyes again, the smell of disinfectant drilled into my nose. The nurse was adjusting the IV drip speed. Seeing me awake, she said softly: “It’s a miracle we saved you from the hemorrhage. Children… there will be more in the future.” With a boom, my heart felt like it had been pierced through. My mother sat by the bed, tears in her eyes, gently wiping mine: “My baby, you’ve suffered.” My father stood by the bed with a heartache expression, and my in-laws stood in the corner full of guilt. I looked at the pale ceiling, tears silently flowing into my hair. The days and nights of these five years played on loop like a silent movie before my eyes. From Lucas’s proposal at the graduation ceremony when we were twenty-two. To him staying up late preparing various pregnancy nutrition meals for me. To the way he seriously recorded fetal heart data at every checkup. Now, all these tender fragments had become a joke. At the door, Lucas’s childhood friend, Mark, stood there guiltily. “Sister-in-law, Sarah, her depression flared up. She said if Lucas didn’t go, she would jump off the building. There was really no choice… You…” He didn’t dare to continue, seeming to realize the inappropriateness. “So what? Do I need to be understanding?” I mocked expressionlessly. I wanted to ask him, how many times did you help Lucas lie to me? Every time you said it was a gathering between friends, how many times was it true? But suddenly I didn’t want to know. From the delivery room to the ward, I waited for my legal husband to return, from dark until dawn, until night fell again. At 8 PM, Lucas, who had disappeared for a full twenty hours, finally appeared. His suit was wrinkled, and his eyes dodged mine. “Emily, I’m sorry.” His voice was dry. “Sarah’s condition was really dangerous. My mentor entrusted her to me before he died, I had to…” I interrupted him, voice hoarse: “Do you know our child is gone?” “You knew I was having a C-section yesterday, but you still chose to be with her.” “Lucas, that was our child!” Silence spread in the ward. He held my hand, his palm ice cold. “Emily, in these five years, I’ve never begged you for anything. Just this once, I beg you not to make a scene.” “Sarah just lost her father. If she is accused of interfering in someone else’s family again, her depression will worsen.” I looked at the pleading in his eyes, my heart tearing into pieces. He shouldn’t be begging me; he should be kneeling and crying at the door of the NICU. A person’s first reaction can’t lie. He didn’t ask the doctor why I had a hemorrhage. Didn’t ask how scared I was during the surgery. Once he opened his mouth, it was all about another woman. Tears poured out, soaking the pillowcase. Using all my strength, I squeezed out a word from my throat: “Okay.” He was visibly relieved, then said: “Sarah needs someone with her right now. I’ll move in with her for a while.” “When her mood stabilizes, about five months or so, I’ll move back. It won’t be too late for us to have children then, okay?” Lucas’s tone was like arranging a work meeting. My eyes widened abruptly, as if a basin of ice water had been poured over my head. The child we looked forward to for five years was not yet cold in his grave, yet he was already planning a future for another woman. In this instant, my world collapsed. 2 I subconsciously touched my flat abdomen. A new little life was once nurtured there, proof that we once loved each other, but now it seemed so ironic. I slowly withdrew my hand from his grip, my voice terrifyingly calm: “Lucas.” “The first time you learned to make soup, you filled the kitchen with smoke just because I couldn’t eat anything due to morning sickness.” “You secretly recorded the baby’s heartbeat, set it as your ringtone, and showed it off to everyone.” “You lay at the door of the examination room shouting ‘Wifey don’t be afraid,’ refusing to leave even after being chased away by nurses three times.” “In these five years, you spoiled me until I couldn’t take care of myself, even squatting down to tie my shoelaces…” “I once truly believed we would be happy forever.” I raised my tear-stained face, voice shattered: “But now, I can’t see a single bit of care for me in your eyes anymore.” Memories of five years flooded in like a tide. Lucas’s Adam’s apple rolled violently, and finally, he said hoarsely: “But wifey, Sarah really needs me right now.” That “needs me” completely crushed my last shred of illusion. I looked at him, suddenly feeling the person in front of me was so strange. With a trembling voice, I gritted my teeth and spat out a word: “Get out!” His figure paused, seemingly wanting to hug me, but eventually disappeared at the end of the corridor without looking back. On the day of the child’s hundred-day memorial, I knelt in front of the grave. Lucas still didn’t come. “Baby, Mommy is here to see you.” My voice was soft but trembling uncontrollably. My mother put her arm around my shoulder and wiped tears, “Emily, Mom is here.” I choked in my mother’s arms: “It’s okay. At least the child came to accompany me.” “Besides, given the current situation, maybe it’s better he didn’t come to this family.” As soon as the voice fell, Lucas arrived late. He knelt beside me. “Baby, Daddy…” I interrupted him coldly: “I said it that day. If you dared to leave, the child wouldn’t have you as a father.” “Emily, I know you are sad, but don’t say such things…” He frowned at me, looking as if I was being unreasonable, while he was so magnanimous not to hold it against me. “As a father, I’m also sad that the child is gone. You…” My mother raised her hand and slapped him. “Sad? Your sadness is leaving your wife in difficult labor to take care of a shady woman outside?” Lucas’s face suddenly turned gloomy. Before he could say anything, Sarah rushed over from outside the cemetery with red eyes. She looked at Lucas, voice choking. “Lucas, are you done paying respects?” “Is it… finally time to move back?” My father rushed up immediately: “Lucas! What day is it today? You actually brought this woman here?” Lucas probably knew his behavior was inappropriate, saying guiltily: “Dad, I had no choice. Sarah’s mental state hasn’t been good recently. I can’t leave her alone at home.” “Mental state not good? Is it the turn of someone else’s husband to take care of her bad mental state? Do you know today is your child’s hundredth day? Do you know how Emily survived these days?” Sarah immediately lowered her head, voice as thin as a mosquito: “Uncle, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to. It’s just that Lucas said he was coming out today, and I was really scared, so I followed him.” Looking pitiful everywhere. Sure enough, Lucas immediately protected her, “Dad, just direct your anger at me, don’t make it difficult for her.” My father was furious, turning to look at Lucas’s parents: “This is the good son you raised!” My mother helped me stand up, trembling with anger: “Lucas, are you still human?” Lucas’s parents panicked too, quickly advising: “Lucas, today is indeed inappropriate. Find someone to send Sarah back first.” But Lucas acted as if he didn’t hear, instead tightening his grip on Sarah’s hand: “Her mental state just stabilized, she can’t be stimulated anymore.” I looked at him, voice dry: “So… in your eyes, she can’t be stimulated, but I can? I should bear the child’s death alone, right?” Before he could speak, Sarah said aggrievedly: “It’s okay, Lucas. Sister-in-law is right. I was insensible. You… you go back and take good care of Sister-in-law.” “I… I’ll go back now and pack your luggage.” She turned stumbling, her high heel tripping on a tombstone, and fell to the ground. Lucas’s hand holding mine tightened abruptly, almost letting go to rush over. But he didn’t move in the end, just watching Mark help her up. After a long time, he said deeply: “I’ll accompany you for a while longer.” “But Sarah, you must remember, Emily is my lawfully wedded wife.” “When she needs me back, I must leave.” “Don’t cry or make a scene. I have done my utmost these years.” Sarah bit her lip, as if she couldn’t hold it anymore, crying and running out of the cemetery. Lucas remained expressionless, not chasing. But the hand holding mine trembled slightly. Care cannot be hidden. Many years ago, I was hospitalized for acute gastroenteritis. He rushed back overnight from out of town. Clearly distressed with red eyes, he insisted on scolding me with a cold face for eating indiscriminately. He was like that then too, saying harsh words but his fingertips gently rubbing the back of my hand. 3 That night, in a private room at a restaurant. Elders from both families sat around the round table, the atmosphere oppressive. Mark whispered in Lucas’s ear. “Sister Sarah is still crying in the parking lot. The security guard says she refuses to get out of the car.” Lucas was serving me soup, movements calm and unhurried. He didn’t even look up: “Let her be.” The air in the room stagnated a bit more. This meal was tasteless, no different from when I usually ate alone. Sarah was the daughter of his and Mark’s mentor, growing up together. Although Mark didn’t say it openly. His care for her was ultimately more than for me, the rightful sister-in-law. When the main dishes were all served, the last dish, steamed leopard coral grouper, was turned to me. Mark suddenly spoke. “Leave some of this dish for Sister Sarah. She loves fish the most.” “If Sister-in-law wants to eat, just order another one.” Lucas sneered. Raised his hand, directly moving the whole plate of fish in front of me. His voice was cold and hard: “What my wife loves to eat, it’s not the turn of outsiders to share.” Despite saying so. After putting down his chopsticks, he frequently looked towards the door of the room. The waiter finished clearing the plates and was about to go out to dispose of the kitchen waste. Lucas was silent for a long time, suddenly stood up: “I’ll go.” The waiter handed over the garbage bag in astonishment, hesitating to speak. After Lucas left. Mark immediately moved to the farthest seat, bowing his head pretending to deal with emails. Parents on both sides were silent in embarrassment, chewing food mechanically. I felt chest tightness. Got up and walked to the corridor, wanting to breathe fresh air. Unknowingly, I walked to the underground parking lot. I faintly heard Sarah’s aggrieved sobbing, mixed with Lucas’s low comfort. Hiding behind a pillar, I saw light snow falling outside. Lucas and Sarah sat side by side on the hood of the car, sharing a bento box. He raised his hand, gently wiping the tear stains from her cheek. Sarah, red-eyed, punched him, face full of grievance. “You’re going back to her, why come to care about me!” Lucas let her hit him, with no impatience in his eyes. His gaze was gentle and tolerant. Completely different from the forced gentleness every time he looked at me. His voice was helpless. “Don’t say silly things.” “I promised my teacher to take care of you for a lifetime. Don’t you know if I would abandon you?” Sarah sobbed, leaning into his arms. Lucas picked up a piece of ribs, feeding it to her lips: “Specially ordered from a private kitchen and delivered.” “Much tastier than hotel food.” She took a bite, gradually stopping her crying. Lucas explained to her in a low voice. “Emily just lost a child, emotions unstable.” “Just accompanying her for a meal.” “If she’s satisfied, she won’t urge me home all day.” So, that’s what he thought. In these five years, he chose to side with me on many insignificant matters. Turns out he just felt that way, I would trouble Sarah less. A little favor was enough to make me grateful and stay by his side obediently. Looking into the parking lot with drifting light snow, the two still clinging together. Lucas had slight stomach trouble and usually ate very little. Clearly just dined in the private room, yet most of the bento went into his stomach. Maybe it’s true as others said. Meals taste sweet only when eaten with someone who shares your heart. Whether it’s a childhood sweetheart or a beloved one. Anyway, that person isn’t me. 4 I turned silently, taking the prepared divorce agreement from my bag. When I returned to the private room with the agreement, parents from both families stood up. After what just happened, the Sterling parents didn’t know how to mediate. My parents sighed, didn’t persuade much, just said “Divorce if you want.” Lucas’s mother hesitated, but still grabbed my hand and said: “Emily, give Lucas another chance, okay? Lucas is just this way because he values his mentor too much.” I didn’t speak, just placed the divorce agreement on the table. Just as Lucas’s mother was about to shed tears, the door opened. Lucas arrived. And brought Sarah. She wore Lucas’s suit jacket, looking around the room with a matter-of-fact expression, like the incoming Mrs. Sterling. The room fell instantly silent, all eyes focused on them. Lucas’s mother’s voice trembled: “Lucas, why did she come back again?” Lucas’s father threw his wine glass in anger: “Lucas, are you crazy?!” Lucas didn’t answer, just glanced at my coat, gaze landing on my face: “Finished eating?” “Mm.” I responded calmly: “I’m going home.” He seemed relieved, “Okay, message me when you get home.” He finished lightly, turning sideways to bring Sarah forward. “Dad, Mom, you know my mentor passed away. Before he died, he entrusted Sarah to me. I can’t break my word. I need to give her a job for the coming period, so she will temporarily join our company.” This open attitude made our questioning just now seem like making a fuss. Sarah showed a decent smile, reaching out to hold Lucas’s mother’s arm. “Hello Auntie, Lucas has always taken care of me. Today he specially brought me to meet the elders. Since everyone is here, how about I toast everyone?” Lucas’s mother looked at me troubledly, “Emily, how about… sit down and talk?” Just as I was about to refuse, Sarah interrupted, eyes provocative: “Sister Emily sit down too. After all, you are still the sister-in-law. You should be informed about some things, don’t you think?” Slap— A crisp slap sounded in the room. I looked in shock as my mom slapped Sarah. “Mom!” Mom glared at me with red eyes, voice trembling: “I carried you for ten months, don’t I understand you?” “From marrying him at twenty-two to twenty-seven now, five years! For him, you gave up the chance to study abroad, managed the company for him. When he drank until gastric bleeding for business, you stayed by his bed for three days without closing your eyes. You love him so much. If your heart wasn’t dead, could you bear to let go?” “I don’t ask for great wealth for you, but today he brings a mistress to humiliate you. As a mother, I can’t stand it!” “If you don’t want to hit her, I’ll do it for you!” Mom’s words were like a heavy hammer, finally knocking my tears down. Sarah covered her face, tears swirling in her eyes. Lucas immediately shielded her behind him, face terribly gloomy: “Emily, when did you learn to use elders…” “Do you know what disgusts me most about you?” I didn’t wait for him to finish, stepping forward and slapping him. “Lucas, the person who deserves hitting most is you!” After hitting, I pulled out the divorce agreement from the table and slammed it on him. Lucas caught the document, pupils contracting upon seeing the title. “Emily… you want a divorce?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388768”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“A thousand dollars. You really didn’t send it?” The team group chat—a bustling Slack channel of forty-seven people—went instantly silent after Brittany tagged me. I was finalizing a quarterly report, and the notification made me pause, a strange, cold feeling blooming in my chest. Brittany followed up instantly: “@Eliza. I gave you a thousand dollars for your wedding, and you couldn’t even reciprocate for mine? That’s not cool, Eliza.” I stared at the screen, and a slow, toxic laugh bubbled up inside me. Three months ago, she got married. I transferred the money—a full thousand dollars. She confirmed receipt. Now, she was claiming I hadn’t. Interesting. I didn’t reply. I minimized Slack and opened my bank app. September 15th, 2024, 2:47 p.m. I remembered the exact time and date. 1 The notifications on Slack kept flashing. “Brittany, don’t be mad, maybe Eliza just forgot.” “Yeah, we’re all colleagues, a friendly reminder is enough.” “Eliza is usually so quiet. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d do that…” I watched the messages scroll up. Not a single person asked a simple question: Is there a misunderstanding? Brittany posted another message: “It’s fine, it’s not like I desperately need the cash. I just believe in integrity. Some people seem nice on the surface, but you only see their true colors when money is involved.” I gripped my phone tightly. Three months ago. September 15th. Her wedding. I remembered it so clearly. That afternoon, I’d received the digital invite while sitting at my desk. I thought about it, then sent the money: $1,000. It was exactly one-quarter of my monthly salary. When I sent the Venmo transfer, I even wrote a little note: Congrats on the big day! She replied immediately: Got it, thanks, sweetie! I’d even screenshotted the exchange to show my mother, who commented on how convenient digital gifts were nowadays. Only three months had passed. How could she have forgotten? I pulled up our chat history. The September 15th exchange was right there. The transfer receipt, her instant, enthusiastic confirmation—all present and accounted for. I looked at the little heart emoji she’d used, then back at the ugly messages filling the team chat. Brittany’s newest post: “I don’t want to make this awkward, Eliza, but you really owe everyone an explanation.” I took a deep breath. An explanation? Fine. I was about to capture the screenshot and drop it into the chat when the office door opened. “Eliza, Ms. Reyes needs to see you.” It was Mia from Admin. I put my phone away and stood up. As I walked toward the door, I heard the quiet, conspiratorial whispers behind me: “Did she really not send it?” “I don’t know, but Brittany wouldn’t lie in the group chat…” “A thousand dollars, though. That’s not exactly pocket change.” I didn’t turn around. Ms. Reyes needed me to prepare materials for next month’s project presentation. I sat in her office, listening to her talk for ten minutes, my mind a blank loop of the messages I’d just read. When I came out, it was nearly quitting time. I returned to my desk and checked my phone. The chat had exploded with dozens more messages. All about me. “Where is Eliza? Why isn’t she saying anything?” “Is she feeling guilty?” “I think she needs to address this, honestly.” Brittany’s latest comment: “Look, I don’t want to cause drama. Everyone, please just log off and enjoy your evening. Don’t let this ruin the office atmosphere.” That was a beautiful performance. Sanctimonious and slick. I scrolled down and saw a private message. It was from Brittany. “Eliza, I know you might be having difficulties, but at least reply to me. Going silent like this makes me look bad.” I stared at the message for a long time. Difficulties? What difficulties did I have? I sent the money, you received it, and you confirmed receipt. Now you’re saying I didn’t. Who was making whom look bad? I didn’t reply. I opened my phone’s photo folder and found the original screenshot. The one showing the $1,000 transfer and her reply: Got it, thanks, sweetie! I then took a clean screenshot of the bank transfer record: September 15th, 2024, 2:47:23 p.m. Recipient: Brittany Miller. Amount: $1,000. I saved both images. Then I locked my phone, gathered my things, and left. By the time I walked out of the company doors, the sky was dark. Standing at the bus stop, waiting for the Route 43, my mind kept circling the same question. Why would she do this? Why lie about receiving the money when she clearly had the record? Could it really be a system error? Impossible. The bank record was there. The chat confirmation was there. She was doing this on purpose. But why target me? It didn’t make sense. The bus arrived. I got on and found a window seat. The streetlights blurred as we drove past. Then, I remembered something. Last month, when Owen and I got married. Brittany had sent $750. $250 less than I’d given her. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Everyone’s financial situation is different. But now… Did she feel like she’d lost money? I gave $1,000, and she only gave $750. Did she feel slighted, and this was her way of evening the score—by simply claiming she never received my money at all? When the thought surfaced, even I was shocked by its pettiness. But the more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. Some people’s logic truly defied understanding. I got off the bus and walked home. My phone vibrated again. The team chat. Brittany had posted: Let’s put today’s issue behind us. I don’t want to bring it up again. I hope this won’t affect the positive work environment. Beneath it, a chorus of replies: “Got it,” “Don’t worry about it,” “Brittany, don’t take it to heart.” I looked at the messages, a cold stone settling in my stomach. I was the one who had been wronged. But she was the one receiving all the sympathy. I didn’t post anything. I knew that if I released the screenshots now, it would cause utter chaos. But I didn’t want to act impulsively. I wanted to wait and see how far she was willing to take this performance. When I got home, Owen had already made dinner. “What’s wrong? You look pale.” I handed him my phone. He glanced at the chat, a frown creasing his forehead. “Is she crazy? You clearly sent it.” “She says she didn’t receive it.” “Don’t you have proof?” “I do.” “Then what are you waiting for?” He handed the phone back. “Post the screenshots and shut her down.” I shook my head. “Not yet.” “Wait for what?” I looked out at the dark evening sky. “Wait for her to make another mistake.” 2 The next morning, the office atmosphere was subtle but pervasive. The way my colleagues looked at me… it was a clinical examination. I sat down at my desk, trying to appear unbothered, and logged into my computer. Brittany arrived later than I did. She paused deliberately as she passed my desk. “Eliza,” she leaned in, lowering her voice, “have you decided what you’re going to do about yesterday?” I looked up at her. Her face was fixed in a careful expression of “I’m being incredibly gracious right now.” “About what?” I asked. She froze, clearly not expecting that response. “The… the gift money, of course.” She whispered. “If you’re truly having financial trouble, I’m willing to let it go, but you need to at least give me a heads-up.” I smiled faintly. “Brittany, I transferred $1,000, and you confirmed receipt.” Her face flickered. “When did I ever say I received it?” “September 15th, a little after 2:47 p.m.” She blinked, her expression tightening. “Maybe you transferred it to the wrong person, Eliza. I genuinely didn’t receive anything.” I didn’t say anything. I just watched her. My silence made her squirm. She let out a dry, nervous laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not lying. Why don’t you double-check? Did you send it to someone else?” “I checked,” I said. “It was you.” Her smile vanished. “Well… well, maybe it’s a system error. Venmo can sometimes have a delay…” “A three-month delay?” She had no answer. I continued to hold her gaze. She finally avoided my eyes and forced a casual tone: “Fine, fine. It’s just a thousand dollars. It’s not worth destroying our working relationship over. If you really think you sent it, then let’s just drop it. I’ll consider it my loss.” With that, she turned and walked away. I watched her retreating back, a cold satisfaction settling in my gut. Her loss? You took the money, denied it, and now you’re trying to play the benevolent martyr? During the morning meeting, I noticed a few colleagues giving me even stranger looks than before. After the meeting, I headed to the break room for water and heard voices inside. “…Did you hear about Eliza?” “I did. A thousand dollars. She says she sent it; Brittany says she didn’t get it.” “Who do you believe?” “Hard to say… but Brittany doesn’t seem like the type to lie about something so petty.” “Right? Brittany is usually so generous, buying us all coffee and lunch sometimes.” “And Eliza… she’s just so quiet. It’s hard to get a read on her.” I stood by the doorway, gripping the stainless steel handle of the water pitcher. I didn’t go in. Hard to get a read on her? What did that mean? Because I kept to myself, did that automatically make me a liar? I turned back to my desk. Just before closing time, the chat lit up again. Brittany posted: I talked to Eliza today. She insists she sent the money, but I still haven’t seen it. It must be some system glitch. Let’s just move on. No more discussion, please. The replies rolled in: “Good call,” “Brittany, you’re too big-hearted,” “Some things are just impossible to prove.” I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I typed a few words, then deleted them. Not the time. I opened a private chat with Sarah, an older colleague in Admin. Sarah, got a minute to chat? Sarah was close to Brittany, but she hadn’t said anything in the group chat yesterday. And this morning, the way she looked at me… it wasn’t scrutiny; it was like she was trying to tell me something. Sarah replied quickly: After work. Break room. After work, I met her in the quiet break room. She was holding a mug of coffee. “Eliza,” she glanced around, lowering her voice. “That whole thing… did you really send the money?” “I did,” I said. “$1,000, Venmo, September 15th.” She was silent for a moment. “Do you have the record?” “Yes.” Another stretch of silence. I watched her expression and asked abruptly, “Sarah, do you know something I don’t?” The coffee mug in her hand shook slightly. “I…” “Tell me,” I pressed. She looked down, as if making a difficult decision. Finally, she looked up and whispered, “Eliza, I don’t know all the details, but… Brittany owes me money, too.” My heart skipped a beat. “When?” “Last month, just before your wedding. She said she was dealing with a temporary cash flow problem. She borrowed $400.” “Did she pay it back?” She offered a wry smile. “No. I mentioned it once, and she said, ‘I’m a little tight right now, maybe next month.’ I didn’t feel comfortable pushing her again.” It clicked. That was the reason for the hesitation in her eyes. “Sarah,” I looked at her directly. “If I need you to back me up, would you say something?” She hesitated, then nodded slightly. “I’ll see how things develop.” I didn’t push her. I understood her position. In the office hierarchy, no one wanted to make enemies. But now I knew one crucial thing. Brittany didn’t just owe me. 3. The Slack chat was quiet for the next few days. But the office atmosphere remained tense. I could feel the faint, invisible currents of people whispering about me. It was an isolating, uncomfortable feeling, like being watched by unseen eyes. Friday afternoon, Brittany sent a group Venmo request. “Happy Weekend, grab yourself a coffee on me~” It was a small amount, perhaps fifty cents each. The chat filled with replies: “Thanks, Brittany!” “You’re the best!” “So generous!” I didn’t accept the money. It wasn’t about the fifty cents. It was the sight of her name, the false magnanimity, that made me sick. That weekend, Owen and I went to the mall. In the elevator, I bumped into another colleague, Veronica, from the Finance department. We didn’t usually interact much. She saw me, paused, and then gave me a forced smile. “Eliza, shopping?” “Hi, Veronica. You, too?” She nodded, glancing at Owen standing next to me. “This must be your husband. The one who got married last month?” “Yes.” “Oh, congratulations.” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Eliza, about… the Brittany thing. I heard.” My heart sank. “Veronica, that whole mess…” “I know, I know,” she waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not here to judge you. It’s just… well, take it from me, don’t take Brittany too seriously.” “What do you mean?” She checked around the elevator, then moved closer. “She borrowed money from me, too. Five hundred dollars. Still hasn’t paid it back. I mentioned it once, and she said, ‘Are you in desperate need of it? If not, I’ll pay you back next month.’ What could I say? I told her no, I wasn’t desperate.” I just stared at her, absorbing this new information. “And that time we had the department dinner,” Veronica continued. “It was supposed to be AA. She claimed an emergency and left early, promising to send the money later. Never did.” “How much was her share?” “Sixty dollars.” I did the mental calculation quickly. Sarah: $400. Veronica: $250 + $60 = $310. Plus my $1,000. Total I know of: $1,710. I will hold the last person’s debt for the later chapter to mirror the original plot structure. This was only what I knew. How many other people had she “borrowed” from and were too embarrassed to speak up? “Veronica,” I said, looking at her. “If I needed your help…” “What are you planning?” she asked, suddenly alert. “To tell the truth.” I said. “I sent $1,000. She received it and confirmed it. Now she’s denying it.” Veronica was silent for a moment. “Do you have proof?” “I do.” “Then why haven’t you posted it?” “The timing wasn’t right.” She looked at me, her expression complex. “Eliza, think this through. Blowing this up won’t be good for you, either.” “I know.” “In the office, sometimes it’s better to just take the loss and move on.” “I know,” I said. “But this isn’t about the money anymore.” She sighed. “It’s your call.” On Monday, I noticed a distinct change in Brittany’s behavior. She stopped seeking me out for her faux-sympathetic talks. She stopped posting passive-aggressive messages in the main chat. Instead, she started spreading gossip behind my back. I heard it from Sarah. “Brittany is telling people you’re too ‘petty’ and ‘high-maintenance’ for blowing a thousand dollars into a huge scene,” Sarah whispered to me. “She also said you’ve always been antisocial and never participate in team activities.” I let out a cold laugh. Petty? Antisocial? She received the money and denied it, and now I was the problem? “What else did she say?” Sarah hesitated. “She said… she said you’re manipulative and two-faced. That you pretend to be quiet and reserved, but you’re secretly calculating.” I tightened my grip on my pen. Calculating. Good. I was about to respond when my phone buzzed. A message from Brittany. I opened it. It was a screenshot. It was a message she had posted in another group chat—one I wasn’t a part of. “Eliza is seriously strange. She won’t let go of this thousand-dollar thing. I told her it must be a system error, but she refuses to believe me. Some people are just like this: they look innocent, but they’re incredibly sneaky and hold a serious grudge.” Someone replied beneath: “Yeah, you can’t trust the quiet ones.” Another: “Brittany, don’t let her get to you.” I stared at the screenshot, my hand trembling. Not from anger. From a deep, chilling clarity. Was this a power play? A warning? I didn’t reply. I opened my photo album and looked at the two screenshots I’d saved. The transfer record. Her confirmation. Was it enough? No. I wanted her defeat to be absolute.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388784”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When my childhood sweetheart pushed me off the villa balcony, my husband was on the phone, calling her “baby” in that adoring tone he used to save for me. I should have died. Instead, I ended up half-paralyzed. Unsatisfied, she hired men to assault me, and then, broken and bleeding, I was buried alive in the villa’s backyard. Three years after my death, she was diagnosed with kidney failure. That’s when my husband finally remembered me. He brought a team of bodyguards to the private villa to drag me back. When they couldn’t find me, he assumed I was hiding. “As long as you agree to donate a kidney to Ruby, I’ll end your punishment. You can come home.” In the end, he dug three feet into the earth, only to find my bleached bones. 1 Carter burst into the private villa with his security team, a permanent scowl etched on his face. This place was managed by his people, but no one was allowed near the main house. It was a prison for me, his “wayward” wife. But I had been dead for three years. No one had lived here since. Weeds choked the walkway, waist-high. Carter wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Nora is so lazy. Look at this place. She couldn’t even be bothered to pull a few weeds.” “Compared to Ruby, she’s trash.” He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth, shielding himself from a smell only he could detect. “Nora! You addicted to living alone? Get your ass out here!” He stood there, high and mighty, his eyes full of disdain. As if his presence here was some great favor he was bestowing upon me. He shouted my name several times. Silence. Carter’s patience snapped. “Break the door down,” he ordered his men coldly. With a crash, the guards kicked the door in and rushed inside to grab me. Five minutes later, they came back out, looking confused. “Mr. Sterling, your wife isn’t inside.” Carter’s brow furrowed deeper. He didn’t believe it. He went in himself, tore through the house, and found nothing. He pulled out his phone to call me. It had been three years since we last spoke. He frowned, scrolling through his contacts, trying to remember my number. Finally, he tapped on a contact labeled “Bitch” and hit dial. Floating beside him, I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. Carter hated me that much. Three years ago, his childhood sweetheart, Ruby, had a miscarriage and blamed it on me. Carter branded me a vicious woman and locked me away in this desolate villa to “reflect.” 2 Three years locked away, and he hadn’t thought of me once. Now, calling me felt unnatural to him. The call didn’t even connect. Straight to voicemail. Carter cursed angrily. “Fine, Nora. You want to hide? You think I won’t find you?” “Keep hiding. I want to see how long you can keep this up!” Suddenly, a loud, exaggerated laugh echoed from a dark corner. Carter spun around angrily. A drunkard in tattered clothes was sitting against the wall in a pile of weeds, holding a broken bottle. He looked up at Carter with bleary eyes. “Stop yelling. The person inside is long dead.” The drunkard laughed again, a sound so desolate it could have been a sob. “Where did this drunk come from?” One of the guards, eager to please, stepped forward and kicked the man over. “You dare act like this in front of Mr. Sterling? Don’t you know this whole mountain belongs to the Sterling family? Get lost before the boss gets angry!” The drunkard took the kick without flinching, as if he felt no pain. He just lay on the ground, laughing maniacally. “Dead. Died terribly.” “She was pushed from upstairs. Fell and got paralyzed. Blood everywhere.” “And… she was so beautiful. Those animals defiled her, then buried her alive.” Carter frowned deeply, looking at the drunkard with disgust. “Who are you? Where is Nora?” The drunkard just kept laughing and crying. His bottle had spilled clear liquid all over his face. It was impossible to tell if it was booze or tears. Still drunk, he crawled over and hugged Carter’s leg. “She was a good person. A good person.” “If she hadn’t given me a meal back then, I would have starved to death… What a pity, she died.” Carter kicked him away coldly. The man landed on a small mound of dirt. The drunkard seemed to sober up instantly. He scrambled to fix the mound, muttering apologies. 3 “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Carter looked confused. “What is that?” The drunkard smiled bitterly. “It’s her grave.” Carter looked closely. A crude, misshapen wooden plaque had a few words carved into it: “Nora’s Grave.” The drunkard treated the plaque like a treasure, carefully setting it upright. “Crazy old fool.” Carter pushed the man aside with a cold laugh and kicked the plaque in two. “Three years, and Nora is still pull these manipulative stunts. A fake grave? Really? How dramatic.” He not only destroyed the marker but ordered his guards to flatten the mound with shovels. “I want to see how long Nora can keep up this act!” The drunkard screamed as his hard work was destroyed. “I told you she’s dead! Why won’t you leave her alone?” “Miss Nora was such a good person, why did she have to suffer like this?” Carter looked at him with pure loathing and ignored him completely. He addressed the air. “Nora, I know you can hear me.” “I order you to come out within three days. Be a good girl and donate your kidney to Ruby. I’ll end your punishment and let you come home.” “If you keep playing these games and hiding, you will never see your son again!” Carter turned and left. Before going, he ordered his men to break the drunkard’s leg. “You filthy beggar, this is the price for offending Mr. Sterling!” I floated there, wanting to cry, but no tears would come. My son, Leo. I hadn’t seen him in three years. Carter knew Leo was my weakness. He was using him to threaten me. If I were alive, I would have run out immediately. But I was dead. 4 After Carter and his men left, the villa returned to its desolate silence. By the flattened mound of dirt, only the drunkard remained, sobbing. He was mourning me. Seeing his leg broken and bleeding because of me made my heart ache. In three years, not many people knew I was dead. But this drunkard was the only one who never abandoned me. He had been beaten for stealing once, and I had gotten a doctor to treat him and given him some food. He considered me his savior and refused to leave, guarding the villa door for me. He was there the day Ruby snuck in and pushed me off the balcony. He watched helplessly from outside as I fell. Falling from five stories should have killed me. But I survived, half-paralyzed. The drunkard ran like mad to get help. In that window of time, Ruby, seeing I wasn’t dead, hired some drifters to assault me. Then they threw my broken body into the backyard and buried me alive. “As long as you’re alive, you’re a threat to me and Carter,” she had said, her smile poisonous. “Only when you’re dead can I truly be Mrs. Sterling.” “Don’t blame me when you get to hell. Blame your bad luck for being in my way.” Ruby’s vicious smile was the last thing I saw. Maybe my resentment was too strong, because after I died, I didn’t move on. I was trapped here. I had done nothing wrong, yet I was framed and murdered. As the dirt covered me, I had only one thought: I wanted to see my son one last time. Without me, how would Ruby treat him? Three days later, Carter returned. This time, he brought a frail-looking Ruby and a small boy in a suit. Leo! I floated toward him joyfully. Before I could touch him, Carter grabbed him by the neck. “Nora, I’m giving you one last chance. Three days are up. If you don’t come out, I’ll strangle your son with my own hands!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388800”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel