Category: English

1 Bobby clawed his way from indie scraps to Best Actor. Onstage, spotlight blazing, the host asked what fueled his grind. He locked onto the camera, eyes heavy with practiced melancholy. “I wanted the girl I grew up with to see me,” he whispered. “To finally remember her way home.” The live chat erupted. Millions swooned over the tragic romance between the new screen king and his mysterious childhood sweetheart. Backstage in the shadows, I stood frozen. My blood turned to ice. I wasn’t that girl. We hadn’t grown up together. Yet here he was, spinning a grand televised lie—while I, his real girlfriend, had starved in a damp basement so he could eat, split three-dollar fried rice when we were broke, and choked down cold instant noodles just to keep him going. Soon, his childhood ballerina princess would return in triumph under his protection. And I would walk away, wrapped in the arms of a rising young star, never looking back. But it would be him on his knees then, bloodshot eyes pleading for me to stay. … #BobbyColeConfession #BobbyAndBallerinaGiselleAtPalaisGarnier #ChildhoodSweetheartsFairyTale #EmilyFontaineGetOut #TheRealQueenHasArrivedEmilyCantClingToOurKingAnymore I stared at the trending topics climbing the social media charts, a quiet, stinging ache spreading through my chest. He and Giselle were a fairy tale, a match made in heaven. So what did that make me? Oh, right. To the internet, I was just Emily Fontaine, the desperate, clout-chasing parasite who wouldn’t stop clinging to Bobby. I was the laughable, pathetic villain in their beautiful love story. My chest tightened as a wave of sharp pain washed over me. For years, I had kept my mouth shut to protect Bobby’s image as the eligible, single heartthrob. I had willingly shouldered every ounce of hate, vitriol, and mockery the internet could throw. Even though I was his legal, long-term partner, the public branded me a manipulative social climber who wouldn’t leave him alone. There were times when the cyberbullying became too cruel to bear, and I would break down crying in our quiet apartment. Bobby had seen me like that, curled into a ball on the bathroom floor. But he had never offered a public word of defense. He hadn’t even offered a simple hug. He never protected me. He only told me to be strong, leaving me to drown in the toxic sea of online hatred. And now, because of his grand, public declaration, that other woman had become the nation’s beloved muse. She was praised as his perfect match, his ultimate destiny. I scrolled through the endless flood of comments telling me to quit the industry, to crawl into a hole and die, and demanding that Bobby and Giselle get married on the spot. With trembling fingers, I dialed Bobby’s number. The call connected, but before I could draw a breath to speak, the line went dead. In those brief, hollow seconds before he hung up, the distinct, booming echo of an opera performance played in the background. I closed my eyes. I remembered the trending photos of them together at the Palais Garnier in Paris, enjoying a private box. So, it was true. They really were together. No wonder he had vanished into thin air the second the award ceremony ended. He had been in a hurry to fly across the world to her. Something warm and wet slipped down my cheek. I touched my face, surprised to find myself crying. What was I still hoping for? The man simply did not love me. He never had. 2 I ended up in the hospital. I was driven there by a panic attack, courtesy of Bobby and Giselle’s extreme shippers. Ever since his grand confession, the online harassment had reached a fever pitch. Gossip accounts had spliced an unedited, bare-faced paparazzi photo of me together with a highly polished, ethereal modeling poster of Giselle. The captions mocked me mercilessly, calling me a common toad trying to swallow a swan. Now that the real swan had returned, they said, I needed to clear the path and disappear. Then, some unhinged fan sent a box of dead, rotting frogs to my agency. The shock sent my system into a tailspin, and I collapsed. I stayed in the hospital for five days. During that entire time, I didn’t receive a single text or call from Bobby. I did, however, receive a bouquet of calla lilies. They were my favorite flowers. On the day I was discharged, the entertainment news announced that Bobby had finally landed back in the country. I looked at the calla lilies sitting on the bedside table and decided to give him one last chance. The phone rang for a long time before he finally picked up. Trying to keep my voice light and steady, I said, “Bobby, I’m getting discharged today. Can you come pick me up?” A long, heavy silence stretched over the line. “Emily, I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice flat and distant. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. You’ll have to find your own way back.” I stared at the schedule his assistant had secretly forwarded to me earlier. He didn’t have a single event scheduled for today. Nothing at all. I plucked a petal from a calla lily, my voice dropping to a quiet whisper. “What are you so busy with, Bobby?” The pause this time was even longer. He was probably surprised. I had never been this demanding before. For five years, I had been the perfect, understanding partner, never wanting to make things difficult for him, always putting his career first. Finally, he let out an irritated sigh. “Don’t start acting up, Emily.” And with that, he cut the line. He couldn’t even spare me another second. 3 The truth is, when a person stops loving you, it becomes glaringly obvious. During our first year together, when we were both nobodies, I had practically lived at networking events, drinking myself to the point of stomach bleeding just to pitch him to directors and secure him decent auditions. When he heard I had been hospitalized for internal bleeding, Bobby had practically lost his mind. He ran into the ward, pale and shaking. Seeing my weak state, tears had poured down his face. I had teased him back then. “Why are you crying? I’m not dead.” He wiped his eyes, his voice cracking with anger and worry. “Do you not care about your own body? Why did you drink so much?” I had smiled weakly. “But it worked, didn’t it? The supporting role in Director Miller’s film is yours.” Hearing that, he had cried even harder, clutching my hand to his face. “Emily, I don’t want to be famous anymore. I don’t care about any roles. I just want you safe by my side.” We really did have beautiful moments back then. Once, his eyes held nothing but me. His concern was real. It was nothing like today. I had called to tell him I was leaving the hospital, and his only instinct was to keep his distance. He didn’t even care enough to ask why I was hospitalized in the first place. I squeezed the calla lily petal in my hand until it bruised, watching the green sap stain my skin like the slow, quiet death of my love for him. If he cared so little, why had he bother sending these flowers? Ding. My phone lit up with a text message. It was from Bobby’s assistant. [Hey Emily, did you get the flowers? I made sure they were calla lilies, your favorite!] [I haven’t seen much of Bobby either these past couple of days, but when we head to his shoot tomorrow, I’ll sneakily ask him about his speech. Don’t listen to the gossip blogs, I’m sure he still has you in his heart.] I let out a cold, hollow laugh. So even the flowers weren’t from him. Bobby, oh Bobby. What exactly did you take me for? I loved you, I respected you, and I was willing to sacrifice my own life to build yours. But that didn’t mean you had the right to trample over my heart and drag my dignity through the dirt. We are done. Truly, completely done. 4 Bobby and I started dating during our first year in the industry. We belonged to the same talent agency, Summit Media, and constantly crossed paths at auditions and low-budget promotional events. Back then, we were both struggling actors at the bottom of the food chain, finding solace in each other’s company. One night, after a grueling sixteen-hour shoot in the freezing rain, we were both shivering, huddled in a small, poorly heated dressing room. He took my freezing hands in his, rubbed them warm, and confessed his love. He promised we would climb to the top of the mountain together, hand-in-hand. He was incredibly handsome. When he focused his gaze on someone, his eyes burned with a quiet, intense fire. Looking into those eyes, I had lost my mind and said yes. We spent five years together. I stayed by his side through every step, moving from a damp basement to a high-end luxury apartment, watching him grow from an unnamed extra into a household name and, finally, a Best Actor winner. He had indeed conquered the world. But the woman he wanted to hold hands with at the peak was no longer me. I pulled up the entertainment news, watching the trending topics boast about his perfect chemistry with Giselle. A familiar, icy numbness settled over me. It was hilarious, really. In all our years together, I had never once heard him mention this childhood sweetheart. But my assistant, Daisy, had mentioned Giselle’s name a few times recently. Supposedly, Giselle had spent several years studying ballet in Paris and was now returning to the country to transition into acting. She had signed with our agency, Summit Media. When Daisy first brought it up, she had leaned in and whispered a secret. Giselle wasn’t just joining the agency; she was returning to inherit it. She was the only daughter of Arthur Sinclair, the billionaire founder and owner of Summit Media. When Daisy was sharing this gossip, Bobby had been sitting nearby, pretending to read his script. But I had caught the fleeting, calculative gleam in his eyes. I wondered if his sudden public romantic confession had anything to do with that piece of information. I had a feeling I would find out the answer very soon. 5 I didn’t expect to find Bobby at our apartment when I got back. He was lounging on the sofa, clutching his phone, a soft, unmistakable smile playing on his lips as he messaged someone. How long had it been since I last saw him smile like that? Probably since he started filming the movie that won him his award. After that, his gaze and his smiles rarely landed on me. I stood silently at the entrance, watching him. He was so deeply engrossed in his screen that he didn’t even notice the door open. “Bobby.” I finally spoke, breaking the silence. He jerked, his head snapping toward me. The warmth on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, guarded mask. Sensing my gaze on his phone, he quickly locked the screen and tossed it onto the sofa. “You’re back? That was fast.” He frowned, then tried to smooth his expression with a dry smile. “See? I told you you didn’t need me to pick you up. You’ve always been great at taking care of yourself, Emily.” Even though my heart had already gone numb, hearing those words still sent a sharp, physical ache through my chest. Yes, I was great at taking care of myself. Because I knew that no matter what happened to me, he wouldn’t show up. I only had myself to rely on. Over the past few years, especially after he gained a bit of fame, he had become obsessed with protecting his own reputation. He refused to let any potential scandal touch him, which meant constantly asking me to step back, to hide, to sacrifice my career for his. Peeling back the rose-colored glasses of love, I looked at the man before me with cold clarity. He was terrifyingly, incredibly selfish. But fortunately, I was leaving. This selfish, calculating man was no longer my problem. 6 “Let’s break up,” I said quietly, stating my decision as if discussing the weather. An adult breakup doesn’t require screaming, crying, or throwing dishes. It is merely a calculated exit, a mutual understanding of shifted interests. The moment the words left my mouth, I caught a fleeting glimpse of profound relief on Bobby’s face. He toyed with his phone, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “I know I’ve let you down, Emily. You can keep this apartment. Consider it my compensation to you.” I stayed silent. I deserved this apartment. The amount of sweat, tears, and industry connections I had poured into his career over the past five years was worth far more than this piece of real estate. He moved quickly, packing his bags as if he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. As I watched him roll his suitcase out of the bedroom, I couldn’t help but ask one last question. “Bobby, did your heart change because Giselle is the heiress of Summit Media, or did you genuinely spend all these years pining for your childhood sweetheart?” Bobby paused at the entryway, his back to me. A long silence filled the hallway. I stared at his profile. The youthful, passionate face I had once loved so deeply had gradually been replaced by the calculating, weary lines of a seasoned social climber. The man who had once held my hand and promised to take me to the top had vanished long ago. Finally, Bobby let out a quiet sigh. “Emily, nobody knows better than you how brutal it is to struggle at the bottom of this industry. I’m just tired of struggling. I’m sorry.” A laugh bubbled up from my chest, entirely stripping away the last trace of bitterness. I looked at him and said with absolute sincerity, “I wish you a prosperous career, Bobby. May you fly as high as you want.” He turned to look at me, a brief, faint flicker of melancholy and regret crossing his eyes, only to be instantly replaced by cold resolve. “Emily, I hope you’ll keep our past relationship strictly to yourself. I don’t want Giselle to misunderstand.” With that, he opened the door and walked out without looking back. As the door clicked shut, the very last fragment of regret in my heart evaporated. This was good. This was exactly how it should be. 7 Once the breakup was finalized, Bobby acted as though a heavy shackle had been lifted from his ankles. That very evening, he officially announced his relationship with Giselle on his social media accounts, using the buzz to build massive hype for her return to the country. The internet went wild, congratulating the perfect couple, while taking the opportunity to throw a few more insults my way, telling the “clout-chasing leech” to finally crawl away and die. Daisy was furious on my behalf, pacing around my dressing room. I kept my head down, making notes on my script. “It’s fine. The higher they build their pedestal, the harder they fall. You know how this industry works.” Daisy looked at me, her eyes filled with sympathy. “But it’s so unfair! You were his actual partner all those years, and now everyone thinks you’re some psycho stalker. I can’t stand it.” “Is being an actor’s secret girlfriend really that prestigious?” I asked, not looking up. “I’d rather be an award-winning actress myself.” Hearing this, Daisy’s face lit up. “Emily, I knew you wouldn’t let this beat you! Yes! Let’s study the script. Once you land the lead role in Director Bennett’s The Divide, we’ll show them what a real star looks like.” She paused, sighing. “To be honest, you sacrificed way too much for Bobby. You handed him all the best scripts and opportunities, even though your acting skills are ten times better than his. It was such a waste.” It was indeed a waste. But at least I was awake now. The online hate was temporary. Now that I had cut off the dead weight of a useless relationship, I was returning to my true passion. I would use my own talent to wash away every drop of mud they had thrown at me. 8 I didn’t expect Giselle to set her sights on the lead role of The Divide as well. The moment I stepped into the agency office the next day, the corridors were buzzing with the news. The ballet princess, fresh off her high-profile return under Bobby’s wing, was auditioning for The Divide. She wanted to use this blockbuster project as her grand debut into the film industry. My manager, Valerie, walked into my dressing room with a grim expression. “Emily, you had a real fighting chance for this role. But now that the owner’s daughter is throwing her hat in the ring, how are we supposed to compete?” She sighed, sitting down across from me. “And with your current reputation… you refuse to release a statement clarifying your past with Bobby, so you’re just taking all the blame. Director Bennett might love your acting, but he has to consider the public backlash of casting you.” “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?” I looked at her calmly. “I still want to fight for it. I’ve read this script front to back five times. I understand this character better than anyone else.” Valerie shook her head helplessly. “You’re an acting purist, Emily. But this industry isn’t just about talent. Do you really think Bobby got the lead in Crescent just because of his audition? He and Giselle were already making deals behind the scenes. That role was handed to him on a silver platter because of her family’s backing.” “You were the only naive one, kept in the dark while you practically built his career for him.” Valerie’s words rang in my ears, sounding utterly ridiculous. So, they all believed Bobby had landed Crescent because of Giselle’s influence. I wondered if Bobby believed that lie too. A cold, mocking smile touched my lips. How pathetic. Valerie gave me a few more warnings about not causing trouble before leaving the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. 9 I was surprised when Bobby initiated contact and knocked on my dressing room door. I looked up as he strode in, my brow furrowing in irritation. Not tearing his face off in public was the absolute limit of my generosity. I saw no reason for us to have any private conversations. Until he opened his mouth. He looked down at me, his deep eyes heavy with what he clearly thought was concern. “Emily, I expected you to break your contract and leave the agency by now.” His tone was insufferably patronizing, as if he were doing me a favor. “You know Giselle is back. She’s going to be the priority here. She knows about our past, and as long as you stay, the agency won’t throw a single scrap of resource your way.” He glanced at the script in my hand, his lips twisting into a dismissive smirk. “Take The Divide, for instance. You’ve been preparing for months, but that role is already hers. If you stay, you’ll just rot in the background.” “If I were you, I’d pack my bags and preserve whatever dignity I have left.” I stared at him, fully understanding his game. He was entirely convinced I stood no chance against Giselle, and he was trying to pressure me into leaving quietly so I wouldn’t be a thorn in their side. I could tolerate his betrayal. People change, and relationships fade. But I could not tolerate his sheer, unadulterated shamelessness. I looked at him as if looking at a complete stranger. “Bobby,” I said, a cold laugh escaping my lips, “you really are a piece of work.” The conversation ended in a tense, freezing silence. 10 My first face-to-face encounter with Giselle took place at the audition venue for The Divide. Before my car even came to a halt outside the studio, I saw her. She was stepping out of a luxury van, surrounded by a small army of assistants, with Bobby walking close by her side. Giselle wore an exquisite, high-end designer outfit, her beautiful face animated as she chatted happily with Bobby. Bobby kept his eyes fixed entirely on her, a tender, doting smile on his face. Suddenly, Giselle’s heel caught on a crack in the pavement. Almost instantly, Bobby moved with absolute urgency, wrapping his arms around her waist to steady her in a highly protective stance. This version of Bobby was both familiar and entirely foreign. It seemed that after freeing himself from me, he was living a very happy life. Beside me, Daisy let out a disgusted hiss. “Emily, the way that prick flaunts his new relationship makes me want to throw up.” I pulled my gaze back. “It has nothing to do with us. Grab the materials. It’s time to get out.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “531863”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Eight years as Strategy Director, demoted to front desk overnight. The entire company was waiting to see me break down, but honestly, leaving at six sharp was pure bliss. Until my brother got back from his business trip and caught me serving tea in the lobby. The files in his hand scattered all over the floor, and his wife’s face turned ghost white on the spot. … The day I was transferred to the front desk, the whole floor was sneaking glances as I packed my things. Eight years. I had spent eight whole years at this company, rising from a low-level marketing specialist to Strategy Director, step by grueling step. I managed over thirty people and brought in over a billion dollars in project value. And then, a single reassignment order shoved me down to the lobby. I recognized the signature on that paper: Vivian, the Chairman’s wife. When Gwen, the HR Manager, slammed the notice onto my desk, she couldn’t hide the smug triumph in her eyes. “Director Brooks… oh, my mistake. I guess it’s just Harper now,” she corrected herself with a fake smile. “Report to the lobby tomorrow morning. Pick up your receptionist uniform from HR.” I looked at the document and said nothing. The office went dead silent for a second. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for my meltdown. Waiting for me to cry? To scream? To smash things? I folded the paper neatly and slipped it into my pocket. “Who do I see for the uniform?” Gwen blinked, thrown off. “…Toby in HR.” “Got it.” I stood up, picked up my favorite mug and succulent, and tossed a casual nod at the gossiping coworkers. “Show’s over, folks. Back to work.” As I stepped into the elevator, the room behind me exploded into whispers. “Is she serious? Demoted from Strategy Director to front desk?” “Who did she piss off?” “I heard the Chairman’s wife signed it herself…” “She’s completely finished.” Standing inside the elevator, I let out a genuine laugh. Not a bitter chuckle, but a real, amused laugh. Vivian had been married to my brother for three years, yet she still had no idea I was her sister-in-law. When I joined the company, I used my mother’s surname, Brooks. My brother, Gavin, was constantly traveling overseas for business, so no one ever connected Director Brooks with Chairman Ross. I never wanted to rely on my brother anyway. For eight years, every promotion was earned through my own sweat and late nights. But Vivian didn’t know that. All she saw was a young female director who seemed suspiciously close to her husband. When Gavin sent me a holiday bonus, she thought it was romantic. When Gavin looked over at me a second longer during the annual gala, she suspected an affair. Last month, before Gavin left for his business trip, he spent ten minutes in my office. To Vivian, that was the final straw. What did we actually talk about during those ten minutes? My brother was nagging me to eat on time and stop working late, sounding exactly like our mother. I almost kicked him out because he was being so annoying. In Vivian’s eyes, though, those ten minutes were hard proof of an affair. So, taking advantage of Gavin’s month-long trip to Scandinavia, she struck. With one signature, she dragged her husband’s alleged mistress down to the absolute bottom. I adjusted my collar in the elevator glass. Fine by me. Front desk it is. No unpaid overtime, no endless board meetings, no insane performance quotas. Out the door at six sharp. To be completely honest? After grinding my life away for eight years, I was more than ready to slack off. The next morning, when I walked into the lobby wearing the receptionist uniform, I could feel everyone’s eyes pinned on me. Some pitied me, some gloated, and others were just enjoying the free drama. The other receptionist, Ellie, a twenty-three-year-old fresh graduate, stared at me like she had just seen a ghost. “Are you… really Director Brooks?” “Not anymore,” I said, setting my potted succulent on the front desk. “Just call me Harper. We’re partners now.” Ellie stammered, “But… you were a director…” “Former director,” I corrected her, sinking into the receptionist chair. It was surprisingly plush, with perfect lumbar support. I leaned back, almost groaning in satisfaction. This chair was way better than the one in my old corner office. Ellie was still looking at me with deep sympathy. I pointed at the computer screen. “Is this visitor system complicated? Mind showing me the ropes?” Ten minutes later, I mastered the guest log. Twenty minutes later, I had conference room scheduling down. Thirty minutes later, I brewed a cup of my premium green tea, propped my phone on a stand, and booted up a TV show. Ellie watched the whole sequence with her jaw on the floor. At nine-thirty, Gwen walked downstairs holding a cup of coffee, casually slowing her pace as she passed the desk. She was doing it on purpose. “Oh, Harper. Settling in okay?” Her voice dripped with condescension. I didn’t even look up. “Great, actually. This chair is much comfier than my old one.” Gwen’s fake smile stiffened. She had been expecting tears or suppressed rage, not genuine, unbothered relaxation. “That’s good,” she said, her voice tight. “Feel free to ask Ellie if you get confused. After all, front desk work is… quite different from being a director.” Translation: No matter how hot stuff you used to be, now you’re just a glorified coffee gopher. I gave a lazy hum and kept watching my show. Gwen hovered for a few awkward seconds, realized she wasn’t getting a reaction, and strutted off. Ellie leaned over, whispering, “Harper… aren’t you even a little mad?” I pulled out an earbud. “Mad about what? I leave at six, I don’t have to stay up all night writing proposals, and I don’t have to drink with clients anymore. This is a hundred times better than being a director.” Ellie stared at me as if I had completely lost my mind. I didn’t bother explaining. My brother would be back next month. When he did, this circus would end on its own. Until then, I fully intended to enjoy my paid vacation. 2 Life at the front desk was even lazier than I imagined. My heaviest daily tasks consisted of logging visitors, routing phone calls, and stocking water bottles in meeting rooms. Back when I was director, I wished there were forty-eight hours in a day. Now? My daily routine looked like this: 9:00 AM: Clock in, brew tea. 9:30 AM: Watch an episode of my drama. 10:00 AM: Log a random visitor. 10:30 AM: Back to my drama. 12:00 PM: Lunch, followed by a cozy desk nap. 2:00 PM: Wake up, watch more TV. 6:00 PM: Clock out, head home to cook dinner. Perfection. Except this perfection shattered on the third day. Not because anyone came to bully me, but because way too many people came looking for help. At ten on Wednesday morning, Toby from admin skittered over to the front desk, nervously looking over both shoulders. “Harper…” I pulled off my headphones. “Yeah?” “Um… about that Crestview Properties proposal you handled last week? The new director, Derek, says he doesn’t understand the pitch strategy. He told me to ask you what the logic behind it was.” I raised an eyebrow. Derek, my replacement. Vivian’s personal hire. Word was he was poached from a competitor with an impressive resume, but three days in, his total incompetence was already showing. “The Crestview deal?” I thought for a moment. “Mr. Dalton prefers data presentation first, structural framework second, and execution details last. Step by step. Tell Derek to just stick to the PowerPoint template I left in the shared drive.” Toby looked like he had just found gold. “Thanks, Harper!” He scurried off. At two in the afternoon, Mark from marketing stopped by. “Harper, Beacon Group is pressing us for the Q3 co-branding strategy. Director Derek told us to figure it out ourselves, but Mr. Bennett from Beacon explicitly said he’ll only approve a plan written by you…” “Have Mr. Bennett add me on messaging. I’ll drop him an outline when I get a moment.” “Awesome!” At four in the afternoon, Laura from accounting showed up. “Harper, how did you negotiate the payment structure for Crestview? The terms Derek proposed were instantly rejected.” “It’s a milestone payout: thirty percent upfront, forty percent on approval, thirty percent final balance. They care about the payment window, not the percentages. Tell Derek to cut the term from sixty days to forty-five, and they’ll sign immediately.” Laura’s eyes lit up. “You really are a lifesaver.” By the fifth day, the front desk had transformed into an unofficial executive consulting clinic. A constant stream of people came by to grab water. Some genuinely needed business advice, while others just wanted to see how I was holding up, checking if I was truly broken. Ellie watched the whole scene in utter disbelief. “Harper, you’re busier down here than you were upstairs!” I sighed, taking a sip of tea, only to realize it had gone cold. “Honestly, I didn’t expect this either.” By the sixth day, things took a turn. At eleven in the morning, the elevator doors dinged open, and Gwen marched out with two admin assistants straight toward the front desk. The schadenfreude from earlier was gone, replaced by a deep, offended rage. “Harper.” She slammed a folder onto the counter. “Do you even know what your current job title is?” I looked at her calmly. “Receptionist.” “Right, receptionist!” She raised her voice, making sure every employee walking through the lobby could hear her. “And what are your responsibilities? Logging guests, answering phones, directing traffic. Who gave you permission to meddle in operational affairs?” Ellie shrank back in her seat. I leaned against my chair, watching Gwen. “I’m not meddling. They came to me with questions, and I offered a few quick answers.” “Quick answers?” Gwen sneered. “Director Derek already reported you. You’re pulling strings behind the scenes, rallying your old followers, and undermining his authority. Harper, do you really not understand your place here?” Several employees nearby slowed their steps. I saw someone pull out a phone, pretending to check messages while straining to listen. I didn’t budge. “Gwen, I’ve been sitting right here at this desk the whole time. Your people came down to ask me. If you think that’s my fault, go ahead and issue a company-wide memo banning everyone from talking to the front desk.” Gwen choked on her words. She took a sharp breath and slapped a sheet of paper in front of me. “Per Mrs. Ross’s instructions, your duties now include cleaning the executive lounge pantry on the twenty-sixth floor and restocking supplies daily.” Ellie gasped, covering her mouth. The twenty-sixth floor. The executive suite. Making a former Strategy Director scrub counters and serve tea to top executives. This wasn’t just a demotion. This was deliberate public humiliation. Gwen watched my face, her lips curling into a cruel smirk. She was waiting for me to break. I picked up the paper and glanced at it. There was Vivian’s signature at the bottom, extravagant and messy, identical to the demotion order. I folded the paper neatly and put it in my pocket. “What time?” Gwen blinked. “What?” “The lounge. What time do I restock? Is there a schedule?” “…Ten in the morning, three in the afternoon.” “Got it.” Gwen stood there, her smug expression slowly turning into confusion. She couldn’t fathom why I was so calm. What she didn’t know was very simple. My brother’s flight was landing next Tuesday. Six days left. I might as well treat those six days as a full-paid work environment study. After Gwen left, Ellie looked at me with reddened eyes. “Harper…” “Don’t cry,” I said, standing up to stretch my shoulders. “I’ve been to the twenty-sixth-floor lounge before. The snack cabinet is full of imported luxury chocolates. Back when I was director, I used to sneak them during meetings all the time.” Ellie was speechless. The way she looked at me had officially upgraded from viewing a chill lunatic to viewing a complete saint who had totally lost her mind. 3 The twenty-sixth-floor pantry was even more entertaining than I anticipated. Not because there was a lot of work, but because executives never censor themselves around service staff. They didn’t view the person cleaning the kitchen as a real human being. Or more accurately, they didn’t think service staff had ears. On my first day refilling tea supplies, I was pouring coffee beans into the machine when the VP’s office door slipped open an inch. Two voices floated out loud and clear. “…Derek can’t handle the load. Crestview just rejected his pitch for the third time. Mr. Dalton explicitly stated he won’t negotiate unless Harper is at the table.” “So what do we do? Mrs. Ross will never let Harper back up here.” “Should we report it to Mr. Ross?” “Are you insane? Mrs. Ross did this behind his back. If you blow the whistle now, how is the Chairman’s wife going to save face?” My hand paused on the sponge. So… people in management knew this whole demotion was sketchy. They were just too terrified of offending the Chairman’s wife to speak up. Makes sense. With my brother away, Vivian held the power. Who dared cross her? I silently finished wiping the counters, filled the hot water urns, and stocked the snack cabinet. Before leaving, I slipped two imported chocolates into my pocket. Perks of the job, funded by the very budget I had approved as director. On my way down, I ran into Derek in the elevator. The new Strategy Director. Mid-thirties, sharp suit, slicked-back hair, looking every bit the high-powered executive. When he saw me, his expression turned complicated. A mix of guilt and forced superiority. “Harper,” he nodded stiffly. “Director Derek,” I offered a polite smile. Three seconds of silence filled the elevator. He cleared his throat. “About the Crestview account… Mr. Dalton, the client you managed… what is his personality like?” I looked at him. The guy was asking me for work advice without a single “please” or hint of humility, acting as if I owed him an explanation. “Mr. Dalton likes rock tea,” I said. Derek frowned. “I asked about…” “Invite him for tea. Bring Rougui, not Dahongpao. He thinks Dahongpao is cliché. By the third steep, he will bring up business himself.” The elevator dinged on the ground floor. I walked out without looking back. Behind me, Derek stood frozen in the elevator car. He would never get it. Eight years of client trust, industry network, and hands-on experience couldn’t be transferred by a piece of paper. Vivian thought she could crush me and drop in a random replacement? How naive. By the third day, Derek’s situation was no longer looking bad. It was a total catastrophe. Crestview sent an official notice stating that if proper leadership wasn’t restored to the project within a week, they would terminate the partnership. How big was this deal? An annual strategic contract worth thirty million dollars. Fifteen percent of the company’s total annual revenue. The moment the letter arrived, the twenty-sixth floor called three emergency meetings. I knew this because every time a meeting ended, the pantry trash cans overflowed with crumpled draft papers and empty paper cups. They were panicking, yet not a single person came to talk to me. Not because they didn’t want to, but because they didn’t dare. Vivian had issued a strict warning: anyone caught consulting Harper would join her at the front desk. So everyone sat by, watching a thirty-million-dollar deal slip through their fingers. Whenever I passed the glass conference rooms to restock tea, I could feel their eyes burning into my back. It was a messy cocktail of guilt, desperation, and silent pleading: Please, just step up and offer to help! I acted completely blind. Why would I step up? I was humiliated, demoted, and publicly shamed, yet not one of them had spoken up for me. Now that everything was falling apart, they wanted me to clean up their mess? I held my water kettle, refilled the pots, wiped the counters, and clocked out at six sharp to cook pork rib soup at home.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “531864”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My father never once attended my parent-teacher conferences. Today, he made an unprecedented appearance. Before I could even crack a smile of relief, he walked right past my desk and took the seat next to Rana. Just like how he chose his mistress all those years ago, he was now choosing her illegitimate daughter. Mocking laughter rippled from Rana’s little clique of friends. They giggled behind their hands, whispering about how I was unloved, a tragic little orphan. I ignored them, calmly settling back into my chair. I had originally planned to tell him the big news today. Both my paternal grandfather and my mother’s father had officially decided I would inherit the family empire. Looking at him now, I realized it was completely unnecessary. Rana noticed me standing stiffly in the aisle and flashed a venomous, triumphant smirk. “Daddy, you even canceled your board meetings to be here. I told you it was fine,” she whined, leaning her head affectionately against his shoulder. My father rubbed her hair, his eyes melting with a warmth I had never received. “I’d never miss a day for my little troublemaker.” They whispered intimately to each other. Every word they exchanged felt like a needle driving into my chest. My mother died young, and my father never showed up for me. He always had a million excuses, constantly pawning the responsibility off onto random corporate executives to sit in my classroom. This term, I ranked first in the entire grade. I had practically buzzed with excitement when I asked if he could finally come to my conference. He had merely cast a cold glance in my direction. No praise. No smile. He just muttered that he would check his schedule and walked out the door. He had never praised me, let alone stroked my hair with such tender affection. “Serena, your parents didn’t show up again? I told everyone you were basically an orphan, but you just wouldn’t admit it.” “Right? Last time she acted so tough, I really thought someone might actually show up for her today.” Two nosy girls in the front row turned around, grinning maliciously at me before bursting into loud, obnoxious laughter. Through it all, my father did not lift his head once. It was as if I were a complete stranger. I let out a cold, sharp laugh, locking eyes with the two giggling girls. “Some people have parents but act like they were raised in a barn. They still have zero class. Even if my seat is empty today, I am still number one in the school.” The moment the words left my mouth, the color drained from their faces. The surrounding parents, hearing that I was the top student, turned their heads to look at me, their eyes filled with pity that such a brilliant girl lacked a loving family. I did not offer any further explanation, but my father’s expression darkened considerably. Seeing the tension, the homeroom teacher immediately stepped up to the podium. She began showering Rana with exaggerated praise, while subtly shading me. She hinted that my personality was gloomy and that aside from my grades, I was utterly useless and nowhere near as charming as Rana. “Exactly. You should all play with children from loving, happy families like Rana. Serena looks so depressing. Don’t let her drag your mood down,” the teacher added, clearly kissing up to my father. I could not stop the cynical smirk forming on my lips. This teacher had been flattering Rana for months. Now, she was actively targeting me just to humiliate me in front of the entire room. Everyone in this school firmly believed my grandfather would hand the corporate empire over to my father. In their eyes, I was just the unloved, discarded daughter destined to be thrown out. Even my father believed that delusion. I let out another quiet scoff, ignoring the smug expressions plastered across Rana and my father’s faces. The moment the conference ended, our family butler, Bernard, was already waiting at the school gates in my grandfather’s custom luxury sedan. Seeing me walk out, he gave a respectful nod. My father, however, assumed Bernard was there to pick him and his precious daughter up. He genuinely thought my grandfather had finally accepted his mistress and her child. His face flushed with absolute delight as he grabbed Rana’s hand and practically dragged her toward the vehicle. “Rana’s dad is so rich. She is totally going to be a billionaire heiress. I am so jealous.” Envious gazes followed them. Rana was already arrogant enough at school, and this would only inflate her ego to unbearable heights. Bernard looked completely bewildered as my father and Rana approached the car. He glanced past them, locking eyes with me. I gave him a subtle nod, signaling him to just let it happen. Let them put on a show. They would not have the chance to perform for much longer anyway. Surrounded by fawning classmates and parents, they climbed into the luxury car. Pictures of them were plastered all over the local social media pages that very afternoon. I did not bother explaining the truth to anyone. A discarded heir like my father was not worth my breath. People just loved a good circus act. But when I returned home that evening, the circus had followed me. Rana’s mother, Vanessa, was standing right in the middle of our living room. I furrowed my brows, swallowing the rising bile in my throat. “Who gave you permission to step foot in here?” It seemed Bernard’s silence earlier that afternoon had given my father the ultimate delusion. He truly believed he could finally parade his kept woman into the main estate. Looking at her face, all I could see was the day my mother died. As my mother took her final, agonizing breaths, my father was busy strolling through an amusement park with this exact woman. My mother waited for him. She waited until the monitor flatlined, her eyes refusing to close even in death. He did not even bother showing up on the day we buried her. And today was the anniversary of my mother’s death. How dare he. How dare he let them walk through these doors today of all days. Vanessa was pointing fingers all over the house, complaining about the decor, criticizing the architecture. Then, she reached for the large portrait of my mother hanging in the hall, demanding it be taken down. I surged forward and snatched the frame right out of her hands. Vanessa jumped in fright, letting out a shrill shriek as she nearly tripped over her own heels. Seeing it was me, her face contorted in rage. “You stupid brat, are you trying to kill me?” She screamed with the furious entitlement of a woman who already believed she was the lady of the house. The sight of her made my stomach turn. “Who gave you permission to touch my mother’s portrait?” Our shouting match echoed through the grand foyer. Suddenly, the heavy front doors clicked open. My father’s voice boomed from behind me. Hearing him, Vanessa’s eyes instantly welled with crocodile tears. She ran to his side, sobbing that I was bullying her. “She was trying to throw away my mother’s picture! And today is the anniversary of my mother’s…” Death. Before the word could even leave my lips, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. The force of my father’s slap snapped my head to the side, swallowing whatever I was about to say. The metallic tang of blood pooled in my throat. My cheek burned with a blinding pain. “Vanessa is your new mother now. Watch your mouth. It is just a worthless painting anyway. If she wants to burn it, let her burn it.” His face was black with fury. For a second, I could not tell what hurt more, my stinging cheek or my shattering heart. Thinking back to how I actually held onto a tiny shred of hope for this man earlier today made me feel utterly pathetic. Hearing the commotion, Bernard rushed into the hall. Seeing the red welt forming on my face, he gasped in horror and immediately reached for his phone to call the family doctor, but my father violently shoved his hand away. “Mind your own business. I am disciplining my own daughter. Since when is it a servant’s place to interfere?” my father snarled. “The old man is announcing my succession soon. You all better watch your backs when I am in charge.” Bernard’s eyebrow twitched at the sheer stupidity of the man. He did not even deem it necessary to waste words on him. I let out a cold, sharp laugh, holding up a hand to stop Bernard from explaining the reality to them. “Bernard, my father is absolutely right. We really need to make sure Aunt Vanessa gets a grand, spectacular welcome into the family.” Bernard instantly caught my drift. He lowered his head respectfully and remained silent. Taking my words as submission, my father and Vanessa exchanged a look of supreme, arrogant triumph. They looked absolutely thrilled by my sudden compliance. Rana tilted her chin so high it practically pointed at the ceiling. “Miss, the charity gala in the front courtyard is about to begin. The master asked me to invite…” Martha, one of the senior maids, walked into the hall. She froze mid-sentence, startled by the crowd. Hearing the word “Miss,” Rana’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. She completely assumed the maid was referring to her. Giddy with excitement, she hooked her arms through my father and her mother’s, dragging them toward the banquet hall. “Grandpa definitely accepts us now.” My father smiled so wide his eyes crinkled into slits. He strutted proudly toward the gala, a woman on each arm. I gave Martha a reassuring nod, signaling her to drop it. She bowed slightly and stepped back into the shadows. Tonight was an exclusive charity gala hosted by my paternal grandfather. My mother’s father was also in attendance. They had both agreed to let me host the event tonight. They invited the city’s most elite circles specifically to introduce me as the new, official heir to the empire. I slipped into the banquet hall early through a side door. The room was already packed. Whispers floated through the air, all gossiping about how highly my grandfather thought of me, and how my maternal grandfather flew in specifically to back my claim. “Thank you all for waiting.” A loud, overly confident male voice suddenly boomed through the elegant hall. Everyone turned their heads toward the grand mahogany doors. My father strutted in, his face glowing with arrogance. He had Vanessa on one side and Rana on the other. It was a charity gala dedicated to wildlife preservation, yet they had actually shown up draped in extravagant, dyed animal furs. Disgust flashed across the faces of the elite guests. My father was completely oblivious to the silent judgment. He marched straight up to the VIP table where my grandfathers sat. My mother’s father instantly turned purple with rage. I had to quickly lean in and whisper calming words into his ear for five whole minutes to stop him from flipping the table. He restrained himself, but his eyes promised total destruction later. We remained seated at the head table. None of us made a single move to offer them a chair. My father’s smile faltered slightly. He shot me a harsh glare, gesturing with his chin for me to give up my seat. I smiled sweetly. I did not move an inch. Instead, I raised my voice so the entire ballroom could hear. “Everyone, allow me to introduce my father’s one true love, Vanessa. And this is their precious daughter, Rana, who just happens to be the exact same age as me.” A collective gasp echoed through the room. The realization clicked instantly. This was the infamous mistress and the illegitimate child born out of wedlock. The atmosphere turned incredibly awkward, but Vanessa was far too blinded by the sparkling chandeliers and the scent of old money to notice. She had never been allowed in a room like this before. The moment I finished my introduction, she grabbed a champagne flute and began parading around the room, trying to clink glasses with billionaires, putting on the pathetic airs of a grand matriarch. The guests offered tight, polite smiles, though their eyes dripped with absolute disdain. They practically shrank away from her touch. My father had spent so many years rotting away with these two women that he had lost all sense of social awareness. He loudly announced to the room that he was going to throw a massive, official wedding to make things right. “That is wonderful, Daddy. I will definitely be there,” I laughed loudly, forcing down the bitter tears burning the back of my eyes. I felt so incredibly sorry for my mother. He wanted face? He wanted prestige? Fine. I would make sure he never had a shred of dignity left in this city. “Just having us there isn’t enough, right? We have to invite all my classmates. We need the press. The local country club is far too cheap for Aunt Vanessa. Let’s host the wedding at The Grand Astoria.” I smiled. The surrounding executives and socialites instantly caught the dangerous glint in my eye. They immediately began chiming in, hyping the idea up. My father’s face flushed crimson with absolute euphoria. He felt like a king holding court. He truly believed his ascension to the throne was imminent. “Are they really throwing a wedding? Do we have to go?” someone whispered from the crowd behind me. I threw a brief sideways glance. The man immediately shut his mouth. His wife elbowed him hard in the ribs, scowling in irritation. “Are you an idiot? This is obviously the young heiress setting a trap to humiliate the mistress. If you actually show up, you are officially declaring war on the entire family.” I smiled, turning my attention back to the three fools soaking in the fake applause. I could not wait for the wedding day. Over the next few weeks, Rana bragged to anyone with ears. She proudly announced her parents were getting married at The Grand Astoria and invited practically the entire school, including the teachers. Hearing the venue name, everyone gasped in awe. It was the most exclusive, hyper-expensive venue in the city. Money alone could not buy a reservation there, you needed supreme status. “Serena, you absolutely have to come,” Rana said, blocking my path in the hallway with a sickeningly sweet smile. She fully expected me to break down in tears. My mother had only been given a quiet, rushed ceremony back in the day, yet her mother was getting the wedding of the century at the most prestigious venue in the country. “Oh, I will definitely be there. After all, he is my father,” I replied with a bright smile. Rana’s smug expression froze. She let out an annoyed huff and stomped away. Her little minions stayed behind to block my path, sneering that the moment I was kicked out of the family, I would not even be fit to wipe Rana’s shoes. “Well then, I pray she legally changes her last name soon,” I shrugged nonchalantly. Some of my former friends actually believed the rumors that I was being disowned. They quickly switched sides, flocking to Rana, desperate for a crumb of her promised wealth. Rana basked in my isolation. She loudly promised to buy her loyal followers new laptops, designer phones, and even swore to take the whole class on a luxury vacation to Australia. Everyone except me, of course. Listening to their excited shrieks, I just mentally scoffed at the pack of idiots and walked back to my classroom to study. Egged on by Vanessa, my father invited every major media outlet in the city. He wanted the world to witness her becoming the official lady of the empire. It was hilarious. I eagerly counted down the days, practically salivating at the thought of watching them make total fools of themselves. My father loved his pride more than life itself, yet he was so incredibly shameless. I even sarcastically suggested he double the guest list. He missed the sarcasm entirely, looking at me with genuine paternal affection. He even reached out to stroke my hair. “If you stay this obedient, I might actually leave a small apartment in your name when I take over.” I dodged his hand, my skin crawling with disgust. The fatherly affection I had craved my entire childhood was finally being offered, and it only made me want to vomit. His hand hovered awkwardly in the air. He sighed and walked away. On the day of the wedding, I arrived at the venue early. Vanessa and Rana were decked out in offensively expensive, custom-tailored gowns. Seeing me walk in wearing my standard school uniform, they sneered in disgust. “What an absolute embarrassment. I really do not want to admit we are related to her,” Vanessa scoffed. I smiled, staying silent. They would not have the privilege of claiming relation to me anyway. My classmates arrived shortly after in a loud, chaotic herd. They took their seats, looking around the opulent ballroom with wide, greedy eyes, drawing irritated glances from the polished journalists setting up their cameras. “Rana, you promised us the new phones and laptops today, right?” the class president asked eagerly. Rana nodded dismissively, looking at her peers like they were peasants. But as the hours ticked by, no one else walked through the doors. It was nearing one in the afternoon. Stomachs were rumbling. And still, not a single elite guest had shown their face. “What is going on? Didn’t you say the CEO of the Sterling Group and the Vanguard Bank were coming?” Vanessa snapped, losing her patience. My father was sweating profusely. He could not get ahold of a single executive. Truth be told, he did not even have their personal phone numbers. He frantically dialed my grandfather’s number, only to find the phone turned off. A cold dread finally began to pool in his stomach. “Excuse me, everyone. We have a scheduled wedding event about to begin in this hall. If you wish to dine, please relocate to the public lobby.” The general manager of The Grand Astoria marched in with a squad of security guards, clearly intending to sweep the room. The crowd erupted into chaos. They had no reservation here at all. “What nonsense are you spewing?” my father roared, his face burning red with humiliation as the journalists aimed their lenses right at him. Desperate to save face, he whipped out his premium black card and slammed it into the manager’s chest. The manager swiped it on a portable terminal. It declined. The account was completely frozen. Just then, Bernard strolled gracefully into the chaotic ballroom. My father lunged toward him like a drowning man spotting a lifeboat. He demanded to know where the VIP guests were. Bernard did not even look at him. He walked straight past the frantic man and bowed deeply to me. “Miss, the Master requests your presence at the executive board meeting immediately.” My father exploded. He screamed that he was the true heir, demanding to know why he was being ignored. But a second later, the horrifying reality finally crashed down on him. The blood drained from his face entirely. He slowly turned his head to stare at me. “It was you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “531850”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On the day I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer, my husband, Marcus, and our seven-year-old son, Toby, were huddled in the emergency room, staring anxiously at Serena. She had cut her finger slicing fruit, requiring a mere two stitches, but the son I had carried for ten months was crying in heartbreak for her. I held my pathology report, standing in the freezing draft of the hallway, waiting in vain for Marcus to ask about my biopsy. Serena whimpered in pain, and Marcus immediately rushed to arrange a VIP private room. Our son shoved me away with irritation: “Mom, are you faking a stomach ache again to get attention?” “Just take a cab home. Don’t stand here blocking Aunt Serena’s rest!” Marcus caught sight of the paper in my hand and frowned in disgust. “It’s just a stomach bug. Was it really necessary to get a prescription?” But that was a surgical consent form for tumor removal, waiting for a family member’s signature. Watching them carefully guide Serena between them, a metallic taste rose in my throat. It wasn’t that they didn’t see my pale, pain-ridden face; they just found me redundant. If so, I would let them have their way. … Watching the three of them walk toward the elevator, I never ended up shouting that I had cancer. The gripping pain forced me to hunch over as I made my way to the oncology clinic. Dr. Reynolds looked at my pale face, his voice heavy with sympathy: “Mrs. Ward, you need to schedule a total gastrectomy immediately. Otherwise, you might have less than three months to live.” “Have your husband sign the papers. For a major surgery like this, the post-op chemo and care will require full-time family support.” I looked down at the words “poorly differentiated adenocarcinoma” on my pathology report. “No need, doctor. Please cancel the surgery.” The doctor gasped, trying to stop me: “You’re still so young. Even if not for yourself, think of your child!” At the mention of “child,” a bitter smile cracked on my face. My child had just pushed me out of the room because of a tiny, one-centimeter cut on another woman’s finger. I knew exactly what this disease meant. It was genetic; my grandmother and my father both withered away under this torture, taking their last painful breaths in hospital beds. Fighting cancer was a long, draining war of love and money. But I had no love left. In a home where my stomach cramps were mocked as a desperate cry for attention, who would ever care for me on my deathbed? As I walked out of the clinic, a couple of young nurses were gossiping excitedly near the desk. “That woman in the ER is so lucky!” “Just a tiny scratch on her finger, and her husband paid for the penthouse suite upstairs!” “I know, right? He even had his assistant deliver a fifty-thousand-dollar diamond necklace to cheer her up.” “Handsome, rich, and so devoted. It’s like a romance novel come to life.” I stood around the corner, my fingers tightening around the paper. A fifty-thousand-dollar diamond necklace just to soothe the shock of two stitches. Meanwhile, the paper in my hand that decided my life and death didn’t even deserve a second glance from him. When I stepped out of the hospital lobby, the rain had started to pour. The pain in my stomach grew sharper. I saw Marcus’s Maybach parked near the entrance. Tolerating the agony, I walked over, wanting to slip inside to escape the downpour. But Joe, the driver, stepped in front of the door with an awkward expression: “Mrs. Ward, you can’t get in.” I froze: “Why?” Joe avoided my gaze, stammering: “Mr. Ward ordered… Miss Serena wants some space, so he told you to find your own way back.” A luxury Maybach with a backseat spacious enough for two people to lie down, yet he was worried I would crowd Serena. Joe pulled a black umbrella from the trunk and offered it to me: “Mrs. Ward, please take this and find a cab down the street.” I stared at the umbrella, leaving it untouched. By the time I made it back to the suburban villa, my lips were blue from the cold, and my wet clothes clung to my shivering frame. Because of the late-stage cancer, I hadn’t been able to eat anything greasy for a long time. My stomach was completely empty, burning with acid. I forced myself to change into dry clothes, then went to the kitchen to cook a small pot of plain oatmeal. Just as I sat down at the table, the front door clicked open. Marcus walked in holding Toby’s hand, followed by Serena, whose hand was neatly wrapped in white gauze. They were laughing and talking. Marcus carried several elegant takeout containers bearing the logo of the city’s most exclusive private kitchen. “Serena, I had them slow-cook their premium bird’s nest and bone broth. You need to finish all of it to restore your strength,” Marcus said, his voice incredibly tender. Toby tugged at Serena’s hand dutifully: “Aunt Serena, I’ll make sure you drink every drop!” But when they walked into the dining area and saw me sitting there with my bowl of plain oatmeal, the smiles vanished from their faces. Marcus frowned at my simple meal, irritation flitting through his eyes. He didn’t ask how I had returned in the storm, nor did he ask if I had been caught in the rain. He simply pulled out a chair for Serena, helping her sit down. Then, he carefully opened the containers, gently blowing on a spoonful of hot broth to cool it for her. Just then, my phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from the hospital: [Mrs. Ward, your condition must not be delayed. Please bring a family member to confirm the surgical plan as soon as possible. Do not lose hope!] I stared at the word “hope,” then slowly raised my eyes to Marcus. He was leaning over, gently wiping a drop of soup from the corner of Serena’s mouth. His movements were incredibly soft. I gripped my porcelain spoon, testing the waters: “Marcus, my stomach is really hurting. Tomorrow, could you find some time to go to the hospital with me?” Perhaps some foolish, desperate hope still lingered in my heart. Even if it was one in ten thousand, I wanted to know if he would feel a single shred of pain if he knew I was dying. But before I could even finish my sentence, Marcus slammed the spoon against the bowl. “Diana, haven’t you played this game enough? If your stomach hurts, go drink some hot water!” “I have to take Serena to get her dressing changed tomorrow. I don’t have time for your childish tantrums.” Toby glared at me, chiming in: “Mom is the worst! She always lies to get attention!” Looking at their united front, my throat felt as though it were stuffed with wet cotton. I couldn’t make a sound. I quietly lowered my head, swallowing a spoonful of tasteless oatmeal. I didn’t speak again, because I already had my answer. That night, the temperature plummeted. I lay in bed, feeling the icy chill seeping straight into my bones. Unable to bear the cold, I got up and raised the central heating by two degrees. Just as I sat on the living room sofa to catch my breath, Serena walked out of her room holding an empty glass, complaining loudly: “Gosh, why is it suddenly so hot in here? I can barely breathe.” The master bedroom door opened instantly. Marcus walked straight to the thermostat, shut off the heat, and switched on the cool ventilation. Having done that, he turned around and glared at me. “Diana, you’re bundled up in a thick coat, so why are you turning up the heat? Don’t you know Serena can’t stand stuffy rooms?” Toby ran out in his little pajamas, standing beside Marcus like a loyal guard: “Mom did it on purpose! She wants to suffocate Aunt Serena!” My body trembled uncontrollably beneath my heavy coat. Seeing this, Serena immediately adopted a sweet, understanding tone: “Marcus, don’t blame Diana. Maybe she really is cold.” “I’ll be fine. I’ll just go back to my room. I don’t want to cause trouble between you two.” Marcus took her hand, his tone icy: “She’s doing it on purpose. Ignore her.” With that, they went back to their respective rooms. Serena didn’t forget to cast a smug glance in my direction before she closed her door. The next morning, I took a cab to the hospital alone to sign the non-treatment form. The doctor frowned when he saw me alone: “Mrs. Ward, a major decision like this requires a family member’s signature. Where is your husband?” I turned my head, looking through the glass doors of the lobby. Outside, Marcus and my son were squatting on the ground. Serena stood between them, holding her medical slip. Because her finger was bandaged, Marcus was patiently tying her left sneaker. And my son was clumsily but carefully tying her right shoe. Passersby watched them with admiration, whispering: “Look at how much her husband and son dote on her. She must be the luckiest woman alive.” During our four years in college, I had eaten cheap street food with him and lived in damp basements. When I was seven months pregnant, his company went through a severe cash flow crisis. I dragged my heavy belly to client dinners, taking the blows to keep his business afloat, and all he had said back then was a casual “thanks for the hard work.” It turned out he wasn’t blind, nor was he heartless; he just didn’t love me. I withdrew my gaze, my voice calmer than I expected. “I don’t have any family left.” I signed my name on the waiver form. Then, I picked up two bottles of prescription painkillers and left. After leaving the hospital, I went to Ward Enterprises. The company wouldn’t exist today without the effort I had put in alongside Marcus. I was a co-founder and the lead director of our core projects. Over the past few years, to care for Toby, I had gradually stepped back. The moment I walked into the office, several project managers rushed over. “Diana, thank goodness you’re here! Marcus hasn’t been in for two days, and we can’t reach him.” “The pricing for the Southside project must be finalized today. We have no idea what to do!” “Yes, Diana, the clients are pushing us. We need your direction!” They looked at me with hope, assuming I was there to save the day. But I simply unzipped my bag, pulled out my resignation letter, and handed it to the HR director who had hurried over. The entire office fell dead silent. The HR director stammered: “Diana… what is this? Does Marcus know?” “He doesn’t need to.” I scanned the faces of the employees who had fought alongside me for years, having no intention of hiding the truth. “I’m resigning. I have terminal stomach cancer, and there is no cure.” “From now on, direct all company matters to Marcus.” Without waiting for the gasps and shocked murmurs behind me, I walked out of the building that had consumed ten years of my life. The next day, before dawn, the villa was silent. I placed the divorce papers and the waiver of custody neatly on the center of the coffee table. Finally, I slid my wedding ring off my finger. After eight years of wearing it, a deep indentation remained on my skin, looking like a permanent shackle. I placed the ring right in the middle of the documents. Swallowing my third painkiller of the day, I pushed open the front door and walked into the morning mist without looking back. I took a cab to the airport and bought an expensive ticket to my quiet hometown. I wanted to spend my remaining days closer to where I came from. Sitting in the departure terminal, I pulled out my phone and blocked Marcus and everyone associated with him. “Excuse me, ma’am.” Before boarding, a gate agent walked up with a warm smile, handing me a pink carnation. “It’s your birthday today. This is a special gift from our airline. Happy birthday, and safe travels.” I stared at the pink flower, my throat tightening. Today was my birthday. I had completely forgotten. Marcus had forgotten, Toby had forgotten, and I had forgotten too. Carnations were my late mother’s favorite flowers. I looked down at the blooming petals, and tears splashed onto them without warning. I had been fighting so hard to remain strong. I had imagined, countless times, that if Marcus found out about my cancer, he would hold me and weep, and Toby would hold my hand, begging me not to leave. But the reality was that they simply didn’t care. Holding the flower close, I finally broke down in the crowded airport, weeping for my hollow marriage and for my own looming end. … Meanwhile, back at the villa. Marcus slept in late. When he finally walked down to the living room, he didn’t notice the papers on the table. Toby saw the messy sheets of paper blocking his way and shouted toward the kitchen: “Martha, throw these papers away! They’re getting in the way of my Legos!” The housekeeper walked over and swept the papers, along with the ring, straight into the trash. A week passed. It was as if I had vanished from the earth, but no one in the household noticed. With my absence, Serena had completely taken over as the lady of the house. On the eighth day, Ward Enterprises faced a sudden tax audit. Because I was listed as a co-founder and legal representative during the early days of registration, several critical tax documents required my signature. Sitting in his office, Marcus picked up his phone with irritation and dialed my number. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service…” Marcus frowned, assuming I had changed my number, and sent a harsh voice note over social media: “Diana, stop throwing tantrums and get back to the office to sign these papers!” The moment he pressed send, a red exclamation mark popped up. Marcus’s face darkened. Only then did he realize that I had been gone for an entire week. My clothes were still in the closet, but I was nowhere to be found. “What is she planning this time?” Furious, Marcus used his connections to track my whereabouts over the past week. Two hours later, his assistant placed the search results on his desk, trembling. “Mr. Ward… the credit cards haven’t been used, and there are no hotel bookings.” “We checked the security footage. The last place she visited before disappearing… was the city hospital.” “The hospital?” Marcus froze, then let out a cold laugh. He immediately drove to the hospital, marching straight into the clinic of my primary oncologist. “Where is Diana? She’s faking an illness to dodge her responsibilities. Does she think hiding here will save her from signing the documents?” The elderly doctor was writing a report and was startled by his intrusion. Once the doctor verified Marcus’s identity, his expression turned into one of deep disgust. “You’re looking for Diana? She has terminal stomach cancer. She refused surgery and could die at any moment!” “You’re her husband, and you had absolutely no idea?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “531865”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At the business dinner, Ken’s ex-girlfriend drank herself to the point of a stomach hemorrhage just to secure a contract. I could not bear to watch. But then I saw him grabbing her chin, his eyes filled with mockery and lingering resentment. “If Miss Nancy wants the contract so badly, why don’t you try begging me on your knees?” The newly minted billionaire of the city, known for his cold, detached elegance, had lost his composure in public for the first time. 1 An hour ago, Nancy had cornered me in the restroom. Arrogant and bold, she had said, “Do you believe your fiancé will leave with me tonight?” Of course, I did not believe her. Unlike the high-and-mighty Miss Nancy, who had once crushed Ken’s pride under her heel, I was his partner and lover. I was the one who had spent seven years building everything with him from nothing. Faced with her provocation, I paid it no mind. But the scene unfolding before me now made me hesitate. At the same time, the whispers of our old business partners echoed in my ears. “How many years has it been since Ken acted like this?” “Ever since Nancy married someone else seven years ago, Ken has been like a machine. Even when the company went public, he never showed any real emotion.” “Seven years ago, Ken begged her not to leave. Do you remember what she said? She said the game with poor people had to end.” “Now that Ken is worth billions, Nancy must be dying of regret.” My body grew numb as I listened. My eyes remained fixed on the two figures not far away. “Mr. Mercer, if I kneel, will you sign the contract?” Nancy relaxed her furrowed brows, forcing a bitter smile. Sweat clung to her beautiful face, dampening her hair, which stuck wetly to Ken’s long, elegant wrist. He was always a germaphobe, but he did not pull away. Dark, intense emotions swirled in his eyes. Ken said nothing. Nancy’s knees hit the ground without a second thought. She was wearing a short skirt, exposing her thighs as she knelt before him. Clutching the hem of her skirt, her tears spilled over, falling like broken pearls. She looked fragile and utterly pitiable. She grabbed the hem of Ken’s trousers, a stubborn smile on her lips. “Is this enough, Mr. Mercer? Or do you want me to bow my head to the floor?” Ken’s eyes flickered, his lips trembling slightly. I watched it all unfold. The whispers around me did not stop. “Who would have thought the proud Nancy would fall this low?” “He finally got his revenge, but Ken does not look happy at all.” “I thought he had forgotten her. Guess not.” “She is the only one who can make him act human.” She is the only one who can make him act human. What about when he was with me? He was always calm, rational, and decisive, never losing control. He was incredibly good to me. He handpicked the finest clothes, bags, and shoes for me. He was endlessly gentle. Every handhold, every kiss was with my consent. He said I deserved the perfect version of him, and he had never once raised his voice at me since we met. But now, his eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Nancy. The emotions in them were so complex, he probably did not even realize his gaze never left her. Seven years. Their seven-year separation was about to become our seven-year itch. 2 Ken let go of her chin. Nancy’s delicate frame swayed on the floor. As she bent forward, her forehead almost touching the ground, a faded, cheap necklace slipped from her collarbone. It was ordinary, visibly worthless. But the moment it fell, Ken froze. I recognized it. It was in Ken’s wallet. A water-stained, blurry photo of a girl wearing that exact necklace. When I had asked who she was, he said, “An enemy.” An enemy who kept him awake at night, whose memory pierced his heart. Now I saw. Not an enemy, but an old flame. 3 Nancy’s forehead never hit the ground. Irritated and restless, Ken stood up and walked over to me. He told my assistant, Marcus, “Give her the contract.” Marcus understood immediately and quickly handed the prepared contract to Nancy. Nancy took it, but there was no joy in her eyes, only bitterness. Her fragile state gave her a tragic, beautiful air. I pressed my lips together. When Ken turned to face me, he had regained his usual elegant, high-class composure. He wrapped his arm around my waist and addressed the room, “Please enjoy yourselves. Our wedding is tomorrow, and we have many preparations left. We will take our leave.” We walked toward the door, showered with congratulations. “Congratulations, Ms. Prescott and Mr. Mercer. Tomorrow is the big day.” “We will definitely be there to celebrate with you tomorrow.” But just as we reached the door, Nancy’s sharp voice cut through the congratulations. “Everyone, I apologize for any offenses in the past. Tonight, I will raise a glass to apologize. I hope you will look out for me in the future.” Before she could finish, someone interrupted, “A glass of water? You have some nerve!” “If you want to apologize, do it right.” “One glass, one contract. Let’s see how many you can handle.” The crowd cheered as someone poured glass after glass of hard liquor. Our backs were turned, but I could feel the intense gazes in the room. Some partners did it to please Ken and me, wanting to avenge us. Nancy’s gaze was burning with desperate emotion. I looked at Ken. This kind of cheap bullying was bad for our company’s image. But Ken just smiled gently at me and asked, “You barely ate tonight. Let’s go home and I will make your favorite chicken and mushroom porridge, okay?” He adjusted my coat. “It’s windy outside. Don’t catch a cold.” His expression was calm, but I felt his hand trembling slightly when it brushed against my neck. “Fine, I’ll drink!” Nancy’s resolute voice rang out. The sound of empty glasses hitting the table echoed one after another. Leaning against Ken’s shoulder, I felt his heart racing in panic. Finally, with a dull thud, Nancy collapsed. Ken could not pretend anymore. Without a second thought, he rushed to her side, draped his coat over her shoulders to cover her legs, and scooped her up. As he carried her past me, I saw the veins bulging on his pale, terrified face. He barked at Marcus, “To the hospital!” Marcus glanced at me in panic, hesitating. “Mr. Mercer, but Ms. Prescott…” “Go!” Ken did not even hear him. I let out a bitter laugh. I did not want to make things difficult for Marcus, so I gave him a reassuring nod. Only then did he follow. In Ken’s arms, Nancy’s pale face flushed. She weakly opened her eyes and shot me a triumphant smirk. She had said Ken would leave with her tonight. She won. No matter how dirty her methods, she won. The private room fell dead silent. Everyone looked at me with deep sympathy. Some even spoke up in frustration. “Ken is out of his mind!” “We went too far. We fell right into her trap.” “Charlie, don’t blame him. Ken is just too sentimental.” “I’ll call him right now and get him back here. He’s just not thinking straight.” I shook my head, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. A sob story only works on someone who still cares. In front of everyone, I slid the engagement ring off my ring finger and placed it quietly on the table. Gasps filled the room. Without waiting for their pleas, I turned and walked away. Nancy won. But I did not lose. Instead, Ken, I do not want you anymore. 4 I walked down the cold, windy street in my coat. The city lights blurred in my eyes. Passing an underpass, memories flooded back. Seven years ago, the night my stepbrother assaulted me, I fled my home. My mother refused to believe me. She told me to go back and apologize. She said, “When you live under someone else’s roof, you have to bow your head.” At that moment, I realized what it meant to be an unwanted burden. To make things easier for her, I left. I never went back. I cut off all contact. I worked by day and slept on the streets by night, barely surviving. I met Ken in an underpass. He was shirtless, clutching a perfectly pressed suit. I joked that it looked like a scholar’s robe from a tragedy. He self-deprecatingly replied that without this robe, he would never get a meeting with investors. I watched him for a few days. He was fascinating. He would spend his last penny on a coffee just to use the cafe’s Wi-Fi. Yet, he would dig through trash cans for half-eaten meals. He could talk passionately to wealthy investors in fancy restaurants, then wash dishes all night to pay his bills. I asked him, “Isn’t this exhausting? Why not get a normal job?” He replied, “I can’t wait. My little sister is in the hospital. If I don’t get a hundred and fifty thousand dollars within a year, she won’t survive the surgery.” Making that much money in a year was impossible with a normal job. But starting a business was incredibly hard. Looking into his gentle eyes, my heart warmed. I joined him. I rented a cheap, tiny apartment. I bought one portion of food to share. He handled the tech, while I began drinking with investors to secure funding. The cheap alcohol burned my throat and tore my stomach. I threw up constantly. Once, my stomach bled. To save money on medical bills, I endured the pain at home. He stopped working and cared for me until dawn. His eyes were full of worry as he cooked me chicken and mushroom porridge. As we looked at each other, his eyes reddened. He promised, “We will make it. Trust me.” I smiled and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Of course I trust you. I always have.” I do not remember who kissed whom first. But the bowl of porridge fell to the floor. It was our first time wasting food, and our first time completely opening our hearts to each other. He asked me what my dream was once we succeeded. I held him tight. “I want a home. A place of my own.” He squeezed my hand. “I will give you a home. Ours.” In the first year, I secured our first major investment. Ken paid for his sister’s surgery. In the third year, the company grew. He bought me a house and decorated it exactly how I wanted. In the sixth year, the company went public, and he proposed. Now, in the seventh year, I thought our home would finally be filled with warmth. Instead, when I opened the door, it was cold and dark.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “531851”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 During the final week of summer break, I stayed at home, waiting for my parents to keep their promise of a graduation trip. They had promised to take me to the coast to make up for the family portrait they missed on my eighteenth birthday. But I waited until eight in the evening, only to see my sister’s social media update. In the photo, Dad was holding up the camera, Mom was adjusting her sunhat, and my brother Tyler was kneeling in the sand, building a sandcastle for her. Nolan, my childhood sweetheart, stood right behind her, shielding her from the ocean breeze with his jacket. The caption read: A little family escape to the coast. Family. I stared at those words, my hand trembling as the frame in my grip slipped. Inside was a family portrait I had drawn as a little girl. Five of us, holding hands. Back then, I foolishly believed that if I drew it carefully enough, I wouldn’t be left behind. When I called them, Mom’s voice sounded flustered for a second. “Nora, Zoe has been under so much pressure lately, so we took her out on a whim to clear her head.” Tyler snatched the phone, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Can you stop being such a buzzkill? It’s just a trip, it’s not like we’re abandoning you.” Nolan chimed in too. “Be good, babe. I’ll take you out by ourselves next time.” Next time. They always traded my this time for a promised next time. I looked down at the old drawing. The girl in the middle, me, was smiling like an idiot. But in reality, I didn’t even deserve to know their location. The frame shattered against the floor, glass scattering everywhere. In that moment, I finally understood. There was never any room for me in that picture anyway. … “Nora, what exactly is your problem?” On the other end of the line, Nolan’s voice carried a hint of annoyance at being interrupted. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was clear in the background, mixed with Zoe’s giggling. I squatted in front of the shattered glass, watching a bead of blood seep from my fingertip. “Nolan, what about my graduation trip?” The phone went quiet for a second. Then, my brother Tyler’s voice cut in. “Nora, can you stop being such a wet blanket every single time?” “Zoe did terribly on her high school placement exams. She’s been crying under her covers for days. What’s wrong with Mom and Dad bringing her to the beach to relax?” “You’re eighteen now. You’ve just finished high school and have nothing but free time. Can’t you show a little empathy for your sister’s stress?” I stared at the drawing sliced by the broken glass. The girl in the middle, smiling so happily, had her face completely split open. “I have free time because you told me we were going to the coast this week.” “I’ve been packing since the beginning of the month. I bought sunscreen, motion sickness pills, even Zoe’s favorite snacks.” “But when you guys left, you didn’t even knock on my door.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as if I were stating a fact that had nothing to do with me. Tyler choked on his words, his tone turning even more irritated. “We left in a rush. We were afraid of waking you up, okay?” “Besides, why did you have to come anyway?” “If you came, Zoe would feel like we were playing favorites, and she wouldn’t be able to relax.” Playing favorites with me. I let out a dry laugh. During my senior year of high school, to create a quiet study environment for Zoe’s exams, I was kicked out of my room and forced to sleep in the drafty, unconditioned storage room for a whole year. When I was in middle school, to drop off and pick up Zoe from elementary school, I had to wake up an hour earlier than everyone else, riding my bike across half the city. Now, they were worried she’d think they favored me. “Mom, is Nora mad at me?” Zoe’s timid voice drifted through the receiver. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have said I wanted to see the ocean. I’ll buy a ticket back right now.” The other end of the phone instantly erupted into chaos. Mom coaxed her gently. “Zoe, sweetie, your sister isn’t mad. She’s the sensible one.” Nolan’s voice came back on the line. “Nora, did you hear that?” “Zoe is sensitive. Don’t trigger her right now.” “When we get back, I’ll bring you that seashell necklace you wanted, okay?” He was always like this, assuming that tossing me some cheap scrap of affection would make me swallow all my grievances. “No need,” I said softly. “What do you mean, no need?” Nolan frowned. “I don’t want the necklace.” Using my uninjured hand, I picked up the glass shards one by one and tossed them into the trash bin. “Have fun.” Before he could speak, I hung up. The living room fell back into a suffocating silence. The wall clock ticked away, pointing to nine in the evening. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap. Cold water washed over the cut on my finger, rinsing the faint red blood down the drain. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes weren’t red, and there were no tears. It turned out that when your heart completely dies, you can’t even cry. My phone buzzed on the sink. It was a notification from our family group chat, named “The Happy Family.” Mom had shared a video. In the video, Nolan was carrying Zoe on his back through the shallow water while Tyler splashed them from behind. Dad held the camera, laughing heartily. Mom sent a voice note. “Our Zoe is finally smiling. This trip was worth every penny.” No one asked if I had eaten dinner. No one remembered that today was supposed to be my college celebration dinner. I dried my hands and tapped the group settings. My finger hovered over the red button that read “Leave Group” for a brief second. Then, I pressed it. The next morning, I was awakened by a courier knocking on the door. I opened it to find a massive cardboard box. The recipient was Zoe. I dragged the box into the living room and saw the label. It was the latest model of a high-end digital piano. Zoe had wanted it for a long time, but our parents had always delayed buying it, saying it was too expensive. Looking at the box, I recalled how my three-year-old laptop had broken right before my final exams. I had begged Mom for a new one to do my research. Mom had said: “Nora, our expenses have been high lately. Just use your brother’s old hand-me-down laptop for now.” Now, a two-thousand-dollar digital piano was sitting in our living room. My phone lit up with a text from Nolan. “Nora, did Zoe’s piano arrive?” “Your parents bought it as a congratulatory gift. Unpack it and set it up in her bedroom.” “She’ll be thrilled when she gets back.” I stared at the words, my fingers turning cold. Nolan knew how badly I had wanted a new laptop. He also knew that to save up for one, I had stayed up late all through senior year helping other students compile study guides. Yet, he took it for granted that I should assemble this expensive gift for Zoe. I didn’t reply. I tossed the phone onto the sofa. I walked into my room and pulled out a twenty-four-inch suitcase. I began clearing out my room. In the closet, most of the clothes were faded from washing or cheap clearance items Mom had bought. I pulled them all out and stuffed them into heavy-duty black trash bags. In my desk drawer, there was a crafted wooden keepsake box. It was filled with things Nolan had given me over the years: the first plush toy he won for me, the study notes he stayed up all night writing for me in middle school, and a note he wrote in high school. “When Nora turns eighteen, I’ll take her to see the ocean.” I pulled out that note, staring at the slightly faded ink. Then, gripping the edges, I tore it to shreds. Along with the wooden box, I threw it all into the trash. Around noon, Nolan called. I answered and put it on speakerphone, continuing to clear my bookshelf. “Nora, did you check your phone?” His tone carried a hint of irritation. “Is the piano set up?” “No.” I tied a stack of old textbooks with some twine. “Why not?” Nolan’s voice dropped. “Are you still throwing a tantrum over yesterday?” “Nora, can you not be so petty? Zoe is your sister. You can’t even do this small thing for her?” I stood up, looking at the half-empty bookshelf. “It’s too heavy. I can’t lift it.” The other end went quiet. Nolan didn’t seem to expect such a flat, indifferent response. He let out a sigh, softening his voice slightly. “If it’s too heavy, why didn’t you ask the neighbors for help?” “By the way, go to my room, open the left drawer of my desk, and take a photo of the blue folder inside. I need it for an assignment.” He was always like this, completely used to ordering me around. “I’m not home,” I said calmly. “Where did you go?” His voice grew guarded. “Out.” “Nora!” He lost his patience entirely. “Why are you acting so selfish lately? You hesitate over every little favor.” “Do you think because you got into Silverlake University, you can suddenly walk all over everyone in this house?” Silverlake University. That was the college my parents forced me to apply to. Because it was close to home, making it convenient for me to continue taking care of Zoe while she was in high school. I looked down at the college admission guide in my hand. “I don’t think that.” “Then go home and take the photo!” Nolan ordered. “I’m hanging up. Zoe is calling me for seafood.” The line went dead again. I slipped my phone into my pocket, grabbed the trash bags, and walked out. The sun outside was blinding. I threw the trash into the bin downstairs and walked straight out of the neighborhood to a local secondhand shop. I sold my old tablet and several cherished art books. I got a hundred and fifty dollars. That money, combined with what I had saved up, was just enough for a train ticket three thousand miles away. For the next three days, my family was still enjoying their getaway. They seemed to have forgotten I existed entirely. My name never appeared in the family group chat, and I enjoyed the peace. I cleared my room of everything that belonged to me. What could be sold was sold, and what couldn’t was thrown away. In the end, only a single suitcase and a backpack remained. The room was completely bare. Even the sheets were washed, folded, and stacked neatly at the foot of the bed. It looked as if a girl named Nora had never lived there. On the afternoon of the fourth day, my college acceptance letter arrived. After signing for the package, I sat on the bare mattress and opened the envelope. On the deep blue cover, gold letters gleamed: Cascade University. This was the college I had secretly changed my application to, behind everyone’s back. Cascade was in the far north, three thousand miles away. No familiar faces, no biased parents. And no Nolan. I ran my fingers over my name on the letter, and for the first time in days, a smile touched my lips. Suddenly, my phone rang. My mother’s name flashed on the screen. I let it ring almost to the end before answering. “Nora, why did it take you so long to pick up?” Mom’s voice sounded cheerful. “I was sleeping.” “Sleeping in the middle of the day?” Mom grumbled before getting straight to the point. “By the way, didn’t you say you saved up three hundred dollars from your part-time job?” “Transfer it to my account.” My grip on the acceptance letter tightened. “Why do you need my money?” “Zoe wants a pearl necklace. It’s over five hundred dollars, and your dad and I didn’t bring enough cash.” “You’re starting at Silverlake soon anyway. You’ll be living and eating at home, so you won’t need money.” “Give it to us as a gift for your sister’s placement exams.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, leaving absolutely no room for discussion. I looked out the window at the blazing southern sun. “I spent it,” I said flatly. “Spent it?” Mom’s voice shrieked. “You stay at home all day, what could you possibly spend it on? Are you doing this on purpose?” “Nora, how did I raise such an ungrateful child?” “Your sister calls you ‘sis’ all day long, and you can’t even spare this bit of money for her?” My brother Tyler piped up in the background. “Mom, why bother arguing with her? She’s just jealous of Zoe.” “When we get back, cut off her college allowance. Let’s see if she still dares to hide money from us.” Listening to their accusations, I felt absolutely nothing. If this had been before, my eyes would have welled with tears as I tried to prove I wasn’t jealous, that I was their daughter too. But now, I just found it noisy. “I bought something,” I interrupted Mom’s tirade. “Bought what?” “A ticket.” Mom paused. “A ticket? What ticket?” “Nothing,” I replied, having no intention of explaining. Nolan’s voice came from nearby, as he took the phone from her. “Nora, cut it out.” “Your mom is only asking for a little cash. Who are you being passive-aggressive with?” “If you’re really that broke, I’ll give you the three hundred dollars back when we return, okay?” “Stop acting like the whole family is ganging up on you.” Ganging up. In their eyes, stripping me of everything to feed Zoe wasn’t bullying. My refusal to cooperate was the actual tantrum. “Okay,” I murmured. Nolan didn’t seem to expect me to agree so quickly, and his tone softened. “That’s more like it. We’re flying back tomorrow afternoon.” “Clean up the house. Zoe is exhausted and needs to rest when she gets back.” “And remember to set up the piano.” I looked at my empty bedroom. “Okay.” I hung up. I carefully packed the Cascade University acceptance letter into my backpack. Then, I raised the handle of my suitcase. The day of my departure was overcast. I dragged my suitcase to the door and took one last look at the home where I had lived for eighteen years. On the coffee table lay the last thing I had left behind. The torn family portrait, taped back together with clear tape. Beside it lay my house keys. I pulled the door shut, listening to the solid click of the lock. Without looking back, I walked toward the elevator. … At five in the afternoon, a taxi pulled up outside the building. Tyler was carrying bags of local souvenirs, while Mom held Zoe’s hand. Nolan walked behind them, holding a shopping bag containing a bracelet he had lazily picked up from the airport duty-free shop. “That ungrateful girl. She knew we were coming back today and didn’t even come down to help,” Mom complained as they walked. “Mom, you know how Nora is,” Zoe said, clinging to Mom’s arm. “She’s definitely still mad at us.” “She wouldn’t dare!” Tyler scoffed. “If she gives us attitude today, I’ll throw her out myself.” Nolan remained silent, but his brow was furrowed. For some reason, he had felt uneasy all day. At the door, Tyler pulled out his keys. “Nora, we’re back! Come grab these bags!” Tyler yelled into the apartment out of habit. The apartment was dead silent. There was no response. “Is she hiding in her room pretending to be deaf again?” Mom slipped off her shoes and angrily marched to my room, pushing the door open. “Nora, you—” Her voice cut off. Mom froze, her shopping bag slipping from her fingers and hitting the floor. “Mom, what is it?” Tyler walked over, following her gaze into the room. He froze too. The room was completely bare. No clothes, no books, no laptop. Even the sheets had been stripped, leaving only a blank mattress. There wasn’t even a trace of life in the air. Nolan shoved Tyler aside and ran into the room. He pulled open the closet. Empty. He yanked open the drawers. Empty. He spun around and ran to the living room, his eyes scanning the coffee table. There lay a set of keys and the taped-up family portrait. Nolan’s breathing turned shallow and rapid. He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed my number. It rang for a long time before it was picked up. In the background, the noisy PA system of a train station echoed: “Attention passengers, train K128 bound for Cascade is now boarding…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “531866”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After three years of marriage, I finally got pregnant. I called to tell him. “Hey, come home early tonight. I have some amazing news.” Silence on the other end for a second. “I can’t make it tonight, Iris. Amber really wants some mango crepe cake, so I’m taking her to line up for it. After that, we’re going hiking to catch the sunrise.” “When I wanted to watch the sunrise, you told me it was a waste of time.” “Why do you always have to ruin the mood? She’s all by herself. I can’t just leave her alone, can I?” After he hung up, his childhood friend Amber sent me a text. “Hey babe, he belongs to me tonight. I’ll watch the sunrise for you.” I stared at the positive pregnancy test in my hand, two bright pink lines, and let out a soft laugh. Then, I texted her back: “He belongs to you forever now.” 1 After sending that message, I opened the hospital’s app and scheduled an abortion for the next morning. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I sat alone on the living room sofa, watching the sky fade from pitch black to a cold gray, and then to bright morning light. My phone stayed completely silent. Patrick was busy, of course. Busy chasing the sunrise with Amber. At eight the next morning, I arrived at the clinic right on time. I checked in, waited for my name, and signed the consent forms. The nurse looked at my paperwork and asked, “Is there no one here with you?” “He’s busy.” She didn’t press further, simply handing me a cup of warm water. The lights in the operating room were blindingly bright. The anesthesiologist told me to count down. I only made it to seven before slipping into the dark. When I woke up, I was lying in the recovery room. I stayed there for two hours. Not a single call came to ask where I was. Slowly, I sat up, pulled on my coat, and took a cab back home by myself. It was already two in the afternoon when I unlocked the front door. The sound of laughter drifted from the living room. Patrick and Amber were curled up on the sofa, with snacks and drinks scattered across the coffee table. They were looking at photos on a phone, laughing hysterically. “Look at this angle! The light hitting the clouds is absolutely stunning,” Amber purred, her voice dripping with sweetness. Patrick leaned toward her, a smile on his face that I hadn’t seen in ages. That was the smile that used to belong only to me. I stood by the entryway, changing my shoes, but neither of them noticed. It wasn’t until I walked over to the kitchen to pour a glass of water that Amber finally looked up. She stared at me for a moment, her eyes lingering on my pale face, and then she smiled. “Oh, you’re back! Where did you go today? You look terrible.” Patrick finally turned his head, his brow furrowing. “Where have you been? You could have at least called.” I didn’t answer. I took my glass and sat down at the dining table. Amber spoke up again. “Are you mad at us for watching the sunrise last night?” My hand tightened around the glass. Patrick’s expression hardened as he glared at me. “Iris, seriously? It was just a sunrise. Who are you throwing a tantrum for?” I looked up at him. There was no concern in his eyes, no guilt, only pure irritation. “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” “Then why do you look like someone died?” “Amber finally had a good day, and you have to ruin it?” Amber tugged gently on Patrick’s sleeve. “Patrick, don’t. She’s probably just tired.” That small gesture immediately softened Patrick’s tone. “You’re always so understanding.” He stood up and walked to the kitchen, retrieving a takeout box from the fridge. “By the way, I saved you a slice of that mango crepe cake from last night.” He pushed the box toward me like it was a grand gesture of charity. “Go ahead. The line was incredibly long.” I stared at the cake. The bright yellow mango slices peeked through layers of cream. “I’m not eating that.” “Why not? You love sweets.” “I’m allergic to mangoes.” A heavy silence filled the room. Patrick froze for a split second, but he quickly recovered his defensive frown. Amber tilted her head, a mock-puzzled expression on her face. “But sweetie, most people with mango allergies only break out if the juice touches their skin. Eating it is usually totally fine. I have a friend who gets a rash if she touches them, but she can eat mangoes all day without any issues.” Patrick nodded instantly, seizing her words. “See? Amber said it herself. You’re just being dramatic, dramatic about everything. Since when are you allergic to eating them? It’s just a slice of cake. What’s the worst that could happen?” 2 I looked at Amber. She offered me a sweet, almost imperceptible smirk. I set my glass down, my voice flat and calm. “I said no.” The smile vanished from Amber’s face. She lowered her head, her voice dropping to a whimper. “Are you mad at me, Iris? Is it because I went with him? I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone.” As she spoke, her eyes brimmed with tears. Patrick lost his temper immediately. “Look at what you’re doing! Amber is just trying to help, and you have to act like this?” He shoved the cake box right against my hands. “Eat it.” I didn’t move. “Iris, I told you to eat it. Didn’t you hear me?” I remained perfectly still. Patrick snapped. He snatched up the fork, scooped up a massive piece of the crepe cake, and forced it to my lips. “Open your mouth.” I jerked my head away, but the fork scraped against my cheek. The sticky cream and mango juice smeared onto my skin, and an instant, burning itch began to spread. Amber gasped softly. “Patrick, stop. If she doesn’t want it, don’t force her.” “No, she’s eating it today. She does this every single time, throwing a fit over nothing. I’m sick of pampering her.” He scooped another piece, pinched my jaw tight, and shoved it directly into my mouth. The sickly sweet taste of mango exploded on my tongue, and my stomach violently rebelled. I doubled over, gagging forcefully as tears sprang to my eyes. Amber stood up, looking utterly devastated. “Patrick, if she hates me that much, she could have just said so. Did she really have to humiliate me like this? I went out of my way to save that cake for her.” Patrick’s face darkened further. Watching me dry-heave, he felt no sympathy at all. He truly believed I was putting on a show. “Iris, you are going to finish this entire box today.” I propped myself up against the table, wiping the cream from my chin, my voice barely a whisper. “Patrick, you know I’m allergic.” “Amber said eating it is fine! You’re just being dramatic! Eat it now!” He forced the fork into my mouth, spoon after spoon. I thrashed against him, but he pinned me down, forcing me to swallow every single bite of the mango crepe cake. Once the box was empty, Patrick slammed it onto the table. “There. It’s done. Look at that, you’re perfectly fine. What was all that drama for?” He glanced at Amber. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Let’s go take a nap in the guest room.” Amber nodded obediently, following Patrick down the hall. I sat alone at the table, staring at the empty plastic container. Red hives were already blooming across my hands. My throat was starting to itch. I looked down at my phone. It was 2:45 PM. Slowly, I stood up, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door. As soon as I reached the street, I dialed 911. “I’m having a severe allergic reaction to mangoes. I need an ambulance.” “Ma’am, can you still breathe?” “Yes.” “Stay calm. The paramedics are on their way.” 3 By the time the ambulance arrived, I could no longer form words. My throat was constricting, and my breathing had become shallow and frantic. The hives had spread from my arms to my neck and face, itching so intensely it felt like millions of ants crawling under my skin. As the paramedics lifted me onto the gurney, I heard the radio crackle. “Female patient, twenty-six, severe mango allergy. Full-body urticaria, suspected laryngeal edema. ETA ten minutes.” I closed my eyes on the stretcher, thinking, at least I am still conscious. At least I am still alive. In the ER, the doctors immediately hooked me up to oxygen and started an IV. Lying on the hospital bed, I stared at the ceiling lights. They were just as harsh and white as the ones in the operating room this morning. Twice in one day, I had ended up on a medical table. First, to lose my baby. Second, to almost lose my life. Once the reaction was under control, the attending physician came to check on me. He flipped through my chart with a grim expression. “Your allergy to mangoes is severe. If you had arrived thirty minutes later, the swelling in your throat would have completely blocked your airway. You would have gone into anaphylactic shock, or worse, suffocated.” I nodded, unable to speak. The doctor looked around. “Where is your family? Why are you alone?” “He’s busy.” It was the exact same answer I gave the nurse that morning. The doctor gave me a long look, didn’t pry further, and wrote “hold for six hours of observation” on my file. The room was quiet. Only the faint snoring of the elderly lady in the next bed broke the silence. I watched the IV drip fall, drop by drop, when my phone suddenly vibrated. It was Patrick. I picked up. “Iris, where the hell are you? Why isn’t dinner ready?” His voice carried no warmth, only a harsh demand. “I’m at the hospital.” “The hospital? What did you do now?” “Mango allergy.” The line went silent for a moment. Then, Amber’s voice drifted through the receiver, loud enough for me to hear. “Patrick, is she blaming that piece of cake? But eating it doesn’t cause allergies…” She sounded so hurt, as if she were the victim here. Patrick’s tone shifted instantly. “Iris, are you doing this on purpose?” “What?” “Amber said eating it wouldn’t do anything, but suddenly you’re having an emergency? Are you trying to make me apologize to you?” My fingers tightened around the phone, turning my knuckles white. “Patrick, the doctor said if I had been thirty minutes later, I would have suffocated.” “Don’t exaggerate. Stop trying to manipulate me.” Amber’s voice floated over again. “Patrick, don’t be too hard on her. Maybe she’s just delicate. But then again, she’s home alone all the time. Now that you’re finally back, she probably just wants your attention.” Delicate. Attention-seeking. A cheap stunt. These words pierced through me like needles, but I didn’t even have the energy to feel the pain. Patrick sighed, his disgust palpable. “Iris, that’s enough. If you got sick from eating something, get it treated and come home. Stop lingering in the hospital to play the victim. There’s a house full of chores waiting for you. I’m hanging up.” The line went dead. I set the phone on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The lady in the next bed rolled over, murmuring, “Sweetheart, your husband is a piece of work.” I offered a faint, bitter smile but said nothing. 4 By the time my six hours of observation ended, it was 1:00 AM. The doctor gave me strict instructions to rest, avoid any exposure to the allergen, and return in a week for a follow-up. I signed the discharge papers and took a cab home. Standing in front of the door, I rang the bell. It took a long time before the lock clicked. Patrick stood there in his pajamas, his hair messy, his eyes half-closed. He glanced at me, then turned around to walk back inside. “You’re back? Done throwing your fit?” I stood at the entryway, motionless. The guest room door was shut. Amber was likely asleep inside. Patrick walked into the living room, flopped onto the sofa, and checked the time on his phone. “It’s past one in the morning. What exactly do you want from me?” I walked over, standing on the other side of the coffee table. “Patrick, let’s get a divorce.” 5 He looked up at me, stunned. Then, he let out a scoffing laugh. “What did you just say?” “I said, I want a divorce.” “Iris, have you lost your mind? Over a slice of cake?” “It’s not about the cake.” “Then what? Because I didn’t let you watch the sunrise? Can you stop being so childish?” I stared at him. There was still no concern in his eyes. From the moment I walked through the door, he hadn’t asked if I was okay, or how my allergy was. He only thought I was acting out. “Tomorrow morning at ten. We’ll meet at city hall.” Patrick stood up, towering over me. “Do you honestly think that if you threaten divorce, I’ll beg you to stay?” “No.” “Then what do you want?” “I don’t want anything anymore.” Patrick’s face darkened completely. “Fine. You want to split? Let’s do it. I’m done coddling your miserable attitude.” “Ten o’clock tomorrow.” “Fine.” He turned to walk toward the bedroom, pausing at the threshold. “Iris, don’t you dare regret this.” I watched his back disappear into the room, the door shutting behind him. I stood in the silent living room. I didn’t cry. I didn’t shake. My heart was perfectly still, like a lake bed dried up by the wind. I walked into the study, opened the drawer, and gathered my ID, social security card, and marriage certificate. Then, I went to the closet, packing a few changes of clothes, my passport, and my credit cards. I packed everything into a single suitcase and zipped it shut. I took one last look at the house we had shared for three years. Then, I wheeled my suitcase out and quietly closed the door behind me. The next morning, I arrived at city hall at precisely 9:30 AM. The wait wasn’t long. I took a number and sat on a plastic chair in the lobby. At ten sharp, I checked my phone. No missed calls, no messages. By 10:30, still nothing. I called Patrick. It rang four times before he picked up. “Yeah?” “I’m at city hall. It’s past ten.” The sounds of a bustling shopping mall echoed in the background, along with Amber’s giggles. “Iris, what is this call supposed to mean?” “We agreed to sign the papers today.” “I’m out helping Amber pick out clothes for the new season. She doesn’t know how to shop for herself.” “You’ve had your little tantrum. Don’t push your luck.” “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I’ve been waiting for you for forty minutes.” “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Stop nagging. I’ll get there when I get there.” “Patrick, I will wait until noon. If you aren’t here, I’m filing a lawsuit.” The line went silent. “Are you threatening me?” “I’m informing you.” I hung up and continued to wait. 6 At 11:40 AM, hurried footsteps echoed near the entrance. Patrick pushed the doors open, with Amber following close behind, holding two shopping bags. His face was tense, sweat beading on his forehead. Amber, on the other hand, was wearing full makeup, a brand-new dress, and high heels. Patrick marched up to me. “Alright, I’m here. Are you happy now?” I stood up, handing our marriage certificate and IDs to the clerk at the desk. “We’re here to file for divorce.” Amber suddenly grabbed my arm. “Iris, have you really thought this through? You and Patrick have been together for so many years. You’re throwing it all away over a silly misunderstanding?” I pulled my arm away, looking at her coldly. “I’ve made up my mind.” “But Iris, Patrick really cares about you. Please, just sleep on it.” Her eyes welled with tears. Patrick added, “Amber is begging you, and you’re still doing this?” “I want the divorce.” Patrick’s jaw clenched. “Iris, is there someone else?” “No.” “Then you’re just out of your mind. Throwing away a perfectly good life to tear our home apart. Do you think you’ll find anyone better than me?” The clerk looked up, completely indifferent. “Is this divorce mutual and voluntary?” “Yes,” I said. Patrick gritted his teeth, taking a long moment before forcing the word out. “Yes.” The clerk asked a few quick questions about dividing our assets. I told her he could keep the house and the car. We would split the savings fifty-fifty. No objections. Patrick looked stunned, clearly not expecting me to walk away with so little. “You’re certainly eager to get rid of me.” “Yes.” We signed the papers, pressed our thumbs to the ink, and took our photos. The clerk handed us our final paperwork. It was a thin document, much lighter than a marriage certificate. I slipped my copy into my bag. Patrick clutched his copy, staring at it. Then, he let out a bitter sneer. “Iris, don’t you dare regret this. Without me, you’re absolutely nothing.” I didn’t argue. Because I knew, better than anyone, how wrong he was. I turned and walked toward the exit. Amber called out behind me, “Take care of yourself, Iris!” I didn’t look back. Outside city hall, the sunlight was blinding. I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, taking a deep breath of fresh air. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Amber. “Thanks for stepping aside, Iris. I’ll take good care of Patrick from now on.” I looked at the screen, my lips curling into a faint smile. I didn’t reply. I blocked the number and deleted the conversation. I returned to the house to pack the remaining things I hadn’t taken the night before. Patrick wasn’t home, probably out celebrating with Amber. Within two hours, I erased every single trace of my existence from that apartment. I left the keys on the shoe cabinet, pulled my suitcase behind me, and walked out. At eleven that night, I checked into a quiet boutique hotel. The girl at the front desk looked at me kindly. “Just for one, ma’am?” “Yes.” “How many nights?” “Just tonight.” She handed me the key card, and I thanked her. The room was small but spotless. I set my suitcase against the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. A notification popped up on my phone, a bank alert showing my balance. It was just enough to start over in another city. I turned off the lights and lay down. As I closed my eyes, my heart felt completely light. My three-year marriage was over. No tears, no regrets. Only a profound, beautiful sense of relief. I only learned about the events of that night much later, from Dr. Cooper. Dr. Cooper had been my classmate in college, and he was the physician who treated me in the ER that afternoon. He told me he knew it wasn’t his place to interfere, but when he saw Patrick, he couldn’t stay silent. That night, Amber had slipped on the stairs at Patrick’s apartment, twisting her ankle. Patrick rushed her to the emergency room. Dr. Cooper happened to be on the night shift. He watched Patrick walk in, supporting a weeping girl, and recognized him immediately. “Patrick? What are you doing here so late?” “Amber hurt her ankle. Can you take a look?” Amber clung to Patrick’s shoulder, tears streaming down her face. Dr. Cooper examined her ankle, ordered an X-ray, and had a nurse wheel her down to radiology. With Amber gone, the hallway fell silent. Dr. Cooper leaned against the wall, asking casually, “By the way, did you know your wife was in the ER yesterday afternoon?” Patrick froze. “What do you mean, the ER?” “Severe mango allergy. Hives, throat swelling, almost suffocated. She was entirely alone when she came in, and she left alone, too.” Patrick didn’t say a word. Dr. Cooper flipped through the chart, shaking his head. “Your wife had an abortion yesterday morning, and then she was rushed here in anaphylactic shock in the afternoon. As her husband, don’t you think you failed her?” He looked up as he finished speaking. Patrick’s face had turned as white as a sheet.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “531852”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After I was discharged from the hospital, I gave my motorized wheelchair to my elderly parents. That very night, Jordan looked up the official retail price of that exact model. “Eight hundred dollars.” His tone was so flat it bordered on clinical. “If your folks like it so much, they can just give us six hundred. Consider it a second-hand discount.” My father was still in the kitchen fixing a leaky faucet. My mother, her posture hunched from years of hard work, immediately fumbled in her pockets for her phone. “Sure, sure thing.” I grabbed her wrist in absolute shock. “Jordan, these are my parents.” Jordan stared at me, genuinely bewildered. “Didn’t you say that since we’re prepping for IVF, every single dollar counts?” The words lodged in my throat, choking me. I could do nothing but watch helplessly as my mother transferred her entire social security check for the month into his account. She even dug into my father’s worn wallet to scrounge up another forty dollars in crumpled bills to make up the difference. After we dropped my parents off at their run-down apartment complex across town, I overheard Jordan making a phone call to Savannah, his childhood friend. “Savannah, your parents are getting older, and getting around isn’t as easy as it used to be. I ordered them an imported mobility scooter.” “Don’t worry about the cost. Five grand is a small price to pay for peace of mind, and the quality is guaranteed.” My hands shook violently as I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my lawyer. “Start drafting my divorce papers.” Jordan kept his voice incredibly soft and patient for another ten minutes. When he finally hung up, he turned around and noticed me standing in the hallway. He froze for a fraction of a second before asking in a completely casual tone, “You didn’t secretly wire that money back to your parents, did you?” I curled my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palms. It took a long time before I could find my voice. Jordan didn’t let it go. “Good fences make good neighbors, even with family. I’m doing this for your own good, Nat. You don’t want them getting greedy and taking advantage of us.” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I screamed his name. “Jordan Hall! If you are so obsessed with saving money, why did you just drop five grand on a luxury imported scooter for Savannah’s parents?” He looked at me like I was being entirely unreasonable. “Savannah has a hard time taking care of two elderly folks all by herself.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “And you think it’s easy for me to take care of mine?” Jordan didn’t even blink. “How can you possibly compare yourself to Savannah?” A gaping hole ripped open in my chest. I could almost feel the freezing wind howling through it, creeping into my veins and turning my blood to ice. “Fine. Since we are drawing boundaries with family, cancel that scooter order right now. If you don’t, I have every legal right to sue and recover it as a misuse of our marital assets.” Jordan frowned heavily. “Natalie, are you seriously throwing a tantrum over six hundred bucks?” I stared at his perfectly handsome, usually gentle face. The very last shred of hope I had for this marriage dissolved into the cold air. My phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime request from Savannah. I hit accept. Savannah appeared on the screen wearing a flimsy, silk slip dress. “Nat, thank you so much for the reminder! If it weren’t for you, Jordan and I wouldn’t have even thought about how much my parents needed a mobility scooter.” I stared at the screen, watching her blatant, sickly-sweet provocation. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. “And?” Savannah covered her mouth, giggling softly. “My parents were so touched! They actually bought bus tickets to come all the way down here just to thank him in person.” Jordan instantly snatched the phone right out of my hand. “Savannah, they are traveling a long way. How can they sit on a cramped bus? Cancel those tickets right now. I’ll book them two first-class flights so they don’t have to suffer.” My mind flashed back to the day Jordan opened his own law firm. My parents had brought all their neighbors down to support his grand opening. I had asked him to send a car service to pick them up. Jordan had scoffed at the idea. He told me that hiring cars would just look like we were buying fake popularity. I had to sneak into the restroom to secretly order them Ubers on my own dime. It turned out he wasn’t completely clueless about how to treat elders. He just reserved all of his generosity and care for someone else’s parents. The two of them completely ignored me, chatting passionately on my phone. They planned the airport pickup. They planned a weekend getaway. Jordan even promised to book an appointment with a top-tier specialist for her father’s arthritis. I snatched my phone back and ended the call. “Jordan, I’ll be sending you a document shortly. Make sure you check your inbox.” He let out a condescending scoff. “What kind of game are you playing now, Natalie?” My phone chimed. My lawyer had just sent over the finalized divorce agreement. A hollow, tragic smile crept onto my lips. I turned around, walked into the master bedroom, and locked the door behind me. I forwarded the PDF to him. Message attached: Find some time this week. We are going to the courthouse to sign this. A few seconds later, Jordan started pounding on the bedroom door. “Natalie, open this door!” “I am a literal attorney! Do you really think a fake divorce agreement is going to scare me?” “You have three hours to unsend that file. I am giving you one last chance to stop this childish nonsense.” I flipped my phone to silent and tossed it onto the bed. Two hours later, he knocked again. “Which discount lawyer did you hire? You even got them to format it properly. You really are willing to waste money on this little performance, aren’t you? I’m counting to three.” The next morning, I washed my face, threw on a blazer, and opened the door to leave for work. Jordan was already gone. By noon, Savannah posted a new update on her social media. “My parents are in town! My amazing boss gave me three days of paid leave to spend time with them.” The photo background was the lobby of Jordan’s law firm. I immediately called his administrative assistant. “How long has Savannah been working at the firm?” The assistant stammered, awkwardly trying to change the subject. I completely understood. Savannah had indeed been hired at his firm right under my nose. “Do I need to take the afternoon off and come down there to check the employment records myself?” The assistant finally caved. “Over a year, Mrs. Hall. She’s already past her probationary period.” I hung up the phone. I opened Jordan’s chat and sent a single text. “If you don’t want this to get incredibly ugly, sign the papers as soon as possible.” He didn’t reply. That evening, he sent me a demanding checklist. “Savannah’s parents are coming over for dinner tonight. Get everything ready.” “Her dad has bad joints, so make sure the menu is high in calcium.” “Her mom is allergic to shellfish. Absolutely no seafood on the table.” “Buy organic blueberries and imported cherries for dessert.” “And don’t forget to set the thermostat to 72 degrees. Savannah gets cold easily.” I stared at the messages. This meticulously attentive man felt like a complete stranger. I remembered when I needed him to draft a simple commercial lease for my small business. He had brushed me off with total annoyance. “My firm only handles million-dollar cases, Nat. Can’t you just download a free template off the internet?” That night, I unlocked the front door of our house. I froze. My own parents were sitting in the living room. I whipped my head toward Jordan. “What is the meaning of this?” He smiled smoothly and wrapped an arm around my waist. “You said you were swamped with work and might have to work late. I couldn’t just leave our guests hungry, so I invited your parents over to help out.” I subtly stepped out of his grip. “I’ve never heard of an employer forcing his own family to cook and serve when an employee’s relatives come to visit. Did your firm go bankrupt, Jordan? You can’t even afford to take them to a restaurant?” Savannah’s face turned completely pale. “I’m so sorry, Nat. Jordan told me it would be too impersonal to leave my parents at a hotel. I thought… I thought you two had already agreed on this.” Jordan ignored me. He leaned over and lit a cigarette for Savannah’s father. “Why would they stay at a hotel? We are practically family.” Those words sucked the oxygen right out of the room. My mother stood awkwardly near the kitchen island, wiping her hands nervously on a floral apron. “Well, I should get back to the stove.” She turned to hurry back into the kitchen. I reached out and grabbed her arm. “Mom. Whoever invited the guests can cook the meal.” She shook her head gently and whispered. “Don’t make a scene, sweetie. They traveled a long way. We can’t just let them go hungry.” She pulled her arm from my grasp and went back to the cutting board. My father quietly rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll go help your mother.” The two of them stood side by side in my kitchen. One washing vegetables, the other chopping meat. The rhythmic clatter of pots and pans echoed through the house. Meanwhile, Savannah’s father sat spread-eagle on my expensive leather sofa, puffing away on his cigarette. Her mother sat next to him, popping organic cherries into her mouth one by one. Jordan sat across from them, patiently telling them stories about his firm’s success. He refilled her father’s teacup. He cracked open macadamia nuts and handed them to her mother. Looking at them, anyone would think they were the true masters of this house. I stood in the kitchen doorway. I watched my mother hunch over the sizzling wok. Her graying hair was plastered to her forehead by the greasy smoke. My father was carefully lifting a heavy, boiling cast-iron pot onto the counter. A fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead. Watching them, my heart felt like it was being shredded through a meat grinder. Just then, Savannah’s mother called out toward the kitchen with a sweet, patronizing smile. “Thank you so much for your hard work, Maggie! It smells absolutely delicious!” My mother quickly poked her head out and offered a nervous, accommodating smile. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all! I just hope it suits your taste.” My eyes instantly burned with tears. This was my home. Yet my own parents were tiptoeing around, breaking their backs to serve strangers like hired help. When the food was finally brought to the table, Jordan scanned the spread and nodded approvingly. “Maggie. Next time Savannah’s parents visit, just stick to this exact standard.” My mother paused for a second, but forced a smile anyway. “Of course.” I let out a bitter, furious laugh. I pulled out my phone and texted my lawyer. “Send the physical divorce papers to Jordan’s law firm first thing tomorrow morning. And file the motion for the emergency asset freeze immediately.” The next morning, I had barely sat down at my desk when my phone rang. It was my father. “Nat, it’s bad. Your mother collapsed. I just called an ambulance.” I dropped everything and sprinted to the hospital. The cardiologist’s expression was incredibly grim. “The patient already had an underlying heart condition. The severe physical exhaustion and lack of rest triggered an acute myocardial infarction. She needs to be admitted to the ICU immediately. We also need to schedule an emergency bypass surgery.” My legs gave out. My father leaned against the sterile white wall, his entire body violently trembling. “Doctor… how much will it cost?” The doctor kept his eyes on his clipboard, scribbling rapidly. “Between the pre-op prep, the bypass, and the ICU stay, you need to put down a deposit of at least thirty thousand dollars.” Thirty thousand. I immediately opened my mobile banking app. Available Balance: $45.60. I stood there, paralyzed. For the entirety of our marriage, my salary, my bonuses, and my savings were all transferred into a joint account managed exclusively by Jordan. He always told me that as an attorney, he had insider knowledge on the best investment portfolios to grow our money. And now, I didn’t even have the money to save my own mother’s life. My fingers shook as I dialed Jordan’s number. The phone rang for an agonizingly long time before he finally picked up. “What is it?” I gripped the phone tight enough to crack the screen. “Jordan, my mom had a massive heart attack. She needs emergency surgery right now. Transfer the funds to my checking account. That is our money.” Dead silence fell over the line. Two seconds later, Jordan’s voice came through, completely calm. “Natalie. The liquid capital in our joint account has already been allocated.” My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. “What the hell does that mean?” “Savannah’s parents have ongoing medical treatments. I already prepaid their medical bills for the year. Plus the imported scooter and the out-of-network specialist consultations. Everything is already paid for. There really isn’t much cash left in the account right now.” A deafening ringing filled my ears. The money I had earned. The money meant to save my mother’s life. He had drained it to fund luxury medical care for Savannah’s parents. My eyes were bloodshot. I spoke through gritted teeth, emphasizing every single syllable. “Jordan Hall. You would rather drain our accounts to pamper someone else’s parents… than pay to save your own mother-in-law’s life. Is that it?” His reply was practically robotic in its coldness. “Calm down, Natalie. Savannah’s parents have life-threatening conditions too.” My nails dug so deeply into my palm that I drew blood. “Jordan, the woman lying outside the operating room is my mother! She is literally dying right now!” He stayed silent. Just as I thought he might finally relent, he let out an annoyed sigh. “Stop pushing me, Nat. The treatment plan for Savannah’s parents is already locked in. I cannot touch that money. You’ll just have to figure something else out.” Click. He hung up. I stood completely frozen in the middle of the hallway, the dial tone buzzing mockingly against my ear. My father was crouched in the corner. In a single night, he looked like he had aged ten years. “Nat…” Tears finally spilled over my lashes, hot and stinging. “Dad, Mom is going to be fine. I promise.” I turned and bolted toward the billing department. “Please, is there any way you can start the surgery now? I swear I will get the money today.” The billing clerk shook her head sympathetically. “I am so sorry, ma’am. Without the deposit, the surgical wing won’t clear the procedure.” Just then, the elevator doors down the hall slid open with a soft chime. I looked up on instinct. It was Jordan. For a split second, a desperate spark of hope ignited in my chest. But then I saw it. Jordan was pushing a brand-new, sleek motorized wheelchair. Savannah’s father was sitting in it, beaming. Savannah was linking arms with her mother. The four of them were laughing and chatting like a picture-perfect family. “Jordan, this scooter is incredibly comfortable.” “I’m glad you like it, sir.” Jordan crouched down onto one knee, patiently adjusting the footrest. “Let’s raise this up a bit so it doesn’t put pressure on your calves. It’ll make traveling much easier.” He was so sickeningly gentle. And less than sixty feet behind him, my mother was lying in a critical care bay, waiting for the money to afford a chance at life. I walked toward them, one heavy step at a time. My voice was a shredded whisper. “Jordan.” He finally turned his head. When he saw my bloodshot eyes and tear-stained face, a flicker of discomfort crossed his features. “What are you doing here?” I stared at the five-thousand-dollar scooter. I started to laugh. “Do you know something? Last night, my mother stood in our kitchen for four agonizing hours just to cook a feast for your guests. This morning, she woke up at five A.M. to make them breakfast. Now she is lying in that room, and the doctors say if she doesn’t get surgery immediately, she is going to die.” I raised a trembling finger and pointed straight at the resuscitation bay. “Jordan. Return the scooter. Give my mother her money back.” The air in the hallway went completely dead. Jordan’s brows locked together in deep annoyance. “I already gave it to them as a gift. How can I possibly return it? Besides, Savannah’s parents have a lot of follow-up appointments. How are they supposed to get around without it?” Those two sentences finally broke the last fragile thread holding me together. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the money. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find a solution. He simply believed that the comfort of Savannah’s parents was vastly more important than my mother’s heartbeat. I slowly nodded. I didn’t beg him anymore. I walked straight out of the hospital, hailed a cab, and went to the largest diamond exchange in the city. I pulled the platinum wedding band off my left hand. “I need an appraisal. Right now.” The jeweler took the ring, inspecting it closely before looking up at me with a soft, cautious expression. “Ma’am, are you absolutely certain you want to sell this?” I looked at the intricate engraving on the inside of the band. It felt like a sick, twisted joke. “Sell it. I have no use for it anymore.” After selling the ring, I rushed to my company’s headquarters and begged my CEO for an emergency advance on my salary. Finally, I managed to scrape together the thirty thousand dollars. Once my mother was wheeled into the operating room, I collapsed against the freezing tile wall. My entire body felt like it had been hollowed out. My father sat on a bench at the end of the hall, burying his face in his hands. I looked down at my phone. My lawyer had just sent an update. Message: Mrs. Hall, the court has officially approved your emergency motion for a pre-litigation asset freeze. The injunction will be served to his banks and his firm this afternoon. I stared at those words for a very long time. I typed back two words. “Thank you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “531867”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My best friend was green with envy because I married into wealth. She lured me into going hiking, orchestrating a deadly trap to steal my place. But the universe had other plans. In a chaotic twist of fate, we both tumbled over the edge of the cliff together. When I opened my eyes again, we had both been reborn, returned to the very eve of our college graduation. Without wasting a second, she rushed straight to my ex-husband, showering him with desperate affection. She was hell-bent on stealing the life I once lived. I simply shrugged and let out a quiet laugh. “Since you’ve made your choice, don’t you dare regret it.” 1 My husband, Matt Fabian, was the illegitimate son of the billionaire chairman of the Fabian Group. Shortly after our wedding, the Fabian family suddenly took him in. Later, he even became the CEO of the entire conglomerate. And I went from a soul-crushing corporate grind to a wealthy socialite overnight. My college roommate, Sally, had the opposite trajectory. She was our campus queen, blessed with a striking face. Right after graduation, she threw herself into the entertainment industry, finding temporary fame on a reality survival show. Unfortunately, she had nothing but her looks. Singing, dancing, acting, she was mediocre at all of them. In an industry overflowing with beautiful faces, Sally was quickly washed away by the next wave of fresh talent, fading into obscurity. Everyone envied my luck, whispering about how I had hit the jackpot with a perfect husband. Hearing of my fortune, Sally grew bitter. After all, Matt had liked her first. But back then, Matt was dirt poor, completely beneath her notice. When he confessed his feelings to her in college, she hadn’t just rejected him; she had humiliated him ruthlessly. Now, she was eating her heart out with regret. Using a college reunion as an excuse, Sally reconnected with me. She started calling me daily, calling me her darling, her sweetest friend. At first, I thought she just wanted to use my connections to secure some roles and revive her dying career. I never imagined her real target was my entire life. The day of the accident, Sally invited me to go hiking. As we neared the peak, she lured me toward an isolated ledge and gave me a violent shove. In a desperate panic, I grabbed her ankle, dragging her down into the abyss with me. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in my old college dorm bed. Everything felt surreal. Just moments ago, Sally’s vicious screams were ringing in my ears: “Go to hell, Andrea! You don’t deserve him!” My body ached with phantom pain. As my mind cleared, I realized this wasn’t a nightmare. I had been reborn. “Sally, you look gorgeous today. Do you have a date?” A roommate’s voice snapped me out of my trance. I turned and saw Sally standing in front of the mirror. Through the glass, our eyes met. She curled her lips into a smug, provocative smile. A cold shiver ran down my spine. She had returned too. We were back in our senior year. Seeing me awake, Sally hurriedly grabbed her bag and left the room. Where was she rushing to? I checked my phone to look at the date. Today was the eve of our college graduation. In my past life, only one significant thing had happened on this day. Matt had confessed his love to Sally. Back then, Matt didn’t go by Matt Fabian. His name was Matt Mercer. He only took the Fabian name years later when the family acknowledged him. At this moment, nobody knew his true lineage. To our classmates, he was just a charity-case student living on financial aid. I remembered how Sally had returned to the dorm that night in our past life, mocking him to us. “You guys wouldn’t believe how hilarious that guy is! Wearing knockoff Nikes and actually having the nerve to ask me out! What a joke!” But look at her now. To meet Matt, she had spent hours doling herself up. Even though she had left minutes ago, her expensive perfume still lingered in the air. I suppose it made sense. In our first life, Sally always believed I had merely stumbled into a goldmine by picking up the Fabian family’s abandoned heir. She thought that as long as she married Matt, she would automatically inherit a life of endless luxury. So she ran to him, desperate to claim her prize before I could steal him. But she was dead wrong. Heaven had granted me a second chance, and I wasn’t going to waste it. This time, I had absolutely no intention of stepping foot into the viper’s nest of the Fabian family. 2 The next day. With graduation behind us, everyone was busy packing up, eager to chase their futures. Once our other two roommates left, Sally finally dropped her sweet facade. She grabbed my wrist, her grip painfully tight, glaring at me with raw venom. “Andrea, I’m warning you. Matt is my boyfriend now. Stay the hell away from him, and don’t even think about making a move.” “Otherwise, I won’t hesitate to kill you again.” “This time, I am taking back everything that belongs to me.” Hearing her pathetic threats, I couldn’t help it. I laughed. In our past life, she was the one who despised his poverty and refused to be with him. I hadn’t even started dating Matt until six months after graduation. They were two entirely unrelated chapters. Yet, the way she spoke, she made it sound like I was the home-wrecker who snatched her destiny. “Everything that belongs to me”? Did she think she was the star of some cheap melodrama? I wrenched my hand free from her grip, keeping a calm smile on my face. “Are you absolutely sure you want to be with Matt?” “Of course! Only I am worthy of him! Only I deserve to be the wife of the Fabian Group’s CEO!” Sally shrieked, her face flushed with ambition. Seeing her so resolute, I nodded with genuine satisfaction. “Since you’ve made your choice, don’t you dare regret it.” With that, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of the dorm without looking back. I knew a brand-new life was waiting for me. And I had waited for this freedom for far too long. Two years passed. I became a jewelry designer. My latest collection won first place in an international competition, earning me a handsome cash prize. I used that prize money as seed capital to launch my own independent studio. This had always been my dream. Unfortunately, in my previous life, due to the Fabian family’s relentless pressure, Matt and I could barely catch our breath during those first two years. Dreams were a luxury we couldn’t afford. When you can’t even afford groceries, survival is the only thing on your mind. And yes. The Fabian family had always known Matt existed. But they had ignored him for over two decades. Simply put, they never wanted to acknowledge him. Worse, there were members of the family actively working behind the scenes to keep him down. I only learned these ugly truths after surviving a near-death experience in my past life. 3 That turning point had occurred in the third year after graduation in my past life. Matt and I were already married by then. Though those three years had been a constant struggle, I hadn’t suspected anything sinister, assuming we were just plagued by bad luck. Until the day Matt was fired. The company accused him of leaking highly classified trade secrets to a competitor for a massive payout. The moment I heard the accusation, I knew it was a lie. I knew Matt. He was timid, submissive, and utterly terrified of conflict. He didn’t have the spine to pull off a corporate heist. But no matter how much I begged him for answers, he refused to tell me what was happening. Because of the leaked data, his former employer suffered catastrophic losses. Blaming Matt, the vengeful business owner hired thugs to set fire to our apartment in the middle of the night. We were nearly burned to ashes. The place we rented was a dilapidated unit in a sketchy neighborhood. The streets were pitch black, devoid of any security cameras. The police investigated for a night and found absolutely nothing. As a result, all the damages fell squarely on Matt and me. In a city like New York, real estate was astronomically expensive. Even a run-down apartment carried a debt that would take us lifetimes to pay off. I would never forget that freezing winter morning. Matt and I sat on the rooftop of our charred building, shivering in our tattered pajamas, without a single penny to our names. Matt smoked eight cigarettes in thirty minutes. Finally, he whispered in a raspy, broken voice, “Andrea, I’m so sorry. We can’t get out of this. Why don’t we just jump? It’ll all be over…” “Matt, you are a pathetic excuse for a man!” I had married him because I thought his quiet nature meant he was decent and reliable. Only then did I see his true colors. He was a coward who ran from his problems, choosing suicide over facing reality. I screamed at him, unleashing years of pent-up frustration. Under my relentless pressure, Matt finally broke down and confessed everything. He told me about his illegitimate status and the toxic civil war raging within the Fabian family. Only then did I realize the truth. The reason my career had been systematically ruined was because I was married to a man who was standing in the crosshairs of billionaires. Matt hadn’t leaked those secrets. But someone powerful wanted him to be the scapegoat, so he was. Recalling those dark days, my heart still pounded with lingering dread. But mostly, I felt a profound sense of relief. I no longer had to deal with that nightmare. Someone else was carrying that heavy cross for me now. Knowing that Sally was currently cramped up in that dingy apartment with Matt, screaming at each other over pennies, the thought filled me with an exquisite sense of satisfaction. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of my studio, looking out at the glittering New York skyline. Suddenly, a bright flash of light caught my eye. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But as I squinted, I realized it was real. A few blocks away, a building was engulfed in roaring flames. 4 I saw Matt and Sally on television again. A news reporter was doing a live broadcast from the scene of the fire. The two of them appeared in the background, standing just a few yards behind the reporter, screaming at each other until their faces turned red. What a pathetic spectacle. The fire from my past life had happened even earlier this time. I immediately grabbed my keys and drove over. A show like this was too good to miss. But as I drew closer to the burning building, the dark amusement faded. Before me, a massive inferno consumed the old apartment complex, its orange flames painting the night sky in a sickening hue. This fire was far worse than the one in my past life. Sirens wailed as police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks jammed the narrow, crowded street. The sidewalk was packed with displaced tenants, their faces covered in soot, shivering in thin sleepwear against the biting wind. They looked exactly as I had years ago. I overheard a group of elderly neighbors muttering angrily nearby. “Everything is gone! My whole life, burned to ash! What am I supposed to do now?” “We have to make those two pay! If they hadn’t been screaming and throwing things in the middle of the night, this never would have happened!” An older woman pointed furiously toward the end of the block, cursing under her breath. Following her gaze, I saw those two familiar faces. Just a few feet away, Sally was shrieking at Matt, who kept his head low, utterly silent. They say poverty breeds misery in a marriage. Moreover, Sally had tasted the high life as a minor celebrity. Now, forced to endure squalor with Matt, her facade of a loving partner had cracked. I knew her sweet act wouldn’t last. I stepped closer to the complaining neighbor. “Excuse me, what did those two have to do with the fire?” “Oh, honey, you have no idea!” the woman cried, eager to share the gossip. The others quickly chimed in, crowding around me. “Ever since those two moved in, they’ve done nothing but scream at each other day and night!” “Tonight was the worst of it. I live right next door. I heard her screaming at him.” “She said if he didn’t take her to see his real family, she was going to light a fire and burn them both to death!” “Honestly, I feel bad for the boy. He seems quiet and harmless, but he ended up tied to an absolute psycho.” The former starlet, once adored by thousands, had now become the neighborhood psycho. This was the life Sally had fought so hard to steal. The real family the neighbors mentioned was, of course, the Fabians. It seemed Sally had finally lost her patience and forced Matt’s hand. She couldn’t stomach the poverty anymore, demanding he take her to the Fabian mansion to claim her rightful throne. How hilarious. Two years in, and she was still dreaming of a fairy-tale ending. How could a spineless coward like Matt ever force his way into the Fabian estate on his own? “Sally, long time no see.” Since I was here to watch the show, I might as well play my part. I walked right up to her. She stood there in a charred, dirty nightgown, while I wore a pristine, warm wool coat. When Sally turned and saw me, something in her snapped. She lunged at me like a feral animal, grabbing my collar with filthy, ash-stained hands. “Andrea! You did this to me! You ruined my life!” “Tell me! What did you do? Why is everything different this time?!” Her eyes were bloodshot, her face twisted with the same manic rage she had shown when she pushed me off the cliff. She blamed me for her misery, yet she was the one who had made every single choice to get here. Nothing had changed about the world. She was simply too blind to see the traps. I didn’t bother answering her. I merely glanced down at her hands on my coat, my voice cold. “You’re getting ash on my wool coat. It’s expensive.” Hearing the word “expensive,” Sally recoiled as if stung. She looked at her hands, then at the black smudges she had left on my collar. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting away, unable to meet my gaze. It seemed two years of harsh reality had successfully beaten some of the arrogance out of her. The proud campus queen had finally learned what it felt like to be humbled by poverty.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “531853”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On our wedding night, Luke dragged my best friend Stella into the suite, scowling. “She’s a total Princess and the Pea—flew in from Europe, and you put her in a hotel with a lumpy bed? Let her sleep on our premium mattress. You take the guest room.” I frowned. “And you?” He pinched Stella’s cheek. “I’ll stay here with this troublemaker. One crumb on that bed, I’ll spot it—spares her bugging you.” We grew up as a trio. Luke always complained Stella was high-maintenance, yet wiped her chair with a microfiber cloth before she sat, inspected her clothes seam by seam, and tested every bed for stray hairs. When I protested, he’d brush it off: “Stella’s delicate. It’s our job to care for her.” Earlier, mid-ceremony, he’d abandoned me and the officiant to check Stella’s chair. Once, I asked why he married me, not her. He laughed: I was financially independent and domestic—better wife material. Now the truth hit: he craved our triangle; I was just the sensible, wealthy backdrop to their romance. He forgot I never keep what isn’t mine. I texted my assistant: list this penthouse, sell within two hours. Then called the man who’d waited ten years. “Wedding’s off. Pick me up.” The sound of Vincent’s breathing hitched instantly on the other end of the line. I could feel his overwhelming surge of emotion, though his voice remained wrapped in his usual icy restraint. “Wait right there.” I hung up. Through the heavy mahogany door of the master bedroom, muffled giggles and playful wrestling echoed in the hallway. A few minutes later, Luke opened the door. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, and fresh purple love bites dotted his neck. His eyes, however, held a cold, distant annoyance when he saw me standing there. “Haven’t you had a busy enough day? Why are you just standing there like a statue? Don’t you trust me to take care of your own best friend?” Before I could answer, Stella stepped out from behind him. The neckline of her dress was torn, exposing half of her chest. She playfully punched his shoulder. “I told you Val is the jealous type. Why did you have to provoke her?” She then reached out and tapped my nose affectionately, exactly like she used to do when we were kids. “Alright, don’t be such a grouch. It’s your big day, so I won’t ruin the mood. Don’t worry, I’ll just go back to the hotel. Worst case scenario, I just won’t sleep for the next few days until my flight back!” As she turned to grab her coat with practiced efficiency, Luke’s eyes flooded with absolute heartbreak. When he snapped his gaze back to me, he spat out his words through gritted teeth. “Are you leaving or not?” In that split second, I actually heard murderous intent in his voice. Growing up, Stella was the bubbly, adorable darling of the neighborhood. I was the quiet, violently stubborn girl who often became the target of petty bullies. Whenever I was cornered, Luke would step in front of me like a shield, while Stella ran away to fetch the adults. Once, while protecting me, a neighborhood bully smashed a brick over Luke’s head. It took five stitches to close the wound. Ever since then, every time I looked at that pale scar hiding in his hairline, I made a silent vow. As long as he and Stella didn’t end up together, I would marry him and make him the happiest man on earth. Stella had seen right through my teenage crush. She used to laugh at my terrible taste in boys. Maybe that was why she moved to Europe right after college, finally leaving Luke with no one to look at but me. I had been entirely grateful to her for that. That was until late last night, the eve of my wedding. I overheard Luke calling her, his voice trembling with sheer desperation. “Please. Just come back for the wedding. I really miss you so much.” I was known as a ruthless corporate shark. I had the nerve to reject the romantic pursuits of Vincent Cross, the notoriously cold-blooded billionaire. Yet last night, I was so utterly pathetic that I could only hide under my blankets and muffle my own sobs. I had fought too hard for this wedding, and I refused to watch it burn to the ground. I foolishly convinced myself that once she attended the ceremony and flew back, his eyes would belong to me again. I turned a blind eye when he placed her at the head table just so he could peel her shrimp. I forced a smile during the garden photoshoot when my gown was caught in a patch of thorns, tearing into my skin, while he was entirely focused on plucking a stray piece of lint off Stella’s bridesmaid dress. I was willing to play deaf and dumb. I thought I just needed to grit my teeth until she left. But his death glare right now shattered every last pathetic illusion I had been clinging to. The custom floral wedding wreath hanging on the bedroom door behind him suddenly looked like a sick joke. This time, I refused to swallow my pride like a scolded child. I walked into the hall closet, grabbed a handful of his designer clothes, threw them into a suitcase, and shoved it hard into his chest. “Stella is right. She is just a guest, and guests belong in hotels. Since you are so desperate to take care of her, you can go pack your bags and join her.” It was the very first time I had ever defied him. Luke froze, his brows knotting in confusion. He was about to lash out, but when he caught the faint glimmer of tears in my eyes, he let out a heavy sigh instead. “Throwing a tantrum again, Val? You know how she is. She can’t sleep if there’s even the slightest bump on a mattress. You used to help her make her bed all the time. I was just trying to spare you the exhaustion today, and now you’re being utterly unreasonable.” Thinking of that midnight phone call, a freezing smile crept onto my face. “Are you sparing me the exhaustion, or are you just fulfilling your own twisted fantasies? You know exactly what you’re doing.” His fragile patience completely snapped. He kicked the heavy door with brute force. “She is leaving the day after tomorrow! Can you stop wasting everyone’s time?” The impact sent the beautiful wedding wreath crashing to the hardwood floor. His shoe landed squarely on it, crushing the delicate white roses into an ugly, ruined mess. It was the perfect reflection of this rotting relationship. Sensing the suffocating tension, Stella immediately stepped between us, glaring at Luke defensively. “You promised me you would treat Val well. What kind of attitude is this? You know she’s always been stubborn. Why can’t you just let it go?” She turned and gently cupped my cheek. “Be a good girl, Val. Don’t stoop to his level. I told him I shouldn’t have come. I could have just sent a massive wedding gift and called it a day. He refused to listen and bought my flight anyway. I’m leaving right now. Enjoy your wedding night, you two!” She shot me a playful, innocent wink and turned to leave. But Luke grabbed her wrist, his knuckles turning stark white from the force. They locked eyes in a silent, agonizing tug-of-war for several seconds. Finally, Luke turned his chilling gaze back to me. “This is my house, and Stella is a guest I personally invited. You spent a fortune on the best mattress in the country, and she is the only one delicate enough to deserve the first night on it. You live rough anyway. What is a few nights in the guest room going to do to you? Since you are being so incredibly petty and vicious toward your own best friend, you are the one who needs to go to a hotel and reflect on your behavior. When you’ve figured it out by tomorrow, I’ll consider bringing you back.” His absolute arrogance made it sound like he was disciplining a disobedient puppy. I lived rough? I lived rough because I had an entire corporate empire to carry on my back. I busted my ass to make millions, only to fund his endless shipments of custom-made, hypoallergenic luxury goods to Europe for her. Even his shoelaces and dental floss had to be top-tier handcrafted garbage. I used to love him down to my marrow. I was willing to play the blind fool to his blatant boundary-crossing. But tonight, he had personally taken a scalpel and carved that love straight out of my chest. I wiped the stray tears from my cheeks and pulled out the legal documents I had prepared just minutes ago. “This penthouse is my premarital asset. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. If you don’t like my rules, sign this annulment, and you can take her wherever the hell you want.” Luke’s pupils dilated in pure shock. He stared at me like I had grown a second head. After all, the ruthless female CEO that the business world feared had only ever been a docile, obedient shadow in his presence. Seeing the standoff, Stella’s eyes flushed red. She lunged forward to snatch the documents, acting as if she were going to rip them to shreds. “What are you two doing? I came here to celebrate your love! If I’m really that unwelcome, I’ll just leave!” Luke panicked. He desperately pried her fingers open, slapped the annulment papers onto the floor, and pressed her soft, manicured hands against his chest in sheer terror. “You idiot! Your skin is too fragile. You used to get paper cuts just from turning the pages of a textbook. Why would you hurt yourself over this meaningless garbage?” When he looked back up at me, his eyes were dripping with absolute disgust. “You know how delicate her hands are, and you intentionally brought out this thick stack of paper to hurt her! You just want to drive her away so you can monopolize me, don’t you? We used to be so happy when the three of us hung out. Why did you have to turn into such a toxic, vicious snake?” I laughed out loud, pointing at the massive, framed wedding portrait hanging on the wall. The bright, blinding smile I wore in that photo now felt like a brutal slap to the face. “If you decided to marry me, why the hell should I share my husband with another woman?” Stella stared at me in stunned silence as a single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. She immediately grabbed my hand and started slapping her own face with it. “It’s all my fault, Val! I shouldn’t have shamelessly followed him into your home. I really thought we were still those three carefree kids from back then. I guess I was just being delusional! You two need to stay together. If you’re really that angry, just hit me!” In the next fraction of a second, Luke shoved me violently. I crashed onto the hardwood floor. He cradled Stella’s face, his eyes welling up with frantic heartbreak. “Are you insane? Her hands are practically made of sandpaper! Look at this massive red mark on your cheek!” He spun around and delivered a stinging backhand right across my face. “She traveled thousands of miles for us, and I wouldn’t even let her carry her own purse! How dare you lay a finger on her? You keep throwing this wedding in my face, but let me remind you, we haven’t even signed the legal certificate yet! Apologize to her right now, or get the hell out of my house!” His house? A chilling smile spread across my lips. I remembered the day I handed him the keys to the most expensive real estate in the city. He had cried tears of pure joy. Growing up, he used to point at the brochures for this exact luxury development, his eyes shining with hope as he showed them to Stella and me. “When I get married, I’m going to buy a unit here for my wife!” I had pretended not to notice how his gaze lingered on Stella when he said it. Instead, I quietly memorized his dream. When I finally bought the penthouse, he pulled me into a tight embrace, overwhelmed with emotion. “You worked so hard for this, Val. I don’t deserve it. But I swear, I will treat you like an absolute queen after we’re married. I will never let you suffer.” For a brief, pathetic moment, I had actually fantasized that he would shower me with the same obsessive care he gave to Stella. I never imagined he would summon his goddess back on our wedding night just to use my property to fulfill his childhood promise to her. He had even planned an escape route, agreeing to the ceremony but conveniently delaying the legal paperwork. Just yesterday, when I heard he had booked an expedited appointment at the registry office for tonight, I thought it was a romantic surprise for me. Now I realized the truth. He was just waiting to see if his goddess would change her mind. If she did, he could instantly erase our ceremony and drag her to the courthouse instead. I couldn’t help but laugh at my own stupidity. He really was devoted. Just not to me. But the dream was over, and I was done being a pawn. I stood up, walked to the front entrance, and opened the door. My assistant and a wealthy female client were already waiting in the hallway. I ushered them in and shot Luke a deadpan look. “The property is officially sold, and that mattress now belongs to its new owner. You can both get the hell out now.” The two of them froze, completely blindsided by my ruthlessness. Luke’s voice cracked as he yelled. “Valerie Monroe, have you lost your damn mind? This is our home! We just had our ceremony today. How could you sell it off just like that?” I shook my head in utter disbelief. “If you knew it was our wedding night, why were you rolling around in our bed with another woman?” My assistant and the buyer exchanged looks of utter disgust. “No wonder Miss Monroe wanted this place gone so fast. It’s infested,” the client sneered, immediately pulling out her phone to record the drama for her massive social media following. “Miss Monroe bought this place with her own blood, sweat, and tears. You two are repulsive.” Seeing a camera pointed directly at her, Stella’s face drained of color. She covered her face and began to sob uncontrollably. “I treated you like my own sister, Val! How could you let a stranger record me and spread rumors about me? You just know I’m too soft to fight back, so you abuse me over and over again!” Seeing the love of his life weeping in terror, Luke flew into a blind rage. He lunged forward and grabbed me by the collar. “Apologize to her right now! You know damn well nothing happened between us. Why are you publicly humiliating her? Do you have any idea that her tears cause severe chemical burns to her sensitive skin? She is as fragile as glass, and you just keep shattering her!” Looking at his agonizing concern for her, a hollow, tragic laugh escaped my throat. I forcefully shoved him off and yanked up my sleeves, exposing the faint, scattered scars on my arms. “Since we were kids, she was too delicate, too allergic to everything. Every time there was a new food, you forced me to taste-test it like a royal poison taster. You wrecked my immune system so badly that I break out in hives from stress. Right after high school, she threw a tantrum about wanting to take pictures in a rose garden. When she tripped, you were so terrified the thorns would scratch her that you shoved me to the ground to act as her human cushion. I bled through my clothes. On her farewell trip before moving to Europe, you spent three hours inspecting her mattress. When you found a bug, you tricked me into switching rooms with her. I woke up the next morning covered in severe, swollen bites.” I took a step forward, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You both convinced me that because you protected me from a bully once, I owed you my life. Well, consider the debt paid in full. From this second forward, we are nothing to each other. Get out.” A flicker of genuine guilt flashed through Luke’s eyes. But the moment he glanced back at Stella’s flushed, tear-stained face, his brows knitted together in that familiar, condescending glare. He looked at me like I was an unruly teenager throwing a fit in public. “Are you quite finished? Even a tantrum has limits. Since we have an audience, I’ll save your reputation as a CEO for now. Stella’s skin is inflamed because of you, and I need to get her an ice pack. Take your people and get out of my sight.” Without another word, he dragged Stella by the wrist straight back into the master bedroom. Moments later, hushed, intimate whispers drifted through the cracked door. My assistant and the client stood in stunned silence. No one could fathom that a groom would blatantly drag another woman into his marital bed right in front of an audience. On the client’s live stream, tens of thousands of viewers were already tearing me to shreds. “If she can’t even keep her own man on a leash, how the hell does she run a corporation? What a joke!” “Everyone knows Valerie Monroe is just a desperate sugar mommy. Pathetic.” “I heard those three grew up together. Seeing how hard the other girl is crying, I bet the CEO is just staging this drama to get free PR for her company!” In a matter of minutes, my reputation was dragged through the mud. The stock prices I had sacrificed countless sleepless nights to elevate began to plummet in after-hours trading. My assistant’s face went sheet white. “Miss Monroe, what do we do?” I simply bent down, picked up the torn pieces of the annulment, and smiled coldly. “I was going to leave him a fraction of the assets just to be done with it. Since he wants to play the victim, he can leave with the clothes on his back.” I walked straight out the door, took the elevator down to the private garage, and slipped into Vincent’s waiting luxury sedan. Ten minutes later, heavily armed police officers stormed the penthouse, kicking the master bedroom door wide open. They flashed their badges at the two naked figures scrambling for the blankets. “This property has legally changed hands. If you do not vacate the premises immediately, you will be arrested for criminal trespassing.” Luke nearly jumped out of his skin. Once the shock faded, he let out a smug, condescending sneer. “That psychotic woman. She is so desperate for my attention she actually called the cops to fake an eviction.” Stella clutched the blanket tightly to her chest, giving him a gentle nudge. “Don’t be so mean to Val. We did get a little carried away just now. It’s only natural she’s jealous. Give her a few hours to cool down, and we’ll buy her favorite takeout to apologize. Once I fly back to Paris, you two can block my number. I just don’t want her to be sad anymore.” They truly believed I was playing my usual role. They thought I would throw a fit, cry, and eventually crawl back to beg for his affection. It wasn’t until Luke realized his number had been blocked across every single platform that panic finally set in. He angrily threw on his clothes, stormed into the hallway, and grabbed my assistant by the collar. “Where the hell is Val? Tell her to get out here and face me! How dare she humiliate Stella like this?” My assistant simply scoffed. She pulled out her phone and held up a crystal-clear photo. It was a shot of me and Vincent Cross, holding our freshly stamped marriage certificate at the VIP registry office. “Who the hell do you think you are,” she whispered venomously, “to bark orders at the billionaire’s wife?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “531868”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel