Category: English

For Christmas, I spent hundreds of dollars on premium imported cherries for my parents. My younger sister ate a whole bowl, and no one batted an eye. I ate one bowl, and my mother started muttering passive-aggressively under her breath. “Says she bought them to be filial, but look at her, stuffing her face endlessly.” Usually, in situations like this, I would apologize and offer to buy more. But today, I suddenly felt exhausted. I wanted to see what would happen if I didn’t buy more. I wanted to see just how far Mom would go. Chapter 1 Before dawn even broke, my dad was shaking me awake. “Peach, get up and go buy another box of cherries. It’s not that much money. Don’t upset your mother during the holidays. She was crying last night because of you. You’re a good, dutiful daughter; you need to be more understanding of your mom.” I was groggy from sleep, but hearing my dad’s accusation, a wave of grievance washed over me. To make it home for the holidays, I had worked overtime for a week straight. And now, over a bowl of cherries, I was being kicked out of bed before sunrise to go buy more. Those cherries were expensive. I bought pounds of them. I ate one small bowl yesterday. It wasn’t even that much. My sister, Lily, ate a bowl too. Why was this still an issue? It’s been like this since I was a kid. I was used to backing down, retreating again and again. When we were poorer, we only had steak on holidays. At the dinner table, Mom would always say with a fake smile, “Steak is so expensive these days, but Peach loves it. What can I do? I’m her mom. Since it’s cooked, hurry up and eat.” I would only take a tiny piece. If I took more, Mom would start making snide remarks. “Always eating, eating, eating. Don’t you know how hard things are for the family right now?” She’d finish with a glare. So I would sit there, trembling, afraid to take another bite, thinking my parents had it tough and I should let them eat more. But no matter how much Lily ate, Mom never complained. All our relatives knew that Mom “spoiled” me, “doted” on me, and bought me whatever I wanted, even if money was tight. But Mom always used the excuse of buying things for me, only for those things to end up with Lily. Once, I tried to defend myself in front of relatives, and it was like poking a hornet’s nest. “Look at you all! When did I not buy her things? She didn’t like them so she gave them to her sister, and now she accuses us of favoring Lily!” Mom cried, looking so wronged. The relatives looked at me disapprovingly. I felt like a clown stripped naked, bowing my head to accept their judgment and criticism. Mom did buy me things, but they were always in colors and styles that Lily liked. Who could I tell my grievances to? In the end, I apologized to her. I apologized for three days straight before Mom finally calmed down. Mom and Dad always knew how to manipulate me. There were too many incidents like this. Sometimes I fell into a vortex of self-doubt. I never knew how to sweet-talk my parents like Lily did. I always thought if I did more, if I was more understanding, they would see my efforts. Family harmony is everything. But this “harmony” was always bought with my compromise. I suddenly remembered overhearing two mothers talking on the train ride home. “As parents, you have to elevate your status. Make them feel like nothing they do is ever enough to satisfy you. That’s how you control them.” “You have to use the right methods to manipulate them. That’s how you make them obedient.” I had been the obedient daughter for 28 years. Today, suddenly, I didn’t want to be obedient anymore. I wanted to rebel. I got up, locked my bedroom door, pulled the covers over my head, and went back to sleep. Sleeping fitfully, I heard voices in the living room. “So, is what you said before still true? When Lily marries my son, you’ll give this condo to Lily as a dowry?” “Of course it’s true. Lily is my favorite. When they get married, not only will we give this condo, we’ll also give a bank card with savings.” “Lily even bought imported cherries specifically for you guys. Take some home later.” Lying in my warm bed, my heart turned to ice. This three-bedroom condo my parents lived in—I paid the down payment, I paid the mortgage. They always said they were just living there, and when I got married, the condo would still be mine. But what did I just hear? They were going to give my condo to my sister as a dowry? I quickly got dressed, threw open the bedroom door, and stormed into the living room. “Mom, this condo is mine. I do not agree to give it to Lily as a dowry.” Chapter 2 The air in the living room solidified instantly. Mom, Dad, and Lily all looked at me in shock. Mom stood up abruptly. “Peach, didn’t you go to buy fruit? Why are you still home?” She winked at me frantically, signaling me to leave. Based on past experience, I had to make things clear right now. Otherwise, Mom would say later, “Didn’t you already silently agree?” I looked at Mom stubbornly. “Mom, this condo is mine. Why are you giving it to Lily as a dowry?” Dad pointed at me angrily. “We’re still alive! What is yours? This condo belongs to us old folks. We can give it to whoever we want, and you have no right to interfere!” A stylishly dressed woman among the guests stood up with a smile. “You must be Lily’s sister, Peach. I’m Lily’s future mother-in-law, you can call me Mrs. Chen.” “Your mother said Lily has been paying the mortgage on this condo. It’s not unreasonable to give it to her as a dowry, right?” Mom grabbed my arm hard, her nails digging deep into my flesh, ignoring the pain she caused, and dragged me out the door in one breath. She warned me in a low voice, “Today is the day we set the wedding date for your sister. If you dare ruin this, I’m done with you. Go buy cherries immediately, I need them later.” With that, the door slammed shut. I stood there in my slippers, without my phone or wallet. Only tears fell, unbidden, one by one. Since we were kids, any good thing I had, Mom decided to give to Lily. The fountain pen I won in a competition, Mom said let Lily use it for a couple of days. My scholarship money, Mom said let Lily hold onto it for a couple of days. New clothes bought for me, Mom said let Lily wear them for a couple of days. … Without exception, these things eventually became Lily’s. This time, they were giving my condo to Lily. Why were they so biased? And so self-righteous about it? I used to suspect I wasn’t their biological daughter, but every time they slapped me and then gave me a piece of candy, I convinced myself I was being petty and misunderstanding them. So I was constantly consumed by confusion, pain, and self-denial. But whenever they showed a tiny bit of concern, I would be overjoyed. I was immersed in negative emotions from the past, tears streaming down my face. I stood alone in the hallway, watching the elevator go up and down. At that moment, Lily opened the door and came out. She draped a down jacket over me, mumbling, not knowing what to say. When we were little, my sister and I were close. We talked about everything and promised to be best sisters forever. Maybe time moved too fast. We had long deviated from that path, drifting further apart on a road of comparison, jealousy, and fighting for parental affection. “Sis, Mom is just like that. She’s been this way her whole life, she won’t change. Just go along with her.” A wave of anger rose in my heart. “Lily, tell me, which item for the holidays wasn’t bought by me? Why can’t I eat some cherries I bought myself?” Lily quickly held my hand. “Sis, keep your voice down. Mom cares about face. She’s doing this so I have face in front of my in-laws. Sis, Mom doesn’t like being contradicted. Just buy a little more.” It all came back to me buying more. I wanted to see what kind of scene Mom would make if I didn’t buy cherries today. I pulled the door open forcefully, tossed the down jacket on the entryway bench, then washed the remaining cherries and sat on the sofa eating them from the bowl. Mom pointed a trembling finger at me. “You unfilial daughter, what are you doing?” I blinked innocently. “Mom, I’m just eating some fruit I bought. Is that a crime?” Seeing the tense atmosphere, Mrs. Chen and her family said sarcastically that they had things to do at home and would discuss the wedding date later. After Mom, Dad, and Lily apologized profusely and saw them off, Lily ran back to her bedroom crying. Dad kicked over the coffee table in front of me, snatched the bowl from my hands, and smashed it on the floor. Then slap, a hard slap landed on my face. “I’ll let you eat!” Dad was so angry he stomped on the cherries rolling on the floor one by one. “If you ruin Lily’s marriage, get out of my house!” Chapter 3 The crushed cherries bled red juice on the floor, looking like red flowers—just like my image in my parents’ hearts: a daughter they could trample on at any time. Mom cried uncontrollably, not forgetting to accuse me. “You’re just jealous your sister found a good partner. You can’t stand to see her happy, can you? You won’t be satisfied until you ruin her marriage, right? Just because your marriage is unhappy, your sister doesn’t deserve happiness?” I sat on the sofa, silent, tears flowing. What could I say? They never cared what I said; their eyes and hearts only held Lily. The resentment in my chest ran wild; I couldn’t suppress it anymore. “I’m jealous of her? Jealous that she barely got into a community college? Jealous that she makes minimum wage? Or jealous that she found a ‘good’ in-law family that demands a house as a dowry?” Dad squatted on the floor holding his head. When he looked up, his eyes were bloodshot. “Your sister wasn’t as smart as you growing up, and she doesn’t have as many schemes as you. Is it wrong for us to plan more for her?” “You went to a top university and got a good job, making good money. Can’t you stop calculating against your sister?” I looked down and sneered. “Dad, I wasn’t smart, I was desperate. Since I was little, you told me you guys were incapable, and if I wanted a good life, I had to study hard myself. I listened to you, so I studied desperately. Isn’t it natural that I tested well?” “I got severe gastritis at 28 because I didn’t eat on time while working myself to the bone. Do you think my salary comes easily?” Dad rubbed his face hard, his lips trembling. “But how did you raise Lily? You said the family only needed one hardworking sister, and the younger sister just needed to wait to enjoy the blessings.” I wiped my tears with my sleeve, but they wouldn’t stop. “Who caused my unhappy marriage? Was it me?” I pounded my chest, asking Dad with heartbreaking pain. The grievances and neglect my parents gave me over the years, the pressure and disappointments from work, all pressed down on me until I couldn’t breathe. I put on my down jacket dejectedly and walked out the door, feeling heavy. The streets were full of festive decorations, the holiday atmosphere thick. But my heart was a desolate wasteland. I walked aimlessly. The winter sun was warm. But my heart felt like it was soaking in an ice cellar; even in the sun, I couldn’t feel any warmth. I walked for an hour, but my chest still felt tight. Before, I could always coax myself into feeling better quickly, but this time, no matter how I made excuses for my parents, the resentment in my heart wouldn’t dissipate. Why? I wanted an answer too. Was it because I wasn’t worthy of eating the cherries I bought? Or because they broke our promise and privately gave my condo to my sister? Or because I finally realized they didn’t really love me that much? A burning pain came from my stomach, and I realized I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I bought a candied hawthorn stick (tanghulu). Sweet and sour. As I ate, I suddenly started laughing. Lily and I were so much like this treat! She was the sugar, I was the sour fruit. Looking red and round together. But people’s attention was always on the sweet part. My phone kept ringing. Without looking, I knew I was being denounced in the family group chat again. “Peach is too outrageous. Coming home only a few days a year and making her parents angry. It’s not right.” “It was just asking you to buy some cherries. How much could it cost? The richer she gets, the stingier she becomes.” “Lily usually takes care of your parents. You should be filial and buy things during the holidays. What’s the problem?” … I listened, burning with anger. My parents never explained the whole story, and those relatives loved to take things out of context. So I became the target of their criticism whenever they felt like it. They all liked to stand on the moral high ground and criticize me to gain a sense of presence as elders. In reality, in front of their own kids, they were all gentle parents who dared not breathe too loud. Chapter 4 I decided to reply. “Uncle Dave, why do I only come home a few days a year? I paid the down payment and the monthly mortgage for the condo my parents live in now. If I don’t work myself to death, are you going to pay the $6,000 monthly mortgage for me?” “I bought imported cherries, fifty dollars a pound. If my family eats them, I’ll buy as much as they want. But my parents wanted to give the cherries to Lily’s future in-laws. Auntie May, is it my place to pay for that?” “I bought the condo, I paid for the renovation and appliances. I pay for all of Mom and Dad’s medical bills, big and small. I give them a red envelope of over a thousand dollars every holiday. Even when their phone bill is due, Lily calls me to pay it. Auntie June, between two sisters, one pays and works, the other takes. Where did I go wrong?” Silence in the family group chat. An eerie silence spread. The frustration in my chest was finally vented. Did they not know these things? They were just used to dictating my life. Whichever child the parents loved, the relatives saw only that child. The unloved child was wrong in everything. For the next two days, Dad ignored me, Mom threw things around, and Lily looked at me hesitantly several times. There was no holiday atmosphere at home. They were all waiting for me to apologize, curry favor, and promise benefits. I wanted to try resisting until the end. Maintaining family affection solely through my compromise—would they change even a little because they loved me? On New Year’s Day, Uncle Dave treated us to dinner at a restaurant. The relatives greeted me warmly, telling me to eat more. Very rare. Halfway through, I went to the restroom and saw Mom, Auntie May, and Auntie June go into the fire escape stairwell. I followed quietly. “Give me some ideas. I already promised Lily’s in-laws that this condo would be her dowry when they get married. What if Peach doesn’t agree?” Auntie May said, hating iron for not becoming steel, “Are you confused? How many families around here give a condo as a dowry? Do you have multiple properties?” Auntie June also advised earnestly, “Between the two sisters, Peach is the capable one. If you break Peach’s heart completely, who will you rely on when you’re old?” Mom said aggrievedly, “Peach is capable and scheming, unlike Lily who is honest and kind. As parents, shouldn’t we take from the rich to help the poor?” My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an iron hand. It hurt. If I were truly “scheming,” would I be bullied by them like this? They could manipulate me at will just because they were my biological parents. Was it wrong for me to work hard and earn money with my own skills? Did it become their excuse to suck my blood? When I returned to the private room, I had no appetite. Uncle Dave got drunk and kept talking about “filial piety” to the younger generation. I knew he was saying it for me. Suddenly, Mom and Mrs. Chen pushed open the door and came in. As soon as Mrs. Chen saw me, she walked towards me enthusiastically. “Peach! We really are destined. We booked a room here too. We have a lot of young people there, come say hi. It’s good for young people to make friends.” Someone who starts plotting for her daughter-in-law’s dowry condo before the wedding can’t be a good person. Calling me so intimately? I made an excuse about a headache, refusing to go to their room. “You child.” Mom grabbed me. “What’s wrong with making more friends? Hurry up, give your Mrs. Chen some face.” She dragged me to Mrs. Chen’s room without explanation. And purposefully pushed me into the seat next to a balding man. I’ve been around the block; I knew exactly what Mrs. Chen was planning. Judging by how Mrs. Chen and her husband acted towards the balding man, they probably needed a favor from him and were offering me up as a sacrifice.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387859”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was day three of the silent treatment from Luke. I had typed out a long, pathetic apology text, ready to hit send. Then I walked into the breakroom and saw him sharing a single lollipop with the new intern. The intern, Summer, was giggling, daring me to go confess my love to the icy, untouchable CEO of our company. I thought Luke would stop her. He was my boyfriend, after all. Instead, he looked at me in front of the entire staff and smirked. “Go ahead. Who knows? Maybe the big boss will actually like you. Consider it climbing the social ladder.” He leaned back, his eyes cold. “Don’t worry, I won’t cling to you. After all, if it works, we’ll all have to call you Mrs. Sterling!” Suddenly, a row of neon text floated across my vision like a live stream chat: [The male lead is sick in the head. Who says that in front of everyone?] [Ugh, why is our male lead such a toxic tsundere? The heroine just needs to coddle him, and he’ll take her back!] [I’m so over this two-faced man. Girl, look at the CEO! He’s been in love with you for years. He only transferred to this branch for you!] [The CEO is 6’3″, has an eight-pack, and is totally devoted. You dump this loser, and the CEO will be kissing away your tears in five minutes!] I stared at the floating text, then at Luke’s mocking face. I adjusted the strap of my black dress. “Fine. I’ll try it.” I looked around the room. “If I succeed, everyone gets a raise!” 1 This was the ninety-ninth time Luke had given me the silent treatment. I had my apology script ready. I was always the one to fold. Then I saw Summer, the new intern, using a “status report” as an excuse to stare at the candy in Luke’s mouth. “Luke,” she asked, blinking her doe eyes. “What flavor is that?” Luke put down his pen, took the lollipop out, and glanced at it. “Strawberry.” “Can I taste it?” she asked innocently. Luke paused. Before he could answer, she snatched it from his hand and popped it into her mouth. Luke, seemingly slow on the uptake, asked, “Is it sweet?” She pulled it out, blushing. “Super sweet.” I turned around, walked downstairs to the convenience store, bought a bag of one hundred lollipops, came back, and shoved them into Summer’s hands. “Next time you’re hungry, tell me. I’ll buy you your own. You don’t need to snatch food from someone else’s boyfriend’s mouth.” The entire office went dead silent. Everyone looked over. Summer turned bright red. But Luke slammed his hand on the desk, standing up to defend her. “It’s just a piece of candy, Sarah. Why do you have to be so aggressive?” “You haven’t even finished the proposal I gave you yesterday, but you have time to be jealous?” “You’ve been here three years with no promotion. You’re incompetent. Honestly, I’m embarrassed to tell people you’re my girlfriend!” Seeing Luke take her side, Summer dropped the embarrassment and smirked. “Sarah isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, but you shouldn’t be so mean, Luke.” “You can just do her work for her. You did mine when I couldn’t finish it, remember?” Luke sat back down, crossing his legs, looking at me with pure disdain. “She’s different from you. You’re new; she’s a veteran employee.” “If a veteran employee can’t create value for the company, she should just be fired.” I stood there, frozen, feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. 2 My work performance wasn’t bad. I used to be a star in the Sales Department at HQ. I only transferred to Planning at this branch because Luke begged me to. He said he didn’t want to work at the same company but feel like we were in a long-distance relationship. I had only joined the Planning Department a month before Summer. Summer leaned against Luke’s desk, grinning at me. “Office romances are so cute. In those CEO novels I read, when the innocent heroine can’t finish her work, her boss boyfriend does it for her.” “And for every task he finishes, she has to give him a kiss as a reward!” Luke scoffed, but there was a smile playing on his lips. “Uninstall those trashy apps, Summer. What kind of nonsense are you reading?” Summer stuck out her tongue. “Is it nonsense? Then why did you ask me for a reward last time you helped me?” I stood there, feeling like I’d been slapped in public. Angry, humiliated, and numb. Actually, the reason for this current cold war was also Summer. A few days ago, Luke and Summer went on a business trip together. It was Luke’s birthday, so I FaceTimed him. At midnight. Summer answered the phone. “Sarah? Luke is in the shower. What do you want?” My blood ran cold. “It’s midnight. Why are you in his room?” Summer frowned, feigning innocence. “It’s not like that, it’s just…” She turned away from the camera. “Luke! Sarah is on the phone. She sounds mad. She wants to know why we’re together. You better explain it!” A second later, Luke appeared on screen, wearing a bathrobe, towel-drying his hair. “Sarah, relax. The showerhead in Summer’s room broke. I went to fix it, got soaked, and just took a shower here.” “You have no idea how great Summer was today. She handled some insane demands from the client. I really owe her dinner.” Summer tugged at his sleeve. “I told you, no need. Just take me on the next trip!” Luke looked down at her, his eyes softening in a way they never did for me anymore. “Deal. You’re smart and capable. You save me so much trouble.” Summer giggled. “See? Now you know how important I am.” “I know, I know. You’re my best student.” They flirted right in front of me, completely forgetting I was on the line. Finally, Luke remembered me. “Right, why did you call?” I hesitated, clutching the gift I had bought. “Luke, Happy Birth—” “Happy Birthday, Boss! Surprise!” Summer cut me off. On the screen, she wheeled out a cart. A massive three-tier cake covered in rose petals, a gift box, and a bottle of expensive wine. “Open it! Look!” She shoved the box into his hands. Luke opened it. It was a Louis Vuitton wallet. The exact one he’d been eyeing for months. I looked down at the identical wallet in my hand. I stayed silent and hung up the phone. 3 When Luke got back from the trip, he saw the wallet I left on his desk. That’s when he realized why I had called. Unfortunately, he was already using the one Summer gave him. “If it was a birthday gift, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “If you had said something, I wouldn’t have accepted Summer’s.” “Now Summer knows you got the same thing, and she feels terrible. She’s been apologizing non-stop, saying she didn’t mean to upstage you.” “There are rumors flying around that she’s trying to seduce me. Did you start those?” “If you keep targeting her like this, Sarah, don’t blame me if I break up with you!” For the first time, I didn’t want to explain myself. So, the silent treatment began. To punish me for not groveling, Luke had decided to humiliate me in the breakroom. It was lunch hour. Colleagues were filtering back in. Someone heard the tail end of the argument and joked, “Luke, aren’t you afraid Sarah will dump you if you keep defending the intern?” Luke snorted, looking supremely confident. “Let her dump me. I’m not scared.” “She chased me, remember? I didn’t chase her.” The guys laughed. “True that. In love, whoever cares more loses.” My eyes stung. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I looked down, blinking back tears. Not here, I told myself. Not at work. But Summer wasn’t done. She poked Luke’s arm with a manicured finger. “I heard Sarah used to be the Prom Queen at State University!” “She’s so charming. Why doesn’t she try confessing to the Big Boss? Hunter Sterling?” “Unless… Luke would get jealous?” My head snapped up. Hunter Sterling. Our CEO. Cold, distant, terrifying. He was on the Forbes “30 Under 30” list. Rumor had it he was allergic to women. Or maybe he was gay. A girl once tried to ask him out; she was fired the next day and left the building in tears. Summer was trying to get me fired. Some of Luke’s cronies chimed in. “That’s a great idea! Mr. Sterling is a State alum too!” “I wanna see if the Prom Queen can melt the Ice King!” “Oh god, if she fails, she’s definitely getting pink-slipped.” Summer beamed. “Don’t worry! Sarah has such a great body. If she offers herself up, Mr. Sterling might not date her, but he’ll probably keep her around for… other things. He won’t fire her!” A female colleague frowned. “That’s too much. Even if office dating isn’t banned, Sarah is Luke’s girlfriend.” Summer covered her mouth, acting shocked. “Oops! You’re right! Forget I said anything!” I used the last shred of my sanity to look at Luke. He was smart. He had to hear the malice in her voice. Instead, he shrugged. “What does it matter?” “If the boss actually wants her, she’s hitting the jackpot.” “Don’t worry. I won’t stand in your way. Heck, we’ll all have to call you Mrs. Sterling!” 4 Laughter erupted around the room. They were certain I’d be rejected. I was furious, humiliated, and ready to scream. But then, the glowing text appeared again. [Male lead is engaging in self-sabotage again. He loves her to death but acts like a jerk!] [Sarah, listen to me! He’s been stalking your Instagram for days. Just apologize like usual, and he’ll fold immediately!] [Apologize for what?! Our girl did nothing wrong! This insecurity king needs to go!] [Seriously, look at Hunter Sterling. He’s been secretly in love with you since college. Remember the Hiking Club?] [He still keeps the group photo from that mountain trip in his wallet. You break up with Luke, and Hunter will be worshiping the ground you walk on.] I widened my eyes at the red text. The CEO… has a crush on me? Before I could process this, Summer tugged at Luke’s sleeve again. “Sarah isn’t saying anything. Is she chicken?” “I guess the rumors are true. She’s obsessed with you, Luke.” “Those kinds of women are so annoying. Like gum stuck to your shoe. You’ll never get rid of her.” Luke raised an eyebrow, soaking up the ego boost. “What can I do? She’s been obsessed since college.” “Honestly, there were plenty of girls better than her chasing me. I only agreed to date her because she wore me down.” “But she’s getting annoying lately. Always starting cold wars.” “Let her confess to the boss. She needs a reality check. Maybe then she’ll stop making a scene over nothing.” Summer grinned, bumping his shoulder. “If Sarah succeeds, maybe you should date me instead. I’m not clingy!” Luke laughed. “Sure!” He glanced at me. “But I doubt she can bring herself to leave me.” I knew his game. He was pushing me to the edge, waiting for me to break and beg for forgiveness. I was an orphan. I lived with my aunt, who was kind, but my uncle hated me. I learned to be useful, to be quiet, to be diligent. I desperately wanted a home of my own. Luke had introduced me to his mom and sister. They were wonderful. They sent me homemade pickles and knitted scarves. I wanted to marry him to keep them. To keep that feeling of family. Luke used that against me. But I heard his mother divorced his father because of infidelity. I didn’t want to be her. I clenched my fists. “Fine. I’ll do it.” “If I succeed, everyone gets a raise.” 5 The smile froze on Luke’s face. His eyes turned dark. The chat went wild. [Hahaha! Karma! That’s what you get for being arrogant!] [Good job, Sarah! My blood pressure just went down seeing the look on his face!] [Hunter is infinitely better. Rich, handsome, and actually respects boundaries. He knew she had a boyfriend, so he just watched from afar.] [Though… he’s not that pure. He definitely does things to her photos at night…] The comments were making me blush. I marched to the CEO’s office before I could lose my nerve. Knock knock. “Come in.” Hunter’s voice was deep and magnetic. I pushed the heavy oak door open, leaving it slightly ajar so the nosy crowd behind me could see. Hunter was in a black suit, signing documents. He looked up, glanced at me, looked down, then his head snapped back up. His eyes widened slightly. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He sat up straight, put down his pen, and looked at me with an intensity that made my knees weak. “Yes?” I stared at the collar of his crisp white shirt, too nervous to meet his eyes. “Um, Mr. Sterling…” “I… I like you. Will you… go out with me?” Hunter froze. He glanced at the crowd peeking through the crack in the door. The spectators scattered. Hunter interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back. His sharp, almond-shaped eyes locked onto mine. “It’s lunch hour.” “Did you lose a bet with your colleagues?” “Tell me what the game is. I’ll go win it back for you.” I swallowed hard and finally looked at his face. He was gorgeous. At least 6’2″, chiseled jaw, an aura of old money. If I had really met him in college, how could I have forgotten him? The chat said we were in a Hiking Club together. Why did I have zero memory of that? Outside, people were whispering. “See? He’s giving her an out.” “If she keeps going, she’s getting fired.” My palms were sweating. Could I trust the floating text? But I was already here. No turning back. “It’s not a game. I really like you. Please date me!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387264”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My co-star, the so-called “Nation’s Perfect Boyfriend” and A-list actor Julian Chen, was trending on Twitter for refusing to open his mouth during a kiss scene. The comments were brutal: “Zero chemistry.” “He looks like he’s kissing a dead fish.” “Give us some passion, man!” Being the chaotic agent of chaos that I am, I liked the meanest tweet. Suddenly, Julian posted: “Fine. Next project, I’ll show you exactly how open I can get.” The internet exploded with joy. I, however, froze. Because I am the female lead in his next project starting tomorrow. 1 In Hollywood, Julian Chen is known as the industry’s golden boy—scandal-free, professional, and annoyingly wholesome. I, Tara Lee, am known as the industry’s favorite “man-eater”—flirty, scandalous, and always in the tabloids. I can’t stand his holier-than-thou act, so I roast him online constantly. Me: “Oh, look at Mr. Ice King wearing sunglasses inside. Is it to hide the fact that he’s secretly checking me out?” Julian: “Sorry for the late reply. It takes longer to type with just my middle finger.” The comments are usually just rows of skull emojis. Everyone knows we hate each other. On the red carpet, I once “accidentally” bumped into him. “Oops, my zipper seems to be stuck. Help a girl out?” Julian didn’t even look. He reached out, zipped it up in 0.01 seconds without touching a millimeter of skin, and flashed a peace sign at the paparazzi with his other hand. I rolled my eyes. “Wow, you’re good with your hands. How many zippers have you practiced on?” He looked down at me with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. I glanced down, too. Oh. “Pervert! One day I’m going to expose you!” 2 Karma came for him fast. Julian got dragged on social media for his “dead fish” kissing technique in his latest drama. I was lounging on my couch, sipping iced tea, and gleefully liking every single hate tweet. I even commented: “If any of these tweets hurt your feelings, let me know so I can retweet them.” The replies were gold. “Julian, you look like you’re in pain.” “Where is the tongue? We demand tongue!” “Do better next time, bro.” Then, a notification popped up. Julian tweeted. “Fine. Next project, I’ll show you exactly how open I can get.” His fan base went feral. The comments were a mix of thirst tweets and celebrations. I, however, sat there in stunned silence. Wait. Our next project starts filming tomorrow. I took the role just to dig up dirt on him. Now, karma was coming for me. My phone pinged. It was the director of Chasing Blossoms. Director: “Hey Tara, Julian wants to reschedule the big kiss scene and the… bedroom scene… to tomorrow.” Me: “Are you serious? You’re letting him bully you? Fight back!” Director: “His dad is the executive producer.” I went silent. Fine. He wants to kiss? I’ll make sure it’s a kiss he never forgets. I raided my kitchen. Garlic. Onions. Durian candy. Kimchi. Bring it on, pretty boy. 3 The next day, before the scene, I snuck into the dressing room. I pulled a stalk of green onion out of my sleeve, ready to chomp down. Suddenly, a curtain swooshed open. A tall, shirtless man walked out. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, and abs that looked like they were carved from marble. The lighting hit every muscle perfectly. I shrieked and covered my eyes. “Julian! You exhibitionist! I’m tweeting about this!” Then I peeked through my fingers. Nice. Eight-pack confirmed. I totally forgot I was in the wrong dressing room. Julian glanced at me, unbothered. He reached for his belt. I gulped. “Whoa, buddy. There’s a lady present. Are you blind?” He chuckled, pausing with his hands on his buckle. “Tara, didn’t you brag in an interview about dating half of Hollywood? Why are you acting shy over a guy changing his pants?” I straightened up, crossing my arms. “Yeah, well, I’ve seen more naked men than I’ve had hot meals. Go ahead. Show me what you got.” I stared intently as his long fingers undid the belt. The suit pants dropped. Then… My face turned atomic red. I couldn’t do it. “You just wait!” I yelled, sprinting out of the room. 4 Even on set, the image of his abs was burned into my retinas. “Tara, you okay? Your face is red,” the makeup artist asked. I jumped. “Nothing! Where’s my onion?” Action. It was a rainy scene. Julian and I stood facing each other under a fake downpour. “Julian, let’s just end it,” I said, channeling my character’s heartbreak. I turned to walk away. He grabbed my wrist. “I don’t accept that.” He pulled me close. His face loomed over mine. His lips crashed onto mine. They were warm, wet from the rain. I remembered his tweet. I clamped my mouth shut like a bank vault. Suddenly, his hand slid down to my waist and pinched. Hard. “Oof—” My mouth opened in surprise. He took the opening. His tongue swept in, tangling with mine. He pulled me flush against his chest. I could feel the heat radiating off him. My fingertips tingled. I was breathless, tears prickling my eyes. “Can’t handle it?” he whispered against my ear as the director yelled, “Cut!” I tried to push him away, but my knees gave out. I almost collapsed. “Easy there, Tara,” he laughed, catching me. “Don’t call me that,” I mumbled, feeling weirdly flustered. “Wait,” I realized. “Did you not taste the onion?” I had practically eaten a whole bulb before the scene. “I tasted it. It was sweet,” Julian said, smiling. The mole under his eye seemed to wink at me. I looked away. “You’re weird.” Then came the bedroom scene. I told myself not to worry. I’m a pro. I’ve done these scenes before. But… damn, this guy could kiss. “Hey, watch the hands!” I protested weakly. His shirt slipped off his shoulder, revealing that smooth, pale skin. His hot breath trailed down my neck, over my collarbone. The camera zoomed in. Even his expression of restrained desire was perfect. Under the covers, I took the opportunity to grope his abs. “Not bad,” I whispered. Julian stiffened for a second, then continued kissing me like his life depended on it. 5 I actually used to have a massive crush on Julian back in high school. Well, sort of. I lost a bet with my best friend, Chloe. The penalty was either asking Julian out or having her leak my middle school emo phase photos. Julian was the school’s “High Mountain Flower”—unreachable, cold, popular. He rejected love letters by the dozen. The prom queen tried everything. Bringing him coffee, cheering at his games. He just ignored her. “No thanks,” he’d say, grabbing a water bottle from his friend instead. He rejected everyone. But I had a plan. We were neighbors. One day, I caught him taking out the trash. I cornered him against the wall. “Hey. Look at me. I’m gonna chase you. Just accept it.” Then I dragged him to the park where I had set up candles in the shape of a heart. He raised an eyebrow, looking bored and unfairly handsome in the dim streetlights. I turned on my light-up sneakers and hit play on my boombox. I started dancing. Badly. Like a malfunctioning robot. “Tara,” he said, his face darkening. “Are you insane?” He walked away. Whatever. I blew out the candles. A good woman never gives up. Julian’s parents fought a lot. I could hear the screaming and smashing plates through the thin apartment walls. “Where is the money?!” “I spent it on clients!” “Liar! You spent it on your mistress!” Whenever they fought, Julian would sit on the stairs in the hallway. I opened my door quietly. He was doing homework on his knees, using the step as a desk. His shoulder blades poked through his thin shirt. “Hey. Hungry?” His parents often forgot to feed him. He didn’t look up. “We’re having braised pork ribs. Your favorite.” I grabbed his pen. He finally looked at me. I pulled him up. He was taller than me now. When did that happen? I dragged him into my apartment. “Julian! Come in!” My parents loved him. They set a place for him immediately. He sat there stiffly. “Thank you.” “Eat up! Or be our son instead!” Mom joked, piling food into his bowl. I watched him eat slowly. After that day, he stopped ignoring me. “Hey Julian, let me copy your math homework.” “No. Do it yourself.” “Hey Julian, this boba is too sweet. You want it?” “Okay.” “Hey Julian, don’t write my name down for talking in class.” “Okay.” Eventually, I took him to the roof. “Julian. Be my boyfriend.” He stood in the spring breeze, looking at me for a long time. “Do you like me?” I paused. Like? I mostly wanted to punch his arrogant face. But for the sake of my emo photos, I nodded. “Yeah. So much. I dream about you.” His ears turned red. “Okay.” We started walking to school together. He’d wait by the stairs, looking at me with those intense eyes. He helped me with homework. He carried my bag. He ate the food I didn’t want. We even adopted a stray cat. Named it Pear. He would stroke the cat with those long, artistic fingers. It made me blush. Then, disaster struck. Graduation night. Chloe got drunk at karaoke and spilled the beans. “Even if you didn’t get Julian, I wouldn’t have leaked the photos! I’m not a monster!” The door opened. Julian walked in. He looked at me, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. “Tara. Did you ever like me? Or was it just a bet?” I froze. I couldn’t meet his gaze. I didn’t see the light go out in his eyes. “Okay. I misunderstood.” He left. He blocked my number. He vanished. We met again in Hollywood. He was a rising star. I was a D-list actress with a bad reputation. 6 He became my biggest hater. I posted about my first brand deal. He commented: “Congrats on your first. I just signed my 250th.” I snuck instant noodles onto a survival show. He tweeted the director: “Check her bag. She’s hoarding food.” I fell into a ditch on a variety show. He retweeted the video. The comments were always: “Why does Julian hate Tara so much?” “What did she do to him?” I knew. He hated me because I played him. I decided to fight fire with fire. On a variety show, I stole the food from his plate. He put down his chopsticks. “Really?” I smirked, chewing on his pork rib. He grabbed a napkin and wiped the sauce off my lip. “Glad you like it.” I shivered. He was playing mind games. During a game, I “accidentally” fell into his arms and stepped on his pristine white sneakers. “Oops. Sorry, bro.” I waited for him to shove me away. Instead, his hands tightened around my waist. “Throwing yourself at me? Tara, are you chasing me again?” His voice was low and raspy. I panicked and pushed him away. “In your dreams! Don’t call me that!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387280”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Owen Davis was cheating. The day I caught him, Owen was cheating. To stop me from walking out, he staggered into the kitchen, snatched a steak knife, and drew the blade savagely across his own wrist, sobbing so hard the sound choked in his throat. “Liz, if you won’t forgive me, I swear, I’ll kill myself.” Blood sprayed, flecking my face, blurring my vision. A sharp, sick ache tightened my chest, and my eyes burned. Looking at Owen, I felt utterly cold. “Owen, if you truly want to die,” I said, my voice flat. “Don’t do it in front of me.” I walked over, took the knife from his slackened grip, and gave him the final word. “Owen, we’re calling off the wedding.” 1 “No! I won’t call it off!” Ignoring the deep gash on his wrist, Owen lunged, clutching me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. All I could hear was his ragged, crumbling voice. “I am not breaking up with you!” “Eliza Reed!” Owen grabbed my hand, his fingers slick with his own blood, and slapped it hard against his face. “Hit me, then!” “Slap me, scream at me, do whatever you want!” “Just don’t call off the wedding, please! Don’t leave me!” I watched the scarlet seep steadily from his wrist. The warm, sticky blood smeared my hand and his face, coiling around my heart like a vicious vine, tightening until I was suffocating. As my eyes met his, for a flashing moment, I remembered. I remembered Owen using that same face, those same desperate eyes, driven by pure, raw need, while he was buried in another woman. The image hit me, and I shoved him away with all my strength, stumbling to the bathroom. I vomited until my entire body ached and I felt hollowed out, but through the roar in my ears, I could still hear Owen’s voice. “Wife, we’re getting married right away!” “Wife!” “You’re going to be my wife! My life depends on you!” The truth was, I never thought I would leave Owen. I never imagined there would be a hole in my life where Owen used to be. Just like I never imagined I’d find him naked, intimately tangled with someone else, shattering the illusion of our love. “Get out!” I backed away frantically until I hit the wall, cornered. I saw the look of wounded, complete devastation on his face as he screamed. “Get out!” Owen’s complexion turned stark white. He dropped to his knees in front of me, pleading, saying sorry, saying he’d made a mistake, that it was only a moment of madness, that he’d been drunk, that he couldn’t help himself. “Liz.” “You are the only one I have ever loved!” “I love you!” Owen lost too much blood. At the hospital, I sat in the silent hallway, watching the red light above the Emergency Room door. I was chilled to the bone, feeling trapped in a dead end. That’s when his phone, which I still held, rang. It was the other woman. She called his name. Receiving no answer, she asked me, “Where is Owen?” “Who are you?” My throat was raw, like I’d swallowed glass. Before I could speak, I heard her voice, silky, yet confident. “You must be Eliza Reed.” “Owen’s fiancée.” “But so what?” she purred. “As long as you haven’t made it official, who’s to say Owen will actually marry you?” “Eliza Reed.” “I hear you were holding out on him, saving yourself for the wedding night, thinking that’s what a good woman does. Well, you shouldn’t blame Owen for straying and finding love elsewhere. Eliza, this is your own damn fault.” 2 A loud buzzing filled my ears. My body felt as if it had been run over by a steamroller. It wasn’t that Owen and I hadn’t been close to that step. But every time, at the last moment, Owen would stop, gently cup my face, and tell me. “Liz.” “You’re different to me.” “I cherish you,” he’d say. “I want our first time to happen at the most perfect moment.” And I believed it. I felt so incredibly lucky to have found such a good man in Owen, that he was a blessing, the best luck I’d ever had. Now, I listened to her mockery. “Owen told me that every time he tried to take things further, he’d look at your face and just… stop. Eliza Reed, have you honestly never wondered why?” Tears poured down my face. I swallowed the sourness rising in my throat, gazing at the still-lit red emergency light. Before she could say another word, I cut her off. “If you truly believe Owen loves you,” I said. “Fine.” My chest ached with a burning acid, almost unbearable, but I continued, “Then you tell him to call off the engagement.” “If you’re so capable, then stop hiding in the shadows! Make Owen choose you!” My emotions were spiraling out of control. Before I could say more, a hand grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. Veronica Davis, Owen’s mother, slapped me hard across the face. Before I could even register the pain, she hauled me up and slammed me onto the floor, screaming at me. “You tramp!” “If anything happens to my son, you will never pay enough, even if you die a thousand times!” Mrs. Davis’s voice thundered. Standing meekly behind the Davis family were my own parents. My mother caught my eye, shaking her head, silently begging me to keep quiet, to endure the abuse. I knew they wanted me to submit. But when Mrs. Davis took off her high-heeled shoe and hurled it at my face, the impact made my nose bleed. I couldn’t stop myself. “Then let’s cancel it.” Tears mixed with the blood streaming down my face, but I was defiant. “I won’t marry him.” I looked at my mother. “I am breaking the engagement with Owen!” “Oh, you worthless little bitch! You’ve got attitude now, do you?” Mrs. Davis raised her hand again, but my mother was faster. She slapped the other side of my face. “You apologize to Mrs. Davis right now!” “You tell them that you will never leave Owen as long as he wants you! Never!” My tears fell thick and fast as I looked at my mother’s face. The heartbreak was suffocating. I wanted to tell her why, but she roared at me instead. “Say it now!” My mother’s fists rained down on me, each blow a sharp sting that drove me toward a breakdown. “Say it!” “Say you’ll never leave him unless he throws you out! Say it, you hear me!” “Mom!” I cried out, my eyes red and swollen. Just then, the emergency room light went dark. Everyone rushed forward to ask about Owen. But Owen, despite his exhaustion and injuries, pushed past them all, rushing toward me. He tried to pull me into a hug, crying out again. “I won’t let us break up!” “Liz, please, don’t leave me…” 3 I realized my life couldn’t possibly get any worse. I sat by Owen’s hospital bed, listening as he explained everything—how his injury had nothing to do with me, how he took full responsibility for his cheating, and how my anger was completely justified. His eyes red-rimmed, Owen promised my parents. “Just this one time.” “I will never betray Liz again.” “I love Liz. I plan to marry her and spend my life with her.” Then I heard Owen tell his family. “If you keep giving Liz a hard time, you will genuinely drive me to suicide.” The Davis family adored Owen, their only son. Veronica Davis cried until she was broken, but she softened for her child’s sake. She shot me a venomous glare before changing her tone, saying only, “You had better cherish my son.” Owen squeezed my cold hand and whispered to me. “Liz, don’t worry about your brother’s tuition. I will fully support him. His future wedding, his car, his house—it’s all covered. I’m his brother-in-law. We’re family.” Everyone smiled then. The widest, most relieved smiles belonged to my parents. All their anxieties seemed to have evaporated, and they looked at Owen with an added measure of warmth and adoration. The day I accompanied Owen home from the hospital, I saw Skye Foster, the woman who had called me and slept with Owen. Her eyes were red as she looked at him. As Owen and I walked past, she grabbed the corner of his jacket, crying softly. “Owen.” “I just need to talk to you.” Skye was no longer arrogant and aggressive toward me; her tone was humble and pleading. “Owen.” “Just one conversation.” I felt Owen’s body stiffen. Meeting his conflicted gaze, I realized I had very little emotion left to give. I slipped my hand out of his, forcing a composed smile. “I’ll wait for you at home.” I got into the car. Owen’s text came immediately: [Wife, I promise I’ll make things clear with her. She won’t ever show her face again. Don’t be upset.] I exited the chat and opened the new text from Skye. “But what can I say?” “All I have to do is shed a few tears, and Owen still fetches like a dog.” The video the woman sent showed Owen following her into a hotel room, desperate to jump into bed. His hospital bandage had fallen to the floor. Her panting, intimate moans were like a toxic substance stealing my breath. I barely managed to keep the renewed wave of nausea down, rushing to the bathroom to dry-heave until my stomach felt completely empty. Then, my mother’s voice message played. “Liz, what man doesn’t fool around? Even your father looks at other women sometimes. I made it through it, and you will too.” “A woman should prioritize her husband. You need to think about your brother, Liz.” “Don’t be so selfish.” I sat in the empty house, surrounded by the new, brightly colored decorations for our wedding. It felt like even crying was no longer an option. I texted Owen. [Are you done?] 4 Owen returned the next day. Even with Skye’s perfume clinging to his clothes, he was no longer avoiding me like he had at first. Instead, he constantly tried to test my boundaries. He had started out terrified of losing me, but now he understood that even if I wanted to leave, my parents would always be my obstacle. He seemed to finally realize that our break-up wasn’t imminent. He became increasingly nonchalant in front of me, even taking to pinching my chin and saying, “Liz.” “As long as you’re a good girl.” “We’ll be happy forever.” “I promise,” Owen’s skin reeked of the other woman’s scent—so heavily I felt physically repulsed and wanted to throw up, but I forced myself to listen. “You will never have to go back to your family, to be sold off like a piece of property again.” I listened to the contempt in his tone, and watched the scrutinizing way he looked at me. He told me, “My momentary lapse of judgment was because I respected you, Liz. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.” “I just want you to understand.” I understood. I knew I was supposed to agree with Owen, nod sweetly, say I understood and forgave him, and that I would love him forever. The words gathered in my throat. But I kept seeing the videos Skye sent me: from the hotel to the beach, to car rides, to forest escapades and camping trips. Every position, every intimate sound. Skye would always ask him. “Owen.” “Whose body—mine or Eliza Reed’s—attracts you more?” And Owen would answer without hesitation. “Yours.” He would drive himself into a frenzy on her body, his face contorted with lust, and he’d tell her, “If she’s my spiritual need, you’re my primal, physiological desire.” Skye had messaged me: “Eliza Reed. You’ll always lose if you try to compete with me.” Now, looking at Owen, the compliant words I was meant to say jammed in my throat. I tried to speak, but just as I was about to tell Owen that I would love him for life, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I threw up. I threw up all over Owen. He no longer had the initial look of heartbreaking remorse. He simply grimaced with distaste and snapped one line. “Eliza Reed.” “You need to be grateful for what you have.” When Owen left, the house fell silent again. I looked at the white wedding dress hanging in the room, the fine crystals flashing—a dream I had once held for my entire life. Now, as I watched the soft moans on the projector screen, and heard the sounds of celebration rising from downstairs, I put on the wedding dress. I called Owen.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387297”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The Manuscript in Folder X It was a Tuesday afternoon, the kind of gray, drizzly Boston day that makes you want to do absolutely nothing but curl up in a blanket burrito and dissociate. I was sitting on the floor of the apartment I shared with Josh, surrounded by a fortress of empty Red Bull cans and textbooks that cost more than my first car. “Mia, do you have the notes for the Psych 101 midterms?” I yelled toward the kitchen, where Josh was currently doing something that smelled suspiciously like burning toast. “Check my laptop,” Josh called back, his voice calm, deep, the kind of voice that usually grounded me. “Password is your birthday. Obviously.” “Obviously,” I muttered, rolling my eyes but smiling. Josh and I had been inseparable since the sandbox days. Our mothers were best friends, our houses shared a fence, and our lives were so intertwined that I couldn’t tell where my memories ended and his began. He was the golden boy—Starbucks barista looks, Dean’s List grades, and a patience that bordered on saintly. I pulled his MacBook onto my lap. It was warm, humming slightly. I typed in my birthday—0422. Unlocked. His desktop was organized chaos. Folders for “Architecture,” “Receipts,” “Gaming,” and a folder simply labeled “Docs.” I clicked on “Docs,” assuming the psychology notes would be nestled in there. They weren’t. Instead, I saw a sub-folder labeled “Classified.” Now, let’s be real. If you label a folder “Classified” on a computer you explicitly told your nosy best friend to use, you are either an idiot or you want to be caught. Or, maybe, you just assume that after twenty years of friendship, there are no boundaries left to cross. Curiosity isn’t just a cat killer; it’s a friendship killer. I knew I should close it. I knew I should search for “Psych” in the search bar like a normal person. But I didn’t. I clicked. Inside was a single PDF file. The title made my blood run cold, then hot, then cold again. “The Cage: A Study in Possession.” I frowned. Josh wasn’t a writer. He was an architecture major who thought haikus were “inefficient.” I double-clicked the file. It opened. Chapter One. The chains were cold against Mia’s wrists, but not as cold as the look in Josh’s eyes. I stopped breathing. My eyes darted across the screen, devouring the text with a morbid, sickening fascination. It wasn’t a psychology paper. It wasn’t a creative writing assignment. It was a novel. A full-length, detailed, graphic novel. And the protagonists? Me. And him. But not the us that existed in this living room with the smell of burnt toast. In this story, the “Josh” character wasn’t the guy who held my hair back when I puked after frat parties. He was a monster. A calm, calculating, obsessive monster who had locked “Mia” in a basement that he had soundproofed himself. I scrolled down, my finger trembling on the trackpad. “You don’t need the outside world, Mia,” Josh whispered, stroking her hair as she wept. “They don’t understand you like I do. Out there, you get hurt. In here, you are worshipped.” I felt bile rise in my throat. The writing was… good. Disturbingly good. It described the layout of the basement—a room that looked suspiciously like the dream apartment we had always joked about buying. It described my favorite foods, which he brought to her on a silver tray. It described the way I slept, the specific way I bit my lip when I was anxious. It described, in vivid detail, “Mia’s” failed attempts to escape. How “Josh” would catch her, not with anger, but with a terrifying, disappointed patience. He would punish her. I won’t go into the details of the punishment. Let’s just say it walked a fine line between horror and a twisted, dark romance that you’d find in the deep, unmoderated corners of the internet. “Found them?” Josh’s voice came from right behind me. I slammed the laptop shut so hard it sounded like a gunshot. I jumped, spinning around. Josh was standing there, holding a plate of slightly charred toast and two mugs of coffee. He was wearing his gray sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt. He looked normal. He looked like Josh. But suddenly, all I could see was the character on page 45 who broke “Mia’s” ankle so she couldn’t run. “Yeah,” I choked out. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Yeah, I… uh… I just remembered I have them on my iPad. My bad.” Josh tilted his head. It was a gesture I used to find endearing. Now, it looked predatory. He looked at the closed laptop, then at my pale face. “You okay?” he asked, stepping closer. “You look like you saw a ghost.” “Just a headache,” I lied. I stood up, scrambling to put distance between us. “Migraine. Sudden onset. I need to lie down.” “Do you want some Tylenol?” He took another step. “I can get the ice pack.” “No!” I shouted. It was too loud. Too sharp. Josh stopped. His eyes—those dark, brown eyes that I had stared into a thousand times—narrowed slightly. A shadow passed over his face, something unreadable. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Go rest. I’ll be here if you need me.” I’ll be here. In the story, he said that to her every night. I’ll always be here, Mia. You never have to be alone again. I fled to my bedroom and locked the door. Then I dragged my desk chair under the handle. I didn’t sleep that night. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like footsteps. Every gust of wind sounded like a key turning in a lock.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387314”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’m Hollywood’s certified “Jack-of-all-trades” darling. Every time I book a role, I download a new skill into my brain like I’m in The Matrix. Play a chef? I’m suddenly whipping up Beef Wellington like Gordon Ramsay. Play an action hero? I walk away with a black belt in Krav Maga. Even when I played a delinquent teen, I mastered the art of hotwiring a car and butterfly knife tricks. My motto: If I’m on set, I’m learning something. The internet is obsessed. They tweet: [Is there anything Harper Moon can’t do?] Until I went on a reality show and brought my childhood best friend along. On filming day, he acted all “sick” and clingy, practically gluing himself to my side. After the 101st time pushing his heavy head off my shoulder, I finally snapped, “If you’re itching that much, go take a shower.” Julian: ? Live Chat: [I finally figured out the one stat point God forgot to give Harper. No wonder they say Julian is like a cat. He’s actively simping for her, and she’s like: ‘Why is this house cat vibrating? Is it broken?’] 1 I’m a B-list actress who recently skyrocketed to #1 on Twitter Trending because of a viral news clip. Here’s what happened: I was at a food truck festival in Santa Monica when I spotted a greasy creep behind me. His hands were wandering, trying to grope the girl standing next to me. Without thinking, I executed a perfect Judo hip toss and slammed him into the pavement. Then I put him in an armbar and dragged him to the nearest cop. There was a crowd. Naturally, everyone had their phones out. They were shook that a petite girl like me had the combat skills of John Wick. The video hit TikTok and blew up instantly. The hashtag #VigilanteHarper took over the internet. The comment section was on fire. People were praising my form and, surprisingly, my face. [Real talk, not only can she fight, but she’s gorgeous. She looks like a porcelain doll but hits like a truck. If I met a girl this pretty and dangerous in high school, I would’ve been down bad for at least three years.] [How does someone look this good with zero makeup? One body slam and she slammed right into my heart.] [Who is she? We need a name!] [Why does she look familiar?] Finally, my small but loyal fanbase arrived in the comments: [Is it possible… that’s our girl Harper Moon? She’s an actress! She hasn’t had her big break yet, but invest now! She’s pretty, can act, and is basically a ninja. Lowkey flex: Harper is a black belt, speaks three languages, sings opera, plays three instruments, paints, and does archery. You won’t find another celeb this over-qualified. Stan now!] Thanks to my fans, the internet started digging. They realized that in my two years of acting, I maxed out my skill tree. One role, one skill. Chef role? Michelin star cooking. Action role? Eight-pack abs and a black belt. Delinquent role? I can now shuffle-dance and pick locks. The internet was stunned: [Is Harper Moon actually a cyborg?] Riding the wave, my new drama aired shortly after. I played a unhinged villainess. The acting was solid, the character was iconic, and I officially leveled up to “It Girl” status. 2 My agency didn’t waste time. Between shoots, they signed me up for a slow-living reality show called Life, Unscripted. The show is famous for being chill, healing, and voyeuristic. No crazy challenges, just vibes. The theme this season? “Companionship.” I invited Julian Vance. In the first episode, the producers asked us to introduce our guest. I opened a photo album for the camera—courtesy of Julian’s mom. “This is my neighbor and childhood bestie, Julian. We grew up together. I’m five years older, but he’s been my shadow since he could walk.” I pointed to a throwback photo. I was in a blue dress, looking like a little princess. Next to me was Julian—round face, big eyes, looking like the Michelin Man’s cute son. He had chocolate smeared all over his mouth, holding a wrapper, licking it like it was gold. “Julian had a massive sweet tooth. One time, he was eating a candy bar and his baby tooth fell out. He started bawling, asking me if he was turning into a grandpa. He was terrified he couldn’t eat ribs or gummies anymore, or play tag with me because ‘old people fall apart.’” I flipped the page to a photo of Julian in his teenage years. The back of a head with neon orange hair. “He had an emo phase. He got obsessed with those Wattpad bad boys. He’d walk around saying stuff like, ‘Say the word, and I’ll burn the world for you.’ Eventually, he insisted on dyeing his hair because ‘all the misunderstood alphas have dyed hair.’ I couldn’t stop him, so I went with him. The stylist botched it. He wanted blonde; he got traffic cone orange. He cried all night saying he looked like a minion.” The producers were cracking up. They asked why the photo only showed his back. “Oh, his eyes were swollen shut from crying. He looked like he went twelve rounds with Tyson. He refused to turn around.” 3 The live chat was losing it. Everyone thought Julian was a lovable idiot. [LMAO help! ‘Say the word and I’ll burn the world?’ That is peak cringe and I love it.] [I’m wheezing. We all had that phase, but the orange hair? Foul.] [Did anyone catch that Harper went with him to get it done? She’s a real one. If my brother did that, I’d roast him. She really spoiled him.] [I bet when Harper played that delinquent role, she used Julian as her muse. You can’t fake that kind of trauma.] While the chat was roasting him, a knock echoed on the door. I opened it to see a familiar, handsome face. 6’2″, broad shoulders, narrow waist, legs for days. Pale skin, sharp jawline, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. But his eyes… they were soft, smiling eyes. He pushed his glasses up, looked down at me, and said in that velvety voice, “Hey, Moon.” The live chat froze. The sheer visual impact silenced the trolls. Then, the name tag appeared on screen: Julian Vance. [??? Excuse me? That’s the orange-haired crybaby? NOBODY TOLD ME HE GLOWED UP LIKE THIS?!] 4 Even the director paused, mumbling, “That is an aggressively handsome man.” While everyone else was swooning, I walked up to him and frowned. “Jules, aren’t you dying of heatstroke?” I looked at his three-piece bespoke suit. It looked incredible, sure. But it was 95 degrees in Los Angeles today. Julian’s gentle smile twitched. The cracks started to show. He looked down, a flash of grievance in his eyes, and mumbled, “Don’t I look good? Isn’t this your favorite style? Why aren’t you praising me…” “I…” Before I could say ‘you’re gonna melt,’ he pivoted. “Yeah, actually, it is hot. So hot.” He immediately shed the blazer, revealing a crisp white dress shirt. No tie. Top button undone, showing off a sliver of collarbone. The vibe shifted instantly from ‘CEO’ to ‘Hot College Senior.’ He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing veiny forearms. Then, catching me staring at his hands, he smirked subtly. He reached for his collar again. One button. Two buttons… He grit his teeth, looked like he was making a life-or-death decision, and went for the third button. “Stop.” I grabbed his hand. “Any lower and we get demonetized, Jules. This isn’t that kind of website. If you’re hot, go take a shower.” The chat exploded. [OPEN IT! I AM LOOKING RESPECTFULLY!] [This is the premium content I pay my internet bill for!] [LMAO Harper really said ‘Bonk, go to horny jail.’ What kind of website did she think he was aiming for?] [Is nobody gonna mention that Julian is practically doing a striptease for her? I bet 5 bucks he’s in love with her.] 5 A memory flashed in my mind. Back when I was prepping for The Martial Artist, I spent two months in the gym. Julian was there every day. He said he was doing a “summer shred” and needed to manage his physique. He’d send me daily progress pics of his chest, abs, and biceps, claiming he needed me to “evaluate his gains.” I watched him transform from lean to ripped, though he kept it classy—lean muscle, like a Greek statue. After I finished that role and moved on to learning piano for the next one, we stopped going to the gym together. I wondered if he still had that six-pack… Judging by the way his shirt clung to him, yeah. He definitely did. I snapped out of it and noticed Julian’s ears were bright red. I was standing too close. He was wearing long sleeves. He really must be overheating. I stepped back, creating distance. “Still too hot? I’ll lower the AC.” Seeing me back away, Julian’s eyes dimmed with disappointment, but he nodded obediently. [Look at those red ears! Is it the heat? I don’t buy it.] [Neither do I.] [He’s so innocent! A tall, handsome, childhood friend? I ship it. The Leopard and the Cat!] [I accepted this ship in zero seconds.]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387330”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After Mom divorced Dad—who was always “too busy” to be home—life got tough. She adopted the “calm and collected” persona. Never fought for anything, never raised her voice. The neighbors all said she was a saint. So, I became her mouthpiece. The things she “couldn’t” say, I said. The people she was “too polite” to offend, I cursed out. The neighbors all whispered that I was petty and rude, nothing like my saintly mother. Then one day, a local drunk tried to assault her. Mom was putting up a desperate fight. Without thinking, I grabbed a glass bottle and smashed it over his head, saving her. I ran to the stairwell to call for help, but Mom shoved me from behind. I tumbled down the stairs, spine shattering against the concrete steps. Paralyzed from the neck down. It turned out her “desperate fight” was just foreplay. It turned out the drunk was her high school crush, the bad boy she never got over. They moved in together immediately. One afternoon, I woke up from a nap because the bed was shaking. I opened my eyes to see the drunk on top of me. I wanted to fight, but my body wouldn’t move. In a panic, I screamed for Mom. But then I saw her peeking through the doorway. Her eyes weren’t filled with horror, but with jealousy. Despair swallowed me whole. I bit my tongue off, but I didn’t die. So I starved myself. That finally did it. Mom shook her head, sighing with fake pity. “I told you not to be so hot-tempered. You should be calm like a chrysanthemum. Now look, you’ve lost your life.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the divorce. My parents asked me: “Who do you want to live with?” I chose Mom, of course. I have a debt to repay for her “great kindness.” 1 “Nina, who do you choose?” Mom asked, calm and confident as always. Dad looked devastated, but a glimmer of unrealistic hope still shone in his eyes. He pleaded silently. I buried the hatred deep in my eyes. “I choose… actually, let me use the bathroom first. You guys discuss the other stuff!” I pulled out my cracked phone—Mom’s hand-me-down—and texted Dad: [Dad, I want to live with you, but I’m going to choose Mom. Please don’t be sad. I’ll come back to you soon. Delete this after reading.] I flushed the toilet and walked out. Dad looked like a new man. The despair was gone, replaced by a rosy glow of vitality. I never realized how much my choice in my past life had destroyed him. Mom shot him a look of disdain and started her PUA routine: “Guess I wasted my time. Can’t wait to go meet your little mistress before the ink is even dry, huh?” 2 The “mistress” Mom referred to was Aunt Diane, Dad’s childhood friend. She had pursued him once, but Dad was already in love with Mom. Dad, being the honest idiot he was, told Mom everything. Back then, Mom just laughed it off. Proud as a peacock, she wouldn’t deign to be jealous of a “country bumpkin.” Now that she wanted a divorce, she suddenly cared about Aunt Diane, painting Dad as morally bankrupt. But in my past life, it was this “country bumpkin” who brought me food and water after I was paralyzed. Dad argued back, face red, but Mom just crossed her arms and said coolly, “See? I hit a nerve. Why else would you react so strongly?” Dad was clumsy with words. Every time he tried to defend himself—”I haven’t even spoken to her in years!”—Mom would cut him off with a breezy, “I don’t believe you. Don’t bother explaining.” “I didn’t do it!” Dad shouted again, but this time, his voice was firm. Because he knew his daughter believed him. 3 In my last life, Dad gave Mom the house and most of his savings because he was afraid I’d suffer. He left with almost nothing. Mom accepted it all calmly, as if she were doing him a favor. “He gave it willingly,” she’d say. I suspect she had been badmouthing Dad to me for years, using the “evil stepmother” trope to scare me into choosing her, all to secure his assets. The irony is, I believed her lies, chose her, and walked straight into hell. “You want to eat? Make it yourself. Girls need to be independent. Go wash the dishes!” She’d push dirty plates at me—leftovers from her delicious stir-fry while I stared at my bowl of plain white rice. When I lived with Dad, he never let me touch dish soap, saying it would ruin my hands. “Just study,” he’d say. With Mom, even adding an egg to my instant noodles was a crime. “I need that for breakfast tomorrow. Why are you so greedy?” She canceled my piano lessons immediately. “You have no talent. Why waste the teacher’s time?” 4 “Nina, hurry up. Me or your dad?” Mom stared at me intensely. I didn’t disappoint her. “I choose Mom.” Mom smiled, a victory lap in her eyes. “Jack, she made her choice. Now let’s talk assets.” I almost laughed looking at the divorce agreement she drafted. It left Dad with nothing. This was my “saintly” mother. In my past life, she used me as a weapon. This life, I’m aiming that weapon right back at her. “Mom, if Dad gives us the house, where will he live? We can go to Grandma’s, but he’ll be homeless! He just lost me, now he loses his home? That’s so sad!” Mom’s face twisted. Her “thoughtful little jacket” was suddenly letting in a draft. She stammered, trying to maintain her persona. “Well… I didn’t really want this dump, it’s just closer to your school.” I cut off her retreat. “Oh, Mom, Grandma’s house is only a few minutes further by bus. It’s fine.” Mom’s face went dark. “I… I’m doing this for you!” I smiled, showing all my teeth. “Don’t worry, Mom! I have a conscience, just like you taught me. I wouldn’t let Dad be homeless just to save five minutes on a bus ride!” Mom’s face cycled through colors like a broken traffic light. 5 With no other choice, she glared at me and changed the agreement. Dad kept the house, but he had to pay her $60,000. They both signed. The divorce cooling-off period was over, so the paperwork went through fast. They got their divorce certificates. Mom let out a huge breath. She had been terrified Dad would back out. “Transfer the $60,000 to my account,” Mom said, her “calm” facade cracking with greed. “Mom, what’s the rush? Let’s transfer the house title to Dad first.” Mom frowned but went along with it. A few days later, the title transfer was done. “Now transfer the money!” Mom’s patience was gone. “Didn’t you lend your brother $80,000?” Dad said coldly. “You keep $60,000 of that debt. Transfer the remaining $20,000 to me. Here’s my account number.” This was the script Dad and I rehearsed. Mom’s brain short-circuited. The math was simple: Assets were split. The $80,000 loan was a marital asset. Dad was owed half. Mom: ??? “Jack, what do you mean? You’re not paying me, and I owe you $10,000? You tricked me?!” Her “calm” persona shattered into a screech. Dad looked innocent. “I didn’t trick you. Just stating facts.” “You know my brother used that money for a house! He can’t pay it back now! How am I supposed to live?!” “How you live is none of my business. You knew he couldn’t pay it back, so why did you lend it?” 6 Dad was a steelworker. Hard labor, long hours, living on-site. Mom called it “never being home.” Years of sun and sweat made his skin rough and dark. Mom, pampered with skincare products paid for by him, looked young and fresh. The work was brutal, but the pay was good. Dad handed every paycheck to Mom. After expenses and mortgage, they had saved $80,000 in eight years. Then my uncle needed a house and a dowry. Grandma called, spun a sob story, and Mom—saint that she was—wired him the entire savings. When Dad found out, he nearly had a stroke. Mom just said, “Money is worldly. Helping my brother is a good deed.” Dad literally coughed blood and passed out. When he woke up in the hospital, he realized Mom wasn’t a partner. From then on, he stopped giving her his savings. Just a fixed allowance. Mom knew she messed up, but she refused to apologize. She just endured the budget cuts. Life was quiet until Mom met Steve. 7 We were at a noodle shop one day. A middle-aged man across from us poured half a bottle of liquor into his noodles, slurping loudly. The owner came over. “Sir, no alcohol allowed here. Please respect the rules.” “I paid! I’ll drink if I want!” The man yelled. The argument caught Mom’s attention. “Steve?” “Jen? Cough… is that you?” Steve’s voice turned instantly gentle, trying to hide his drunken crudeness. He was slightly chubby, dressed in a cheap suit, with soft hands that had never seen a day of hard work. “Sorry owner, I won’t drink.” Steve tried to eat his boozy noodles. The owner took the bowl away. “No alcohol means no alcohol.” Steve’s face darkened, but he forced a smile. “Fine, bring me a fresh bowl.” “Jen, is this your daughter?” Steve looked at me. Mom looked uncomfortable, tucking hair behind her ear. “Yes.” I got the feeling she didn’t want to admit I was hers. “Time flies! She’s so big now.” Steve gave me a “kind uncle” smile, but his eyes were greedy. He kept glancing at me while talking to Mom. I felt like bugs were crawling on my skin. I ate fast. “Mom, I’m done. You hurry up, I have homework.” Mom scowled. “Leave if you’re done. Interrupting adults is rude. Who did you get that rash personality from?” I ran out. Looking back, Mom and Steve had probably been hooking up long before the divorce. Poor Dad was clueless.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387346”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The apartment complex where I live has a high number of elderly residents, many of whom struggle just to care for themselves, let alone shop and cook a full meal. Seeing their plight, I started something I called The Five-Dollar Supper Club. For just five dollars, they got a hot meal with two protein dishes and a side of vegetables. For those with mobility issues, I even delivered it right to their door. I’d been running it for three months when suddenly, someone jumped out and accused me of using rotten ingredients, claiming my food had sent an old man to the hospital. “My father was fine this morning, but after eating your charity meal, he was violently ill—vomiting and everything. He almost died!” The very same grandmothers and grandfathers who had been thanking me just a day before now stood silent. Not a single person spoke up in my defense. I thought about the hours I spent every day, starting before dawn, picking out the absolute freshest ingredients, and how I was losing money on every single plate I served. Suddenly, the entire endeavor felt utterly meaningless. “Very well,” I said, my voice heavy. “If that is the case, The Five-Dollar Supper Club is canceled. I’m done.” 1 “Harper, make sure you save me a portion of the braised pork today. My old man loves the way you make it!” “Harper, my mother can’t manage the stairs. Please deliver at the usual time. Thank you!” My phone was buzzing constantly, a flurry of messages from the Supper Club’s group chat. Then, Mrs. Rodriguez posted a voice note. “Oh, thank goodness Harper started this supper club!” “We have so many seniors here whose kids aren’t nearby. Cooking is a hassle. They used to just scrape by on instant ramen or cold bread. It broke my heart.” “Now, Harper gives them two mains and a side for only five dollars, and he brings it right to their door. The vegetables are stewed nice and soft—perfect for our folks. It has solved a huge problem!” As soon as her message ended, a wave of agreement flooded the chat. “Yes, yes! Mrs. Rodriguez is spot on! My dad used to live on leftovers, but now he eats a hot meal every day. He’s in much better spirits!” “Harper is truly a good soul. I did the math—five dollars doesn’t even cover the cost of the ingredients. He’s definitely subsidizing this himself!” Watching the messages scroll across the screen, I felt the strength return to my arms as I stirred the pot. For the past three months, I’d been up at five every morning to drive to the wholesale market for ingredients. Then it was back to washing, chopping, and cooking until the lunch rush at eleven. I often didn’t finish the deliveries and get a chance to eat my own lunch until two or three in the afternoon. Five dollars a meal barely covered the ingredients; utilities and gas all came out of my pocket. Sometimes, when a senior forgot their wallet, I’d just wave them off. I knew the tastes and dietary needs of everyone in that group chat. Occasionally, a neighbor, feeling guilty, would overpay by ten or twenty dollars, and I’d save that money to buy things like disposable containers or sanitizing wipes for the kitchen. The gratitude and reliance of my neighbors were the only fuel I needed. I was just about to type a reply to the group when a rough voice boomed from the doorway. “Harper! Get out here! Don’t you dare try to run!” My heart sank. I put down my stirring spoon and hurried over. Standing in the doorway was a man in his mid-thirties, face flushed red, eyes full of aggression. Several neighbors had already gathered nearby, watching the spectacle. “Can I help you, sir?” I asked, confused. “Help me?” The man’s voice was enormous, making my ears ring. “My father ate your supper club meal, and now he’s violently ill. He’s on an IV drip in the hospital right now, nearly dead!” “Does that sound like something you can help me with?” I froze for a second, then quickly pressed for details. “Who is your father? What exactly did he eat today? Did he eat anything else with it?” “My father is Mr. Davies from Building Three, Unit Two!” The man pointed a finger at my face, his tone turning even more menacing. “He ate the braised pork and the stir-fried greens you delivered yesterday at noon. By evening, he was vomiting and had diarrhea. The doctor called it food poisoning!” “Were you using expired ingredients? Are you so greedy for money that you’d poison old people?” My mind went blank, and the blood rushed to my head. 2 “Absolutely not! The ingredients here are bought fresh every single morning! There is no way anything is expired!” “Mr. Davies’s meal was cooked exactly the same as everyone else’s. If everyone else is fine, how could his meal cause food poisoning?” “The same? I bet you only feed the good stuff to your friends and save the garbage for the elderly!” The man sneered and threw an empty takeout container violently onto the floor. “Five dollars for two mains and a side? How could you possibly make a profit? You must be using bruised vegetables and expired meat that nobody else would take!” “If anything happens to my father, I will hold you responsible!” “How dare you say that!” I was shaking with anger. “I never intended to make a profit running this club! I lose money every single day! I just wanted to help solve a problem for our community. You can’t just go around slandering people!” “Slander?” The man—Luke Weaver, I now realized—took a step closer, towering over me. “My father is sick after eating your food. That is proof! What else do you have to say?” By now, the doorway was packed with neighbors, all whispering. “Mr. Davies got food poisoning? That serious?” “Harper seems so honest, not the type to use bad ingredients.” “But the son says his dad is in the hospital. Maybe the food really was tainted.” “Five dollars is incredibly cheap. Could there actually be a catch?” “I ate it today, and I think my stomach feels a little off… is that just my mind playing tricks?” Hearing their murmurings, a chill ran from my head to my feet. I rushed back into the kitchen, fumbling in a drawer for my purchase receipts and ledger. “Look! These are yesterday’s receipts! I bought the produce this morning. The vendor’s stamp is here. You can go verify this at the market!” “This is my ledger. I record what I buy and how much I spend every day. I absolutely do not use expired ingredients!” Luke didn’t even look. He swept the receipts and the ledger off the counter and onto the floor. “How do I know those receipts aren’t fake? How do I know that ledger isn’t a lie?” “All I know is my father got sick after your food. You have to pay for this!” I crouched down, gathering the scattered papers, and looked up at the surrounding neighbors. So many of them had benefited from my help. I’d delivered meals, warmed up dishes for them, and even let them wait in my little kitchen when they were locked out of their homes. Yet now, not one person stepped forward to defend me. Mrs. Rodriguez opened her mouth as if to speak, but the man next to her nudged her arm, and she swallowed her words. Everyone else either looked down or averted their gaze. In that moment, the warmth in my heart vanished completely, replaced by a devastating sense of injury and rage. I had been working from dawn till dark, selecting the best ingredients, cooking the cleanest food, subsidizing it with my own money and labor—and all I got in return was the label of a poisoner. Why did I do it? For a simple “thank you,” and the quiet satisfaction of helping others. Now, my efforts were casually dismissed, my goodwill trampled. All those thanks and compliments felt like a sick joke. Looking at the cold, judging faces of my neighbors, I suddenly felt that this whole thing was utterly, completely pointless. “I use the freshest ingredients every day. My conscience is clear, and I have nothing to hide from anyone who has eaten my food.” “You have no proof that my food is the problem, yet you are publicly assassinating my character. I won’t accept this.” “Since my kindness is being treated as dirt, and my hard work isn’t worth basic trust, The Five-Dollar Supper Club is done. I will not operate again starting today.” With that, I turned to the wall, grabbed the handmade sign for the Supper Club, and slammed it onto the floor. 3 The sign shattered, and many onlookers froze. “Oh, Harper, why are you doing this?” Someone sounded genuinely worried now. But I just looked at them coolly. “You’re all too scared to eat my food anyway, so what’s the difference if I stop now?” I started gathering my things, ready to leave this heartbreaking place. But Luke Weaver wasn’t finished. “Trying to run away when you can’t argue your way out of it?” He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed my arm. “If I let you escape today, you can call me by a different name!” he warned, glaring at me. I instinctively tried to shake off his hand. But Luke Weaver immediately dropped to the floor, letting out a dramatic wail. “Ouch! Not only did you hurt my dad, now you’re trying to hurt me, too?” He contorted his face into a mask of pain. The crowd of newcomers who hadn’t seen the beginning instantly erupted. “Harper, what are you doing? He just had a suspicion, and you’re getting physical?” “I knew there couldn’t be someone that stupid, running a non-profit just to help people! He’s so desperate to run away, there must be a catch!” “Exactly! Everyone, keep an eye on him! Don’t let him leave!” The crowd surrounded me, sealing the exit. Luke Weaver grinned smugly at me from the floor. “Apologize right now! Or don’t blame me for hitting an old man!” My face was burning red. I’ve never been good at confrontation, and being unjustly accused like this left me speechless. “I barely touched you! You’re the one who grabbed me!” I stammered, trying to explain. But a man in the crowd countered, “If you weren’t trying to run, would he have needed to grab you?” “He was the one who said my food was tainted first!” I retorted, feeling dizzy with frustration. The people surrounding me—men, women, and even some kids—were all people I had dealt with casually. Now, they were all looking at me with the eyes of a suspect. They didn’t have to trust me, but why were they so easily siding with Luke Weaver? Was it just because he was a better actor? “Well, there was a problem. I heard someone just now say their stomach felt off after eating it!” “Yeah! If you’re innocent, why are you trying to escape?” “I think we should all go to the doctor and get checked out. If there’s anything wrong, we need to demand compensation from this old scammer!” I could see the ugly truth on all their faces. Once the seed of suspicion was planted, any little piece of bad news would inevitably be pinned on me. For a brief, crushing moment, I felt utterly exhausted. “Luke Weaver, what exactly do you want?” I asked, looking over at him with a bitter smile. He looked back, radiating self-satisfaction. “What do I want? I want you to pay for it, of course!” “My dad’s IV drips and other costs are at least a thousand dollars!” He rolled his eyes greedily. 4 I looked at the triumphant Luke Weaver, completely drained in body and spirit. Coupled with the judgmental stares of the crowd, I finally gave up on trying to explain. “One thousand dollars, you say? I’ll give it to you.” My voice was flat now. I retrieved my cash box and counted out the bills, handing the exact amount to Luke. “Can I leave now?” I didn’t want to waste another moment on them. I’d consider it the price of peace, and since I would never restart the Supper Club, I wouldn’t be coming back here again. “Hold on!” Just as I turned to leave, Luke stopped me again. “The doctor said my dad has serious liver damage because of the food poisoning! Follow-up treatment will be at least ten thousand dollars!” He held out his hand to me. My eyes widened in shock. “Ten thousand dollars? I only have three thousand dollars to my name! If I give you that, I’ll only have two thousand left. You can’t drive a person to ruin!” I glared at Luke, outraged. He was clearly just price-gouging, taking advantage of my good nature to demand more money. But Luke didn’t care. “Me driving you to ruin? If you’ve got a problem, come with me to the hospital and hear what the doctor says!” He grabbed my collar. “I’m only asking for ten thousand because I’m being generous! Otherwise, my dad’s future treatment will cost eighty or even a hundred thousand!” Luke threatened, his expression smug. My face went scarlet. But what was even worse was the crowd of onlookers. “Hey, my stomach hasn’t been feeling right either! You owe me money, too!” “That’s right, I’m not feeling great either. I won’t ask for much, but you should give me at least five hundred dollars, right?” Seeing that there was money to be extorted, these people all rushed forward to demand compensation! The sight of their ugly, avaricious faces hit me like a physical blow. I couldn’t catch my breath, my vision went white, and I collapsed.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387362”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The wedding was imminent. But my fiancé had just fallen in love at first sight with a con artist masquerading as an heiress. To save the strategic merger between our families, I did the dirty work. I hired a private investigator, compiled a dossier of damning evidence, and confronted the woman myself. When she saw the file, she trembled. She took my hush money, wrote a confession, and promised to disappear. My fiancé, Warner, was grateful I’d handled the “mess.” We married on schedule. But weeks later, in a glass-walled igloo deep in the Icelandic wilderness, he spiked my champagne. As the paralysis set in, I begged him for my life. He only laughed, his breath pluming in the freezing air. “She wasn’t honest about her past, Sutton, but her love for me was pure,” he sneered, watching the life drain out of me. “You drove her to suicide. A life for a life.” Only then did I realize: the con artist hadn’t left. She had faked her death to frame me. Trapped, freezing, and dying, I used my last ounce of strength to drag him out the door with me, plunging us both into the glacial crevasse. If I was going to turn into a statue of ice, he was coming with me. When I opened my eyes, the cold was gone. I was back in the library of the rental villa, the dossier in my hand, standing in front of the woman. Before I could speak, the doors flew open. Warner stormed in, snatched the file from my hands, and tossed it directly into the roaring fireplace. “Not this time,” he declared, his voice shaking with a terrifying conviction. “No one is going to tear us apart.” I nodded slowly, the ghost of the glacial chill still clinging to my bones. Her father, a grifter. Her mother, a gambling addict. A brother who treats the state penitentiary like a second home. Two children she abandoned… If you want to keep her, Warner, be my guest. I won’t stop you. 1 My fiancé, Warner Huntingdon, shielded Ivy Sinclair—the woman pretending to be Old Money royalty—behind his back. His face was washed in the relief of a man who had recovered a lost treasure. He ignored me completely, muttering to himself like a madman. “Thank God. Thank God I was on time. It’s not too late.” He turned to her, his voice dropping to a tender whisper. “Ivy, you don’t have to worry about anything. I know everything about you. You don’t need to be ashamed of your background. Someone like Sutton Mercer could never understand the depth of what we have.” Ivy, seeing the evidence turning to ash in the hearth, quickly shoved the check I had given her back into my purse. “Ms. Mercer,” she said, her voice trembling with practiced fragility, “true love isn’t for sale.” Watching this grotesque tableau, I finally confirmed it. The flashes of memory weren’t hallucinations. I had died and come back. And judging by the frantic look in Warner’s eyes, so had he. In our previous life, Warner had been possessed, obsessed with Ivy. I hadn’t loved him—our union was a boardroom deal, nothing more. I would have stepped aside, but Ivy’s rival had approached me with the truth. When I investigated and found layers of fraud, I intervened, thinking I was saving a childhood friend from a predator. I underestimated her. Ivy was smarter than I gave her credit for. She had fed Warner a “montage lie”—half-truths mixed with romance—convincing him she was a fallen princess too proud to ask for help. When she “died,” Warner played the grieving widower, married me to secure his inheritance, and then quietly sabotaged my family’s business from the inside. He wanted me to die knowing I was leaving my parents destitute. Remembering the agony of freezing to death, I smiled. I clapped my hands, a slow, hollow sound in the room. “Your love is truly inspiring,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ve decided to withdraw. I wish you both the best.” I turned and walked out of that rented mansion without a backward glance. 2 I had barely crossed the threshold of my parents’ estate when Warner arrived, Ivy in tow. I hadn’t had time to break the news to my parents yet. When they saw Warner interlocking fingers with another woman, the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. “Warner,” my father said, his tone warning. “What is the meaning of this?” “Have you forgotten who you are engaged to?” my mother added, eyeing Ivy with distaste. “And Sutton told us about this woman. She’s a fraud. No business overseas, no—” “Enough!” Warner shouted, silencing the room. “I know what you people think,” he spat. “Yes, Ivy comes from a different world. But she is sincere! You think she approached me for my money? There are plenty of rich men, but she chose me. That proves it’s love!” He took a breath, puffing out his chest. “I’m here to break the engagement. I know our families have a contract. I know you need the Huntingdon capital.” He smirked, a cruel glint in his eye. “So, I’ll offer a compromise. I will marry Sutton. But behind closed doors, she will be nothing more than a servant to me and Ivy. To the public, she’s Mrs. Huntingdon. In this house, she’s the help.” Ivy chimed in, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Sister Sutton, don’t worry. I’m sure we can get along.” Warner looked at her like she was a saint. He turned back to me. “And if you dare try to compete with Ivy, I will bankrupt the Mercer family.” My parents were purple with rage. “Who told you we needed your money? The audits clearly show—” I cut my father off. He didn’t know the future. The merger benefited the Huntingdons far more than us. If the deal fell through, it was Warner’s family who would suffer. But I didn’t want Warner to know that yet. I squeezed my father’s arm and looked Warner in the eye. “I accept the breakup.” The dissolution of the Mercer-Huntingdon engagement sent shockwaves through New York society. But Warner was too busy playing house with Ivy to notice. By the time his parents found out and demanded he crawl back to me, Warner had hatched a plan. He convinced them that Ivy was a secret heiress, her wealth temporarily tied up in offshore trusts, matching my family’s status. Of course, I helped him sell the lie. Without my subtle interventions in the background, his parents would have uncovered the truth in an hour. So, the wedding date was set. I thought I’d seen the last of Ivy for a while, but fate is funny. I was at the bridal salon for a final fitting when she waltzed in. She pointed a manicured finger at the gown behind me—my gown. “Sutton,” she said, entitlement radiating off her. “That dress belongs to me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll hand it over.” I paused. I had designed that dress. I had flown to Paris to select the lace. It was only back in the shop because I’d lost a few pounds from stress and needed it taken in. “Ms. Sinclair,” I said coolly. “With your vast family fortune, surely you can commission your own gown? Or is taking other people’s things a pathology for you?” The shop assistants, who read the tabloids, covered their mouths to hide their giggles. Ivy’s face went pale. She wasn’t used to resistance from me. She wasn’t the type to back down, though. Suddenly, she slapped herself hard across the face, twice, and collapsed to the floor, sobbing. “Ms. Mercer! I know I shouldn’t have fallen in love with Warner, but I can’t help my heart! You can beat me, but I won’t give him up!” I stared at her, genuinely impressed by the performance. But before I could react, the door slammed open. 3 “Sutton Mercer! How dare you!” Warner stormed in, bristling with rage. “I told you to stay away from us! Ivy is my wife in every way that matters!” Ivy looked up through tear-filled lashes. “Warner, it’s a misunderstanding! I… I just fell. I fell right onto Sutton’s hand. It’s not her fault!” It was a masterclass in manipulation. Warner looked ready to explode. “I’m calling the police,” he snarled. “I don’t want a settlement. I want you in jail. Don’t worry, you won’t be lonely; I’ll make sure your whole family joins you.” As he pulled out his phone, I turned to the shop manager, my voice calm and bored. “Please save the footage from all eighteen 4K security cameras. The police will appreciate the evidence.” I looked back at Warner. “I don’t accept mediation either. filing a false police report is a crime, isn’t it? I wonder if a prison sentence will interfere with your wedding date?” Ivy froze. She realized too late that a high-end Manhattan bridal salon had better surveillance than a casino. “Warner… don’t call,” she stammered. “It really was an accident.” Warner wasn’t stupid. He saw the panic in her eyes. He lowered the phone, the realization dawning on him that the footage would show something very different from her story. The silence stretched, awkward and heavy. I smiled at Ivy. “If you like the dress so much, you can buy it. I’m sure with your combined ‘wealth,’ a hundred thousand dollars is pocket change, right?” Warner wanted to defend her honor, but he had given all his liquidity to his parents to prove Ivy’s financial standing. His cards were maxed out. He couldn’t buy a veil in this shop, let alone the gown. Defeated and humiliated, with no one offering them a graceful exit, they slunk out of the store like thieves. For the next few weeks, they were ghosts. Rumor had it they were holed up in Ivy’s rental, afraid to show their faces. I didn’t see them again until the day of the wedding. I was standing at the entrance of the Plaza Hotel, wearing the dress, greeting guests. Warner saw me and his face darkened. “Sutton, have you no shame?” he hissed, marching up to me. “I dumped you. Why are you standing here in a wedding dress? Are you hoping I’ll take you back as a mistress?” His eyes lit up with a twisted hope. In his mind, I was still the pathetic woman who loved him to death. “Is that it?” he laughed, arrogant. “You know I only said those things to hurt you, right? I didn’t mean to drive you crazy.” Ivy stood beside him in a rented gown that fit poorly. She looked at me, radiant in the dress she had coveted, surrounded by the elite of New York. Her eyes were red with envy. “Sister Sutton,” she said through gritted teeth. “You agreed to the breakup. Wearing a wedding dress here… it’s desperate. Warner and I have our marriage license. You’re practically making a move on a married man.” I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. The guests around me joined in, a ripple of amusement moving through the crowd. “First,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye, “my family owns this hotel.” “Second, if you’d bother to read the sign, this is my wedding to my husband. Not yours.” “And finally,” I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a chill, “get the hell out of my way. You’re bad luck.” 4 Warner and Ivy finally looked around. The signage was clear. The guests were mostly from my side of the aisle, or mutual business associates who had clearly chosen a side. And the groom… the man waiting for me inside was a titan. Compared to him, the Huntingdon family was new money trying too hard. Warner’s face drained of color. “We broke up less than a month ago,” he stammered. “Do you have no respect for feelings? Will you marry anyone just to help your family’s business?” I rolled my eyes internally. In our world, feelings were volatile liabilities; interests were stable assets. A marriage bound by profit was often stronger than one bound by passion. But that wasn’t a speech for a wedding day. “What?” I scoffed. “You can fall in love at first sight and elope, but I can’t dump a loser and find my soulmate? Don’t flatter yourself, Warner. You know who I’m marrying. He’s ten times the man you are.” Warner was speechless. Ivy, vibrating with jealousy, tried to salvage the moment. “Warner, don’t you see? To her, love is just a transaction. She’d marry a checkbook. I’m different. I love you, not your inheritance.” Warner seemed to relax at that. “You’re right,” he said, lifting his chin. “Sutton, my family business is facing a temporary liquidity crisis. We’re near bankruptcy.” He said it like a test. “But it’s temporary. Ivy doesn’t care. She’s standing by me to rebuild. Unlike you, who jumped ship for a bigger yacht.” I ignored him and turned to Ivy, smiling sweetly. “You do know, don’t you? The Mercer-Huntingdon merger wasn’t to save my family. It was to save his. Since I was going to be marrying down anyway, I figured I might as well marry up. At least now I don’t have to worry about whether the electricity stays on.” Before I could say more, Warner’s parents came running from the ballroom across the hall—the smaller, less prestigious venue they had booked. “What are you doing here?” his mother gasped. “Didn’t you get the venue change notification?” The crowd looked at them with pity. Warner’s parents straightened their spines. “Yes, our business has hit a snag,” his father announced loudly. “But our new daughter-in-law, Ivy, is no ordinary woman. Once the Sinclair trust funds transfer, the Huntingdon empire will be untouchable.” I laughed so hard I nearly choked. I pointed toward the hotel entrance. “Speaking of family,” I said, gasping for air. “You’re so busy crashing my wedding, you missed your own VIP guests.” Everyone turned. A large, chaotic group was pushing past security. They looked rough—worn down by hard living and bad choices. Warner’s parents looked confused. Ivy stumbled back, her face grey. “How… how are you here?” Two young boys, maybe ten and twelve, broke from the group and sprinted toward her, latched onto her legs. “Mom! Mommy! Why didn’t you tell us you were getting married?” “Is this our new daddy?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387378”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The hot guy downstairs opened a dessert shop because I said I liked sweets. But business was terrible. I actively helped him promote it. Then I discovered the shop only opened when I went there. When my best friend found out, she said it sounded like one of those “pig-butchering” scams where a guy creates a perfect persona just for you. I was scared and stopped going. Later, I heard the shop was closing down. I overheard the hot guy talking to his employee: Employee: “Give up, man. The girl you have a crush on hasn’t come in a week. This shop is dead.” The hot guy looked even more aggrieved, correcting him: “Plus three hours, twenty minutes, and sixteen seconds. Oh, seventeen seconds now…” He got sadder as he spoke. “I’ll never like her again!” Until the next second, his employee saw me and shouted, “Ms. Lin is here!” The hot guy’s eyes lit up instantly. He turned to his employee: “Quick, quick! Are the desserts ready? She loves cream puffs, mochi, and snow skin mooncakes…” 1 A new dessert shop opened in my apartment complex. As a certified dessert addict, I naturally couldn’t miss it. “Hi, I’d like a snow skin mooncake to go.” I called out to an old man dressed as a waiter. “Certainly.” The old man bowed his head to pack the mooncake. His movements were elegant and refined. If he weren’t wearing a waiter’s uniform, I would have mistaken him for a butler in a period drama. I instinctively looked behind him. A tall man was working in the back kitchen with his back to me. Even from the back, I could tell he was hot. Is he the owner? I heard from neighbors that the owner of this dessert shop is a handsome guy. “Miss, your mooncake is ready.” The old man’s voice rang in my ear, quite loud. But even though he was talking to me, his eyes were fixed on the hot owner behind him. Like he was saying it for him to hear. I was stunned. Before I could react, the hot owner suddenly appeared in front of me woosh. He smiled at me. “What a coincidence, Ms. Lin. We meet again.” Only then did I see his face clearly. It was Lucas, the hot guy who moved in downstairs three months ago. 2 Lucas moved in three months ago. He was gentle, polite, and very nice. Whenever he had good food, he’d share it with me. “I can’t finish this, so I thought I’d share with Ms. Lin. To improve neighborly relations.” When I couldn’t carry my packages, he helped. “Since we’re neighbors, it’s normal to help each other.” When my water pipe burst and I couldn’t find a plumber, he found one for me. “I have the number for the complex’s maintenance guy. I’ve already contacted him for you, Ms. Lin. Don’t worry.” Later, after learning I liked desserts, Lucas said he wanted to open a dessert shop. I thought he was joking. I didn’t expect him to actually open one. And right downstairs in our complex. 3 “Ms. Lin, here is your mooncake.” Lucas’s voice brought me back to reality. I saw him handing me the packaged mooncake. “Oh, okay.” I took it and half-joked, “You didn’t open this shop because of what I said, did you?” Lucas nodded. He really opened a dessert shop because of one sentence from me. I was shocked. Isn’t he too nice? Opening a shop costs a ton of money. For someone like me who just started working, it was unimaginable. “But I just said that casually,” I said. “You didn’t have to take it to heart.” Lucas smiled. “Don’t feel burdened, Ms. Lin. I already had the idea of opening a dessert shop.” So that’s it. After that, I went to Lucas’s shop every day to buy desserts. Because the mooncake I took home that day was super delicious. Better than any other shop I’ve bought from. Soft texture, just the right amount of sweetness. It won my heart completely! One day, I went to buy desserts again. “This one, this one, and this one. I’ll take them all.” “Okay, Ms. Lin.” Lucas responded and helped me pack them. After paying, I turned to leave. But Lucas stopped me. “Ms. Lin, tell me what you want to eat tomorrow, and I’ll make it for you.” My feet stopped instantly. I can request specific desserts? Is there such a good thing? But I didn’t agree immediately. Instead, I turned and asked Lucas, “Will this affect your time making other desserts?” After all, he’s running a business. He shouldn’t disrupt his plans for my needs alone. “Don’t worry, Ms. Lin. Making a few desserts won’t delay anything.” Lucas smiled. “Besides, as a regular customer, you have some privileges.” Since Lucas said so, I didn’t hold back. For the next few days, the desserts in Lucas’s shop were all my favorites. Mochi, snow skin mooncakes, cream puffs… I couldn’t even choose. And Lucas gave me a discount. I felt like I couldn’t leave his shop. When I went to buy desserts again, I heard the old man talking to Lucas in the back kitchen. They had their backs to me and didn’t notice I came in. The old man said, “This won’t work. Business is too bad. I don’t know how long the shop can last.” Lucas said, “It’s fine. I didn’t plan on making money anyway.” The old man said, “Then it will close down soon, right?” Close down? At that moment, I was struck by lightning. It can’t close down. I finally found such a perfect dessert shop. I wanted to keep listening, but Lucas spotted me. He came out from the back, smiling and greeting me, “Ms. Lin is here. What dessert would you like today?” 4 After buying desserts and going home, I immediately went online to ask for advice on how to improve a dessert shop’s business. I didn’t want Lucas’s shop to close. Soon, several netizens replied. I clicked through them one by one. Posting online, posting on WeChat Moments… Basically, as long as more people come to the shop, business will be good. And the shop won’t close. These ideas were good. The corners of my mouth couldn’t help but rise. Just as I was about to get to work… I realized I had no promotional material. I had never taken photos or videos of the desserts in the shop. It felt like a setback right at the start. I felt a bit disappointed. But then I thought, I can go take photos tomorrow. I immediately contacted my best friend, Sarah, who works as a photographer. She’s better at taking photos than me and will definitely take good pictures of the desserts. The next day, the time agreed with Sarah arrived. But I hadn’t finished my work and needed to work overtime. So I told Sarah to go first, and I would arrive ten minutes late. After I got off work, Sarah called. “Lily, are you off work? I’m here, but the dessert shop isn’t open.” “Impossible,” I said, surprised. “I usually buy desserts at this time. It’s never been closed.” Sarah asked me if I had the owner’s contact info to check. After hanging up, I opened the chat with Lucas to contact him. Since I bought desserts from him so often, I actively added Lucas’s contact info. Later, whenever I went to buy desserts, I would message him in advance. He would prepare the desserts I wanted. Then I would just pick them up at the shop. I messaged Lucas: [Is the dessert shop not open today?] Lucas replied instantly: [It’s open. What dessert do you want, Ms. Lin? I’ll go prepare it.] I was confused: [But my best friend went to your shop, and the door was closed.] Lucas said: [Delayed by something. I’m going to open the door now.] I see. I ordered a few of my usuals. When I arrived at the shop, Lucas was unlocking the door. Sarah, who had been waiting for a long time, came up to me. She whispered, “As soon as you contact the owner, he opens for business. Honestly, what’s your relationship?” Sarah grinned wickedly, gossiping about me and Lucas. I said, “No relationship. But I feel like I can’t live without him—” Before I could finish, Lucas, who had his back to me, suddenly stumbled. “Are you okay?” I rushed forward to support him. “N-no, I’m fine.” Lucas blushed. Hm? Why is he blushing? I meant I can’t live without his desserts. 5 “I suspect the owner likes you.” As soon as we entered the shop, Sarah whispered to me. “Impossible, right?” I whispered back. “How are you sure?” “Woman’s intuition,” Sarah said. “Otherwise, why did he blush when you said something wrong about not living without him?” That is a bit suspicious. But I still felt it didn’t prove Lucas liked me. We were just ordinary neighbors. I explained to Sarah, and she thought about it and agreed. She started talking about how to shoot the desserts. “Have you told the owner about this?” “Not yet.” I glanced at Lucas busy in the back kitchen and leaned in to Sarah. “I’m afraid the promotion won’t work, and he’ll be happy for nothing. So let’s take photos and post them online first to see.” “Okay.” After the desserts were served, Sarah and I took photos under the pretense of “taking pictures for social media.” After we finished, we packed the desserts to go and left. On the way, Sarah checked the photos in her camera and suddenly said: “Oops, we forgot to take a picture of one dessert.” We hurried back to the shop to take a picture of the forgotten dessert. But when we arrived at the door, we found the shop, which was open just minutes ago, was closed. “So strange.” Sarah looked at the “Closed” sign on the door. She turned to me and said, “As soon as we left, the owner closed the shop. “And when I came here an hour ago, it wasn’t open. You contacted him, and he rushed to open it. Isn’t that weird?” Thinking about it, it was indeed weird. Sarah asked how I met the owner. I told her the whole story. Sarah frowned deeper. “You said a handsome guy you haven’t known for long is treating you so well for no reason. Opening a dessert shop that seems to only open for you… something’s fishy.” Hearing Sarah’s summary, I realized belatedly that something was fishy. “Your vigilance is too low,” Sarah complained. She took out her phone and searched for something. A moment later, my phone beeped several times. I looked down. Sarah sent me several videos, mostly titled “Pig-Butchering Scams.” I clicked to watch. The so-called “pig-butchering” scam. It’s where a scammer creates a perfect persona, treats you well in every way, gets you hooked, and finally cheats you out of your money and heart. Sarah thought Lucas was running a “pig-butchering scam” on me. It just hadn’t reached the point of cheating me yet. Otherwise, why was Lucas so nice to a stranger like me from the beginning? Even excessively nice. Very problematic. “He definitely has bad intentions!” Sarah advised me. “You’d better stop interacting with him to avoid being scammed.” I chose to believe Sarah. If Sarah advised against it, I wouldn’t interact. And I also felt Lucas was suspicious. So for the next few days, I didn’t visit Lucas’s dessert shop.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387394”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel