Category: English

At the family dinner, my stepbrother, Parker, couldn’t stop vibrating with excitement. He leaned in, whispering loudly enough for the whole table to hear that he’d managed to land the “it” girl of the streaming world for his upcoming campaign. Then she walked in, and my heart didn’t just drop—it froze. It was Jade. The very same Jade I’d spent the last three years building into a superstar. I’d poured nearly seven million dollars into her career, buying her the top-tier sponsorships, the front-page placements, and the viral momentum she now breathed like oxygen. In private, she was a glacier. She refused to add me on any personal social media, only ever sending cold, transactional DMs like: “New drop is live. Go buy.” Even when we happened to be in the same room at industry events, she looked right through me, pretending I was just another face in the crowd. But here, in my father’s dining room, she was all sunshine. She laughed at every joke, her eyes sparkling as she charmed the room. She was peeling shrimp for Parker, regaling the table with witty behind-the-scenes stories about her product launches. She’d even brought my father an expensive artisanal tea blend and—to my utter shock—was actively exchanging numbers with the household staff. I raised my glass, trying to catch her eye, to find some bridge back to the person I thought I knew. Her smile vanished the second our gaze met. She leaned slightly toward me, her voice a sharp, venomous whisper intended only for my ears: “Face it, Beckett. You’re getting old. No amount of money can buy you a seat at the table with people who actually matter.” Parker, oblivious and smug, began flashing his phone around, showing off their private chat logs. He bragged about how Jade had worn a specific outfit on stream just because he asked, and how she’d spent three hours in the kitchen making a home-cooked meal to hand-deliver to him across the city. Then he chuckled, looking directly at me. “Hey, man, get this. Jade told me her ‘Number One Patron’ is this total creep—some lonely old loser who tries to harass her under the guise of placing orders. He thinks dropping a few bucks makes him the boss. Can you imagine being that pathetic?” I offered a thin, effortless smile. In that moment, the last thread of whatever I felt for her snapped. “I can’t even imagine,” I said quietly. With a few taps beneath the table, I pulled up the internal dashboard of my agency. I took the creator who had been stuck in the number two spot for three years—the girl Jade had stepped over to get to the top—and pushed her to the primary featured slot on every major platform we controlled. One message to our group chat of three hundred brand partners was all it took. “We’re pivoting. Move the budget.” If she thought I was an embarrassment, then she didn’t need me haunting her career anymore. … Parker kept talking, but I didn’t hear a word. I was too busy watching the digital dominoes fall. Cancel the ten-million-dollar order for Jade. Reallocate to Lydia. The group chat stayed silent for exactly three seconds before the questions flooded in. Who are we backing instead? I scrolled through the talent roster until I hit a familiar face. Lydia. She’d been in the game for a decade. For the first seven years, she and Jade had been neck-and-neck, until Jade met me three years ago. I’d spent those years suffocating Lydia’s growth to ensure Jade’s dominance. Lydia had been gasping for air ever since. I remembered seeing Lydia once at a gala. Someone had accidentally spilled red wine down my front. I’d instinctively looked to Jade for help, but she’d turned her back immediately, striking up a hollow conversation with a tech CEO to avoid being associated with the mess. It was Lydia who had quietly asked if I was okay. She’d led me to a private suite to change and stood guard outside the door for twenty minutes to ensure my privacy. That night, I’d rewarded her by throwing her a small contract out of guilt. When Jade found out, she’d blocked me for two weeks. I typed the words: It’s Lydia. Effective immediately. The chat exploded. I locked my phone and set it face down. The dinner continued. Jade remained a statue of ice whenever she looked my way, yet she had my father roaring with laughter. Parker playfully tugged at her sleeve, and she caught his hand, giving him a shy, lingering look. Parker shot me a triumphant glance. “I heard you and Jade actually go way back, Beckett. Why so quiet tonight?” Jade’s expression went dead. She didn’t even turn her head. “I don’t know him,” she said flatly. Seven million dollars. Three years of my life. “I don’t know him.” I didn’t argue. I just excused myself to the restroom. When I stepped back out into the hallway, I ran straight into Jade. Her brow was furrowed, her face twisted in suppressed irritation. “If you keep stalking me like this, I’m calling the police,” she hissed. I found the statement genuinely hilarious. “This is my house, Jade.” “This is Parker’s house,” she snapped, cutting me off. “He told me everything. Your mother stole another woman’s husband and sat in the ‘Mrs. Thorne’ seat for twenty years like a parasite. If she hadn’t died early, Parker would never have been able to take his rightful place in this family.” She gave me a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. “I’ll let it slide this time. But do it again…” She let the threat hang in the air, then turned on her designer heels and marched away, her pace frantic, as if she were afraid I might try to touch her. I watched her go. I didn’t bother correcting her. That night, Jade posted a status update: “Just spent the day with the one I love. Feeling inspired. Going live at 7 PM.” I checked the clock. 6:30. Usually, I’d be in her stream thirty minutes early, waiting. I’d start the night by dropping a hundred “Super-Novas”—the most expensive gift on the platform—just to set the tone and drive her to the top of the trending list. Jade would act like she didn’t see the screen-filling effects. If I commented, she’d intentionally reply to the person right above or below me, never acknowledging my existence. My phone buzzed. It was my assistant, informing me that the deal with Lydia was finalized. “She wants your personal contact info to thank you properly,” he wrote. “Fine,” I replied, and then I went to sleep. A few hours later, my door was nearly kicked off its hinges. Parker was standing there, his face flushed with a mix of rage and panic. “Beckett, what the hell are you doing? Jade is live, and you haven’t shown up. She’s going to be pissed! Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get on her good side?” I sat up slowly. “Jade is streaming. Why should I be there? I don’t know her, remember?” He sputtered, his face turning a darker shade of red. “Fine. Be a dick. I’m just warning you—you’re going to regret this. Jade has a temper. If you freeze her out now, she’s not just going to block you for two weeks. She’ll delete you forever.” My stomach turned. He knew everything about my history with Jade. Every argument, every silent treatment. When exactly had they started trading my secrets? Parker wasn’t blood. Five years ago, after my mother passed, my father remarried Meredith. She brought Parker into the house, changed his last name to Thorne, and they both started singing a choreographed duet about “sharing the burden” of the family business. They’d tried to claw their way into the company dozens of times, but my father never let them in. They thought he was being stingy. They didn’t realize that the company was my mother’s legacy. Every single share sat in my name. My father wasn’t saying no because he wanted to—he was saying no because he didn’t have the authority to say yes. Parker must have been talking a big game to Jade, and Jade, being Jade, probably assumed Parker was the one holding the keys to the kingdom. I shut the door in his face and checked my phone. I tried to enter Jade’s stream, only to find a familiar notification: “You have been blocked by the creator.” This time, I didn’t send a groveling email. I didn’t call her manager. I simply blocked her back. On the community boards, Jade’s fans were tagging me. “Where’s the Big Whale tonight? Is everything okay?” A familiar avatar popped up in the thread. It was Parker. “Who needs him?” Parker wrote. “Jade doesn’t need one person holding her up. We’ve got this!” A few loyalists chimed in, but the energy was limp. By the time Jade ended her stream, the hashtag #GhostTownLive was trending. Without my massive opening gifts, the algorithm hadn’t pushed her to the front page. Without my influence, the major brands stayed quiet. She was so used to being the “Queen” that she’d forgotten how to actually engage her audience. Her peak viewership was lower than a mid-tier hobbyist. Her fans were begging me to come back. I ignored them and focused on the list of brands Lydia was sending me. Tonight, Lydia was going live. And her discounts? They were fifty percent lower than anything Jade had ever offered. The internet caught fire. Everyone was speculating about who Lydia’s new “Benefactor” was, while Jade’s camp remained eerily silent. Her team hadn’t even announced her next product line yet. At 8:00 PM sharp, I entered Lydia’s stream. I spent ten minutes straight dropping the highest-value gifts available. Meanwhile, Jade’s team posted a frantic update: Tonight’s stream is canceled due to technical difficulties. I didn’t care. I watched Lydia’s concurrent viewers climb to five hundred thousand. Then six hundred. Lydia was the opposite of Jade. Jade would sit there like a porcelain doll, letting her assistants do the talking. If she got bored, she’d just walk off-camera, and her fans would call it “authentic” and “ethereal.” Lydia was in the trenches. Before the stream, she’d sent me a twenty-seven-page business plan, broken down minute-by-minute. As the sales ticker began to spin—thirty million, fifty million, eighty million—the chat went nuclear. When it hit the hundred-million-dollar mark, Lydia’s eyes welled up. Her voice shook as she looked into the lens. “Thank you, Jax… thank you so much for believing in me.” Three hours later, she broke the platform record. I exited the app and found my inbox had become a war zone. Jade’s fans were swarming me. “You total prick! How could you do this to Jade?” “You’re a fan, not a king. Go back to Jade and apologize right now or we’ll dox you.” “Disgusting. Did you sleep with Lydia? Is that why you’re bankrolling her?” Someone asked Jade for a comment. She posted a single, icy sentence: “Some fans think spending a little money means they own the creator. To be honest, it’s a little scary.” That was the spark. Her fanbase went feral. “So this ‘Jax’ guy was trying to force Jade into a relationship just because he gave her gifts?!” “Creep. Absolute predator. You’re ruining the community for real fans.” Within the hour, my private photos were being circulated. They were edited to look hideous, slapped onto “Missing Person” posters with captions like “Predator” and “Old Loser.” My phone started ringing incessantly. “I heard your mother died,” a distorted voice screamed when I picked up. “Good. She probably died of shame knowing she raised a stalker!” My hand tightened around the phone. The harassment had reached a fever pitch, and Jade remained silent. She watched it happen like she was watching a movie. Fine. If that’s how she wanted to play it, the “happily ever after” was off the table. Suddenly, Lydia posted a tweet. “Jax is my most important supporter and a man of immense integrity. If you attack him, you attack me. My success today is thanks to his vision. I won’t allow anyone to insult him. You want to talk? Talk to me.” The internet split in two. The legal team had the Cease and Desist orders ready within the hour. I retweeted the firm’s official statement and turned off my phone. The moment I walked into the living room, Parker’s voice grated against my nerves. “Are you insane, Beckett? You’re trying to make Jade jealous, but you’ve gone too far!” He tried to shove his phone in my face. “Who gave you permission to serve her legal papers? Do you have any idea what this does to her reputation? Withdraw it. Now. Make a public apology and tell everyone you were just having a mental breakdown. Maybe she’ll let you pay for her next campaign as an apology.” I slapped his hand away without a second thought. “Since when do you tell me how to run my business, Parker?” Rage flickered across his face, but he backed off. I went upstairs to check the numbers. The night had been a triumph. Lydia gained four hundred thousand followers. One of the top luxury fashion houses in the world contacted me—they wanted to debut their new collection exclusively on Lydia’s stream. I invited both parties to the office the next morning to sign. When I walked into my suite at 9 AM, I found two uninvited guests. Parker gave me a slimy grin. “I brought Jade. Go ahead, apologize. I told her you were just acting out, and since I’m family, she’s willing to forgive and move on.” Jade didn’t look at me. She sat there, sipping from a glass of water, her chin tilted up, waiting for me to bow. I was beyond words. As I reached for the contract on my desk, Parker snatched it. His eyes lit up. “I knew it! You were just playing hard to ball! You used Lydia to create a buzz, and now you’re bringing the luxury deal back to Jade. Clever, Beckett. Very clever.” Jade’s face softened slightly. She took the contract and signed her name with a flourish before I could even speak. Then she tossed the folder at my chest. “I’m taking this because I earned it,” she said coldly. “Don’t think this means we’re friends. And don’t try this pathetic ‘jealousy’ stunt again. It’s beneath you.” I frowned. “That contract isn’t for you.” Jade scoffed. “Beckett, give it a rest. You won. You got my attention. Now be a good boy and get the production team ready.” Parker chimed in, “Yeah, stop acting, man. Everyone knows you can’t live without her. If she actually gets mad at you, you’ll be back on your knees in a week anyway. Why make it harder than it needs to be?” In the past, I did have a weakness for her. I supported her because I admired her drive, and yes, because I thought there was something real between us. But “can’t live without her”? That was a fantasy Parker had cooked up to feel superior. Jade stood up to leave. “I don’t need apologies from people who don’t matter,” she said over her shoulder. Parker smirked. “I’ll talk to her for you, bro. She listens to me.” After they left, I told the legal department to void the signature and draft a fresh copy. As the launch drew closer, Lydia called me, her voice trembling. “Jax… am I… am I sharing the stream with Jade tonight?” I was confused until I checked Jade’s social media. She had posted a promotional poster: Luxury Collection Launch. Tonight at 8 PM. I hesitated, then sent Jade a private message: That contract was not yours. This is a trademark violation. I suggest you take that post down immediately. She didn’t reply privately. She took a screenshot of my message and posted it to her millions of followers, tagging me directly. “Just because I chose your brother over you, you’re trying to destroy my career? You’re the son of a mistress, Beckett. You owe Parker everything. Have some dignity.” The comment section went nuclear. “Wait, he’s a mistress’s son? That explains why he’s so obsessed with stealing what belongs to others.” “Spending his father’s money to harass a woman. Classic.” Then Parker joined in. He posted a photo of himself, my father, and Meredith. A perfect family portrait. I wasn’t in it. “The past is the past,” he captioned it. “My mother and I just want peace. Please don’t dig into the family trauma. Thank you for the support.” The public ate it up. He was the “gracious, long-suffering son,” and I was the “villainous interloper.” Parker called me, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You should probably lay low for a few days, Beckett. People are pretty riled up. Jade is going to address the ‘stalking’ during her stream tonight. You might want to skip it. It’s gonna hurt.” I didn’t say a word. I just hung up. Lydia posted her own announcement shortly after. The confusion was total. “Wait, who has the deal? Lydia or Jade?” “Are they streaming together? No way, they hate each other.” The brand’s official account ended the debate. They tagged Lydia: “Thrilled to announce our exclusive partnership with the incomparable @Lydia. See you at 8 PM.” Then, they posted a second tweet, tagging Jade. “Regarding the unauthorized use of our intellectual property and brand name for promotional purposes: this constitutes a legal violation. Remove all related materials immediately or we will proceed with a lawsuit.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “442343”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I suffer from clinical prosopagnosia. Face blindness. Even after months of marriage, I couldn’t pick my husband—a notoriously lethal black mamba shifter—out of a police lineup. That night, I was waiting for him to get home from work, just like always, when it started. A bizarre, glowing stream of text began scrolling horizontally across my field of vision, like a spectral ticker tape. At first, I thought I was having a stroke. But the words were too coherent. [God, the wife is so pathetic. Her husband is totally exploiting her face-blindness. He sent his best friend to play house with her while he’s out hooking up with his golden-girl first love!] Another line of text materialized, hovering near the ceiling: [Honestly, how oblivious can she be? She hasn’t even noticed the guy in front of her isn’t her husband. Her husband is a snake. This guy is a wolf. The anatomy doesn’t even line up!] I stared at the floating words, a cold knot forming in my stomach. Doubt is a creeping vine; once planted, it takes over. I looked up at the man standing before me. Stripped down to just his face, I truly couldn’t tell if it was the man I’d said vows to. Later, after my shower, I sat on the edge of the bed. I stared at my “husband,” who was wearing nothing but a loosely tied bathrobe. I tilted my head, letting a perfect mask of innocent confusion slide over my features. “Honey,” I murmured, “why is there only one of you down there today?” 1 He froze. The stillness was absolute. A violent rush of red flooded his cheeks—whether from sheer mortification or panic, I couldn’t tell. “Nothing is missing,” he choked out. “You’re seeing things.” His voice was a low, resonant baritone. He was trying to pitch it perfectly to match my husband’s cadence, and to his credit, it was terrifyingly close. I narrowed my eyes slightly, rising from the bed and closing the distance between us. “Don’t be silly,” I whispered. I pressed my palm flat against his chest, tracing the rigid topography of his muscles, trailing downward. “Your pecs feel great,” I observed softly. “Abs are sharp. The V-line is practically carved out of marble. But…” My fingers dipped lower, resting brazenly against his lower abdomen. I gave a light, deliberate flick. “But, sweetheart, you’re a little… sparse right here today. You usually fill out your slacks quite differently.” Shifters, despite their flawless human facades, always retain certain biological blueprints of their animal halves. Snakes, you see, are doubly equipped. At my touch, the man gave a violent shudder. He grabbed my wrist, his grip iron-tight but trembling. “No,” he stammered, his voice fracturing. “It’s—it’s just that I bought this robe a size too big. It’s not fitting right.” “Is that so…” I stared at the frantic pulse beating against his throat, at the tips of his ears burning crimson. I offered him a soft, sympathetic smile, stepping into his space and looping my arms around his neck like a devoted wife. “Honey, listen to me. Even if you’re experiencing some… performance issues, you shouldn’t hide it from me. We can see a doctor.” The man gritted his teeth, a strained “Okay” ripping from his throat. He reached up, physically peeling my arms off him. “It’s late. We should just go to sleep.” I wasn’t about to let him off the hook. I snagged him by the lapels, dragging him down onto the mattress with me. “No way. I need to inspect the merchandise. Just to be sure you’re healthy.” The spectral text flared to life again, buzzing with digital anxiety: [Wait, why is she acting so out of character? Did she figure it out?] [No way. Jax has played the stand-in half a dozen times already and she never noticed a thing.] [Yeah, but they’ve never actually gotten into bed together before! This is their first time sharing the mattress. And let’s be real, Jax is packing a single barrel—he can’t compete with the snake’s double-barrel shotgun!] Jax. So that was his name. So he really wasn’t my husband. I narrowed my eyes, a dangerous thrill humming in my veins. I slid my palm down the curve of his waist. “Come on, sweetie… let me just check.” Before he could protest, I slipped my hand under his shirt. Jax violently jolted. A stifled, guttural groan tore from his throat. A split second later, a pair of plush, snow-white animal ears popped out of the top of his head. 2 It was so incredibly blatant, I couldn’t even pretend to be blind to it. The bedroom plunged into a suffocating silence. Jax was as rigid as a corpse. Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, I reached up and gave one of the ears a squeeze. “Honey? What are these?” Jax swallowed hard, forcing a breathless, desperate chuckle. “It’s… it’s a surprise. For you.” I blinked. “A what?” “You know, the animal ear trend,” Jax babbled, his eyes darting everywhere but my face. “I read online that women are into this kind of thing. So, I… I bought props.” He was a terrible liar, but I admired the hustle. I kneaded the ear again. It was warm, twitching under my touch, the fur impossibly soft. No prop on earth felt like a living pulse. I feigned total gullibility, leaning over to peek behind him. “Oh! Well, if you got the ears, did you remember to buy the tail?” Jax’s face turned ashen. “Y-Yes.” He didn’t need to tell me. I could see the heavy, telltale bulge threatening to tear through the back of his sweatpants. He might not be filling out the front the way my husband did, but he was certainly making up for it in the back. [Tsk, tsk. The wife knows exactly what she’s doing. Three seconds of touching and she forced this virgin pup right into a partial shift.] [Ugh, she’s so shameless! How can she just flirt with any man she sees?] [Are you guys stupid? She literally thinks that’s her husband! If anyone deserves to be dragged, it’s the cheating husband and his gross little proxy. Taking advantage of a disabled woman’s condition? They deserve whatever she dishes out!] Oh, I agreed. They definitely needed to be taught a lesson. Looking at Jax’s flushed, panicked face, a wicked idea bloomed in my chest. “Oh, honey! You remembered how much I love surprises. I’m so happy!” I sprang off the bed, marching to the darkest corner of my closet. I rummaged around until I found a specific box. I popped the lid, pulling out a scrap of sheer, skintight lingerie. Attached to the plunging neckline were two delicate, silver nipple clamps. “I bet you didn’t forget about this, either,” I said brightly, holding it up. “Put it on! It’s going to look absolutely stunning with the ears.” Jax stared at the fabric like it was made of radioactive waste. “You want me to wear that?!” “Of course.” I tilted my head, weaponizing my innocence. “Did you forget? You promised me.” Jax clenched his jaw. “You’re misremembering. I never—” “No backing out, husband!” I lowered my voice, letting it drop into a smoky purr. “Or… do you want me to dress you myself?” 3 Jax looked like he was about to pass out. After three agonizing seconds, he snatched the lingerie from my hands and practically sprinted into the bathroom, slamming the door. I heard a lot of rustling, followed by a muffled complaint. “This thing is way too small. It’s cutting off my circulation.” “That’s impossible,” I called back smoothly. “I bought it to your exact measurements. Though… maybe your workouts have been paying off. I did think your chest felt a bit fuller just now.” Silence stretched from the bathroom for a full beat. “…You really think my body looks better than before?” “Oh, absolutely,” I lied. Jax went quiet again. Two minutes later, the door clicked open. Jax stepped out. The sheer fabric clung to his muscular frame in a way that was both utterly humiliating and objectively fantastic. He looked everywhere but at me. I immediately whipped out my phone and snapped a photo. The camera flashed. Jax flinched, lunging forward to grab my wrist. “Don’t take pictures!” I easily dodged him, snapping two more. “Why not? My husband is gorgeous. His body is amazing. What’s wrong with wanting to keep a few photos?” He froze, his hand dropping to his side. “You… you really mean that?” I nodded earnestly. Some of the mortification drained from his face, replaced by a bashful, confusing sort of pride. “Even so… you shouldn’t…” “I only take pictures of you because I miss you so much,” I said, letting a trace of genuine melancholy slip into my voice. “You’re always away on missions. I never see you. Sometimes, looking at your pictures is the only way I remember you’re mine.” Jax’s expression completely shattered, melting into something agonizingly soft. “I’ll… I’ll stay home more. To keep you company.” I raised an eyebrow. Keep me company? Who is keeping me company? You? I mean, I wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea… I smiled, reaching out to hook my index finger under the silver chain connecting the clamps on his chest. I gave it a sharp, testing tug, pulling him down to my eye level. “You promise?” Jax hissed at the pinch, but his tail thumped rhythmically against the floorboards. “I promise.” I let out a soft laugh, gazing up at him with half-lidded, adoring eyes. Jax stared back, his breath hitching. Drawn by some invisible gravity, he began to lean down. His lips parted. The kiss was a millimeter away— BRRRING. A shrill ringtone shattered the moment. Jax scrambled backward like he’d been electrocuted, frantically swiping for his phone on the nightstand. “I—I have to take this…” As the screen flashed past my line of sight, I caught the caller ID. Declan. My actual husband. 4 I didn’t know what transpired during that phone call, but when Jax returned, the playful energy was dead. His face was thunderous, and the sheer lingerie was gone, replaced by a baggy t-shirt. Feeling my gaze on him, he climbed into bed, his back stiff. “Go to sleep,” he muttered harshly. “I’m not in the mood tonight.” He switched off the lamp. The room plunged into darkness. A long time passed. Just as I closed my eyes, I heard Jax whisper a vicious, muffled curse into his pillow. [Ooooh, the fake got caught slipping by the real husband! Didn’t even get the kiss, just got a screaming match over the phone. Serves the dog right.] [He usually plays it so safe. Why did he fold tonight? Ugh, it’s the wife’s fault. She’s too seductive.] [Okay, but can we talk about how unhinged the actual husband is? He literally has hidden cameras in his own bedroom to spy on his disabled wife! Typical creepy snake behavior…] Cameras?! My heart slammed against my ribs. A wave of ice-cold shock washed over me, followed instantly by a tidal wave of fury. Declan and I were bound together by a state-mandated, high-compatibility shifter marriage. I had fully planned to endure the probationary period, sign the paperwork, and part ways amicably. But I never imagined I was married to a voyeuristic psychopath. Yet, as the anger settled into a cold, hard clarity, a realization dawned on me. This blatant violation of my civil rights was the perfect ammunition. I could use this to petition the authorities for an immediate annulment. But if Declan liked watching so much… I rolled onto my side in the dark, staring at Jax’s broad, tense back. A dark, vindictive smile touched my lips. If he wanted a show, I’d give him a blockbuster. The next morning, I woke up the picture of domestic bliss. Downstairs, Jax was already at the stove. The apron strings pulled taut over his broad chest. “You’re up,” he said, voice tight. “Breakfast is ready.” Nothing like starting the day with both a nutritional and a visual feast. I hummed happily, walking right up to him and planting a loud, affectionate kiss on his jaw. “Thanks, honey!” [The husband is watching this on the feed right now and he just shattered a coffee mug with his bare hands.] [Honestly, the husband is so weird. He’s the one who ditched her to go see another woman. Why does he care what she does with the proxy?] [Stop the presses—the husband just booked a red-eye flight back. He’s abandoning the girl. He’s coming home for blood!] 5 Coming home for blood? I watched Jax’s bushy tail inadvertently wag behind the counter and scoffed inwardly. Let him come. We’d see whose blood ended up on the floor. “Why are you still wearing the ears and tail?” I reached up and pinched his ear again, adopting a careless tone. “I’m having a hard time getting used to these little dog ears.” Jax clicked his tongue in offense. “Wolf.” I nearly choked on my coffee. Right. Wolf. I cleared my throat. “Well, take them off.” Jax’s face fell. He looked a mix of offended and genuinely heartbroken. “You said you liked them last night. Are you already bored of them?” “Because snakes don’t have furry little ears.” I met his gaze, offering a soft, devastating smile. “Unless… you keep them out all the time. So I can get used to them. So I can look at them until the idea of you without them feels wrong.” “Do you think you can do that for me, honey?” Jax stared at me, swallowing hard. “Maybe. I could try.” I let the hook sink in, then stood up, leaving my plate half-finished. “You do that. I need to get ready for work.” “I’ll go warm up the car,” Jax said eagerly. “Wait.” I paused on the bottom step of the staircase, curling my finger at him. “Come help me with something first.” Upstairs, in the walk-in closet, I stood before the full-length mirror, buttoning a silk blouse. “I have a presentation for the board today. Tell me which outfit looks better.” The skirt I was wearing was a new arrival—a high-waisted pencil skirt with an intricate silk ribbon corset back that cinched the waist tight. Jax stood in the doorway, his eyes dark and heavy, tracking the line of my throat down to the curve of my hips. “That one. That one is perfect.” “You think so?” I smiled faintly, turning my back to him and swaying my hips just a fraction. “Then be a good husband and tie the back for me.” Jax’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He had to take a visible, steadying breath before he crossed the room. His calloused, slightly rough fingers brushed mine as he took the silk ribbons, slowly pulling them taut against the small of my back. “Honey,” I breathed. Jax looked up, meeting my eyes in the mirror. The fire in his gaze was barely contained. “Yeah?” My eyes dropped to a specific reflection in the glass. I kept my voice feather-light. “The pants you’re wearing today… they fit much better.” “Not sparse at all.” 6 Jax dropped the ribbons like they were on fire and bolted from the room. I sighed, a little disappointed. I was curious to see the differences in canine shifter anatomy up close. A girl can wonder. When I finally walked out the front door, Jax was waiting by the SUV. His ears were still flushed pink. Honestly, compared to Declan’s dark, obsessive lurking, Jax’s flustered golden-retriever energy was vastly superior. He drove me to the Institute. As the car shifted into park, I leaned over the console and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for the ride, honey.” Jax’s ears burned brighter, but his arm snaked out, pulling me flush against him for a tight, possessive squeeze. “I’ll pick you up tonight.” I nodded, my mind already calculating how long it would take for Declan to land. I needed them both in the same room when the bomb dropped. Preoccupied, my heel caught on an uneven paving stone. I stumbled forward, bracing for impact, when a strong hand caught my elbow, steadying me perfectly. “Thank—Elliott?!” I stared up at the man, a genuine wave of surprise and warmth hitting me. “It’s been so long!” Elliott was one of the very few people in the world I could consistently recognize. He was my senior from university, a brilliant mind. Though he was a shifter, his intellect vastly outclassed his physical prowess, steering him away from the military and into advanced genetics at the Institute. I hadn’t seen him in two years, but he looked exactly the same. The sharp tailoring of his suit, the wire-rimmed glasses, the faint, crisp scent of cedar—and pinned to his lapel was the silver wolf-head brooch I had given him for graduation. “It’s good to see you, Gemma.” Elliott looked down at me, the habitual coldness in his eyes melting into something incredibly warm, like morning sun on snow. “We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. I just transferred back to the local branch.” I was shocked. Elliott had been recruited by the most prestigious lab in the capital. Why would he come back to our mid-level city? He seemed to read my mind. His lips parted to explain— “Wife!” The shout came from behind me. I turned. I couldn’t see the face clearly, but the frantic bounding energy was unmistakable. Jax was running toward us. “Wife, you forgot your thermos. I made your tea—” Jax ground to a halt, the thermos dangling from his hand. He stared at the man standing next to me. “Bro?! What are you doing here?” Elliott. Jax. Brothers. Well, isn’t that a small world. While Jax looked like he’d seen a ghost, Elliott’s face darkened like a thunderhead. His eyes darted between Jax and me, his jaw setting into a brutal, sharp line. “Who,” Elliott asked, his voice lethally quiet, “are you calling wife?” “And since when the hell are you married?!”

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Seven years. That’s how long it took for Damian Whitaker to dump me for the seventh time. It was the same script as the previous six: “You’re just not on my level, June.” But this time, I didn’t beg. I didn’t cry. I didn’t offer to change. I just looked him in the eye and said, “Okay.” Three days ago, I froze every credit card in his family’s possession. Two days ago, I repossessed the car he let his sister drive. Yesterday, I moved out of the luxury apartment I’d been paying for. Now, as I sit on a plane bound for a new life, my phone is vibrating non-stop. Forty-seven missed calls. The caller IDs range from Damian himself to his meddling aunt. For seven years, I was their personal ATM, the invisible engine behind their lifestyle. I look at the notifications, mark them all as read, and don’t reply to a single one. 1 Damian chose a high-end steakhouse for our seventh breakup. It was the kind of place where the tasting menu starts at three hundred dollars a head. I sat across from him, my steak barely touched, when he slapped his linen napkin onto the table. “June, we’re done. This isn’t working.” I held my glass of lemon water mid-air. I wasn’t shocked. I was counting. The first time was sophomore year of college because I didn’t buy him those limited-edition sneakers. The second was graduation because the company I interned for wasn’t a Fortune 500. The third through sixth were a blur of excuses: my salary was too low, I wasn’t “romantic” enough, his father didn’t approve of my background, and—my personal favorite—he thought his coworker’s wife dressed better. Seven. Lucky number seven. I looked at the medium-rare ribeye that had just been served. “And the reason this time?” Damian arched an eyebrow and flipped his phone around. On the screen was a photo of a handbag. A limited-edition Hermès, priced at eighty-six thousand dollars. “You got me a two-hundred-dollar briefcase for my birthday, June. Honestly, do you even care about me? Or are you just cheap?” A two-hundred-dollar briefcase. I had spent three weekends scouring boutique shops to find the exact designer collaboration he’d liked on Instagram. I’d stood at the counter for forty minutes debating the leather grain. To him, two hundred dollars meant I didn’t have a heart. I set the water down. The glass hit the mahogany table with a soft, final thud. “Okay.” The word hung in the air, and Damian’s expression was a sight to behold. He blinked, the condescending smirk on his face freezing before it slowly dissolved into confusion. “What did you say?” his voice rose an octave. “I said okay. We’re over.” I glanced at the bill, flagged down the server, and pulled out my wallet. “Check, please.” “June!” Damian slammed his hand on the table, making the silverware jump. “You’re not even going to fight for this?” I did a quick mental audit. The standard operating procedure for the last six breakups was as follows: 1. Apologize (whether it was my fault or not). 2. Send a “makeup” Venmo (the amount increased every year; the last one was five figures). 3. Buy a peace offering gift. 4. Take him to a five-star dinner. 5. Call his father to give a “progress report” on how I was bettering myself. 6. Apologize again. Each cycle took about three days and cost me at least twenty thousand dollars. Twenty thousand dollars. In a diversified index fund with a 7% return, I was losing a fortune every year just to keep him happy. Today was the seventh time. I looked at Damian—sitting there with his hair professionally styled on my dime, wearing the Tom Ford suit I’d bought him, complaining about a gift that wasn’t expensive enough—and the chandelier above us suddenly felt blindingly bright. “Damian.” I stood up and tucked two hundred-dollar bills under the sugar caddy. “This time, you get exactly what you asked for.” I grabbed my coat. Turned. Walked toward the door. Behind me, I heard the screech of a chair being shoved back—metal legs scraping against the marble floor. “June! You get back here right now!” the heavy glass doors of the restaurant swung shut behind me. His voice was muffled, the tail end of his shout trembling with something that sounded suspiciously like panic. I didn’t look back. I hailed a cab in less than two minutes. The moment the door clicked shut, the sound of the city and the possibility of him chasing me were cut off. My phone buzzed three times. The first was a sixty-second voice memo from Damian. I didn’t play it. The second was a screenshot from our mutual friend, Marcus—wait, no, let’s call him Mark. It was Damian’s latest Instagram story: a photo of a glass of Scotch and a single rose. The caption: Finally cut the dead weight. I can finally breathe again! Below it were a dozen comments from his “bros”: About time, man! You deserve a queen, not a peasant. Onwards and upwards! The third message was from Piper: Did the prince throw another tantrum? Want me to come pick you up? I stared at Damian’s post for six seconds. I screenshort it and saved it into a folder on my phone titled “The Breakup Ledger.” It already held six similar screenshots. Every time we broke up, he’d post something high-and-mighty, wait for me to crawl back, and then delete it. Number seven. I texted Piper back: Yeah. But this is the last one. I mean it. By the time I got back to the apartment, it was nearly eleven. The hallway light was flickering, and it took three tries to jam the key into the lock. When the lights flickered on, the apartment greeted me like a curated museum of my own financial labor. The cashmere throw on the sofa—I bought that. The designer humidifer—mine. The high-end projector—mine. The Wagyu steaks and oysters in the fridge—all me. The oversized canvas print above the console—I’d hauled that home and mounted it myself. This three-bedroom penthouse overlooking the river—the lease was in my name. Seven thousand dollars a month. I stood in the entryway, kicked off one heel, and just looked. Every single thing my eyes touched was connected to me. Except for the framed photo on the dresser of Damian and his friends on a yacht I’d rented for his thirty-first birthday. I took off the other shoe. I pulled three collapsed moving boxes out from the top of the coat closet—leftovers from when we moved in. I took a deep breath. And I started packing. The closet: my clothes took up a third of the left side. His took up the rest, plus the extra storage bins. I folded my pieces one by one. It was a fluid, practiced motion. After all, I’d done this during breakup number four. Back then, I’d finished packing only to have Damian call the next morning, and I’d moved it all back in. Not this time. Books from the shelf—packed. My set of professional Japanese knives from the kitchen—cleaned, dried, and boxed. The electric toothbrush in the bathroom—mine. The fiddle-leaf fig I’d nursed for two years on the balcony—coming with me. I packed until 1:00 AM. The three boxes were brimming. The living room looked skeletal now, missing its soul. I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead and sat on the floor. The phone vibrated. Damian. I watched the screen for three seconds before hitting “Decline.” It vibrated again. Damian. “Decline.” The third time, it was a different number. Damian’s father. I closed my eyes, switched the phone to silent, and shoved it into my pocket. I went to the desk and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. It contained a list I’d started on a whim months ago. The header: Expenses Incurred for the Whitaker Family. I flipped through the pages. Rent, car payments, health insurance premiums, spa memberships, authorized user spend on my Amex, holiday gifts, the “loans” to Stacy that were never repaid, his mother’s hospital co-pays I’d covered… The grand total: $1.23 million. I stared at that number. I was the woman he called “not on his level.” I was the “dead weight” who had spent over a million dollars on his family in seven years. I snapped the notebook shut. I stood up, my knees popping in the quiet room. “Right,” I whispered to the empty apartment. “Seventh time’s the charm.” I stacked the boxes by the door. Turned out the lights. Went to the bedroom for one last night of sleep in this place. Tomorrow, I would begin the surgical process of removing myself from Damian Whitaker’s life, one stitch at a time. 2 I woke up at 6:00 AM, before the alarm could even chime. My phone was a graveyard of notifications—eleven unread texts, three missed calls. All from Damian and his father. I didn’t open them. Instead, I called my landlord. “Hey, it’s June. I’m breaking the lease. Effective immediately.” “June? You’re leaving? What about Damian? He told me you guys were renewing for another two years.” “We broke up. Check the contract; I’ll pay the early termination fee.” There was a pause. “Again? Didn’t you say this last time? You were back in a week.” “This isn’t a week-long thing. It’s a forever thing. The keys will be on the counter. Damian is still there, but you’ll need to talk to him about moving out by the end of the month. The lease is in my name, and I’m done paying for it.” I hung up and called a local moving service. Within forty minutes, my three boxes and my fiddle-leaf fig were loaded into a van. Before I left, I took one last look. I left the groceries—moving them was a hassle. I left the sofa—it was a custom sectional that wouldn’t fit through the door of my new place anyway. I set the keys on the entryway table. The door clicked shut with a finality that felt like a period at the end of a very long, very exhausting sentence. At noon, I was at a quiet bistro near Piper’s office, picking at a salad. My phone lit up. A text from Damian: Where the hell are you? Where are the throw pillows from the sofa? Did you seriously take the plant? You’re being pathetic, June. The throw pillows. I’d bought them on clearance for fifty bucks. Damian had mocked the color for months until he realized they were the perfect height for propping up his head while he binged Netflix. The plant? He’d never watered it once. I didn’t reply. At 2:00 PM, the phone buzzed again. This time it was the landlord: June, I told Damian about the lease. He… uh, he didn’t take it well. He seems to think I’m joking. Don’t worry, the paperwork is strictly in your name. I’ll handle the eviction process if he isn’t out by the 30th. Thanks, Sam, I replied. At 4:00 PM, Damian finally called. I decided to pick up. “June! Did you seriously tell the landlord we’re moving?!” His voice was a jagged shard of glass, echoing the way it had in the restaurant. I could picture him pacing the living room, his face flushed with indignation. “Yes.” “Are you insane? This is our home! You can’t just cancel it!” “Damian, I signed the lease. I paid the rent. We broke up. I’m not renewing. What’s the confusion?” Silence on the other end for five long seconds. Then, his tone shifted. It was a pivot I knew by heart—the first stage of the “Post-Breakup Damian” cycle. The voice became smooth, dripping with a condescending pity that barely masked his panic. “Oh, I see. This is a stunt. You’re trying to force my hand, trying to make me beg you to stay. It’s beneath you, June. Really.” I switched the phone to my other ear. In the past, this was where I’d scramble to explain myself, tell him it wasn’t a stunt, and then he’d graciously “allow” me to pay the next month’s rent as an apology. “You have until the end of the month to pack,” I said. I hung up. Five minutes later, Damian’s father roared into my voicemail. “June! What is the meaning of this? You break up with my son and then try to throw him onto the street? You weren’t this cold-hearted when you were begging for his attention in college!” I called him back. “Mr. Whitaker. The rent is seven thousand dollars a month. We are no longer together, so I am no longer paying it. If you think the apartment is so vital to Damian’s well-being, feel free to sign a new lease in your name. Sam has the paperwork. It’s first, last, and a security deposit.” The line went dead silent. Seven thousand. I’m willing to bet he’d never actually asked about the price. In his mind—fueled by his perception of me as a “middle-class girl”—the rent was probably a couple thousand at most. “Seven… seven thousand?” he stammered. “Yes. It’s a luxury penthouse in the West Loop. That’s market rate. Goodbye, Mr. Whitaker.” I put the phone on the table and went back to my salad. The lettuce was wilted, and the vinaigrette was starting to separate. Piper sat across from me, her legs crossed, tapping a pen against her chin. “How does it feel?” “What?” “Having a spine. Having a backbone after all these years. Does it feel good?” “Don’t start,” I muttered. “No, seriously,” Piper leaned in. “Are you really done this time?” I swallowed a bite of arugula. “Piper, seven thousand times twelve times seven. Do the math.” “That’s… over half a million?” “$588,000. Just in rent. That’s what it cost me to be told I wasn’t good enough for seven years.” Piper stopped tapping her pen. She took a long sip of her iced coffee and shook her head. “You weren’t soft-hearted, June. You were just being a martyr. I’m glad you finally quit the job.” She turned her phone screen toward me. Damian had just posted again: Some people show their true colors the moment they don’t get their way. Imagine being so bitter you’d evict your own boyfriend. Talk about a lack of class. The comments were a dumpster fire of support. Red flag city! Bullet dodged, bro! She was always a social climber. I looked at it for three seconds. Then I pushed the phone back. “He can post whatever he wants.” “You’re not angry?” “Why would I be? He doesn’t even know how much his own lifestyle costs. Do you think the people commenting have any idea?” Piper smirked. “Fair point. So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” I grabbed my jacket. “Tomorrow? Tomorrow, I take back the car.” 3 The car was a white Volkswagen Passat. Not a supercar, but in the Whitaker household, it was known as “Stacy’s Executive Transport.” I’d been paying the four-hundred-dollar monthly note for three years. Two years left on the loan. The title and registration? In my name. The reason? Stacy’s credit score was so abysmal that the bank had laughed her out of the dealership. For three years, Stacy had used that car for: 30% “Networking.” 20% “Meeting clients.” 50% Picking up boyfriends, going to brunch, and driving to the high-end spa in the suburbs every Friday. Stacy called it “the cost of doing business.” Last night, I’d given my spare key to Piper. At 7:30 AM, Piper texted: The bird has flown. Car is parked in my secure garage. By the way, there’s a fresh scrape on the rear passenger door. New? I asked. Looks like it. Your former sister-in-law has the spatial awareness of a drunk toddler. I sighed. Expected. At 8:15 AM, Stacy’s meltdown arrived right on schedule. My phone exploded. Damian: You took the car too??? Are you even human??? Stacy: YOU BITCH!! You stole my car!! I’m calling the cops!!! Damian’s Dad: June, there is such a thing as common decency. You’ve crossed the line. Then Stacy called. I ignored it. She called again. And again. On the fifth try, it was a blocked number. I answered. “Hello?” “JUNE, YOU—” Stacy’s voice was practically vibrating with rage. I could hear the wind whipping past her; she was likely standing in her parking spot. “You stole my car! I’ve already called the police! You’re going to jail!” “Stacy,” I said, my voice so flat it surprised me. “The car is registered to me. I pay the note. I pay the insurance. I had a friend move my car to a secure location. That’s called exercising ownership. Please, go ahead and call the police.” The sound of her breathing on the other end was like a bellows. “I… I have a massive meeting this afternoon! How am I supposed to get there?” “There’s a bike-share station on the corner. Wear a helmet.” I hung up. I found out later, via Piper’s friend who works as a dispatcher, that Stacy actually did show up at the local precinct. She apparently burst in like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, screaming about a stolen white Passat. The officer ran the plates. “Ma’am, the owner of this vehicle is a June Chen. Is that you?” “No! But I’m the one who drives it! She’s my… my brother’s ex-girlfriend! She took it without my permission!” The officer didn’t even look up from his computer. “So… the owner took her own car?” “Yes! I mean—no! I mean, I have a right to use it!” Stacy apparently stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish, while an elderly man waiting for a background check stared at her. “Ma’am,” the officer said, finally looking up. “A car owner disposing of their own property isn’t theft. If you have a civil dispute regarding a loaner agreement, take it to court. Next!” Stacy sat on the plastic chair in the lobby for five minutes, her face turning a deep, humiliated crimson. Then she walked out, pulled out her phone, and tried to scan a rental bike. First bike: Insufficient credit score. Second bike: Insufficient credit score. Third bike: Account suspended. She stood in the middle of a row of bikes, looking up at the sky as if waiting for a lightning bolt to strike me down. She ended up taking an Uber. When she arrived at her “business meeting”—which was actually a pitch for a mid-level multi-level marketing scheme—she was forty minutes late. The “investor” was already checking his watch. “Late start, Stacy?” “Traffic was… insane.” “You took an Uber? I thought you drove that Passat?” Stacy’s jaw tightened. “It’s… in the shop for detailing.” The meeting was a disaster. She left with a face that shifted between green and grey. That night, she posted on Facebook: Some people are so desperate for revenge they’ll even steal a car. Small-minded behavior at its finest. Two likes. One from her dad, one from Damian. I screenshort it. Added it to the Ledger. Piper watched me save the image and shuddered. “You’re acting like a ghost-hunter, collecting all this evidence. What’s it for?” “Nothing. Just documentation. Just in case.” “You’re scary when you’re done, June,” Piper said. “You hide the knives so well.” I didn’t answer. I swiped a notification on my phone. Account ending in 6173: Quarterly dividend of $2,340,000.00 has been deposited. I cleared the notification. Tomorrow, there was more work to be done. The Whitaker ATM was officially going into permanent “Out of Order” status. 4 The following day, I made three phone calls. At 9:00 AM, I called my insurance provider. “I’d like to cancel the supplemental health coverage on my policy. Not for me, for the additional insured.” “Certainly, Ms. Chen. Policy number? Ah, I see. You’d like to remove Mrs. Evelyn Whitaker?” “Correct.” “May I ask the reason?” “Personal reasons.” Done. Eight minutes. At 9:20 AM, I called the high-end spa in the suburbs. “I purchased a pre-paid annual membership for a Mr. Damian Whitaker Sr. I am the payer, June Chen. I’d like to request a refund for the remaining balance.” “Ma’am, memberships are usually non-refundable—” “Check Section 6 of the contract. The payer retains the right to freeze or refund the balance upon proof of payment. Just send the remaining funds back to the original card.” A brief silence while she checked with a manager. “Yes, we can do that. A refund of $14,600 will be processed in three to five business days.” At 9:40 AM, I called my bank. “I need to cancel an authorized user on my credit card. Her name is Stacy Whitaker.” “Understood. Please note that any pending transactions will be the responsibility of the primary cardholder until the next billing cycle.” “I’m aware. Close the entire account while you’re at it. I’ll open a new one.” Three calls. Forty minutes. Seven years of financial umbilical cords, severed in less time than it takes to get an oil change. I leaned back on the sofa in Piper’s office and stared at the ceiling. There was a water stain up there that looked a bit like a lopsided rabbit. Piper walked in with two coffees. She looked at my face and set the cups down. “Finished?” “Yeah.” “How do you feel?” “Like I just had a wisdom tooth pulled that’s been aching for seven years. It’s bleeding, but I can finally breathe.” ——– At 1:00 PM, the first bomb went off. Damian’s father was currently at the spa, halfway through a “Gentleman’s Executive Package”—a deep-cleansing facial and a botanical wrap. I’d paid for the whole year as a retirement gift. Piper heard the story later from a girl she knew who worked the front desk. Mr. Whitaker was lying on the heated table, eyes closed, steam drifting over his face. He was at peace. Then, a soft knock at the door. “Mr. Whitaker? We have a bit of a situation with your account.” “What situation?” he grunted, not opening his eyes. “The payer has requested a full refund and frozen the balance. We can’t continue with the service.” His eyes snapped open. He sat up so fast the botanical mask slid down his face and hung off his chin like a soggy beard. Half his face was covered in white cream; the other half was bare. He stood in the lobby, shouting loud enough for the entire spa to hear. “What do you mean she refunded it? It was a gift! It’s mine! She can’t do that!” The receptionist’s hand was shaking on the mouse. “Sir… the contract says the payer has the rights. Maybe you should call her?” He pulled out his phone. He looked at my name in his contacts and saw the last three texts he’d sent me—all of them insulting. His thumb hovered for a second. He deleted them. Then he called. I didn’t pick up. At 2:00 PM, the second bomb. Damian’s mother went to her local pharmacy to pick up her monthly maintenance medications—blood pressure and diabetes meds. With the supplemental insurance I’d been paying for, her out-of-pocket was less than twenty bucks. The pharmacist scanned her card. Then scanned it again. “Ma’am, your supplemental policy has been terminated. Without it, the total for today is $4,216.” Mrs. Whitaker’s hand froze on the counter. She had never worried about money a day in her life. First, her husband handled it, and then, for the last seven years, the bills just seemed to disappear. She didn’t even know what the insurance was; she just knew she scanned the card and got her pills. Four thousand dollars. She reached into her purse and pulled out a worn wallet. Three hundred in cash. A debit card with less than five hundred in the account. The line behind her was getting restless. “Ma’am? Are you taking them or not?” She tucked her wallet back in, lowered her head, and walked out without her medicine. At 3:00 PM, the third bomb. Stacy was taking a group of “influencer” friends out for Korean BBQ. By the end of the meal, the table was littered with empty bottles of soju and premium ribeye bones. Everyone was toastin “Stacy the Boss.” Stacy patted her stomach and waved the server over. “It’s on me, guys.” She pulled out the authorized user card and handed it over with a flourish. Two minutes later, the server returned. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This card was declined. It says the account is closed.” “Try it again.” The server came back. “Still nothing. The system says the card has been voided.” Stacy’s neck turned hot. Six sets of eyes were pinned on her. “Probably a… a bank error,” she stammered. She pulled out her phone to pay via an app. Her balance: seventy-three dollars and eighty cents. She tucked her phone away and took a sip of water. “Excuse me, guys—I need to take this call.” She walked out to the parking lot. The March wind cut through her thin shirt, and the sweat on her back turned to ice. She didn’t make a call. She just stood there for thirty seconds. And then she ran. She ran through the mall, her sneakers pounding on the pavement, and she didn’t look back. Her six friends sat at the table for another half hour before they finally realized she wasn’t coming back and split the bill among themselves. When Stacy got to the parking garage, she remembered. Oh, right. She didn’t have a car. She slumped against a concrete pillar, gasping for air. Her leggings were smudged with dirt. She called Damian. “Damian! That bitch June cancelled my card! I was at dinner—in front of everyone—and it got declined! I have seventy bucks in my name!” The other end of the line was chaotic. Her father’s voice drowned out Damian’s: “She even took my spa membership! They kicked me out with a half-finished facial!” And in the background, her mother’s voice: “I can’t get my meds… it’s four thousand dollars a month…” In the Whitaker living room, three voices were screaming in unison. And they were all screaming the same name. June. June. June. Then Damian’s phone rang. The caller ID: June. The room went silent. His father froze. Stacy swallowed hard. His mother peeked out from the kitchen. Damian took a shaky breath and hit “Accept.” He put it on speaker. “June, you—” “Damian.” My voice was clear, every word measured. “You wanted a breakup. I respected that. But now that we’re over, I can no longer justify managing your family’s affairs. I paid the rent. I bought the car. I covered the insurance. I funded the memberships. Tell me—are those things yours or mine?” No one spoke. “Seven years,” I continued. “You dumped me seven times. Do you have any idea how many times your father insulted me? Do you know how much money Stacy ‘borrowed’ and never paid back? Do you know what your mother’s premiums cost every year?” Damian’s breathing was heavy. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. “You don’t. Because you never asked. You only knew one thing: that I wasn’t on your level.” I paused. “So, give it a try. Try a life where I’m not there. See who pays the seven-thousand-dollar rent. See who covers the four thousand in medical bills. And the next time you’re kicked out of a spa mid-facial, remember your own words: ‘Finally cut the dead weight.’” “June—” Damian’s voice broke. He used that tone—that mix of vulnerability and sweetness that had worked on me for seven years. “Are you just doing this to—” “No.” I cut him off. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m not trying to force you to apologize. I’m not waiting for you to come crawling back. I am actually done. You asked for this. I’m just being a good listener.” I hung up. After the call ended, my hand shook. It wasn’t fear. It was the seven-year habit of caring, screaming one last time before dying. I stared at the screen for three seconds. Five. Then I flipped the phone over. Piper walked over and squeezed my shoulder. “Come on. Your flight is at 8:00 AM tomorrow. Let’s get you to San Francisco.” I nodded.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “442344”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The agony in my stomach was a white-hot blade, twisting until I was on the verge of blacking out. I forced a single word through my gritted teeth: “Fine.” I wasn’t going back. I was done with her. I was done with everything. Years ago, to be with Madeline, I did the unthinkable. I severed ties with my own family—a family that had given me everything—just to marry into hers. I became the husband in the shadows, the one who took her name, the one who supported her while she built her empire. In just six months, Madeline’s career exploded. She became the face of modern American entrepreneurship, a titan of industry. Back then, everyone envied me. They said I’d played my cards right, that I was the luckiest man alive to be tethered to a woman like her. Nobody predicted that a year later, I’d be diagnosed with stage three stomach cancer. The night before my surgery, I lay in that sterile hospital bed, a roadmap of tubes and wires snaking out of my body. I waited for Madeline. I waited until my eyes ached from staring at the door. She never came. Instead, my phone buzzed late that evening. When I answered, her voice was light, rhythmic, and devastatingly happy. “I’m getting married today,” she said. “Don’t ruin this for me. Don’t call me, and don’t show up.” I sat there, frozen. The words felt like a physical blow to the chest. “Parker has been waiting for me for three years,” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact. “Now that the company is stable, I can finally give him what he deserves. I can finally be his wife.” “And what about me?” my voice came out as a ragged whisper. She let out a soft, indifferent sigh. “We’ll just all live together. I’ve already bought a new estate. Parker’s sweet—he won’t mind you being there. Besides, where else would you go? Your parents disowned you years ago. You have nothing without me.” … Almost simultaneously, a notification popped up. Madeline had shared a livestream link to her wedding reception on her private social media. In the video, she was radiant in a deep crimson gala dress, her face glowing with a kind of joy I hadn’t seen in years. She was glowing. Parker was holding her hand, leading her through a forest of champagne flutes and cheering guests. In the background, her friends were shouting toasts. “Finally, Maddie! You finally married the man you actually love!” “True love wins in the end!” “Look at them—the perfect couple. This is the real Mr. Sampson!” They were all celebrating their ‘happily ever after.’ Meanwhile, I was breathing in the scent of industrial-grade disinfectant, my stomach cramping in waves that made me want to scream. The contrast was a cruel joke. In their world of silk and top-shelf bourbon, I didn’t exist. Not a single person asked where I was. The pain intensified. Beads of cold sweat rolled down my temples. Shaking, I typed a comment into the livestream: Congratulations. But I’m going into surgery in ten minutes. Can someone—anyone—please come help me? Seconds later, the stream cut to black. My phone rang instantly. It was Madeline, and she sounded livid. “Oliver, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you seriously trying to pull this pathetic stunt right now? You’re trying to make us look bad?” The pain was so sharp I could barely catch my breath. “I’m not… I’m not playing, Madeline. I’m in the hospital. I’m scared. I need someone here.” She didn’t hear the tremors in my voice. She had already decided I was the villain. “Enough. You’re just trying to ruin Parker’s night because you’re jealous. Listen to me: Parker is a better person than you’ll ever be. He’s willing to let you stay in our lives. If you can just keep your head down and behave, we’ll take care of you. We won’t let you starve.” She sighed, a sound of heavy, martyred patience. I stared at the ceiling, a bitter laugh dying in my throat. Was I supposed to thank her? Thank her for marrying another man? Thank her for letting me live in the guest house of her new life like a stray dog? I used to think the legalities didn’t matter. I thought as long as we were together, as long as she loved me, I could handle being the “trophy husband” who gave up his pride. But the reality was a bloody mess on the floor. She never intended for it to be us. I was just a placeholder. A footnote. The grief finally broke through the pain, and the tears started to fall. “Madeline, why? You told me you loved me. That’s why I gave up my family name for yours!” There was a pause on the other end. Then, she laughed. It was a sharp, mocking sound. “Oh, Oliver. You actually believed what I said in bed? You really have no self-awareness. Why would I ever truly want a man who was so desperate he’d cut off his own blood just to crawl into my shadow? Look, I like you well enough. I’ll keep you around, but don’t confuse that with marriage.” Her voice turned sharp. “I have to go. My husband is calling me.” The line went dead. A moment later, a doctor walked in. She looked at me with a sneer that made my skin crawl. She must have overheard the call. In her eyes, I wasn’t a patient; I was a homewrecker. She reached down and grabbed the gastric tube inserted into me, tugging it with a brutal, unnecessary force. “Still haven’t adjusted to the tube? Stop whining,” she snapped. “I’ve seen your type before. Making a scene like a jilted mistress…” “It hurts!” I gasped, my whole body convulsing. “Then endure it. You wanted to marry into money so bad you’re faking a crisis to get attention. You deserve exactly what you’re getting.” She dropped the tube and slammed the door behind her. I gripped my phone, staring at the screen. I didn’t even know who to call. I looked at the medical equipment surrounding me and for a fleeting second, I wondered if it was even worth fighting to stay alive. I checked our chat history. A long string of red exclamation points. Blocked. She was so afraid I’d “interrupt” her wedding that she’d erased my existence. I curled into a ball, clutching my stomach. I looked at the engagement ring she’d placed on my finger last year. I remembered her getting down on one knee, her eyes seemingly full of tenderness. “Oliver, I know how much you’ve sacrificed. I’m going to work so hard to give you the life you deserve. Once you’re healthy, I’ll give you the most beautiful wedding the world has ever seen. Even if you took my name, I’m going to make you the happiest man on earth.” She had been my North Star. My safe harbor. It was all a lie. The man she wanted at the altar was never me. The next morning, the pain woke me again. When I opened my eyes, a young man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit was standing at the foot of my bed. I flinched. “Who are you?” He met my gaze, a bright, chilling smile spreading across his face. “Sorry to drop in. My wife couldn’t make it, so she sent me to check on you.” My heart hammered against my ribs. “Your… wife?” He nodded, his smile growing even more dazzling, more predatory. “Yeah. Madeline. She had a bit too much to drink last night, and well… she was pretty exhausted after we finally got to bed. I felt bad waking her, so I figured I’d come see how the ‘guest’ was doing.” He looked me up and down with blatant disgust. “Honestly, man to man? This is pathetic. Look at you.” He pointed at my emaciated frame, hidden beneath the thin hospital gown. “You’re skin and bones. You’re hunched over like a gargoyle. You’re repulsive. No wonder Maddie doesn’t want to see you. She told me she used to gag just thinking about eating the food you cooked for her.” A cold realization sank into my gut. So that was it. That was why Madeline had been “too busy” to visit me after my chemo sessions. That was why, a month ago, when I’d spent all morning making her favorite lunch and drove to her office, the security guard wouldn’t let me in. He’d taken the containers and tossed them directly into the trash while I watched. Madeline had called me later, sounding outraged. “That guard is an idiot, Oliver. I’ll fire him tomorrow.” But a week later, when I passed the building, the same guard was still there. He’d smirked at me. It hadn’t been a mistake. It had been an order. “I don’t need your help,” I said, trying to claw back some shred of dignity. “Get out.” I tried to push myself up, but then Madeline walked in. She saw Parker’s “hurt” expression and immediately rushed to his side, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Hey, baby,” she murmured, her voice dripping with a concern she had never shown me. “What’s wrong? Did he say something to you? You’re too kind for your own good, coming here…” Parker squeezed out a fake tear, playing the martyr. “It’s okay, Maddie. People get bitter when they’re sick. I just… I’m scared. What if I ever get sick like this?” Madeline kissed his forehead, her eyes lingering on him with worshipful intensity. “You won’t, my love. You’re not like him. You have a good soul. The universe wouldn’t be that cruel to you.” Cruel. The word felt like acid. “Get out!” I screamed, the rage finally eclipsing the pain. “Both of you! Get the hell out!” I grabbed the pillow, a water cup, anything within reach, and hurled them at them. Parker let out a startled cry, and Madeline instantly stepped in front of him, shielding him with her body. “Oliver!” I had never seen her look so murderous. “If you so much as scratch him, I will make sure you regret ever being born!” I tried to stand up to confront her, but a spike of agony shot through my abdomen, and my knees hit the floor. Madeline’s eyes flickered with a momentary, fleeting panic. “What is it? Is it the stomach again?” I was gasping, the world spinning into gray. It felt like my internal organs were being shredded. “Call… call the doctor…” “Okay, okay,” she said, looking flustered. She started hitting the nurse’s call button repeatedly. The same doctor from before walked in, her brow furrowed in irritation. She didn’t even look at my chart. She just stared at me on the floor with contempt. “Every other patient manages their pre-op just fine. Why are you always the one causing a scene?” She sighed and looked at Madeline. “We’ll take him back to surgery when it’s time. Honestly, if I were you, I’d spend this time with your real husband.” Parker chimed in then, his voice soft and manipulative. “Maddie, the doctor says he’s fine. And he was throwing things pretty hard a second ago—he’s clearly got plenty of energy. Let’s not worry ourselves over nothing. You haven’t eaten all day. Let’s go grab some lunch downstairs, and we can bring Oliver something back later.” Madeline’s expression hardened as she looked at me. “Parker came here out of the goodness of his heart, and you treated him like garbage. When are you going to stop being so damn jealous?” She let Parker take her hand. They turned and walked out, leaving me collapsed on the freezing linoleum. I reached up, my fingers trembling, and kept pressing the call button. I wasn’t being dramatic. I was dying. I could feel it. The pain reached a crescendo. I managed to grab my phone and dial Madeline. One. Two. Three. She declined seven calls in a row. On the eighth attempt, she picked up, her voice sharp with annoyance. “What now? What could you possibly want?” Before I could speak, I heard Parker’s snickering in the background. “Maybe he’s just hungry, Maddie. Poor guys are always so greedy when they don’t have their own money…” “Enough,” Madeline snapped into the phone. “We’re coming up. Stop the theatrics.” Half an hour later, she returned with a small army of nurses and the same doctor. “Check him,” Madeline ordered, her eyes sweeping over the room. “I want to know if he’s actually in pain or just faking it. If he’s truly unwell and you missed it, I’ll pull my funding from this entire wing.” The doctor paled slightly but maintained her stance. “It’s early-stage gastric cancer, Mrs. Sampson. In my experience, ‘patients’ like this—mistresses and hangers-on—exaggerate their symptoms to keep their providers close. We see it all the time.” A nurse added, “His vitals were stable this morning. There’s no clinical reason for this level of distress. It’s psychological.” The doctor stepped forward to check my tube. I recoiled, shaking my head in terror, looking at Madeline. “No… please. Get a different doctor. Anyone else. Please.” Madeline’s jaw tightened. “Maybe we should—” Parker leaned in, rubbing her arm. “Maddie, I hand-picked this doctor myself. She’s one of the top specialists in the city. People wait months to see her. If he doesn’t trust the best, who will he trust? You know I only want what’s best for him.” I tried to protest, but Madeline’s eyes went cold. Her voice was an icy command. “Oliver, I am losing my patience. Shut up and let her do the exam.” My heart plummeted. She didn’t trust me. She didn’t even see me. They stripped me, pinning my legs down. The doctor’s hands, cold and smelling of cheap sanitizer, grabbed the tube again. She twisted it. I screamed. The sound was raw, primal. “It hurts! God, it hurts! Madeline, stop the surgery! I want to go home! Just let me go home!” I was incoherent, sobbing, but Madeline looked at me like I was a stranger. “Oliver, is it because I’m here? Is that why you’re being so theatrical? You’re perfectly fine when I’m gone.” She stepped back, her voice chillingly calm as she addressed the doctor. “Can we just take him to the OR now?” “Not yet. He’s not stabilized,” the doctor said. She let go of the tube, but then, with a hidden, vicious intensity, she pinched the skin over my ribs and twisted until I saw stars. “Mrs. Sampson, his issue is purely behavioral. He’s too agitated for the procedure. I recommend physical restraints. We need to keep him still so he doesn’t hurt himself—or the equipment.” I thrashed, pleading with my eyes, but Madeline didn’t stop them. She walked over and wiped the sweat from my forehead, a gesture that felt more like an insult than comfort. “Just be a good boy. Do what the doctor says. I know it’s hard, but once you’re better, I’ll make it up to you. This is for your own good.” She turned to the doctor and nodded. “Do what you have to do.” Fear, sharper than the cancer, washed over me. I began to wail as they buckled the leather straps around my wrists and ankles. Then, they pulled a wide restraint across my midsection—right over my stomach. The pressure was unbearable. I knew right then that if I stayed like this, I wouldn’t make it to the morning. I lunged forward, grabbing Madeline’s hand as she tried to pull away. I let go of every ounce of pride I had left. “Please… please help me. You said you loved me. I’ll do anything. I’ll be the ‘guest.’ I’ll be the servant. I’ll stay in the shadows. Just make them stop. It hurts so much.” For a second, Madeline hesitated. She had never seen me like this. In her mind, I was always the poised, silent shadow who took her hits and kept smiling. But Parker leaned down, his voice a demonic whisper in my ear. “Hurts, doesn’t it, Oliver? Good. I thought you were too ‘noble’ to be the other man. Look at you now, begging for a crumb.” I stopped fighting. A single tear rolled onto the pillow. I understood then. It didn’t matter what I said. Parker didn’t want me marginalized; he wanted me dead. The adrenaline of pure survival took over. With a strength I didn’t know I had, I ripped my hand free from the loosened strap. I lunged for the bedside table, grabbing a paring knife from the fruit basket. I held it to my own throat. “Stay back! Get away from me!” I rasped. “Let me go! I’m leaving this hospital right now!” Madeline’s voice failed her for a moment. “Oliver, you’ve lost your mind! Put that down!” She turned to the medical staff. “Are you deaf? Unbuckle him! Now!” The doctor tried to argue, but Madeline slapped her across the face so hard she hit the floor. “You said this would calm him down! Look at him!” The nurses scrambled to release the restraints. I didn’t even stop to find my shoes. I bolted for the door, driven by a primal need to escape this house of horrors. Parker tried to block my path, but I shoved him with everything I had, sending him sprawling. Behind me, Madeline’s voice was a scream of fury. “Oliver! Don’t you dare walk out that door! You’re being selfish! You’re throwing away your life because you can’t handle a little competition!” I ignored her. I reached the elevators and fumbled for my phone, dialing 911. I needed a different hospital. I needed to live. The elevator doors slid open, and I nearly collided with a man in a white lab coat. He looked at me, his eyes widening with instant professional alarm. “Sir? Sir, wait. If I’m not mistaken… your gastric tube is misplaced. It’s hemorrhaging. You are in critical danger. Where are you going?” Suddenly, a woman behind him gasped. “Oh my god! Look at his gown! There’s blood everywhere!” I looked down. A dark, crimson stain was spreading across my midsection, dripping onto the floor. By the time Madeline stepped out of the room, having comforted Parker, she didn’t see me standing there. She saw a team of medics lifting me onto a gurney, my body limp, as they sprinted toward the emergency OR. As the world faded to black, I saw Madeline’s face. For the first time, the mask of indifference had shattered. She tried to grab a doctor, tried to ask what was happening, but he shoved her aside. “Get out of the way! We’re losing him! This is a life-or-death emergency—move!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “442360”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend Ethan always thought he was funny, constantly humiliating me under the guise of jokes. On my birthday, he invited his friends over to celebrate. After a few rounds of drinks, he projected photos of me in my pajamas on the private room’s big screen, commenting on my physical flaws one by one. “Megan, I’m not saying this to be mean, but only someone as tolerant as me could be with you. Look at yourself—what guy would actually like you?” The whole room fell silent, everyone staring at me with strange looks. One of his friends, Liam, couldn’t stand it anymore and spoke up for me. “Ethan, that’s too far. How could you share her private photos!” Ethan sneered. “What? You like her? Don’t you know about that incident? Didn’t realize you were into damaged goods, bro.” His friends burst into laughter. Intense shame and anger drained all the color from my face. Ethan seemed to notice and turned to pat my head with a smile. “Aw, babe, don’t be mad. I’m just livening up the atmosphere. You’ll always be my favorite girl.” “Didn’t you write in your diary that you’d depend on me forever?” I swallowed the metallic taste in my throat and looked at Ethan again. Keep running that mouth. I’m done with you.

I couldn’t take it anymore and stood up. My eyes reddened the moment I lifted my head. “Enough!” Whispers started around the room. “Megan’s usually so devoted to Ethan, what’s gotten into her today?” “Ethan did go too far this time. That was really disrespectful. Even the most patient person has limits.” Ethan frowned at me, his tongue pressing against his cheek. Like he couldn’t find an outlet for his frustration. “What, all grown up now? Don’t need your big brother anymore?!” I laughed bitterly, finding it absurd. Ethan took several deep breaths. His next words stabbed straight into my heart. “Come on, it’s just a few photos. What’s the big deal?” “When that thing happened to you back then, you weren’t this worked up.” “I’m probably the only one who’d put up with your princess attitude.” He glanced at me. Snickers erupted around us. Followed by mocking laughter. I raised my head, looking at the young man whose lips curved in a half-smile, his eyes dark and unreadable. Ethan and I grew up together. My parents were rarely around, leaving me to live with my grandmother who had a bad leg. In kindergarten, he’d hold my hand walking to and from school, patting his chest with promises. “I’m here, don’t be scared!” In middle school, when some thugs surrounded me and tried to strip my clothes off, Ethan grabbed a brick and charged at them like his life didn’t matter, fighting them until his head was bleeding. After driving them away, he cried and blamed himself while holding me in my torn clothes, saying he was useless and hadn’t protected me. But when did things change? I tried to remember. It was probably freshman year, when I was voted campus beauty and received countless love letters and gifts. That day Ethan flew into a rage and made his first “joke” about me. “When you guys send her love letters, do you know she was molested by several guys back in middle school?” At his words, the boys who’d brought me gifts all showed disgust, cursed, and took their gifts back. But Ethan just laughed it off: “See? They were just joking around.” After that, no other guys came near me. And he never said another kind word, growing more and more fond of making jokes at my expense. I suppressed the grief threatening to overflow and faced Ethan’s mocking, making my decision. “I won’t depend on you anymore. I’m not taking the job at your company either. Let’s break up.” My voice was flat, without a ripple of sadness. Ethan’s hand suddenly clenched, his face darkening. He came around to face me, his smile flattening. “Say that again.” “What are you throwing a tantrum about now? You fought tooth and nail to join my company just to break up with me?” “Don’t think you can mess with me just because I spoil you!” With that, he stormed off angrily. Seeing him leave, the others trickled out as well. Only Liam and I remained. He pursed his lips to comfort me. “Megan, don’t be sad. You’re not what he says. You’re wonderful.” Only then did I look at him with moist eyes, murmuring. “I’m not sad anymore.” After leaving the private room, I called my dad. “Are you sure about this? If you go abroad, you won’t be able to come back for years.” “Yes, I’m sure. But please don’t tell anyone about this, including Uncle Ethan’s family.” “Don’t worry. There’s a flight to London in two days. Get ready.” After hanging up, I looked at my chat history with Ethan. Swipe left. Delete. Walking out of the restaurant lobby, I discovered it was pouring rain. Of course I hadn’t brought an umbrella, and my phone was dead. Just then, Ethan’s car pulled up in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing his face and Chloe’s.

He lit a cigarette, and through the smoke, a flash of panic seemed to cross his face, but then his expression turned contemptuous. “Just happened to run into Chloe. Giving her a ride since it’s on the way.” Chloe smiled sweetly. “Megan, you really don’t know how to take care of yourself. Always making Ethan worry.” Ethan let out a scornful laugh. “If she were half as sensible as you, I wouldn’t have to worry so much.” “When she was little, she fell into a cesspit. You should’ve seen it—covered head to toe, looked like a chocolate person. Only I could stand it. Anyone else would’ve run.” He finished speaking and laughed along with Chloe. I’d heard similar words countless times, yet they still grated on me. I looked at him, then turned and rushed into the rain. The rain pounded against me, painful and cold. But I felt it was warmer than being by his side by several degrees. Behind me came the sound of a car door slamming hard, and Ethan’s furious shout. “Megan! What the hell is wrong with you?!” “Can’t even take a joke?” The security guard was kind and helped me hail a taxi. In the rearview mirror, I saw Ethan pull out his phone to call someone. It seemed no one answered, making his brow furrow tightly. Back home, Grandma was startled and quickly helped me shower and change, then made hot ginger tea. While combing my hair, Grandma frowned. “How did you get so soaked?” She asked instinctively, “Where’s Ethan? Wasn’t he with you?” I lowered my eyes, feeling heavy inside. “No. And there won’t be anymore ‘with him’ in the future.” After a long while, Grandma changed the subject. “By the way, your dad called me. He said you agreed to go abroad.” “Tomorrow Grandma will pack up. Having to leave so suddenly, I’ll really miss these old friends.” I charged my phone and saw Ethan’s missed calls. My finger swiped to delete them. I looked back at Grandma. “A change of scenery will be good, Grandma. Before we leave, let’s not tell anyone, okay? Including Ethan’s family.” Grandma’s form stiffened slightly, then she said slowly, “Grandma can tell that boy Ethan has liked you since childhood. Just don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Not long after Grandma went to her room, my phone buzzed with a message from Ethan. “Come out. I’m in the courtyard.” I was about to pretend I hadn’t seen it when a second message came. “If you don’t come out, I’ll just come in and open your door myself.” I had no choice but to go out. I also packed all the things Ethan had given me over the past ten years into a trash bag. Including his blood-stained school uniform from middle school, when he’d gotten his head split open protecting me from those thugs. Seeing my hair still wet, Ethan frowned and draped his jacket over my head. “Megan, why did you come out with wet hair? Do you really enjoy causing people trouble?” “And now you’ve really got guts, can’t even take a joke anymore?” I blinked hard, something blocking my throat so I couldn’t speak. He lowered his head slightly and noticed the bloodstained clothes visible in the trash bag. “Escalating your guilt trip? You’re even willing to throw away this shirt?” He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Come on, stop this.” “Why can’t I throw it away?” I walked past him and tossed the bag without hesitation into the garbage truck at the gate, dusting off my hands. “It’s too dirty. Should’ve thrown it away long ago.” He didn’t believe me at all, just mocked me with a half-smile. “Come on, who are you trying to fool?” “You can’t leave me. Stop lying to yourself.” “By the way, I went too far with the jokes today. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow with another celebration—consider it an early congratulations on joining the company. Remember to come.” With that, he turned and left. He didn’t know that I meant every word I said.

The next evening, I still went to the gathering. As soon as I pushed open the door, I collided with a male server. I fell hard to the ground, and the drinks he was carrying spilled all over me. The server hurriedly apologized, trying to brush the liquid off my clothes. “I’m… I’m sorry.” Someone said something. “Coming to a party and ending up this pathetic—trying to make Ethan clean up your mess again?!” “I think she just can’t behave! Why does she always throw herself at men?!” The private room erupted with waves of laughter. “God, look at her slutty behavior. How could she possibly be good enough for our Ethan?” “I told you, why else would those thugs target her specifically back then? Why didn’t they strip anyone else’s clothes?” “I think our Chloe, beautiful and kind-hearted, is the one who deserves Ethan!” Chloe blushed and joked back. “Don’t say that. Someone as outstanding as Ethan is way out of my league.” In that moment, I kept my head down as intense humiliation threatened to drown me. My nose stung with unbearable sourness, but I fought desperately to keep my tears from falling. Soon, the server was pulled away. It was Ethan’s handsome face. He didn’t help me up, but instead looked at me with leisure, laughing lightly. “Megan, you’re my entertainment. You always manage to come up with new tricks to amuse me.” The room roared with laughter. Only then did he bend down and yank me into the bathroom, casually closing the door behind us. But his face still wore that smile as he tapped my soaked collar with his finger, his tone flippant. “But seriously, why do you always throw yourself at men? Have I not satisfied you somehow? You’re really embarrassing me.” My fists clenched white as I listened to his words. My heart felt like it was being carved with knives. I raised my head, my reddened eyes confronting his. “Can you stop being so vicious! Are jokes really that fun for you?” His brow furrowed, and he was about to speak when Liam draped his jacket over me. Just in time to cover my disheveled state. “Thank you.” My voice was hoarse, but it instantly ignited Ethan’s anger. “Oh, the hero comes to the rescue?” “Bro, nice taste. But let me give you some advice—a troublemaker like her is more than you can handle.” “And stop flattering yourself. She only depends on me.” My breathing quickened, and my trembling gaze met his. He glanced at me, then looked away without hesitation and walked out to sit back down next to Chloe. Liam’s expression soured as he sat with me in the farthest corner. And Ethan’s eyes never landed on me from start to finish. Before long, Chloe picked up her wine glass and stood, walking out from in front of me. But as she passed by, she suddenly fell hard to the ground, wine spilling all over her. Tears streamed down her face. “Megan! Why would you play such a cruel joke? You got soaked, so you had to make me get soaked too?!” Ethan was drawn over and helped Chloe up. “See? I told you she’s a troublemaker.” He looked at me, his eyes full of knowing “understanding,” shaking his head with a smile. “Megan, even jealousy has its limits. I know you’re unhappy seeing me talk to Chloe, but you can’t play dirty like this.” “That’s taking the joke too far.” I snapped out of my shock, meeting his suspicious gaze as my breathing stopped. I spoke hoarsely. “I didn’t do anything.” Liam spoke up. “I was right there. I saw clearly—Megan didn’t move. It was Chloe who…” “What does it have to do with you?!” Ethan suddenly erupted. His eyes swept darkly between Liam and me, then settled on me. “Megan, I wondered why you dared to throw a tantrum at me today. Turns out you found yourself a new protector?” “Changed your taste? You like the silent type now?” “Megan, when will you stop seducing men?” I closed my eyes, my nose stinging as tears fell on the back of my hand. “Why won’t you believe me?” Seeing this, Ethan’s tone softened. “Look, now you’re really crying.” “Come on, don’t cry. I know you didn’t mean it. Just joking with you.” My mind suddenly went blank, a ringing in my ears. With just that one sentence, I suddenly lost the strength to defend myself, murmuring softly. “No need. I did mean it.”

After hearing that, Ethan didn’t get angry. Instead, he laughed. “What, is my baby really mad?” He patted my head lightly, his tone like he was coaxing an unreasonable child. “Look, you scared Chloe to tears. Even teasing has limits. Go apologize quickly, or who’ll want to hang out with you in the future?” So in his eyes, I was joking too. “What if I don’t?” “Won’t apologize?” Ethan raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Fine. Then forget about joining my company. I don’t want to deal with your messes every day.” Another wave of suppressed laughter rippled through the room. I looked at his confident gaze, as if certain that to stay by his side, I’d swallow any humiliation. But I felt exhausted like never before. “This is the third time I’m saying this—I’m not joining your company.” I enunciated each word. “And between us, it’s over.” The smile on Ethan’s face froze abruptly. He seemed to be searching my face for the truth of my words. “Keep pretending. Go ahead.” He sneered. “Fine. Without me, let’s see who’d want a troublemaker like you.” I quietly agreed. “Okay. Think whatever you want.” I’d said it three times. I wouldn’t say it again. With that, I turned and left without a shred of reluctance. The next day, despite my reluctance, I ran into Ethan—his face looking unwell—at the community dinner table. My parents and Grandma had kept their promise not to tell anyone in the community about me going abroad. At the table, Uncle Ethan smiled and looked over. He and Aunt Ethan exchanged glances and joked, “Once Megan’s settled in her job, you two should have your wedding, right?” I didn’t speak. But Ethan burst out laughing, drawing everyone’s attention. “Marriage? You’re joking! I don’t have the guts to marry her.” Grandma’s face immediately darkened. Uncle Ethan also frowned in disapproval. “What nonsense! Watch your mouth!” Ethan quickly waved his hands, looking innocent. “Dad, don’t get worked up. I’m just joking, trying to lighten the mood.” He turned to me, laughing even harder. “Besides, if I really married Megan, wouldn’t that crush every man’s dreams?” He lowered his voice, speaking mysteriously to everyone at the table: “You guys don’t know this, but our Megan is our community’s running joke! Remember back in middle school when those thugs fought over her and tried to strip her clothes off in the street, saying they wanted to see what the campus beauty really looked like…” “If you want me to marry her, that’s…” He didn’t finish. Grandma suddenly stood up, pulling me with her, her tone icy. “I think we should drop this marriage talk! Childhood jokes don’t count!” Ethan’s face stiffened, the smile still on his lips. He seemed somewhat flustered, but in the end said nothing and didn’t follow. Back home, Grandma comforted me, but I felt indifferent. “I used to care. Now I don’t anymore.” Grandma and I finished packing the last of our luggage, and early the next morning, we boarded the plane. Three days later was employee orientation. As soon as Ethan appeared, he attracted everyone’s attention. But he had no time for those trying to chat him up. Looking at his phone that wouldn’t connect, Ethan felt panicked and called me countless times. Ethan was confused. He rushed to the design department to check the new employee roster. “Impossible!” His breathing was ragged, his fingers trembling. “I clearly saw it!” The design department manager spoke up. “Who are you looking for?” Ethan said urgently, “Megan! Why isn’t her name on the roster?” The manager found the name familiar and thought for a moment. “Oh, right. There was someone named Megan.” Ethan breathed a huge sigh of relief, about to ask more when he heard the manager add: “But she’s not reporting for duty. Said she got an offer abroad and already left the country.”

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At my daughter’s one-month celebration, my husband expertly unhooked a female college student’s bra and had her breastfeed the baby. I was so furious I nearly blacked out. I immediately snatched my daughter away. “You—you’ve both lost your minds! This is my daughter!” But Adrian suddenly spoke up. “Actually, Ella isn’t yours and mine. She’s mine and Cynthia’s. What’s wrong with the biological mother feeding her own child?” “The day we went to the hospital, you fell asleep. I performed the IVF procedure using her eggs.” I stood frozen in place, a chill running from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. I stared at him in disbelief, while his tone remained calm, as if he were discussing something trivial. “Cynthia’s still in school. I didn’t want her to suffer through pregnancy, but I wanted to have a child with her.” “You’ve always wanted a baby, right? Perfect—you can raise her. But as the child’s biological mother, Cynthia must stand in the center for photos.” In that instant, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I stood there unsteadily, my voice trembling. “You’re joking, right? I went through nine rounds of IVF and carried this baby for ten months. How could she not be related to me by blood?” Adrian handed the baby to his student Cynthia. She looked like she was about to cry and wanted to apologize to me, but he stopped her. “Cynthia and I are truly in love. Over the past three years, we’ve gotten countless hotel rooms and gone through countless condoms.” “You’ll never get pregnant with my child, because all these years I’ve given you 999 birth control pills. You probably won’t be able to conceive again in this lifetime.” “This child can preserve our marriage. Whether you raise her or not is up to you.” I gave a self-mocking smile and pulled out my phone to call the police.

Adrian’s voice wasn’t loud, but everyone present heard it. The entire venue fell deathly silent. Everyone was too shocked to speak, exchanging glances with one another. I looked at the child I’d carried for ten months and given birth to, and couldn’t stop the tears from falling. I’d been married to Adrian for five years without getting pregnant. I thought it was my problem, so I underwent nine rounds of IVF. When I finally got pregnant, I cherished it immensely, waiting day after day with anticipation. But the truth was—this was my husband’s child with his mistress! And my husband was an obstetrician! Throughout my pregnancy, I had terrible morning sickness. I vomited until I was half-dead. Then during delivery, I hemorrhaged. I only made it back from death’s door through sheer willpower. Tears poured down like a broken dam, and pain instantly spread through my entire body. Everyone had congratulated me on the birth of my daughter, but Adrian chose this happy moment to deal me a crushing blow. Adrian helped Cynthia get dressed, then turned and took the baby from my arms. “Photographer, please point your camera at Cynthia and me.” They held the baby, smiling sweetly, as if they were the real family. My chest felt crushed by a boulder. I couldn’t breathe. In an instant, my whole body turned cold. I glared at the photographer with red eyes. He immediately put down his camera. Adrian sighed and looked at me sternly. “Ella was crying. That’s the only reason I had Cynthia feed her. Stop throwing a tantrum.” “Olivia, the child has already been born. Cynthia and I are her biological parents. It doesn’t matter whether you accept it or not.” “Cynthia asked me to hide this from you, but the child will grow up. We can’t keep it secret forever. Better to tell you the truth now.” “This way Cynthia can visit the child in the future. Don’t blame her—this has nothing to do with her.” As soon as he finished speaking, he moved Cynthia behind him, as if afraid I might do something. His expression was full of triumph, without a trace of guilt toward me. Already been born? He’d timed this perfectly, certain that now it was a done deal, I had no choice but to accept this child. I looked at Adrian through my tears, struggling to contain my rage. “Are you even human?” Adrian’s gaze was cold. “I’m giving you a choice. Either keep the child and we stay married, or refuse and our marriage ends…” I laughed bitterly. Now I finally saw what he was really planning. “You’re treating me like a nanny, aren’t you? You want me to stay home and take care of the kid so you can go out and romance Cynthia?” “You’re gambling that I won’t abandon the child after carrying her for ten months. You’re using that to manipulate me!” “Adrian, your plan is perfect, but I won’t keep this child, and I won’t keep you either…”

At those words, the entire venue was shocked again. Even Adrian hadn’t expected me to say that. “Olivia, think carefully. If you don’t want this child, we’re getting divorced right now!” He dared to manipulate me like this because he was certain I loved him so much I couldn’t leave. Five years ago, I was also a college student like Cynthia—young and vibrant. During a routine gynecological checkup, I was attracted to the handsome Adrian. From that moment, I pursued him relentlessly. Even after graduation, I still hadn’t melted that cold iceberg. The last time we met, I told him I was moving north for work. Adrian panicked for the first time. That night he accepted my confession. We smoothly fell in love and got married. Everything seemed like a fairy tale, falling perfectly into place. The only pain in my heart all these years was not having children. My mother-in-law forced me to drink all kinds of remedies, tormenting me for five whole years. I never imagined that for five years, my own husband had been giving me birth control pills. He made me endure years of humiliation for not being able to conceive, living in constant self-blame. But now, I’d given birth to a child, yet the child didn’t carry my blood. How ironic! I took off my dress on the spot, removed my wedding ring and threw it away, then turned to leave. “Adrian, you’ve overestimated how much I love you. A marriage like this isn’t worth keeping.” Cynthia rushed to block my way, looking like she was about to cry. “Olivia, I’m sorry.” “I didn’t mean to interfere with your marriage. It’s all my fault. Adrian and I just couldn’t resist in the moment…” “If it bothers you, I can stop seeing him. I won’t visit the child either. Please don’t divorce because of me.” As I examined Cynthia carefully, I suddenly recognized her as the high school student I’d sponsored years ago. How ridiculous—the student I sponsored had climbed into my husband’s bed. “You’re not afraid Adrian and I will divorce. You’re afraid no one will take care of the child.” “After all, you still have school. If people found out you seduced a married man and had a child out of wedlock, you definitely couldn’t continue your education.” “I wasted my money sponsoring your education. I raised an ungrateful wolf!” Adrian rushed over and slapped me hard across the face, then pulled Cynthia into his arms. “What are you talking about? Cynthia is innocent. If you have a problem, take it out on me. Don’t even think about bullying her.” “I suggest you think carefully about whether you want this child. If you raise her, I’ll let her call you mom too in the future. You and Cynthia can both be her mothers. But if you keep making a scene like this, don’t expect to ever see her again!” I took a deep breath. Ten months of pregnancy—flesh that fell from my body. How could I not feel the pain? But no matter how much it hurt, I had to leave! They’d been hurting me for so long. If I continued to endure, they’d only hurt me deeper. “Threatening me? You should worry about yourself instead.” “One obstetrician performing illegal procedures, one college student seducing a married man—if today’s video gets posted online, will you two even have the nerve to stay in LA?” Adrian looked at me in disbelief. I didn’t hesitate—I turned and left. Suddenly, sharp pains shot through my abdomen. I looked down. Blood was streaming from my lower body. I realized this was from my wound tearing due to emotional stress. I couldn’t hold on and collapsed on the spot.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed with my parents beside me, crying their eyes out. They were pointing at Adrian and cursing him. When they saw me wake up, all three surrounded me. “Olivia, you’re finally awake! You nearly scared us to death.” “Adrian, since you did such shameless things, get out of here right now! Don’t bother Olivia!” No matter how much my parents cursed him, he didn’t react. He just calmly checked my body. Only after confirming I was okay did he breathe a sigh of relief. I said coldly, “I want to be discharged.” He froze in place, looking at me in disbelief. “Olivia, can you stop making a scene? You’re in such poor condition right now. You can’t leave the hospital.” “You need to rest properly in the hospital. If the regular room isn’t comfortable, I’ll book you a VIP room.” I shook my head. “No. I just don’t want to see you. Things have come to this point. Why are you still putting on this fake act of concern?” Adrian couldn’t convince me, so he carefully helped me check out. “I’ll drive you home myself. You can rest in the back seat.” “I’ve been thinking a lot. Cynthia’s still young after all. She can’t handle the responsibility of caring for a child. Only you are most suitable to be Ella’s mother.” “As long as you don’t expose what’s between Cynthia and me, we don’t have to divorce.” My heart sank. Wasn’t hurting me enough? He wanted to keep using me? I ignored him and noticed a fancy gift bag in the back seat containing a necklace. Just as I was about to take it out for a look, he snapped at me. “Don’t touch it!” He slammed on the brakes and stopped abruptly by the roadside, looking nervous and anxious. Seeming to notice his emotional reaction was off, he immediately snatched the necklace from my hand. “This is expensive. Don’t break it by accident.” Unfortunately, I’d already seen it. The necklace was engraved with Cynthia’s initials. The card said he was giving her 999 gifts, and when he finished, they would get married. This necklace brand was a luxury label. Supposedly you had to fly to France specifically to buy it. He carefully put the necklace away, placing it where I couldn’t reach. I suddenly remembered Adrian hadn’t given me a gift in many years. Everyone knew doctors were busy. I never asked for anything on birthdays or anniversaries. But the day I gave birth, Adrian—supposedly a renowned obstetrician—wasn’t there. Even after the baby was born, he never once said I’d worked hard. In that moment, my heart died. The back seat was filled with many things belonging to him and Cynthia. One item especially caught my eye—a contract. It was Adrian’s contract for organizing her wedding. I was shocked and couldn’t believe it. My heart was pounding wildly as I closed the contract in terror. The man before me who once said he loved me more than life itself was now truly going to marry someone else. I felt like such a fool to be deceived so thoroughly. I hated myself for being blind, for being such a poor judge of character. Tears blurred my vision. I was choking, almost suffocating. The car slowly drove past a chapel. Years ago, he’d rented out the entire chapel to propose to me. The whole city knew. We held a century wedding that shocked the entire city. He spared no expense designing a castle-like chapel for me. Everyone said he loved me desperately to give me the wedding every girl dreams of. At the wedding he cried with emotion, holding me tightly. He said he could finally be with me forever. Looking back now, it was laughable. His so-called love for me was nothing but lies. When we got home, Adrian personally cooked dinner for me. I busied myself packing my luggage. Seeing this, he blocked the door with his body. I had no time for his act. “Get out of the way! I’ve already sent you the divorce papers.”

Adrian refused to divorce me. He gripped my hand tightly, his eyes red. “Olivia, don’t leave. Now’s not the time to throw a tantrum. I’m worried about you. Get your health back first!” “Divorce isn’t a small matter. You’d better think it through before deciding. You’ll have a hard time having children again. Who would want you after divorce?” At the celebration, he threatened me with divorce. Now that I was leaving, he panicked. But I saw right through him. This was just another excuse to stall and torment me. I stared at him blankly, feeling nothing but disgust but not knowing where to begin cursing him. Adrian pulled me into his arms, holding me carefully, apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I did something terrible to you, but it’s already late. If you’re leaving, can you leave tomorrow instead?” I raised my hand and slapped him, shoving him away hard. I left without hesitation. Just as I reached downstairs, I suddenly ran into Cynthia. She had a smile on her lips. “Actually, when you were hemorrhaging during childbirth, Adrian was with me. We were doing it in the delivery room next door.” “Can you imagine how exciting that was? He said I was so much tighter than you. With just one word from me, he could have abandoned you when you were on death’s door.” “So he doesn’t love you anymore. Just divorce him already.” Each word pierced me deeply. Uncontrollable pain swept through my entire body again. The pain cut to the bone, invading every part of my marrow. I ignored her and turned to leave. A scumbag and a homewrecker—perfect match. Walking out of the garage, I realized I’d forgotten my car keys. When I walked back, I overheard their conversation at the door. “Cynthia, I can’t bear to have you take care of the child. It’s too hard.” “I won’t divorce Olivia. I’ll convince her to stay and raise the child. That way we can continue our romance without the child affecting our relationship.” “Don’t worry. To make sure she and I can’t have children, I’ll quietly remove her uterus. I promised only you would bear my child.” I was so angry my chest hurt. Fury shot straight to my head. I’d underestimated how shameless these two were. I pulled out my phone to call the police. Suddenly, Cynthia sensed someone outside the door. She opened it and saw me. “Olivia, you—how are you here? Adrian, she didn’t hear our whole conversation, did she?” Adrian’s expression changed. He roughly dragged me into the room. “You—let go! What are you trying to do? This is illegal!” He ignored me, forcefully tying me up and taking out professional surgical instruments. “Cynthia, take off her clothes. Since you know everything now, I’ll just perform the surgery on you right now.” “No choice. To keep you from leaving me, to keep you from exposing what’s between Cynthia and me, I’ll just remove your uterus. Then you’ll never be able to have children.” Absolutely insane! These two had completely lost their minds! I struggled desperately, screaming for help. Adrian held the scalpel and looked at me, his voice ice-cold. “Olivia, this is for your own good. Be good. With my skills, I won’t let you feel pain.” Cynthia held a syringe, rolled up my sleeve to inject anesthesia, an evil smile at the corner of her mouth. I was terrified. “No, no! Someone save me…” Adrian cut my skin with the scalpel. Blood sprayed everywhere. I fell into unconsciousness, completely despairing. The next second, a large number of police burst through the door, immediately handcuffing Adrian and Cynthia. Everything they’d just done had been transmitted to the police via my phone call.

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I was competing with Circe for a promotion to Senior Wolf Pup Trainer. But when I learned that the judge for this promotion competition was my husband, Alpha Elias, I knew I would lose to Circe. She was Elias’s unforgettable first love. When the assessment ended, Elias predictably gave the promotion to Circe. Circe looked at me mockingly and said: “Even though you’re his wife, in his heart, I’ll always come first.” “Everything you struggled so hard to get comes easily to me.” She and I had been rivals since our school days, because her mother was the mistress who stole my father. And she could just as easily occupy Elias’s heart. I glanced wearily at Elias in the distance and suddenly didn’t want to fight with Circe anymore. This time, I was giving up on him. Between Elias and my career, I chose my career. The school was recently holding an assessment competition for promotion to Senior Trainer, and the new judge was so handsome that he caused many young colleagues to squeal with excitement. The judge was Elias, my husband. As soon as I learned this news, I knew I had already lost my competition with Circe. There was only one promotion slot, and that slot would definitely go to Circe. In the break room, colleagues were gossiping about the new judge. “The judge this time is actually Alpha Elias from our Rimefang pack.” “I heard he’s usually very busy and never participates in these activities, let alone judges trainer competitions. Wonder why he came this time.” “If anyone’s training demonstration gets evaluated as excellent by him, they won’t have to worry about promotions and raises in the future.” “I bet the promotion slot will probably go to Circe. I’ve heard that Alpha Elias’s first love is Circe.” “Circe and Alpha Elias were high school classmates and each other’s first love. Alpha Elias came to be a judge specifically for Circe.” “And I’ve never heard any reports about Alpha Elias’s fated mate. Maybe his fated mate is Circe. Then these two would be a match blessed by the Moon Goddess. How beautiful.” They didn’t know that I was Elias’s fated mate, and they didn’t know that I was Elias’s wife. When we got married, Elias said he wanted to keep it secret, so even colleagues I’d worked with for years didn’t know I was married, let alone that my husband was our pack’s Alpha. But Elias had never wanted to hide the details of his relationship with Circe. My colleagues continued discussing Elias and Circe’s romantic history. My heart tightened, and I returned to my office somewhat dazed. The news that Elias was the judge had already spread. The principal came to find Circe and me. “Violet, Circe.” “The judge for our promotion assessment is Alpha Elias. You two will each lead a team to prepare training demonstrations. The official assessment will be in one month.” The principal looked at Circe with meaningful eyes, unable to hide his admiration. He seemed to know about those rumors too, and understood why Elias had chosen our school. Before I even left the office, I knew our team’s training demonstration would be for nothing. Competing with Circe, I would probably just be a supporting act. Outside the office, Circe stopped walking. We stood face to face. I met her gaze, and she smiled slightly. Her smile was proud and triumphant. “Violet, may the best woman win.” Yet she acted completely confident of victory. Because she knew very well that between her and me, Elias would definitely choose her. Watching her strut away, I turned and left. The school erupted in celebration. If my team’s training demonstration got rejected, I would spend the next period working under Circe, swallowing my pride and accepting all her guidance. I didn’t want to humble myself under her. Before leaving work, everyone gathered around Circe. Praising her endlessly. “Circe, you’re so amazing.” I made eye contact with Circe through the crowd. She was surrounded, with lively chatter all around her. Compared to her, my area seemed cold and deserted. I stood in the corner, with no one beside me. She smiled at me with pursed lips. I looked away, put on my coat, and walked out.

Elias came home. His expression was as coolly indifferent as always. I still couldn’t help asking. “Elias, you’re coming to judge the assessment at our school?” Elias looked up at my voice. He met my eyes briefly, his expression neutral, and gave a soft “mm.” I continued asking: “Why did you suddenly want to come judge at our school?” I said in a joking tone: “Will you give me special treatment?” Elias’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression serious. There wasn’t a hint of amusement in his eyes. After a moment of silence, he said: “This was a decision made by the school’s leadership.” “The promotion slot isn’t decided by me alone.” The implication was that even though I was his wife, it wouldn’t work. I didn’t pursue the question further. He was always this cold and distant, with his own principles and logic, never willing to make exceptions for me. And I always foolishly hoped to be his exception. Elias turned and left, going into his study. The study door wasn’t closed tightly. I could hear him talking on the phone. The voice on the other end was Circe’s. Elias occasionally laughed softly in response to Circe. After hanging up, he pushed open the study door. He walked to the entryway and casually grabbed his coat from the rack. Putting on his coat and changing into dress shoes. He straightened up and said to me: “I have some work tonight. I’m going out for a bit.” I nodded. Elias was extremely handsome, with deep-set features, a high nose bridge, and thin lips. Under his dark coat was a well-fitted suit that made his figure even more striking. He disappeared through the front door. He came home very late that night. The question I wanted to ask stuck in my throat after I saw Circe’s Instagram post. Circe’s post was a group photo. The photo showed four people: Circe, Elias, and two of their high school classmates. Seeing this photo, I thought that question didn’t need to be asked. I had wanted to ask Elias whether he would favor Circe—I thought he would. In the past, I was used to leaving a light on for Elias when he worked late. Now, I turned off the light and slept soundly. When I woke up, Elias and I didn’t run into each other. We each went to school separately. Everyone at our school put Circe on a pedestal, revolving around her. Everyone knew that if it weren’t for Circe, Elias wouldn’t have chosen our school. The fact that Circe and I didn’t get along was my problem. My colleagues only needed to care about their year-end bonuses and getting their work done on time. Today Elias appeared at school as the assessment judge. The principal called Circe over. When Circe came back, everyone’s eyes were on her. “Circe, is Alpha Elias strict?” Circe’s lips curved slightly, her answer ambiguous and suggestive. “Elias and I have known each other for quite a while. He’s not strict.” “Everyone can relax.” Several people exchanged glances and smiled knowingly. I had already clicked the link and read through Circe and Elias’s love story. If I weren’t Elias’s wife, I too would sigh about how beautiful young love was. Unfortunately, seeing the romantic story compiled by Elias and Circe’s schoolmates, I could only read heartache into it. Circe still had a social media account from high school that hadn’t been deleted. It was full of her recorded relationship moments. I couldn’t help scrolling through all these posts. The more I read, the more I realized Elias had truly loved her. Elias would patiently read every single one of her posts, then comment and like them. Elias had been the one to pursue Circe. The only reason I could be with Elias was because we were fated mates. When Elias wasn’t yet Alpha, marrying his fated mate was a powerful advantage for becoming the next Alpha. When I learned that Elias’s ex-girlfriend was Circe, a flash of pleasure crossed my mind, feeling a sense of revenge against Circe. But I quickly realized I had lost completely. Elias still had Circe in his heart. Even though I had the Moon Goddess’s attraction for him, it couldn’t compare to the feeling Circe gave him. To me, this was complete and utter humiliation. This allowed Circe to get one up on me again.

Circe and I had been rivals since childhood. We were like fire and water, completely incompatible. Her mother seduced my father, then moved in with her. My mother attempted suicide from depression. I almost lost my mother. My father even arranged for her to attend the same school as me for convenience. Not long after, my mother returned to the Stormheart pack where my grandparents lived. And I stayed at my father’s house. I thought if I went too far, Circe and her mother would back down. My methods weren’t sophisticated, even a bit foolish. Pouring ink into their cups—I was afraid they would actually drink it, so I poured black ink that had color. I just wanted to scare them, to establish dominance in front of Circe. Unexpectedly, Circe went to my father to complain. My father’s face darkened and he scolded me with a furrowed brow. I hated them but didn’t dare do anything truly excessive. And everything I did only made my father feel he had wronged them. In high school, at my strong insistence, Circe and I finally weren’t at the same school. What made me completely give up on my father was when I was seventeen. My father took Circe to a banquet. He didn’t deny that Circe was his daughter. He even wanted Circe to take his surname and also be called Smith. I told him that if he let Circe change her surname to Smith, I would stop calling myself Violet Smith and change to my grandparents’ surname, becoming Violet Miller. His eyes filled with rage as he looked at me, his arm raised in mid-air about to strike me. But he was stopped by a tall figure. That person was Elias. At that time, Elias was still the Alpha heir, and my father was the Beta of Rimefang pack. Because of my father’s position, I had naturally seen Elias before. But this time was the first time I truly formed an impression of Elias, and he quietly walked into my heart. When I was eighteen, I discovered I was Elias’s fated mate. The joy in my heart was beyond words. But it wasn’t until after marriage that I learned Circe was his ex-girlfriend. And Elias had even gone to my house as Circe’s boyfriend to meet my father. So when my father learned about my marriage to Elias, his face darkened and he clutched his chest, almost unable to breathe. “You did this on purpose?” “You knew Alpha Elias was Circe’s ex-boyfriend and you still married him?” I was stunned for a long time, even forgetting to explain that I was Elias’s fated mate. In the years of our marriage, I was always reluctant to return to my father’s house, but one day Elias insisted on taking me back. At my father’s house, Circe and I got into another conflict. During the argument, we shoved each other and both fell in the yard. Elias quickly caught Circe. I fell hard. Later, inside the house, I asked Elias with red eyes why he didn’t catch me. He cut fruit with an indifferent expression. “I didn’t see.” When Elias was leaving, Circe came into the bedroom. She smiled as she looked me over, telling me about everything between her and Elias in high school. In her words, there was a side of Elias I didn’t know. My heart constricted. Later, Circe and I crossed paths again. We both chose careers as wolf pup trainers and ended up working at the same school. She and I chased each other, neither one willing to concede. She held the status of the Beta’s daughter of Rimefang pack, making the principal treat her with deference. Now she had the added identity of the Alpha’s ex-girlfriend. Everyone put her on an even higher pedestal. I knew the promotion slot would most likely not be mine, but I still led my team working overtime to prepare the training demonstration.

A month later, I walked into the assessment room with this training demonstration. Everyone was there except Circe. She came in with Elias. The light fell perfectly on both of them. Elias occasionally lowered his head, accommodating Circe’s height to hear what she was saying. The man’s profile was illuminated, his features sharp and defined. His eyes were dark, his smile subtle. In that unintentional moment our eyes met, I wanted to read something different in his gaze. But there was nothing. Still the same cold indifference. We drew lots to determine the presentation order. I was before Circe. I went on stage with a composed expression, leading my team through the training demonstration. And during the speech segment after training, I explained all my training ideas and inspiration. During the speech, I was completely focused. After stepping down, sparse applause sounded. The most enthusiastic person clapping was Amy, the young woman who had been following me since her graduation internship. Elias was expressionless. No one could read what he was thinking. The principal tried to gauge the meaning in his expression from the corner of his eye. It was Circe’s turn. She naturally made eye contact with Elias. They smiled at each other. The colleagues below exchanged glances with gossipy smiles. Amy moved closer to me and whispered: “Violet, is our team going to be eliminated?” I pulled at the corners of my lips, forcing out a strained smile. After Circe’s training demonstration ended, her applause was clearly much louder than mine. Even the principal clapped excitedly for her. Elias’s lips curved slightly upward. There was a thirty-minute break midway. Lately, I had been caught up in rumors about Elias and Circe, almost suffocating. The way he looked at me was too cold, making my heart tighten. From colleagues’ gossip, I learned more about Elias and Circe’s past. Elias had actively pursued Circe. He unfailingly walked her back to her dorm and brought her breakfast. Their classmates all knew how much Elias loved Circe. I sat motionless in my chair. Watching Elias and Circe’s backs as they walked out side by side, my nose tingled. The man I had struggled so hard to get had my most hated person in his heart. Only Amy and I remained in the assessment room. Amy held my hand. The thirty minutes ended. The results were in. Elias and the people he brought had already left. Our principal announced the results. Three votes total. All three votes went to Circe. When the results were announced, my eyes stung and tears welled up. I forced those tears back down. The principal and Circe exchanged glances, affirming her. Several colleagues surrounded Circe. “Circe, you’re amazing.” “Getting promoted to Senior Trainer at such a young age, you have an incredible future ahead.” My figure was lonely as I exited. But Circe caught up with me. “Violet.” I stopped in my tracks. Her eyes curved with her smile. “Even though you’re his wife, to him I’ll always be first.” “Everything you struggled so hard to get comes easily to me.” Yes, when we were young, Circe could easily take away my father’s love for me. Now she could also occupy Elias’s heart. In the distance, Elias was ushered into the elevator by the principal, his posture lazy and casual. Suddenly I felt exhausted. I didn’t want to fight with Circe anymore. I didn’t want Elias anymore either. The elevator stayed still. The principal was very perceptive and quickly called for Circe and me to get in the elevator together. The elevator slowly descended. The principal flattered him. “Alpha Elias, you and Circe make such a handsome couple. You’re perfectly matched.” Several others chimed in. “Exactly. I heard Alpha Elias and Circe are already married, just haven’t announced the news to the public. Alpha Elias really dotes on his wife, coming to our school specifically to be a judge for Circe.” I numbly listened to these flattering words, unable to stir up any emotion. I felt a subtle but burning gaze from beside me. I looked over. Elias’s face stiffened. The principal poked my arm, hinting that I should also say something. “Violet, don’t you think so? Alpha Elias and Circe are such a perfect match.” The elevator doors opened. I calmly met Elias’s eyes. “Indeed, a perfect match.” Panic flashed through his indifferent eyes, his thin lips parting as if to say something.

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Ethan brought his pregnant secretary, Lily, to my haute couture bridal boutique to try on wedding dresses. His buddies were making bets on which dress would finally make me lose control. But even when the secretary tried on the final statement gown, I still held my measuring tape, precisely recording every measurement. “Ethan, Natalie’s actually measuring the other woman herself. She’s got some serious self-control.” Ethan leaned back on the sofa, flicking cigarette ash. “She can’t even have kids. She’s completely dependent on me. Better she learns early what it means to be a stepmother, so she knows how to serve my son properly later.” I put away my tape measure and handed over the custom order invoice. “Congratulations, the measurements are perfect. Two million dollar deposit.” Ethan casually tossed over a property division agreement. “Sign it. Lily’s pregnant and temperamental. She won’t settle down unless she gets the title of wife.” “Just cooperate with the divorce and play along for her. Once she gives birth, I’ll bring you back.” I signed without hesitation, then tore that two million dollar check into pieces. 1 Ethan’s body, which had been leaning casually against the sofa, instantly went rigid. His eyes locked onto those shredded pieces, the smirk on his face slowly collapsing. Tyler, sitting cross-legged on the adjacent armchair, let out a derisive laugh. “Natalie, this hard-to-get act is pretty pathetic.” “Ethan’s giving you an out and you won’t take it. You insist on playing the tough girl, but do you even deserve to?” Ethan stood up coldly, his leather shoes grinding the paper scraps beneath them. He walked up to me, looking down from his height. “Natalie, getting cocky, are we?” “Every brick in this shop was paid for with my money. You’re using my money to act all high and mighty in front of me?” I looked calmly into his furious eyes, my expression blank. He hated most when I showed this kind of indifference. Ethan suddenly whirled around, his arm sweeping toward the dozens of haute couture wedding gowns hanging throughout the hall. “Destroy all of these.” Four black-clad bodyguards standing at the entrance immediately charged into the hall. Heavy steel rods smashed the giant crystal display case in the center. Shattered glass flew everywhere. One by one, the gowns I’d spent three years painstakingly hand-sewing were ripped from their hangers. The guards stepped on the pure white skirts, their hands tearing violently. The fabric made ear-piercing ripping sounds. Thousands upon thousands of hand-sewn crystals and pearls scattered across the floor. Ethan stood right in front of me, staring at my face. “Lily says these old designs smell dusty.” “Since you’re so damn stubborn, let’s use these rags to celebrate the kid in her belly.” One guard raised his steel rod, about to smash the glass display case in the corner. Inside it sat a pair of worthless silver rings. They were the promise rings he’d bought me for thirty bucks when we first started our business together. Ethan’s body suddenly moved. He strode over and used his back to shield that display case. A flying shard of glass tore through his suit, slicing open his hand. The guard immediately stopped, terrified. Ethan turned around, looking at those intact rings, breathing heavily. He spun around abruptly, pointing viciously at the guard. “Watch what you’re doing! Don’t die in front of me, it’s bad luck!” I stood in the wreckage, watching his contradictory display. In the past, I would have softened, thinking he still cared about me. Now I just found it laughable. Ethan strode back to me, his hand clamping my jaw. His fingers pressed hard, nails nearly digging into my flesh. With his other hand, he raised his phone, pointing the camera at my face. “Look at the camera. Record a video for Lily.” “Tell her you welcome the new life, that you’re voluntarily stepping aside, and wish us a lifetime of happiness.” He forced my head down, making me face the camera directly. His shoe was stepping on the main diamond that had been torn from a wedding gown. That diamond—he’d stayed up all night at an auction to win it years ago. Back then he said only I deserved to wear white. Now he was personally grinding it into the dirt, forcing me to make way for his mistress. I didn’t struggle. I looked at my pale face in the camera. “I, Natalie, am voluntarily stepping aside.” “I welcome Lily’s child and wish you both a lifetime of happiness.” My tone was calm as I clearly enunciated every single word. Ethan pressed stop, a flash of irritation in his eyes. He released my jaw and casually sent the video to the elite social circle group chat. Tyler and the others whistled loudly nearby. “Ethan’s got skills. Once this video of Natalie being kicked out gets around, Lily will definitely be happy.” Ethan shook the blood drops from his hand and pulled a cigarette from his pack. “I’m going out for a smoke. You guys watch her, make sure she cleans up all this trash.” He walked out with that group of rich kids. I turned around, stepping over scattered diamonds as I walked toward my private rest room at the end of the hallway. I wanted to retrieve my passport and that design book containing my top-secret competition entry. Reaching the door, I pushed open the half-closed entrance. My eyes fell on the sofa. 2 On the leather sofa in the rest room lay several hospital lab reports. The top one had Lily’s name on it with the words “intrauterine early pregnancy.” Beside the reports sat a black tablet. The one Ethan had left in the shop a few days ago. The screen was unlocked, set to stay on. A video was playing on loop. The video’s background was the master bedroom of our hillside villa—our marital home. Lily wore my silk nightgown, leaning in Ethan’s arms. She pointed coquettishly at my design sketches on the nightstand. “Ethan, this mattress is too hard, and those ugly papers on the desk are annoying.” “This whole room smells like her. It makes me sick.” Ethan lowered his head, tenderly kissing Lily’s hair. His hand caressed her belly. “Then we’ll burn everything that has her smell on it.” “Including those precious broken sketches of hers. Once she leaves with nothing, we’ll use them all to start fires for you.” “We’ll just keep her around to serve you during your postpartum recovery.” The man’s voice in the video was cold to the extreme. I stood there motionless. No tears came. I walked over and picked up the pregnancy test report from the sofa. Then I opened the drawer and pulled out a stack of yellowed letter paper. Those were love letters Ethan had handwritten to me in college. I walked to the paper shredder in the corner and turned it on. The machine made a harsh grinding noise. I fed those lab reports stained with their bodily fluids into the feed slot, along with that stack of love letters. The shredder mercilessly devoured the papers. Sharp blades cut the past into irreparable waste. I turned and opened the hidden compartment beneath the wardrobe. Pulled out a black suitcase. I unzipped it and placed my passport in the inner pocket. Then I carefully packed that design book that could let me rise again—my top-secret entry for the international competition. The half-finished statement gown “Aurora” that I’d spent six months creating was also neatly folded and placed in the case. After finishing all this, I zipped up the suitcase. Sealing away five years of youth and foolishness completely. I grabbed the case and walked out of the rest room. The hall was still a wasteland, covered in broken glass and torn fabric. I avoided those sharp fragments and walked straight to the shop entrance. Cold wind blew outside. I pulled out my phone and had just opened the ride-hailing app. Several black-clad bodyguards as imposing as towers suddenly closed in from both sides. They blocked my path completely, forming a wall of flesh. Tyler walked out from behind the guards, a toothpick between his teeth. “Natalie, Ethan didn’t give you permission to leave. Where exactly do you think you’re going with that suitcase?” Ethan returned, a half-smoked cigarette still between his fingers. His gaze slowly moved from my face down to the suitcase in my hand. His expression instantly turned sinister. He strode up to me and exhaled a cloud of white smoke. The smoke hit my face with its acrid smell. His cigarette-holding hand pointed at my suitcase. “Open it.” 3 Ethan’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an unmistakable command. I gripped the suitcase handle tightly. “These are my personal belongings, Ethan. We already signed the property division agreement.” Ethan let out a cold laugh. “You’re overdoing this ‘leaving with nothing’ act. Now you want to steal needles and thread from the shop?” He tilted his head slightly. Two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, forcibly pushing me aside. They seized the suitcase and laid it flat on the glass-covered steps. The guards used steel rods to pry open the locks. The zipper was violently ripped open. My confidential sketchbook slid out, pages scattering across the ground. That statement gown “Aurora” I’d spent six months creating for the Paris international competition also tumbled out. The pure white silk unfurled in the wind, the dark patterns on the lining refracting light. Just then, a black luxury van pulled up at the curb. Lily was carefully helped out of the car by several servants. She walked over to Ethan with an exaggerated sway, linking her arm coquettishly through his. “Ethan, I can’t find my tablet. Did I leave it at the shop?” Her eyes suddenly fell on “Aurora” lying on the ground. Lily’s eyes immediately lit up. She released Ethan and walked to the gown, kicking the skirt with her toe. “Ethan, this dress is so much prettier than the one I tried on for measurements.” “And the waist is loose, it’ll show off my baby bump better.” Without hesitation, Ethan bent down and picked up that piece representing my rebirth. He dusted it off and directly draped it over Lily. Lily’s frame was bigger than mine. This half-finished piece custom-made to my measurements wouldn’t fit her at all. Ethan pulled hard twice. The fabric made strained sounds. He frowned in disgust. “Cheap design. Can’t even accommodate a pregnancy.” With that, he grabbed the bottom of the skirt with both hands and violently pulled in opposite directions. The sound of tearing fabric pierced my eardrums. The hand-sewn silk train I’d created stitch by stitch was torn in half by his bare hands. The moment he tore it, his hands seemed to pause briefly. He instinctively avoided the label on the inner neckline embroidered with my initials “NN.” Lily said sweetly, “Ethan, you tore it. I want to take it home as a cushion.” Ethan looked at her coldly and threw the ruined wedding dress on the ground. “This trash doesn’t deserve to be worn by you.” I stared at “Aurora” torn in two, my mind completely blank. That was the competition piece I was going to take to Paris. He’d once said he would personally place the competition crown on my head. Now he’d trampled my life’s work into the dirt. I lunged frantically toward the confidential sketches on the ground. I had to protect what remained of my designs. My hand had just touched the edge of the album. Ethan grabbed my shoulder and shoved me backward hard. “What the hell are you doing!” My body lost balance, falling heavily backward. My back hit the ground, my abdomen slamming hard into the corner of a shattered glass coffee table nearby. A tearing pain instantly swept through my entire body from my lower abdomen. I collapsed in the broken glass, gasping for air. Warm blood gushed from between my legs. It instantly stained my light-colored skirt red, spreading across the white floor tiles. The mockery on Ethan’s face suddenly froze. He stared fixedly at the glaring red beneath me. 4 My body curled up among the glass shards. My purse had fallen when I collapsed. A pregnancy test report tucked in my passport slipped out, landing right beside Ethan’s shoe. It was the report I’d just received this morning. I had originally planned to give it to him as a surprise at tonight’s anniversary dinner. I wasn’t a hen that couldn’t lay eggs. I had just conceived his child. Ethan’s gaze moved from the blood to that paper. He bent down and picked up the pregnancy report. After seeing the words clearly, a flash of obvious panic crossed his eyes. His fingers holding the paper involuntarily tightened. Lily stood nearby. Seeing the report’s contents, her face instantly twisted with jealousy. She immediately clutched her own belly and let out a scream. “Ow… Ethan, my stomach hurts so much! It must be from the scare she just gave me!” Hearing Lily’s cry, Ethan immediately masked his panic with an even more vicious expression. He tore that pregnancy report in half and threw it viciously in my face. “Natalie, you’re so desperate for attention you’d forge a pregnancy test?” The paper edge scraped across my cheek, leaving a red mark. He pointed at the blood on the ground, his voice cruel to the extreme. “Even if you really were pregnant, a vicious woman like you—that baby would just be a disaster.” “Consider it doing a good deed for Lily’s kid!” Without hesitation, he turned around and bent down to scoop up Lily clutching her stomach. He strode toward the waiting luxury van. Before getting in the car, he turned his head, looking at me collapsed in the pool of blood. “Today you need to learn a lesson you’ll never forget.” He looked at the bodyguards standing outside the door. “Pull down the security shutter and lock it.” “Nobody calls an ambulance for her. Let her reflect properly in there!” A guard picked up my phone that had fallen in the distance and threw it into the trash outside. The heavy metal shutter made rumbling sounds as the motor drove it down. Slowly descending. In the last sliver of light was Ethan’s silhouette carrying Lily away in the car. With a loud “bang,” The metal door crashed heavily to the ground, the lock clicking shut. The bridal shop plunged into darkness. Only a few rays of light seeped through the door crack. I lay in the ruins of wedding dresses I’d designed myself, blood flowing more and more beneath me. My body temperature was rapidly dropping. The severe pain made even breathing difficult. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed a sharp piece of broken glass and viciously slashed my left arm. The stabbing pain brought my fading consciousness back slightly. I dragged my heavy body, crawling across the floor. Leaving a long trail of blood behind me. I finally reached the old landline in the corner of the counter. With blood-soaked fingers, I pressed 91 The operator’s voice came through the receiver. My consciousness began to blur, my vision turning blood red. Just as I was about to lose my grip on the phone. Tyler’s shrill, panicked scream suddenly came from outside the metal shutter. “Ethan! Come back! Don’t drive away!” “That wasn’t a fake pregnancy report! The hospital just called saying she has extremely rare Rh-negative blood!” “If she’s locked in there, both of them will die!!” The car engine’s roar outside suddenly stopped. Immediately after, an agonized roar came from outside. The sound of someone frantically pounding on the door was deafening.

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On our seventh anniversary, I prepared a candlelight dinner and waited until late. Instead, I saw news flooding the internet: Ethan Hunt spent a hundred million dollars on a drone light show for his mistress’s birthday. Under the lights, they kissed passionately. I lost it. I rushed to confront him, clawing at him, slapping his face, calling him a heartless bastard. What I got back was cyberbullying from every direction. “What a psycho! No wonder Mr. Hunt found someone else!” Even my own kids took Sophia Warren’s side. “Mom is so mean! Dad, you should divorce Mom and marry Sophia!” That was the moment my heart died completely. Your whole family loves Sophia Warren so much? Fine. I’ll make it happen for you. Stella’s POV Eleven at night. New York’s lights were dazzling. I sat at the long French dining table, staring at the cold dishes. Today was my seventh wedding anniversary with Ethan Hunt. I started cooking at three in the afternoon. I cut my finger chopping vegetables. Hot oil splattered on my hand. But I was happy. Because Ethan once said my homemade pan-seared foie gras was his favorite. Now the food on the table was cold. Just like my heart, sinking lower by the minute. My phone screen lit up with a push notification. #Billionaire CEO Ethan Hunt Spends $100 Million on Drone Light Show Just to Make His First Love Smile# I clicked on the video. In the night sky, tens of thousands of drones formed a sky full of stars, finally converging into a single sentence. “Sophia, welcome home.” In the corner of the video, Ethan wore a custom-made black suit, sheltering a delicate woman in his arms. The way he looked down at her was tender enough to melt. I watched quietly. Suddenly, tears fell onto the screen. Everyone in New York said Ethan Hunt spoiled me rotten. In our seven years of marriage, he gave me the wedding of the century, unlimited black cards, and even bought me a private island. He never let me work, publicly declaring me his queen. But only I knew that the island was named after his mistress. He gave me black cards because he didn’t want to spend time shopping with me. He didn’t let me work because his mistress Sophia Warren once said she hated women who smelled of cooking oil. And he didn’t want to smell that on me. All his “affection” was nothing more than a gilded cage built with money, used to conceal a heart that was never mine. The door lock clicked. Ethan pushed through the door, bringing with him a wave of cold air and a faint scent of jasmine perfume. That was Sophia Warren’s favorite scent. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” He loosened his tie without even glancing at the food on the table, his tone carrying a trace of barely concealed impatience. “Today is our seventh wedding anniversary.” My voice was soft, sounding particularly thin in the empty dining room. Ethan’s hand paused on his cufflinks, his brow furrowing slightly. “Sorry, something urgent came up at the company. I forgot. Tomorrow I’ll have my assistant take you to pick out a bag, or if you see a mansion you like, just swipe the card.” Again. Always dismissing me with money. “Company emergency?” I lifted my head, looking directly into his eyes. “You mean spending a hundred million dollars on a drone show to welcome Sophia Warren back to the country?” Ethan’s expression darkened instantly, his eyes turning icy. “You’re investigating me?” “It’s all over the internet. I don’t need to investigate.” I stood up, my nails digging deep into my palms. “Ethan Hunt, what am I to you?” “Sophia had a really hard time abroad. She has severe depression. I’m just welcoming her back as an old friend to help stabilize her emotions. “Ethan looked at me, his tone full of reproach. “Stella, when did you become so unreasonable? You’re healthy, you have the status of Mrs. Hunt and unlimited money. Why do you have to compete with someone who’s sick?” I laughed bitterly. Right. I was healthy, so I deserved to be ignored. Just then, two children’s voices came from outside the door. Six-year-old Lucas and four-year-old Emma ran in, still holding limited edition toys in their hands. “Dad! The Transformers Sophia gave me is so cool!” Lucas waved the toy excitedly. Emma came over too, holding up a doll. “Sophia took us for ice cream too! Sophia is the best, ten thousand times better than Mom! Mom never lets us eat ice cream at night!” My whole body stiffened as I stared at Ethan in shock. “You took them to see Sophia Warren?” “Sophia loves children.” Ethan said flatly. “The kids like her a lot too. What’s the problem?” “I’m their biological mother!” My voice finally trembled. “So what?” Lucas suddenly shouted at me. “All you do is make us eat vegetables and practice piano! Sophia says kids should be happy! We like Sophia. We don’t want you bossing us around!” Emma chimed in. “Yeah! You’re a bad mom! We want Sophia to be our mom!” The children’s words were like knives, cutting deep into my heart. The children I gave life to. The children I stayed up countless nights caring for. They denied all my devotion so easily. All for a woman who just came back and bought them snacks a few times. I looked at these three people who were supposed to be the most important in my life, and suddenly felt they were complete strangers. I didn’t try to comfort the children like I usually did, nor did I continue arguing with Ethan. I just lowered my eyes calmly and said softly, “Alright. I understand.” Since you all think she’s so wonderful, I’ll make it happen for you.

Stella’s POV The next morning, I didn’t get up early to prepare breakfast for the family like usual. I put on light makeup, dressed in a sharp trench coat, and went to Ethan Hunt’s company. He’d left in such a hurry last night that he’d left an important cross-border acquisition document in his study. When I reached the door to the CEO’s office, it was ajar. Inside, I could hear Ethan laughing with some friends. “Ethan, last night’s welcome ceremony was really spectacular. Everyone in our circle is talking about it. You welcomed your first love back so publicly. Mrs. Hunt didn’t make a scene?” Ethan chuckled lightly, his voice casual. “What would she make a scene about? She can’t leave me.” “True. Stella is so mild-mannered, like plain water. But what are you really planning to do?” Ethan lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, his tone chillingly indifferent. “Stella is suitable as a wife. She’s obedient and keeps the house in order. But Sophia is different. Sophia is my soulmate. I can give Stella the title of Mrs. Hunt and endless money, but my heart can only belong to Sophia.” Standing outside the door, my breath caught sharply. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of humiliation. In his eyes, I was nothing more than an “obedient” housekeeper. I didn’t push the door open to confront him. I just handed the documents to the secretary at the door and turned to leave. My steps were steady, my back straight. Only I knew that my heart had shattered into dust. Back at the mansion, I began organizing my personal belongings. I opened the safe, wanting to take out the only memento my mother left me, a gold bracelet encrusted with gemstones. Mother had put it on my wrist on her deathbed, making me promise to pass it on to my future daughter. But the jewelry box was empty. My head buzzed. I immediately called for the housekeeper. “Where’s the bracelet from the safe?” The housekeeper’s eyes shifted, hesitating. “Madam… yesterday when the master came back for documents, he took the bracelet with him. He said… he said…” “What did he say?!” “The master said Miss Warren hasn’t been sleeping well lately. She likes gemstones, so the master took it for Miss Warren to wear for a few days…” I felt dizzy, blood rushing to my head. My hands trembling, I dialed Ethan Hunt’s number. “Ethan Hunt, give me back my mother’s bracelet!” The moment he answered, I practically ground out these words through clenched teeth. On the other end, Ethan’s voice was displeased. “What are you freaking out about now? It’s just a bracelet. Sophia saw it in a photo last night and liked it, so I let her wear it for a few days. She’s emotionally unstable right now and needs these things to calm her down.” “That’s mine! It’s the memento my mother left me!” My voice was hoarse with a desperate sob. “Stella, can’t you be less petty?” Ethan’s tone grew increasingly impatient. “Sophia’s just wearing it for a few days. It’s not like she won’t return it. At worst, I’ll go to the auction house tomorrow and buy you ten better bracelets! Don’t bother her. She can’t handle stress.” With that, he hung up directly. Listening to the dial tone, I slowly slid to the floor. Ten better ones? Did he think money could buy everything? He trampled on my dignity, my boundaries, my memories of my mother, all to make his “soulmate” smile. That evening, Lucas and Emma came home from school. Seeing me sitting in the living room in a daze, Lucas ran over and held out his hand. “Mom, Sophia said that bracelet is really pretty. Do you have any others? Sophia said she wants a matching pair.” I stared at my own biological son in shock. “Do you know that was Grandma’s bracelet to me?” “Grandma’s been dead for so long, what’s the point of keeping it?” Emma pouted nearby. “Sophia looks way better wearing it than you do. Dad said as long as Sophia is happy, she can have anything. Mom, you’re so stingy!” I looked at these two young but cold faces before me and suddenly laughed. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. What sin had I committed to fall in love with such a man and give birth to two such ungrateful children?

Stella’s POV I didn’t wait for Ethan Hunt to return the bracelet. I took a cab directly to the five-star hotel where Sophia Warren was staying. The presidential suite door opened. Sophia Warren wore a silk robe, and on her wrist was clearly my mother’s gemstone bracelet. “Stella? What are you doing here?” Sophia feigned surprise, though a flash of provocation crossed her eyes. “Give me back the bracelet.” I extended my hand expressionlessly. Sophia touched the bracelet on her wrist. Instantly, her eyes reddened, looking pitiful. “Stella, I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was your mother’s memento. Ethan insisted on giving it to me, saying the color suited my complexion and would improve my mood… Don’t be angry at Ethan. I’ll return it to you right now.” As she spoke, she reached to remove the bracelet. But just as the bracelet was about to slip off her wrist, her hand suddenly slipped. “Crack!” The sharp sound of shattering echoed in the quiet hallway. The bracelet that carried all my memories of my mother’s love fell onto the marble floor. The gemstones scattered everywhere. My breathing stopped instantly. I stared at the scattered gemstones on the floor, feeling like my soul had also been shattered. “Ah! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Sophia cried out, tears falling in large drops. “Stella, I really didn’t mean to. My hand suddenly had no strength…” “What are you doing?!” The elevator doors opened. Ethan Hunt strode over, pushing me aside and pulling the gasping Sophia into his arms. “Ethan, I broke Stella’s bracelet… She must hate me now…” Sophia leaned against Ethan, trembling. Ethan looked at me coldly, his eyes full of disgust. “Stella, haven’t you caused enough trouble? I said I’d compensate you. Did you really have to come here and bully a sick person? It’s just a bracelet. You drove Sophia to this state over it?!” I slowly crouched down, picking up the scattered gemstones one by one. I gripped them so tightly that their sharp edges cut into my palm. Blood flowed down through my fingers, dripping onto the carpet. But I felt no pain. Because the pain in my heart had already exceeded any physical limit. I didn’t cry, nor did I have a hysterical argument. I just slowly stood up, looking at Ethan Hunt with the eyes of a stranger. “Ethan Hunt,” my voice was so calm it was frightening, “you don’t need to compensate me.” I turned and walked toward the elevator, leaving that damned place. Back at the mansion, I carefully placed the bracelet and scattered gemstones in a box. Then I went to the study, opened my computer, and typed up a divorce agreement. I wanted nothing. Not the Hunt family assets, not that island, not even those two children who saw me as an enemy. I only wanted freedom. That night, when Ethan Hunt returned home, he saw the divorce agreement on the desk. He sneered and tossed the agreement onto the table. I saw what he did but didn’t react. I turned and went to the bedroom to pack my luggage. “Stella, what game are you playing now?” He walked to the bedroom, watching me pack, his tone mocking. “Threatening me with divorce? You think you can survive without me? What have you done these seven years besides spend my money?” I zipped up my suitcase, turned around, and handed him a pen. “Sign it. We’ll file for divorce tomorrow.” Ethan Hunt looked into my emotionless eyes. A flash of panic crossed his face, but was quickly replaced by anger. “Fine! Since you insist on being unreasonable, I’ll give you what you want!” He snatched the pen and signed his name on the agreement with a flourish. “I’d like to see how long you can last without me! Don’t come crawling back begging me to remarry!” I collected the agreement and said flatly, “Don’t worry. I’d rather die than come back.”

Ethan Hunt’s POV On the first day after the divorce, I heard Stella had moved out of the Hunt mansion and into a small apartment she’d bought before our marriage. She left decisively, taking none of the designer clothes or jewelry I’d bought her. At the Hunt mansion, no one felt anything was wrong at first. I thought she was just throwing a tantrum and would obediently return within three days. Lucas and Emma were even happy, thinking they’d finally gotten rid of the “bad mom” who was always controlling them. That same afternoon, Sophia Warren moved into my house under the pretense of “taking care of the children.” “Ethan, these living room curtains are too dark. They’re depressing. Can we change them to cream?” Sophia leaned against me, speaking delicately. “Sure, whatever you want.” I affectionately tapped her nose. And so, the blackout curtains Stella had personally selected to protect my sensitive sleep were thrown in the trash. The roses she’d planted in the garden were uprooted and replaced with Sophia’s favorite bellflowers. Every trace of her in this house was being rapidly erased. Lucas and Emma became Sophia’s little shadows. “Sophia, I don’t want to do homework. I want to play games!” I watched Lucas tug on Sophia’s sleeve, acting cute. “Of course! Kids should be happy. You can do your homework tomorrow.” Sophia gently patted his head, then immediately added ten thousand dollars to his game account. Emma refused to eat dinner, demanding fried chicken and fries. Sophia immediately had the servants buy some and even joined her in drinking ice-cold soda. “Sophia is the best! We never want Mom to come back!” The two children ate the greasy food, laughing happily. Watching this scene, I felt very pleased. This was the family atmosphere I wanted, relaxed and happy, without Stella’s suffocating rules and boring routine. But what I didn’t expect was that a week later, the Hunt household became chaotic. My stomach condition flared up. I was used to drinking the yogurt she made for me every morning. Now when the servants made it, it was either too thick or too thin. I took one sip and spat it out. When I came home from business dinners at night, without that perfectly-temperatured hangover soup, my headaches kept me up all night. Lucas got called in by his teacher for not turning in homework for a week straight and getting into a fight with a classmate. Emma developed acute gastroenteritis from eating fried chicken and drinking cold beverages every day. When the teacher called, I was in the middle of an international conference call. “I’m very sorry, teacher. I’ll have someone from home handle it right away. I have some urgent matters here, but I’ll notify the family shortly.” I hastily placated the teacher and hung up. The butler also called to inform me of the children’s situations. The house was in chaos. When I got home, Emma was crying miserably in bed while Lucas was throwing things in a tantrum nearby. “Where’s Sophia?” I asked, suppressing my stomach pain. “Miss Warren… went to get a beauty treatment.” The butler answered nervously. Looking at the mess everywhere, Stella’s image suddenly flashed through my mind. When she was here, this house was always clean and tidy, the children were always well-behaved and healthy, and my stomach never hurt like this. I couldn’t help but take out my phone and dial Stella’s number. “Hello?” Her cool voice came through. “Emma’s sick, and Lucas got in trouble at school.” My tone carried a trace of barely perceptible apology. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble? If you’re done, get back here and take care of your children!” She laughed softly on the other end, her voice cold as ice. “Mr. Hunt, we’re already divorced. They’re your children now, and Sophia Warren’s children. They have nothing to do with me. Don’t call to harass me again.” With that, she hung up without hesitation.

Stella’s POV In my small apartment, I picked up my paintbrush again. Before marriage, I had been a highly talented jewelry designer in the industry. For Ethan Hunt’s single phrase “I’ll take care of you,” I gave up my career to become a housewife. Now, I needed to find myself again. I no longer woke at five in the morning to prepare his breakfast, no longer made hangover soup in the middle of the night, no longer worried about the children’s education and nutrition. I devoted all my time to myself. After hanging up, my hands trembled slightly. To say I didn’t care about the children at all would be a lie. They were my children, after all. But when I remembered Lucas saying “we don’t want you bossing us around,” when I recalled Emma saying “you’re a bad mom,” my heart turned to stone. I couldn’t keep pining for them, couldn’t let them use family ties to manipulate me, only to end up in a pathetic state. However, fate always seemed to love playing jokes on me. A few days later, while pulling an all-nighter at my studio working on design drafts, I caught a severe cold that triggered a high fever. My temperature spiked to 103 degrees. My whole body ached, and I didn’t even have the strength to stand. The apartment was empty. I tried to pour myself water, but my legs gave out and I fell heavily to the floor. My phone was nearby. I struggled to crawl toward it. Through blurred vision, I accidentally pressed Ethan Hunt’s number. The phone rang for a long time before someone answered, but it was Lucas’s voice. “Hello? Why are you calling?” Lucas’s voice was impatient. “Lucas…” My voice was so weak it was barely audible. “Mom has a fever. I can’t get up… Can you let Dad answer the phone and call an ambulance for Mom…” There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then Emma’s voice came through. “Brother, Sophia said that woman is always faking illness to trick Dad! We shouldn’t pay attention to her!” Lucas immediately said, “Stop pretending! Sophia took us to the amusement park today, and Dad’s here too. We’re having so much fun! Don’t think you can use this excuse to trick Dad away!” The call was hung up mercilessly. I lay on the cold floor, tears silently falling. A family of four. So in their hearts, Sophia Warren was the real mom. And I was just some bad woman who faked illness to deceive people. The high fever made my head spin in waves, and breathing became increasingly difficult. I knew if I didn’t save myself, I might die here. With my last bit of survival instinct, I bit through my lip, using the pain to keep myself conscious, and tremblingly dialed emergency services. When the ambulance arrived, I’d already fallen into semi-consciousness. In the hospital emergency room, the doctor hooked me up to fever-reducing medication. The cold liquid flowed into my veins, yet it couldn’t match the chill in my heart. The TV in the hospital room was on, playing an entertainment news segment. “Today, netizens spotted Hunt Corporation CEO Ethan Hunt at a major amusement park. Mr. Hunt was accompanied by his first love Sophia Warren and a pair of children, all four wearing matching Mickey Mouse headbands and smiling sweetly like a happy family. It seems the rumors of Mr. Hunt’s marital problems with his wife are not just rumors…” On the screen, Ethan held Emma with one arm while his other hand held Sophia’s. Sophia held Lucas’s hand. All four were laughing so brilliantly in front of a carousel. In Ethan’s eyes was a relaxed affection I’d never seen before. I watched the screen quietly. I didn’t cry or make a scene. I just felt tired. A weariness that went deep into my bones. I reached out and pulled the IV needle from the back of my hand. Blood gushed out, but I didn’t even furrow my brow. A nurse rushed over in alarm. “What are you doing! You still have a fever!” “I’m fine now.” I pressed a cotton swab to the needle mark, my voice calm. “I want to be discharged.” From this moment on, my last thread of attachment and hope for Ethan Hunt and those two children completely vanished.

Stella’s POV Day twenty after the divorce. Today was Lucas and Emma’s kindergarten graduation performance. Half a month ago, before I’d moved out of the Hunt household, I’d stayed up several nights to personally sew performance costumes for the two children. They were two exquisite little prince and princess outfits, every stitch infused with all my love. Though I’d decided to let go completely, since the clothes were finished, I decided to deliver them anyway. I’d treat it as drawing a final line under this mother-child relationship. Carrying the paper bag with the clothes, I arrived at the kindergarten’s backstage dressing room. The dressing room was noisy. I immediately spotted Ethan Hunt and Sophia Warren surrounded by people in the center. Sophia was holding two sparkly outfits covered in rhinestones, comparing them against the two children. “Wow! The clothes Sophia bought are so pretty! All shiny diamonds!” Emma spun around excitedly. “Of course! Auntie specially had these air-shipped from a Paris haute couture workshop. Our Emma and Lucas have to be the most dazzling ones there!” Sophia smiled warmly. I stood in the doorway, looking at the plain paper bag in my hands, suddenly feeling rather ridiculous. I walked forward and placed the paper bag on the table, my tone flat. “I finished the clothes and brought them over. You can wear them if you want.” When they saw me, the atmosphere in the dressing room instantly cooled. Emma glanced at the fabric peeking out of the paper bag and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “These ugly clothes? I’m not wearing them! They’re not shiny at all! Like something a beggar would wear!” With that, she grabbed the little princess dress I’d stayed up with red eyes to sew and threw it hard on the floor, then stomped on it several times. “Yeah! So ugly! We only want what Sophia bought!” Lucas chimed in. Black shoe prints instantly appeared on the white hem. My heart spasmed sharply, but my facial expression remained unchanged. Ethan Hunt looked at the clothes on the floor, his brow furrowing, his eyes carrying a trace of reproach as he looked at me. “Stella, can you stop forcing your cheap aesthetic on the children? Today is their important day. Do you really have to bring these rags to embarrass them?” Cheap aesthetic. Rags. Looking at Ethan Hunt’s face, I suddenly felt like the past seven years had been a joke. I bent down and picked up the dress that had been stepped on, brushing off the dust. “You’re right.” I straightened up, looking at Ethan Hunt, the corner of my mouth lifting in a mocking arc. “I was the one disturbing you. You really don’t deserve to wear clothes I made.” With that, in front of everyone, I walked to the trash can in the corner and without hesitation threw in those two outfits I’d poured countless hours of effort into. “Stella! What the hell is wrong with you!” Ethan Hunt was enraged by my actions, feeling I’d trampled on his dignity in front of everyone. “Trash belongs in the trash can.” I dusted off my hands, my eyes coldly sweeping over Ethan Hunt and those two children. “I hope you all enjoy the performance. I won’t disturb you two anymore.” I turned and strode out of the dressing room, my back straight, without a trace of attachment. I left quickly, leaving those trashy people and things far behind me.

Stella’s POV Day twenty-eight after the divorce. New York’s annual top-tier charity gala was being held at a five-star hotel. As the CEO’s wife of Hunt Corporation, before the divorce proceedings were officially finalized, I had to attend to maintain the Hunt family’s dignity. Ethan Hunt’s special assistant had personally called to notify me, his tone brooking no refusal. I agreed. Because tonight was also my first public appearance as the independent jewelry designer “Star” domestically. When I appeared in the banquet hall wearing a perfectly tailored black velvet backless evening gown, adorned with a ruby necklace from my own “Phoenix” collection, all eyes were drawn to me. I was no longer that Mrs. Hunt who always wore plain suits with downcast eyes and a submissive manner. Tonight’s version of me was radiant, coolly elegant, and beautiful enough that people couldn’t look away. Ethan Hunt stood in the center of the crowd watching me. I noticed his gaze pause for an instant. However, the next second, his brow furrowed. Because I didn’t even glance at him, instead walking directly toward several business elites to chat with them. Sophia Warren stood beside Ethan Hunt, wearing a pure white lace gown. I didn’t miss the flash of jealous hatred in Sophia’s eyes. Halfway through the gala came the free networking time. I was standing by the buffet table, discussing design philosophy with a famous fashion editor. Sophia Warren walked over on Ethan Hunt’s arm. “Stella, you look beautiful today. Did you buy this necklace yourself? Ethan doesn’t seem to have ever given you such expensive jewelry.” Sophia’s voice was clear, just loud enough for those around us to hear, as if implying I wasn’t favored. I didn’t even give her a glance, just said flatly to the editor, “Excuse me, I need to step away for a moment.” I turned to leave, but a server carrying hot soup rushed by. His feet slipped, and the entire pot of scalding soup splashed directly toward Sophia and me. “Ah!” Sophia screamed. In that critical instant, Ethan Hunt didn’t hesitate for a second. He pulled Sophia into his arms, using his broad back to shield her. And I, thrown off balance by Ethan’s motion of pulling Sophia, tilted forward. Splash. More than half the pot of scalding soup poured onto my fair arms and shoulders. I sucked in a sharp breath. Intense burning pain instantly swept through my entire body. My fair skin visibly reddened and blistered. Exclamations rang out around us.Ethan Hunt heard the commotion and turned around. Seeing me pale-faced and clutching my arm, his pupils constricted sharply. He instinctively wanted to let go of Sophia to check my injuries, but the woman in his arms suddenly rolled her eyes back and fainted limply. “Sophia! Sophia, what’s wrong!” Ethan panicked instantly, scooping Sophia up into his arms. He turned to look at me, a trace of struggle flashing in his eyes, but ultimately he gritted his teeth and said, “Go take care of yourself. Sophia fainted. I have to take her to the hospital immediately!” With that, he carried Sophia and rushed out of the banquet hall without looking back. I stood there. The blisters on my arm had already burst. The pain was excruciating. The people around me whispered to each other, their eyes full of pity and mockery.

Stella’s POV “Mr. Hunt is so heartless. His wife got burned so badly and he doesn’t care, just runs off with his mistress.” “Who doesn’t know Mrs. Hunt is just for show? Sophia Warren is his true love.” Listening to these comments, the corners of my mouth curved into a smile of relief. I didn’t cry, nor did I ask for help. I straightened my back and, step by step in my high heels, walked out of the banquet hall with grace and determination. In the restroom, I rinsed my wounds with cold water. Looking at the woman in the mirror with a pale face but determined eyes, I knew this seven-year torment was finally coming to an end. One month after the divorce. At nine in the morning, I arrived at the Hunt family mansion. Due to busy affairs and the fact that divorce proceedings did take some time, I hadn’t returned recently to get the divorce certificate. Today I happened to be free, so I came to the Hunt mansion to pick up the divorce papers. I wore a simple white shirt and jeans, my arm still wrapped in gauze. I arrived early and waited in the living room, my expression as calm as if I were waiting for a cup of coffee. At nine-thirty, Ethan Hunt finally showed up. He wore a custom-made suit, his brow furrowed, with faint dark circles under his eyes. I heard that Sophia Warren had been emotionally unstable at the hospital all last night, and he’d barely slept. Seeing the gauze on my arm, his eyes flickered and his tone was somewhat stiff. “Your hand… is it better?” “I won’t die.” My tone was indifferent as I reached out directly to ask for the divorce certificate. “Please hurry. I’m in a rush.” “Stella, have you really thought this through?” Ethan gritted his teeth, lowering his voice. “After you get the divorce certificate, you won’t be Mrs. Hunt anymore. You left with nothing. You won’t get a single penny! What will you live on?” “None of your concern.” I didn’t even glance at him. “Just give it to me.” Anger showed on Ethan’s face as he said with implicit sarcasm, “Stella, don’t regret this!” I took the divorce certificate without even looking at it and stuffed it directly into my bag. “Ethan Hunt, goodbye forever.” I turned and left the Hunt mansion. Sunlight fell on me, as if coating me in a layer of new life’s radiance. I hoped Ethan Hunt would realize something. The Stella who only had eyes for him, who always waited for him at home, who would cook for him. She had truly disappeared completely. Outside the Hunt mansion gates, a black Maybach slowly stopped in front of me. The car door opened. A man in a silver-gray suit with a cool and distinguished air stepped out. He was New York’s top attorney and also my former college classmate, Adrian Cross. “Congratulations on your rebirth, Stella.” Adrian’s lips curved in a gentle smile as he opened the car door for me. “Thank you.” I responded with a brilliant smile, one I’d never shown during my seven years with Ethan Hunt. Ethan Hunt chased out the door. He happened to see me getting into Adrian’s car. “Stella!” I heard him calling me, but I just closed the car door, leaving him with a merciless view of my back. We sat in New York’s most exclusive revolving restaurant. I raised my wine glass and clinked it lightly with Adrian’s across from me. “Celebrating designer Stella’s happy divorce and rebirth.” Adrian’s eyes were gentle, reflecting the lights outside the window. “Thank you.” I drained it in one gulp, my red lips parting slightly, my smile radiant and flamboyant. Without the shackles of being Mrs. Hunt, even the air I breathed felt sweet. As for Ethan Hunt’s life or death, it had nothing to do with me anymore.

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I stood in the shadows backstage at the press conference. My husband Ethan was in the spotlight, crediting my AI system to Sadie White. I had spent five years on it, coding day and night even while pregnant. In that moment, I finally understood: the Sinclair empire I’d built with my own hands was nothing more than a birthday gift for his mistress. He used my achievements to promote her, used my son to threaten me, forcing me to apologize publicly and kneel in submission. But he didn’t know that when he granted me “authorization” with his fingerprint and iris in the lab, I had already quietly initiated the self-destruct program for the core code. In the banquet hall, I threw the divorce papers at his chest and calmly watched his face turn ashen. “Ethan Sinclair, from this day forward, June Mitchell no longer exists in this world.” And I would vanish completely with my son and my technology. June Mitchell POV The spotlight hit the massive curved screen as thunderous applause filled the space below. I stood in the dark corner backstage, watching that man in his tailored suit walk to center stage. Ethan Sinclair, my husband and CEO of the renowned Sinclair Tech Group. “Today, I will unveil the first-generation artificial intelligence core system that Sinclair Group has spent five years developing.” Ethan’s voice was deep, carrying the ease of a successful man. My palms were slightly sweaty. That was my achievement. Over five thousand days and nights, I’d typed line after line of code in the underground lab, never stopping even during my pregnancy. I’d named this system “Haven,” wanting to give it as a gift to my husband and son. The giant screen lit up, and the AI’s virtual image appeared. It wasn’t the tech-inspired geometric form I’d designed, but a young girl in a white dress. “Its name is ‘Cherry Blossom.’” Ethan’s voice carried through the microphone to every corner. “To thank my muse and genius digital artist, Miss Sadie White.” A roaring sound erupted in my head, as if something had exploded inside me. Cherry blossoms were Sadie’s favorite flower. The spotlight instantly illuminated the front row. A girl in haute couture stood up, covering her mouth, tears of joy sparkling in her eyes. She flew onto the stage like a butterfly and threw herself into Ethan’s arms without hesitation. Ethan, who had always been known for his cold demeanor, didn’t push her away. Instead, he reached out and steadied her waist, his eyes showing a tenderness I hadn’t seen in three full years. “Thank you, Ethan! This is the best twentieth birthday gift I’ve ever received!” Sadie said into the microphone. The crowd below erupted in cheers as media cameras flashed wildly, capturing this “beautiful” moment. No one knew that the true Mrs. Sinclair, the chief algorithm engineer who had given the AI its soul, stood in the shadows, her entire body ice cold. After the press conference, in the VIP lounge. When I pushed open the door, Sadie was sitting on Ethan’s lap, playing with his shirt buttons. Seeing me enter, Sadie jumped up like a startled rabbit and hid behind Ethan, calling out softly. “Miss Mitchell…” The warmth on Ethan’s face instantly vanished, his eyes piercing me like shards of ice. “Who let you in? Get out.” I stared at him hard, my voice trembling from extreme suppression. “Why did you change the system’s name? It was ‘Haven.’ I named it! Why did you rename my work?” “Your work?” Ethan laughed coldly, standing up and looking down at me without a trace of affection in his eyes, “June Mitchell, have you been in the lab so long that your brain stopped working? The entire Sinclair Group belongs to me. You used my money for research and development. I decide what the system is called!” My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. The pain made it impossible to breathe. “You know very well that-” “Shut up.” Ethan cut me off. “I have a question, and you need to explain yourself. Yesterday at Sadie’s digital art exhibition, why did the main server’s data suddenly crash? All the original files were completely destroyed. June Mitchell, besides you, who has that capability?” I froze, my eyes filled with disbelief. “You suspect me? I spent all day yesterday at the hospital with Atlas getting his IV!” “Enough!” Ethan grabbed my chin, his grip so hard it felt like he might crush my bones. “I understand that you’re jealous of Sadie. But you shouldn’t have destroyed what she cares about most! She prepared for that exhibition for an entire year!” Sadie gently tugged at Ethan’s sleeve from behind, her eyes red. “Ethan, forget it. Maybe Miss Mitchell really didn’t mean it. After all, she’s so busy, she wouldn’t have time to target me.” These words made Ethan even angrier. Ethan released me and threw a document in my face. The sharp paper edge cut my cheek, drawing a trace of blood. “You have twenty-four hours.” Ethan’s voice held no warmth. “Publicly apologize to Sadie and admit you maliciously destroyed her work using your position. Otherwise, I’ll immediately file for divorce. With Sinclair’s legal team, I guarantee you won’t get a single penny, and you’ll completely lose custody of Atlas. You’ll never see your son again for the rest of your life!” Watching my pale face, a flash of reluctance crossed Ethan’s eyes, but he quickly suppressed it. I stood frozen, the stinging pain on my cheek not even one ten-thousandth of the pain in my chest. He was actually threatening me with my own son? Just to defend his mistress?

June Mitchell POV The empty mansion had no lights on. I sat on the sofa, looking at the crumpled lawyer’s letter on the table. It stated clearly that if I didn’t cooperate with a public apology, Sinclair’s legal department would prosecute me for “destruction of computer information systems.” And they would use that as grounds to strip me of custody. He’d even prepared forged evidence. IP addresses, login records, everything was flawless. This was the man I’d loved for ten years. Ten years ago, Ethan was an illegitimate son abandoned by his family with nothing to his name. I was the one who sat with him in that basement eating instant noodles, using a secondhand computer to code the initial framework for Sinclair Tech. Back then, Ethan held me from behind, his chin resting in the crook of my neck, his voice hoarse as he made a promise. “June, once I take back what belongs to me, I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world. My life, my Sinclair Group, half of it is yours.” Later, he succeeded. He kept me hidden behind the scenes, saying it was to protect me from family power struggles. I believed him and hid behind him, becoming his shadow, becoming his sharpest weapon. Until two years ago, when Ethan brought home his friend’s sister, eighteen-year-old Sadie. At first, he said he was just taking care of her like a sister. But gradually, he came home less and less. He would abandon our feverish son on a stormy night because Sadie said she was “afraid of the dark.” He would bid a hundred million at an auction just to buy one of Sadie’s casual doodles. I tried to confront him, but each time I was met with Ethan’s mockery. “June Mitchell, why have you become like a madwoman? Sadie is young and has no parents. What’s wrong with me taking care of her?” Actually, I knew Ethan understood perfectly well. Sadie was like an exotic pet that provided fresh emotional value, bringing him long-lost excitement and relaxation. Meanwhile, I was air, water, the foundation he couldn’t do without. He craved Sadie’s youth and vitality but never considered shaking my position as Mrs. Sinclair. He always thought that since I’d loved him for ten years, no matter how much he played around outside, as long as he came home in the end, I would always be waiting in the same place. “Mommy…” A weak call interrupted my thoughts. Five-year-old Atlas rubbed his sleepy eyes and walked down from upstairs, hugging an old stuffed bear. The little one had been premature, so his health was always fragile, his face perpetually pale. “Why is Atlas awake?” I immediately hid the despair in my eyes and put on a gentle smile, walking over to hold my son in my arms. “Mommy, you cried.” Atlas reached out with his soft little hand and touched the cut on my cheek, his big eyes full of heartache. “Did Daddy bully you again? Atlas doesn’t like Daddy anymore. Daddy is a bad man.” Those words stabbed into my heart like a sharp knife. Even a five-year-old child could see he didn’t love me anymore. What was I still hoping for? “Mommy’s fine. I just accidentally scratched myself.” I held my son tightly, feeling the warmth from the little person in my arms, my eyes gradually becoming cold and resolute. Ethan thought he’d found my weakness, thought he could force me to submit by using our son, force me to bow my head to the woman who destroyed my family. He was wrong. I, June Mitchell, had never been a puppet under his control. If I could create Sinclair’s AI core, I could destroy it with my own hands. My phone screen suddenly lit up with an anonymous text message. “Miss Mitchell, Ethan got drunk tonight and kept holding my hand, wouldn’t let me leave. He said being with you every day feels like carrying out a mission, so boring it suffocates him. Only when he’s with me does he feel like a real person.” Immediately following was a photo. In dim lighting, Ethan lay on a hotel bed, his collar slightly open, Sadie’s face pressed against his chest, and Ethan’s hand tightly around Sadie’s waist. In the bottom right corner of the photo, you could see the Rolex on Ethan’s wrist, the one Sadie had given him. The watch I’d given him, engraved with our initials, had long since disappeared. I looked at the photo without crying, without even feeling angry. I calmly deleted the message and then opened my computer, entering an extremely complex URL of random characters. The screen instantly went black, then a blood-red countdown interface appeared with only an input box in the center. This was the internal communication channel for a national classified project, “Deep Space Program.” Two weeks ago, my mentor, also a member of the National Space Agency, had secretly contacted me, inviting me to join this top-secret project aimed at exploring deep-space AI autonomous defense systems. Once I joined, I would enter a secret underground base with no contact with the outside world for ten years. My identity would even be deleted from the national information registration system. The person “June Mitchell” would completely “die” in this world. At the time, I couldn’t bear to leave Ethan and our son, so I refused. Now, I had no hesitation. I typed my response in the input box: “I agree to join. Only condition: I’m bringing my son.”

June Mitchell POV Less than ten seconds after I sent the message, a reply popped up on the screen. “Agreed. But you need to bring the original core code of ‘Genesis.’ It’s the underlying logic you independently developed and is crucial to the Deep Space Program. In three days, a car will come to pick you up.” I looked at the content on the screen, my fingers curling slightly. “Genesis” was my most core achievement from the past ten years, and also the true foundation of Sinclair Group’s current AI system “Cherry.” All the original code and core data were locked in the S-level classified laboratory on the top floor of Sinclair Group. I had personally designed the security system for that laboratory, but the final firewall required simultaneous biometric fingerprint and iris verification from both Ethan and me to open. I still remembered the day the lab was completed. Ethan embraced me from behind, holding my hand as we registered our fingerprints. “June, this lab belongs to both of us. The password and permissions must be shared between us. That way, we’ll be bound together forever, and neither of us can leave the other.” What was once a vow had now become the most vicious curse. When love died, those bonds that once represented absolute trust became the strongest cage for guarding against and imprisoning each other. The next morning, after settling Atlas, I changed into a sharp black suit and drove to Sinclair Group. As soon as I walked into the group’s lobby, the surrounding air seemed to freeze instantly. Passing employees stopped in their tracks, looking at me with extremely complicated expressions. “Did you hear? Miss Mitchell deleted all the data from Miss White’s exhibition out of jealousy.” “My God, she always seemed so cold, but I didn’t expect her to be so malicious.” “Mr. Sinclair sent out an internal notice this morning. If Miss Mitchell doesn’t publicly apologize, he’ll fire her and pursue legal action.” I ignored the gossip and walked straight toward the CEO’s private elevator. “Access denied.” The elevator’s red light came on, the cold mechanical female voice echoing through the lobby, sounding particularly harsh. I froze. My highest-level access had been revoked by Ethan. “Miss Mitchell, I’m sorry.” The head of security approached with a troubled expression. “Mr. Sinclair has instructed that your access is now limited to the ground floor lobby. Unless…” “Unless what?” “Unless you’ve come around and are willing to go to the PR department on the twenty-eighth floor to record an apology video.” I laughed bitterly. Ethan was determined to trample my dignity completely underfoot. He not only wanted me to apologize but also wanted me to bow down to his mistress in front of the entire company, even the entire internet! Just then, the revolving door to the lobby was pushed open. Ethan walked in, surrounded by a group of subordinates. He wore an impeccably tailored black haute couture suit. And beside him, following closely, was Sadie in a white dress. Seeing me, Ethan’s footsteps paused, an imperceptible complexity flashing through his eyes before quickly being replaced by indifference. “You came to apologize?” Ethan walked up to me, looking down from above. “I thought you’d hold out longer.” Sadie hid behind Ethan, looking at me timidly. “June, you really don’t have to force yourself. Just promise you won’t come after me anymore. I’m willing to forget about the paintings…” “Shut up.” I gave her a cold glance. Sadie flinched, her eyes instantly reddening, clutching Ethan’s sleeve pitifully. “June Mitchell!” Ethan’s face darkened immediately. “What kind of attitude is this? You did something wrong, Sadie is gracious enough not to hold it against you, and you still dare to snap at her?” Looking at this familiar yet strange man before me, I felt my stomach turn. I took a deep breath, suppressing the churning in my chest, my tone so calm it was devoid of any ripple. “Fine. I’ll apologize.” Ethan froze. He probably expected me to argue with him stubbornly like before, to pull out evidence proving my innocence, or even to question him loudly. He might have even prepared more cruel words to break through my psychological defenses. But I conceded. Calm as stagnant water. “Go to the PR department.” Ethan said coldly, leading Sadie straight toward the elevator. I followed behind them, watching their overlapping silhouettes, a mocking smile curving my lips. Ethan Sinclair, this is the last time I’ll bow my head to you. To leave you completely, this small humiliation means nothing.

June Mitchell In the PR department’s recording studio, the lights were blinding. I sat in front of the camera, my back ramrod straight. My face was pale, but my eyes were unusually clear. Behind the camera, Ethan sat on the sofa, legs crossed, his gaze fixed intently on me. Sadie sat beside him, holding a cup of hot milk, a victor’s smile on her lips. “Let’s begin.” The PR director wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and said cautiously. I looked at the camera without preparing any script, my voice cold and emotionless. “I am June Mitchell, algorithm engineer at Sinclair Group. I hereby formally apologize to Miss Sadie White. I should not have maliciously destroyed Miss White’s digital exhibition data out of personal emotions, causing irreparable damage to Miss White. I acknowledge my mistake and am willing to bear all consequences.” Just a few short sentences, without any emotional fluctuation, as if a soulless AI were reading program-set text. “Cut.” Recording ended. Sadie immediately set down her milk and walked up to me. “June, it’s good that you recognize your mistake. Ethan said as long as you apologize, he won’t pursue legal action. We’ll still be good colleagues from now on.” I didn’t even give her a glance. I stood up directly and looked at Ethan. “The apology video is done. Now, restore my lab access. I need to go in and collect my personal belongings.” “Just collecting personal belongings?” Ethan stood up, advancing step by step, his tall frame casting me in shadow. “June Mitchell, don’t try anything.” “What could I possibly do?” I looked directly into his eyes, my tone mocking. “My reputation is ruined, the core system was stolen and renamed after someone else. I could be kicked out by you at any moment. What else can I do?” My words may have struck a nerve with Ethan. He suddenly grabbed my wrist and said angrily, “Who said I’m kicking you out? As long as you stop provoking Sadie, the position of Mrs. Sinclair will always be yours! Sadie is just a young girl. I’m indulging her for fun. You’re the lady of the Sinclair family. Why do you need to compete with her?” I found it utterly ridiculous. Break my spine, strip my dignity, steal my achievements, then tell me I can continue being his caged bird. “Grant me access, Mr. Sinclair.” I forcefully pulled my hand back. “I’ll only be inside for an hour. After one hour, I’ll immediately get out of your sight.” Ethan stared at me for a long moment before finally taking out his phone and unlocking my door access. “One hour. One minute over, and I’ll have security throw you out.” I turned and left without a trace of attachment. Top floor S-level laboratory. The heavy metal door closed slowly behind me, isolating all the noise from the outside world. I rushed to the main console, my ten fingers flying across the keyboard. Lines of complex code appeared on the screen, the digital world I had built with my own hands. I inserted a specially encrypted USB drive and began downloading the original core code of “Genesis.” The progress bar moved forward slowly. 10%… 30%… 50%… My heartbeat accelerated with each jump of the progress bar. As long as I obtained the code, I could disappear from this world completely with Atlas. However, when the progress bar reached 99%, the screen suddenly flashed with harsh red light. “Warning: Core protocol accessed. Dual biometric authentication required.” “Awaiting authorization from Administrator: Ethan Sinclair.” My fingers froze in mid-air. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. As expected, Ethan had reinforced the defenses on the core underlying logic. Without his fingerprint and iris, I couldn’t take the complete “Genesis.” Time ticked away second by second. Only ten minutes remained until the one-hour deadline. I looked at the warning flashing on the screen, my eyes growing increasingly resolute. I couldn’t fail. The Deep Space Program was my only way out and the only way to provide absolute safe shelter for Atlas. Once I entered a national-level classified base, no matter how powerful Ethan was, he would never be able to harm us again. I had to get Ethan’s authorization. I unplugged the USB drive and left the laboratory. Twenty-eighth floor, CEO’s office. When I pushed open the door, a rich scent of roses hit me in the face. The spacious office was filled with red roses. Ethan stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding a glass of red wine. Sadie embraced him from behind, her cheek pressed against his back, saying something that drew a low chuckle from Ethan. Hearing the door open, Ethan turned around, the smile on his face vanishing instantly. “Time’s up. What are you doing here?” I forced down my aversion to the rose pollen and walked up to him step by step. “The lab handover procedures aren’t complete.” I looked at him, my tone calm. “The core database needs your final authorization before my permissions can be completely stripped. Since Mr. Sinclair wants to give the system to Miss White, you surely don’t want my traces left in the system, do you?”

June Mitchell POV Ethan narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing my unusually calm demeanor. In the past, if I had seen the office filled with roses, seen another woman embracing him, I would definitely have questioned him with red-rimmed eyes or smashed things with a cold face. But now, I was like a machine, discussing permission handover with him without any emotion. “Ethan…” Sensing Ethan’s distraction, Sadie tugged at his sleeve in dissatisfaction and said gently, “Since June wants to do the handover, just finish it quickly. Didn’t we agree to celebrate my birthday at the rooftop restaurant tonight?” Ethan snapped back to attention, set his wine glass on the desk, and looked at me coldly. “Lead the way.” We walked toward the top-floor laboratory, one in front of the other. The corridor was so quiet that only the sound of high heels striking the floor could be heard. “You’d better not have any other ideas.” Ethan walked behind me, his voice low and full of warning. “June Mitchell, my patience has limits.” I didn’t turn around, only said lightly, “Mr. Sinclair is overthinking. I just want to end this as soon as possible.” Pushing open the laboratory door, I walked straight to the main console and pulled up the interface requiring dual authentication. “Press your fingerprint, then look at the iris scanner.” I stepped aside. Ethan stepped forward, looking at the flashing “Permission Stripping and Core Reorganization” prompt on the screen, his brow furrowing slightly. Though he didn’t understand the deepest algorithms, he knew the risks of this operation. “You’re sure this is just permission stripping?” Ethan looked at me suspiciously. “What else?” I met his gaze, my eyes candid. “This is the dual lock you personally set. Without your authorization, I can’t take even a single line of code. I’m just executing your order, handing over the system to your ‘muse.’” Ethan stared at me for a few seconds before finally extending his hand and placing it on the fingerprint collector. “Fingerprint verification complete.” Then he bent down and aligned with the iris scanner. “Iris verification complete. Dual authorization successful.” The instant authorization succeeded, my fingers struck several commands on the keyboard at a speed invisible to the ordinary eye. The download progress bar that had been stuck at 99% instantly jumped to 100%. “Download complete.” I quietly removed the USB drive and gripped it in my palm. My nails dug deeply into my flesh, using pain to mask the violent pounding of my heart. “Done.” I stepped back. “All my permissions have been completely cleared. From now on, this laboratory and that system have nothing to do with me anymore.” Ethan looked at the screen displaying “June Mitchell: User Not Found” permission status and whipped his head around to look at me. I still wore that cold expression, without anger, without sorrow, without even a trace of attachment. “June Mitchell, what exactly are you trying to pull?” Ethan’s tone grew irritated as he grabbed my shoulder. Based on my understanding of him, he had probably softened. That irritation in his tone was actually guilt about neglecting me, but he was accustomed to being superior, so what came out was still a rebuke. “Do you think this cold war will get my attention? I’ve already compromised. It’s just changing a system name. Is it really worth this? I’ll have finance transfer fifty million to your account tonight. Buy whatever you want. Stop making a scene!” His grip made my bones ache, but I didn’t struggle. I just looked at him quietly. “Ethan Sinclair.” I suddenly spoke, my voice so light it seemed like it could be blown away by a breeze. “Do you still remember what you said to me ten years ago in that basement?” Ethan froze. Seeing the confusion in his eyes, I suddenly smiled. It was an extremely desolate yet liberated smile. “If you don’t remember, forget it.” I gently pushed his hand away. “Mr. Sinclair, I wish you and Miss White eternal happiness.” With that, I turned and walked out. “Stop!” Ethan called out behind me. “Did I say you could leave? Tonight at Sadie’s birthday party, you must attend! I want you to apologize to her in front of all our friends and resolve yesterday’s matter completely!” He probably thought that as long as I toasted this glass of wine tonight, the matter would be completely over. My steps paused. “Fine.” I didn’t turn around, my voice echoing in the empty corridor. “I’ll be there.” To leave you one final gift.

June Mitchell POV Night fell, and the top-floor ballroom of the seven-star hotel under Sinclair’s ownership blazed with lights. All of New York’s elite had been invited to attend this grand birthday party. Everyone knew this was a banquet Ethan Sinclair was throwing for his mistress, publicly humiliating his wife. I wore a minimalist black trench coat without makeup as I walked into the resplendent ballroom. My appearance instantly silenced the originally noisy hall. Countless gazes fell on me, mocking, sympathetic, but mostly derisive. “How does she still dare to come? She was just forced to apologize publicly yesterday, and today she’s here to be humiliated again?” “I heard Mr. Sinclair wants to divorce her. She’s probably here to beg for reconciliation.” “Tsk tsk, the former genius engineer, now not even as good as a mistress.” I turned a deaf ear to these malicious speculations. I walked straight toward the center of the ballroom where Ethan was embracing Sadie in her haute couture princess dress, accepting everyone’s congratulations. Seeing me approach, Ethan’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. I was dressed too plainly, looking out of place among the socialites in their designer gowns, even somewhat shabby. “What are you doing here? Dressed like this, are you deliberately embarrassing me?” Ethan lowered his voice, his tone full of displeasure. I ignored his rebuke and picked up two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, handing one to Sadie. “Miss White, happy birthday.” My voice wasn’t loud, but in the quiet hall it was clearly audible. Sadie accepted the glass, a hint of triumph in her eyes. “Thank you. You really didn’t need to be so polite. Ethan said you were very stubborn. I thought you wouldn’t come.” I raised my glass and lightly clinked it against Sadie’s. “I came because I wanted to give Mr. Sinclair and Miss White a big gift.” With that, I tilted my head back and drank the champagne in one gulp. Watching my abnormal behavior, Ethan grabbed my wrist. “What exactly are you trying to do? Leave immediately after you’re done. Don’t ruin things for us here!” I forcefully shook off his hand and pulled a document from my trench coat pocket, throwing it hard against Ethan’s chest. The papers scattered across the floor. The top page read in bold letters: Divorce Agreement. The hall erupted in shocked gasps. Ethan’s face instantly turned livid. He stared at the documents on the floor, then looked up at me, saying furiously, “June Mitchell, have you lost your mind? You dare ask me for a divorce?””Why wouldn’t I dare?” I looked at him coldly, my eyes full of mockery. “Ethan Sinclair, did you think that by threatening me with our son, I would grovel at your feet like a dog forever?” “You want Sinclair Group? I’ll give it to you. You want that system? I’ll give you that too. You want this woman? You can marry her openly.” I stepped back, creating distance between us. “I’ve already signed the agreement. I don’t want your money. But custody of Atlas goes to me.” “No!” Ethan erupted in fury, grabbing my collar, his eyes bloodshot. “June Mitchell, who do you think you are? Let me tell you, without my permission, you’ll never leave me in this lifetime! As for Atlas, he’s a Sinclair child. Don’t even think about taking him away!” “Is that so?” I suddenly smiled, smiled until tears almost came out. Looking at this stranger before me, I felt like I’d wasted ten years of my youth on a dog. “Ethan Sinclair, do you really think you’ve won?” I leaned close to him, speaking in a voice only the two of us could hear. “What you just authorized in the lab wasn’t permission stripping at all. It was the self-destruct program for ‘Genesis’ core code.” Ethan’s pupils contracted sharply. “What did you say?!”

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