I walked away from a partnership track at a top Wall Street firm and flew back to the States to slave away for my boyfriendâs startup for three years.
Finally, the day came. We rang the NASDAQ opening bell.
At the celebration gala, under the crystal chandeliers, my boyfriend made an announcement.
He pulled a junior developerâa girl I had hiredâinto his arms. She was his true fiancĂŠe.
She leaned into him, fragile and triumphant, raising her champagne flute at me.
“Elena, thanks for every line of code you wrote over the last three years. Your work is now registered under my name on the patent filing.”
“Oh, and that historic brownstone you sold to keep the company afloat during the seed round? Thatâs going to be our wedding venue.”
Jacob, the man I had loved for seven years, looked at me with a sickening mix of pity and arrogance.
“Elena, what we had was gratitude, not love. Hereâs a check for half a million. Take it. Go start your own life.”
I took the check. Under the gaze of the city’s elite, I tore it into confetti.
I built you up to the IPO. I can certainly tear you down to bankruptcy.
1
The hangover headache was splitting my skull, but my phone vibrating against the nightstand was worse.
I swiped the screen. Dozens of news alerts clogged my notifications.
The headlines were variations on a theme, linking my name with Jacob Thorneâs.
I tapped the trending article. It went live at 3:00 AM.
I had left the gala less than four hours ago.
Jacobâs PR team was nothing if not efficient.
The press release was a masterclass in corporate gaslighting.
“Due to differences in strategic vision, co-founder Elena Shand has voluntarily stepped down and received a generous severance package.”
“CEO Jacob Thorne stated: ‘Though it is difficult, we appreciate Ms. Shand’s contributions. This company will always be her home.’”
The photo was curated perfectly. One of me looking cold and detached during a board meeting. Another of Jacob at the bell-ringing ceremony, looking teary-eyed and exhausted.
He painted himself as the sentimental, burdened entrepreneur. I was the cold-hearted exec taking the money and running.
Generous severance?
You mean the check I shredded?
Hilarious.
I ignored the phone and walked barefoot into the bathroom. The cold tiles grounded me.
The woman in the mirror looked tired, but her eyes were sharp, burning with a cold fire.
Jacob, you think a few press releases can scrub the slate clean?
I threw on a blazer and drove to the office.
It was rush hour. The lobby was buzzing.
Employees who used to bow and scrape now avoided eye contact, parting around me like I was contagious.
I walked straight to the turnstiles.
BEEP.
The light turned red. The screen flashed two offensive words: ACCESS DENIED.
I tried another lane.
ACCESS DENIED.
In the security booth, Old Hank, who I used to bring coffee to every morning, buried his head in a logbook.
I tapped my knuckles on the glass.
“Hank.”
He hesitated, then stood up slowly, forcing a pained smile.
“Ms… Ms. Shand.”
“What’s wrong with my badge?”
“Well…” Hankâs eyes darted around. “Orders came down. Your clearance… it was revoked at midnight.”
He lowered his voice. “Itâs not just the doors. Your email, internal accounts, Slack… everything’s been wiped.”
So much for “this company will always be her home.”
I couldn’t even get past the doormat.
I drove back to my apartment. It was a high-end loft only ten minutes from the HQ.
Jacob had “thoughtfully” leased it for me, saying, “Elena, you work so hard. I hate seeing you commute. Live close so you can rest.”
In hindsight, it was just so I could spend more hours coding.
My landlord was waiting in the lobby, arms crossed, tapping his foot.
“Ms. Shand, finally!”
He shoved a printout in my face.
“Look at this! Your company just emailed. They stopped the automatic rent payments as of today!”
“The lease says the corporate entity pays. If they stop, you go.”
He looked me up and down with a sneer.
“You have three days to vacate.”
“Or I call the Sheriff to toss your stuff on the curb.”
I stared at him until he flinched.
“Three days,” he barked, retreating to the elevator. “I’m not running a charity.”
I walked into the empty loft and collapsed onto the sofa.
Locked out of the company. Kicked out of my home.
Jacob was systematically erasing me.
I pulled out my phone. Over the last three years, I had mentored dozens of engineers. They called me “Master,” “Mentor,” “Boss.”
I dialed Marcus, my first protĂŠgĂŠ.
Three rings. Declined.
I tried Kevin.
Straight to voicemail.
I tried a third, a fourth…
Radio silence.
Just as I was about to throw the phone against the wall, a text popped up from a burner number.
“Elena, itâs Sarah, the intern.”
“Don’t call Marcus or the guys. Jacob called an all-hands meeting at 8 AM. He said anyone caught talking to you gets fired immediately and blacklisted from the industry.”
“They’re scared… take care of yourself.”
The number went dead immediately after.
My finger hovered over the screen.
Good.
Burn the bridges. Salt the earth.
I packed the few things that matteredâclothes, some cheap toiletries, and an old, battered laptop.
It was a brick Iâd bought at a pawn shop during the lean startup days. Once the funding came in, Iâd tossed it in a closet.
I sat on my suitcase, looking around the apartment Iâd lived in for three years.
Jacob, you stole my company, my patent, and my home. You cut my network.
You think youâve won?
You think unplugging my ethernet cable stops me?
I opened the old laptop and blew the dust off the keyboard.
Power on.
The screen flickered, and a familiar command line interface greeted me.
You revoked my admin privileges. You locked the front door.
But you forgot one thing.
I wrote the kernel architecture of that entire building. I wrote the foundational code of the platform.
My fingers flew across the keyboard. Lines of green text cascaded down the black screen like a digital waterfall.
I hit Enter.
ACCESS GRANTED.
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “386674”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
The third year after my death, my husband sent me a lawsuit.
He was suing me. The papers alleged that the kidney I had donated to his childhood sweetheart, Olivia, was defective. He, of course, received no response.
To force me out of hiding, he held a press conference, publicly transferring twenty percent of his company’s shares to her.
When that failed, he finally drove back to my hometown, his patience exhausted.
Our old neighbor was baffled. “Maya? We haven’t seen her since her grandfather passed.”
He pounded on my family’s door, his fury a palpable thing.
My sister was the one who opened it.
“Ethan? Don’t you know? My sister has been dead for two years.”
1
The man, my husband, jammed his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks. A derisive laugh escaped his lips. “What new game is Maya playing now? Faking her death? Trying to make me feel guilty?”
His voice was laced with ice. “She had the nerve to drive her car at Olivia two years ago. All I did was cut off her credit cards, and she throws a tantrum like this?” He shook his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “If Oliviaâs kidney hadn’t started acting up today, I never would have forgiven her.”
My sister Chloe’s brow furrowed, her expression a mixture of grief and disbelief. “My sister has been dead for two years. What are you talking about, you forgive her? Thatâs insane.”
Ethan ignored Chloe completely, his gaze shifting past her into the small house. A flash of white fur caught his eye; our little dog, Buddy, was wagging his tail.
“Don’t even try to lie to me,” Ethan scoffed. “Buddy’s here. Where could Maya have possibly gone?”
He lowered his voice, the sound a low threat. “You tell her I’m giving her an out. If she doesn’t take it, she can stay gone forever.”
As if he understood, Buddy limped forward, barking twice at Ethan’s expensive shoes. Chloe reached down, scooping the little dog into her arms to soothe him. But it was too late. Buddy’s tongue lolled out, and his small body was seized by violent, spasming convulsions.
Chloe scrambled, frantically searching for the small oxygen tank and the tongue depressor. Seeing Buddy like that, a fissure of pain cracked through my soul. I instinctively reached out, my ghostly arms trying to embrace him.
But they passed right through his trembling body.
The cold reality washed over me again. I wasn’t in this world anymore. I could never hold my loved ones again.
A look of disgust twisted Ethanâs handsome features. “Damn dog. You want me to kick you again?”
Two years ago, in a fight over Olivia, Ethan had slapped me across the face. Buddy, ever loyal, had sunk his teeth into Ethan’s leg. Ethan had kicked him so hard he flew across the room. The attack had left Buddy with permanent damage to his right leg and these terrifying stress-induced seizures.
Ethanâs voice dropped to a low warning. “I’ll say it one last time. Get Maya out here. Now.”
“She’s dead!” Chloeâs voice was a raw, desperate scream. “And even if she were alive, she would never want to see you again! Iâd make her stay away from you, find a good man, and build a life that had absolutely nothing to do with you!”
Ethan didn’t believe a word of it.
“So that’s it?” He sneered. “She’s shacked up with some other guy behind my back? Just like Olivia said. A cheap, faithless woman. I must have been blind to ever marry her.”
The words struck me like a physical blow, tearing through the fabric of my spirit. So, this is what it felt like. Even in death, your heart could still break. He and his perfect Olivia had already pushed me to my grave, and still, he stood here, desecrating my memory with his filth. The agony was a wildfire in my soul, scorching me from the inside out.
“How dare you,” Chloe choked out, tears streaming down her face. “Get out. Get out of our house!”
Ethanâs eyes, cold and hard, swept over her. “Your house? Every brick and board of this place was paid for by me, Ethan Blackwood. Didn’t your sister tell you? Even the money for your deadbeat brother’s weddingâthat came from my pocket.”
It was true. Ethan had been our familyâs twisted savior. When my mother was dying, he’d paid the medical bills that saved her life. When my brotherâs fiancĂŠe got pregnant and her family pressured her to have an abortion, Ethan had provided the money that allowed them to marry, the money that allowed my nephew to be born.
And so, in his mind, everything I gave, everything he took, was simply a debt being repaid.
What he never knew, what he never bothered to ask, was that I was born with only one kidney. The doctor who did my pre-donation physical, the one who was supposed to protect me, had been bought off by Olivia long before.
I only found out on the operating table.
The anesthesiologist, in on the scheme, had given me half the standard dose. I drifted in and out of a hazy, paralyzed consciousness, a silent witness to my own violation. I heard them chatting idly as they worked. I felt the searing pain as they removed my only healthy kidney, replacing it with a cold, mechanical device that was a torture chamber inside my own body.
After the surgery, a severe infection took hold. Complications followed with terrifying speed. Less than two weeks later, I was dead.
And all the while, Ethan was by Olivia’s side, whispering comforting words, tending to her recovery, never once thinking of me.
Chloe was sobbing now, her composure shattered. “Mr. Blackwood, if you don’t believe me, then go to the hospital where she had the surgery! Go and ask them!”
“They have my sister’s death certificate!”
Ethan let out a cold, humorless laugh. “I already did. They told me she was discharged without any complications. You can’t even get your lies straight.”
That wasn’t what happened. I died in that hospital. They couldn’t save me. But a simple lie, one that could be disproven with a single phone call, was all it took for Ethan to believe what he wanted to believe.
“Ethan Blackwood! You dare show your face here!”
A new voice, low and shaking with rage, cut through the tension. My brother, Leo, stood in the doorway, his eyes burning red.
2
Leo had just gotten home from his construction job, his face streaked with grime and exhaustion. But the weariness was eclipsed by the inferno of fury in his eyes.
“I’ve paid back every cent we owed you,” he growled. “What the hell are you still doing here?”
Ethan calmly took a cigarette from the pack his assistant offered him, leaning into the flame. Smoke curled around his face, obscuring his expression. “Leo. Your family leeched off my wife, and through her, you leeched off me. Do you really think a debt like that can ever be ‘paid in full’?”
A flicker of pain crossed Leo’s face. He looked down, his voice a low murmur. “You’re right. I was a burden to her. But you⌠you have no right to say that to me.”
He lunged forward, grabbing the collar of Ethanâs expensive shirt. “I was the only one who told her not to marry you. She knelt on our doorstep for a day and a night to get my blessing⌔ His voice broke. “And what was the result? You shattered her heart. You got her killed! You should be off somewhere with your precious Olivia, living happily ever after. You have no business being here, disturbing her spirit!”
“Ethan! You’re a piece of garbage, worse than an animal!”
Ethanâs face hardened. He calmly pressed the glowing tip of his cigarette onto the back of Leo’s hand.
Flesh sizzled. “Leo!” Chloe screamed.
“It was just a kidney,” Ethan said, his voice dangerously quiet. “I gave her ten million dollars for it. What kind of garbage is that generous?” He shoved Leo back. “She agreed to it herself. Don’t you dare try to blame me now.”
Leo cradled his burned hand. “What ten million? The fifty thousand for the wedding and the half-million for Mom’s treatment, I paid it all back! Stop spewing your lies!”
“You took the money and now you deny it. Is everyone in this family so disgusting?” Ethanâs patience snapped. He gestured to the black-suited men who had been waiting silently by his car. “Grab them. Let the dogs out. Time to teach them some manners.”
Panic seized me. My spectral form dropped to its knees in a useless plea as the security guards stormed the house, surrounding my family. Vicious, slobbering dogs, bred for fighting, were unleashed from the back of an SUV. They lunged. My brother shielded my sister, but Buddy was too small, too slow. He was torn apart in a blur of fur and blood.
“No! Stop! Please, stop!” I shrieked, but no one could hear me. Tears of blood streamed down my face. Only Buddy, in his final moments, looked up, his dying eyes seeming to find mine.
My Buddy. You knew I was here the whole time, didn’t you?
And all I could do was watch him die.
“That was just a small lesson,” Ethan snarled, his face a mask of rage. “You have three days. Tell Maya to come back on her own. Otherwise, what happened to that mutt is what happens to you.”
The door slammed shut, shaking the small house to its foundations.
He would do it. Years ago, after Iâd said something unflattering about Olivia, he had systematically destroyed my family’s business, driving my father into a stress-induced illness from which he never recovered. When it came to protecting Olivia, Ethan was a force of nature, destroying anything and anyone in his path.
For two years, my soul has been tethered to him by the ghost of that stolen kidney. It is a fate more agonizing than any hell I could have imagined.
Downstairs, in his car, his phone rang. The name on the screen was Olivia.
Instantly, the rage vanished from Ethan’s face, replaced by a soft tenderness.
“Hey, Liv. What’s up?”
My spirit was pulled along, an invisible passenger. I watched him, my heart aching as his entire demeanor changed.
“Ethan, honey,” Olivia’s voice purred through the speaker. “Is Maya still hiding from us?” A delicate, fake cough. “It’s all my fault. My body is so weak, it couldn’t even handle the rejection. I ruined the beautiful kidney she gave me. I bet she’ll never agree to give me another one⌔
Her cloying, manipulative tone made me want to vomit.
“Don’t be silly,” Ethan cooed. “How could you say that? We’ll get her the best bio-printed artificial kidney on the market. She’ll do it whether she wants to or not.” He laughed. “The doctors said your body can only accept a living transplant. Maya works out all the time, she’s as strong as an ox. She’s been living just fine with an artificial one, hasn’t she?”
He spent another thirty minutes soothing her before he reluctantly hung up.
Just then, another assistant, a younger man, knocked on the car window.
“Mr. Blackwood, sir. An anonymous email just came through. It’s a death certificate⌔
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Whose?”
“It’s⌠it’s for Ms. Maya.”
3
Ethan took the printed document from his assistant with an air of casual indifference. My name, Maya, was clearly typed across the top.
He let out a short, sharp laugh. “Maya, you really are something else. Forging a death certificate just to avoid me? Do you really think that’s going to work?”
The assistant hesitated. “Sir, I don’t think it’s a forgery. I ran a check with the county clerk’s office, and the police department confirmed it as well⌔
“Enough!” Ethan cut him off, his voice sharp with irritation. “It’s obviously another one of her little games. She wants me to regret what I did. She can dream on.”
He jabbed a finger at the man. “Find her. I don’t care where she’s hiding. Tear this state apart inch by inch if you have to, but you will find her.”
The assistant sighed, nodding meekly. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood.”
A week passed.
The assistant returned, his face pale and unsettled.
“Sir, the private investigators have reported back. They’ve⌠they’ve confirmed Ms. Maya’s death. The body was cremated at the municipal funeral home. Her brother, Leo, signed for the ashes. There’s no mistake.”
Ethanâs brow furrowed. “Bullshit! Maya loves life more than anyone I know. She’d never just give up and die. This is the woman who went on some crazy spiritual quest in the desert just to find some miracle cure for a damn fever!”
A bitter laugh escaped my spectral form. He had no idea. That trip to the New Mexico desert wasn’t for me.
That year, Ethan had contracted a rare, aggressive infection on a business trip to South America. The best doctors, the strongest antibioticsânothing could break his fever. I heard a rumor about a reclusive herbalist in a remote desert community who had an ancient remedy. I drove for days, then hiked for miles into the mountains, the high altitude leaving me dizzy and breathless, on the verge of collapse.
But I found the old woman in her isolated cabin. I got the remedy.
And whether it was the herbs or my desperate faith, I’ll never know, but after he took it, Ethan’s fever broke.
And he thought I did it all for myself. The irony was almost funny.
The assistant looked deeply uncomfortable. “But sir, I hired two separate firms. They both came back with the same result. It’s possible that Ms. Maya really is⌔
“Bullshit!” Ethan slammed his fist on his desk. “I know her better than that! She’s relentless. She never gives up until she gets what she wants, and she was determined to be stuck to me for the rest of our lives.”
A cruel, knowing smile spread across his face. “Maybe she knew her kidney was failing all along. She’s playing dead to avoid taking responsibility. I bet she’s off somewhere right now, laughing her ass off.”
The assistant was stunned into silence. “But sir, that’s⌠that’s incredibly dramatic.”
Ethan’s smile widened. “She was the star of the drama club in college, remember? Faking her own death is right up her alley. She’s a professional.”
The assistant had no response.
“So, Mr. Blackwood,” he finally managed. “Should I tell them to continue the investigation?”
Ethan lit another cigarette, blowing a perfect smoke ring. “Yes. I want to know exactly which funeral home, which crematorium. I want to know where the ashes are buried.”
He took a long drag, his eyes glinting. “I want to see just how perfect Maya’s little performance really is.”
I stood behind him, this man I had loved for seven years, and felt the last embers of my affection turn to ice. My soul felt a little more transparent, a little more faded.
Another week went by. The assistant came to report, his expression grim. He placed a file on Ethan’s desk.
“I found it. Ms. Maya was cremated at the City Central Funeral Home. The date of cremation was two years ago.” He took a deep breath. “Her ashes are interred at Green Hills Memorial Park, just outside the city. Section C, row six, plot eight.”
“The groundskeeper confirmed it. Her brother and sister visit every year on her birthday.”
Ethanâs face was a thundercloud. “Well, well,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. “She really thought of everything.”
He shot up from his chair, his movements sharp and violent. “You’re really committed to hiding from me, aren’t you, Maya?”
He strode towards the door. “Let’s go. We’re taking a drive to Green Hills.”
4
I was a freshman in college when that photo was taken. My smile was shy, my eyes full of a hopeful, uncomplicated light.
Ethan stood frozen before the headstone, his gaze locked on that black-and-white image of a girl he barely remembered. His assistant hovered a respectful distance away, not daring to breathe. My soul drifted beside them, a wave of melancholy washing over me as I looked at my own grave. Leo took such good care of it. My mother, broken by grief, had followed me into death the year after I passed.
“Dig it up.”
Ethanâs voice was a harsh rasp, making his assistant jump.
“Sir? What⌠what did you say?”
“Are you deaf? I said dig up her grave.”
The assistantâs face went white. “Mr. Blackwood, we can’t do that! That’s⌠that’s a desecration! Ms. Maya is gone. Please, let her rest in peace.”
Ethan was relentless. “If you won’t do it, you can pack your things and be out of my company by the end of the day. All of you.”
The bodyguards exchanged uneasy glances, but they were paid to obey. With grim faces, they picked up shovels from the groundskeeper’s shed and began to dig.
Ethan watched, his eyes never leaving the disturbed earth, until the shovels struck something hard. A small, simple urn was lifted from the ground.
He snatched it from the bodyguard’s hands and wrenched the lid open. I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, a tense exhalation of breath just before his hands moved. The assistant and the bodyguards respectfully looked away.
A sound cut through the quiet cemeteryâa laugh. It was sharp, triumphant, and utterly devoid of warmth.
“Hahahaha! I knew it! I knew she was playing me! Maya, let’s see you act your way out of this one!”
The assistant, bewildered, glanced at the urn. His jaw dropped.
“It’s⌠empty.”
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “386690”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
1
The day I was sentenced to death for a crime I didnât commit, my fiancĂŠe Elena married my stepbrother. My mother coughed up blood and died upon hearing the news, while my fatherâs mistress celebrated at the head table.
During five years in prison, I endured beatings and pain, surviving only on thoughts of revenge. Then, suppressed evidence emerged, proving my innocence.
I walked out, buried the name âCaleb Rivera,â and plunged into the violent underworld of the borderlands. The man who rose from the corpses was Vince Vanceâa feared name in the global arms trade.
Two years later, I returned to New York as a munitions tycoon to visit my motherâs grave. As my jet landed, the cityâs elite gathered to welcome âMr. Vance.â
On my way out, I saw Elena standing pale at the edge of the crowd. âCaleb?â she whispered.
She rushed over, grabbing my arms. âYouâre alive! Why didnât you come for me?â
I calmly removed her fingers from my sleeve. âMs. Elena, have some dignity.â
Taking a silk handkerchief, I wiped where sheâd touched me, deliberately showing the platinum band on my ring finger. âMy wife is a germaphobe.â
âŚ
Elenaâs gaze locked onto the ring. Her eyes widened in disbelief.
“Wife? Caleb, don’t be delusional. Look at you.”
The crowd began to whisper, their looks of admiration turning to suspicion.
“Isn’t that the Rivera convict? The one who was on death row?”
“Where is security? Get him out of here! If he upsets Mr. Vance, weâre all finished!”
The man who had just been handing me his business card sneered, shoving me. “Get lost! A convict has no business at a gathering like this!”
In the commotion, the handkerchief my wife had embroidered for me fell to the marble floor.
I reached down to retrieve it, but a stiletto heel slammed down on the fabric.
Elena looked down at me, her eyes wet but hard.
“Seven years… Caleb, if you were alive, why didn’t you come see me?”
I stared at the white silk, now stained with the dirt from her shoe. My eyes turned cold.
“See you? See you marry my stepbrother? See you become my sister-in-law?”
Elena flinched. “No! I had no choice back then! You don’t understand!”
I let out a low, humorless laugh.
I would never forget.
Seven years ago, in that courtroom. When the judge read the death sentence, my father and Elena didn’t cry. They exhaled. They smiled. That relief was a dull knife sawing at my heart.
Elena scanned my appearance, then looked behind me at the empty exit.
“Why did you come out of the VIP gate? Do you know the arms dealer, Mr. Vance?”
I smirked and shook my head. After all, how can one know oneself?
Elena let out a breath, her posture relaxing.
“Caleb, Iâm begging you. Donât cause a scene today. We have bet everything on making a connection with this Mr. Vance.”
Her eyes drifted to my phone, which lit up with a notification. The lock screen showed me holding my wife, with our two-year-old daughter in my arms.
Elena froze, then let out a scoff.
“God, you haven’t changed. Still so childish. Did you Photoshop that just to make me jealous?”
Her arrogance reminded me of our youth. I once flew halfway across the world just because she said she missed me, just to sing her to sleep. I thought devotion would be returned with devotion. I was an idiot.
Seeing my silence, she pitied me. “Give it up. Even if you play pretend, I won’t feel anything for you anymore.”
I ignored her narcissism. I pointed to her foot.
“Give me the handkerchief.”
She looked confused that I cared about a piece of cloth. She lifted her foot, picked it up with two fingers as if it were toxic waste, and sneered.
“It’s just a dirty rag. Is this all you’re worth now?”
She tossed it into a nearby trash can.
Without hesitation, I reached into the bin. Amidst the gasps of the crowd, I retrieved it, carefully dusting off the ash and grime.
Elenaâs disdain overflowed. “No wonder you came out that exit. Youâre working as a janitor now? Caleb, if youâre willing to beg, I can ask your brother to give you a job. At least… you won’t have to be a bottom-feeder.”
I folded the cloth reverently and placed it back in my inner pocket.
“No need. I didn’t come back to beg for a job.”
I looked her dead in the eye.
“I came back to balance the ledger.”
“You? With what power?” she snapped.
I didn’t answer. I turned and walked away.
My phone rang. The moment I saw the caller ID, the ice in my veins melted.
“Daddy!”
My daughter Mia’s voice was a balm to my soul. “Grandpa said we can come see you and Grandma in two days! Do you miss us?”
“Every second of every day, sweetheart.”
My wife took the phone. Her voice was calm, dangerous, and loving all at once.
“Vince, everything is arranged. My father says when we land, we need to pay our proper respects to your mother.”
Two years ago, I was a nobody fighting in illegal death matches in the jungle, half-dead. Isabella found me. I didn’t know then that the fragile-looking woman was the only heir to a munitions empire.
When I healed, she asked if I dared to trade my life for a future.
I had one condition. “I want revenge.”
She smiled. “Done.”
I hung up and drove straight to the cemetery.
For seven years, I had dreamed of kneeling before my mother.
But when I arrived at the plot number, there was nothing but an empty pit.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I stormed into the management office. “Where is Sarah Rivera’s grave?!”
The clerk checked the logs and gave me a weird look. “Who are you to her? That grave was moved three years ago… to the pet sector.”
My mind went blank. I stumbled to the pet cemetery adjacent to the grounds.
There, next to a lavish tombstone for a dog, was my motherâs headstone, tossed carelessly in the corner, overgrown with weeds.
A primal rage, hot and blinding, consumed me.
I got in my car and drove to the Rivera estate.
I kicked open the doors. My stepmother, Vivian, was wearing a birthday crown, surrounded by guests singing to her.
They were celebrating her birthday on the anniversary of my mother’s death.
“Where is my mother?!” I roared.
Vivian turned pale, then squeezed out crocodile tears as she looked at my father. “I was just afraid Sarah would be lonely down there. When our dog, Buster, died, I thought they could keep each other company…”
“You buried my mother with a dog?!”
My stepbrother, Liam, stepped forward, swirling his wine glass. “Bro, relax. Your mom was a bitch, Buster was a dog. Itâs a match made in heaven, isn’t it?”
Laughter rippled through the room.
My fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white. “You forget that without my mother’s money, this family would be on the streets! You’re living on her blood!”
“Ungrateful bastard!” My father, Richard, smashed his glass. “Seven years gone and you come back to curse us? Drag him out! I have no son!”
Bodyguards rushed me. I threw them off like ragdolls.
“Anyone who hurt her will pay in blood!” I screamed.
Outside, a thunderstorm broke. Rain hammered the earth.
Vivian ran out with an umbrella. “Caleb, it’s pouring. Take this.”
As she leaned in, ostensibly to give me the umbrella, she whispered in my ear.
“You don’t know how she really died, do you?”
I froze.
Vivian smirked, her red lips curling like a demon’s. “She was on her knees begging me to save you. But I told her… I told her you were sentenced to death. She vomited blood right onto my shoes. It was… disgusting.”
Boom.
Something snapped in my brain. The grief was a tsunami.
I grabbed Vivian by the throat.
I squeezed. Her eyes bulged. She clawed at my hands, feet kicking the air.
“Let… go…”
“He’s crazy! Save Mrs. Rivera!”
The guests panicked. Richard screamed, “Kill him! Take the animal down before he kills her!”
But I wasn’t the weak Caleb anymore. I was Vince, forged in war zones. I threw Vivian aside and dismantled the first wave of bodyguards.
“Break his legs!” Richard shrieked.
More men poured in. I was overwhelmed.
Suddenly, a figure burst through the rain.
“Caleb! No!”
Elena wrapped her arms around me from behind.
In the past, whenever my bipolar disorder flared, she would hold me like this. She was my anchor. My savior.
Even now, in this moment of life and death, a pathetic part of me wondered: Is she trying to save me?
I hesitated.
“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered against my ear. “It’ll be over soon.”
A sharp pain pricked my neck.
A syringe. Muscle relaxant. High dose.
My strength evaporated instantly. I collapsed into the mud.
“Hold him down!”
The guards pinned my limbs. One of them stomped on my shin.
Snap.
The agony was blinding, but I couldn’t scream. My muscles wouldn’t obey.
They grabbed my hair and slammed my head into the pavement, forcing me to kowtow to a gasping Vivian.
Thud. Thud.
Blood and rain blinded me.
Richard looked at me with pure disgust. “Mr. Vance is coming tonight. We can’t have this convict’s blood on the floor. Bad luck.”
“Throw him in the trash,” he ordered. “Since he misses his mom so much, send him to her.”
They dragged me like a sack of meat and tossed me into the mud next to the dog grave.
The rain was freezing. Darkness began to take me.
Then, footsteps. Not the chaotic stomping of the guards. The disciplined, rhythmic march of an army.
Dozens of polished black shoes surrounded me. A pair of familiar heels stopped by my face.
“Vince. We’re here to take you home.”
My wife’s voice.
Before I blacked out, I rasped, “Before home… revenge.”
She pulled my muddy, broken body into her pristine coat.
“Done. I’ll burn this place to the ground for you.”
Night fell.
The Rivera Gala was in full swing. The entire upper crust of New York was there, waiting for the legendary head of the Vance family.
Under the flashing lights, an old man walked in, flanked by a wall of security. Arthur Vance.
Richard and Vivian practically sprinted to greet him, bows deep and servile.
“Mr. Vance! An honor! A true honor!”
“We are humbled by your presence!”
Richard bent so low his nose nearly touched his knees. Elena and Liam stood by, smiles plastered on their faces.
Arthur Vance sat stone-faced. He didn’t take the wine offered to him. He didn’t even look at them.
The glass hovered in the air. The room grew awkward.
Finally, Arthur cleared his throat. The room went silent.
“I am here to introduce someone.”
He gestured to the grand doors.
The doors swung open.
I rolled in, sitting in a wheelchair pushed by my beautiful wife. My daughter sat on my lap, her arms around my neck.
“Daddy,” she chirped.
The word echoed in the silent hall.
“Caleb… Rivera?!” Elena gasped, dropping her glass.
Cameras flashed like lightning.
Vivian was the first to recover. She pointed a shaking finger at Isabella. “You trash! Where did you hire these actors? Did you rent the kid too?”
Liam laughed nervously. “What kind of bastard claims a convict as a father? Brother, have you no shame?”
Richard was trembling with rage. He glanced at the silent Arthur Vance, then roared at me.
“Who let this cripple in?! Security! Throw him out!”
He turned to Arthur, bowing frantically. “Mr. Vance, please forgive me! This is my estranged, good-for-nothing son! An escaped convict! I disowned him years ago! We will remove this filth immediately!”
Guards moved toward my wheelchair.
Arthur Vance, who had been a statue of ice, suddenly slammed his cane onto the floor.
BANG.
“Who dares touch my son-in-law?!”
In the rafters, red laser dots appeared on the foreheads of Richard, Vivian, Liam, and every guard who had taken a step.
Silence. Absolute, terrifying silence.
My father-in-law stood up, ignoring the pale Rivera family, and walked to my side. He placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Tonight, I have an announcement.”
He looked at the crowd.
“From this moment on, the entire Vance empire belongs to my son-in-law, Vince Vance. Formerly known as Caleb Rivera.”
Elena stumbled back, her knees giving out.
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “386706”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
It was 2:00 AM. My roommates were screaming at their screens, on a losing streak in ranked.
I woke up, seething with annoyance, and went to the bathroom.
While I was in there, a news alert popped up on my phone: [URGENT: An adult gorilla has escaped the city zoo due to unknown circumstances. Residents are advised to lock all doors and windows. Do not go out late at night.]
When I got back to the dorm, I shoved my earplugs in and tried to force myself back to sleep.
In the dark, I silently cursed them. If that gorilla broke in and mauled them to death, maybe Iâd finally get some peace and quiet.
The next morning, my RA (Resident Advisor) was shaking me awake, her face twisted in pure terror.
“Dead. They’re all dead.
“Lily, wake up! Oh my god!”
1
I was still groggy, but the sight of the RA made me sit up fast.
I checked the time. 9:00 AM.
Damn it.
The other four girls in the dorm had been gaming all night, screaming and raging. I hadnât slept a wink. Now Iâd overslept and missed my morning class.
I scrambled to get dressed and climbed down from my bunk, ready to apologize to the RA and grab my books.
But the RA didnât say a word. She just stared at the floor, eyes bulging.
I followed her gaze. And then I screamed.
Two of my roommates were lying on the linoleum in twisted, unnatural poses. Their eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. Their pajamas were soaked in red.
They looked… they looked like broken dolls.
2
My legs gave out. I stumbled, barely catching myself on the bed frame.
The blood had pooled all the way under my bunk.
My heart was hammering against my ribs like it wanted to break out. I swallowed hard, dry and painful. To confirm what my brain refused to process, I stumbled toward the bodies and checked for breath.
Nothing.
Up close, the horror was worse.
Their clothes were shredded by what looked like massive claws. Their bodies were covered in deep gouges. And their throats… chunks of flesh had been torn right out.
I scrambled backward, crab-walking until I hit the wall, paralyzed.
My stomach lurched. I dry heaved, nothing coming up but bile.
The RA finally snapped out of her trance, grabbing my shoulder.
“Lily! There are five of you in this suite. Where are the other two?
“Are they okay?”
Her question hit me like a slap. Right. Where were the other two?
“Quick, help me look! Maybe they’re hiding!”
I nodded, taking a shaky breath.
I checked the bunks. I pulled back the curtain on Bed 1. My roommate Sarah was curled up under the duvet, her back to me.
Terrified she was dead too, I climbed up to shake her.
The moment I touched her, her body flopped over, limp. Her throat was gone. The mattress was a sponge of blood.
“Ahhhhhhh!”
I recoiled, falling backward off the ladder and hitting the floor hard.
At the same time, the RA found the fourth body.
On the ground outside.
She had fallen from our sixth-floor window. Smashed on the pavement below.
I didn’t even feel the pain in my twisted ankle. My mind was snapping.
All I could think was: I spent the entire night sleeping in a room with four corpses.
And those wounds… they looked like theyâd been mauled by a wild animal.
3
I clutched my head. It was splitting, a migraine drilling behind my eyes.
I hadn’t even processed the fear yet.
Then, the sirens started wailing downstairs.
4
Our dorm building was taped off. The school issued a gag orderâno one was allowed to talk about it.
Not long after, the RA and I were taken to the station for questioning.
The RA came out quickly, looking grim.
Then the detectives called me into the interrogation room.
“What time did you go to sleep last night?”
I bit my nail, trying to remember. “After I got woken up… I probably fell back asleep around 4 AM. They were gaming too loud. Screaming at the screen. It was impossible to sleep.”
The two detectives exchanged a look. “After you fell asleep, you didn’t hear anything else?”
I shook my head. “No. Nothing.”
I knew how fake that sounded. My four roommates had been slaughtered. There must have been a struggle. They wouldn’t have just waited quietly to die.
If their gaming could wake me up, surely their screams for help would have too.
But I really didn’t hear a thing. I didn’t want to lie.
The detective chuckled, but there was no humor in it.
“The girls in the dorm next door said your room was screaming all night. They almost called the RA to check if you guys were in trouble. But since your room is constantly making noise, they figured it was just another gaming session and ignored it.”
“And yet, you say you heard nothing after 4 AM?”
Hearing his skepticism, I felt a weird urge to laugh.
My roommates… they were obsessed with finding “cracked” guys online to carry them in ranked matches. One guy carrying four girls. They always lost.
They were close friends, inseparable, but toxic. When they lost, they’d mute their mics and trash-talk the guy carrying them, calling him trash. But the second they unmuted? “Op-pa, big brother, you’re so good!”
It was annoying as hell.
Because of them, I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months.
Thatâs why I had that thought last night.
I hope the gorilla mauls you all to death.
I picked at my cuticles.
It was just a thought born of anger.
But now… they were actually dead.
The police noticed the shift in my expression. “Did you remember something?”
I looked up. After a moment of hesitation, I decided to come clean.
“At 2:20 AM, I woke up to go to the bathroom. My phone popped an alert: A gorilla escaped from the city zoo.
“Our dorm window wasn’t latched properly. I suspect… maybe the gorilla climbed up the drainpipes and got in.
“They must have been mauled by the gorilla!”
As I said it, my heart raced. I was terrified that my curse had actually come true.
I rubbed my temples. The lack of sleep was causing tinnitusâa high-pitched ringing in my ears. My eyelids felt like lead.
“So, you heard the gorilla?”
“No. It probably came in after I fell asleep at 4. Like I said, after 4 AM, I heard nothing.”
I fought to keep my eyes open. The detectives looked at me with pure suspicion.
I felt that familiar irritation rising.
“Officers, you don’t actually think I killed them, do you? It was four against one! How could I possibly solo-kill four people? I don’t even have the guts to kill a chicken!”
Just then, another officer walked in and whispered something to the interrogator.
Next thing I knew, they were hooking me up to a polygraph.
They asked the same questions.
The machine showed I was telling the truth.
According to the data, after 4 AM, I was out cold. Dead to the world. Regardless of the carnage happening feet away from me, I hadn’t woken up.
5
The detective changed his angle. “Did you take sleeping pills because of the noise?”
“No.”
“Before you slept, were they still gaming?”
“Yes. I remember right before I passed out, Zoe yelled something like, ‘Finally, no one’s bothering us! We have to win this next round!’”
“How was your relationship with them? Any conflicts last night?”
I fell silent.
They definitely suspected me. But to clear my name, I had to be honest.
That comment about “no one bothering them” was obviously about me.
“Relationship? Not good, not bad. Just… petty stuff. Locking me in the dorm so I’d miss class. Hiding the necklace my mom left me. Making up rumors about me sleeping around. That kind of stuff.”
The detectives looked at me with complicated expressions.
They probably didn’t expect me to be so calm about the bullying.
But it didn’t matter. They were dead. Whatâs the point of holding a grudge against corpses?
I continued, digging through my memory.
“We did argue last night. When I came back from the bathroom, I couldn’t sleep. The ringing in my ears was bad. They were screaming. I finally snapped and told them to shut up.
“The room went quiet for a few seconds.
“Then I heard Zoe say… she said if I kept bothering them, she’d kill me.
“They pinned me down. They poured something into my mouth. They choked me.”
Recallling it, a sudden wave of grief hit me. Tears splashed onto the metal table.
They had said other things, too. But the moment I tried to remember the specific words, my head felt like it was splitting open. My brain refused to go there.
The detective handed me a tissue, staring at my neck.
“Looks like you were choked unconscious. You poor kid. Does your neck hurt? We’ll get you some ointment later.”
I touched my neck. Hiss. It stung.
But I wasn’t crying because they bullied me.
I couldn’t explain the feeling. It was just an overwhelming wave of sorrow.
Four people were dead. The police wouldn’t stop just because I was crying.
They placed a tablet in front of me. CCTV footage.
I clicked play. What I saw made my blood run cold.
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “386722”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
For me, Nate Hunt gave up three things.
Women, fighting, and street racing.
Everyone said that I, his gilded canary, had tamed the cityâs most untamable wolf.
Until the morning after our wedding of the century.
I woke up five years in the future.
A twenty-nine-year-old Nate was slamming a divorce agreement onto the table in front of me.
âI told you, stay away from her! Otherwise, next time it wonât just be a broken hand.â
âClara, Iâm done wasting my time on you.â
The man before me was all sharp angles and cold fury, the warmth in his eyes completely extinguished.
My own eyes welled with tears, my lip trembling.
âHoney, youâre scaring me.â
Nate froze.
Then his brow furrowed even deeper.
1
It was like⌠I couldnât understand.
Just the night before, he had humbled himself, bringing me a basin of warm water to wash my feet. A few months ago, after a car crash, he had nearly died shielding me from the impact; the scar by his eye was still a pale, visible line. At our wedding, the famously ruthless heir to the Hunt empire had choked back tears in front of all our guests, simply because he was marrying me.
How could one night change everything?
The man who had once cherished me like life itself was now looking at me with pure disgust.
Clearly, Nate couldn’t understand my confusion either. He stared at me, his gaze intense.
âTime travel? Clara, thereâs no need to invent such a ridiculous excuse.â
He didnât believe me. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, not even wanting to look at me as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
I stood there, stunned, then instinctively ran after him, trying to grab his arm.
âNaââ
He stopped so abruptly I didnât have time to react, my nose crashing into the solid wall of his back.
A small cry of pain escaped me as tears pricked my eyes. But Nate didnât seem to hear, let alone turn around. He was looking down at his phone, which was vibrating in his hand.
Ah. Someone was calling him.
He answered.
A light, feminine voice came through the speaker, clear enough for me to hear. âNate, where are you? Finn has been waiting for you forever.â
Nateâs response was a soft hum. The cold mask on his face melted away. âOn my way.â
A knot tightened in my stomach. I blinked, my voice small. âWho is that?â
Her voice was vaguely familiar, but my mind was a tangled mess. I couldnât place it.
âAre you done with the act?â Nate put his phone away. When he turned back to me, a trace of that softness still lingered around his eyes, but his words sent a chill down my spine.
âIf it werenât for me, you would have died on that godforsaken mountain, not standing here in the Hunt family home.â His gaze flickered over my reddened nose, his tone flat and cold. âYou should be grateful, Clara.â
The door slammed shut.
The sound was so loud it made my entire body flinch, snapping me out of my daze.
My hands trembling, I picked up my phone. Almost on instinct, I dialed the number I knew by heart. It rang for a long time before it was finally answered.
âHello? Is this⌠Clara?â
Nina sounded surprised, as if my call was the last thing she expected. But I couldn’t dwell on her strange tone. The moment I heard my best friendâs voice, the tears Iâd been holding back broke free.
After I told her everything, there was a brief silence on the other end of the line. Then, Ninaâs voice shot up several octaves. âYouâre saying you just got married yesterday?â
I stared blankly at the paper in my hand. âYes. And now Nate⌠he wants to divorce me.â I sniffled. âNina, can you come get me?â
Another long pause. So long I thought she might not have heard me. Finally, a single word.
âOkay.â
2
In the coffee shop, Nina stared at me for a long time, disbelief etched on her face.
âSo youâre telling me you just went to sleep and woke up here? You⌠you donât remember anything from the last five years?â
I nodded, then shook my head.
âThis isnât the first time Nate has tried to divorce you,â she said, her expression complicated. After a moment, she managed a wry smile. âAnd we⌠we havenât spoken in a very long time.â
I was speechless.
Nina sighed, and then she told me everything.
Less than a year after our spectacular wedding, Nate changed. The reformed bad boy, it turned out, had been an illusion.
My eyes widened. âHe cheated?â
âYes. Four years ago.â She took a sip of her coffee, glancing at me. âWith a junior from your university. And just like you, she was a scholarship student sponsored by the Hunt family.â
Nina said that when I found out, I fell apart. I did a lot of crazy things. I went to the university and cornered the girl, screaming at her, making a huge public scene. Then I crashed the lavish birthday party Nate threw for her, forcing him to have me arrested. That was the first time he demanded a divorce.
Nina took another sip. She told me she couldn’t stand to watch me self-destruct and tried to convince me to let him go, but in my crazed state, I had attacked and injured her.
And with that, my only friend cut ties with me.
The canary who tried to tame the wolf had become the cityâs biggest joke.
I was horrified. âHe broke my hand just because I ruined a flower his mistress was growing?â
Nina looked at me and nodded.
I looked down at the divorce agreement. Honestly, Nate was being generous. For a bitter divorce, the settlement was substantial. Twenty million dollars and several downtown apartments.
I came back to my senses and picked up the pen to sign.
Ninaâs hand shot out and grabbed mine. âAre you sure this time?â
Seeing my confusion, she hesitated. âThe last few times, you pretended to sign, then went back on your word and made a fool of him. It made Nate furious.â
I was stunned. Had I really become that unhinged?
Nina pressed on. âClara, are you sure you donât love him anymore?â
My hand paused. Love?
My thoughts drifted.
Nate was right. If it werenât for him, I would have died on that mountain. I was a scholarship student he had personally selected. Without the Hunt family, I never would have escaped, never would have gone to school.
Then, my sophomore year of college, my stepfather tricked me into coming home, lying that my mother was seriously ill. He was afraid I would run away again, so he broke my hand and locked me in the cellar, waiting to sell me to an old bachelor for thirty thousand dollars.
It was Nate who drove through the night to save me. He was enraged. He hired the best lawyers to put my stepfather and that man behind bars. He saved both me and my mother.
Before my mother passed away, she told me over and over, âClara, you wouldnât be here today without the young master of the Hunt family. We may be poor, but we must always be grateful.â
I never forgot. I swore I would repay him. He said he loved me, so I learned to love him back. He said he wanted to marry me, and I nodded happily, just wanting to make him happy.
And now, he had found someone else, someone better suited to him.
My debt of gratitude⌠hasnât it been paid in full?
Isnât it time for me to find a life of my own?
Ninaâs eyes were red as she spoke, her voice thick with emotion. âClara, for you to think that way⌠itâs really⌠itâs for the best.â
3
Standing beneath the Hunt Industries tower, I tilted my head back, looking up at the skyscraper piercing the clouds. It was the same building, but it felt different from five years ago.
âIsnât that the crazy Hunt woman?â
âWhatâs she doing here again? Didnât she embarrass herself enough last time? You can take the girl out of the country, but you canât take the country out of the girl.â
The whispers around me pulled me back to reality. I lowered my gaze and clutched the divorce agreement in my hand.
Before I left, I had tried to call Nate. The call was declined after one ring. When I tried again, I was blocked. I figured if we were getting a divorce, there was no point in dragging it out. I would deliver the papers myself.
Nina had tried to stop me, only relenting after I convinced her I was really, truly just going to finalize the divorce.
âI have a case this afternoon. Are you sure you can handle this on your own?â Nina was a busy lawyer. Seeing my determination, she left, looking back every few steps. She still didnât trust me, worried I was using this as an excuse to cause a scene at Hunt Industries.
Apparently, she wasnât the only one.
The moment I walked into the lobby, the receptionist knocked over a glass of water in her nervousness. Security guards immediately surrounded me, on high alert.
I suddenly remembered what Nina had told me. At my most manic, I had even trashed the Hunt Industries headquarters, giving their rivals plenty of ammunition to drag the companyâs reputation through the mud. Nate had held a lot of people accountable for that. No wonder they were so tense.
I offered the receptionist a friendly smile. âIâm here to see Nate Hunt.â
She hesitated, then said apologetically, âMs. Lin, the new director, has a strict rule. No one can see Mr. Hunt without an appointment. Not even⌠Mrs. Hunt.â
It took me a second to process. Ms. Lin. That must be my university junior, Seraphina Lin. Nateâs precious mistress.
âAnd if I insist on going up?â I asked calmly, starting to walk forward.
The receptionist grew more anxious, and the guards moved to block me. I frowned, about to speak, when a commotion erupted outside.
A crowd of people was surging into the lobby.
4
Before I could even turn around, someone pushed me from behind. I stumbled and fell, my not-yet-healed right hand slamming against the corner of a wall. I hissed in pain.
Then, a sickeningly sweet voice rang out. âOh, someone help the cleaning lady up⌠wait, is that you, Clara?â
I looked up into Seraphina Linâs wide, innocent eyes.
âYou must be aging quickly, Clara. From the back, I didnât even recognize you. Is your hand okay?â
I rubbed my swollen wrist, my expression turning cold. âYouâre so young, Ms. Lin, itâs a shame your eyesight is already failing. Then again, when it comes to men, you also seem to prefer those who are already taken.â
Seraphinaâs face instantly darkened.
I ignored her and turned toward the elevator, but she motioned for her entourage to block my path.
âDid you not hear the receptionist, Clara?â Seraphinaâs voice was soft and melodic. âLet me repeat it for you. Outsiders without an appointment are not allowed to see Mr. Hunt. Unless theyâre a senior executive, of course. Oh, right⌠youâre not an employee of Hunt Industries anymore, are you?â
My eyes narrowed. I had started working at Hunt Industries during college. According to Nina, the jewelry lines I designed over the last few years had been instrumental in the companyâs successful expansion into the luxury market, and I had even become the Director of the Design Department.
Until last year, when Nate replaced me with the newly graduated Seraphina.
Seeing me stand there silently, Seraphina smiled, leaned in, and whispered triumphantly, âHavenât you learned your lesson yet, Clara? You were kicked out like a stray dogâŚâ
I watched her for a moment, then let out a small laugh and, in one swift motion, slapped her across the face.
âAs long as I am not divorced, I am the rightful Mrs. Hunt, the lady of this company! Who do you think you are to stop me? The company watchdog, or⌠Nateâs dirty little secret?â
Seraphina, spoiled and pampered by Nate, had never been treated like this. She clutched her face, her eyes wild as she lunged at me. âHow dare you hit me!â
I sidestepped her, caught her flailing arm, and used her momentum to swing her around, delivering another sharp slap with my other hand. âIf Nate wonât teach you some manners, I will!â
The slaps sent Seraphina into a frenzy. Her face was contorted with rage as she tried to attack me again.
Just then, the elevator chimed open.
The man emerging, surrounded by his executives, looked up and his eyes landed on me. He froze for a second, then strode forward and wrapped his arms around Seraphina, who was now sobbing uncontrollably.
When he looked back at me, his face was a mask of fury.
âClara, what the hell are you doing now!â
5
Before I could speak, Seraphina beat me to it. She huddled in Nateâs arms, looking terrified.
âNate, I was just explaining the rules to Clara. No appointments, no entry. Even if she⌠tried to use her status as Mrs. Hunt to pressure me, itâs still against the rules!â
âI was just following company policy, but she flew into a rage and started hitting meâŚâ
I gave her a cold look. âStill havenât learned your place, have youâŚâ
âClara!â Nateâs voice was sharp, his eyes colder than mine. âIs this fun for you?â
He stared at me, his lips a thin, hard line. âWhatever games youâre playing, they wonât work anymore.â
I was taken aback for a moment, then I understood. In his eyes, everything I was doing today was just another desperate ploy to get his attention, to delay the divorce. He was telling me that no matter how much I fought, he wouldnât change his mind.
âYouâre right. Itâs not fun at all,â I said with a humorless smile, pulling the papers from my bag. âThatâs why Iâm here, isnât it?â
This time, it was Nateâs turn to be stunned. His gaze swept over my calm face, then settled on the divorce agreement in my hand for a few long seconds.
The next thing I knew, he knocked the papers from my hand, his voice exploding with rage.
âDo you think this is funny?â he roared, his temple pulsing. âTrying the same old tricks again? Clara, are you really so pathetic that you canât live without me? Do you have to keep stooping to these cheap tactics? How desperate can you be? Youââ
Slap.
Nateâs head snapped to the side. The rest of his words were swallowed by the sharp sound of my hand connecting with his cheek.
Meeting his thunderous gaze, I flipped the agreement to the last page and shoved it in his face. âTake a good look!â
Nate glared at me, his jaw clenched, before finally taking a deep breath and looking down at the paper.
And then he froze.
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “386738”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
1
My roommate, Sera, Venmoed me a hundred bucks to grab her some food from the dining hall.
I was hesitating when a series of comments suddenly floated across my vision, visible only to me.
ăYou idiot. That’s Seraphina Sinclair, daughter of the richest man in New York. A true princess. Start sucking up to her now, and you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted.ă
ăIf you don’t, your best friend will. And trust me, she’ll make sure you never get the chance.ă
ăExactly. Your ‘bestie’ already knows who Sera is. She’s just waiting for you to say no so she can swoop in and cut you out completely.ă
My phone buzzed with a text. It was from Mila, my supposed best friend, who was sitting right across from me.
ăJenny, don’t you dare take her money. We may not be rich, but we have our pride. Let her deal with her own princess problems.ă
She even gave me a knowing little blink.
In that instant, a bone-deep chill washed over me.
The next second, I switched apps, accepted the hundred dollars, and beamed at Seraphina with a fawning smile. “At your service, my lady. Your humble servant will return in a flash.”
Sera gave me a surprised but amused look, nodded with a slight smile, and went back to watching The Crown on her laptop.
Ignoring Mila’s dumbfounded expression, I bolted out of the dorm.
I hadn’t gotten far when someone called my name. I turned to see Mila jogging to catch up.
“Jenny, how could you take that money?” she panted, catching up to me. “I just told you, we have to have some self-respect! Seraphina’s entitled attitude is disgusting.”
Knowing what she was really thinking, her hypocrisy was almost impressive. I put on a pitiful expression. “You know my family’s situation is way worse than yours, Mila. My mom’s sick and can’t work, and my dad barely makes five grand a month. This hundred bucks? Thatâs like three days’ work for him.”
“Itâs not that I don’t have pride,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “It’s just… the princess pays really, really well.”
With that, I turned and ran, leaving Mila fuming and stomping her foot on the pavement behind me.
New comments flickered into view.
ăHahaha, Jenny Smelton finally gets it! She’s on the fast track to the good life now.ă
ăTotally. Sera’s parents made her promise to keep a low profile at college, not to just throw money at people. But look at her, day two and the princess is already acting like a princess.ă
ăShe’s got that princess syndrome, for sure, but she’s still listening to her parents. She’ll probably just keep one person around to run errands, nothing too flashy.ă
ăUgh, I’m so jealous of Jenny. If I were her, and the food got cold by the time I brought it back, I’d probably slap myself…ă
That last comment really resonated with me.
Right then and there, I decided these floating comments were my new career guide. And they said the princess would only hire one person for the whole of college.
I couldn’t screw this up.
Not with Mila circling like a vulture.
I had to latch onto this golden opportunity and never let go.
After buying the food, I sprinted back to the dorm faster than Iâd ever run in my life.
Bursting through the door, I saw Mila hovering around Seraphina, her face plastered with a sycophantic grin. Sera was still engrossed in her show, offering only distracted, one-word replies.
“My… my lady! Your order has arrived!” I gasped, bent over and dripping with sweat.
Sera looked up, genuinely surprised by my speed. She glanced at the clock and then back at me, a look of satisfaction spreading across her face. She picked up her phone and sent another hundred-dollar Venmo.
“Not bad,” she said. “From now on, you work for me.”
“Absolutely, my lady! Just think of me as your personal assistant, on call 24/7,” I said, unable to contain my joy.
Sera took the food containers, covering a laugh with her hand. “What happened to being my ‘humble servant’?”
I just grinned sheepishly. “Whatever makes you happy, my lady.”
The look on Mila’s face was a toxic cocktail of envy, jealousy, and pure hatred.
“Heh heh…”
A soft chuckle came from the other side of the room. It was our fourth roommate, Chloe. Dressed head-to-toe in designer labels, she was clearly from a wealthy family too.
I could tell she wasn’t laughing at me, but at the absurdity of the whole situation. I didn’t sense any malice, so I let it slide.
Of the four of us, my family was by far the poorest, with Mila’s being a close second.
“Jenny Smelton, that food looks like it’s from Dining Hall Two, doesn’t it? Everyone knows that place is famously terrible,” Mila said, pretending to wrinkle her nose. But the smirk in her eyes gave her away.
In an instant, my face fell.
When we’d all introduced ourselves yesterday, Iâd just said my name was “Jenny.” I never offered my last name.
Because with a name like mine, you don’t make friends.
Let alone best friends.
Mila was the exception. We’d been neighbors in elementary school, classmates through middle and high school, and now, by some twist of fate, college roommates.
My name had been the butt of jokes my entire life. It was a miracle I’d survived it.
Only Mila had never seemed to mind, though she did borrow money from me constantly. A few bucks in elementary school, then ten or twenty in middle school, and by high school, it was fifty, a hundred at a time. I always gave it to her, never asking for it back, even when it meant I had to skip lunch. I didn’t care. With her, I felt… respected.
But now I saw that the respect was conditional. The moment I became a threat to her interests, she turned on me.
I knew she’d said my full name just to hurt me.
“It’s actually not bad,” Sera said, breaking the awkward silence. She took a bite and nodded. “The taste is fine.”
Chloe bounced over. “Really? Maybe I’ll go check it out then. Of course, I’m not rich like you, Sera. Can’t afford a delivery fee, so I’ll have to go myself.”
She gave my shoulder a friendly pat and strolled out of the room with a smile.
Tears welled in my eyes as I watched her go. I turned back to Sera, who was happily digging into her meal. A sudden wave of warmth washed over me, soothing my frayed nerves.
There was a reason rich people were rich. Their upbringing, their class… it was on a completely different level from anyone I’d known before.
Mila, on the other hand, was left standing there, looking like a fool. This wasn’t how her script was supposed to go. In the past, saying my full name was the quickest way to crush my spirit.
But it wasn’t working anymore.
“Haha, well, maybe I’ll go try it too,” Mila mumbled, then scurried out of the room in disgrace.
Half an hour later, Mila found me eating in the cafeteria.
She sat down across from me, her face a mask of disappointment. “Jenny, I never thought you were this kind of person.”
I feigned innocence. “What kind of person?”
“You’re willing to throw away your dignity for money? Calling yourself a ‘humble servant,’ a ‘personal assistant’… Honestly, as your best friend, I’m embarrassed for you.” She looked at me with pity, as if trying to rescue me from my own greed.
I laughed coldly to myself. What a fool I’ve been. “Mila, I know you think you’re looking out for me, but let me ask you something. Would you really choose dignity over money?”
“You…”
My question shut her up completely.
ăThe competition is fierce! Look at these two, tearing their friendship apart just to be the main character’s sidekick.ă
The comment floated by, and I smiled.
Thanks to these messages, I finally understood everything. I was living in a book, and Mila was supposed to be the designated sidekick. By becoming Sera’s gofer in college, she was meant to win her trust and launch herself into a life of luxury.
And me? I was just a stepping stone for Mila, a bit of comic relief for the story. The punchline, of course, was my name.
Damn you, author. How could you come up with a name like Jenny Smelton?
In the original story, I missed this opportunity. Mila abandoned me, then spent the rest of college isolating and bullying me, making my life a living hell. After graduation, I had the misfortune of marrying an abusive man and wasting my life away. Mila, with her high-powered executive husband, would even visit our hometown just to humiliate me.
Finally, at forty, I gave up and jumped from a building.
Seeing that ending scared me half to death.
Now that I knew what was supposed to happen, I had to seize this chance. And I already had a head start.
Mila stormed off, her jaw clenched in anger. Our friendship was officially over.
After I finished my meal, I went back to the dorm.
Sera was out. I looked at her bedâa chaotic landscape of rumpled sheets and misplaced belongingsâand without a second thought, I started tidying up.
When Sera returned, her eyes landed on her now neat and pristine bed, and a smile spread across her face.
“You did this?”
I smiled shyly. “You gave me so much money earlier, my lady. I felt bad not doing more, so…”
Sera nodded. “Alright. Then let’s make it a semester-long gig. How does ten thousand for the semester sound?”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, that sounds… that sounds amazing.”
Sera was decisive. To her, money was just a number.
ăYou have received $10,000 from Seraphina Sinclair.ă
Just then, Mila walked in, her face instantly turning dark with envy when she saw the transaction notification on my phone.
“Jenny Smelton, we’re all roommates here. Why do you have to be so greedy? If you really considered Seraphina a friend, you’d help her out of kindness, not put a price tag on it. You’re ruining the atmosphere in this dorm!” She quickly found an angle, trying to paint me as the villain.
I was stunned she could twist it like that, turning it into a moral failing. My face flushed with embarrassment.
Seeing my reaction, she pressed her advantage, turning to Sera. “Sera, we’re all classmates. If you need anything in the future, just ask. I, Mila Jones, will help you, no questions asked. And I won’t take a single penny.”
She delivered the lines with such self-righteous grandeur that, next to her, I looked like a petty, money-grubbing troll.
I had no choice. I turned to Sera. “My lady, she’s right. I… I should give you the money back. From now on, whatever you need, just tell me. I’ll do it.”
The words tasted like ash in my mouth. My heart ached. This was ten thousand dollars. The first two hundred was one thing, enough to make my college life a little easier. But ten grand was different. My family was so poor; that money could change everything for them.
To my surprise, Sera just waved a dismissive hand, a frown on her face. “I never take back money I’ve given away. And the last thing I want is to owe someone a favor. Don’t bring this up again. It’s settled.”
Without another word, she picked up her tablet, started up The Crown, and completely ignored us.
Mila froze.
For the second time, Sera’s reaction had completely blindsided her. All she could do was shoot me a venomous look before storming out of the room.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I couldn’t let Mila ruin this for me.
The months flew by. I became Sera’s shadow.
I sat in on her classes, ran her errands, cleaned her space, and eventually, she even entrusted me with her laundry. Luckily, I’d been doing chores at home my whole life, so I was efficient and thorough, which kept Sera very happy.
In just a few months, my savings account had swelled to over fifteen thousand dollars.
Chloe was a character. Used to a lavish lifestyle, sheâd occasionally burn through her allowance and come to Sera, cheekily asking for “a job” to earn some cash. Sera would always oblige, making up some simple task and paying her generously, which always delighted Chloe.
Mila watched, green with envy, and tried to do the same. But Sera wouldn’t even give her the time of day, ignoring her completely, which infuriated Mila to no end.
“Did you say something bad about me to Seraphina?” she demanded, cornering me one day.
I just rolled my eyes. “Honestly, no. Believe what you want. Besides, I thought you were too proud to stoop for money?”
Sera never said it out loud, but it was obvious she didn’t like Mila. Mila was just too clueless to see it.
“Hmph, you won’t even admit it. Just you wait. After everything I did for you, the second you get a taste of money, you turn your back on me. You’re nothing but an ungrateful snake,” Mila spat, her words dripping with venom.
I was done being her punching bag. I dropped the pretense. “We’re adults, Mila. Let’s stop with the drama. Our entire ‘friendship’ was something I paid for. Do you have any idea how many meals I skipped to lend you money?”
Mila’s face cycled through shades of red and white. She knew it was true. She’d never paid back a single cent she’d “borrowed” from me over the years.
“Fine. Fine! We’ll see about that,” she seethed, then stormed away.
Watching her go, I felt a surge of satisfaction.
And then, a new comment appeared, and the blood in my veins turned to ice.
ăJenny’s in deep trouble. Mila has a vicious plan to frame her. Sera will definitely kick her out. The power of the plot is too strong; things are snapping back to the original storyline.ă
I read on, my heart pounding. When I saw the details of her plan, a cold sweat broke out across my body.
Mila Jones, after this, it’s war.
A few hours later, I rushed off campus and bought a micro-camera.
After getting permission from both Sera and Chloe, I installed it in our room. Only then could I finally breathe again.
Three days later, a shriek echoed through the dorm.
“Has anyone seen my Tiffany bracelet?”
Sera, who was usually so composed, was in a state of panic. It was written all over her face.
Chloe chuckled. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a few grand, right? Nothing for you, my lady.”
“It was the last gift my mother gave me before she passed away,” Sera said, her voice trembling as she frantically searched. “I’ll die if I lose it.”
“Oh, God. Okay, I’ll help you look,” Chloe said, her playful tone gone.
Mila and I joined the search. We turned the entire dorm room upside down, but the bracelet was nowhere to be found.
“Jenny,” Mila finally said, her voice sharp as she turned the spotlight on me. “You’re the one who usually tidies up Sera’s things. You didn’t happen to see it, did you?”
I feigned panic. “No, I haven’t seen it at all!”
A sly smile played on Mila’s lips. “Well, it looks like we have a little rat in our dorm.”
The implication was crystal clear.
At that moment, the only places left to search were our three beds. As she spoke, both Sera and Chloe glanced at me, no doubt remembering the camera I’d installed three days ago.
For some reason, the panic on Sera’s face seemed to melt away.
Chloe’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Well then, let’s start with my bed.”
After a thorough search, they found nothing.
Mila’s eyes gleamed. “Let’s do mine next! I have nothing to hide.”
Sera smiled languidly. “Alright.”
Of course, they didn’t find it there either.
Mila grabbed my arm. “Jenny Smelton, are you going to give it back yourself, or do we have to find it? Sera has been so kind and generous to you. I can’t believe you’re the one who stole from her.”
I cast a pitiful look at Sera, who, along with Chloe, gave me a subtle, encouraging smile. I took out my phone and opened the live camera feed.
The sight of my phone seemed to trigger a wave of dread in Mila. But she was in too deep to back down now. “What are you doing, Jenny? Hand it over! If you don’t, I’m calling the police. It’s a disgrace to share a room with a thief like you!”
I ignored her completely and held my phone out for Sera. “My lady, perhaps you should see this.”
An image appeared on the screen.
Mila couldn’t resist leaning in for a look.
The next second, all the color drained from her face.
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “386754”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
When I woke up in the morning, I was barely dressed.
Liam sat at the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette, looking satisfied.
“Jayden stole my business, so I stole his woman. Call it even.”
Buddy, you got the wrong person. I’m not his woman.
I’m just the stand-in for that sickly rich boy’s obsession.
1
The first time Jayden visited the Amethyst Lounge, he set his sights on Crystal.
He chose Crystal to drink with him, but decided it wasn’t romantic enough, so he demanded I provide background vocals.
In the private room, he confessed to her: “Crystal, I like you.”
Crystal: “Thank you, Mr. Jayden.”
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
“Sorry, I only sell drinks, not my body.”
“I’m not asking you to sell your body! Be my official girlfriend. I’ll support you. You won’t have to work in a place like this anymore.”
“You want to keep me? Sorry, I’m not for sale.”
They were enacting a melodramatic soap opera right there. And I, the insignificant supporting character, was stuck in the corner singing background music to set the mood.
The song was “Thousands of Songs,” a classic cantopop ballad Jayden specifically requested.
After I finished, Jayden, whose attention was entirely on Crystal, turned to me and said, “Don’t change the song. Loop it ten times.”
My heart wept.
After over an hour of this tug-of-war, the young master finally lost his patience and showed his true colors.
“You only drink and don’t ‘sell,’ right? Fine, today you’re going to drink your fill!”
He pointed to a row of shot glasses filled with hard liquor on the table and said to Crystal, “Five hundred bucks a shot.”
I thought, Damn, what a deal! I want to drink too!
Crystal didn’t say a word. She picked up a glass and downed it.
By the eighth glass, she ran out to vomit.
Jayden leaned back on the sofa, looking like he hated the world.
I leaned in. “Mr. Jayden, how about I drink for Crystal? I’ll do it for two hundred a shot.”
Jayden didn’t even look at me. He said coldly, “Keep singing.”
That night, Crystal risked her life to down twenty shots and earned a five-figure tip.
I sang “Thousands of Songs” fifty times until my throat felt like it was smoking, and only got a basic $150 tip.
Comparison is the thief of joy, and I was being robbed blind.
For several days in a row, Jayden came every day, requested Crystal every day, and spent thousands each time.
Unfortunately, money can’t buy love.
Crystal refused to be his girlfriend, no matter what.
2
Later, Jayden disappeared. He probably gave up.
I told Crystal, “You broke that pure boy’s heart.”
Crystal looked indifferent. “I have plenty of clients. One less won’t hurt.”
Tsk, such a flex.
I had to admit, Crystal had the capital to flex.
She was exceptionally beautiful, with a cold, aloof personality. An ice queen. She was the most sought-after girl here.
One early morning, I got home around 3 AM. Just as I was about to sleep, my phone rang.
It was a voice call from Jayden on WeChat.
His voice sounded hollow and exhausted. “I can’t sleep. Sing to me over the phone. I’ll pay you.”
Rich people really know how to play.
“Okay, what do you want to hear?”
“Thousands of Songs.”
Again? What was his obsession with this old song?
But the customer is king. Orders must be executed perfectly.
I cleared my throat and sang softly: “Looking back slowly, at the night that once belonged to us…”
…
When I finished, he said, “Keep singing. Don’t stop even if I fall asleep. Sing until dawn.”
This was too much!
Just as I was about to refuse sternly, he sent a transfer. $450.
“If I wake up and can still hear you, I’ll send another $450.”
I silently accepted the transfer.
Business had been slow lately. For $900, I’d sing my lungs out!
Over and over again, a human jukebox on repeat. I almost went crazy singing it.
Until the sky turned light gray, after who knows how many repetitions, his voice finally came through the phone:
“I’m awake. You can stop now.”
Thank the Lord, I was finally liberated!
As I hung up, I received another $450 transfer from Jayden.
Attached was a message: “I slept well last night. Thank you.”
Sigh, poor boy.
I couldn’t tell him the truth.
Crystal already had a sugar daddy, a fifty-year-old CEO named Mr. Han.
She was basically his kept woman.
When Mr. Han was out of town during the week, she worked at the lounge.
When he came back on weekends, she went to him.
Earning money from both ends until her legs went soft. Rumor had it she’d already put a down payment on a condo.
How could a woman like that be interested in a kid like Jayden?
I asked Crystal, “Jayden isn’t bad. Young, handsome, and sincere. Are you really not considering him?”
Crystal lit a cigarette. “I started working at sixteen. I’ve been in this industry for five years. I’ve seen them all.
“A kid like Jayden isn’t a real rich second generation. He probably stole his parents’ savings or is spending his tuition money.
“See, he hasn’t come for days. Probably ran out of cash.”
The ice queen exhaled a cloud of smoke, wrapped in world-weariness and cynicism.
3
But I didn’t tell Crystal the truth either.
Actually, Jayden hadn’t run out of money.
Every morning at 3 AM, he would call me promptly on WeChat and ask me to sing “Thousands of Songs.”
$450 before singing, $450 after waking up. Never missed a payment.
It sounded great.
But honestly, this money was hard to earn. I didn’t know how I kept going.
Sometimes I was so sleepy I’d stab my thigh with a hairpin to stay awake.
Ancient scholars tied their hair to the beam to study; modern lounge singers stabbed their thighs to survive.
No choice. I had to live.
Half a month later, I transferred a sum of money to my mom.
I asked, “How is my brother doing?”
Mom sounded down. “Still not good. Your dad and I discussed it; we’re going to switch to imported medicine.”
Imported medicine meant more money. Much, much more money.
That meant I had to work even harder.
I started taking day jobs, accompanying clients to dinners and drinking for tips.
At 8 PM, I’d rush to the lounge for my shift.
At 3 AM, I’d sing for the sickly rich boy.
For half a month, I spun like a top.
Sometimes I was so tired I’d fall asleep sitting on the toilet.
One night, I met a big spender who challenged us girls to drink.
$100 tip per shot.
I was sleepy, but hearing that, I perked up instantly. I rushed forward like a madwoman and started drinking.
I don’t remember when I blacked out.
When I woke up, the sun was high in the sky.
I sat up in bed like a dying patient jolted back to life. “Thousands of Songs!”
Checking WeChat, Jayden had called me 15 times between 3 AM and 8 AM.
I hurriedly messaged him: “I’m so sorry! I drank too much last night and blacked out. I didn’t mean to stand you up.”
A while later, Jayden replied: “How much did the client pay you to make you drink like that?”
My heart clogged. His words felt sharp.
I replied with restraint: “It’s my job. I have no choice.”
He doubled down: “Why do such a job?”
“To make money. Why, do you think it’s shameful?”
“More than shameful. It’s cheap.”
I only replied with a smile emoji.
4
My restraint saved me Jayden, this VIP client.
At 3 AM, he called as usual, apologizing immediately:
“Sorry. I didn’t sleep all night. During the day, I couldn’t control my temper. I spoke harshly and hurt you.”
I said, “It’s fine. But I have a question. Why are you obsessed with ‘Thousands of Songs’?”
I wanted to know what trauma made him need someone singing to sleep every night.
Silence on the other end. Then: “When I was little, my mom used to sing it to me to sleep. Your voice sounds like hers.”
Ah, so it was a lullaby.
“You don’t think I have an Oedipus complex, do you? Haha.” He laughed, a clear, bright sound.
Like the sun breaking through clouds.
“Don’t worry, I don’t see you as my mom. I just haven’t seen her in a long time. I miss her.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Canada, maybe the UK. She changed her contact info. I can’t find her.”
I can’t find her.
He said it lightly, but I felt the heavy sadness.
I suddenly thought of my brother.
He was the same age as Jayden, nineteen.
My brother was a good student, the hope of the family.
In the first semester of his senior year, he fainted after midterms.
After a month of transferring between hospitals, the diagnosis came.
Leukemia.
I was in college then, studying hard to transfer to a university.
After the diagnosis, I cried in the library all night.
The next day, I calmly filed for a leave of absence.
Leaving school, I took off my jeans, put on black stockings, let down my ponytail, dyed my hair a trendy color, and entered the Amethyst Lounge.
I needed money. A lot of money, very quickly.
A month later, I sent the first remittance home.
My parents never asked how I earned the money. Maybe they guessed but were afraid to hear the truth.
As long as it could save my brother’s life, how I earned it didn’t matter.
I stopped thinking about my future.
I just made money like a machine. Earn, earn, earn.
Jayden’s appearance plucked a nerve I thought had gone numb.
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “386770”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
After my fatherâs bankruptcy and suicide, my older brother and I were left to raise each other.
At our lowest, we scavenged for scraps and slept under bridges. When my brother finally fought his way back to reclaim our family’s business, the first thing he did was swear to me that he would never let me suffer again.
But then, he adopted a sister from an orphanage.
From that day on, the words I heard most from him were, “Jade is the younger sister. You need to be the bigger person and let her have her way.”
And so, my room, my clothes, my jewelryâall of it was given to Jade.
Later, the thugs Jade hired beat me so badly I lost hearing in my right ear.
But my brother still told me to just let it go.
So, I found myself a new brother.
And thenâŚ
I let her have him, once and for all.
1
My brother called to say he couldnât pick me up again.
I stood at the school gate, a desperate tremor running through me. My voice was thick with unshed tears.
“Bob⌠but you promised.”
“You promised youâd come get me yourself today.”
His voice on the other end was laced with that familiar, weary frustration.
“I know, but Jade suddenly felt sick. Nora, be a good girl and take the bus home, okay?”
“I have to take her to the hospital.”
I glanced at the group of thugs loitering nearby, their eyes fixed on me. My throat felt like it was closing up.
“But Bob, I need you, too.”
“Don’t you understand? If you don’t show up, they’re going to⌔
Theyâre going to kill me.
But before I could finish, Bobâs voice turned sharp.
“Nora, why are you being so selfish? Your sister has a fever and all you can think about is competing for attention?”
“Canât you, as the older sister, just let her have this?”
The injustice of it stung my eyes.
There it was again. That same old line. Let your sister have her way.
But I was only six months older than Jade.
Did he even realize?
Ever since Jade came into our lives, I had already given her everything.
2
Jade was a child my brother adopted from an orphanage.
The director told us her parents had both died in a car accidentâthe same way our mother had died. That was all it took. In that instant, Bob decided he had to take her in.
He was always saying, “Look, Nora. Poor Jade. Sheâs all alone, just like we were.”
“So from now on, you’ll be the bigger person for her, won’t you?”
But I never understood. How much did I have to give? How much did I have to let go of before Jade would finally be satisfied? I didnât understand why, after I had tried so hard to be kind to her, she still looked at me with such venom.
She loved destroying everything I cared about.
She tore up my sketches.
She whined to Bob until he gave her my favorite piano.
She snatched the birthday present he had originally bought for me.
But I let it all go. I took my brotherâs words to heart, convincing myself it was just a little girlâs insecurity. She needed to feel important, to prove her place in our home by winning these small battles against me.
Until she smashed the pocket watch our father had left me and took scissors to the doll our mother had sewn by hand. Until she scrawled the word WHORE all over my bedroom walls in permanent marker.
I couldnât take it anymore. I ran to my brother, sobbing.
But Bob, the brother who had always doted on me, just looked at the tearful Jade and sighed. “Nora, she only did it because she feels insecure.”
“She’s your little sister. Canât you just let it go, please?”
“I promise, it won’t happen again.”
I stared at him in disbelief, questioning the very meaning of the words “let it go” for the first time. I didnât understand. I was barely older than her. Why did I have to surrender everything?
If I had to give up the only keepsakes I had of our parents, did that mean that from now on, anything Jade wanted, I would have to give to her?
3
Before I could even begin to process that question, Jade found a new way to torment me.
She started spreading rumors about me at school.
She paid a group of thugs to make my life a living hell.
This was the fourth time this month they had cornered me at the school gate. They would drag me, alone and terrified, into a nearby alley and grind a boot into my face. Theyâd aim their kicks at my stomach, again and again, their words a cruel litany.
“Don’t mess with our boss, Jade.”
“You idiot. Jade’s the real heiress of the Blackwood Corporation. You think you can touch her?”
“You deserve to be beaten to death.”
“No,” Iâd try to explain through the pain. “You have it wrong. Jade is the adopted one. I’m the real Blackwood heiress.”
“You’ve all been tricked. Let me go.”
“My brother, Bob Blackwood, will destroy you for this.”
But they never believed me.
It only made them hit me harder.
After all, compared to Jade, who was always dripping in designer labels, my simple, plain appearance made me look like the charity case.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t asked my brother for help.
I begged him to pick me up from school, just once, so those thugs could see who the real heiress was. Every time, heâd promise.
And every time, just when I needed him most, Jade would have some emergency.
A stomachache. A fever. A sudden craving for a cake from a bakery on the other side of town.
It was always something.
In my brother’s eyes, every little thing Jade wanted was more important than his own sister’s safety.
My thoughts snapped back to the present, and I realized my face was wet with tears. I clutched the phone, a scream of frustration building in my throat.
But before I could voice any of it, he cut me off, his patience gone. “Nora, you already have everything. You have the family name, you have me. Why canât you just let Jade have something?”
“You’re being so childish.”
“Look, Jade’s stomach is hurting again. I have to go.”
The line went dead, and my heart went dark along with the phone screen.
I watched, paralyzed, as the thugs closed in on me.
And I plunged into absolute despair.
4
Bob didn’t come. The thugs thought I’d been playing them for fools.
They beat me harder than ever before.
One of them, a girl named Jenna who was Jadeâs most loyal follower, drove the heel of her shoe into the side of my head.
In an instant, the world went silent, replaced by a single, piercing shriek that tore through my nerves.
I thought I heard someone gasp.
“Oh god, her ear is bleeding!”
“Is she⌠deaf?”
“Jenna, are you crazy? You canât kick her with a heel like that! What if you kill her?”
Jennaâs voice was casual, unconcerned.
“So what if she dies? Jade said she’d handle it.”
“She’s the Blackwood heiress. She can clean up any mess.”
Jenna smirked, her eyes gleaming with a cruel satisfaction.
“Well, since one ear is already bleeding, I might as well make it a matching set.”
Her high heel swung towards my left ear.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the agony. But it never came.
A figure shot out of the shadows, sending Jenna sprawling with a single, powerful kick.
“You little punks! Bullying people on my turf? You got a death wish?”
A voice, rough but steady, cut through the ringing in my head.
“Hey, kid. Don’t fall asleep. Your big bro’s gonna get you to a hospital right now.”
My big bro?
He must be. No wonder he was so strong, so fearless. He was taking down the same thugs who terrified me, scattering them like bowling pins.
I remembered, before Jade, when the vultures in our family couldnât get to Bob, they came after me. They hired men to kidnap me, but Bob fought like a cornered animal to save me, again and again.
Life was so good then.
In Bob’s eyes, in his heart, there was only me.
But then⌠everything changed.
Suddenly, I was being lifted into a surprisingly secure embrace. The person holding me was saying something about a hospital. I fought to open my eyes, to see his face, but all I could make out was a dragon tattoo on his arm and a shock of bleached-blond hair.
Then, the world faded to black.
5
I woke up in a hospital.
For once, my brother had actually left Jadeâs side to come see me.
He sat by my bed, his face etched with exhaustion and worry, his expression pained.
I watched his lips move for a long time before I could piece together what he was saying.
A kind stranger had brought me to the hospital just in time.
I was alive.
But the trauma to my right ear was too severe.
I would never hear out of it again.
Tears flooded my eyes. I remembered when I was little, my mom would stroke my hair and say, “Nora, my little pianist, you have to remember that a good musician doesn’t just protect her hands. She must also protect her ears. Music is the art of hearing.”
But Mom, I havenât played the piano in so long.
Not since the day Jade cried and took it from me.
And now, because of her, I had lost my hearing in one ear forever.
I watched Bob break down in front of me, his apologies a torrent of self-recrimination. But strangely, I felt nothing.
He said he was wrong. He said he never knew anyone would actually try to hurt me. He thought it was just a trip home; what could happen if he didnât pick me up? And besides, Jade was really sick. He couldnât just leave her.
He was drowning in a sea of his own excuses, but none of them could change the fact that my hearing was gone. The tiny bones in my ear were shattered. Even a hearing aid wouldn’t work.
I stared out the window at the autumn leaves for a long time, then I picked up my phone.
“No more crying, Bob. If you’re really so sorry,” I typed, “then let’s get justice.”
Right there, in front of him, I reported the assault to the police. Then I handed over all the audio recordings I had secretly made.
The officer played one of the recordings for him.
He listened to the thugs bragging about how Jade was the Blackwood heiress, how she would cover for them even if they killed me.
A violent shudder went through Bobâs body.
He gripped my hand, his knuckles white, and said through gritted teeth, “Nora, don’t worry. Even if it was Jade, I swear to you, I will make the people who did this to you pay in blood.”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“Bob,” I typed. “This is the last time I will ever trust you.”
“So please, don’t let me down.”
He met my gaze, his own unwavering for once, and nodded. Then he left with the police.
I let myself sink back into the pillows, surrendering to the crushing exhaustion. I was so, so tired.
Just before I drifted off, it occurred to me that Bob had never told me who my rescuer was.
But it didn’t matter.
When I was better, I would find him and thank him myself.
I remembered the tattoo on his arm, and that bright, defiant blond hair.
And I knew, somehow, that he was a good big brother.
6
With proper care, my wound began to heal.
My lawyer kept bringing me good news. Because of my recordings, Jenna and the other thugs were all arrested. The police had even tracked down the person who hired them. Since they were all over sixteen, they would be tried as adults and sentenced.
Everything seemed to be getting better.
I was happy, and my body healed faster.
But a nagging feeling of unease lingered.
That feeling reached a crescendo the day I was discharged from the hospital.
There, in the middle of our living room, stood the mastermind herself. The person I had imagined was locked away in a cellâJade.
She turned as I walked in, a wide, triumphant smile spreading across her face. Holding a mango cakeâmy deadliest allergyâshe walked towards me.
“Welcome home, big sister,” she cooed. “I made this cake just for you. Come and have a slice.”
I stared at Bob, my voice cracking.
“Isn’t she the one who planned it all?”
“Shouldn’t she be in jail?”
“What is she still doing here?”
Bob wouldn’t meet my eyes, hesitating. It wasnât until he saw Jadeâs eyes well up with tears that he finally spoke. “Nora, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you while you were recovering.”
“But your injury⌠it really had nothing to do with Jade.”
“She just has a fragile ego. She might have mentioned her connection to our family to those people, and they just assumed she was the heiress.”
“As for the assault, it was that Jenna girl. Apparently, she saw you bullying Jade at school and wanted to impress her by teaching you a lesson. She just got carried away and didn’t realize how hard she was hitting you⌔
“Bob,” I cut him off, my voice dangerously calm. I looked at him in utter disbelief. “They told you that, and you actually believed them?”
He shot me a disapproving look.
“Nora, it’s not just what they said. I saw it myself.”
“Look how much Jade cares about you. She was up at the crack of dawn baking this cake for you. Look, she even burned her hands.”
He held up Jadeâs hand for me to see.
“Someone who cares about you this much, who loves you, how could she possibly hire people to hurt you?”
“On the other hand, who knows what you were doing to her behind my back at school to make people misunderstand like that.”
His words were so absurd I almost laughed.
I pointed at Jade. “Bob, you say she cares about me? That she loves me?”
“If she loves me so much, how could she not know I’m deathly allergic to mangoes?”
“Look, out of all the fruits in the world, she just happened to pick the one that could kill me. Is that what you call caring?”
Bobâs gaze flickered to Jade, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
But it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Nora, you’re overthinking it. She just forgot. If you don’t like the cake, we also made your favorite sweet and sour ribs, and coke-braised chicken wings⌔
A tear slid down my cheek.
He had forgotten again.
The person who loved sweet and sour ribs and coke-braised chicken wings wasn’t me.
It was Jade.
I closed my eyes, a wave of hopelessness washing over me. “Fine. Let’s say she really did forget about the allergy.”
“But do you honestly think I’m in any position to bully her?”
“They tell you I bullied her at school, and you just believe them. But have you ever seen a bully end up like me?”
“Bob, I’m begging you, open your eyes and look! What do I even have left in this house?”
“My piano, my favorite thing in the worldâyou made me give it to her because she said she wanted to learn.”
“My bedroom, the big, sunny oneâyou said Jade was used to small, damp rooms, so you made me switch with her. Now I’m the one living in the small, dark room.”
“My clothes, my jewelry from Mom⌠everything that was good in this house is now hers.”
“Even you! How many times did I beg you to pick me up from school? Did you think those thugs only attacked me once? No! Every single time you promised to come and then broke that promise for Jade, they beat me like a stray dog. All because of this⌠this bitch you protect!”
7
CRACK.
His hand struck my face.
The impact sent a shockwave of pain through my still-healing ear.
I donât know if it was the pain or the heartbreak, but the tears started flowing faster.
Bob looked at me with utter disappointment.
“You say you don’t bully your sister? You call her a bitch right to my face. I can only imagine what you do behind my back.”
“You say you’ve given everything to Jade, but don’t you get it? You’re the true master of this house. When you grow up, everything here will be yours.”
Jade smirked at my swollen cheek. “That’s right, sister.”
“You’re Bob’s real sister. I’m just a pathetic nobody that no one wanted. I’m grateful for every bowl of rice this family gives me.”
“Please, don’t be angry with Bob.”
“If you care so much about the jewelry and clothes and the room, I’ll give it all back to you right now⌔
“That’s enough!” Bob grabbed Jade’s hand, his eyes locked on me. “You say I’m biased? Fine. I’ll show you what biased looks like.”
“Mr. Davison, take her credit cards.”
“Jade, you don’t have to listen to a word she says.”
“And Nora,” he snarled, “if you can’t recognize your own mistakes and offer your sister a sincere apology, then I’ll help you recognize them.”
I saw the cold fury in his eyes and suddenly, I laughed.
In that single, crystalline moment, the brother who had once loved me, protected me, and promised to keep me safe forever⌠was dead.
I knew what he would do. He was going to use the same ruthless tactics on me that he used on his business rivals.
He was going to show me what true favoritism was. What it really meant to give in.
But what more could he do?
Cut off my money? Starve me? Ignore me, belittle me, abuse me?
Throw me out on the street?
And then watch, waiting for me to come crawling back, begging him and Jade for forgiveness.
No.
It shouldn’t be like this. I wouldn’t allow it.
How could it be that in my own home, I felt like an unwanted guest? That I had to beg my own brother for a scrap of affection like a beggar on the street?
Once, I was my parentsâ treasured child.
It wasn’t that I was unlovable.
It was just that the person who was supposed to love me⌠had changed.
If that was the case, then I wouldn’t love him anymore either.
Maybe, I could just find someone new to love.
I grabbed my school bag and turned towards the door.
Mr. Davison, our housekeeper who had been wringing his hands anxiously, rushed to stop me. “Miss Nora, what are you doing?”
“You’re just a young girl. Where will you go if you leave home?”
But Bobâs voice, choked with rage, cut him off. “Let her go!”
“Let’s see how far she gets with not a single penny to her name!”
“Jade, let’s go.”
“Allergic? A heartless person like her doesn’t deserve to eat the cake you made!”
As his furious shouts echoed behind me, I opened the front door and walked out.
A fine, misty rain was falling.
I had forgotten to take an umbrella, but I had no intention of going back for it.
The door slammed shut behind me with the force of a guillotine.
I smiled.
He really was done with me.
But that was okay.
I had my own two hands and my own two feet.
I wouldnât starve.
8
I walked aimlessly through the light rain, with no idea where to go.
My cards were cancelled. I had fifty dollars in my pocket. After my fatherâs bankruptcy, I had no other family in this city. I was still on medical leave from school for another ten days, and I didn’t have a dorm room. Even if I went there, they’d just turn me away.
I wandered for what felt like hours, until I found myself in front of an internet cafe.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and walked up to the front desk, where a guy with bleached-blond hair and a dragon tattoo on his arm was managing the counter.
“Hi,” I asked. “How much for an all-night pass?”
He didn’t even look up from his game.
“Twenty. Thanks.”
And just like that, I had a pass. I chose a computer right next to his station. Somehow, it felt safer.
This wasnât how it was supposed to happen.
In the hospital, I had planned out exactly how I would thank him. How I would thank the anonymous hero who saved a girl from being beaten to death. He had dropped me at the hospital and left without even giving his name.
I’d had to do some digging to find out who he was. My plan was to bring Bob with me to thank him properly. If he needed money, we’d give him a huge sum. If he needed a job, Bob would help him. We could even buy him a car, a house.
But now, I was just a homeless girl.
I didn’t even have the courage to tell him who I was.
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “386786”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
1
For a decade, I’ve been GBC’s “News Queen,” yet my most frequent story is my husband’s latest affair. Tonight, paparazzi trapped him in his car with another. My phone rang nonstopâhis mother demanding I protect the family name.
Leaving the studio, I washed my face, forced a smile, and performed the usual damage control: pastries, calls, and checks. The paparazzi apologized to my face, but their whispers stabbed my back: “The great News Queen, still the woman everyone knows is cheated on.”
He’s the man who once knelt publicly, declaring me his life’s love. He’s also the man whose mistresses now make me a citywide joke. After buying their silence, I texted him: “Give me 20% of the company stock, and you can have the Ashworth name back.”
âŚ
Hank and I arrived home at almost the same time, his sports car pulling into the driveway moments after my town car.
He saw me and his eyes narrowed into a lazy, charming smile.
âWhatâs this? Angry, darling?â
I didnât bother to respond. I just pulled the divorce papers from my briefcaseâpapers Iâd had drawn up months agoâand handed them to him.
The smile evaporated from his face. He snatched the document, his knuckles white, and stormed out of the car.
I followed him up the stone path. âHank, when are you going to sign them?â
He stopped dead, whirling around so fast I almost collided with him. His eyes were bloodshot with fury. âClaire, don’t you dare think you can scare me with a piece of paper. It wonât work.â
He paced back and forth on the manicured lawn, his tailored suit seeming to constrict him. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, laced with that old, familiar manipulation.
âOur son is seven years old. You canât take him, you know that. Are you really willing to leave him?â
Willing?
Leo has been raised by Mrs. Ashworth, living in her wing of the mansion. He doesnât call me “Mom.” He calls me âherâ or âthat woman.â He shows more affection to Hankâs flavor-of-the-week than he does to me, his own mother.
Heâs my flesh and blood. I could never understand why he hated me so much.
Until I overheard him talking to his friends.
âMy dad married some nobody from the sticks. Why would I call her my mother? Calling her âherâ is already giving her too much credit.â
The memory made a bitter laugh escape my lips.
âHeâs the designated Ashworth heir, Hank. Why wouldnât I be willing to leave him in his rightful place?â
My unyielding tone made his face darken into a thunderous mask. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, his voice a low growl.
âClaire! You donât want a husband, you donât want a sonâwhat the hell do you want?â
I ripped my arm free and threw my phone at him. It bounced off his chest and clattered onto the stone.
âWhat do I want?â My voice was sharp, brittle. âHank! You could have slept with anyone in New York City, but you had to choose my biggest rival at the network!â
âThe tabloids call me a saint for my patience, my colleagues call me a doormat. Youâve dragged my face through the mud, and now youâve set it on fire!â
Hankâs anger flared, but his eyes caught the phone screen, which had lit up with a crystal-clear photo of him in bed with Isabelle Vance. The fight went out of him.
He sighed, a long, weary sound, and reached for me. I shoved him back, hard.
That was the last straw. The charming facade shattered. âThatâs enough, Claire!â he roared, his arm sweeping out and knocking over a porcelain vase on the entryway table.
I stumbled backward, right into the shards. A sharp pain shot up my leg, and a moment later, a slick of crimson began to seep through the white fabric of my slacks.
Hankâs eyes widened in shock. He started to reach for me, then hesitated, pulling his hand back as if burned.
âMy mother was right,â he seethed, his voice dripping with venom. âIâve spoiled you. Youâve forgotten that this familyâs name is Ashworth, not yours!â
âYou keep pushing, and Iâll have you thrown out of GBC. Donât think I canât do it.â
He spun on his heel and stormed up the grand staircase.
I stared after him, a dizzying wave of nostalgia washing over me. Everyone used to say Hank Ashworth was the kindest, most gentle man in New York society.
And he was. When he loved you.
When I was a scholarship kid at NYU, I was an outsider. The other students bullied me, poured soda on my textbooks, shredded my clothes. He appeared like a knight in shining armor, replacing everything, taking me under his wing.
I was just a girl from the Midwest, completely lost in the big city. He was endlessly patient, coaching me, helping me lose my accent, teaching me the unspoken rules of his world. When I interned at GBC, heâd sit in the coffee shop across the street every single day, just waiting for me.
The Ashworth family matriarch refused to approve our marriage. So he stood up to her in front of the entire board, forfeiting his trust fund just to be with me. Then he knelt on the pavement outside the GBC studios and proposed in front of the world.
But that fairy tale lasted only two years.
Then his true nature surfaced, and the affairs began.
I tried to fight it at first. I screamed, I cried. In response, Mrs. Ashworth simply took my son away. As she left my room, she paused at the door, a cold smile on her face, and told me the truth.
âHank said the biggest benefit of marrying you was your background in journalism. You know how to handle a crisis. If you donât learn to be obedient, you will never see your son again.â
I questioned it, denied it, screamed until I was hoarse.
It wasn’t until Hank himself admitted it that the fight finally left me. The Ashworth empire needed a First Lady who was an expert in damage control.
âBut you said you loved me!â I cried, my eyes raw.
He cupped my face with those gentle hands, but his words were brutal.
âI do love you, Claire. But I also love Lisa, and Amanda, and that dancer from the clubâŚâ
It was then I understood. In his eyes, I was no different from a high-class call girl.
I just had a more respectable title.
A hollow laugh bubbled up from my chest. I tried to use the wall to pull myself up, but my hand slipped, and I fell back into the pile of broken porcelain. The pain made me gasp.
My seven-year-old son, my Leo, just stood at the top of the stairs, watching me with cold disdain.
âGrandmaâs right,â he sneered. âYou really are a useless waste of space.â
I thought I had run out of tears years ago. But as I looked down at the blood on my leg, they came faster than the pain.
I was about to tell him we were getting a divorce, that I was leaving.
But then he shoved past me without a second glance, throwing himself into the arms of the woman who had just walked in. âIsabelle! You came to see me!â he squealed with delight.
I smelled the familiar scent of gardenias before I even saw her face. My rival, Isabelle Vance. Sheâd stolen my assistant, poached my sources, and tried to take my time slot. Now, she was brazenly walking into my home to steal my son.
Isabelle put on a show of mock sympathy. âOh, Claire, Iâm so sorry. Hank insisted I come over to see Leo.â
The easy familiarity between them told me this wasnât her first visit.
Leo, impatient with the pretense, tugged her toward the stairs. His childish voice was laced with a poison that went straight for my heart.
âDonât talk to her, Izzy. You might catch her germs.â
Isabelle shot me a triumphant smirk over her shoulder. Then, with a flick of her thumb, I knew she had just sent a video of this humiliating scene to the GBC staff group chat. A moment later, my phone began to buzz incessantly. I didnât have to look. I could already imagine their pitying, mocking words.
My son. The baby who used to gurgle with laughter in my arms, who would wipe away my tears with his chubby little hands.
Now he called me useless. Dirty.
And he called another woman⌠Mommy.
I had endured seven years in the Ashworth cage. My reward was Hankâs brazen betrayal and my own sonâs visceral disgust.
Just then, a text from my family doctor back home lit up my screen. I’m so sorry for your loss.
My mother was gone.
My bloody fingers smeared streaks across my face as I tried to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. A strange, guilty sense of release mingled with my grief.
My mom was gone. It was time for me to go, too.
Sitting in the shadows of my bedroom, I pulled up a number I hadn’t called in years.
I typed a single line: “Save me a spot.”
The message had just sent when Hank burst into the room. He stared at me, his expression unreadable.
âIsabelle is here. As the lady of the house, arenât you going to entertain our guest?â
I didnât even look at him, my face a numb mask. âSign the papers, and Iâll roll out the red carpet for your little whore.â
âClaire!â Hankâs eyes blazed, his teeth gritted. âYouâre that desperate to leave?â
My gaze met his without flinching. âYes.â
He loosened his tie, a cold, humorless laugh escaping his lips. âDonât forget, I made you the News Queen. I can just as easily break you.â
âGo ahead.â
Those two simple words shattered his composure. He lunged forward, grabbing me, pulling me so close I could feel the heat of his rage. His dark eyes were like burning coals.
For seven years, I had seen every version of Hank Ashworth: the shrewd negotiator, the charismatic interviewee, the tender lover.
But I had never seen thisâthis raw, uncontrolled fury.
I let out a small, contemptuous laugh and slowly closed my eyes.
His breathing grew ragged. I braced myself for a blow, but instead, he let me go, shoving me away.
âYouâll regret this, Claire,â he said, his voice dropping to an icy whisper. âYou just wait.â
The punishment was swift and brutal.
The next day, when I walked into the network headâs office, he threw a cup of scalding coffee at me. It missed, splashing against the wall behind me.
âClaire! Youâre finished!â he screamed, his face purple with rage. âGBC is terminating your contract, effective immediately! Isabelle Vance is taking over your evening news slot!â
I had been expecting it. I calmly placed my employee ID on his desk.
As I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm. âYou think you can just walk out of here?â
Before I could ask what he meant, the glass doors to the newsroom shattered inward. A mob of people surged in, led by a screaming woman who launched herself at me, her nails raking across my face.
âYou bitch! Some famous anchor! Youâre nothing but a high-class whore!â she shrieked. âYou seduced my husband during an interview! Hold her down! Iâm going to kill her!â
Hands grabbed my hair, tore at my blouse. The cold air hit my exposed skin, and I started to tremble uncontrollably.
âI didnât! It wasnât me!â I choked out, but my denials only fueled their rage.
A fist connected with my mouth, and I tasted blood. It dripped from the corner of my lip onto the pristine floor. Through the chaos, I could see my former colleagues crowded outside the office, watching the spectacle like it was a zoo exhibit.
And there was Isabelle, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, a smug, satisfied smile playing on her lips.
She sauntered over and knelt down, her face inches from mine. âMy, my. Such a tough girl. Want to bet I can make you confess in five seconds?â
I spat a mouthful of blood and saliva onto her perfectly made-up face.
Her smile twisted into a snarl. She slapped me, hard, then pulled out her phone and dialed a number. A moment later, Hankâs voice echoed from the speaker, a thunderclap in my ringing ears.
âDo you want your mother to have a proper burial?â
My blood ran cold.
âThen do what Isabelle says. Confess. Give her the position.â
âHank, do you know what sheâs accusing me ofââ My voice broke.
âI donât care,â he cut me off, his tone utterly indifferent. âJust do whatever Isabelle wants! All that matters is that sheâs happy!â
The world went silent. The phone slipped from Isabelleâs grasp.
She grabbed my chin, her nails digging into my skin. âWell?â she whispered, her voice dripping with triumph. âAre you going to confess?â
I thought of my motherâs body, lying in a morgue thousands of miles away, her final peace held hostage.
I swallowed the blood pooling in my mouth and gave a ragged, broken laugh.
âI confess⌠I confess.â
âNot good enough! I want you to slap yourself while you say it!â
I looked into Isabelleâs venomous eyes. My hand felt like it belonged to someone else as I raised it and began to strike my own face, over and over.
âIâm cheap⌠Iâm a slut⌠I seduced himâŚâ
The rest is a blur. Flashing lights, camera lenses shoved in my face, a cacophony of clicks and shouts. Hank didnât just want to destroy my career; he wanted to obliterate my name, to erase me from the industry entirely.
This was the same man who once stayed up all night with me, brewing coffee and cheering me on when I was struggling with a script. He had witnessed every step of my rise over the past seven years. And now, he was personally orchestrating my fall.
I lay in bed, ignoring the hurricane of filth and vitriol online, and stared at the ceiling, a strange, empty smile on my face.
The door creaked open. Leo stood there, holding a steaming pot. For the first time in years, he looked at me and said the word.
âMom.â
A flicker of warmth stirred in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak.
And then he lifted the pot and threw its contents at me.
The searing heat of the scalding stew was an inferno against my skin, raising blisters in its wake.
Leo clapped his hands, his eyes wide with glee. âDie! A bitch like you deserves to die!â
I froze, staring at him in numb shock. My own mother had just been buried, and my own son wanted me dead.
Hank walked in at that moment. He scolded Leo, telling him he shouldnât have done that. Then, just like he used to, he opened the first-aid kit and began to expertly treat my burns.
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t even look at him.
He sighed, his beautiful, expressive eyes fixed on me. âIsabelle is pregnant, Claire. She canât be under any stress. Let her have this. Once the baby is born, I promise Iâll get you your anchor position back.â
He made his promise with such sincerity, as if he had nothing to do with the character assassination being broadcast on every channel.
Whether he knew the full extent of it or not didnât matter anymore.
What I had lost, I would take back myself.
For the next few days, I was a prisoner in my own home. Mrs. Ashworth would drift by to call me a useless burden and ask when I was finally going to get out of her house.
I slammed the divorce papers down on the table in front of her.
âThe 20% stock transfer. Get your son to sign it, and Iâm gone.â
Before the matriarch could reply, Isabelle, who had just swept in, spoke up.
âIâll do it.â
As the heiress to the Vance fortune, I knew she had the means to make it happen.
The next day, two signed documents were placed in my hands: the divorce decree and the stock certificate. I had just forwarded them to my lawyer when Hank stormed in.
He didn’t say a word. He just grabbed a fistful of my hair and started dragging me out of the room. âWhen did you become so vicious? I told you that baby is mine! How could you not spare it?â
In the living room, Isabelle was collapsed on the sofa, covered in what looked like blood, clutching her stomach and wailing. When she saw me, her cries intensified. She slid to the floor and began banging her head on the marble, begging.
âClaire, Iâm sorry! I shouldnât have taken your job! Iâll never do it again! Please, donât hurt my babyâŚâ
âIâm begging you! Do whatever you want to me!â
Hank looked utterly devastated. He rushed to her side, gathering her in his arms. He turned to his bodyguards, his voice cold as ice. âThe knife she used on Isabelle⌠I want her to feel the same pain.â
The guards hesitated.
âWhat are you waiting for? Do it!â Hank roared, then quickly turned his head away, as if he couldnât bear to watch.
They tied me to the bed like a rag doll. From across the room, wrapped in Hankâs protective embrace, Isabelle shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice.
The bodyguard holding the knife was trembling, unable to bring himself to do it.
A wild, hysterical laugh escaped my lips.
With a sudden burst of strength, I lunged, snatching the knife from his hand. I locked eyes with Hank, saw the dawning horror on his face, and plunged it deep into my own stomach.
Warm liquid gushed out, spattering my face. Through the red haze, my voice was a blade.
âHank, just as you wanted. You forced me to kill your son with my own hands!â
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “386802”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
The eighteenth time Damon Montgomery and I attempted to divorce, he failed to show up again.
I stood outside the Registry Office, the same place it had always been, and received the customary text message.
Emergency. Reschedule.
I stared blankly at the red-highlighted countdown on my phone, the remaining days until we could file again. I simply couldn’t afford to waste any more time on this disastrous marriage.
After a long moment, I pulled up the messaging app and calmly typed a few lines.
Sheâs pregnant again, isnât she?
Damon, for the sake of your two children, just let me go.
The nineteenth time, we finally succeeded.
1
Damon and I had once been madly in love. We had both dreamt of the perfect little family, a beautiful home, and one adorable baby.
Now, the son heâd fathered with another woman was three years old, and still, heâd fought to keep me tied to him.
A womanâs voice jolted me out of the memory. She gave me a sympathetic glance, unable to resist offering unsolicited advice.
âLydia, stop this. No matter how much you fight it, the child is here now. Deep down, Damon still loves you.â
I didnât reply, turning my back to her.
The man in a crisp suit stood in the doorway, having overheard everything. He walked away the moment my gaze landed on him.
Today was the day his son was officially inducted into the Montgomery family lineage.
Halfway through the ceremony, the family elders paused, stymied by the name to be recorded as the mother. I had already warned them: my name was forbidden.
In the awkward silence, someone gently advised Damon.
âDamon, just choose someone else.â
Damonâs eyes remained fixed on me, saying nothing. Everyone was watching my reaction.
I finally spoke, my voice flat.
âItâs fine. I have no objection.â
I thought I heard a cold, self-mocking scoff from somewhere, but I didn’t look up to confirm.
Savannah was called in. When the ritual was over, she turned to leave, but Damon stopped her.
âCome here. Stand beside me.â
Out of the corner of my eye, I felt his gaze probing my face, waiting for a crack in my composure. I kept my head down.
But I still looked once.
The woman leaned into his side, gripping the sleeve of his expensive jacket, her entire being focused on the child they shared. A familiar, dull ache settled in my chest, a residual pain that was more numbness than heartbreak.
The ceremony ended, and as the last person in the room, I was the first to leave.
Behind me, the little boy, Leo, skipped happily, holding Damonâs hand and Savannahâs other hand.
The Montgomery seniors watched the trioâa perfect, complete familyâwith warm smiles. They looked so proud. Yet, they had once stood firmly by my side.
I remembered when Savannah had just given birth. She knelt at the gates of the Montgomery estate for a full day and night, clutching the infant, and still they refused to let the child inside.
They had sworn that as long as I lived, I would be their only daughter-in-law.
I was glad I hadnât believed them then.
I stopped Damon as he approached. His expression was dark, shadowed.
âThe divorce papers tomorrow. Donât forget.â
My persistent demand for a divorce had clearly worn out his patience over the years. Everyone assumed I was just throwing a tantrum, unwilling to accept defeat. They thought three years of fighting was enough, that since the boy was three, what good would come of not forgiving him?
But only I knew the truth: I was genuinely done wasting my time on him.
The woman beside him instantly teared up.
âMrs. Montgomery, are you angry because of me? If Iâve done anything wrong, I apologize. Please, have some compassion for Damon and stop deliberately making things difficult for him.â
Damon stared at me, then sneered.
âSheâs divorcing me. What right does she have to be angry?â
My eyes finally felt the sting of dampness.
The next second, I was abruptly shoved. The little boy, Leo, stood defensively in front of Savannah, hands on his hips, glaring at me with puffed cheeks.
I landed hard on the marble floor. Looking down, I saw my palms were scraped raw.
Damon instinctively took a step toward me. He was silent, but a flicker of emotionâconcern? guilt?âcrossed his eyes.
A dry retching sound broke the tension. Savannah suddenly clutched her stomach and doubled over, her face pale.
I rose slowly, clutching my stinging, scraped hands. I walked toward the exit.
A stunned Damon did not follow.
A low whisper drifted after me, reaching my ears as I left.
âDo you think⌠sheâs pregnant again?â
2
I opened the door to the house, and silence rushed out to greet me. It was empty and cold. I had dismissed the house staff six months ago.
My body was throbbing, a deep ache pulsing behind my eyes. My hand shook as I fumbled in my purse for the pill bottle. I dumped a handful into my palmâI didn’t countâand swallowed them quickly with a dry throat.
I lay on the cold hardwood floor, tears slowly tracing a path down my temples.
Lydia. How did you let your life become this?
The endless, sightless marriage had left my spirit exhausted, utterly lifeless. Now, even my body seemed to be giving out.
The lock clicked. I tried to struggle to my feet, but I was too weak.
No one ever comes here but me.
A bitter laugh was still on my lips when the door swung open. Damon stepped inside, backlit by the evening sun.
He stood motionless, watching me, not speaking.
I managed to sit up, carefully tucking the pill bottle into my bag. Even if he saw it, he wouldnât care.
Just as I thought, Damon bypassed me entirely, settling languidly onto the sofa.
âI donât believe weâre divorced yet, Ms. Montgomery. Are you saying thereâs nothing of mine left in this house?â
I had mailed all his clothes to the penthouse heâd bought for Savannah months ago. It had been so long since heâd come home; wracked with pain, I could no longer remember when.
Seeing me still sitting on the floor, the man roughly hauled me into his arms. He leaned in close, his voice a low, ragged growl.
âLydia. Speak to me.â
His eyes, beneath the dark fringe of his lashes, had that tiny, beautiful teardrop mole I used to love. I turned my head away.
âYour things arenât lost. Theyâre at your other house.â
Damon exploded. He gripped my shoulders so tightly his fingers dug into my flesh, his eyes completely red.
âThree years! Itâs been three damn years! What do you need to finally forgive me? Canât you see I regret it? Canât you see Iâm suffering every day just like you?â
He took my hand and placed it over his wildly beating heart, his voice raw with pleading.
âLydia, canât we just go back to the way things were?â
I pushed back, but he didnât budge. I just stared at him, my eyes empty with a quiet sense of finality.
Finally, Damon shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. He gradually released my arms.
I rubbed my bruised shoulders and picked up the steak knife from the coffee table, turning it over in my fingers.
âThen divorce me, Damon. We both can be free.â
Damon slumped to the floor, laughing wildly.
âYou want a divorce? Never. Iâll keep you trapped here. Iâll make you watch me live a happy life for the rest of yours.â
I tightened my grip on the knife. Slowly, deliberately, I brought the tip to my pale, exposed throat.
Unfortunately, he wonât be able to trap me for my entire life.
Damonâs pupils constricted. Without hesitation, he grabbed the blade with his bare hand. His five fingers were trembling.
In the silent, terrifying standoff, he was the one who surrendered first.
âFine. Iâll divorce you.â
The tall man struggled to stand, swaying as if he might collapse. Before he did, a small woman rushed in and braced him.
Savannah. She was weeping, her lashes heavy with tears.
âI didnât follow you. I justâyou come home so often with fresh cuts and bruises. I was worried.â
Damon rested his head weakly against her shoulder, closing his eyes.
âI wonât come here anymore. Never again.â
I watched the empty, wide-open doorway. Damon was gone.
Memories rushed up, pushed down, only to surge up again, blurring my vision.
Someone once said that love alone canât guarantee a happy ending. Damon and I never believed it.
Now, we both knew better.
3
Savannah, of course, told Damonâs parents about our dramatic confrontation.
They arrived while I was eating dinner. My throat, still visible despite my efforts, showed the faint red line from the knife.
Damonâs mother kept her silence, but his father asked, with a show of concern:
âWhy are you eating so little?â
It’s true. When did my appetite shrink to this?
âBecause Iâm going to die soon.â
Damonâs father froze, assuming I was being difficult again. His face hardened.
âLydia, is that how you talk to your elders? You werenât like this before. Youâve become so difficult to be around. No wonder Damon avoids coming home. Who would want to stay with you for long?â
I was unmoved, slowly chewing my food. I couldn’t seem to swallow it.
Damonâs mother, a woman of high society, grew visibly angry at my lack of reaction. She pushed her plate aside and slid a check across the table.
âWe came here to ask you to divorce Damon. You saw Savannah today; sheâs pregnant again. Sheâs several months along, and itâs a girl.â
The pain started again. A wave of nausea.
How strange. Why does it hurt every time they mention Damon?
âWeâre divorcing tomorrow.â
Damonâs mother scoffed.
âYou and Damon have been fighting this for three years. When has it ever worked? You refused a good life and insisted on this drama. If you had just accepted my grandson sooner, it wouldn’t have come to this.â
I looked up, meeting her eyes.
âAre you suggesting I should have accepted his child with another woman, and watched him lie to me, over and over, all for the sake of that child?â
My clear, unwavering gaze unnerved her. The cruel words died in her throat. She only muttered:
âWe were on your side. You wouldnât have lost anything.â
I tossed the check back onto the table, stood up, and motioned them out.
âDonât worry. Tomorrow, Damon and I will be done.â
4
On the day of the divorce, I woke up early and dressed with care. After all, this would be the last divorce of my life.
I arrived early. The Town Hall had just opened.
The people milling around were all couples, some happy, some clearly miserable. I was the only one sitting alone on the steps, counting the ants on the sidewalk.
The morning passed. Damon didn’t show. Heâd broken his promise again.
I checked my phone. One minute ago, he had sent the text.
Emergency. Reschedule.
I stared at the seven simple words. I scrolled up through our previous attempts. All eighteen messages were identical, down to the punctuation.
I sat back down, propped my chin in my hands, and drifted into a daze.
If the divorce failed today, Damonâs mother would suspect I was the one refusing to let him go. I didnât want to die with the reputation of a woman still clinging to her cheating husband.
After a long time, I took out my phone and calmly typed the lines that had worked the day before.
Sheâs pregnant again, isnât she?
Damon, for the sake of your two children, just let me go.
He didnât reply, but I decided to wait.
To pass the time, I counted the ants again. I realized there were only a few of them, and I finished counting quickly.
They have more time left than I do.
The smile on my face froze. It was only now, truly, that I realized I was actually going to die soon.
Just as the Town Hall was closing, Damon emerged from a car parked some distance away. His polished leather shoes appeared in my line of sight.
I looked up. The afternoon sun made my eyes sting slightly.
I rose slowly and brushed the dust from my clothes.
âLetâs go inside.â
Damon didnât move. He grabbed my arm, his eyes radiating a cold intensity.
âAre you really sure you want to divorce me?â
For a fleeting second, I heard another question, long ago.
âLydia, are you really sure you want to marry me?â
I pulled my hand free and walked up the steps before him.
âYes. Iâm sure.â
The answer was the same, but the path was leading to a completely different ending.
5
The nineteenth time, we finally succeeded.
When we walked out, Savannah was waiting by the door with their son.
The boy saw me and spat toward me.
âDead woman, get lost! Stop bothering my dad! If you donât leave, Iâll hit you!â
Before he could touch me, Damon slapped him across the face.
Damon didnât hold back. The boyâs cheek immediately swelled, and a trickle of blood appeared at his mouth.
Savannah began to sob, distraught, but Damon remained impassive.
He gripped the boyâs head and spoke with a fierce, brutal intensity.
âIf I ever hear you insult her again, youâre out. Go as far away as you can.â
The boy hid in Savannahâs arms, wailing, refusing to apologize.
âThey said Iâm a bastard, not Dadâs real son, thatâs why you wonât let us live with Grandpa and Grandma! They also said Mom is a homewrecker, a vixen everyone hates! Mom always cries in secret and lies to me that she just got sand in her eyes!â
The boy wiped his tears with the back of his hand and pointed a furious finger at me.
âIf it weren’t for you, Dad would love me and Mom! Why donât you just die!â
I wasn’t angry. I just felt a sudden, deep disgust for the little boy. He was Damonâs son, all right. His words cut just as deep.
I turned my back, quickly swallowing a few more pills in secret. Damon saw the movement and seized my wrist.
âWhat are you taking?â
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “386818”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
