Category: English

When I arrived at the club, Adrian Fu sat at the head of the table, his expression restrained, his eyes slightly red. A circle of rich second-generation kids dared not breathe loudly. Seeing me was like seeing a savior; they stood at attention: “Hello, sister-in-law.” The girl sitting next to him panicked when she saw me, her eyes red as she said to him: “Adrian, I’m back, are you still going home with her?” I walked over and picked up the red wine bottle on the table. “Adrian Fu, go home or get your head bashed in. Pick one.” 1 The only sound in the private room was the rise and fall of breathing. Adrian lifted his eyelids to look at me. With just that one movement, I clearly sensed his impatience. The rich kids standing in a circle, afraid of being caught in the crossfire, silently retreated to a safe distance. I stood steadily in front of the two of them, gripping the wine bottle, motionless. After a long while, Adrian curled his lips: “Who called your sister-in-law?” As soon as the words left his mouth, the color drained from the girl’s face next to him. She looked like she was about to shatter. Clinging to Adrian’s arm, she asked with a trembling voice: “Adrian, are you going home with her?” I laughed in anger, pulled up a chair, sat down, and looked her in the eye. “Bella, while I can still hold back, you’d better get lost.” A tear rolled down from the corner of her eye. “Since you know me, do you know…” I interrupted her. “I know. I know you are his ‘white moonlight’—his first love. His study still has your photo.” A shy blush crept up Bella’s face, and her eyes suddenly lit up. She gently rested her head on Adrian’s shoulder. “Adrian, I’m back. Divorce her. After all these years, marrying you is still my biggest dream.” “I know you’re not happy. These years, you’ve suffered too much.” Although Adrian tried his best to maintain his usual poker face, the veins popping on his forehead betrayed the turmoil in his heart. He raised his hand, wanting to gently stroke Bella’s back. I sneered, interrupting their tender moment. “Mr. Fu, it seems you don’t want to go home.” “Then I’m sorry.” I raised my hand high, and the red wine bottle in my hand smashed straight towards Bella’s head! 2 Crash! Along with the sound of the bottle exploding, screams erupted in the private room. Bella looked pale as she watched Adrian, who shielded her in his arms. Blood mixed with red wine gushed from his forehead. “Adrian, Adrian, are you okay, are you okay…” Bella stood up from Adrian’s arms, her hands trembling as she helped him sit down. She frantically grabbed the tissues on the table, desperately trying to cover the wound on Adrian’s forehead. The tissues were quickly soaked with blood. Bella turned around and screamed at me like a madwoman: “You crazy woman!!!! Are you trying to kill someone??? How could Adrian marry a lunatic like you!!” Adrian recovered for a moment, picked up the tissues himself, wiped the blood and wine seeping into his eyes, and held Bella back. “Bella, don’t provoke her.” “Are you hurt anywhere?” Bella pouted and extended her hand. There was a cut about 1cm long from a glass shard. Adrian immediately stood up nervously, carefully holding her hand, and led her out. “Why didn’t you say you were hurt? Quick, I’ll take you to the hospital.” I looked down at my hand hanging by my side. Blood dripped from my fingertips drop by drop, disappearing into the carpet. Busy all day at the corporation, hosting important clients, I only had time for a few bites of bread at lunch. Finally enduring until off work, seeing the message someone sent me, I rushed to the club frantically. Adrian, I am tired, hungry, and sleepy. I am hurt too. How did the Adrian who scraped his hands raw and got beaten bloody to save me from kidnappers when we were kids become this stranger? Waves of dizziness hit me. I felt the world spinning, instinctively grabbed the edge of the table, and slumped into the chair. I heard someone call him: “Bro, sister-in-law is hurt too. She doesn’t look good!” Adrian’s voice came from afar. “She’s so tough, she can handle it herself.” I looked up at him. his retreating figure was so decisive. Good. This way, when I close the net, I won’t feel too guilty. 3 Looking up, the notorious playboys of the capital stood obediently, their eyes full of concern for me. I smiled and waved my hand: “Hungry. Be smart.” “Yes! Sister, coming right up!” Wang Siqi is the crown prince of the club. He was the most active, immediately arranging people to clear the table and serve new dishes. I watched them bustling about, looking just like when they were kids following behind Adrian and me, calling us “brother and sister.” Since when did “brother” remain “brother,” but “sister” became “sister-in-law”? Was it when I was kidnapped by the nanny at age 5, and Adrian, 3 years older than me, found me before the police by analyzing the traces left by the nanny? When I woke up from a coma and found myself on Adrian’s thin back, watching him grit his teeth and carry me, staggering out of that terrible abandoned factory, the scene was engraved in my heart forever. The elders joked that for the rest of his life, Adrian would always favor and make exceptions for Tangtang. But later, later Adrian had his “white moonlight.” Unlike me, who lost my mother since that kidnapping and was strictly raised to heir standards, doing everything for the family business and revenge. Bella wouldn’t raise her voice at Adrian, wouldn’t demand Adrian read financial magazines and learn eight languages. She would quietly stay by his side, watching him smile gently. She would be willing to cook for him. Willing to spend lots of time accompanying him to classes she didn’t understand at all. I couldn’t do any of the things she did for him. The environment I grew up in taught me to weigh pros and cons, gains and losses. Until Bella broke up with Adrian because he was too rich. She said she could never fit into his world. After turning around, she went far away to a foreign country, and Adrian didn’t chase her. I knew he had great ambitions. He wanted the Fu family, and he wanted the Shang family too. Before getting the Fu and Shang families, he wouldn’t give me up for Bella. So, when Adrian proposed to me, I agreed without hesitation. Adrian gave me all the romance money could buy. I enjoyed it with peace of mind. I knew better than anyone that the Fu family and the Shang family would eventually be mine. All the beauty he piled up with money was just my advance enjoyment. I lowered my head to eat, quickly reviewing my plan in my mind. plotting for more than ten years, I wouldn’t allow any flaws. Maybe I was too silent; Wang Siqi couldn’t take it first. He slammed the table and stood up. “Sister! You’ve never been soft-hearted towards women around my brother!” “Why did you back down today!” Touching a sore spot. The dinner table suddenly quieted down. I smiled and said, “Because she is Bella.” The lethality of a first love is fatal with one blow. I took out my phone. The screen was clean, no calls, no messages. I thought, by now, Bella’s wound should have healed. 4 As I expected, Adrian didn’t come back all night. I guarded the living room all night, quietly watching the city from midnight to 7 AM. I knew, the era belonging to me had come. When the clock struck 8, I dressed neatly, covered the dark circles under my eyes with heavy foundation, and got into the car picking me up for work on time. I never expected to see Bella in the company. She was wearing a brand new business suit, sitting in the outer office of Adrian’s office. Seeing me pass by, she immediately stood up and greeted me with a smile. “Good morning, President Shang.” The corners of her mouth curled up in a triumphant arc, matching her harmless face, which I found very dazzling. My face darkened. I called the HR manager on the spot and loudly questioned what was going on, asking if any Tom, Dick, or Harry could be stuffed into the company now. Bella was so embarrassed she wished she could bury her face in the ground. Her face flushed red, tears in her eyes. Under my aggressive questioning, she couldn’t say a word. When I got angry, no one dared to provoke me. After saying a few harsh words, I suddenly felt bored. Waving my hand, I said to the HR manager: “Fire her. Pay Miss Ruan every penny of the compensation due.” Bella, who had been submissive, suddenly looked up at me, tears falling like broken pearls. “President Shang, I beg you, I really need this job. Please, don’t fire me.” “Your world is high above, I can only survive on your charity. Does President Shang want to deprive me of even this right?” Such familiar “tea art” (manipulative behavior pretending to be innocent). I looked up, past her thin shoulder, at the door behind her. As I expected, the door opened, and Adrian appeared at the door with a cold face. “Shang Tangzhi, you have a good background, but that’s not your capital to bully others.” “This is my special assistant, not yours.” Just one sentence, the weight was judged instantly. He stepped forward, held Bella’s hand, looked around, and said in a deep voice: “From today on, Miss Ruan is my special assistant. I take full responsibility for what she says and does.” Is this the exception and preference? I didn’t speak, took two steps back, turned and returned to my own office. Near the end of work, my assistant reminded me that I had to attend an important dinner with Adrian tonight. Whether the project I followed for half a year could be clinched depended on tonight. Taking a deep, deep breath, building up my psychological defense, I changed into an evening gown, redid my makeup, and went to find Adrian. Just as I wanted to knock, the door opened from the inside. Bella, wearing an evening gown, held Adrian’s arm, and the two walked out talking and laughing. I froze on the spot. It was early autumn. The wind blowing in from the window brushed over my bare shoulders, a bit cold. Adrian stopped and looked at me indifferently. “Special Assistant Ruan can accompany me to such social events in the future.” “No need to trouble President Shang.” The two passed me and walked towards the elevator. “Adrian Fu, this is the project I’ve been following for half a year.” Adrian’s voice drifted away. “From today on, it’s handed over to Special Assistant Ruan.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387570”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Julian and I are both crazy. On our wedding day, I smashed his head open, and he choked me while cursing, “Sienna, don’t even dream of happiness in this life, unless you die.” For three years of marriage, we were like beasts in a cage, tearing at each other ceaselessly. I wished I could grind his bones to dust. He wished he could skin me alive. But when I really died… He wanted to play Ghost with me. 1 When I found Julian, he was cuddled up with a girl in a white dress. Light makeup, looking like a fresh lotus flower. Ignoring the diagnosis report in my bag, I pulled out my Dior #999 lipstick and touched up my lips. “Having fun, Julian?” My appearance didn’t cause a ripple. Julian didn’t even bother to lift his eyelids. This scene… His crew was used to it. I walked straight over, yanked the girl up, and raised my hand to slap her face— The girl turned pale, tears welling up. “Julian, save me!” “Sienna, you dare touch her!” Julian grabbed my left wrist, standing up and glaring at me with gritted teeth. “Try me.” My free right hand swung around and slapped his face. Slap. Loud and clear. I lifted my chin. “Well? Satisfied?” The next second, my neck was being strangled. I looked at his furious expression and smirked sarcastically. “Your eyesight is getting worse. Which part of her looks like my sister?” The grip on my neck tightened instantly. Oxygen was running out. I breathed with difficulty. He squinted at me. “Likewise. That college boy you’re sponsoring doesn’t even compare to a fraction of my brother.” 2 Everyone in the private room had left. Even the girl who was screaming earlier had been dragged away. They were used to it. I’ve been married to Julian for three years. Scenes like this had played out in front of them hundreds of times. Every time Julian blatantly sought out some innocent-looking girl to have fun with, I’d give him face by making a scene. No matter how messy it got, they never intervened. After all, nothing compared to the scene at our wedding. It should have been a sweet wedding, full of vows of eternal love. Instead, Julian told me, “Do you know why I’m marrying you?” “With two lives on your conscience, don’t ever dream of happiness.” I realized then that this wedding was his long-planned revenge. I have a fiery temper and never take a loss. So I turned around, grabbed a vase, and smashed it over his head. Blood streamed down his forehead. He wiped it off, and with his blood-stained hand, he choked me. “It’s because of your disgusting personality that they died. Sienna, you deserve to die.” Newylweds choking each other, blood splattering on the wedding dress. We both wished the other would go to hell. But the wedding continued. With my red, strangled neck and his bleeding forehead. We completed a bizarre, accursed ceremony. From then on, we tortured each other tirelessly for three years. But now, I don’t want to play anymore. Because I don’t want to carry the Fu name even after death, to be a ghost of the Fu family. 3 “Divorce.” The next day, I brought the divorce papers to Julian’s company. He frowned at the papers. His assistant glanced at me. In their eyes, we were just “two lunatics.” Tormenting each other, but never mentioning divorce. They speculated I wouldn’t let go of Julian because of his money. And Julian wouldn’t divorce me to deal with his family. Indeed, the only benefit of being with Julian was financial security. So, in the divorce agreement, I demanded an equal split of assets. Julian tore it up in front of me. “Want to take my money and run off with your college boy?” I shrugged. “Once divorced, it’s my money. None of your business if I run off with a college boy or a college girl.” “Keep. Dreaming. In this life, we are tied together until death.” I’ve heard similar words many times. But every time, every single time, it still stung. Who would have thought the person who accompanied me through my darkest, most helpless moments… Would personally drag me into the abyss just when I thought I was about to find happiness. His appearance wasn’t salvation; it was to tell me I hadn’t reached hell yet. Then he kicked me down. The current Julian isn’t the old Julian. And he isn’t my Julian. I lowered my eyes, clenching my fists tight to control my emotions. When I looked up again, my face was calm. “Then if I die, we’re done, right?” 4 After leaving the company, I went to the cemetery and stayed from dawn till dusk. In the evening, I drove to my parents’ house for dinner. Both parents were there. But no one spoke. The atmosphere was oppressive. I broke the silence. “I went to see my sister and Lucas today.” The atmosphere solidified further. My mom put down her chopsticks and left the table. “I’m full.” My dad continued eating silently, indifferent to my words. He finished faster than me and left the table first. I called out to him, “Dad, starting tomorrow, I might be gone… for a long time.” He paused. “You’ve always had your own mind. Who can control you?” In the end, only I was left at the table, eating cold rice. Tears fell onto the table, drop by drop. That night, I didn’t return to the marital home but went to the small apartment I bought before marriage. Before sleeping, I booked a flight to Dali, checked my balance, and transferred a large sum to the college student I sponsored. Early the next morning, I found him standing properly downstairs. “Ms. Xu, you already sent me money this month.” I had corrected him before not to call me Ms. Xu; it sounded old. But he never changed, so I stopped forcing him. I sipped my soy milk. “I sent the future payments all at once. Is it enough? While I’m still around, if it’s not enough, I can send more.” “I graduate next year. I don’t need this much. I’ll return the extra.” Honest kid. I stuffed the last dumpling into my mouth. “It’s useless to me anyway.” “Did something happen, Ms. Xu? Can I help?” I blinked. “You’re on break, right? I’ll take you on a trip.” One more ticket to Dali. Photos of me touring with the college student filled my social media. It was fun. But a body with cancer cells couldn’t handle it. Right now, I was vomiting my guts out in the hotel bathroom. Stomach and abdomen cramping in waves, I curled up by the toilet. My phone rang again and again. It was Julian. 5 But I didn’t even have the strength to reach out and hang up, so I just let it ring. The stomach cramps continued. I threw up into the toilet again. The cycle repeated until I couldn’t tell where the pain was coming from. Finally, my body calmed down. I sat on the floor, hugging myself. Suddenly felt so useless. Julian got his way with the marriage. And he gets his way with my death. He’ll be so smug when he finds out. When I finally recovered enough, I composed myself and called Julian back. My voice had no trace of the sickness or sobbing from before. “What?” He was fiercer than me, almost roaring, “Sienna, is this how you disgust me? Delete those photos!” “If you don’t like wearing a green hat (being cheated on), then divorce me.” Julian always knew how to poke my wounds. “If my brother saw you like this, he’d be disgusted.” The abdominal pain returned. I bit my lip, enduring it desperately. “If my sister saw the cheap knockoff you found, she’d be stomping her feet in anger too.” Of course, I wasn’t bad at poking his wounds either. We were always like this, tit for tat. He hung up in anger, even forgetting to curse me to die. The doorbell rang. Percy stood at the door holding a pink pig-shaped cotton candy. “Ms. Xu, saw this downstairs, so I bought one for you.” Seeing someone who looked 80% like him holding the exact same cotton candy made me dazed for a moment. The grievances in my heart exploded instantly. My tears broke the dam. “Let me tell you a story.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387586”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My freshly laundered delicates. Blown off the line by a freak gust of wind. They landed, of course, right in the apartment patio below. The man who lived there was Rhys. A master mechanic whose reputation for talent was only surpassed by his notorious temper. Every woman in our building lusted after him, and every single one had been turned away by his ice-cold stare. I had no choice. I had to swallow my pride and knock on his door. The door opened. Rhys stood there, shirtless and steaming, still damp from a shower. He looked down at me, his voice a block of ice. “Problem?” My face instantly burned. “Rhys… could you let me in to—to retrieve something?” He followed the direction of my trembling finger. His gaze settled on the tiny scrap of black lace draped over his railing. 1 My name is Eliza. I run a bespoke designer boutique, The Atelier, in the heart of the Historic Riverwalk District. My life used to be like the slow, quiet trickle of the river itself—calm, contained. Until Rhys moved in. He opened his custom auto shop, Rhys’s Customs, directly across the street from me. In the summer heat, he was always in the same uniform: a black work tank top, combat boots, and olive-green cargo pants. His forearms were ropes of muscle, hard and ridged like granite. That face was brutally handsome—all sharp contours and untamed, feral masculinity. But the words that came out of his mouth could curdle milk. Zara, the owner of the trendy nail salon next door, is a sucker for a handsome face. The day Rhys moved in, she practically skipped over with a platter of organic fruit. She was back in less than three minutes, her eyes red-rimmed. I asked her what happened. Zara slammed the platter onto my counter, her chest heaving with outrage. “I asked him if he wanted to split some artisanal fruit, and he said my offering was ‘hog feed!’” “I asked if he had a girlfriend, and he told me to ‘mind my own damn business.’” “Eliza, seriously, is that man mentally ill? He’s got the face of a god, and the mouth of a sewer rat!” I glanced through my window to the street. Rhys was easily hoisting a massive V8 engine block with one hand, as if it weighed nothing. Sweat traced a path down his temple, over the sharp line of his throat, and disappeared into the soaked fabric of his tank top. Pure, unadulterated testosterone. Definitely a sight to behold. I pulled my gaze back and focused on stitching the silk knotted buttons of my latest design. “Best to leave that kind alone.” I truly had no intention of crossing his path. We were oil and water. He revved his engines; I listened to classic jazz. That was the arrangement until the day a rich kid in a Maserati came to the shop. He was a referral from an old client, supposedly looking to commission a gown for his fiancée. Instead, his hands started wandering, using the measuring session as an excuse to brush my waist. My hand, holding the soft tailor’s tape, froze. I looked up at him with cold steel in my eyes. “Sir, keep your hands to yourself.” The rich kid smiled, a sleazy, entitled smirk. “What are you doing, playing the virgin? You open a boutique like this in a historic district, it’s just for show, right? You’re part of the package.” He lunged to grab my wrist. “BANG!” A noise like a shotgun blast. The steel security door across the street was kicked open. Rhys strode across the cobblestone street, a heavy steel pipe dangling from one hand. His face was thunderous, absolutely devoid of mercy. The rich kid recoiled in shock. “Who the hell are you?” Rhys didn’t waste words. He didn’t even look at the guy. He slammed the pipe—a piece of heavy scaffolding—onto the slate steps outside my door. Sparks flew, hissing on the damp stone. “Get out.” One syllable. That was all. The rich kid took one look at Rhys’s bulging, scarred muscles, then at the pipe now slightly bent from the impact. He cursed under his breath and scrambled back to his car. I stood there, shaken but safe, looking at Rhys. “Thank you.” Rhys turned, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “Too loud.” He tossed those two clipped words over his shoulder, retrieved the steel pipe, and walked back to his garage. I stood rooted to the spot, watching his retreating silhouette. I decided right then that this man was not only verbally toxic but emotionally ice-cold. That evening, I locked up and headed home. As I stepped into the elevator, a familiar shadow followed me in. Rhys. The cramped cage instantly became suffocating. He carried the heavy, unmistakable scent of motor oil and a faint undercurrent of tobacco. I subtly retreated into the corner, trying to slow my breathing. He pressed a button. The floor right below mine. Of course. The hostile new neighbor was the hostile new neighbor. 2 The elevator climbed slowly. The air felt thin. Rhys’s presence was a physical weight. I stared at my shoes, trying to shrink into myself. This was an old building; the elevator was small and rickety. It felt packed with four people, but with just the two of us, the tension was unbearable. “Ding.” The third floor. An elderly couple was waiting outside, ready to step in. The moment the old woman saw Rhys’s severe, grim face, she froze, clutching her husband’s arm. “Oh… we’ll take the next one, dear.” The doors hissed shut. I fought the urge to laugh, biting the inside of my cheek. Rhys must have sensed it. He turned his head and gave me a quick, sharp look. I immediately straightened my expression, pretending to examine the emergency instructions. “Something funny?” he asked suddenly. His voice was low, gravelly, and rough around the edges. I jumped, looking up. My gaze met his dark, flat eyes—two pools of dead water, totally unreadable. “No.” I instinctively denied it. “…The old woman was afraid of you.” I couldn’t help but add the truth. Rhys let out a humorless, short puff of air. “A lot of people are.” He turned away from me. The elevator reached the fifth floor. His floor. The doors opened, and he stepped out. Just as the doors began to close, he turned back suddenly. “Stop attracting stray dogs, Eliza.” “I won’t always have time to sweep up your pests.” He didn’t wait for a response, just slammed his apartment door shut. I stood alone in the cage, staring at the closed metal door for a long moment. Was that a warning, or was it… concern? I got home, took a shower, and tried to put the whole weird exchange out of my mind. Life went back to normal. Rhys and I returned to being barely on nodding terms. More accurately: I nodded; he ignored me. But my focus on him definitely sharpened. When I left in the morning, I subconsciously checked his window. When I locked up at night, I noticed if the lights were still on at his shop. Even while doing the books at my counter, my eyes would drift across the street. I watched him work on engines, watched him argue with difficult clients, watched him standing bare-chested, drinking water straight from a bottle. I absorbed the rumors, too. The women in the building muttered that Rhys was an ex-con. Some said he was a disgraced former soldier who’d cracked under pressure. Others whispered about organized crime. The stories were fantastical. I wasn’t interested in gossip. I believed only what I saw. He was intimidating, cold, and cruel-mouthed. But he had chased off a potential attacker for me. And when he worked on an engine, the sheer intensity and focus in his eyes… It’s not something a truly bad man could fake. This appreciation lasted right up until that embarrassing night. A sudden, fierce windstorm swept through the district. I was on my patio, pulling in my laundry, when the gust hit. My hand felt suddenly light. My favorite piece—that tiny sliver of black lace—flew out of my grip like a kite with a broken string. I watched, horrified, as it cleared the railing. And landed, floating like a dark flower, right on the patio below. On Rhys’s patio. My head went instantly numb. I was screwed. 3 I peered over the railing. The black lace trembled in the wind, threatening to drop onto the ground floor patio, which would be even worse. I checked the kitchen clock. 10:30 PM. Rhys was likely just getting back from the shop. Do I go, or do I not? If I didn’t, tomorrow morning, the entire building would see a woman’s underwear hanging out on Rhys’s railing. My reputation would be destroyed. If I did, I would have to face the Ice King at his most unguarded. I bit my lip. My pride demanded a rescue mission. I threw on a light cardigan, slipped into my flip-flops, and crept downstairs like a thief. Standing outside Rhys’s door, I took a deep, steadying breath and knocked. “Knock, knock, knock.” Silence. I knocked again, harder. “KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!” Still nothing. Was he asleep? Just as I was about to give up, the lock rattled. Click. The door opened a crack. A wave of wet heat and steam washed over me. Rhys stood behind the doorframe. He’d clearly been in the shower. His hair was slick and dripping. His upper body was bare, water tracking paths down his wide shoulders, over the hard planes of his chest, and into the low-slung, threadbare grey sweats that barely held on to his hips. The waistband rested precariously low, exposing the faint, sexy shadow of his V-lines. I took one look and instantly snapped my gaze away, a shock of adrenaline running through me. It was criminal. A walking fire hazard. “Late-night visitors? You trying to wake the dead?” He was clearly annoyed, his brow furrowed, his tone hostile. I swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “Rhys, I apologize for the interruption.” “I… I have something that fell onto your patio.” Rhys leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, looking utterly impatient. “What something?” “A piece of clothing.” “What kind of clothing?” He wasn’t going to let this go. My face felt like it was melting. My voice was a tiny squeak. “Under… underwear.” Rhys froze. A flicker of something—amusement? surprise?—cracked his cold expression. He quickly scanned my figure, his eyes lingering on the jacket I was clutching around myself, and then he stepped aside, letting the door swing wider. “Come in.” I ducked inside, feeling like a trapped field mouse. His apartment was identical to mine, but shockingly barren. Just a sofa, a coffee table, and no television. A pile of tires and toolboxes sat in the corner. It screamed single male, zero frills. I scurried toward the patio. The culprit was still there, swaying gently. But it was draped over the high corner, just out of my reach. I sighed in frustration and gestured toward it. “Rhys, could you please grab that?” He walked over, took one look, and let out a soft sound of disgust. “Wait.” He didn’t hesitate. He mounted the patio railing, scaling the corner like a black panther. He reached out a long, heavy arm. His calloused, heavy hand closed around the tiny, fragile scrap of lace. The black fabric looked impossibly small and vulnerable against his brute strength. He dropped back down and held it out to me. “Here.” I snatched it back and shoved the crumpled mess into my pocket. My fingertips inevitably brushed the center of his palm. It was searing hot. And rough. I yanked my hand back, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Thank you.” “Don’t mention it.” He grabbed the towel from the back of the sofa and roughly rubbed his hair, sending droplets flying. I couldn’t look at him, turning to flee the apartment. “Hold up.” His voice stopped me at the door. I stiffened, turning back to him awkwardly. “Something else?” Rhys hung the towel around his neck, the pose pure, raw masculinity. He took a slow, deliberate step toward me. The pressure of his body overwhelmed me. He stopped directly in front of me, looking down. The space between us evaporated. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. “Eliza.” It was the first time he’d ever used my name. It sounded low, guttural, and possessive. “Next time you hang your clothes, use a damn clip.” I flushed furiously and bolted out of his apartment. 4 The next time I ran into Rhys, he was back to his usual poker face. It was as if our late-night, half-naked encounter had been a hallucination. I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. But I started having trouble sleeping. When I closed my eyes, all I saw was his rain-slicked chest and those bottomless black eyes. I was becoming obsessed. To distract myself, I accepted a massive commission: twenty custom gowns for a period drama’s principal cast. The deadline was tight, the standards were insane. I practically moved into my shop, barely going home. Late one night, I finally finished the last sample. I checked my phone: 2:00 AM. The entire Riverwalk District was asleep. Only the streetlights cast long, sickly yellow shadows. I dragged my exhausted body out of the shop, locked up, and headed toward the building. The deep autumn air cut right through my thin trench coat. I wrapped my arms around myself and hurried. Inside the building, I pressed the elevator button. When the doors opened, a familiar shadow once again stepped into the cage. Rhys. He leaned heavily against the elevator wall. He wore his usual black tank top, but had a leather jacket pulled over it. His face was etched with fatigue; there were faint smudges of dark shadow under his eyes. In the small space, beneath the motor oil and tobacco, there was now a faint, coppery scent of blood. My heart lurched. I immediately checked his hands. His right hand hung at his side. The knuckles were scraped raw, peeling back the skin, and a dark stain of dried blood covered the black leather of his jacket. “You’re hurt,” I blurted out. Rhys glanced at his hand, utterly indifferent. “Just a scrape.” “That’s more than a scrape.” The wound looked deep, the flesh torn. It was clearly from blunt-force trauma. “Mind your business.” His voice was cold and dismissive. Any sympathy I’d felt instantly evaporated. Fine. I wouldn’t bother him again. I stayed silent, watching the numbers climb. At the third floor, the elevator lurched violently. The lights flickered, buzzing with a sharp electric crackle. Then, everything stopped dead. My stomach dropped. I lunged for the emergency bell. Nothing. Worse, my phone had zero service. In the sudden darkness, I could only hear my own frantic, shallow breathing. “Don’t move.” Rhys’s voice cut through the dark, steady and powerful. A moment later, a beam of light cut the blackness. He’d turned on his phone flashlight. The light hit his face, making his features harsh and his eyes chillingly calm. “It’s an old problem with this piece of junk,” he muttered. He walked over to the panel, pressed a few buttons, and kicked the door. No luck. “Might as well sit. The building maintenance crew won’t check until morning.” He slid down the wall and sat, stretching his long legs out. I watched him, uncertain. “Sit down.” He patted the floor beside him. I hesitated, then sat on the opposite side, maintaining a careful distance. Minutes crawled by. The air became thick and heavy. The coppery scent of blood grew stronger. I couldn’t stand it. I dug through my sewing kit bag and pulled out a travel-sized bottle of alcohol spray and a couple of large, waterproof bandages. They were necessary for my line of work. “Give me your hand.” I looked at him. Rhys looked up, a wry, challenging smile touching his lips. “What, you trying to take advantage of the situation?” I laughed, a sharp, angry sound. “Fine. Let it get infected, then. See if I care.” I started to put the supplies away. A large hand shot out suddenly and locked around my wrist. The grip was fierce, his palm hot. He pulled me slightly closer and held the injured hand out to me. “Do your worst.” I glared at him, then lowered my head and began to clean the wound. He didn’t flinch when I sprayed the alcohol. When the bandages were secure, I started to pull away. But he didn’t release my wrist. Instead, his thumb began to gently stroke the soft skin of my inner wrist. Right where my pulse hammered—a frantic, uneven drumbeat. “Eliza.” He looked at me in the dim light, his voice raspy and hoarse. “Are you falling for me?” My mind went completely blank. I opened my mouth, ready to issue a denial. “If you didn’t like me, why do you constantly stare at me?” He closed the distance between us, his intense male scent engulfing me. “If you didn’t like me, why didn’t you run away from me?” “If you didn’t like me…” He lowered his head, his nose almost touching mine, our breaths mingling. “Why is your heart running like a runaway train?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387602”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The school’s Golden Boy dropped a hundred-dollar bill, and I immediately stepped on it. Then, I casually sat down, pretending to tie my shoe. He noticed something was off and sat down right next to me, staring. We sat there from broad daylight until the sun went down. Neither of us folded. By the next day, the rumor mill was spinning: We were dating. Before I could even deny it, the Prom Queen and the School Bad Boy lost their minds. They cornered me separately. Chloe, the Prom Queen: “Let’s cut the crap. I like Asher. How much to make you break up with him? Is a hundred grand enough?” Jax, the Bad Boy: “What’s so good about that broke genius anyway? Date me instead. I’ll sign over my family’s beach house to you.” Chapter 1 “Wake up, Riley! Stop drooling!” I was still in my dream, locked in a battle of wills over that Benjamin, when someone shook me awake. In the dream, Asher had finally left, and I was reaching for the cash. Then—reality hit. Just my luck. I shifted positions, trying to faceplant back into the desk to resume the dream. “I’m dead tired. Didn’t sleep a wink last night. Let me nap until the teacher gets here.” A different voice cut through the fog. “You’re still sleeping? Your romance with Asher is trending on every group chat. Aren’t you afraid the principal is gonna drag you in?” I shot up like a zombie. “What?” “I’m in a romance with who?” A group of classmates had formed a circle around my desk, looking at me with hungry, gossip-filled eyes. I grabbed one girl’s arm and shook her. “Speak! What are you talking about?” She pulled her arm away, looking disgusted. “Stop acting. Just spill the tea. When did you and Asher start hooking up?” I raised three fingers. “I swear to god, I didn’t hook up with anyone.” “Then when did you start dating?” “We aren’t!” Heaven knows I’m innocent. Yesterday, I was walking into the library and saw a crisp $100 bill on the floor. My eyes lit up. My dopamine spiked. But the library entrance was crowded. I couldn’t just bend over like a goblin. So, I smoothly stepped on it, then sat down on a nearby bench to scout the perimeter. I am a genius. But just as I was mentally spending the money, this tall, gorgeous guy stopped walking. He patted his pockets, then looked at the floor. Specifically, at my sneaker. He looked at me with this complex expression. I guilty-shuffled my foot, trying to cover the bill completely. That was my mistake. He saw the twitch. Instead of calling me out, he just sat down next to me. That gorgeous guy was Asher Vance. The school heartthrob. The valedictorian. At first, nobody realized it was a siege. We just looked like two people sitting. Until we sat there for ten hours. Ten. Hours. I was starving. Is he a robot? Does he run on solar power? Chapter 2 “Bwahahaha!” “Oh my god, that is totally something you would do!” My classmates were practically on the floor laughing after I explained. “Stop laughing at me!” I whined, putting on my best puppy-dog face. One of them rolled her eyes. “Girl, stop being dramatic. So, who got the hundred bucks?” I straightened up. “I know you’re curious, but focus! Help me out here. What do I do? Asher has like, a fan club. If they think we’re dating, I’m gonna get roasted alive.” “I’m too pretty to be bullied! What if they put gum in my hair?” “Relax,” someone said. “With that mouth of yours, you could talk your way out of a murder charge. Who’d dare bully you?” True. But before I could clear my name, the hierarchy intervened. Chloe Sterling, the Queen Bee, found me first. “You’re Riley?” Her tone was icy. She’s rich, beautiful, and usually followed by a swarm of simps. She was tapping on her phone, not even looking at me. Oh god, I thought. Is she calling a hitman? I nodded, trying to look harmless. “Yeah, that’s me.” She kept scrolling. “Heard you and Asher are a thing. Let’s be real. I like Asher. Whether he likes me back is his problem, but you? You can’t date him.” “No, wait, I—” “Zip it. Did I say you could speak?” Wow. Rude. Who made you the boss of me? Just because you’re the “School Beauty” doesn’t mean you can interrupt people. Chapter 3 Before I could voice my internal protest, Chloe spoke again. “Class is starting soon. My time is money. How much to break up with him? Fifty grand?” Me: ??? “W-what? How much?” Chloe frowned, annoyed. “Is a hundred grand enough? I hate it when people haggle.” “Take the money. Break up today.” Ding. My phone buzzed. A transfer notification. One. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars. My brain short-circuited. I stood there for a solid three seconds. Luckily, my survival instincts kicked in before she got mad. “So… just to clarify… if I don’t date Asher, this money is mine? No take-backs?” “Duh,” Chloe pocketed her phone. “Can you do it or not?” I nodded so hard I almost gave myself whiplash. “Yes! Absolutely! Consider it done! He is dead to me!” I was ready to offer her my kidney as a thank-you gift. “Sis, do you want anything else? I can bark? I can do a backflip? Just name it!” Chloe looked at me like I was a cockroach. “I seriously don’t know what Asher sees in you.” Sis, you are my new religion. “I promise, he will never like me. Ever.” “Hey, want me to do a TikTok dance for you? Free of charge. Just to show my appreciation.” I started doing a very awkward version of the Renegade. She cringed. “Please stop. That was painful to watch.” I stopped. “Or I can rap? I know all the words to—” “Just stop,” she covered her ears. “You’re weird.” She turned and walked away. Honestly? She’s an icon. Beautiful. Rich. Decisive. I yelled after her, “Bye bestie! Call me if you need someone to carry your books!” A random student walked by and sneered, “Simp.” I puffed out my chest. “Yeah? And? I’m simping for a millionaire. Jealous?” Chapter 4 I didn’t sleep at all that night. I just stared at my bank account app, counting the zeros. Am I rich? Is this real life? Thank you, Asher. Thank you, Benjamin Franklin. The next day. I walked into school with massive dark circles under my eyes. Before I could reach my classroom, Jax—the notorious bad boy—blocked the doorway. He pinned me against the lockers, his voice low and angry. “Riley.” I jumped out of my skin. “Jesus! You scared me! Jax, do you have a death wish?” Jax was in my homeroom—Class 8, the “hopeless case” class. Asher and Chloe were in Class 1, the honors class. Jax and I rarely spoke. I sat in the front; he slept in the back. But I’m a social butterfly, so we were cool. Usually. Jax looked serious. Hurt, even. He refused to move. “You’re dating Asher? Why?” Oh lord, not this again. Does Jax like Chloe? Is that why he’s mad? Thinking of Chloe and my new fortune, I grinned. “Because of money.” Jax: ??? “Asher? That broke genius? He has money?” “He can’t have more money than me!” Uh oh. “Well, his money isn’t really my business, but—” Jax cut me off, raising his voice. “Who says it’s not your business? If you date me, I’ll give you the villa my dad owns near the beach. Title deed and everything.” The hallway went silent. Then it exploded. “Whoa!” “Jax likes Riley?” “The Bad Boy vs. The Golden Boy! Who is Riley gonna pick?” I was stunned. Jax likes me? Since when? He stared at me, ignoring the crowd. “Riley, say something. Yes or no?” Just then, Asher came sprinting down the hall. He looked furious. He was winding up a punch, aiming right for us. Like he had a blood feud to settle. Jax reacted instantly, stepping in front of me to block the hit. “Asher! What the hell are you doing?!” Chapter 5 The punch missed us completely. Instead, it connected squarely with the jaw of a guy with glasses standing next to me. Pow. Four-Eyes stumbled back, looking dazed. “Why did you hit me?!” Asher didn’t stop. He grabbed the guy by the collar. “Who gave you the right to spread rumors? Which eye saw Riley pregnant with my baby?” “Which eye saw me forcing her to get an abortion?” “I don’t even know her! We aren’t dating! How could we have a kid?” “I’m a guy, I can take the heat, but she’s a girl! You’re ruining her reputation!” Four-Eyes stammered, “I—I saw you guys at the hospital last week!” My brain finally caught up. Asher wasn’t here to beat me up. But wait. “What?!” “I’m pregnant? An abortion?!” “Who said I was getting an abortion?!” I went feral. This rumor was lethal! What if Chloe heard this and misunderstood? My money! A classmate showed me her phone. There it was in the grade-wide group chat. Four-Eyes had posted: Riley is preggo with Asher’s kid. He forced her to terminate. That’s why they were sitting outside the library all night, fighting about it. Attached was a photo of us looking grim during the $100 standoff. It looked… surprisingly convincing. Hell no. I spent last night counting money, not managing a PR crisis! “Get him!” I screamed. Asher and I formed an immediate alliance. We both started swinging at Four-Eyes. Jax, realizing what was happening, joined in. It turned into a 3-on-1 beatdown. Okay, “beatdown” is strong. I was mostly flailing my arms. Then Chloe showed up. She heard the context from the crowd. “Gross!” she yelled. She dropped her bag and joined the fight. 4-on-1. Poor Four-Eyes didn’t stand a chance. Chapter 6 “Unbelievable!” “Absolutely unbelievable!” “The Valedictorian! The Salutatorian! Leading a gang assault?” “Are you two trying to ruin your futures?” The Class 1 homeroom teacher was slamming his hand on the desk. Asher (Rank 1) and Chloe (Rank 2) stood with their heads down. Jax and I… well, we were the “bad influences.” My homeroom teacher sighed. “Jax, you skip class every day, your grades are tanking, and now you’re fighting? And Riley… I’m disappointed. You know your situation. Do you have a death wish?” I stuffed a tissue up my nose to stop the bleeding. Jax protested. “Teacher, you’re biased! Riley skips class too, why aren’t you yelling at her?” “Shut up or I’ll call your father!” “Four-Eyes started a rumor that destroyed a girl’s reputation! He deserved it!” Jax argued. “And we barely touched him. Riley’s the one bleeding!” “That’s for the doctor to decide!” Soon, the parents arrived. Asher’s dad (looked scary), Chloe’s mom (looked elegant), Jax’s dad (looked rich), and… my grandma. Plus Four-Eyes’ parents, who were wailing. “My poor baby! Look at his face! We’re suing!” The teachers tried to mediate. “We will investigate and punish accordingly. You four, get out. Stand in the hall.” We were exiled. “Chloe… uh, Ms. Sterling, sorry for dragging you into this,” I whispered. But Chloe looked weirdly excited. “So… wait. You guys weren’t dating? You sat there for ten hours over… a hundred bucks?” Asher corrected her: “It wasn’t just a hundred bucks. It was a matter of principle.” Chloe burst out laughing. “That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!” Jax joined in. “You guys are idiots!” They were losing it. Asher and I exchanged a look of pure embarrassment. “So,” Chloe wiped a tear. “Who got the money?” Chapter 7 Asher and I looked at our shoes. It’s a tragedy, really. It wasn’t a hundred-dollar bill. It was an anti-fraud flyer folded to look like a hundred-dollar bill. And Asher hadn’t lost any money; he just thought he did. The whole thing was for nothing. “Anti-fraud flyer!” Jax howled. “I can’t breathe!” I, however, wanted to cry. The bill was fake. Which meant… I looked at Chloe. “Chloe… I need to return the money. I shouldn’t have taken it. I was going to tell you yesterday, but I’ve never seen that many zeros in my life and I panicked. I’ll transfer it back right now.” I didn’t have my phone on me (confiscated), but I was sincere. Chloe waved her hand dismissively. “Keep it.” “It’s not your fault I jumped the gun.” “I don’t do refunds. It’s embarrassing. How would I show my face in school if I took money back?” My jaw hit the floor. “It’s… a hundred thousand dollars. And you… don’t want it?” Chloe shrugged. “It’s good karma. Consider it a donation.” I tackled her in a hug. “Chloe! You are my sister! My queen! My goddess!” “If you ever need a kidney, take mine! If you need someone to hide a body, I’ll bring the shovel!” Asher looked disgusted. Chloe paused. “Actually, I do need a favor.” I snapped to attention. “Name it.” “Never mind. Tell you later.” Jax poked my arm. “Riley, if you’re this happy over a hundred grand, just date me. I’ll give you the villa for real.” “No!” I refused. The money was a transaction. The villa was a relationship. I have standards. Also, I’m rich now. I don’t need a man. Jax pouted. “Why not? Am I ugly?” I scratched my head. How do I explain that I don’t have the energy to deal with rich boy drama? “Let’s focus on not getting expelled,” Asher interrupted. Chapter 8 Four-Eyes was fine. Just bruises. Since he started the malicious rumor, and since Jax and Chloe’s parents have “forget about it” money, the settlement was quick. However, we were all supposed to split the damages. My grandma looked terrified. She stood there, trembling, her old coat worn thin. She didn’t have money for settlements. I rushed over to her. “Grandma, don’t worry. We don’t have to pay. He slandered me. The school knows we’re the victims.” Grandma looked hopeful. “Really?” “Really.” I lied. I used Chloe’s money to pay my share secretly. With the rest of the cash, I paid off all our debts. I put a chunk into a savings account for Grandma. I bought her a premium pension plan that would pay her monthly. After setting everything up, I sat on my bed, gasping for air. My nose started bleeding again. It took half a roll of toilet paper to stop it. Man, being eighteen is exhausting. I’m more fragile than a glass vase. But that night, I slept better than I had in years.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387618”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I woke up in this body, the story was already wrapping up. The heroine, after enduring a gauntlet of hardships, had become an A-list movie star and was living her happily-ever-after with the CEO male lead. Meanwhile, the vicious villainess—who tried to ruin the heroine but failed miserably—had reaped what she sowed. She lost her reputation, her purity, and wound up pregnant. That villainess? Yeah, that’s me now. 1 By the time I realized I was pregnant, I was already four months along. I stood under the flickering yellow light of a cramped bathroom, my fingers trembling as they traced the slight curve of my belly. The woman in the mirror looked like a ghost—dark circles carved under her eyes, lips cracked and pale. It had been three days since I transmigrated here. In my old life, I was an orphan. I never knew what family felt like. Now? I was Kaia Yates, the resident “Mean Girl” of a romance novel, and I was apparently expecting. According to the memories flooding my brain, the original Kaia had tried to frame her stepsister—the heroine, Faye Yates—one too many times. Her final scheme backfired spectacularly. She ended up in a trap of her own making, slept with a stranger, got exposed by the paparazzi, and was completely canceled. Ding. My phone buzzed. A bank notification. Available Balance: $1,527.68. That was every cent Kaia had left. Since the scandal broke, her father—the Chairman of Yates Corp—had publicly disowned her, shifting all his fatherly affection to his stepdaughter, Faye. I dragged my heavy feet to the window and pulled back the curtains. Outside, the New York skyline glittered. Skyscrapers, neon lights, endless traffic. It was supposed to be the city of dreams, but right now, it felt like a cage. The cost of living here was astronomical. This body was weak and needed rest; I couldn’t exactly grind a 9-to-5 right now. “I can’t stay here,” I decided right then and there. Three days later, I packed a single duffel bag and boarded a train heading south. The concrete jungle faded, replaced by rolling green fields. I picked a place called Greenwood Valley. Cheap rent, fresh air, and most importantly—zero connection to the plot of the novel. “Miss, we’re here. Greenwood Valley,” the driver announced. I hopped out, inhaling air that smelled like wet grass and soil. It was picturesque. Mountains in the distance, farmhouses scattered around, the sound of dogs barking. I found the rental I’d looked up online. The landlord was an old man named Mr. Lee. Weather-beaten face, kind eyes. “This is it. Five hundred a month. First and last upfront.” Mr. Lee pushed open the creaky wooden gate. “It’s old, but the bones are good.” The yard was bigger than I expected. A massive magnolia tree stood in the center, shading a couple of broken wicker chairs. The house was a simple bungalow. Peeling paint, but sturdy. The best part? A neglected vegetable patch on the side. Weeds were throwing a party, but the soil looked rich. “I’ll take it,” I said, counting out a grand and handing it to him. Before leaving, Mr. Lee pointed west. “The Higgins family lives over there. Good folks. If you need anything, holler at them.” It took me all day to clean the place. By sunset, I was squatting in the garden pulling weeds when a warm voice floated over the fence. “Hey there! You the new tenant?” I looked up. A woman in her fifties, hair pulled back in a practical bun, was holding a covered basket. “Yes, hi. I’m Kaia.” I stood up, dusting dirt off my hands. “I’m Mrs. Higgins from next door,” she beamed, walking through the open gate. “Saw you moving in alone. Figured you hadn’t eaten, so I brought some supper.” I froze. I wasn’t used to kindness. She pulled back the cloth. A container of pot roast, some glazed carrots, and fresh homemade biscuits. “This… thank you so much.” My nose stung. I blinked back tears. Since arriving in this world, this was the first time anyone had been nice to me. Mrs. Higgins waved it off. “Neighbors help neighbors. You here by yourself?” My hand instinctively went to my bump. “Yeah… just me.” Her gaze dropped to my stomach. A flicker of understanding passed through her eyes, but there was no judgment. Just warmth. “Well, you’re eating for two now. Gotta keep your strength up. You need anything, you ask.” The dam broke. The stress of the last few days crashed down, and I started crying right there in the garden. Mrs. Higgins didn’t miss a beat. She set the basket down and patted my back like I was her own kid. “It’s okay, honey. It’s gonna be okay.” 2 Life slowed down. The air in Greenwood Valley was healing. My cheeks started to get some color back. In the mornings, I sat under the magnolia tree with an embroidery hoop. The original Kaia had beautiful hands—slender, pale, artistic. I traced my own knuckles. Funny how fate works. We shared a name and a face, but our lives were opposites. In my old world, I grew up in the system. At ten, I was sent to a vocational school for arts. I specialized in embroidery. I used to prick my fingers until they bled just to master a stitch. I eventually made good money, but I developed chronic wrist pain. “I need to take care of these hands this time,” I whispered, threading a needle. On the fabric, a landscape called Spring Mountain began to form. Green hills, peach blossoms, a golden oriole. It was a blend of traditional technique and modern aesthetics. “Kaia, stitching again?” Mrs. Higgins walked in with a basket of fresh eggs. Since finding out I was single and pregnant, she’d practically adopted me. “Yeah, thinking of selling some online.” Mrs. Higgins leaned in. “That bird looks like it’s gonna fly right off the cloth! You could sell this for a fortune in the city.” I shook my head. “Online competition is stiff. I’m just starting out. Maybe fifty bucks a pop.” I rubbed my neck. Seven months pregnant, and my back was killing me. “Alright, break time,” Mrs. Higgins scolded gently. “You’re popping soon. I made chicken soup. Drink up.” Time flew. The due date arrived. The county hospital was basic but clean. The contractions hit like a freight train. I gripped the sheets, soaked in cold sweat. In a haze, I thought I saw the original Kaia standing by the bed. She was wearing a ballgown, looking hollow and sad. I’ll live a good life for you, I thought. She seemed to smile, relieved, before fading into the harsh hospital lights. “Waaah!” A loud cry shattered the night. The nurse placed a red, squirming bundle on my chest. “It’s a healthy boy. Seven pounds, six ounces.” I touched his wrinkled little face. He stopped crying and gripped my finger. “I’ll call you Leo,” I whispered. “My little lion.” Mrs. Higgins came the next day with oatmeal. “He’s gorgeous,” she cooed. “Looks just like you. Gonna be a heartbreaker.” I looked at Leo. Maybe he looked like his dad, whoever that was. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. The past was dead. Raising a baby was expensive. Diapers, formula, clothes… my savings were evaporating. I went back to embroidery, but a few orders weren’t enough. One night, scrolling TikTok, I saw an embroidery streamer. Just her hands, thousands of viewers. I can do that. I set up a tripod. The first stream was nerve-wracking. Viewers were scarce. But I kept at it. 【Your hands are so pretty!】 【How did you do that stitch?】 【Do you take commissions?】 Slowly, I built a following. I stitched while Leo napped and streamed for two hours a night. It was exhausting, but seeing Leo’s sleeping face made it worth it. 3 Leo was five months old now. He was turning into a little dumpling. Pale skin, big dark eyes, always curious. One evening, I set up the stream as usual. Leo was on his playmat, wrestling with a colorful bead maze. He was focused, brows furrowed, trying to push a bead from one side to the other. “Mommy’s working now, Leo. Play nice,” I said, kissing his soft hair. He grinned, showing off two bottom teeth, then went back to his battle with the beads. I started the stream. About ten minutes in, I realized the camera angle was off. I reached to adjust it, but I accidentally nudged the tripod. Suddenly, Leo—in his little blue onesie—appeared in the corner of the frame. Just his back view. The chat exploded. 【OMG WHO IS THAT TINY HUMAN?】 【So smol!】 【Does the streamer have a baby?】 【Look at his little hair tuft! Ahhh!】 I panicked. “Oh, sorry! That’s my son, Leo. Didn’t mean to show him.” That just made them crazier. 【Let us see his face!】 【How old is he?】 【What is he doing? He looks so serious!】 Views spiked. Leo, sensing eyes on him, turned his head. “Sorry guys, no face reveals. Privacy,” I said gently. “But… you can watch him play from the back.” I adjusted the camera so his chubby back took up the corner. He was trying to shove a circle block into a square hole. When it didn’t fit, he let out a dramatic baby sigh. The chat lost its mind. 【He sighed! He literally sighed!】 【Mood, kid. Mood.】 【This is the serotonin I needed today.】 My viewer count went from 1,000 to 30,000 in twenty minutes. Gifts were flying across the screen. By the time I signed off, I had gained 20,000 new followers. I picked Leo up and peppered his face with kisses. “My lucky charm! How are you so popular?” He giggled, grabbing my hair. That night, I realized this was my ticket. I started incorporating “Mom & Baby” themes into my art. Stitching chubby hands, baby animals, cute silhouettes. A brand reached out for a collab. $2,000 upfront. That was six months of living expenses in Greenwood Valley. I signed the contract and danced around the yard with Leo. “We’re gonna be okay, Leo! We’re gonna be okay!” 4 I carefully curated my content. Short clips of Leo (always from the back or with a sticker over his face). Leo in a bear suit watching ants. Leo “drawing” with crayons. Leo waddling like a penguin. The fans dubbed him “The Back-View Assassin” because he killed them with cuteness. My embroidery business boomed. My savings account hit six figures for the first time. I started being picky. No mass production. Only high-end art. I stitched a fan called 100 Children at Play. It took 48 different stitch techniques. A viewer named SilkRiverMaster started commenting. 【That’s the ‘Golden Thread’ technique. It’s been lost for decades.】 【Where did you learn this?】 【You have at least 20 years of experience.】 I smiled at the camera. In my past life, I was a prodigy. One evening, I was walking Leo in the stroller. We passed a house that was usually empty. The gate was open. I saw an elderly woman lying face down in the yard, a spilled water bucket next to her. “Leo, wait here.” I locked the stroller brake and ran in. She was barely breathing. I called 911 and did basic first aid until the ambulance came. When the sirens wailed, her eyes fluttered open. “Nosy… girl…” she wheezed. I stayed at the hospital until she was stable. I left Leo with Mrs. Higgins and brought soup to the hospital the next day. The woman, Ruby Lane, sat in bed, looking fierce despite the IVs. “You again. Think I’m gonna pay you?” I set down the soup. “If I left you there, I wouldn’t sleep at night. Eat.” She stared at the soup, hands trembling. She took a sip. “It’s… good,” she rasped. “Thanks.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387634”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Christmas Eve fell on a weekend this year. Except for the senior class, the entire campus had emptied out for the holidays. That day, I watched the Dean’s profile picture in the school group chat turn pitch black. I watched my classmates die in front of me, one by one. I felt like I was dead, yet somehow, I was the only one still breathing. There was no peace on this Silent Night. Our prep school had become a living hell. 1 Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. “Who’s damn alarm is that? Turn it off, seriously!” Brock rolled over in his bunk, sat up, and shouted at us, his voice thick with sleep and aggression. “I didn’t set one, man. Kyle, is it yours?” Chase didn’t even look away from his gaming monitor, tapping furiously at his keyboard. “Not mine, Chase.” Kyle flashed a sycophantic grin before turning a glare on me. “Why do you have an alarm set in the middle of the day? You woke up Brock. Turn it off, idiot.” “It’s almost three in the afternoon…” I whispered. “So what? If Brock wants to sleep, he sleeps. You got a problem with that?” Kyle kicked his chair back and stood up, puffing his chest out. I held up my phone with trembling hands. “No… no problem. It’s not… it’s not an alarm. It’s a notification from the Grade Group Chat. As soon as I opened it, the music started playing.” “You’re the only loser who actually pins the school chat. It’s the weekend, what could they possibly want?” Brock scoffed, pulling the duvet over his head. The noise broke Chase’s concentration. A massive GAME OVER flashed on his screen. He slammed his headset onto the desk. “Alright, alright. We’re all roommates here, let’s not kill each other. Liam, read the message. What’s so important?” I knew the drill. If I didn’t read it with the right tone, Chase would take his frustration over the lost match out on me. My arm, still throbbing under the scab of a fresh cigarette burn, shook as I lifted the phone. The account that posted the announcement had a Santa Claus avatar and the name Saint Nick. The subject line was five bold, blood-red words: CHRISTMAS EVE RULES OF CONDUCT Christmas trees are green, not red. If you see a red Christmas tree on campus, lower your head immediately. Do not look at the top of the tree. Candy found on the ground is not real candy. No matter how delicious it looks, do not eat it. Dining Hall Hours: All students must eat dinner between 6:00 PM and 7:00 PM. You must be back in your dorms by 9:00 PM. The only meat served is Roast Chicken. If the lunch lady serves you anything else, no matter how good it smells, ask for an exchange immediately. The only dessert is Pudding. Pudding does not speak. If your pudding speaks to you, eat it quickly. The Campus Store has Apples. These are not for sale. If you want to gain His favor, giving Him an Apple is never a mistake. If a Stocking appears by your bed, do not be afraid. A Long Stocking is a gift from Santa; keep it on you, but keep it hidden. If it is a Short Sock (Ankle Sock), find the Housemother immediately. He may already be watching you. The Housemother hates Christmas. If you see her wearing a Santa hat, she is not the real Housemother. Do not trust her. Lights out after midnight. If you need light, use a candle, though it carries its own risks. If you see Santa Claus on campus, stop, make eye contact, and smile while saying, “Merry Christmas!” When a Christmas Carol plays, freeze and close your eyes until the song ends. You may make a wish. Perhaps Santa is listening. Reindeer are Santa’s eyes. Remember, there are no live reindeer on campus. If a reindeer nuzzles your hand, run. No matter what happens, remember: There is no real Santa Claus. 2 I finished reading. The dorm room fell dead silent. “Who the hell posted this prank? Hacking the school chat? That’s psycho behavior.” Brock cursed, grabbing his phone, clearly awake now. “Probably some senior cracking under the pressure,” Chase said, unbothered. “But…” I stammered, “Only admins can post announcements. Dean Miller is the only admin.” A chill crawled up four spines simultaneously. Kyle suddenly pointed at his screen. “Guys, look! There are two admins now!” “It wasn’t Dean Miller who posted it!” “I clicked on the profile. It’s blank. No bio. Just… a background image that says: Welcome to Santa’s World in red letters.” Chase leaned in, intrigued. Then he scoffed. “It’s just a hacker script. Some edgy kid trying to scare people with bloody fonts.” Another notification pinged. Santa Claus has been removed from the group chat. “See? Dean Miller handled it. Just a prank. Childish.” Chase smirked, reaching for his headset again. Brock, now fully awake, looked at Chase. “Jump on a lobby with me?” “Wait… no, wait! Look!” Kyle screamed. “That Santa account… he’s back!” “The Dean…” I gasped. “Dean Miller’s profile picture just turned black.” A new message popped up. From Santa. “The admin didn’t seem to like Santa very much. That’s okay. I sent him to hell early.” An image loaded. It was Dean Miller. He was kneeling in a pool of dark liquid. A silver carving knife was buried in his chest. Written on the floor beside him, in blood, were the words: Merry Christmas. “To all the students in the chat: You don’t want to end up like this, do you?” “I am very reasonable. Just follow the rules.” “Welcome to Santa’s World.” “Let the festivities begin!” 3 “AHHHH!” Kyle threw his phone across the room. “Is… is that picture real?” “He killed the Dean! He actually killed him!” “Calm down! Everyone shut up!” Chase’s face was pale, but he tried to maintain his cool leader persona. “I’m calling the Dean’s office.” He dialed. His fingers were shaking. Beep… Beep… Beep… “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed does not exist…” “Does not exist…” I stood up so fast my chair screeched against the floor. “It’s real. He’s dead.” A single tear rolled down my cheek. I leaned against the wardrobe, my legs giving out. “Stop crying, you wuss! Use that useless brain of yours to think!” Brock’s voice was hoarse, masking his terror with anger. “Call 911! Call the cops!” Kyle yelled, scrambling for his phone. “No signal,” Chase said, staring at his bars. “I checked the hallway. The guys next door saw the message too.” “Someone from the track team tried to make a run for the main gate. He said it’s locked. It’s pitch black outside the perimeter.” “Another kid tried to climb the wall. He threw a rock over to check the drop… he never heard it hit the ground.” Chase looked at us, his eyes dark. “The school is an island now. Nobody gets out.” He took a deep breath. “Follow the rules. Pray you get lucky.” I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I broke down sobbing. They thought I was crying out of fear. After all, I was the dorm’s punching bag. The coward. None of them knew. I wasn’t crying because I was scared. I was crying because I was excited. 4 I came from a dead-end town in the middle of nowhere. Parents dead. Passed around by neighbors until my Uncle took me in. When I got the scholarship to the city prep school, the whole village came to see me off. “Liam, you’re a smart kid. A good kid,” the old mayor told me. “Make something of yourself.” I hugged him and promised I’d pay everyone back one day. My Aunt and Uncle couldn’t have kids. They treated me like their own. Even when business was bad, they made sure I had the best textbooks, the best uniform. “We can’t let you look less than those city kids,” my Aunt would say, smoothing my collar. I studied until my eyes bled. I got into the most prestigious private high school in the state. I chose to live on campus to save them money. I applied for every grant, every meal voucher. The day I left, my Aunt packed two huge bags for me. “Don’t save money on food, okay? Take care of yourself.” She choked up. Uncle wrapped his arm around her. “Liam’s a tank. He’s going to the Ivy League. He’s our pride and joy.” I held back my tears. I swore I’d get a high-paying job. I swore I’d buy them a big house. I walked through those iron gates full of hope. I didn’t know I was walking into a slaughterhouse. 5 It started with Brock. Brock was a varsity athlete, a legacy admission. His dad donated a new wing to the library. He skipped class, partied, and treated the school like his playground. “Hey, Scholarship. I got practice. Do my history paper.” “I know you’re broke. Here, catch.” He’d throw a crumpled ten-dollar bill at my face. “Idiot tax. Don’t thank me. Just make the handwriting look like mine.” I thought of my Uncle bowing to customers. I thought of my Aunt’s rough hands. “…Okay.” I swallowed my pride. Then, Brock demanded I help him cheat on finals. “There are cameras! If we get caught, I lose my scholarship!” I pleaded. “Relax. Dean Miller is on my dad’s payroll. He won’t do a thing.” Brock smirked. I realized then that the system was rigged. The Dean and the bullies were on the same team. “Just do it. Or do you want your Aunt to find out you got expelled for ‘stealing’?” I had no choice. I thought that was the bottom. I didn’t know that once you open the door to evil, it floods in until you drown.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387650”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years into the substitute marriage—the one I took for her—my husband was arrested for murder. With nowhere else to go, I found myself back at that house. The fake daughter, Stella Reed, was there, wrapped tight in Mother’s embrace, whispering for attention. The atmosphere was thick with awkward silence. Nobody quite knew what to do with me, the thorny piece of returned property. It was my brother, Marcus, who finally broke the tension. He simply pointed toward a small room. Seeing my lack of protest, he narrowed his eyes, a flicker of genuine surprise there. “Marriage certainly calmed your fire, Liz.” “I thought you’d tear the place apart, like you used to.” I managed a slight tug at the corner of my mouth, a polite, practiced smile. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fight. It was just that the will to fight them had died. I had surrendered. 1 No one, I suppose, expected the runaway daughter to be returned, used and discarded. The lively air in the main hall instantly chilled. Mother, Veronica, instinctively tightened her arm around Stella, her eyes on me defensive and cold. Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose, impatience etched on his face. “You’ve been gone for three years. That guest room was converted into Stella’s music studio ages ago.” He gestured vaguely. “If you insist on staying, there’s that small room available.” He was pointing to the utility space, the cramped spot they used for the retrievers when I first arrived. It was the first power play Marcus had made, seven years ago, the day I was found to be the true Reed heir. I touched the scar beneath my sleeve—an old, jagged souvenir. It hadn’t hurt for years, yet my body still trembled. After learning the truth—that I was the stolen Reed daughter—I’d spent hours online searching for the family. Wealthy, harmonious, and everything my troubled childhood had lacked. My real brother, the society columns promised, was elegant and fiercely protective. He was not the lowlife I’d known who peeked in while I showered and openly discussed marrying me off to an old, lame widower for a dowry. But on the first day, the only welcome was three enormous, pedigree Dobermans that lunged, their jaws wide, tearing at my clothes and flesh. Just as I thought I might die, Marcus, the brother I’d only seen on television, appeared. His voice was utterly devoid of warmth. “In this house, I will only have one sister. Stella.” When I remained silent, he sighed, his impatience returning. “If you don’t want to stay there…” “I’ll take it. Any room.” I rushed the words out, terrified he’d retract the offer and leave me on the curb. The still-healing wounds from the past few days ached faintly as I spoke. Before he could say anything more, I limped toward the small, dark room. His voice followed me. “Look, it’s temporary. We need time to clear out the spare guest suite. Don’t be melodramatic.” I paused, turning back, forcing out a small, placating smile. “No sacrifice needed.” My voice was a mere whisper of gratitude, a truth. But Marcus’s face instantly darkened. “Liz Sutton, are you questioning my arrangement?” “Or are you still bitter about the marriage three years ago? Stella was still in school. We couldn’t very well force her to drop out, could we?” At the mention of the past, my eyes glazed over. Stella had caused a scene at a high-end club, offending someone with serious influence. To settle the issue, the Reeds had proposed a marriage alliance. They just failed to specify which daughter. On my wedding night, I was drugged and delivered to Rhys Albright’s bed. The next morning, the headlines screamed: ‘Adopted Reed Daughter Steals Sister’s Fiancé! The Ungrateful Imposter!’ Dragging my battered body, I’d confronted Marcus, asking why he forced me to take her place, why he had ruined my name. He had no guilt in his eyes. “You lived the life of a Reed for years. It was time to give back.” “Besides, the Albrights are old money and powerful. You married up.” I turned to Mother for help. She mumbled a few platitudes and told me to be a good wife. I thought that even if they didn’t love me, they held some form of affection for me. But how could four years of blood ties compete with eighteen years of shared life with Stella? No sacrifice needed. That was my truth. The utility room, despite its size, was the best, safest space I’d been in for years. The Albright family, forced to take me, the imposter, vented all their fury on me. Rhys, spoiled and entitled, took particular pleasure in my misery. In the beginning, he’d just lock me in the basement, cutting off water and food. Later, the vicious games started on the bed. I remember screaming that I was pregnant, begging him to stop. He only laughed, his hands tightening around my throat. Just hours before his arrest, Rhys had me bound to the bed. When the police finally stormed in, they found me covered in bruises, welts, and lash marks. I retrieved the first-aid box and began treating my wounds with practiced ease. The door burst open. Stella walked in, holding a glass of milk. “How do you have the nerve to come back?” she spat. “Did you hear I’m marrying Owen Kincaid and decide to crash the wedding?” The unexpected mention of Owen’s name sent a fresh, sharp ache through my otherwise numb heart. Owen Kincaid. The boy who was my only sunlight in the old shantytown. We’d sworn we’d attend Crestwood’s best university together. When the Reeds first found me, he was the only person I could confide in. He would defend me, righteously condemning the Reeds’ blindness, even once risking their wrath to warn Stella off. But as he grew closer to Stella, Owen changed. He stopped taking my side. He urged me to ‘be the bigger person,’ to stop ‘competing’ with Stella, the poor adopted girl. He said the Reeds would eventually reward their blood daughter, and that Stella, as an orphan, was at a disadvantage. The irony was crushing: I was the one they publicly labeled the ungrateful foster child, and it was Stella they protected. Even the one person who stood by me had defected. I didn’t understand Owen’s shift, and I was too weary to probe it. The fear of losing my only anchor made me hysterical, leading to screaming arguments. Each fight brought a colder, more distant response from him. When the abuse and torment began, Owen ignored my desperate calls for help. My silence seemed to irritate Stella. She walked toward me and threw the glass of milk. The warm liquid coated my hair and dripped down my face. “I’m warning you, Liz Sutton. I chased you out of the Reed home three years ago.” “I can do it again, now.” Compared to the dark, sustained torment in the Albright house, Stella’s petty act felt insignificant, a mere splash. No humiliation registered. I looked up at her, my eyes flat. “I’m not here to take anything from you.” Before I could finish, Stella didn’t miss a beat, dramatically collapsing to the floor. “Sister!” she cried, tears instantly welling up. “I only came to bring you warm milk because you looked starved!” The rest of the family—who had been in the living room—rushed in. Owen immediately knelt, gently lifting Stella from the floor. Marcus frowned at the white mess on the carpet. “Liz Sutton, I just complimented you on your improved disposition. Are you dropping the act already?” Accusations like this were a staple of my four years in the Reed house. Stella once shattered Mother’s favorite vase. She’d confessed to me, yet she cried and swore I was the culprit. Whenever I argued my innocence, the only reply was the sting of a cane across my palms. Knowing the outcome, I always stubbornly fought back. This time, I was empty. I dropped to my knees, right there on the ruined carpet, facing Stella. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.” Before Stella could speak again, I raised a hand and slapped my own face. Hard. I didn’t stop until my mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. Stella finally seemed to ‘recover’ from her shock. “Sister, why are you hurting yourself?” she wailed. “Are you trying to make them believe I attacked you? Are you trying to force me out of the house?” She stood up, sobbing loudly. “Fine! I’ll leave the Reeds. I won’t stand in your way anymore!” Marcus instantly chased after her. Owen, however, remained. He pulled a crisp, folded handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to me. “Wipe yourself.” “Since you’re back, stop trying to make Stella leave. She’s marrying me in a few days. She won’t be here much longer anyway.” That faint, familiar cedar scent he always wore was now completely drowned out by the sickly-sweet smell of peach—Stella’s signature perfume. The sudden mix made me nauseous. I reached out to take the handkerchief. Instead, Owen bent down, bypassing my hand, and gently wiped the blood from my lip. I flinched, instinctively curling my body inward, protecting my head. My hair, already sticky with milk, smeared with dirt from the floor, made me look even more pathetic. Owen stared at me, his eyes complicated. “Liz, do you really hate me that much?” “Look, you can’t force feelings. If you need anything, just ask.” I forced out the most genuine, placating smile I could manage. “Could you… give me some money?” Disappointment washed over Owen’s face, harsh and immediate. “After all this time, that’s all you want?” The old me had wanted so much: pure motherly love, a doting brother, and a singular, selfless love from him. The current me only wanted enough money to escape. Owen took out his phone, his voice cold. “Unblock me. I’ll transfer the funds.” I hesitated, embarrassment rising. “Could you just give me cash?” His expression immediately turned to ice. “Are you truly that determined to cut me out of your life?” He didn’t hand the money to me. He pulled a handful of thick, crisp bills from his wallet and threw them in my face. By the time I had gathered the cash from the floor, Owen was gone. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to add him back. It was that three years in the Albright house had severed every possible connection I had to the outside world. If Rhys’s crime hadn’t been so public, so massive, I wouldn’t have even had a chance to flee. After a quick wash, I took the money, intending to buy painkillers. I didn’t expect Rhys Albright, who should have been in a jail cell, to be waiting in the Reed living room.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387666”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On my wedding day, I stood at the altar, my arm linked with Julian’s. He was the “tragic second lead” I was tasked to save after I woke up inside this novel three years ago. In those three years, I was his shadow. I sat through every therapy session with him; I stood on the balcony at 3:00 AM, watching him chain-smoke as he stared into the void. I helped him climb from rock bottom back to the top of the corporate ladder. Everyone said I was the miracle worker—the woman who finally cured his obsession with the “it-girl,” Maya. When my mission was complete, Julian begged me to stay. I chose him over going back to my old life. Just as the vows were about to begin, a man in a black trench coat stormed into the chapel. He tore off his sunglasses, revealing a face identical to Julian’s, but weathered by a decade of misery. “Stop wasting your breath trying to save me,” he rasped. His eyes bypassed me entirely, landing on Maya in the front row with a look of starving devotion. “I’ve lived the next ten years without her,” he choked out. “And I’d rather rot in hell than spend another day in a world where she isn’t mine.” The resemblance was chilling. It wasn’t just the features; it was the tiny mole under the eye, the shape of the jaw. But this man looked hollowed out. Was he Julian from ten years in the future? I had spent three years stitching Julian back together. Now, the healthy, happy version of him was standing at the altar with me, and this ghost was telling him it was all for nothing. My strength evaporated. My hand slipped from Julian’s arm. Beside me, the “young” Julian snapped. He lunged forward, grabbing the stranger by the collar. “I don’t care what kind of freak show you’re running,” Julian hissed. “Get out. If you ruin this wedding—” The older man grabbed Julian’s wrists, dragging him toward the guest pews where Maya sat. He forced Julian to look at her. “Look at her! You idiot, look at her! This is the woman you love. This is the only one you ever wanted to marry!” His voice was a jagged mess of desperation and prayer. Maya stood up, her gaze flickering between the two identical men before settling on my fiancé. “Julian…” she whispered. “Do you… do you still feel that way?” The young Julian froze as if paralyzed. His expression shifted, his eyes darkening with an intensity I hadn’t seen in years. He stared at Maya as if the rest of the room had vanished. The man between them let out a ragged sigh of relief. He could feel it—the spark in his younger self’s soul. The obsession hadn’t died; it had just been dormant. “Please,” the older man whispered to the younger one. “Don’t make me lose her again.” The young Julian stood still for a long time. Finally, he turned back toward me on the altar. “Summer… can we put the wedding on hold? Just for now?” I looked into his eyes. That one sentence flipped a switch inside me. I knew then: the wedding wasn’t on “hold.” It was over. Some people don’t want to be saved. Some people don’t deserve the effort. 2 I didn’t argue. I just watched him with a cold, detached clarity. Julian didn’t wait for my answer. He turned to the crowd of Manhattan’s elite and announced that the ceremony was postponed. The guests cleared out, whispering. I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the “Future Julian.” The “Young Julian” was busy ushering people out, but his eyes kept drifting back to Maya. The love in his gaze was suffocating—a tidal wave ready to drown her. I hadn’t seen him look at anyone like that since the day I first met him, back when he was ready to jump off a bridge for her. I looked down at my white dress and laughed silently. Three years of my life, gone like smoke. Julian eventually walked back to me. He looked exhausted. “Summer, I’ll have my driver take you home.” He paused. “Once I figure this out, I’ll come talk to you. I promise, I’ll make this right.” “I can get myself home,” I said, glancing at the bizarre trio: Young Julian, Maya, and the Ghost of Julian Future. This was their twisted drama now. I was officially an extra. I gathered my train and walked out. I didn’t look back until I was in a cab blocks away. As expected, Julian didn’t chase after me. 3 Three years ago, I was just a broke college grad with no prospects. The “System” appeared and offered me a deal: Enter this world, save Julian, and earn $100 million. Once the mission was done, I could go home or stay. Either way, the money was mine to keep. I succeeded. Julian stopped being suicidal. He became the perfect partner. I felt a sense of pride—I had “fixed” him. I fell for the illusion of a happy ending. I chose to stay. But I never accounted for a time-traveling obsessive ruining the party. Fine. I still had the $100 million. It was time to go live my life. 4 A few days later, Maya showed up at my penthouse. She was the classic “It Girl”—effortlessly beautiful, the kind of woman men destroy themselves for. “Sorry to drop by unannounced,” she said with a soft, practiced smile. I let her in and made tea. She waited for me to break, to scream, to ask questions. I stayed silent. “I know everything,” she finally said. “Julian… the older one, let’s call him Ian… he told me everything.” She leaned forward. “He said in ten years, I’m miserable. Married to my current husband, Liam, with an eight-year-old kid, stuck playing the trophy wife. He told me our world is a story, a script. He asked me if I was actually happy.” She shook her head. “I’m not. I don’t want that life.” She looked at me firmly. “So, I’m divorcing Liam. I’m not going to be a puppet anymore.” I nodded. Good for her. Then she smirked. “Ian also told me you’re a ‘traveler.’ That you were sent here to save Julian.” She scanned me, her eyes brimming with pity. “Honestly, Summer, were you really going to spend your whole life on a man who never truly loved you? Is he really worth it?” I smiled. “You’re absolutely right.” Maya checked her watch. “Julian is on his way up. Why don’t we see where his heart really lies?” Before I could ask what she meant, she picked up her tea and poured the lukewarm liquid all over her silk blouse.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387682”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day my fiancé got engaged to the “real” daughter, I thought about driving my car straight into the ceremony. I wanted to end it all, take them with me in a blaze of glory. But just as that manic thought consumed me, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Miss Quinn, you’re pregnant…” I killed the engine and sat there, frozen. Thirty minutes later, as joyous music drifted from the engagement hall, I started the car, made a U-turn, and headed for the airport. From that moment on, the “fake” daughter of the Quinn family disappeared from New York, just as everyone wanted. I moved to a small southern town a thousand miles away. I barely survived a disaster, gave birth to my daughter—my own flesh and blood—and cut all ties with my past. Until four years later, when they started showing up, one by one. 1 The first time I saw Silas again after four years was at the kindergarten gate. I had just picked up my daughter, Lily, when another mom nudged me. “Hey, Lily’s mom, look across the street. That guy looks like that famous singer… what’s his name again?” I followed her gaze and saw him. “Silas!” The mom slapped her forehead. “Right, Silas! The singer-songwriter who’s been sweeping all the awards lately! “You know, honestly, he kind of looks like you. Both of you have those good genes…” I looked away. “Never heard of him.” She looked surprised. “You don’t listen to music? That’s Silas! And really, looking closely, you two could be siblings…” I smiled, shook my head, and held Lily’s hand tighter as we walked away. “Sarah.” His voice came from behind me. I ignored it and kept walking. “Sarah Quinn!” Lily looked up. “Mommy, is that man calling you? Why did he call you Sarah Quinn?” I smiled down at her. “He mistook me for someone else, sweetie.” But as I reached for my car door in the parking lot, someone grabbed my arm. I turned around. It was Silas, out of breath. “Sarah… you’re actually alive?!” His words were as sharp and stinging as ever. But maybe because he had been running, the rims of his eyes were slightly red. 2 I dropped Lily off at a neighbor’s house. When I came back downstairs, Silas was standing there with his hands in his pockets. “Why do you live in a dump like this? Where’s your apartment? I want to see it.” I shook my head. “No need.” Four years ago, he told me his only sister was Sophie. He told me that being called “brother” by someone like me made him sick. When my adoptive brother, Ethan Quinn, kicked me out, and my fiancé, Lucas, abandoned me, I had nowhere to go. I thought of Silas, my biological brother. I stood outside his agency all night in a snowstorm, freezing to the bone. But all I got was him saying his biggest wish was that I had never been born. “If you weren’t born, Sophie wouldn’t have been switched at birth. She wouldn’t have suffered so much. “Sister? Don’t make me laugh. The Quinns threw you out, so now you’re playing the blood-relation card? “I’ll never acknowledge someone like you as my sister.” That was when I realized: no matter how good I was to him, he would always hate me because of Sophie. Now, he looked at me with that same scrutinizing gaze. “Is that kid Lucas’s? Did you run away just to have his baby?” I was silent for a moment. “She’s my child. Mine alone.” He scoffed. “Sarah, she looks exactly like him. Do you think I’m blind? “Did you think having a secret baby would win him back? You’re delusional… “It’s pathetic. Truly stupid…” “I said, she is my child,” I interrupted. “I never planned on going back to New York. I never planned on using her to fight Sophie for Lucas. You can relax. You don’t need to be so aggressive. “Like you said years ago, other than blood, we’re strangers. I’m not interested in your life, so please stay out of mine.” He froze. “If there’s nothing else, you should leave.” I turned to go. “Wait.” He grabbed my arm again. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “You… you…” I frowned. “What?” “Why did you leave back then?” I looked at him calmly. “You were a spoiled princess who couldn’t do anything. Just because people said a few mean things, you played the runaway victim? “If I hadn’t seen you today, how long were you planning to live in this poverty? And these past four years…” He paused. “How… how did you survive?” 3 I looked at his red-rimmed eyes. He was probably angry. Surprised I was alive. Because my existence was a threat to Sophie’s happiness. How did I survive? Someone traded their life for mine. But I didn’t need to tell him that. The old Sarah Quinn was a delicate flower, helpless without support. The new Sarah Song doesn’t cry or beg anyone for anything. Seeing my silence, he got agitated. “Why are you so slow now? Did that big earthquake down here a few years ago shake your brain loose? “Running to a godforsaken place like this… you deserved to get caught in an earthquake.” Just then, a neighbor walked by. “Hey, Sarah! Haven’t started dinner yet?” I smiled. “Just about to.” Silas stared. “You should go,” I said. But he wouldn’t let go. “Why did you change your name? Sarah Song? Did you get married? Who’s Song?” “It’s none of your business,” I said, prying his fingers off my arm, one by one. “My name, my life… Silas, it has nothing to do with you.” 4 Silas was a celebrity. He couldn’t be seen making a scene in public. I went upstairs, picked up Lily, and watched from the window as he stood downstairs, looking lost. He never cared about me before. His confusion now was probably just because he wasn’t used to my coldness. Four years ago, when I found out about his musical dreams, I used every connection I had in New York to get him a stage. I got him into the best agency. He was my brother. He had suffered growing up poor. I wanted him to succeed. But he twisted my kindness, claiming I was just trying to isolate Sophie and make her feel bad. “Mommy, is that man your family?” I paused, then smiled and stroked Lily’s hair. “No, honey. Why would you think that?” “Just guessing. You look alike.” Family. Ethan Quinn’s face flashed in my mind. I always thought Ethan would be my brother forever, blood or no blood. But four years ago, he held Sophie—who had “fallen” down the stairs—and looked at me with pure rage. “Sarah, you are a disappointment. “From today on, you are not a Quinn. You are not my sister. “My only sister is Sophie.” I cried, I begged, I swore I didn’t push her. But he kicked me away and carried Sophie out without looking back. I shook my head. “That man is not Mommy’s family.” She looked disappointed. “I thought maybe I had other family besides Uncle Sam.” I tapped her nose. “Mommy has you, and we have Uncle Sam in our hearts. That’s enough.” “But Uncle Sam is gone…” She pouted. “I miss him.” I understood. But disappointment is better than the pain of being loved and then discarded. I’ve been through it. I won’t let my daughter go through it. I just didn’t expect to see Ethan the very next day.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387699”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The first time, my father-in-law, Walter, was sixty and needed a heart transplant. He was matched with my son’s heart. The entire family descended on me, pleading, cajoling me to have another child so Leo’s heart could be “spared.” I refused. And Leo, my son, was taken—snatched from the street right before his college entrance exam. I raced to the hospital like a lunatic, but I was too late. Leo’s heart was already gone. Walter, my father-in-law, got five more years because of it. I called the police, but my mother-in-law, Beatrice, swore my son had been a willing, dutiful boy who voluntarily donated his heart to his grandfather. My husband, Owen, spat at me, “How could I have married such a cold-hearted woman! A father’s debt is greater than the sky! You wanted me to watch my own father die!” Grief tore through me until, finally, my own heart gave out that summer. I died of cardiac arrest. I opened my eyes again and found myself back at the eve of Leo’s college entrance exam. The first thing I did was call my parents, the Petersons, to personally drive and stand guard over him during the test. But even this time, Walter got a new heart. 1 The second I knew Leo was safely at the testing center, my phone buzzed. It was Owen, his voice frantic with excitement. “Get to the hospital! Quick! Dad’s surgery was a success!” My heart lurched—a painful, sickening spasm. I rushed to the hospital and paused just outside the partially closed door of the private recovery suite, hearing Beatrice’s voice, sharp and triumphant. “A young boy’s heart is the best, you know. Just look at him—already bouncing back.” “Trading one child’s life for my old man’s, it was worth it!” Tessa, my sister-in-law, chimed in, her voice annoyingly saccharine. “Absolutely! The doctor said with a new heart, he’d get five more years, but honestly, I think he’ll live another twenty, easy.” Beatrice chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound that grated on my nerves. How? Leo was safe. He was taking his test. Where had Walter’s new heart come from this time? Grant, my brother-in-law, quickly jumped in, eager for praise. “It was hard, today being the SATs and all. I nearly didn’t catch the kid.” He paused, a strange note in his voice. “The kid… he seemed a little heavier than I remember Leo being.” My eyes darted to the room next door, the same room from the previous life, where a lifeless form lay covered with a white sheet. But whose child was under that sheet now? I slammed the door open, the sound echoing through the sterile hallway. “Whose heart did you take this time?” I roared. They all looked at me as if I were a madwoman, not a shred of guilt on their faces. Beatrice glared, her voice low and menacing. “What is all the noise for? Your father-in-law just had surgery! He cannot be stressed!” Owen stumbled toward me, his eyes red-rimmed. “Honey, don’t be so upset… At least Dad is better now. You should be happy.” I threw off his hand, a storm of pure, incandescent rage rising in my chest. “Happy? You traded a teenager’s life for an old man’s! Did you even ask the parents of that child?” I lunged forward, grabbing Grant by the collar of his scrubs. “Tell me who you kidnapped!” Grant’s face went white. “It was… it was…” “Enough!” Beatrice barked, stepping in. “Look at the disgrace of a wife you married, Owen! Filial piety comes first! She’s saying your father’s life isn’t worth one of these useless children!” Owen, stung by his mother’s words, turned his anger on me. “If you want to have a meltdown, go home! So what if it was Leo’s heart? He’s my son. I had him. I am his father’s son! What’s wrong with taking his heart for my father? If it wasn’t for my father, Leo wouldn’t exist!” I froze. A sudden, cold realization washed over me. They still believed the heart belonged to Leo. Tessa, always the ‘helpful’ one, offered a smarmy look of sympathy. “Olivia, Owen is right. A child can be replaced. Dad is the only one we have.” She leaned in, a malicious glint in her eye. “Besides, your Leo wasn’t a good student. He wasn’t going to amount to much anyway.” I lunged, grabbing a handful of her hair, making her yelp. “You’re a mother! How can you be so cruel?” I shook her head hard. “If you’re so devoted to family, why didn’t you offer your son’s heart? Huh? That child was barely a teen! He was about to take his college entrance exam! How could you do it?” Tessa roughly shoved me away, smoothing down her designer top, completely unfazed. “My Zach’s scores are in the top one hundred nationally. He’s going to an Ivy League school and will bring honor to the family. Your son is a nobody, barely scraping C’s.” “So, yes. Your son’s heart was far cheaper than mine.” I stared at her, my eyes wide with disbelief. In their eyes, a life—a vibrant, breathing, teenage boy—was a commodity to be valued based on a GPA. Was there any shred of humanity left in this family? Beatrice looked at me with open disgust. “Leo is lazy, and he has no manners. You, his mother, failed to raise him right. Now you have the nerve to attack your sister-in-law!” “A useless mother gives birth to a useless son. He deserved to have his heart taken for my husband!” Their words were like blades, tearing at my chest. The pain was so intense I could barely stand. This was how they saw me. This was how they saw my son. My chest constricted, my breath catching in shallow, painful gasps. Owen rushed over to steady me. “Just calm down, Olivia. Stop making a scene.” “Dad needs to rest after his surgery. If you keep causing a scene, how am I supposed to live in this family?” He lowered his voice. “I promise, I’ll find a way to make it up to you… what happened to Leo.” I looked up at him, tears blurring my vision, and asked the same devastating question I’d asked in my previous life. “Leo was your flesh and blood. Did you truly have the heart to let him die?” 2 Owen’s eyes were bloodshot, and a flicker of agony crossed his face. “Honey, of course, I didn’t want him to die. He’s our son.” “But this is my father,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t let him die. I had no choice but to sacrifice our boy. Don’t blame me, Olivia. Filial duty is the highest virtue. I had to do it.” I laughed, a dry, bitter sound that held no humor. Despair had finally and completely set in. “No choice? You could have taken your own heart! What kind of sacrifice is that?” I screamed, the question ragged and desperate. Beatrice stepped up and slapped me across the face. “How dare you tell my son to die! A vicious woman like you—your son’s death is your own fault! Karma! He deserved it!” I trembled with a fury that consumed me. I looked at each of them. Not one showed a hint of remorse. They looked triumphant. I couldn’t understand, in this life or the last, how they could be so cold-blooded about a stolen life. My mind zeroed in on the unknown child, the innocent victim. I wheeled around and moved toward the closed door of the room next to Walter’s, desperate to see the boy and contact his parents. Before my hand could touch the doorknob, Owen grabbed me and yanked me backward. I crashed hard against the wall, a bruise blooming instantly on my arm. “Don’t stop me! I have to see that boy!” Owen clutched me, pulling me into his chest. “Honey, Leo is dead… Don’t disturb him. Just let him rest.” “It was just a child. We’re young, we can have another baby.” A searing, needle-sharp pain pierced my heart. A child of sixteen. The years of love, care, and sacrifice poured into him. Gone. And he could dismiss it with such a casual, callous phrase. I reached for my phone, ready to call the police. “You kidnapped a minor and forcibly took his heart! You are criminals! I will make sure you face the punishment you deserve!” Before I could dial, Owen ripped the phone from my hand and smashed it on the floor. “Are you finished, Olivia? Is this really necessary? It was a grandson donating a heart to his grandfather—a family matter. Do we really need to involve the police?” Grant looked terrified. He was the one who had physically brought the boy in. “Sister-in-law, we’re family. If you do this, how can we face each other at Thanksgiving, or Christmas? Besides, a woman should stay home and listen to her husband. Calling the police is a man’s job.” I sneered. Family. I gave their son a hundred dollars every Christmas, and in sixteen years, Leo had never received a single dollar from them. In their eyes, I was always an outsider, and my son was just a piece of property to be sacrificed at will. “Who wants to be your family? I’m calling the police!” 3 A flicker of fear crossed their faces, but it was fleeting. Beatrice was the first to regain her composure, pointing a furious finger at me. “Leo voluntarily donated his heart to his grandfather! The police can’t do anything!” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a single, crumpled piece of paper—a handwritten consent form—and shoved it in my face. “Look! Leo wrote this himself! It’s signed!” I stared at Owen in disbelief. Leo’s earliest writing was taught by him. The signature was definitely Owen’s attempt to forge the boy’s childhood script. In my first life, I believed Owen had been as blindsided as I was, only learning after the fact. I never imagined he had conspired with them from the very beginning, hiding the entire monstrous plan from me. Leo trusted his father above all else. How could he? I took a deep breath, fighting the choking bitterness, and snatched the paper. I tore it into a dozen tiny pieces. Beatrice gasped and clutched her chest, her trembling finger pointing at me. “You… you wicked, treasonous woman! How did our family ever marry you!” Owen frantically supported his mother. “Mom, don’t worry. I’ll just write out another consent form later.” I gave a dry, cold laugh. “You haven’t spent ten minutes with your son in the last ten years, have you, Owen?” “Didn’t you notice his handwriting changed after he hit high school? That forgery is five years old.” Owen stared at me, his face shocked, his voice shaking. “W-what are you talking about?” Seizing the moment of confusion, I broke free and darted to the door of the other room. It was empty. They followed me immediately, Owen grabbing me from behind. “Olivia, stop! Let the boy go! Let him rest!” I wrenched myself free and screamed at them. “Where is the body? Where is the child?” It was then I noticed Tessa, who had been conspicuously absent for the last few minutes. I walked up to her and shoved her hard on the shoulder. “Tell me! Did you take him? Where is he?” Tessa rubbed her shoulder against the wall, tears welling up in her eyes. “I… I thought Leo deserved to finally rest. I just sent him to the crematory.” My mind went instantly blank, a ringing silence in my ears. Owen suddenly rushed to shield Tessa, his face etched with pure annoyance and impatience. “Stop it, Olivia! Why are you always so aggressive! Tessa is delicate! If you hurt her, we’d have to pay who knows how much in medical bills!” The word ‘pay’ lit up Grant’s eyes. He immediately exposed Tessa’s shoulder for all to see. “See, Sister-in-law! You’ve broken my wife’s shoulder!” “Ten thousand dollars! Pay us ten thousand, and we won’t press charges!” My eyes widened in shock. “Ten thousand? Are you serious? You can’t be! It wouldn’t cost ten thousand even if it were really broken!” Beatrice stepped forward, shielding her younger son as always. “You will pay the ten thousand today! Otherwise, I’ll tell my son to divorce you!” For decades, they had invented excuses to demand money from me. In my first life, I tolerated it all for the sake of peace. But I realized, too late, that no amount of kindness would save my son. My face was contorted with fury. I ground out the words between clenched teeth. “Absolutely not!” “You killed a child! I should be suing you! How dare you ask for money! Mark my words, there is karma! You will pay!” Suddenly, Walter, who had been resting with his eyes closed, began to cough violently, clutching his new heart. His hand trembled as he pointed a finger at me. “Get that bitch out of here now!” 4 Beatrice immediately started wailing, beating her thigh dramatically. “Oh, the misery! This unfilial daughter-in-law is trying to kill my old man!” Owen grabbed me and shoved me away. I stumbled, knocking over a glass vase on a nearby table. Shards of glass sliced into my palm, and blood gushed out. No one looked at the cut. They all clustered around Walter’s bed, anxiously watching his breathing. Beatrice, seeing Walter struggling, grabbed my collar and slapped me hard, four or five times in quick succession. “You wicked, rebellious tramp! If you’ve made my husband sick, I’ll tell my son to divorce you!” My cheek was swelling, but my eyes were colder than ice. Owen feigned concern, pulling his mother back a little. “Mom, stop. I won’t divorce Olivia.” I smiled inwardly. Right. He made five thousand a month. I made twenty thousand, and I owned the penthouse condo free and clear. He’d never leave. Grant gave Walter a few sips of water until his breathing calmed. Walter looked at me, his eyes full of malice. “The Reed family has treated you well, and you want to watch me die just for the sake of one child, do you? My son marrying you was a curse!” I smirked. He had been pretending to sleep the whole time. In the previous life, I was subservient until my son’s death ripped the veil from my eyes. This time, I would not only keep Leo alive but make them pay for every sin. I crossed my arms, my eyes icy. “What if the dead child… wasn’t Leo?” Grant shrieked. “What nonsense are you talking about? I was the one who brought the boy in! How could it not be Leo!” Beatrice suddenly looked panicked, a sheen of cold sweat on her forehead. She pulled Grant aside and whispered urgently, “If it’s not Leo, and his parents find out, we’ll all go to prison!” I heard every word. Grant’s mind raced, and he looked around frantically. “Quick! Gag the bitch! The kid is already cremated! As long as she doesn’t talk, no one will ever know!” Owen, without hesitation, helped Grant tie my hands and feet and shoved a dirty rag into my mouth. I stared at the three of them, a chill creeping up my spine. Beatrice stepped up, a triumphant smirk on her face. She raised her hand and delivered a powerful slap to my left cheek. My left ear rang violently, and a warm fluid trickled out. “Bitch! I knew you looked down on us the day you married in!” she hissed. “So what if your parents are teachers? What makes you so superior? With a daughter like you, your parents must be just as rotten!” My face turned purple. My parents! They had been honored as “Outstanding Educators” for a decade! I couldn’t allow this vile woman to slander them. Rage gave me strength. I lunged forward, slamming my head into Beatrice’s stomach and knocking her to the floor. Beatrice held her stomach and theatrically wailed. “Help! Daughter-in-law is attacking her mother-in-law! Is there no justice in this world?” Seeing their mother on the floor, Owen and Grant descended on me, kicking me repeatedly. I screamed, muffled by the rag. The incision from my tumor surgery last month burst open. The beating lasted half an hour until they were exhausted, collapsing into chairs, panting. I was on the brink of passing out, the last ember of warmth in my heart extinguished. Grant looked at my bruised, bleeding body and, still breathing heavily, said, “She’s still fighting. Maybe… we should just take her to the crematory too.” “She dies, no one knows about the heart, and all her money and that fancy house from her parents? All yours.” I looked at Owen. He looked back, his eyes hesitant, calculating. My heart hammered against my ribs, an ice pick of fear stabbing through me. Every cell in my body was screaming. Just as Owen opened his mouth, ready to agree—Ready to kill me for the house—a knock came at the door. They hid me quickly in a utility closet and hesitantly opened the door. Outside stood two men from the local funeral home. They were holding an urn and a file. “We have the remains and the official cremation report for you.” Grant took the report, flipped it open, and read the name. His face drained of color. He couldn’t speak.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387715”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel