Category: English

After graduation, the whole family went on a trip to the coast. My sister, having forgotten her favorite bikini, demanded I make the two-hour drive back home to get it. When I refused, my father slapped me so hard my lip split. My mother blamed me for not reminding my sister, insisting I had to be the one to go back. Humiliated and heartbroken, I broke down sobbing. My parents, calling me a disgrace, locked me in the vacation condo to “think about what I’d done.” When the three-hundred-foot tsunami came, I had no way to escape. I was swallowed alive by the wave. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that moment, with my sister demanding I go home and get her bikini. I nodded meekly. “Of course. I’ll go get it. You guys have fun at the beach.” 1 “Sadie, are you listening? Get in the car and go get my bikini. The blue one. I need it if I’m going to get in the water!” The familiar, imperious voice snapped me back to reality. A tremor went through my entire body. I stared, breathless, at my sister, Brooke. She was tearing through her suitcase, frustration etched on her perfect face. She couldn’t find the designer bikini she’d bought specifically for this trip. My parents were fluttering around her, trying to help, their words a useless balm. They urged me to just go, to make the drive before Brooke started to cry. This was… My head whipped around to look at the window, at the calm, sapphire-blue ocean. A sharp, phantom pain prickled my skin. It became hard to breathe, as if a giant hand were squeezing my lungs shut. Down below, on the street, a little girl on her father’s shoulders was squealing with delight. “The ocean is so pretty, Daddy!” It was all too familiar. Frighteningly familiar. I was back. I had been reborn into the first day of our family vacation. Reborn four hours before a three-hundred-foot tsunami would obliterate everything. We had only been in the condo for ten minutes when Brooke started her tantrum about the bikini. I get carsick. I’d already thrown up twice on the way here. The thought of another four hours in a car, alone, was a special kind of hell. In my first life, I had refused. I told them I felt sick, that we could just buy her a new one at any of the countless shops lining the boardwalk. After all, the swimsuit they’d bought for me was a twenty-dollar afterthought from a roadside stand. My refusal was met with a barrage of parental fury. “Do you have any idea what the material in those cheap suits could do to your sister’s skin? What if she has an allergic reaction?” “You’re the older sister, Sadie. Is it so hard for you to help her out for once? I swear, you’re just selfish, always in a rush to have your own fun. You’re eighteen years old, act like it!” The usual lecture. The usual comparisons. Brooke was bubbly and adored; I was quiet and withdrawn. Brooke could talk her way into anything; I was silent and sullen. I could only stand there, my jaw tight, saying nothing. “Look at you with that dead-fish expression,” my father had sneered. “No wonder you only got into community college. “Your sister is going to Duke. She has a real future. And you? What’s the point of you? Running an errand is the most useful thing you can do, and you can’t even do that without complaining!” My silence always enraged my father. His words grew sharper, more venomous. He had conveniently forgotten why I was only going to community college. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten. Maybe he just didn’t care that he’d ended up in the hospital from a drinking binge the week before my SATs. My mother and Brooke had both claimed they were too exhausted to deal with him, so I was the one who spent my nights in a hospital chair instead of studying. Running on no sleep, I bombed the exams. My family refused to even consider letting me retake them or apply again next year. They wanted me in a two-year program, out, and earning money as soon as possible. They all remembered. They just thought it was perfectly reasonable. As long as Brooke got into a good school, that’s all that mattered. As long as Brooke was happy. When Brooke wanted a beach vacation after graduation, my parents booked it instantly. I was just lucky enough to be brought along. The first real vacation they’d ever taken me on in my nineteen years of life. Of course, I was the one who had to carry almost all the luggage up three flights of stairs. And now, I was supposed to drive two hours back to get a bikini. 2 “Sadie, are you deaf? I told you to go get my bikini!” Brooke’s voice turned shrill, slicing through my daze. I pulled back from the window, a cold dread washing over me. The peaceful, sun-drenched ocean outside might as well have been a monster baring its teeth. Who could possibly imagine that in four hours, a terrifying wave would surge from the deep and destroy everything in its path? “Sadie, this is your fault for not reminding her. You know how she gets. Now go!” my mother snapped, glaring at me. I took a deep breath, trying to push away the paralyzing fear of the wave. I looked at my mother. Why would I remind her? I didn’t know she’d forget. And why is it my job to remember for her? The last time, I had dared to ask that question out loud. In response, my father had lunged, the back of his hand catching my mouth. The blow sent me sprawling to the floor. “When I tell you to do something, you do it! Can’t you see your sister is upset?” he had roared, ignoring the blood trickling from my lip. That slap had shattered me. For nineteen years, I had tried to understand what I had done wrong, why my own family treated me with such disdain. The injustice of it all finally broke me, and I started to wail, a raw, hysterical sound that I couldn’t control, sobbing until I nearly passed out. This only annoyed Brooke more. She stormed out of the condo, shouting that she was going to the beach and I had better have her bikini ready when she got back. They were staying for three days; if she couldn’t wear it today, she would wear it tomorrow. My parents, looking disgusted, kicked me a few times for good measure before locking me in the room. “Crying won’t solve anything,” they’d spat. “You stay in here and think about your attitude. You can come out when you’re ready to go get the damn swimsuit.” Then they left, the sound of the lock clicking shut echoing in the silent room. As if I were a piece of luggage to be left behind. I had huddled on the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees, my body shaking with silent, soul-crushing sobs. Hours later, as dusk began to fall, the calm ocean suddenly churned. The tide pulled back with an unnatural speed, and then, the water began to boil. By the time I realized what was happening, a colossal, three-hundred-foot wave was charging toward the shore like an avenging god. I screamed, throwing myself at the door, twisting the locked knob until my skin was raw. It wouldn’t budge. I ran to the window, shouting for help, just in time to see my parents dragging Brooke to the car. They glanced up. I know they did. We were only on the third floor. They saw me. But they didn’t hesitate. They jumped in the car and sped away without a backward glance, disappearing in seconds. I died in a tsunami that felt like the end of the world. 3 “Sadie, are you mute? I’m asking you one last time. Are you going to get my bikini or not?” This was Brooke’s third demand. She was officially furious, her face flushed and blotchy. Because I hadn’t said a word. My father was already moving toward me, his hand raised to strike. The scene was about to repeat itself. I would be beaten, locked up, and left to die. I quickly sidestepped, forcing a smile onto my face. “Brooke, don’t be mad. This trip is all about you. I’ll do whatever you want.” I turned to my father. “Dad, while I’m home, should I grab that bottle of Maker’s Mark you like? You could have some with dinner tonight.” My father’s hand froze mid-air. The anger on his face lessened. “That’s more like it. Go on, then. Four hours round trip. You’ll be back before dark, plenty of time to have some fun.” He lowered his arm and turned to Brooke. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. Dad will take you out on the jet skis.” “I want to go on the helicopter tour, too. For pictures,” Brooke demanded. I knew about the helicopter tour. Eight hundred dollars for ten minutes. If I had ever asked for something like that, my father would have kicked me out of the room. But for Brooke, he agreed instantly. My mother beamed, giving Brooke a thumbs-up. “Look at you, so brave! A helicopter ride!” Brooke shot me a triumphant, smug glance. She was showing off, flaunting the love that was reserved only for her. The only thing I had ever received was a slap or a shove. A familiar pang of pain twisted in my chest, but it was quickly replaced by an icy numbness. A person who has already died once has no time to mourn the love they never had. “Mom, Dad, Brooke, you guys have a great time at the beach. I’m leaving now to get the swimsuit.” I turned and walked away, the picture of obedience. They were satisfied. They would wait for me, expecting me to return in four hours. But they didn’t know that in four hours, the tide would recede with a horrifying silence, only to return with the force of a thousand storms. Maybe it was an undersea earthquake, or a volcanic eruption. Whatever the cause, an unprecedented tsunami was about to descend upon this entire resort town. I remembered it clearly. The wave was taller than our hotel building. At least three hundred feet. A wave that high was almost unheard of in human history. The 2004 Indonesian tsunami that shocked the world, devastating 14 countries and leaving over 270,000 dead or missing, had a maximum height of just over 150 feet. Of course, terrain and elevation play a huge role. But this wave… this wave was three hundred feet tall. Even if our town, Seabrook, was situated on higher ground, with hills and forests to break the impact… I couldn’t let myself think about it. The image of the apocalypse was already burned into my mind. I had to hurry. Four hours. How was I going to survive? 4 I had seen the tsunami with my own eyes. I knew what that monstrous wall of water was capable of. I had to assume the worst-case scenario: that the entire city of Seabrook and the neighboring coastal towns would be wiped out. Ideally, I would get on a plane and fly a thousand miles away. But there wasn’t time. It would be a miracle if I could even get out of Seabrook itself. It was the day after high school graduation; the roads were choked with tourists. We’d been stuck in traffic for half the drive here. Driving back to my house in two hours was a fantasy. So, escape wasn’t the answer. I had to think about immediate shelter. A high-rise building? I dismissed the thought instantly. In the face of that apocalyptic wave, any man-made structure was a joke. The tallest skyscraper would crumble like a sandcastle. No, the shelter had to be solid. It had to be high. A mountain. On the east side of Seabrook was Shepherd’s Peak State Park. Its highest point was over four thousand feet above sea level. It had well-maintained infrastructure, and at the summit, there was an old stone lodge that could serve as a shelter. I’d volunteered there once for a park cleanup day; I knew the layout. Better yet, it was only a forty-minute drive from here, and I could take the highway. It was 2:00 PM now. If I could get to the base of Shepherd’s Peak, I’d still have time to stock up on supplies and get to the top. There was enough time. That was the plan. As I walked out of the condo complex, I saw a maintenance worker passing by, carrying a large tool bag. A box of roofing nails was visible inside. I stopped him. Ten dollars later, I had a pocketful of nails. I walked to the ground-level parking lot and found our family’s SUV. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I scattered the nails on the ground behind all four tires, points facing up. The second the car moved, the tires would be shredded. I imagined my family frantically trying to escape, the hiss of the tires deflating. The image was almost beautiful. I dusted off my hands and hurried away. Time was wasting. I had to get to Shepherd’s Peak, get supplies, and get up that mountain. 5 The Uber I called sped along the highway. I had hoped it would be clearer than the local roads, but it was still bumper-to-bumper in places. A drive that should have taken forty minutes dragged on for an hour and a half. Panic clawed at my throat. I could only pray for the traffic to move faster, just a little faster. Finally, we got off the highway. From here, it was only five minutes to the park entrance. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. It was 3:35 PM. The tsunami would hit around 6:00 PM. I had two and a half hours. I didn’t need much. Just enough food and water for a week. A tsunami, for all its destructive power, is fast. Once the initial surge passed, I just had to wait for the national guard and rescue teams. It wasn’t ideal—if I had more time and help, I’d stockpile for a month—but I was alone. Carrying a week’s worth of supplies up a mountain was the absolute limit of my strength. As the car passed a small residential area, I had the driver pull over. I ran into the local grocery store. I filled a backpack with high-energy, low-volume foods: canned goods, beef jerky, protein bars. Then, I grabbed two reusable shopping bags and loaded them with self-heating meals, dried fruit, and nuts. The last stop was a pharmacy for a basic first-aid kit: ibuprofen, antibiotics, band-aids. By the time I was done, the backpack was a dead weight on my shoulders and the bags were cutting into my hands. My back ached. But this was enough to last me a while if I was careful. The most important thing was water, but it was too heavy. I only bought three bottles. I remembered there was a natural spring-fed waterfall near the summit of Shepherd’s Peak. I wouldn’t be without water. I checked my supplies one last time, called another Uber, and gave the driver the address for the park. It was now 4:36 PM. One hour and twenty-four minutes until the tsunami. My phone rang. It was Brooke. I answered. She didn’t even say hello. “Are you home yet? I need you to bring my white sun hat, too. If you’ve already left, turn around and go back. I have to have that hat.” 6 Listening to Brooke’s commanding tone, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a bitter, exhausted laugh. For my entire life, she had treated me like a servant. I was so used to it, so conditioned to cater to her every whim, to placate her, to do anything to avoid her anger and the punishment that would follow. If I hadn’t already died once, her voice would still fill me with a familiar dread. But Brooke couldn’t scare me anymore. Still, I didn’t argue. Not yet. There was still over an hour until the wave. If I provoked her now, knowing her temper, she might throw a fit, decide she didn’t want to be at the beach anymore, and start heading home to confront me. That would give my family a much better chance of survival. “Okay, Brooke. I’ll turn around and get your hat. It might just take me a little longer to get back to the beach,” I said, my voice dripping with false compliance. I could hear her sneer through the phone. “I love how pathetic you sound. Keep it up.” In the background, my mother’s voice chimed in. “Sadie, since you’re making another trip anyway, you might as well bring my makeup bag. I was going to bring it but it was too much of a hassle.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Of course, Mom. I’ll get it. See you soon.” “That’s a good girl,” my father added. “See? When you’re not difficult, everyone’s happy.” It was the closest thing to praise I’d heard from him in years. I hung up the phone. The car pulled up to Shepherd’s Peak State Park. I didn’t have the driver drop me at the main entrance, but at a service gate on the west side. It led to an employee access trail. I remembered it from my volunteer days. I looked up at the towering peak, a profound sense of safety washing over me. There was no safer place in the world right now. I took a deep breath and started up the trail with my supplies. The ranger in the gatehouse was napping, oblivious. The heat was oppressive, easily over 90 degrees. Only a fool would be hiking in the middle of the afternoon. As a result, the trail was completely deserted. There were probably other tourists in the park, but they’d be on the main trails, near the visitor center. I was panting, my lungs burning. I had to stop every twenty feet. My vision started to swim. Finally, dizzy and exhausted, I reached the halfway point. There was a large plaza here and a station for the cable car that ran to the summit. The plaza was empty, but the cable car was running. I got in, wiping sweat from my forehead, and checked the time on my phone. 5:26 PM. Thirty-four minutes until the tsunami. The sun was still beating down. There was no wind. No sign at all of the impending doom. But my heart was starting to pound, the memory of that apocalyptic day wrapping around me like a shroud. I closed my eyes and breathed deep, feeling the small breeze created by the moving cable car. I could almost smell it—a strange, metallic tang in the air. The wave was already forming, out in the deep ocean, still miles away. At 5:47 PM, the cable car reached the summit. Before me stood the old stone lodge, its slate roof shimmering in the heat. It was just as deserted as the trail had been. I didn’t waste time looking for anyone else. I found a small, unused chapel off the main hall and slipped inside. It was dedicated to some forgotten local saint. I remembered dusting the pews during my volunteer work. I offered a silent nod to the statue, then sat down heavily on a bench. My head was spinning, my limbs felt like lead. The climb, the heat, the stress—it had all taken its toll. But I was here. I was safe. I was in a stone building, four thousand feet above sea level. It was 5:52 PM. Eight minutes to go. I twisted the cap off a bottle of water and began to chug it. My phone rang again. It was Brooke. 7 The moment I answered, she started screaming. “Did you lose a leg? What is taking so long? I want to wear my bikini and my hat and take pictures in the ocean! I’m dying of boredom here!” My parents were in the background, their voices adding to the chorus. “The sun is about to set! We want to get pictures of Brooke in the golden hour! Get back here now!” A cold, sharp smile spread across my face. The sunset? Pictures? In a few minutes, you’re all going to be dead. All my caution vanished, replaced by a liberating rush of adrenaline. “I’m not coming back to the beach,” I said, my voice calm. “I’m at home, enjoying the air conditioning.” “What?” Brooke was stunned into silence for a second, before erupting. “Sadie, are you messing with me? If you’re not coming back, who’s going to bring me my bikini and my hat?” “Are you disabled? Do you need me to do everything for you? You’re eighteen years old, but you have the brain of a spoiled toddler.” “What?” Brooke sounded genuinely confused. The line went quiet. I could practically hear the gears grinding in her head. Then, a roar of pure fury. “Sadie, what did you just say? Did you call me disabled? Did you say I have the brain of a toddler?” Her shriek brought my parents into the conversation. My father snatched the phone, his voice a low growl. “Sadie. You dare talk to your sister like that? Have you lost your mind?” My mother’s voice, shrill and panicked, joined in. “Sadie, what did you say about your sister? Say it again! I dare you!” “Your sister is a spoiled, helpless child. A spoiled, helpless child. A spoiled, helpless child…” I repeated it, over and over. “You… you… Sadie!” My mother was hysterical. The precious angel she had coddled for eighteen years had never been criticized, let alone by the family slave. My father bellowed, “Sadie, you just wait. I’m going to come home and I’m going to chop you into pieces and feed you to the dogs!” Click. I hung up. I wasn’t going to listen to any more of that. I waited for the final three minutes to pass. 5:57 PM.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385666”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The TMZ headline blew up my phone: [MEGASTAR FINN WILDER’S STOLEN ID USED IN SHAM MARRIAGE]. That’s how I found out Finn Wilder had forgotten we got married three years ago. The entire internet started digging. They found me, a single mom, and our son, Leo. Finn Wilder himself tagged me in a public statement: [@AnnaHayes I get that fans are passionate, but this is next level. Can we get this annulled, like, yesterday?] I replied: [Okay.] But we scheduled the divorce three times, and Finn never showed. The first time, his assistant called. “Mr. Wilder was held up on set. Pyrotechnics issue. We’ll have to reschedule.” The second time, his publicist texted me. “Mr. Wilder was rushed to the hospital with a high fever. We’re rescheduling.” The third time, my son Leo brought me his iPad, pointing at a news alert. “Mommy, Daddy got a booboo. He hit his head in a car.” 1 Before Finn Wilder was Finn Wilder, we dated. We were young, stupid, and in love. He dragged me to a 24-hour chapel in Las Vegas. His eyes were brighter than the neon strip. “This way, you’re stuck with me,” he’d said, his hands framing my face. “Not even God can tear us apart now.” He’d kissed me, smug, like he’d just conquered the world. “You’re mine. Next life, too.” That same day, he got in a car accident. And he forgot me. His family, who always hated me, saw their chance. They erased every trace of me from his life. So when the [SHAM MARRIAGE] headline dropped, I wasn’t surprised. It had his family’s fingerprints all over it. Since he’d forgotten, his family could write whatever history they wanted. I was recast as a delusional, psycho fan who’d “found” his lost wallet and somehow, magically, married him. It was a clean, believable narrative. I stared at the blurry screenshot of the marriage certificate on the gossip blogs. The ID number was magnified. The internet did its work. Within hours, my crappy apartment building, my name, and grainy photos of me struggling with a stroller were plastered all over Twitter. I’d found out I was pregnant right after he lost his memory. Leo is two and a half. He looks just like me. No one, not even Finn, suspected he was the father. The whole world was waiting for me to break down, to start screaming, to fight for him. My DMs were a dumpster fire of 99+ messages. They called me a psycho. They called me a gold-digging whore. They said I was trash trying to cling to a god. I’ve watched his movies. I watched the reckless, beautiful boy I knew turn into “The Finn Wilder,” an untouchable megastar. I know how this business works. A secret wife and a toddler don’t help that brand. I’d waited three years for him to remember. I gave up hope a long time ago. I stared at his public post for five minutes, then typed: [Okay.] My heart had died three years ago. It was time to bury it. 2 I actually met his older brother, Julian, first. I was the “swapped at birth” cliché. The true heiress to the Landry fortune, raised in a trailer park, and “rescued” at seventeen. I was a country bumpkin who only knew how to get good grades. I didn’t fit in with the prep school kids. To make it worse, I was part of an old “family arrangement” to marry Julian Wilder. Everyone laughed at me. But Julian pulled me aside at one of those awful garden parties. “This arrangement,” he said, “I intend to honor it. Get your grades up. You’ll come to New York with me.” I didn’t have a single friend. His words were a lifeline. My new “parents” were so embarrassed by me they wouldn’t even publicly acknowledge me. The fake heiress, Sierra, told everyone at school I was the new maid’s daughter. My parents didn’t deny it. The whole school treated me like a charity case. They isolated me, they whispered about me. I finally snapped. “I’m not the maid’s daughter. I’m Anna Landry. Sierra is the fake one!” A group of girls cornered me in the bathroom. They slapped me, hard. “You trash. Just because Sierra’s too nice to put you in your place doesn’t mean we are.” The leader pulled my hair, forcing me to my knees. “Look at yourself. You’ll never be one of us.” I went to the principal. He just sighed. “Why do they only bully you, Anna? Maybe you should look at your own behavior. Stop spreading these fantasies. The Landrys are paying your tuition. You should be grateful.” I cried myself to sleep every night. And I studied. I was going to get out. I was going to go to New York with Julian. My SAT scores were high enough. Julian himself flew back and convinced my parents. He was the one who brought me to NewY ork. He was how I met Finn. 3 Julian set me up in a quiet apartment near my new school. He was always the perfect gentleman. “Is the money enough?” “Are you keeping up with your classes?” “Is anyone giving you trouble?” He was five years older. He was at Columbia; I was finishing high school. He was a guardian, a big brother. One evening, he was on my tiny balcony, watching the sunset. “I brought you here to show you a bigger world, Anna,” he said. “Not to trap you with some outdated promise. They laugh at you? Then you become so successful they can’t ignore you. As for the arrangement… it’s a responsibility I take seriously, not a romance. You understand?” I understood. He didn’t love me. He would never marry me. But he was my savior. He’d pulled me out of the mud. I was just grateful. I never expected his brother. Finn Wilder was a hurricane. He blew into my quiet, lonely life and tore it apart. We lived together for four years. 4 It started because I could cook. It was a Saturday, pouring rain. A knock. He was in a baseball cap, trying to hide that ridiculously beautiful face. His arm was in a cast. He looked like a stray wolf, soaked and starving. “My brother says you can cook. I need food. Pot roast. And something spicy. Like, really spicy.” “Who’s your brother?” I asked. “Julian. My actual brother.” He pushed past me, dripping, and started opening cabinets. He was like a raccoon. “I’m calling Julian,” I said. Julian just sighed on the phone. “He escaped from the hospital. I’m on my way.” By the time Julian arrived, Finn was inhaling a plate of my spicy Kung Pao Chicken, practically vibrating. He ate the whole thing, then obediently followed Julian out. Before he left, he grabbed my phone and added his number. That night, he texted: [Tomorrow. I want ribs.] He moved in. His school (NYU) was an hour downtown, but he made the commute every day, just for my cooking. He was loud. He was obnoxious. But he also sat on the couch playing video games while I studied, just so I wouldn’t be alone. “I’m here, what are you scared of?” He was the one who went, mortified, to the drugstore to buy me tampons. “This is so embarrassing, Anna.” And then, one night, everything changed. Julian showed up. He wanted to talk about the “family arrangement” again. “It’s time,” he said. “We’re going home to announce our engagement.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385682”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“$28,000 a month. Sign it, or get out.” My landlady was certain I was trapped. I’d sunk over a million into renovating this place; moving was out of the question. I looked at her triumphant face as my phone buzzed quietly in my pocket. It was a text from my husband: Honey, I nailed it. The new place is $3,500 a month. Signed for eight years. A slow smile spread across my face. “Patrice,” I said, my voice full of carefully crafted hesitation, “this is a big decision. I need to talk it over with my husband.” 1 “Let me be perfectly clear, Clara,” my landlady, Patrice, announced, her voice dripping with finality. “Four storefronts, $28,000 a month. Not a penny less.” She daintily flicked a piece of non-existent lint from her mink coat, her gaze refusing to meet mine. “Either you sign the new lease, or I want you and all your junk cleared out by the end of the month.” Behind her stood the embodiment of my life’s work for the past three years: four connected storefronts, now a single, sprawling space. It was a beacon of light and activity, the undeniable jewel of this otherwise forgotten stretch of downtown. Her audacity was so extreme it was almost funny. “Patrice, our contract explicitly states that after three years, the rent will be adjusted to the market rate,” I said, keeping my voice even. “The rates on this entire street are dropping. Mr. Henderson next door, who has an even better location, just lowered his rent from $5,000 to $4,000.” I pushed a proposal across the table. “I’m offering to renew at the original $15,000, plus a ten percent increase. That’s $16,500. I think that’s more than fair.” “Market rate?” Patrice let out a theatrical laugh, as if I’d just told the world’s most hilarious joke. “Clara, darling, get a clue. Who do you think set the market rate on this street?” She pointed a perfectly manicured, blood-red nail towards the bustling street outside. “What did this place look like three years ago? A mud path with barely a working streetlight!” A hot, sour wave of anger rose in my chest. “I remember exactly what it looked like! It was me, Clara, who took over these four leaking, dilapidated shacks and sank a million dollars into turning them into what they are today!” I retorted, my voice rising. “And now that the street is thriving, you want to kick me to the curb?” “Oh, listen to you, Saint Clara the Developer,” she sneered, her eyes filled with undisguised contempt. “You think you brought this street back to life? Fine. Try leaving. Let’s see where you stack all this inventory without my property. Let’s see how many of your precious customers can even find you then.” Her words were a poison-tipped dagger, and they found their mark. Just six months ago, I’d poured another huge sum into a complete renovation, confident in the future of this location. Now, with the holiday season approaching—the busiest time of year for my business—the timing couldn’t be worse. Move? Find a new location? Renovate all over again? I couldn’t afford to lose the time, the money, or the energy. She knew it. She knew my million-dollar investment had me nailed to this spot. That’s why she felt bold enough to jack up the rent from a reasonable $3,800 per unit to a predatory $7,000. For the past two weeks, she’d ignored my calls, replying to my texts with cold, dismissive phrases: If you can afford it, rent it. If not, plenty of others can. I could practically see her smug face through the screen. “Clara, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Patrice said, rising to her feet and looking down at me. “You’ve put so much money into this place. It would all be for nothing if you had to move. It’s tough for a woman to run a business. Don’t let your pride get in the way of a few thousand dollars. Sign for twenty-eight, and I guarantee your business will be better than ever.” Looking at her face, a canvas of greed and arrogance, the last flicker of hope I had for a reasonable compromise died. I said nothing, just met her gaze with a calm, steady look. She mistook my silence for the final struggle before surrender. A victorious, cat-and-mouse smile played on her lips. Just then, my phone vibrated gently in my pocket. That faint buzz was like an electric shock straight to my heart. I pulled out my phone. A text from my husband, Thomas. Honey, I nailed it. The property exchange unit in the South End. 19-foot ceilings, same square footage as your current place. I’ve already got a designer on it. We can build a four-story mezzanine. Double the usable space, and a bigger outdoor area. And guess what the rent is? My heart skipped a beat. I held my breath. $3,500 a month. The landlord, Mr. Harrison, is a great guy. Signed for eight years, no rent increase for the first five. He said he’s moving abroad to be with his daughter and told us to do whatever we want with the place. He even said to ignore any local busybodies. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed a single word back: Perfect. Then, I slowly lifted my head and met Patrice’s triumphant gaze. I smiled, a warm, harmless smile. “Patrice, this is a really big decision. I have to go home and discuss it with my husband.” I furrowed my brow, injecting the perfect amount of hesitation into my voice. “Could you give me… three days?” “Fine,” she said with a magnanimous wave of her hand, as if bestowing upon me a great favor. “But you’d better think carefully. An opportunity like this doesn’t come around twice.” She swayed out of the store, her back radiating smug satisfaction. She had no idea. It wasn’t an opportunity I was about to miss. It was her. She was about to become a part of my past. In this high-stakes game she thought she’d already won, she had just revealed her hand. And in doing so, she had already lost everything. 2 The moment Patrice was gone, I called Thomas. “How is it? Is this Mr. Harrison for real?” I whispered, hurrying into the stockroom and closing the door behind me. “Relax, honey,” Thomas’s voice crackled with suppressed excitement. “I had someone check him out. He’s an old-timer who got a massive payout from a city development deal. He owns several commercial properties; he’s not hurting for cash. His daughter is settled overseas, and he’s moving to be with her permanently. Probably won’t be back for years.” He continued, “I had my friend in the legal department look over the contract. It’s iron-clad. He even added me on social media before he left and told me if anyone gives us trouble, just block them and focus on the business.” The knot of anxiety in my stomach finally loosened. “You’re amazing, Thomas!” “Of course, I am. I’m your husband, aren’t I?” he said, his voice beaming with pride. “This Patrice… she really thinks we’re just a couple of pushovers she can squeeze for every last drop. I’ve been sick of her for years! When we first came here, those storefronts were like pigsties, leaking and moldy. She practically begged us to take them.” “And now that we’ve made a success of it, she thinks she can bleed us dry. Not a chance.” He was right. Three years ago, we were just starting out, counting every penny. This street was a forgotten corner of the city, plagued by poor planning. Patrice’s four storefronts had been vacant for almost two years, the walls peeling, the windows broken. But I saw its potential, its unique position connecting the old city with the new developments. I was the one who convinced a hesitant Thomas to take the plunge. We did the work ourselves, clearing mountains of trash, painting walls in old clothes, learning how to lay electrical wiring from online videos. We transformed that ruin into our dream. For the first three years, business was slow. We barely broke even. But we persevered, building a reputation for quality and service, slowly but surely drawing people back to the street. The number of shops grew from just ours to ten, then twenty. You could say that this street was our baby, a child Thomas and I had raised from nothing. And Patrice was the bully trying to snatch it away now that it was all grown up. “So, what’s the plan, honey? Do we tell her to shove it?” Thomas asked. “No,” I said, my eyes catching the bustling scene outside the window, a cold glint in them. “That’s too easy.” “She thinks I can’t survive without her? I’m going to show her that not only can I survive, I can thrive beyond her wildest imagination. I just told her I need three days. Those three days are her last moments of delusion. Her last shred of dignity.” “And for us,” I continued, “it’s time to launch the Lightning Plan.” “The Lightning Plan?” “Exactly.” I took a deep breath, my mind racing, every neuron firing with adrenaline. “Get the most reliable construction crew you can find for the new place. I want them working in two shifts, 24/7. You already have the designs. Electrical, mezzanine, interior finishing—I want the best materials and the fastest possible speed. Money is no object; I have two million in our business account ready to go. I have only one requirement: in twenty days, it has to be ready to open.” Thomas gasped on the other end of the line. “Twenty days? Clara, that’s… that’s insane. It’s a military operation.” “It’s because it’s insane that she’ll never see it coming,” I said, my voice firm and unwavering. “Right now, she’s at home, feet up, waiting for us to come crawling back in three days, begging to sign her ridiculous lease. The more certain she is of that, the bigger the ‘surprise’ will be.” “For the next twenty days, it’s business as usual here. In fact, we’ll do even better, so her spies see that we’re too busy making money to think about anything else. You oversee the new construction. I’ll handle the daily operations here and keep Patrice on the hook. We’re going to pull off the ultimate deception.” Thomas was silent for a few seconds. Then, his voice came back, filled with the same fierce excitement that I felt. “Alright. Let’s do it. Let’s blow her mind.” After hanging up, I stepped out of the stockroom, my face a mask of calm, friendly professionalism once more. Mia, one of my employees, saw me and asked with concern, “Clara, that… that landlady. She didn’t give you too hard of a time, did she? She looked furious.” I smiled and patted her shoulder. “It’s fine. Just business negotiations. Don’t worry about her. Everyone, let’s focus. We hit our targets this month, and I’m giving out double bonuses!” “Yes! Thank you, Clara!” A cheer went through the store, shattering the tense atmosphere Patrice had left behind. Seeing the renewed energy in my team, my own resolve hardened into steel. Just you wait, Patrice, I thought. You’re about to learn the true meaning of regret.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385698”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The comment appeared in my vision, shimmering over Ethan’s head, just as he was pushing the pink cocktail across the table. “The nerd has no idea that drink will give the female lead her super-brain, making her ace the SATs.” “And it’s all going to plan on the other side. Once the jock drinks his special cocktail, the male lead will get his insane athletic ability and get scouted by a top D1 university.” “I just love a power couple story!” 1 …A power couple? You call stealing someone else’s life’s work “power”? I silently switched my glass with the one intended for the school’s star athlete. The IQ of a rock. The stamina of a chain-smoker. It’s all yours. When those bizarre, floating captions first flickered into existence, Ethan was still coaxing me to drink the pink concoction in front of me. “Audrey, you have to try this one.” In the dim light of the private room, Ethan’s smile was dangerously deceptive. He was the boy next door, the one I’d been quietly in love with for a decade. Any other day, his words would have sent a thrill through me. I would have downed the drink in a heartbeat, my low tolerance be damned, just for the warmth of his attention. But those comments had planted a seed of suspicion. I feigned hesitation. “We have finals in three months, Ethan. I have a mountain of practice tests to get through tonight. Alcohol will just cloud my head. How about after the SATs? My treat.” “I made it just for you,” he insisted, his voice a little too smooth. “I’m calling it ‘The Audrey.’ It’s your namesake. Just one sip.” Something was wrong. I knew Ethan. I mean, I really knew him. And he didn’t like me. For years, I was the one trailing in his wake while he couldn’t be bothered to spare me a word. His entire world revolved around Olivia Reed, the school’s reigning queen bee, and figuring out new ways to make her smile. For him to be not just mixing me a drink, but practically begging me to drink it, was more than strange. It was a five-alarm fire. Another caption popped up above his perfectly styled hair. “Poor Ethan, having to suck up to this four-eyed loser for Olivia’s sake.” “Her glasses just make Olivia look that much more like a goddess in comparison.” “Just drink it already, nerd! Stop wasting time!” So that was it. Ethan and Olivia were the main characters of this… story. He, the handsome golden boy from a wealthy family; she, the effortlessly beautiful It Girl. A match made in high school heaven. Ethan has been in love with Olivia forever, and their story is a dramatic dance of will-they-won’t-they, all while somehow managing to coast their way into top universities without ever seeming to crack a book. And apparently, the “system” decided their plot needed a little boost. So, they were given a shortcut: a couple of tainted drinks to steal my academic diligence and the raw athletic talent of our school’s star jock, Jax Vance. I stared at the pink liquid, a bitter laugh caught in my throat. So, the lives of the main characters mattered because they had an audience, but the rest of us were just props? Was that it? My spot at the top of the class, the number one rank I’d held since freshman year—that was the result of countless sleepless nights and mountains of textbooks. And he thought he could just snatch it all away with one cheap cocktail. Looking at his fake, charming smile now, I just felt sick. I picked up the glass. Ethan’s eyes locked onto my hand, his posture suddenly tense. I brought the rim to my lips, then stopped. “What’s wrong?” he asked, a little too quickly. “My heart’s acting up a bit. I think I left my pills in the other room. Could you grab them for me?” I was born with a minor heart condition that required daily medication. It was the perfect excuse. He hesitated. I swirled the pink liquid in the glass. “By the time you get back, this glass will be empty. Promise.” That was all it took. Ethan practically sprinted out of the room. The second he was gone, my eyes scanned the crowded party for Olivia. I found her on the balcony, handing a drink to Jax. Of course. They were in it together. Insidious. Ethan works on me for Olivia’s benefit, while Olivia uses her neighborly connection with Jax to trick him into giving up his physical prowess for Ethan. I flagged down a passing waiter, pressed a hundred-dollar bill into his hand, and told him to accidentally spill a tray of drinks on Olivia. He played his part perfectly, apologizing profusely. Olivia, ever the gracious queen, had to maintain her image. She just smiled. “It’s totally fine. I’ll just go to the restroom and clean up.” Before leaving, she gave Jax a pointed look. “That drink is amazing, you really have to try it.” Jax, lounging against the railing with his usual casual indifference, just lifted the glass in a lazy salute, not paying much attention. The moment Olivia was out of sight, he brought the drink to his lips. I lunged forward and snatched it from his hand. He whipped his head around, his eyes wide with surprise. “You…” Jax and I were in the same class, but we existed in completely different orbits. We were parallel lines, never meant to intersect. But there was no time for social anxiety now. I shoved my own pink cocktail into his hand. “Trade you.” Jax just stared. “?” Ignoring his confusion, I held up the glass I’d taken from him and clinked it against his. “Here’s to new friends.” My first instinct had been to just dump the drink. But then I thought, why should I? If Ethan and Olivia wanted to steal our futures, they deserved to pay the price. I’d switched the drinks. Let Olivia walk into the SATs with Jax’s rock-bottom, last-in-the-class academic record. Let Ethan step onto the field for his athletic trials with my frail, gets-winded-walking-up-stairs physique. Oh, and my congenital heart condition. That was a fun little bonus. I’ve always been a generous person. He could have it all. 2. Jax was still staring at me, looking completely bewildered. A thought struck me, and I quickly clarified, “Don’t worry, I didn’t drink from your glass.” “S’fine,” he said, a crooked, roguish smile spreading across his face. He swirled the pink drink I’d given him and downed it in one go. “Wouldn’t have cared if you did.” We were practically strangers, so once he’d finished the drink, I went back to my seat. The moment I sat down, the room started to spin. I’m a total lightweight, and whatever was in that cocktail, it was hitting me hard. Ethan returned just then. He saw the empty glass in my hand and my dizzy state, and a wave of relief washed over his face. “Good. You drank it.” He tossed my pill bottle onto the table. “You have a problem, you take your meds. Now finish up and go home. These kinds of parties aren’t for nerds like you anyway.” Across the room, Olivia waved at him. Ethan ran a hand through his hair, about to head over, but I grabbed his sleeve. “You expect me to get home by myself in this state?” He frowned, his patience wearing thin. “The night’s just getting started. We’re going to karaoke after this. You want me to leave and play babysitter?” I can’t believe I liked this person for so many years. I must have been brainwashed by whatever twisted plotline was controlling this world. I let go of his sleeve. “Get lost.” “What did you say?” He looked at me as if he’d misheard. The girl who followed him around like a puppy couldn’t possibly have said that. I met his gaze and repeated, slowly and clearly, “Piss off, you moron. As of today, Audrey Shen is done with you.” “You…” Ethan’s brow furrowed, but then he let out a short, condescending laugh. “Right, right. You’re drunk. Wait until you sober up tomorrow and remember what you said. You’ll come running back, trying to get on my good side again.” He hesitated for a moment, as if expecting me to break, but Olivia called his name again and he left. Shaking my head to clear it, I stumbled outside to wait for my ride. Two drunk guys were staggering down the sidewalk, and they slowed their pace as they passed me, their eyes lingering. I pretended to be on the phone with my parents, avoiding their gaze. Just as a knot of fear tightened in my stomach, the two of them saw something—or someone—over my shoulder, and they quickly scurried away. I turned around and saw Jax leaning against a lamppost. “You heading home, too?” I asked. He just grunted an affirmative, saying he was waiting for his ride. But his phone screen was still lit, and I could clearly see he hadn’t even opened the rideshare app yet. “Can I ask you something? It might be a little weird.” Jax straightened up, a faint blush creeping up the tips of his ears. “Wh-what?” “Your grades… are you really last in our class because that’s all you can manage, or are you secretly a genius holding back?” The question made him choke on air, coughing a few times. The blush on his ears deepened. “I just… I haven’t really been trying, okay? I’m not stupid. I’m… I’m actually pretty smart. If I really applied myself…” “Don’t!” I cut him off immediately. “Last place is great! I love it!” Right now, Olivia was linked to him, set to inherit his academic abilities for the SATs. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she realized her brain was completely empty in the middle of the exam hall. Jax couldn’t afford to mess this up. I was so lost in my own scheming that I didn’t notice the way his eyes widened, a strange, rosy hue spreading across his face. 3. The next day, the results of the monthly practice exam were posted. As expected, I was first in the school. Our homeroom teacher was beaming. “Audrey, keep this up. With your focus, there isn’t a university in this country that wouldn’t want you.” My classmates were buzzing with admiration. “Audrey’s next goal has to be a perfect score on the verbal section.” “It’s insane. I heard Harvard and Yale are already sending her feelers.” … Then, the teacher’s gaze fell on Olivia. “Finals are just around the corner. Some students would be better served focusing on their books instead of their makeup. Last month you were ranked in the top 100, this month you’ve dropped to 300.” Olivia, busy reapplying her lip gloss in a compact mirror, didn’t even flinch. As soon as class was over, she whispered to her friends, “These little tests don’t matter. The only one that counts is the SATs.” One of her friends looked confused. “But Olivia, nobody can guarantee they’ll perform well on the day.” “Others can’t. But I can.” Just then, the scrolling captions reappeared in my vision. “That’s right, our girl is going to get into Princeton. State scholar, no less.” “Beautiful and brilliant. That’s a true female lead!” “The nerdy side character isn’t getting a bad deal. She gets Olivia’s grades in return, enough to get into a state school. For a background character, that’s more than enough.” … It dawned on me then. The floating comments, the “viewers,” they had no idea I’d switched the drinks. They were still operating on the original script. Because I was a minor character, my actions were simply skipped over. Did that mean… I could use these comments to see what was supposed to happen? Seeing me staring blankly at the results sheet, Olivia shot me a smug look. “It doesn’t matter how well you do now. Just you wait.” I had to physically pinch my thigh to keep from bursting out laughing. Oh, I’m waiting. I can’t wait for you to experience the full power of Jax’s academic prowess on test day. I instinctively glanced back. In the last row, Jax was asleep again, head down on his desk. He’d been out for three straight periods. I used to look down on people like him, just drifting through life. But now, he was a welcome sight. Someone had left a window open, and the breeze seemed to be bothering him. I walked over and quietly slid it shut. Can’t have anything disturbing his precious sleep. As I closed it, I looked down and found myself staring directly into Jax’s sleepy, just-opened eyes. “Keep sleeping,” I whispered, giving his head a gentle, encouraging pat. “I closed the window for you.” In the next second, Jax’s face turned bright red, and he quickly buried his head in his arms. Such a sound sleeper… I was walking back to my desk, marveling at his dedication to rest, when I ran straight into Ethan, who had just returned from skipping class to play basketball. He’d seen me close the window for Jax, and when I tried to walk past him, he blocked my path. “Audrey, you don’t have to go this far to get my attention. Are you really that desperate you’ll throw yourself at any guy?” Before I could even respond, someone rushed forward and punched Ethan square in the jaw, sending him stumbling to the floor. Jax stood over him, gripping his collar. “Keep your damn mouth clean. If you’ve been eating shit, swallow it. Don’t spew it everywhere.” “You—!” Jax was a good two inches taller than Ethan, with the broad shoulders and long legs of a natural athlete. His talent was off the charts; his running times were good enough for national competitions. It was no wonder Ethan wanted to steal his abilities. Ethan knew better than to fight him head-on. He just sneered, his voice dripping with certainty. “We’ll see what you’ve got at the athletic trials tomorrow. You’re always bragging about how you’ve got your pick of D1 schools. Let’s see what kind of times you can actually run.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385715”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For five years, I was married to my stepbrother. Then, he killed himself. The only thing he left me was half a piece of paper with three words written on it: I hate you. And he should have. I’d repaid his family’s kindness by drugging him, climbing into his bed, and forcing him to break up with the woman he loved. I knew he didn’t love me, but I couldn’t let him go. I suffocated him until he chose death. And then, I died in a car crash on the way to his funeral. I thought that was it. Then I woke up, back on the night I drugged him. 1. Ethan was dead. I got the news while I was at a cafe, finalizing the divorce papers with my lawyer. “He can have the money. He can have the house, all of it.” My lawyer looked stunned. “Ms. Miller, you’re planning on walking away with nothing?” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “From what I understand, Mr. Thorne was the one who initiated the separation. Legally, you are the aggrieved party…” I held up a hand. “Just write it up that way, please.” It was all his, anyway. I’d already poisoned his life for years; I wasn’t going to steal his assets, too. “Well,” the lawyer said, “I’ve handled hundreds of divorces, and you are by far the most generous client I’ve ever had.” I gave him a bitter smile. If he knew what I’d done, “generous” isn’t the word he’d use. “Crazy” was the one Ethan’s friends preferred. The psycho who’d trapped her own stepbrother. “If you’ll just review this and sign here…” My hand was shaking. I’d just written the first letter of my name when my phone buzzed. “Is this Chloe Miller? This is City General Hospital. Your husband, Ethan Thorne, has been admitted…” The pen clattered to the floor. I hadn’t seen him in six months. Not since he’d finally asked for a divorce. “Isabella’s back,” he’d said, looking out the window. “After all this time, I never forgot her.” He looked away. “Name your terms, Chloe. I’ll give you anything. Just sign the papers.” I’d lost it. I smashed everything in the living room, screaming at him. “A divorce? Don’t even think about it, Ethan! The only way you’re leaving me is in a body bag!” He didn’t say anything. He just silently started cleaning up the broken glass, the way he always did. I thought I’d won. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. His clothes, his pictures, his toothbrush. Like he’d never existed. And now, he’d made my words come true. I was finally a widow. 2. By the time I got to the funeral home, he was already an urn of ashes. The moment she saw me, his grandmother slapped me across the face. “You evil girl,” she sobbed. “How dare you show your face here?” I just stared at his black-and-white photo. His grandmother shoved me out. I tried to push back in, and she threw a folded piece of paper at my chest. “Read it! This is all he left! This is what he thought of you!” I picked it up. And I saw the three words in his familiar, sharp handwriting. I hate you. 3. I waited outside the funeral home all night. When his family left in the morning, I got in my car and followed them. It was raining, and the winding canyon road was slick. Just let me see him buried, I prayed. Just let me get through this, and I’ll do anything. As if in answer, a boulder, loosened by the rain, broke free from the hillside. It came crashing down right on top of my car. The last thing I saw was that half-sheet of paper, fluttering onto my lap. I hate you. He really didn’t want me at his funeral. As the world went dark, I made one last promise. “Ethan. If there’s a next time, I swear, I’ll leave you alone.” 4. “Chloe, are you insane?” “I’m your brother! And you drugged me?” The voice was rough, familiar, and… alive. “I’m sorry,” I whispered automatically. The words were barely out of my mouth when a strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me against a hot, tense body. “A little late for sorry, isn’t it?” I snapped my eyes open. Ethan. He was alive. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils blown wide. “Ethan?” I scrambled away from him, my hand flying to my own face. Slap. The stinging pain proved it was real. I burst into tears, a relief so profound it buckled my knees. “I’m not mad at you. Why did you hit yourself?” he slurred, pulling me back. The guilt was suffocating. This was just like last time. Even drugged and confused, his first instinct was to worry about me. Last time, I’d taken advantage of that. He’d woken up, full of shame, and taken all the blame. His fiancée, Isabella, broke it off. His grandmother was furious. And he never once told them what I’d done. I tore myself out of his arms. “Ethan, I’m so sorry! I… I was just testing it! I didn’t know if it worked! I’ll call 911!” I fumbled for my phone, but he grabbed my wrist. His voice was a low growl. “You… tested it on me?” His eyes narrowed. “Who were you planning to use it on?” It was a stupid lie, but it was an exit. And maybe, if he thought I loved someone else, it would be the clean break we both needed. I forced a blush. “Lucas. From the architecture department. I’ve had a crush on him for months.” His grip on my wrist tightened until it hurt. “You’d drug a man, Chloe?” “He’s the love of my life,” I whispered, staring at the floor, terrified he’d see the lie in my eyes. “I’d do anything for him.” He let me go. “You’re unbelievable. You’d better hope it’s worth it.” He threw me out of his hotel room and slammed the door. “Ethan, wait!” I knocked. “It’s a strong dose! Do you want me to call an ambulance?” No answer. I was about to call security when the elevator dinged. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” Isabella. She held up a small pharmacy bag and smiled. “Here to see Ethan. I’m guessing you are too?” The door behind me opened. Ethan was standing there in a bathrobe, his hair wet. He looked exhausted. He frowned when he saw me. “Why are you still here?” He called her. The realization was a punch to the gut. Of course he did. He loved her. This was his chance. This was good. This was what I wanted. “I… I was just leaving. You two… have a good night.” I ran.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385731”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On a stormy night, my next-door neighbor suddenly went into labor. I drove her through the floodwaters to the maternity hospital. After she was discharged, she reported me for running an illegal taxi service to make a quick buck. I didn’t say a word. I paid the $5,000 fine, and my car was impounded. She posted a voice message in our building’s residents’ group chat: “Even with friends, business is business. If you break the law, you pay the price!” A month later, her younger son had a seizure from a high fever. She couldn’t get a cab in the middle of the night. She called me, crying, begging me to drive them to the hospital. Holding my phone, I said calmly, “That’s illegal. You could go to jail for that. You should probably wait for an ambulance.” 1 “Tim! Are you even human? This is a child’s life we’re talking about!” “If my son ends up with brain damage, I’ll never let you hear the end of it! You’re a murderer!” I held the phone away from my ear and hung up. Outside, thunder rattled the windows. Another storm was raging. The last one had lasted for three whole days. The building’s underground garage was completely flooded. Luckily, I’d had the foresight to move my new Audi A6 to higher ground. That car was my calling card for my business; I practically polished it three times a day. At 2 a.m., when the rain was at its heaviest, a thunderous banging shook my front door. I looked through the peephole and saw my neighbor, Mark, soaked to the bone. The moment I opened the door, he dropped to his knees. “Tim! Help me! My wife’s in labor! Her water broke!” In this weather, even a tank would have trouble getting through, let alone an ambulance. The roads outside the complex were cut off, the water rising to thigh-level in the deepest spots. “Have you called 911?” I asked, throwing on some clothes. “We did! There’s a huge queue! Everyone’s waiting! But Sarah can’t wait, she’s on the floor, screaming in pain, and she’s bleeding!” Mark, a grown man, was a mess of tears and snot, his forehead hitting the floor tiles with a dull thud. “Tim, I know you have a good car, high clearance. Please, save my wife and baby! If we’re too late, they could both die!” Lives were on the line. I stared out at the rain pouring down like a waterfall and gritted my teeth. “Let’s go.” I’d never driven in such treacherous conditions. Waves of floodwater crashed over the hood, and the wipers on their highest setting could barely clear the windshield. I had to crawl through the “river” that was our street, hazard lights flashing. In the car, Sarah’s screams were agonizing. Her nails clawed deep gouges into my leather seats. I winced at the damage but didn’t dare say a word, my focus entirely on the road ahead. The engine sputtered ominously several times. My palms were slick with sweat. If we stalled here, we’d all be trapped. A drive that normally took twenty minutes stretched into an hour and a half. The moment I pulled up to the maternity hospital entrance, medics rushed out with a gurney. As they lifted Sarah out, a mixture of amniotic fluid and blood soaked my backseat. Mark followed behind them, stammering his endless thanks. I collapsed into the driver’s seat, exhausted, my hands still shaking. The trip had half-wrecked my car. The engine had probably taken on water, and the interior would need a complete overhaul. But at that moment, all I could think was: I saved two lives. It was worth it. The next afternoon, I was at the auto shop, grimacing at the sight of my dismantled engine. Mark sent me a text: a healthy baby boy, mother and child were doing fine. I sent him back a generous gift of cash through a payment app. A little while later, Mark showed up at the shop and insisted on stuffing five hundred dollars in cash into my hand. “Tim, this is for gas and a car wash. You have to take it! Sarah would feel terrible otherwise!” I tried to refuse. “We’re neighbors. Don’t be a stranger. As long as the baby’s okay, that’s all that matters.” “No! Even with friends, business is business. If you don’t take this, you’re looking down on me!” He shoved the money into my pocket and ran off before I could protest further. Holding the five hundred dollars, I thought to myself that they were a decent, considerate family. I never imagined that five hundred dollars would be the beginning of my nightmare. Three days later, I was in a meeting at work when several uniformed officers from Traffic Enforcement walked right in. “Are you Tim Wallace? The owner of the vehicle with license plate 66888?” I froze. “Yes, that’s me. What’s wrong?” “We’ve received a formal complaint against you for operating an illegal taxi service. The evidence is conclusive. You need to come with us.” At their headquarters, when they showed me the file, my world went cold. The complainant: Sarah Miller. The evidence included the complete dashcam footage from the night I drove her to the hospital, and a photo of Mark forcing the five hundred dollars into my hand. There was even a recording. It was Sarah’s voice, sounding weak, yet shrewd: “Yes, I took his illegal taxi. The rain was too heavy to get a ride, so he jacked up the price to five hundred dollars. People like him, who profit from a crisis, must be punished.” I trembled as I listened to the recording. I thought of the heart-pounding terror of that drive. I thought of the bloodstains on my leather seats. I thought of the thousands of dollars I had paid out of pocket for repairs. “Bullshit!” I slammed my fist on the table. “This is slander! I was taking her to the hospital to give birth! Her husband forced that money on me for gas!” The officer’s face was impassive. “We only look at the evidence. You don’t have a commercial driver’s license, yet you accepted payment. The facts are clear.” “According to regulations, the fine is five thousand dollars, and the vehicle will be impounded.” Five thousand dollars. For me, with my business already facing a cash flow crunch, it was like pouring salt on a wound. Worse, with my car impounded, how was I supposed to meet my clients? I slumped into the chair, the cold penalty notice clenched in my fist. In that moment, something inside of me simply died. 2 My heart bled as I drove my car out of the impound lot. The tow truck had cracked the bumper, and the body was caked in mud. Just like my life at that moment—a complete mess. I drove straight to the hospital. In the hospital room, Sarah was propped up in bed, sipping on some expensive broth. Her cheeks were rosy; she looked nothing like the woman who had been at death’s door that night. Mark was peeling an apple beside her. When he saw me, his hand flinched, the knife nearly slicing his finger. “Well, well, look who it is. Our hero,” Sarah said, her voice dripping with sarcasm after swallowing a mouthful of broth. I threw the penalty notice onto her blanket. “Why?” It was the only word I could manage. Sarah glanced at the amount on the paper and smirked. “Don’t blame me, Tim. The city offers a reward for reporting illegal taxis, up to three hundred bucks.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin, her tone matter-of-fact. “If I didn’t report you, someone else would have. Might as well keep it in the neighborhood. Three hundred dollars is enough for a month of Toby’s formula.” I stared at her in disbelief. “For three hundred dollars? I saved your life! And your son’s! My car repairs cost over a thousand! Now I’ve been fined five thousand!” I roared, my eyes turning red. Mark shrank into himself, not saying a word, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “You did that willingly. I didn’t ask you to,” Sarah said with an eye-roll. “Besides, you drive such a nice car. What’s a little money to you? For poor people like us, every penny counts.” “This is betrayal! I helped you!” “Don’t you dare get on your high horse with me! The law says you were operating illegally, and that’s that! Where there’s smoke, there’s fire!” Sarah’s voice suddenly shot up, drawing the attention of the other patients and their families in the ward. She immediately switched into victim mode, pointing at me and shouting, “Everyone, come and judge for yourselves! This man runs an illegal taxi in the rain, preying on pregnant women! Now that he’s been fined, he’s come to the hospital to threaten us! Is there no justice?” People who didn’t know the story started whispering and pointing at me. “He looks so respectable, but he does such vile things.” “Scamming a pregnant woman… he has no heart.” I was speechless, unable to defend myself. Looking at Sarah’s triumphant, smug face, I suddenly realized that arguing with someone like her was the height of foolishness. I shot a cold glance at Mark. “You’re just going to let your wife run wild like this?” Mark looked down, mumbling, “Tim, in our house… Sarah calls the shots…” Fine. Just fine. I turned and walked out of the room, Sarah’s victorious sneer following me down the hall. When I got home, an even bigger storm was waiting. To get her hands on that $300 reward, Sarah had publicly tagged me in the 500-member residents’ group chat. “@TimWallace You can’t judge a book by its cover. Everyone, be careful not to take his car! He scams his neighbors during storms, preying on people he knows!” She even posted a pixelated photo of my fine notice, painting herself as a brave victim fighting for her rights. The chat exploded. The same neighbors who used to greet me respectfully as “Mr. Wallace” completely changed their tune. “I never would have thought he was that kind of person.” “Stay away from him. He’s a real shark.” Even my own parents were accosted by others in the building when they went out for groceries, told they had failed in raising their son. The stress caused my mom’s blood pressure to spike, and she ended up in the hospital for three days. Because my car was impounded for two weeks, I missed meetings with two major clients. My company’s cash flow completely dried up. I had to swallow my pride and borrow money from relatives, enduring their condescending looks. Friends who’d once clapped me on the back now sent my calls straight to voicemail. During that time, I was sleeping three hours a night, my hair falling out in clumps. Countless times, I stood on my balcony, staring at the lights on in Sarah’s apartment downstairs, wanting to charge down there and end it all. But I held back. I couldn’t throw my life away over someone so worthless. I sold everything of value I owned to plug the holes in my company’s finances. Life had to go on, but I was no longer the same warm-hearted Tim. I spent a small fortune installing high-definition, front-and-rear dashcams with audio recording in my car. I also set up a panoramic surveillance camera at my front door, covering every angle, 24/7. I swore to myself, if I ever meddled in someone else’s business again, I was less than human. From then on, I kept to myself in the building. If I saw an elderly person fall, I’d walk the other way. If I heard a child crying, I’d put on my headphones. My world became quiet, and my heart grew cold, hard as iron. Then, a month later. A brutal flu swept through the city.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385747”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Late one night, scrolling through my phone, I stumbled upon an anonymous post. [My sister-in-law is in love with me. Should I be with her?] It had only been up for half an hour, but the comment section was already a dumpster fire with over a thousand replies. One user called it out: [Another rage-bait post. You’re really using incest-lite as a gimmick to farm karma? Does your sister-in-law know you’re spreading this crap about her?] The original poster (OP) shot back immediately: [Spreading crap? After the way she acts around me?!] [What way? Seducing you?] someone pressed. [Not seducing, exactly. But she warms up milk for me every morning. She takes me out to dinner when I get off work. When I fight with my brother, she’s always the first one to comfort me.] [My brother’s out of town for a few days, so I’ve been dressing… lighter. And it’s working. After dinner tonight, she went straight to her room. She’s afraid that if we’re alone together, she won’t be able to control her feelings for me.] [Besides, I’m younger than my brother, in better shape, and I know how to treat a woman. If she had met me first, my brother never would have stood a chance.] The comment section was a sea of ellipses. […I don’t know if your sister-in-law is into you, but I know for a fact you’ve got a massive, unrequited crush on her.] [OP, please go see a therapist. It sounds like your sister-in-law is just being nice to you, like you’re her little brother.] [You guys don’t believe me?] OP was getting pissed. [I’m going to go ask her right now!] I was curled up in bed, thoroughly entertained by the drama. The next second, a knock came at my bedroom door. My brother-in-law’s voice drifted through the wood. “Maya? You asleep?” 1 I glanced at my phone, then at the door. I didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. A few seconds later, a new notification popped up from the post. [I think she’s asleep.] A chorus of digital jeers followed. [OP chickened out, didn’t he?] [Just go to bed, dude. Your sister-in-law only has eyes for your brother. She’s not into you.] [Seriously, OP. Go see a doctor.] [Heh, how did you know my sister-in-law is a doctor? You’re right. I should book an appointment with her so I can see her more often. Maybe it’ll give her the courage to finally confess her feelings for me.] Reading that, I went cold. I was now certain. The original poster was my brother-in-law, Ethan. And the sister-in-law he claimed was secretly in love with him… was me. I took a deep, shaky breath and rolled over, feeling a wave of exhaustion. My phone lit up again. An update from Ethan: [She’s definitely not asleep. I heard her move. She’s just too shy to open the door for me.] I held my breath, frozen. The comments immediately lit up. [Lmao. The self-delusion is lethal.] [OP, you should record a video when you ask her. We all want to see her reaction.] Ethan replied: [No, I can’t film her. She’s shy.] A user shot back: [Is she shy, or are you scared?] [You don’t get it. She’s beautiful even when she’s embarrassed. At the wedding, my brother just kissed her on the cheek in front of everyone, and she blushed so hard she couldn’t even speak. It was adorable.] [I’m not the coward. My brother is. He only dared to kiss her cheek. If it were me, I would have kissed her on the lips. Her lips are so soft. They look so… kissable.] I covered my face, unable to look at the screen anymore. Ethan, who always seemed so normal, so straight-laced, was coming off like a total creep. A new comment appeared: [OP, is your brother not good to you?] Ethan’s reply was instant: [My brother’s great. But she’s better. My stomach was killing me last week, and she made me soup and stayed with me.] [And then?] Ethan: [And then my brother came home, and she went to take care of him.] [But I get it. She has to put on a show in front of my brother. I don’t have a right to her yet, but I’m working on it. I’ll earn my place.] What was I even reading? A sigh escaped my lips. That soup was originally for Leo. He had to work late, so I gave it to Ethan instead. I couldn’t help myself. I typed a reply in the comments: [Is it possible she just sees you as a little brother?] [No way,] Ethan wrote. [I know she cares about me. It was raining today, and she sent me a text reminding me to bring an umbrella.] I pressed my fingers to my forehead. I’d sent that text to my entire family’s group chat. I heard a soft shuffling sound from the hallway. It sounded like Ethan had sat down, his back against my door. He posted another update. [If she doesn’t like me, why has she been avoiding me these last few days?] [She won’t even meet my eyes. You know what they say, eye contact is a spiritual kiss without the carnality. She must want to kiss me for real but is too afraid.] One user replied: [Okay, that actually makes a little sense. If she’s suddenly avoiding you, she must be hiding something.] [But based on what you said earlier about ‘dressing lighter’… what exactly were you wearing?] [A lacy butler costume,] Ethan wrote. The comment section fell silent. A hot blush crept up my neck as images of Ethan’s outfits from the past few days flashed through my mind. Leo had only been gone for three days, and in that time, Ethan had already paraded around in six different “light” outfits. Sheer shirts, tops with strategic cutouts, a pearl body chain… I hadn’t just been avoiding eye contact; I’d wanted to claw my own eyes out and scream indecent exposure. I had assumed Ethan just had some… unique hobbies. Now I realized he was wearing those things for me. I would have preferred the unique hobbies. A new comment voiced my exact thoughts: [Dude, you’re probably scaring the hell out of her.] I bit down on my duvet, nodding furiously. I’d been so terrified I’d barely looked up all week. Ethan refused to believe it. [No way. The way she looks at me is different.] [I’ve made up my mind. I’m telling her how I feel tomorrow.] [Love is something you fight for, not something you wait for. Instead of waiting for her to work through her feelings, I’m going to make the first move. While my brother’s out of town, I’m going to make her mine.] The comments erupted. [Don’t do it… I really don’t think your sister-in-law feels the way you think she does.] [OP, do you have good insurance? I can get you a referral to a great psychiatrist. Let’s get you healthy before you confess anything, okay?] [Your brother is going to kill you.] Ethan: [For her, it’s worth it.] I took a deep breath and typed one last comment. [I suggest you don’t confess. Otherwise, you might not even have a family left to come home to.] Just then, a video call from Leo popped up on my screen. Outside my door, I heard Ethan scramble to his feet, followed by the notification of his final, hurried update: [Gotta go. My brother is calling to check up on his wife. He’s so damn insecure, calls her every single day. So annoying.] 2 I waited until I was sure Ethan was gone before I answered the call. Leo’s face filled the screen. He had deep-set eyes, a strong nose, and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. They were brothers, but where Ethan was a charming, boyish kind of handsome, Leo possessed a magnetism that was both intense and commanding. It was that look that had stolen my breath at a friend’s wedding three years ago, compelling me to walk right up and ask for his number. “Why’d it take you so long to answer?” he asked. His voice, low and rich, rumbled through the phone. I opened my mouth, Ethan’s delusional words swirling on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back down. It wasn’t about protecting Ethan; it was about preventing Leo from flying home and breaking both his legs. “I was asleep,” I lied. Leo studied me, his gaze sharp and unwavering for a couple of seconds. “Really?” “Mhm.” His expression softened, the hard lines of his face relaxing. “The project isn’t going as smoothly as I’d hoped. I might have to stay a few more days.” “It’s okay,” I said, my smile feeling a little tight. No big deal. I’d just have to get better at avoiding Ethan. He asked casually, “Ethan hasn’t been giving you any trouble, has he?” My fingers tightened on my phone. I kept my face neutral. “He’s been quiet. Just… likes to, uh… change his clothes a lot.” On the other end of the line, Leo scoffed. “He better be quiet.” “But still… keep your distance,” he added. “He’s an adult now.” I nodded quickly. “I will.” Leo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “How come you’re so agreeable this time?” I looked down, avoiding his gaze. I couldn’t exactly say, Because I just found out your brother has a massive, creepy crush on me. “Didn’t you used to say he was just a kid?” he pressed, his tone probing. “He’s twenty-two. That’s not a kid,” I said softly. Thinking about how my kindness had been so horribly misinterpreted made my ears burn. Leo watched me for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face, but in the end, all he said was, “Remember to lock your door.” After we hung up, I refreshed the post and saw Ethan’s latest update: [Tomorrow, I’m making a candlelight dinner. When she’s moved by the gesture, I’ll tell her everything.] Users were begging him to calm down. Ethan replied: [She’s so good to me. There’s no way she’ll say no.] I silently turned my phone off. It was clear that just keeping my distance wasn’t going to be enough. 3 Five in the morning, before the sun was up. I tiptoed out of my bedroom, shoes in hand, holding my breath as I passed Ethan’s door. I didn’t exhale until I had softly clicked the front door shut behind me. After finishing a long surgery, I checked the post again. Ethan had been posting nonstop since seven a.m. [My sister-in-law is gone. No warm milk this morning…] [I bet my damn brother said something to her behind my back.] [I can’t give up. I have to rescue her from him!] The comment section was on fire. [OP, has it ever occurred to you that the milk was basic hospitality, taking you to dinner was to keep you from starving, and comforting you was to maintain peace in the family? You’re not special to her. Stop being delusional.] [Why’d you delete my comment, OP? You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.] [Dude, stop trying to reason with him. This kid is a lost cause. Just let his brother beat him up.] I rubbed my temples and closed the tab. At seven p.m., Ethan updated again. He posted a picture: a dining table draped in a white cloth, set with steak, candles, and even rose petals. [Candlelight dinner is ready. Just waiting for my angel to come home. She’s going to be so touched when she sees this.] The comments exploded. [He’s actually doing it? I’ll bet five hundred bucks she turns you down flat.] [I’ll raise you a thousand and bet your brother comes home and rearranges your face.] Ethan shot back: [She won’t say no.] [And my brother won’t hit me. He always wants the best for her, and I’m the best. He should be happy to see us together.] The comment section was flooded with question marks. [???] [That logic… does your brother know you think that way?] [Does your SISTER-IN-LAW know you think that way?] [I honestly don’t even know where to begin with this.] I silently upvoted that last one. Checking the time, I put my phone down and went back to my patient charts. It wasn’t until the charge nurse reminded me my shift was over that I realized it was already 10:30 p.m. When I got to my front door, the lights were still on. Through the window, I could see Ethan sitting at the dining table, glancing at the door every few seconds. I turned around and walked to a 24-hour CVS. I lingered in the aisles until 11:30, figuring he would have given up and gone to bed by then. When I pushed the door open, only a small nightlight glowed in the living room. Ethan was asleep on the sofa, a bouquet of roses resting near his hand. The steak was cold, the candles burned down to melted stumps. As quietly as possible, I cleared the dishes into the kitchen, scraping the food into the trash. Even the roses and the card tucked inside them went into the bag. After cleaning everything up, I went to my room, and left the house again before dawn. Walking down the empty street, I felt like a fugitive. 4 The next morning, I got a text from Ethan: [Maya, did you come home last night?] I paused from typing up my notes and simply replied: [What’s up?] The little bubbles indicating he was typing appeared for a long time before he finally sent back two words: [Nothing.] His cold tone was a relief. It seemed he’d finally gotten my hint. Coming home late was my way of saying it was never going to happen, and cleaning everything up while he slept was my way of saying we should pretend it never happened. Ethan was smart; he had to have understood. It wasn’t until I opened the post again that I realized how naive I’d been. Ethan was on a posting spree: [WTF! The candlelight dinner vanished into thin air.] [I know I fell asleep in the living room waiting, and when I woke up, everything was gone. Cleaned up.] [I didn’t see my sister-in-law, just a ghost. I asked if she came home, and she never answered.] The comments were full of laughing emojis. [Maybe you cleaned it up in your sleep?] [She definitely came home, saw it, and got rid of it all.] [My guess is she’s figured you out, and this is her way of gently rejecting you.] I silently upvoted that comment. Beneath it, Ethan replied hesitantly: [Really…? But if she knows how I feel, why won’t she just say something?] [I thought we both felt the same way…] The replies were brutal. [Are you sure it’s mutual and not just you projecting?] [Dude, the person she loves is your brother. Not you.] Ethan immediately fired back: [You don’t know anything. My brother tricked her into marrying him. She doesn’t actually love him.] [Do tell.] Ethan’s reply came quickly: [My brother fell for her at first sight. He found out she was a bridesmaid at his employee’s wedding and went specifically for her, dressed to the nines. He knew what he was doing, using his face to get her attention.] [Then one time she got drunk, and I told my brother to unbutton his shirt a little while he took care of her. With his face and that body, who wouldn’t get flustered? She basically forced herself on him.] [Another time, he wanted to buy her a purse, but I told him to get her a custom set of surgical scalpels instead. Her eyes lit up when she saw them. The next day, she said yes to his proposal.] [There’s nothing between them but manipulation. I’m different. My feelings for her are real.] The comments were in an uproar. [Wait, so your brother’s entire successful courtship was orchestrated by YOU?] [OP, I’m confused. If you like your sister-in-law so much, why did you push her toward your brother?] Ethan replied, indignant: [I had never even met her back then! My brother guarded her from me like I was a thief. If I’d seen her first, we’d probably have kids by now.] One comment hit the nail on the head: [Your brother probably saw this coming a mile away. That’s why he kept you two apart.] [Brothers with the same taste. He was afraid you’d try to steal his girl.] Reading that, it suddenly clicked. I finally understood why Leo had always been so subtly, deliberately keeping Ethan and me at arm’s length. I used to think he was overreacting. Now, I realized he was afraid Ethan would develop feelings for me. But Leo really did play his cards close to his chest. I had always believed our first meeting was at that wedding, and that I had been the one to pursue him. Now, it seemed Leo had known who I was long before that. And he had intentionally used that handsome face of his to catch my eye. What bothered me more was the memory of that night. I was drunk, and Leo was taking care of me, his shirt collar slightly open, his breathing ragged but restrained. I’d thought I was the one who initiated things, but looking back now, his every subtle reaction was perfectly calibrated. Even his suppressed groans had a faint, alluring quality. I should have been angry, but instead, my cheeks were burning. To think that Leo had been watching me for so long. That he had been the one to fall first. As I was lost in thought, Ethan posted another update: [My brother’s coming back soon. I’ve decided to lay my cards on the table before he gets here. When it comes to winning someone’s heart, I’m a pro!] I immediately closed the page and sent a text to Leo. [When exactly did we first meet?] And then: [And you better get home soon. Someone’s trying to wreck it.] 5 The next day at noon, just as I stepped out of the exam room, Ethan was there, blocking my path in the hallway. There were dark circles under his eyes. He looked at me, his expression pitiful. “Maya… have you been avoiding me?” I sighed internally. The moment I’d been dreading was finally here. “Ethan, the flowers and the card from the other night—I threw them away. You should know what that means.” I tried to step around him, but he grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “I have something to say to you.” Without another word, he pulled me into a deserted stairwell, the heavy door clicking shut and sealing us off from the rest of the hospital. Before he could speak, I cut in. “Ethan, I’ve always seen you as my own little brother.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Really? Closer than you are with Leo?” I was speechless, momentarily stunned by his bizarre interpretation. “That’s not what I…” I tried to explain, but he took a deep breath and interrupted me. “Maya,” he said, his voice dropping, the tips of his ears turning red. “I know… I know you like me, too. You’re just worried about what people will think, and you’re shy, so you keep trying to run away from me.” He paused, as if gathering his courage. “So… so I decided I can’t wait anymore. I have to be the one to make a move. Maya, I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.” He stumbled over the words, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. He looked like any other young man experiencing his first crush. “Ethan,” I said, keeping my voice as gentle as possible. “You’ve misunderstood. My feelings for you have only ever been familial. Nothing more.” The color drained from his face. “Is it because of Leo?” he asked urgently. “Did he force you to say that? He’s so cold and rigid, he doesn’t know how to be gentle. He’s manipulative! He doesn’t deserve you! He…” He launched into a tirade, listing all of Leo’s supposed flaws, his voice growing more agitated. I listened quietly until he ran out of steam, then shook my head. “This isn’t about him. You can’t force these things. I don’t have romantic feelings for you. You’re a great guy, and you’ll find someone who is right for you.” Ethan’s eyes welled up, and without warning, tears began to roll down his cheeks. Seeing him cry made my chest ache. My voice softened. “Don’t be like this, Ethan…” Just then, he suddenly grabbed my hand. With his other, he lifted the hem of his t-shirt, revealing the black lace lingerie wrapped around his waist. “Just… just touch it, Maya.” His voice was choked with tears as he stubbornly tried to press my hand against his stomach. “My body is way better than my brother’s. Please, just give me a chance…” I was so shocked I could barely move. My fingers were inches from the lace when a cold, sharp voice cut through the air. “What the hell are you two doing?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385763”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I found a new streamer to watch. I’d spend my nights helping him win donation battles and boosting his subscriber count. He had a great voice. The only problem was, there was this one song I really wanted to hear, and he wouldn’t sing it. He wouldn’t even learn it. I dropped a “Lion” (the top-tier gift) in his chat. He just nodded at the camera. “Thanks, Lyra. But I have my principles. I don’t sing songs I don’t like.” I figured he was just one of those ‘serious artist’ types. Until I accidentally overheard him on a hot mic, cooing to his second-biggest donor: “Baby Bear, you know I’d learn anything for you… just one ‘Sports Car’ gift and it’s all yours~” So, he has principles. They just don’t apply to me. Got it. I took my money next door. I dropped a Lion in a random new streamer’s chat, and through the cascade of celebratory animations, I heard the new guy gasp, “Oh my god—sister, hold on! Give me thirty minutes, I’ll learn this song right now!” At the same time, my phone buzzed. A DM from my “principled” streamer. He was… not happy. 1 Anyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for a good voice. It’s a chemical reaction. A cat with catnip. My brain just shuts off. So, when “Rhys,” the streamer I’d been simping for, refused to sing “Princess,” I was annoyed, but not that annoyed. He seemed to sense my vibe shift and quickly explained, “I have my principles, Lyra. I don’t sing songs I don’t like. It feels fake.” On screen, his face was all sharp angles and artistically messy hair. He had that detached, too-cool-for-this vibe. I just stared at my screen. My status as his #1 donor suddenly felt… awkward. He must have felt the tension, because his voice softened. “I’m not trying to be a jerk. I see you as a friend, not just a wallet. I’d rather be honest with you than just… perform. Please don’t be mad. It makes me feel like crap.” It worked. I melted. He was right. He was different. He wasn’t like those other streamers who would do anything for a donation. He was authentic. I dropped a few more Lions to show there were no hard feelings. Rhys just gave a small “Mhm” of acknowledgment, as if the $1,500 in animations was just… expected. I was about to type that he could just sing whatever he wanted, when a flashy entrance notification rolled across the screen: [—Monthly #2 Donor ‘BabyBear’ has entered the chat—] “Hey, Bear!” Rhys’s voice instantly changed. It was warmer. “I learned that song you asked for. Want to hear it?” I’d noticed this before. He was always… friendlier… to BabyBear. When I’d asked him about it, he’d said, “Because I see you as a real friend. She’s just a ‘client.’” I watched her “Bear” emoji pop up in the chat, and I quietly logged off. He was just working. I get it. To make sure I didn’t accidentally click back into his stream, I swapped to an old alt account I barely used. The account had five unread DMs. All from someone named “Ren.” Ren: [Thank you so much for the follow, sister! (#^.^#) This is Ren, I’m a singer! Welcome!] Ren: [Signing off! Thanks again for the support tonight, I’ll work really hard! (#bow#)] Ren: [Hey, sister, been busy? I learned some new songs if you want to come listen!] Ren: [Good morning! Another great day to practice singing!] The most recent one was from one minute ago. Ren: [Long time no see, sister! Welcome back anytime! ~] It took me a second to remember who “Ren” was. A month ago, I was trying to help Rhys win a “Hype War.” The platform rules said one account could only contribute 100 “Hype” points. I’d made this alt account to give him an extra 100. While searching for Rhys’s stream, I’d misclicked and ended up in Ren’s. “Welcome, ‘CocoaMilk’! Welcome, ‘New-Sister-Who-Just-Joined’!” his voice had said. It was… different. Clear, warm, like a mountain stream. It wasn’t the gravelly, “trying-too-hard” baritone Rhys used. Ren’s voice was natural, and a little nervous. I’d hit “follow” and tossed him a few cheap gifts. He’d completely frozen. “Oh—wow—thank you! Thank you so much! I… wow!” The joy in his voice was so genuine it almost made me uncomfortable. I left after a minute and went to Rhys’s stream. I’d forgotten Ren, and this account, entirely. I never realized that, in the corner I’d forgotten, someone had been this grateful for a random, throwaway click. 2 I clicked into Ren’s stream. He had his camera on this time. He was just a kid, maybe college-aged, in a plain white t-shirt. He had fluffy hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a look of… pure, unfiltered himbo. When he saw my username, his eyes lit up. “Sister! You’re back! Good evening!” He smiled, and he had dimples. I typed: [You remember me?] He blushed. “Of course! You were the first person who ever gave me a gift on this platform. It sounds cheesy, but… you’re like, my original patron. Thank you for taking a chance on me.” I glanced at his stats. “Viewers: 7.” His contribution list was… sad. The top three combined didn’t break $20. I felt a pang of pity. I sent him a few “Hype” gifts. He looked shocked. “Thank you! Oh, wow, thank you. Sister, is there anything I can do? A song? A voice line? Anything?” [No, it’s fine. You’re doing great. Keep it up.] I left. I figured the Lions I’d sent to Rhys earlier were probably pulling in new traffic for him. I might as well go help him secure his ranking. I clicked on Rhys’s channel. And I froze. He was singing “Princess.” The song I’d begged for. The song he’d refused to learn. He finished with a flourish, his voice dropping into that fake-intimate register. “That was a song someone asked for a long time ago. I never sang it. But I’m singing it now… just for you, my Princess Bear.” A “Sports Car” animation ($100) immediately filled the screen. BabyBear: [If you already knew it, why didn’t you sing it for Lyra? She’s your #1. She would have dropped a ton of Lions.] Rhys let out a short, ugly laugh. “Her? God, no. I wish she’d leave. She’s so needy. ‘Emotional value,’ ‘reciprocation’… she thinks just because she throws money at me, she owns me. So desperate.” BabyBear: [Aren’t you afraid she’ll stop paying?] “Please. She’s easy. If she gets mad, I just ignore her for a few days. She always comes crawling back, apologizing. Total simp.” BabyBear: [Wow. My King.] Rhys chuckled. “Anyway… anyone else want a song? A ‘Hot Air Balloon’ for a request, a ‘Sports Car’ to learn a new one. Invest in Rhys. You won’t regret it.” My… my streamer. He’d… collapsed. I thought I was his patron. He thought I was his doormat. And his “principles?” What a joke. I was so angry, I typed in the chat: [Talking shit about your #1 donor? Bold move. What if she finds out?] A red message appeared. [You have been permanently banned from this channel.] Rhys looked at the camera with a sneer. “Some random alt account, trying to start drama. Get out of here. My fans and I know our vibe.” A second later: [You have been kicked from the channel.] I… I just started to laugh.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385779”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my wedding day, my enemy Silas Blackwood hung my fiancé Joey’s head from the cathedral spire. As blood dripped down the cross, Silas approached and whispered that a traitor never deserved me. The guests fled, but I smiled. Three years ago, Joey had sworn to protect me after my family took him in. But last week, I learned he was betraying me with my cousin Maya and leaking company secrets. I’d planned to expose him today—but Silas acted first. We married right there in the bloodshed. He treated me like a queen, until my birthday, when I found his secret house filled with photos of him and Maya. That night, he asked what I wanted. I looked straight at him and said, “I want you to kill Maya for me.” 1 The moment the words “kill Maya” left my lips, the smile on Silas Blackwood’s face froze. “Seraphina, don’t be ridiculous.” He stepped forward to take my hand, but I snatched it away the instant his fingers brushed my wrist. “Ridiculous?” A bitter smile twisted my lips. I pulled a stack of printed photographs from my purse and threw them at his feet. In the pictures, Maya was lounging in his study’s leather armchair, wearing his favorite silk nightgown. “Silas, look closely,” I hissed. “Does this look ridiculous to you?” He bent to pick them up, his movements suddenly hesitant. “She must have snuck in and taken those when I wasn’t home. I only found out today, I swear…” “Oh?” I cut him off, unlocking my phone and shoving the screen in his face. It displayed the address of a secluded villa on the outskirts of the city. “And what about this? The security code is my birthday, yet the walls inside are covered with her pictures. Her clothes are in the closets. Are you going to tell me she picked the lock and moved herself in?” The color finally drained from his face. He lunged for my phone. I took a step back, my back hitting the cold wall. “Silas, you’ve always been so good at playing the devoted husband, haven’t you?” I opened up the social media app. The top trending topic was already exploding. #SilasBlackwoodSecretVilla #TheRealMrsBlackwoodMaya, followed by a bright red “VIRAL” tag. Beneath it was the nine-photo grid I had posted that afternoon. The caption was simple: “Happy birthday to me.” “Look. The whole world knows now. Your perfect, loving husband act? It’s shattered. There’s not even dust left.” He ripped the phone from my hand, his fingers flying as he dialed his PR team. His voice was laced with a panic I had never heard before. “Kill the story! Now! Delete every single photo! If anyone posts it again, I’ll make sure they never work in this city again!” He hung up and turned to me, his eyes a maelstrom of conflict. “Seraphina, there’s nothing between me and Maya. The photos are a misunderstanding, you have to believe me…” “A misunderstanding?” I laughed, but the sound was choked by a sudden surge of tears. “Three years ago, when Joey betrayed me, you killed him for me. I thought you were the one person who would never betray me. But you? You played me for a fool! Tell me, Silas, can’t you bring yourself to kill her?” “Is it because she’s my cousin? Or is it because… you’ve fallen in love with her?” He opened his mouth, but no defense came. Seeing him stand there, utterly speechless, the last flicker of warmth in my heart went cold. All these years, everything he had done was a lie. The devotion, the passion… it was all a performance. 2 That night, I locked myself in the guest room. Sleep wouldn’t come. My mind was a whirlwind of the past. Three years ago, before the Preston family’s ruin. Joey Preston was known as the darling of Veridia City. He brought me breakfast every morning. He would brew me ginger tea when I had my period, holding my hands and whispering, “Seraphina, the day I graduate, I’m going to make you my wife.” Back then, Silas Blackwood was the monster no one dared to cross. He was the Blackwood family’s illegitimate son, raised abroad, a dark secret. When he returned, he carried an air of brutal intensity. I first met him at a Preston family gala. He beat a trust-fund brat who was harassing me half to death, then strode over to me, looking down his nose at me. “Seraphina Meng,” he’d said, his voice laced with contempt. “Joey Preston can’t protect you. You’d be better off with me.” I despised him then. I saw him as a brute who solved every problem with his fists. Until the Prestons fell. Joey’s father was investigated for embezzlement, and their empire collapsed overnight. Looking back, the “evidence” was almost laughably obvious. The signature on the ledger was a clumsy scrawl, nothing like the elder Mr. Preston’s elegant script. But I was blinded by grief and chaos, desperate to salvage what little was left of their family. I never stopped to question the convenient timing or the glaring inconsistencies. It never occurred to me that Joey’s family had been framed. And that was when Silas started circling me, relentlessly, telling me to forget Joey, to marry him instead. But I was devoted to Joey. Watching him fall from grace into ruin broke my heart. I begged my grandfather to have the Sterling family step in, to offer him a lifeline. He knelt before me, his forehead pressed to the toe of my shoe, his voice thick with emotion. “Seraphina, thank you. I’ll never forget this. I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.” And I believed him. I never imagined that he would immediately turn around and fall into bed with my cousin, Maya. I was overseas for a business deal when I discovered their affair. It was a video. Joey was holding Maya, their faces close, about to kiss. “Once I get the Sterling data,” Joey was saying, “I’ll ditch that fool Seraphina. Then we can finally be together, out in the open.” Maya smiled and kissed him. “Don’t go soft on me, Joey,” she purred. “That bitch should have been dead years ago.” In that moment, I was consumed by a tidal wave of betrayal and rage. I booked the first flight back, planning to confront him at the altar. If it was true, I would kill him with my own hands. But Silas beat me to it. He hung Joey’s head from the cathedral spire. Then he came to me, his voice as gentle as if he were soothing a child. “Seraphina, a traitor like that doesn’t deserve you.” I thought then that he and I were the same. We were both monsters. We both had no tolerance for betrayal. Now, I see how catastrophically wrong I was. Joey’s affair had driven me mad with rage, and I had blindly accepted the “evidence” Silas and others had fed me. Only now do I realize it. The affair, the evidence, the seduction… It was all a meticulously crafted trap, set by Silas and Maya. Thinking back, Silas’s intentions were never pure. He didn’t want me; he wanted the Sterling family’s resources and influence. And Maya… she had been jealous of me her whole life. She always whined about how unfair it was that I was born the Sterling heiress, that everyone seemed to love me so effortlessly. Seducing Joey wasn’t just about hurting me. It was about using him to get her hands on Sterling Corp’s core data. To help Silas seize control of my family’s empire even faster. They were in it together from the start. A perfectly orchestrated performance, slowly devouring the foundations of the Sterling legacy. He took personal control of our most important projects. He replaced the heads of our core departments with his own people. Even my personal assistant became his spy. I was a figurehead, a puppet queen in my own kingdom, about to lose any real power I had left. The more I thought about it, the more the hatred burned. Hatred for my own stupidity, for being deceived by his charade for so long. But there was no turning back. Maya and Silas… they would pay for what they had done. 3 The next morning, I checked my phone. The trending topic had been pushed down, but the story was still spreading like wildfire. #SilasBlackwoodPRDisaster #MayaTheMistress #SeraphinaTheScornedWife. The headlines dominated the top twenty. The comment sections were a warzone. Some called me a bitter, scorned wife, posting pictures for sympathy. Others called Maya a conniving snake who had been with Silas all along. Someone even dug up the story about Joey Preston from three years ago, claiming the Blackwoods were nothing but a crime family who treated human life as disposable. Silas’s PR team issued a statement. They claimed the photos were doctored, that the villa was a business investment, and that Maya was simply helping manage the property. They even produced so-called “evidence.” A purchase contract for the villa, and a work contract for Maya. But the public wasn’t buying it. Someone unearthed security footage of Maya coming and going from the villa at all hours. Another noticed that the jewelry Maya was wearing in her own social media posts was identical to a set Silas had gifted me. The most laughable part? Maya posted on her own account. A picture of herself with red, tear-swollen eyes. The caption read: “Silas and I are just friends. Seraphina, why would you spread such vicious lies? I know you’re still upset about Joey, but you can’t take it out on me.” That post poured gasoline on the fire. The comments turned on me. I was petty. I was cruel. Poor, innocent Maya. I stared at the screen, a mixture of fury and derisive laughter bubbling in my chest. She had perfected the art of playing the victim. Just then, the door opened. Silas came in. His eyes were shot with red; he clearly hadn’t slept. “Seraphina, stop this. The PR team is handling it. If this continues, it will damage the Blackwood family’s reputation.” He came to my side, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Stop this?” I looked up at him. “Am I the one who started this, Silas? You and Maya betrayed me first! Now she’s playing the victim to win public sympathy, and you’re not only failing to defend me, you’re blaming me for making a scene?” “That’s not what I meant,” he sighed. “Maya is still your cousin. Blowing this up doesn’t do anyone any good.” “No good for who?” I sneered. “It’s good for you. It’s good for Maya. It’s only me who gets hurt! Silas, have you forgotten? I am your wife!” He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled a black credit card from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of me. “Seraphina, don’t be angry. Take this. Buy whatever you want. Or if you want to go abroad for a while to clear your head, I’ll arrange it immediately.” I looked at the card, the irony a bitter taste in my mouth. Did he really think he could buy my silence? My forgiveness? “Silas, I don’t want your money. I want Maya dead.” I pushed the card back toward him, my gaze unwavering. “If you can’t bring yourself to do it, then stay out of my way.” His face hardened. “Seraphina, don’t push me.” “You’re the one pushing me.” I stood and walked to the door. “From this day forward, I’m done with you and Maya. But don’t you dare try to interfere with me.” With that, I slammed the door and left. As I walked out of the villa, I saw Maya’s car parked at the gate.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385795”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

01 The bet was a penthouse apartment in downtown Manhattan. The target was me, the scholarship kid from the slums. The objective, set by Kaden Thorne, the king of Heston University’s trust-fund elite, was to get me into his bed within thirty days. So, after his very loud, very public declaration of “love” in the middle of the quad, I took the ridiculously large bouquet of roses he was holding, and dumped it in the nearest trash can. Then, I started lying. “Sorry, Kaden. One of your ‘brothers’ already told me the truth about the bet.” I saw his face tighten. “And honestly?” I added, “If you spent less time being mad that a ‘charity case’ like me stole your spot on the Dean’s List, maybe you’d actually pass a class.” Then, I turned to the circle of smirking heirs watching the show. “And as for the rest of you… I know you were just trying to get on my good side, telling me all those nasty secrets about him behind his back, but…” I shrugged. “I’m just not into men who sell out their friends. Sorry.” As I walked away, I watched the chaos erupt. Every single one of them, who had been laughing a second before, was now looking at his “brothers” with pure, unadulterated suspicion. I smiled to myself. Oh, you privileged little boys. You think you’re the players? You just walked into my game. 02 The truth is, I noticed them long before they ever noticed me. You can’t not notice them. Their entire lives are a performance of being rich. I’d spend hours hate-stalking their Instagrams, getting physically ill from the casual display of wealth, just writhing in my cheap dorm bed, consumed by pure, uncut jealousy. So, when Kaden Thorne himself, the king of the pricks, suddenly approached me, fresh off his McLaren, saying he was “in love” with me? That I was the “one pure, untouched, beautiful thing” in his world? My deep-seated hatred of the rich kept me perfectly clear-headed. I knew it was a scam. And digging through their social media, I figured it out pretty fast. These arrogant, spoiled brats weren’t just playing with my feelings. They weren’t even planning on spending any money to do it. That, more than anything, was what pissed me off. Fine. You want to be cheap? Then you can’t blame me for turning your “brotherhood” into a public dogfight. 03 Unfortunately, being right doesn’t pay the bills. I didn’t have time to savor the victory. I had to run to my shift at the diner. I was halfway through wiping tables when one of them found me. Alex Chen. The one who’d just publicly declared I was a “filthy scholarship rat.” He was furious, demanding I go to Kaden and clear his name. I just looked at him and shook my head. “No.” “I never spoke to you,” he snapped. “Why can’t you just tell him that?” I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve, my expression flat. “Because we ‘filthy rats’ have pride, too. Why would I ever help someone who insults me?” “Ha,” he sneered. “Pride. How much is your pride worth?” I gave him a look. “More than you can afford.” He scoffed and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen and shoved it in my face. It was his banking app. The balance had eight figures. “Go clear my name,” he said, “and you can have whatever you want from that account.” I stared at the numbers. I’d never even seen that many zeroes in one place. My mind went blank, filled with visions of…central heating. Of a new laptop. Of three meals a day. Then I heard his laugh. A low, contemptuous sound. “Pride’s pretty expensive, huh?” he mocked. “Thought you said I couldn’t afford it.” I snapped back to reality. Back to the plan. “You can’t,” I said, turning back to my tables. “Fine,” he said, his voice casual. “The owner of this diner is my dad’s golf buddy. You’re fired.” I froze. I turned back to him. “You’re disgusting.” “I just hate fakes,” he shrugged. “I’m giving you one more chance. Take the money, do the job. Yes or no?” I was silent for a long time. Then I nodded. “Okay. I don’t know how this works. You can just… Venmo me. I just need forty-five hundred.” Alex looked at me like I was an alien. “What, are you afraid I’ll report you for extortion? Forty-five hundred? What the hell is that?” I met his eyes for the first time. “It’s for a hearing aid for my grandmother. I was saving up from this job. But since I’m fired, I guess I have no other way.” He stared at me, his arrogant expression faltering. I kept going. “My grandma raised me. She used to collect cans to pay for my schoolbooks. One of my classmates saw her and told everyone. This kid, this real asshole, brought a bag of chips to school. He held it out and told me I could have it if I barked like a dog. I didn’t, of course… but I was so hungry. I’d never had barbecue chips before. I couldn’t help but swallow, just once. He saw it. He and his friends laughed so hard…” “I’ve never, ever forgotten that. That feeling of… shame.” I took a shaky breath, forcing down the fake tears, making my voice tremble just right. “I thought if I just worked hard, if I got the scholarship, it would all be different. But here I am, all these years later, and you’re doing the same thing. You’re right. I am fake. I’m just a pathetic, hungry girl, always swallowing my pride over things I can’t have.” “But please… just send the money. My grandma doesn’t have much time left. I just want her to hear my voice one more time.” Alex was completely thrown. “I… wait… I’m not…” I just let the tears fall, big, silent drops. I wiped them away, my expression still, looking at him with red, swollen eyes. “I’m sorry I’m ‘fake.’ Please, just leave me alone.” I bowed my head slightly and walked out of the diner, leaving my apron on the counter. 04 I walked out, turned the corner, and went straight to McDonald’s for a McFlurry. Mmm. Delicious. That $4,500 was going straight into my savings. My grandma, bless her heart, has been dead for thirty years. She doesn’t need a hearing aid. Alex Chen. You want to play mind games with me? You’re an amateur. You know that kid who tried to make me bark for chips? By the time we were in high school, he was so obsessed with me he asked me to prom by kneeling in the cafeteria. He’s still in my DMs, using burner accounts. I am a master of this game.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385811”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel